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eiwenmaclor · 4 years

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Criminal minds fic: Emily Prentiss a.k.a. Aunty bear

Summary : Emily Prentiss is protective of children, that's a given. She would cross the world to come to JJ's help, that's a known fact. What would she do if JJ's children were threatened?

Category: hurt/comfort

Warning: canon typical violence

Word count: 8952

Tags: canon compliant, takes place after the ending of the series, BAU as family

A/N: It's the first time I share something other than ficlet and my first Criminal Minds fic. Thanks to @lea-audague for proof reading this.

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"JJ?"

"Emily, listen to me. I have to go home. They are coming for the boys."

Her focus sharpened. There was fear in her friend's voice and that alone was all she needed to act before discussing it any further. JJ was scared for her children and Emily channeled all of her assertiveness, hoping to be the rock her friend needed.

"I'm less than a mile from your house, I'll be there soon."

The unit chief didn't hesitate a second and pressed on the accelerator. She was coming back to Quantico from an interview. It was purely by chance that she was in the neighborhood but Emily wasn't going to let this luck be wasted.

"Brief me JJ."

She could feel at that moment how her colleague forced herself to be an efficient agent before being a frightened mother. From the sound of it, JJ was in a car too and Emily hoped that she wasn't the one driving. After a short inspiration, the flow of information came. That was linked to the case the BAU was consulting on for the MPD. Will was part of the raid on a location they had suspected to be a base of operation for the mob. The police were hot on their trail. Whoever was there left minutes only before the raid. The search of the place had yielded a piece of paper with several addresses. All of them of cops. Will and JJ's included. And the SSA added at that point that one of Will's most recent case was a murder that seemed to be linked to the mob.

"They want to pressure Will. The murder investigation is the most urgent of them all. I know they are planning to take our boys Emily."

The unit chief heard the voice crack at the end of the sentence and her grip on the wheel tightened in response. Her words were infused with as much strength as she could give.

"JJ, you know I will not let them do that. If I can't take the boys with me to the BAU, I'll buy time. Trust me."

The answer was swift and JJ seemed to have regained control of her voice. Oh, how Emily could feel for her friend. Nobody would have faulted her for stumbling in these circumstances. Nobody but herself. Of course.

"I know. I do. I'm on my way with Mat."

"Good. Who's with the kids?"

Emily was trying to keep her colleague on track, not giving her a second to pause and spiral. JJ had once told her how she felt herself freeze when she found her sister after her suicide and again during the case they had in her home town. She didn't want the blonde to freeze and feel guilty about it. So she did what JJ had asked her to do then, she gave her things to do.

"Sarah, the teenage daughter of our neighbors, is babysitting them. I'm calling her."

"I'll call Mat as soon as I know where we stand. It will be okay JJ."

"You don't know that."

"I know that we will do so that it will be okay. Call Sarah."

She hung up on that note. She was on the LaMontagne's residence street and needed all of her attention. Emily's eyes were scanning the neighborhood, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Maybe no one was coming to grab Henry and Michael, but a Prentiss was always prepared. In that case, Emily was preparing herself for the worst, and hoping for the best. She needed to be at the top of her game. She loved the two brothers, as much as she loved Hotch's son Jack. The unit chief was finding it both an incredible motivation and a paralyzing fear. Compartmentalizing would come in handy.

At first, the agent didn't see anything suspicious. She parked on the sidewalk near the house but not in a way that could reduce visibility on the street from the house. Prudent, she used the key JJ had once given her "just in case" rather than ring the doorbell. She knew they might not have a lot of time. Inside, the 16-something babysitter had sprung on her feet at the unexpected stranger but was immediately placated when both boys called the agent by name. The teenager still had her phone in her hand. If Michael was already coming happily toward "aunt Emily" for a hug, Henry seemed worried. The profiler knew him to be very attentive and intelligent. And, after all, he was the son of two law enforcement members... Obviously an unexpected visit from the colleague of one of them would be a major concern.

"Hi boys! Hi...Sarah, right?"

The agent had years of experience with young witnesses and victims, she knew how to project what children and teenagers craved in a crisis situation: the reassurance of a capable, trustworthy adult having things under relative control. For now, she would act as if it was only unusual but not as dangerous as it really was. The teenager nodded, visibly relieved but also kind of subdued, somehow feeling Henry's concern and understanding what it could mean. Emily took a second to look him in the eyes.

"Your parents are okay." She saw his relief as if it were a palpable entity. "But your mom asked me to take you to the office." Emily put her eyes on Sarah. "JJ called?"

"Yes Ma'am, the boys just need to put their shoes on."

The unit chief offered a warm smile to the babysitter. She was pretty level headed and it was a good thing. Her voice was clear. The profiler could see her apprehension but she was putting a pretty solid front for the children. Just as she was answering, they all could hear a vehicle park in the driveway leading to the garage. Emily felt Michael go for the door, probably thinking it was one of his parents and she tightened her arm around him.

"Wait a second buddy."

This time her voice was more strict as to make him feel that it was an important instruction to follow. Emily went to a window to check discreetly whose vehicle it was and couldn't help but let a small sigh go through her lips. God damn it. The next second, she had put back her collected mask on and was turning towards the children, nevermind her heart that was beating way too quickly suddenly.

"Change of plans. Listen to me, and listen carefully, it is very important. You are going to hide upstairs. Bad people are coming but you will be hidden."

The agent was looking to each of the three children, trying to convey some sense of security. She already knew she would die before letting any one of them be taken but the point was to make them trust her on this. Maybe not as dramatically, but still.

"I will not let them hurt you, okay? I just need you to stay hidden and be quiet."

Emily looked at Sarah, who was very pale but looked determined.

"Do not go out under any circumstances. Phone silent. You go out of hiding only if JJ or Will calls you. Got it?"

She quickly obtained the confirmation from each of the children, including Michael who visibly understood how serious all this was. That, more than anything else at that moment, was deeply comforting for her.

"Good. Now, go."

Emily sent a short message to Mat's cellphone while they climbed the stairs. From the window, she had seen an unknown van and three armed men. The agent knew she had only few seconds to spare before they reached the door. Her hand was on her weapon but she hesitated. She knew several children were playing outside in the neighboring front lawns and any shooting in the house could lead to a stray bullet hitting one of the children she had sworn to protect. There was also the fact that they were three and she was alone. She had seen automatic weapons and Emily was pretty sure a shooting wouldn't end well for her. That, in itself, was a risk she was willing to take but that meant letting the children without protection at all after that... Not a good plan either.

"Shit."

Her hand reluctantly let go of the handle of her gun. She looked at her phone where a new message from Mat was on screen. They were 10 minutes out. Ten minutes. Emily closed her eyes and called. During the brief moment it took for it to connect, her finger swiped to activate a recording app Penelope had installed on all their devices long ago. She wanted to keep a material evidence of what would happen, whatever was going to happen. Just in case... Before she could think about it, the call finally connected. She didn't let her colleagues talk and her voice was tense and clinical. For the next ten minutes, she wasn't allowed to make any mistake. The stakes were high.

"Mute on your side. Three men, automatic weapons. I stall. You listen. You'll know what happens."

She didn't even wait for any kind of answer, hid her microphone clipped at her bra, and put her phone behind a furniture, out of sight. The doorbell rang. Emily had to admit that it was wiser than just force the door. After all, it was a residential area, the police response was good and any suspect activity would certainly be flagged by a nosy neighbor. The agent took the opportunity to gain some more seconds and waited for another ring. Finally, even if she hated having to do that, Emily went to answer the door. The profiler didn't want to make them nervous if she had to manipulate them for several minutes. The door was barely open that the muzzle of a submachine gun was aimed at her chest. She froze her hand above her gun and feigned surprise.

"What..."

"Back inside, no sudden move."

There were simple enough instructions and Emily followed them, slowly, each move measured. What she didn't like was the calm and control imbued in this cold voice and the equally cold face of its owner. They weren't bothering hiding behind hoods or masks. That was a big bright red flag for her, but also for the children. They probably wouldn't let any witness behind, or they didn't care to be identified and had enough resources to be sure to be able to flee. The last man to enter closed the door behind him. The first one was keeping his eyes on her. She tried to install rapport.

"Who are you?"

"Shut up and keep your hands up."

The rebuttal was dry and clear. The profiler was studying them for now. The first one was keeping his gun on her, the second one was looking around and the third one was looking through the window. They were very organized and knew what they had to do.

"Where are the kids?"

"What?"

"Your kids!"

"I don't have any children."

The game was on and it was a fragile balance. She had to unsettle them but not too much. Each unexpected information, each unforeseen event would be a source of stress. Emily had to make them feel unprepared. Maybe then, they would hesitate. And hesitation would make them lose precious time.

"Do not lie to me!"

"I swear I'm not lying."

"Where are your children Jennifer?"

Emily feigned the realization.

"I'm not Jennifer. My name is Emily."

"Do not...!"

"I swear! You can check I have my badge in my pocket!"

A couple of seconds of silence passed, heavy with tension. Finally the second one let out a low "what the fuck", and Emily took it as a small victory. The same man was ordered to check her pockets, and take her gun while he was at it.

"She... she's telling the truth... And... She 's FBI."

"What?"

"Emily Prentiss, FBI. Look."

The profiler stayed silent and immobile. She could see the first man, visibly the undisputed leader, think. When he looked at her, his eyes were dangerous.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was just passing by... I work with Jennifer and she needed a change of clothes..."

"You're telling me that you being here is a coincidence?"

"Yes."

His eyes searched hers, and then went to her badge. The agent knew that giving up some truths was a perfect way to make some lies believable.

"LaMontagne's wife is FBI?"

"Yes? Supervisory special agent Jennifer Jareau?"

Her tone was slightly questioning, as if they were testing her, when she knew, from their behavior, that they just didn't have any idea about JJ's occupation prior to this moment. This time it was the third one, still watching outside, who let out a swear. The man in front of her was still looking her eyes intently, searching.

"He's a cop. She's FBI."

"Yes."

"You are a colleague here by coincidence."

"Yes."

"You do know they have kids."

Emily felt it was time for her to be more open, maybe seeming more helpful. If he was resorting to sarcasm, it meant he was starting to let some frustration get to him.

"Yes, of course."

"So, where are they?"

"I don't know, not here."

He clicked his tongue.

"You're sure?"

"Yes. I mean, I swear they aren't quiet ones, I would have heard them if they were here..."

She hoped her trembling voice and sudden rambling would be convincing evidences of the stress and sincerity she wanted to project. He took some more seconds to think and she tried again to return some questions.

"What... what do you want with them...?"

"Not your business."

"They're just children..."

"Tell that to their nosy dad."

"What does it.."

"No more questions."

The metal of the submachine gun made contact with her throat.

"Am I clear?"

"Crystal. Sorry."

He looked at her for a second before making a decision.

"Ok, we're going to sit and talk like civilized people. You are going to answer my questions."

Then he turned toward the second man and ordered him to bring a chair in the living room while he guided her there, gun on the small of her back. He made her wait for the chair and sat on the couch. The profiler saw how tense he was. The couch was comfortable. He had chosen it for that reason, because it was comforting. That was interesting. For her it would be the hard chair, a very classic setting for a more violent interrogation. He was trying to scare her. It might have worked with a civilian but he was underestimating her. Good for her.

The second man came back and put the chair behind her, guiding her roughly into a sitting position and staying behind her, out of sight but not of hearing. She could feel him, hear him breathe. She had to admit that it could be defined as unsettling, but the profiler knew they were the most unsettled at that moment.

"Where are the kids?"

"I don't know."

"Let's say I believe you. What do you know?"

"I don't... what do you mean?"

Playing dumb was always fun. In that case it was very risky but it still had some fun factor, and as always, Emily was properly amazed by how much she could be underestimated as a woman.

"Do you know if they have a sitter?"

"Probably..."

"Probably?"

"I mean yes. I think they do. They are too young to stay alone."

"Do you know where they could be?"

"No? I... I mean... There is a park nearby but I don't know if they go there often or not..."

"Did Jennifer mention anything?"

"I... Why would I tell you?"

She had to defy them, at least a little. He would have grown suspicious of too much cooperation from her. They were talking about children. Her colleague's children.

"Why? Because I will hurt you if you don't answer my questions."

"I... I'm a federal agent... you..."

"I nothing."

There was a brief silence and his face hardened.

"You seem like a reasonable person."

"I... think I am."

"I can deal with reasonable."

"How?"

"Proof."

That was the only warning she received before he stood up and hit her across the face with the butt of his weapon. She let out a short shout, half from surprise half from pain. Her hand went to the side of her face, she could feel the broken skin under her palm. He sat down as if it had been a perfectly neutral interaction.

"So... I will repeat myself just once: did Jennifer mention anything?"

"I..."

"Do you need more proof?"

"No!"

Emily let the pain shine through her voice, which she wouldn't have done usually. He had to think that she was terrified.

"She... I know the oldest was feeling ill those last days. She was upset that her husband couldn't stay at home... And she couldn't either."

"See? Progress. What would they do if one kid was unwell?"

"Sometimes she brings them at work..."

"Did she?"

"Not today..."

"So? Keep talking..."

"Maybe they left them with their godmother. I think she lives nearby..."

The man behind her let out a sigh. He then remarked that they couldn't barge into another house without preparation. Too many risks of complication. The leader seemed to think about it and finally nodded. The profiler noted that it was a dynamic relationship. He was making the decisions but he was also taking the advice and opinions of the two other. That was an interesting lever to play with.

"What do we do?"

"Let me think."

They stayed silent for a while. Emily could feel it, they were close to the breaking point. Soon, they would reconsider. Another problem would be what were they going to do with her, but that was a problem for future Emily. The profiler was rather proud of the turn of events. Another good thing was that time was passing and JJ and Mat probably were half way to the house.

The moment was broken by the unexpected ringtone of the landline phone. Emily cursed internally as the loud sound began to repeat itself. No more words were said among the henchmen and no one moved. Everything was suspended to this ringing. The unit chief knew the men were anxious. She had already pointed out to them every single detail that didn't go as planned and they were one more surprise away from bailing entirely. On the other hand, Emily was preparing herself for the storm. Whoever was calling wasn't aware of the situation and that was an unknown factor she didn't want to deal with. But she would have to. The seconds expanded the agonizing waiting. Finally, the electronic beep of the answering machine echoed in the silent house.

All of Emily's hopes that the caller would hang up were crushed by an unfamiliar female voice.

"Sarah, it's Mom. I tried to call you on your cell phone. I just wanted to remind you that we have a reservation tonight. I know you don't mind the extra sitting time but you can't stay too late today. Try to remember to plug your cell and call me back when you have this message. I know you're here, so stop avoiding me Sweetie."

The unit chief felt her veins freeze over and an uneasy chill go down her spine. One word resonated in her mind. Fuck. Her rigid posture and stony face had not changed since the beginning of the message, giving her a controlled appearance. Which was exactly that. A facade. Her eyes stayed fixed on the wall in front of her. She had to remain calm. But fuck.

A second passed. And then the weight of three sets of eyes fell on her head. If looks could kill... She forced herself to not show any reaction. They were waiting for one. That much was obvious.

"So... The kids aren't here...Right?"

That was a new tone from the head of the trio. She didn't like it. The sarcasm and the sneer weren't doing anything to hide the anger. He was furious. At herself, for lying. And probably even more so at himself for believing her. But Emily would bet that he wasn't going to beat himself too hard... yet. The auto flagellation would come later, maybe. For now, he could be angry at her and so he would be.

She took an inspiration and opened her mouth before closing it without a sound. She could try to convince him, or to defend herself but that would not be a smart move. Any trust they might have had had been shattered. They were going to search the house even if she tried to deny. And trying to deny anything to this particular guy right now could worsen his anger issue. Defending herself at that point would probably lead to similar results. And if Emily was honest, she was not sure to be able to say anything sarcasm-free right now. Silence, at least, would not antagonize him... too much.

A fist hit her left cheek. The impact threatened to send her to the floor but she managed to maintain her balance. Half her face was pulsing with pain as she recovered. She was back in her initial sitting position when he struck again. This time she fell off the chair to the ground and a metallic tasting liquid spilled in her mouth.

"Hold her."

His tone was sharp and the hands grabbing and hauling her on her feet were rough. Her arms were kept in her back, leaving her exposed. For the first time since the call, she looked at her interrogator in the eyes. His face was betraying his need to regain some control over the situation. By lying to him, she had stripped him of that.

"Where are they?"

No way she was going to tell him anything. She could see what he was going for. He was making excuses to let his anger translate to his fists. Was he really hoping to gain anything from beating her? She doubted it. After all, they only had to search the house now. But apparently, she was worth wasting time. Had she bruised his ego that much?

And then, some part of her brain, the masochist part, noted that every second he was putting into beating her were seconds he wasn't using to find Henry and Michael. Unfortunately, the masochist part was making a pragmatic point and Emily was nothing if not pragmatic. That's how she decided to play the game.

"I don't know."

The back of his hand whipped her face. She couldn't help but to have a sense of deja vu. Between her beating by Benjamin Cyrus and her reunion with Ian Doyle, she had her fair share of previous experiences. Strangely, she noted that this time, the mechanics behind the violence were somewhat half way between them. Making a point and punishing her like Cyrus, searching for answers and punishing her like Doyle.

"You lied to me Emily."

The profiler in her identified the use of her first name as a red flag. It was not humanizing. It was used to make it personal, intimate. He could have used "agent" but choose to go straight for what he thought to be the weak civilian behind the badge. She could play into that. He wanted a power trip, she could let him believe he had one.

"I really don't know where they are!"

She put some desperation in her voice to press his buttons. In response, he punched her in the guts, making her gasp. She would have curled up if it wasn't for the man holding her from behind.

"Liar. Do you think I'm stupid Emily? Why are you here?"

The profiler took her time to recover her breath, answering only when threatened to be hit again. Every second she could gain was a small victory.

"I told you... My colleague asked me to grab some stuff for her because it was on my way..."

His hand went to her throat and he squeezed. His face was inches away from hers. She couldn't breathe anymore and at that moment she wondered if she had completely misread this man. Would he strangle her to death? Would it sit well with the two others? She had filed him as a control freak and a narcissist of some sort but was he a sadist? No. She believed in her initial profile. This was a power move. He wanted to frighten her, to let her feel as if he not only could but would end her life anytime. His eyes were watching hers but she couldn't see any pleasure in them, any excitement. Just anger, frustration and a need for control.

"So it's a coincidence. You were passing by... and you have no idea where the kids and the sitter are... Come on! You want me to believe that?"

He maintained his grip several seconds before finally letting go way before the FBI agent could lose consciousness. The sensation wasn't pleasant in any way for Emily and the wheezy quality of her breathing was making here cringe internally. His hand roughly grabbed a fist of her hair to guide her face in his direction.

"So... What will it be?"

Thinking fast, the unit chief opted to let him think she was abandoning the fight. Her voice was strained, tired. Resigned.

"I'm just telling you facts. I don't have proof. You can believe whatever you want."

He watched her a couple of seconds before hitting her again in the stomach. As she gasped, the man behind her let her go and she stumbled. Between being strangled and having her breath pushed out of her lungs, she didn't have to overplay her struggle to recover.

"I believe you're a liar Emily, and I hate liars."

She had just the time to ready herself when a fist hit her face again, sending her half on a coffee table, half on the ground. The profiler knew she had to take some blows and try to "play dead", or at least knocked out. The bet was ridiculous but it was the only thing she had in her sleeve. If they thought she was not a threat anymore, she may be able to do something. Half stunned she initiated a move to straighten when a foot got her side. She hadn't seen that one coming and her legs stopped supporting her weight.

The following seconds were a blur of blows received and discrete self preservation moves applied with varying degrees of efficiency. Finally she laid on the floor among some disturbed furniture, bloodied face, immobile and, for all they knew, non responsive.

"Come on, stop it. She's done. We don't need a fed corpse."

"Yeah, you're right... Fucking bitch."

"So... The kids... Their mother is a fed. Are we... okay with that? Because... I mean, pressuring cops is one thing but, bringing the feds to the fight... What do we do?"

"We have to stop this cop in his tracks, we don't have a choice. This one lied. Search the house, I'm keeping an eye on the street... just in case."

Two sets of footfalls left the room and Emily could hear the third one get away from her. She opened her eyes cautiously. Or tried to. Her left eye was beginning to shut. No one was in sight. That was good. Now, all she had to do was to get up. Her body wasn't going to make it easy. Slowly, she moved. And everything hurt. The unit chief had to control her breathing to not let any sound betray her. She was convinced that her injuries were mainly superficial but they were painful nonetheless. However, Emily didn't have the luxury to wallow. She had few minutes at best before any of them hit the jackpot and found the children.

Now crouching, she saw her interrogator looking through the window of the living room, his back to her. He was keeping his focus on the street. They had already stayed too long in the house and any suspicious vehicle could be noticed easily in this kind of neighborhood. He knew they were running out of time and the pressure was becoming heavy. The fear was giving him tunnel vision. The FBI agent he had just beaten up was already a distant thing in his mind. The profiler internally rejoiced.

He was less than ten feet away. Between them, the soccer trophies of Henry and JJ were displayed on a shelve.

Emily remembered how proud the oldest son was to win this one. And she fondly remembered how emotional JJ got when he insisted on putting her trophy next to his because it was obvious for everyone except JJ till this point that he wasn't proud to win the soccer tournament, he was proud because he had won a soccer tournament "like Mom". The memory really was a precious one.

If Henry's middle school trophy might be fragile, Emily had faith in JJ's varsity team trophy's build. Its marble base would make a perfect blunt weapon. Without losing a second, the unit chief grabbed it and struck her interrogator on the side of his head. Both stunned and surprised, he turned around trying to regain a very compromised balance and Emily greeted him with a second strike to the chin before doing her best to muffle his fall. She found it strange to be the one delivering that kind of blow for once but that was a thought for later.

He was unresponsive, on the ground, blood beginning to form a small puddle under his head. She checked his pulse and found one. Despite the adrenaline coursing in her veins and everything that man had done, the profiler registered relief.

Quickly, she searched him for weapons, taking back her own gun and separating his submachine gun from its magazine. She didn't have time to find her handcuffs. She would trust his probable concussion to keep him quiet for some time. They were two henchmen left and she had to protect the kids.

Emily took a short moment to listen for any sound in the house. One of them seemed to be on the first floor and the other was on the second floor. Her priority would be the latter, because the children were upstairs.

Every step hurt.

Climbing the stairs wasn't an issue in itself. Climbing the stairs quickly while doing it stealthily, that, was a difficult task for her current body. She did the best she could. She wouldn't let three children at the mercy of an armed gangster.

When she arrived at the top of the stairs, crouched to mask her presence, she saw him in the hallway, trying to break down a door. At his first impact on it, she heard whimpers coming from this room. The children were there. Before he could try a second time, she raised her gun and stood up.

"Hey!"

Not too loud, but enough to catch his attention. She just waited for him to react and face her, to have a clean shot. She pressed the trigger twice. He was dead before he touched the ground. Emily didn't waste any second and covered the feet between them. From habit, she kicked his gun out of his hand before ordering the kids to stay hidden. As soon as the words left her mouth, the profiler heard someone quickly climbing the stairs. The last henchman. She ducked in the room opposite to the one hiding the kids.

As the footsteps closed in, Emily was deciding what she was going to do. Trying to gain a visual on him was taking a big risk of getting shot. Too big. And without visual, the unit chief wasn't going to use her gun. There were three children nearby and any missed shot could be a lost bullet for them. No gun policy meant she had to disarm the last aggressor. Her pounding headache and reluctant body weren't finding this plan promising. That wasn't going to be easy. But she didn't have a choice.

Time was up.

Two things happened at the same time.

He called out for his dead colleague, giving her his approximate position, which was at arm's length, just around the corner, and she heard several cars pulling up outside.

Reinforcements were here. But they would never reach him before he finished to smash the door in and find the LaMontagne brothers and their babysitter. She had to gain at least a little more time.

Time was up.

Emily jumped from the room and rammed into the henchman. They struggled messily for several seconds, the width of the hallway not giving them a lot of room. One push from the profiler was the final blow for the door-frame and the man fell into the children's hiding room. His gun gliding a few feet away from him. The unit chief saw him scramble, half standing, to reach the weapon. Behind him the large window was giving the scene an overexposed quality compared to the narrowness of the hallway. She couldn't let him grab that gun. Not now. Not with the children at risk.

She pushed on her legs with all her might. That was a messy move. A part of her brain told her it would have a very messy result too but it was irrelevant. He didn't register her movement before it was too late. She impacted him in a way that would have made Derek Morgan proud. A tackle worthy of the NFL.

She heard more than felt the glass of the window break.

The next thing she knew, they weren't in the room anymore. One thought was at the front of her mind: the kids would be all right.

She heard confusing cracking sounds.

She found fascinating that, even if at that exact moment she didn't have any idea of where, or in what situation she was, some part of her brain was able to clearly label those cracking sounds as bones. Were they hers? She had no clue.

Everything was bright. Then dark.

Pain.

She was outside.

"Emily!"

David Rossi's voice.

Some things stuck to her. She was at JJ's. The kids were safe. She had been inside and now she was on the grass, outside. Apparently on her back. How? ... Oh... Yeah. Messy results. Yeah. She had tackled him through the window. She remembered. Not her brightest idea. Definitely very messy.

"Emily."

Dave's voice was a lot closer than the first time she had heard it. He seemed worried. Like, a lot. Maybe because she wasn't answering and had yet to open her eyes? Come on Prentiss, don't let him hanging like that. Her first try at talking resulted in a wheezy garble. Very reassuring Emily, well done.

"It's okay, don't move."

Her second try went better and her eyes, well the one not shut by a massive black eye, opened.

"Dave..."

"There you are. Don't move. We called an ambulance."

She saw him straighten and instinctively made a move to grab him which was both moderately successful and downright painful. Hence another grunt. But she didn't want him to leave. His face above her was anchoring her. Her head was pounding and a lot of things were blurry both visually and metaphorically.

"Hey, what did I just say? Don't move."

There was both worry and a fatherly quality to his tone and his expression that warmed Emily's heart. She needed that right now.

"Stay."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm just answering to JJ. She's worried about you."

And now that he told her, among the blur, she could recognize clearly her friend's voice. It was coming from above but she was not close like Dave. Several other voices were blending together around her but it was as if instinctively, she knew they weren't addressing her, so her focus wasn't on them. The blonde called her name and she could hear what she was saying.

"Emily! Rossi, how is she?"

Half a chuckle fell from her lips and she looked at the senior of their team. She knew she wasn't fine, but she couldn't be that bad. She was responsive wasn't she? JJ didn't have to worry about her. Henry and Michael were probably frightened. They needed their mother. Emily was fine with Dave.

"Tell her... to stay... with the kids... and sorry... for the mess."

That made the Italian American laugh and he looked up to JJ who was talking from the now open second floor.

"She's joking."

"I'm not-"

The exclamation died in a painful whimper. How could he not know she was serious?

"Okay, okay, calm down. She's telling you to stay with the boys."

He seemed to relent but he was still not telling JJ was she had said. That frustrated her when at the same time, she couldn't exactly explain why that was so important... A pressure from Emily's hand on his made him sigh, resigned, and swear in Italian for good measure. To which she answered with a short "dille e basta"before he transmitted the second part of the message.

"Oh my God. Emily, you can't be serious right now!"

The tone was half disbelief, half wonder. The brunette felt divided about it. What was it about thinking about the damages she caused, the window she destroyed, that was that surprising? But some part of her mind kept telling her that it would be better to talk about it later. Emily knew that she was missing something important. God that headache was frustrating.

"Emily, it isn't important right now, believe me."

"Dave, please, humor me."

"Did you hit your head?"

"Why? It doesn't change... the fact that... I'm sorry... for the mess."

"Understood. Please, just... calm down. JJ, she's sorry for the mess, whatever that means."

"That's it! Mat, could you... Thanks."

Dave was looking at Emily with fond exasperation, mixed with now well hidden preoccupation. But even concussed, she knew him well. Was what she was missing that important? Wait... She did received blows to her head. That was it?

"You had to go and poke the bear."

The brunette knew JJ was the bear here but she couldn't understand what she had done to "poke" her.

"What?"

"Come on Emily, there are far more serious matters right now..."

"I don't... It's just what comes to mind..."

What was she missing? The frustration was increasing. Did something happen that she couldn't remember? Did something happen to the kids that she didn't catch?

"The kids are okay, right?"

She was absolutely convinced the kids were safe but at the same time, Emily's mind was particularly foggy. It reminded her of the car crash and the evasion years ago. She was definitely concussed. And she missed entirely the look of realization of David Rossi's face.

"Emily, calm down. The kids are okay, they're safe, they're fine. Trust me."

He was placating, smoothing. She was confused but she could trust Dave. He wouldn't lie to her nor sugarcoat things. That was good.

"Okay... Oh! There is a recording... My phone..."

Another random thought. Why was she thinking about this right now? She couldn't retrace her mental process, and maybe that was what she was missing. How Dave could follow her if she couldn't do it herself... Emily realized she probably was still somewhat disoriented or confused. Or both. And the headache wasn't helping.

"You used your phone to keep JJ informed."

"Yes..."

"And you recorded the call?"

"Yes..."

"I understand, it's okay."

Without discussing it any further he passed the information on to Luke. Was Luke there the whole time? She didn't register his presence. But Dave was compliant now. She counted it as a win and felt calmer. He was listening to her. Still.

"JJ, she's concussed and confused."

Dave's tone was both informative and a clear warning. He wasn't going to let anyone mess with Emily. Even the original Mama bear.

"I suspected it."

JJ's voice was softer than before and when she kneeled on the other side of Emily, her face was a mix of emotions. The blonde always acknowledged more her feelings. The unit chief found it way more sane than her extreme compartmentalizing. Tears were pooling in those blue eyes and Emily's first impulse was to comfort her friend. Then, she saw that they weren't negative tears. Blue eyes scanned her, brows frowning slightly, before stopping at the unit chief's eyes.

"Emily, I want you to listen to me carefully. I understand if it's a little hazy right now, but what I'm going to tell you is the most important thing you have to remember."

The brunette focused her attention on her friend. JJ was controlled and the tone was serious. She did as asked and tried to let go of all the current pieces of random thoughts going through her mind.

"Me. Listening."

"Emily, you saved my children. I cannot thank you enough. Without you we have no idea where they could be right now and..."

The blonde cut herself off before losing her thread to what ifs.

"Thank you. That's all I care about. I don't give a damn if I have to clean a little extra a couple of rooms or replace some things. I can't replace my children, and I can't replace you."

The unit chief might have been confused and in pain but she could see the great deal of vulnerability in her friend's eyes and all over her face. The last dozen of minutes were so tense and heavy from her perspective but Emily couldn't fathom what this lapse of time had felt from JJ's part. Not being able to do anything, all the time in the world to second-guess every move and decision of the day to find a better scenario... The brunette understood the weight of JJ's words but something wasn't quite right.

"You don't have to thank me JJ."

"I swear to God Emily..."

"That's what family do."

They were family. And Emily wouldn't hesitate doing it again. Even if it cost her more, she would do it again. The past showed how far the unit chief was willing to go to protect children, how much she cared. But that wasn't even considering that the BAU was her family, and that included their families.

Roughly ten years ago she had come close, two seconds close, to blow up because Will was family. She had jumped in a plane, leaving everything behind, to find a kidnapped JJ, and she had not slowed down for a second when assisting her in the rooftop showdown, never mind plunging to grab her friend at the edge of the building. When Hotch had called her back to help the team through a rough patch, she had let go of her Interpol position without much of a fuss. She had taken the lead, however uncomfortable she was with that at the time because the team needed it. In Mexico, she had crossed the line for Spencer, to save his chance for a fair treatment. That was without mentioning how she found him one of the best attorneys of the country, calling personal favors. She had resisted Mr. Scratch's mind games rather than giving him any piece of information regarding Hotch or Jack. She had tried to be the blown fuse to Barnes's enquiry. That had failed spectacularly but she had tried. Finally, the year before, she confronted Dave, their father figure, when he stumbled despite his initial rebuttal, and imposed the team's help on him until he accepted it.

Because they were family.

And JJ knew it. She understood that that particular thought wasn't born from a confused concussed mind. No, that was all Emily.

"I really could hug you."

"Please don't... That probably would be painful..."

That mention, however lightly said, brought back the blonde's focus on her state. That much was obvious from the way the blue eyes scanned her again. Emily also felt Dave's hand pressing hers to gain her attention.

"Speaking of... how are you feeling? You took quite a fall here."

His warm voice was cautious. As if he didn't want to upset her, or maybe because he, himself, was upset by the situation. For the first time since landing on the grass, Emily took a moment to try to gather some clues about her physical state.

She was in pain. That much she knew.

Left eye blackened. That was already filed too.

Her right hand could grip Dave's without any red flag. But she remembered that moving her arm was painful.

Her left hand... No. Nope. That hurt. Copy. Not moving that one. She couldn't see it but JJ simply confirmed her that her wrist was broken. For once, Emily couldn't decipher from her friend's tone and face if it was really bad or just really obvious.

Cautiously she moved one foot, then the other, with only moderate pain in one knee. Again, she couldn't see her own legs but Dave confirmed that she had moved. She suddenly felt relieved, even if she hadn't considered the possibility of nerve damage until that moment.

So far, the news weren't that bad. Again, the fall wasn't from a very high point and her opponent probably had taken the worst of it.

"I don't think I hurt my back... But breathing hurts."

"You may have cracked some ribs."

That was Dave's calm conclusion. He was simply putting her sensations into clear words without any obvious emotional reaction. She realized that she was calm and more compliant than in previous occurrences. The oldest member of their team really had a good effect on her.

"It already hurt... before the fall."

Dave simply nodded but JJ frowned, visibly understanding that he was missing something.

"They beat her up."

JJ's precision made Dave recoil and then sigh. The Italian was torn between anger and concern when the injured woman interjected from her prone position.

"You should see... the other guys."

"Emily please, could you drop the sarcasm?"

"Never."

That made all three of them chuckle. The brunette knew that displaying her usual wits was reassuring them and she was starting to regain some of her bearings.

"It's probably looking worse than it is."

"Good. Because you look like hell."

"Always the charmer David Rossi."

-------------------------------------------------------

Emily was relaxing in a comfortable seat, enjoying the simple joy of being able to turn her head without having to rotate her entire body to follow the match of the century that was being played in front of her. A smile was gracing her lips. Team Jareau and team Simmons were trying to prove their superiority in the fine art of... Emily wasn't a specialist but it looked like something between football and soccer. Were they reinventing rugby? Either way it was really good to see all of them enjoying the late afternoon warmth. The air smelled of the flowers Krystall had put in Rossi's vast garden but it was slowly overpowered by the tasty smell of properly barbecued meat. The unit chief felt her mouth water. The senior of their team was once again showing off his cooking maestria. She wasn't going to complain about that.

The last two weeks had been hard for her, but for them too. It always was when one of them was down. Emily was wholly embracing being outside after the three-day stay at the hospital -God she hated hospitals- and the days being cooped up in her apartment, in pain and restrained by a neck brace in addition to her wrist plaster. Of course she had never been really alone. Each day a new member of the team had came, taking turns making sure she didn't need anything and didn't overexert herself. She would never admit that it would have probably -surely- been the case without supervision. If she had begrudgingly accepted at first, faced with a dead serious Tara who didn't let any crap faze her, she had come to embrace and enjoy it. Yes, she had tried to send JJ back to her boys but the blonde had just told her "no" and stayed. Well, after that, Emily didn't fight their care anymore.

Now, they were all at Rossi's. Emily had suggested it. They needed to make good memories after the difficult ones. The only tragedy for the convalescent unit chief was her still active ban from alcohol because of the drugs she was taking. All internal bleeding had subsided, her broken ribs were healing, her head wasn't killing her anymore, her wrist would heal in some weeks and the bruises were slowly fading. In a couple of days, she was to come back to work, on desk duty of course, and still not allowed any plane travel. But she would be okay. They all would.

She was letting her eyes take in every member of that makeshift family. On her second day at the hospital, Will, JJ and the boys had come to visit. JJ had explained to her that the boys were very worried about her and even if she "still looked like hell", seeing her would do them good. And it did, but not only to them. Their hugs and the drawings they both did helped the injured woman to stay sane in a hospital that was only reminding her of particularly darker times. Somehow, Emily knew without having to ask that JJ knew perfectly what she was doing that day.

Suddenly a loud victorious roar got her attention back to the game. Luke was lifting a particularly happy Michael above his head, the boy throwing his arms in the air as if he had just won the world championship. Emily chuckled. Team Jareau was leading. Of course it wasn't surprising knowing that team Simmons was composed of four children and an adult whereas the former included only the two LaMontagne brothers and three adults. Something was to be said about fairness when one of those adults was a former soccer champion... But well, Mat's children didn't seem upset at all, so it maybe wasn't that important after all.

A familiar colorful shape approached the brunette and Emily saw a glass of an as colorful liquid appear in front of her.

"Virgin, of course."

"Penelope Garcia, you're the best."

The ex analyst waited for Emily to have a good grip on the glass before letting it go. It was subtle but the agent felt it and thanked her friend with a smile.

"I know Brunette Goddess of Badassery, I know."

Penelope sat next to her. She and Luke had come together and Emily couldn't be happier for the hacker. She had a smile in her voice was she asked about it.

"So... You and Luke?"

"No dear friend, we're not doing that."

Taken aback by the seriousness of her friend's tone, Emily's head snapped toward her a little too quickly, making her wince for a brief instant.

"Em, you're okay?"

The tone was again very Penelope-like, and sorry, and the unit chief was having a new kind of whiplash that wasn't involving her cervical vertebrae. She reassured the blonde incarnation of a sunshine that she had just moved too fast and everything was okay.

"I feel like I should ask you that question PG..."

The pinch had come and gone and Emily was looking at her friend, concerned.

"Sorry... That was a little too abrupt but I didn't want to let you deflect..." A small nod from the unit chief encouraged her to keep going. "Emily Prentiss, you scared me."

"Oh... I'm sorry Pen. Truly. I know that is a serious crime, and no, I'm not really joking. I'm really sorry to have worried you."

Emily poured as much sincerity as you could both in her words and her eyes, trying to decipher what was happening in the head and beautiful heart of the blonde. Penelope held her gaze a moment before letting out a sigh.

"It's just... Could you please stay alive and well? Is it too much to ask my faithful-to-a-fault friend?"

The brunette smiled with understanding and offered a hug to the other woman. They all had scars from their numerous years working at the BAU, tracking the most violent people, seeing the worst of human behavior. There was no judgment to pass among them for sometimes needing a little more time to digest things. And Emily had learned, with them, how much a good hug could say and do. Penelope Garcia had dispensed her wisdom about it, again and again over the years, welcoming them with open arms each and every time they needed it. The unit chief was happy to give her friend what she needed to heal right now.

When they separated, the blonde quickly wiped a lonely tear from her eyes.

"I'm just wondering why sometimes... Why you always put yourself in harm's way..."

Emily smiled again, with warmth and tenderness. With a small move of her head she encouraged her friend to follow her gaze and let it wander to the two blond boys currently tackling their mother because, apparently Emily had missed a big change of rules in this game. They were laughing.

"You see that Pen? That's exactly why I did what I did and why I would absolutely do it again."

They both kept their eyes ahead, on the joyful display and Emily felt the head of her friend gently come to rest upon her shoulder.

"You, Emily Prentiss, are an Aunty Bear."

A big smile split the face of the ambassador's daughter.

"And don't you forget it."

#criminal minds #fanfiction #emily prentiss #BAU as family

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kbstories · 4 years

Text

Axiomatic

ax·i·om·at·ic (adj.) Self-evident; unquestionable.

The best part of battle is the afterparty.

(Or: Kidd wears a fur coat, Killer is thirsty. Zoro is there until he isn’t.)

Tags: Established Relationship, Drinking, Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, It’s a PWP what can I say?

Read Chapter 1 here. Post-Wano setting. Content warning for mentions of Body Dysmorphia (relating to Killer).

***

Killer is drunk.

Technically he’s tipsy and on-his-way-to-drunk. There’s a bottle of sake in his hand, half-full or half-empty depending where his head is in a given moment. The straw between his lips is growing brittle, already frayed at the edge – he’s been toying with it rather than drinking for a while now, distracted by the feast running its course below.

With his ass firmly planted on the stone weight of one of the roofs – the inn’s, perhaps? Killer can’t recall why he got up here, much less which house it is – he’s got a view over all of Okobore Town, from where the outskirts are swallowed by the Wasteland to the pitiful square still lit by the bonfire’s embers. Whoever’s in charge of feeding the flames has obviously left their post or followed the siren song of free booze. They wouldn’t be the first to do so, the streets littered with those passed out or making out or both, somehow.

It reminds Killer a little of home. Well, the place they used to call home, him and Kidd, a town so small it isn’t really worth considering it one. Nothing more than the scrapyard of the bustling capital right next door with the people to match: Too poor to live, too stubborn to die and so they got carried along, forgotten by history.

Same bullshit, different island, Killer muses via the wisdom of too much sake in his blood. Different ocean altogether, and there’s no fondness in that.

Home isn’t a place for Killer but a feeling, the one he gets with full sails fluttering above and Kidd up front, hair wild in the wind.

Freedom’s a fickle thing, as quickly lost as it is gained with how complacent the masses tend to get. At sea it’s just them and their ship against the elements, life and death a matter of seeing the storm coming and having the guts to spit in its face.

Alone on that roof, Killer grins around the straw. That’s the shit worth living for, day after day after day.

Down there is Kidd, the red flash of his hair one Killer seeks out by sheer habit; his silhouette against the dying bonfire is imposing, that ridiculous coat hanging big and imperial off his shoulders. If he focuses, Killer could probably make out what he’s yelling about with… Strawhat’s navigator? Killer squints, infusing his sight with Haki where the dark and the holes in his mask fail him.

Yeah, that’s Nami. She says something, hands on expensive fur. She’s grinning, innocent and cunning all at once and that’s why they call her a cat, huh?

Killer considers cranking up the audio sensitivity on his helmet. Considers it, and tosses the thought right out the metaphorical window. Kidd’s a big boy, he can defend his precious coat from a thief. Nami, presumably, also knows what she’s getting into, poking the bear like that.

A long sip of sake later and Killer nods to himself. A good, rational choice.

His bottle is decidedly past half-empty when Roronoa Zoro finds him. Killer is not surprised, has felt him wandering around for a while now – there are two bottles of sake in his hands, his gait utterly steady despite the rosy tinge to his cheeks.

A heavy drinker, Killer’s heard that. He polishes off his drink to gesture to one of Zoro’s.

“You’ve got good timing, Pirate Hunter.”

“Who says it’s for you?”, Zoro asks with a snort, and gives him the second bottle anyways. When he sits, he does so with the kind of controlled grace many of Wano’s people wield, that flawless rigidity speaking of a life of discipline.

The way he drinks is the exact opposite of that. Interesting.

Killer concentrates on getting the straw through the narrow neck of the pitcher for a moment. The first sip proves it’s decent stuff; Killer’s mouth shapes itself around a pleased hum.

“You ever think about why the Marines call us what they do?”

It certainly makes Killer pause. Zoro doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to dabble in meaningless small talk – then again, what does Killer know? He turns his head to be able to see the look on Zoro’s face, watches the man nurse his sake with a pensive expression.

“‘Pirate Hunter’… Been a pirate longer than I was hunting ‘em. They could get the hint, y’know.”

They’re doing this, then. Pretending they weren’t at each other’s throats a mere week or two ago, like Zoro didn’t witness the side of Killer he loathes enough to hide it, always.

Fine. Killer can roll with that. “Which would you prefer? ‘Demon of the East Blue’?”

Zoro laughs and it’s so easy for him. “Now that’s one I haven’t heard in a while. You’ve been snooping, huh?”

“Sure as fuck not going into an alliance blind”, says Killer and it’s a bit pointed, a bit of a warning. They came back from war mere days ago but there’s room for blood when it comes to protecting their own.

“Mh. Wonder what that’s like.”

… Right. The guy’s the right hand of Strawhat Luffy, after all.

They drink, and Killer watches his captain. “The Marines don’t know shit, anyways.” A low hum to his side, prompting. Agreeing, perhaps. “Incompetent bastards thought I was the one to look out for when we made ourselves known, back in South Blue.”

“So ‘Massacre Soldier’ was, what, a misunderstanding?”

That makes Killer chuckle, a low ff ff ff sound. “Nah. Just that Kidd’s worse.”

“Ah.”

And it seems whatever else Zoro wants to add to that will have to wait. Even from afar Killer can feel it when Kidd’s eyes land on him and he sighs. “Speak of the devil. You might wanna get out of here.”

The sake stops on its way to Zoro’s mouth. “Huh?”

“Just giving you a fair warning, ’s all. Kidd kinda hates your guts over the whole”, a vague gesture to his own chest, “thing. He likes to keep grudges.”

“… Huh?”

Killer shrugs. It’s too late anyways. “Here he comes.”

“Hey! You!”

It doesn’t matter if he’s tipsy or drunk or whatever: Wrangling Kidd is something Killer grew up doing, and he stares him down now as Kidd pulls himself towards them by the metal in Killer’s mask. Hands up, no hesitation – Killer catches Kidd by the scruff of his coat, an arm winding around Kidd’s waist with enough strength to crush a smaller man and barely enough to drag this particular fool away.

To his credit, Zoro stays exactly where he is, his face blooming into something strangely close to delight. “Hah! You weren’t kidding.”

“Never am”, Killer tells him. He’s wheezing a little with how hard Kidd is struggling against his grip. “Captain! Fucking hell, you promised.”

“Didn’t promise shit”, Kidd hisses, a distinct slur to his words that Killer recognizes without trouble. Wasted indeed. “Roronoa! Hands off my partner!”

Zoro laughs – not the best of moves, Killer thinks with a wince – until his swords start vibrating. The smile drops real fast, then, becoming more of a tense smirk as he grabs on to that white katana of his.

“Oi, Spikey. Play nice now.”

All Kidd does is redouble his efforts, a whirlwind of bulging muscle in Killer’s arms and oh, Killer has had it. He presses his face against Kidd’s neck, his mouth only an inch or two away from his ear where they’re separated by Killer’s mask.

“Eustass fucking Kidd”, he growls. “Stop it or I will end you.”

Wasted or not, a shudder goes through his partner at that. It always does when Killer says his name like that. Killer knows, whatever happens now:

They both have a long night ahead of them.

Frantic hands, gasps of breath, lipstick smeared beyond hope between one kiss and the next. A moan, quiet against the sounds of belts being undone.

Killer pushes Kidd, gaze on him and only him as he bounces a little on the bed – their bed – and stares up at Killer. Eyes red as dusk, shining with the feral grin on his lips.

Killer gets on his knees for Kidd, always for him, and even if his blood wasn’t a-buzz with residue anger and alcohol, the way Kidd says “Fuck, Killer, yes” would get him there for sure. Trembling with it, Killer’s fingers hook into the waistband of Kidd’s pants to pull him closer, just where he wants him.

Kidd’s boots land on solid ground with a wooden thud. Legs splayed and Killer in the middle.

“You always have to make a mess”, Killer tells him, holds him down with one hand and the other working on his fly, “always so reckless”, and fuck, Kidd’s hard already. Hot and velvet-smooth in Killer’s palm and Killer forgets about chewing him out, for a moment.

It’s been weeks. Weeks since they’ve had time for this, hell, since Killer could even think about needing Kidd beyond the comfort his mere presence brings. With that infernal smile on his lips and his lungs clenching around the need to laugh, nothing would’ve come of it anyways.

Killer leans over and breathes Kidd in, gives him a gentle kiss, over the delicate vein that throbs under his lips. “We’re not done”, he lets him know, voice having lost most of its edge; Kidd laughs, runs a hand through the messy bangs falling into Killer’s eyes.

“I sure hope not. C’mon, don’t–”

Whatever Killer isn’t supposed to do gets lost in a moan. Kidd is big in Killer’s mouth, big and so familiar and Killer feels Kidd’s fingers tighten where they make a desperate grab for his hair. It makes him groan around the cock sliding over his tongue, again as he swallows around him and Kidd’s thighs jolt under the weight pinning them down.

Kidd is loud, it’s who he is, but there’s something about the cut-off calls of Killer’s name that gets to him. That makes him throw any sense of taking things slow to the wind and suck cock like he means it, lids fluttering shut and painted lips wide as he takes his captain as far down as he can get him without choking.

It’s been a while and it feels so good.

“Just like that, K. Keep goin’ just like that, don’t stop, fuck–”

And Killer feels his muscles shift under his hand, fingers splayed across Kidd’s abs straining with the need to move. Later, he might let him – can feel his own cock ache in too-tight jeans with the thought of Kidd holding him down and using him until he’s sated.

For now, he wants to get Kidd off, to hear his voice crack as it only does when he’s trembling on that edge.

It doesn’t take long at all, Killer’s lips and tongue and mouth dragging him there with no mercy for how breathless Kidd gets. “Kil”, Kidd gasps a warning; Killer hums, pulls off to catch the tip between his lips and jack him off the rest of the way, his hand easily gliding over spit-slick skin–

Kidd comes just like that, spilling into Killer’s mouth in twitching spurts. Given the garbage Kidd calls a diet he doesn’t taste the best but it’s Kidd, it’s the man Killer has hardwired his brain to adore no matter what. Killer moans softly, reaches down to rub himself as Kidd’s fingers release their death grip and sort of… pet him instead.

“Fuck me, darling, next time I’m horny I’ll just piss you off on purpose.”

Wiping his mouth, Killer huffs, “You already do that”, follows the trail of red leading up to Kidd’s navel with his lips. “You’re insufferable.” Licks along the valleys of his ripped stomach to kiss away the sweat gathering in the scar bisecting his pecs. “And we’re not done.”

Kidd rumbles a groan, pulls Killer into an open-mouthed kiss. The cold touch of metal worms its way under Killer’s shirt, in stark contrast to the need in Killer’s veins. It makes him shiver. “Kidd”, whispers Killer into that filthy kiss and it sounds like please, like more.

“Mh, I got you. Take this off, baby, let me see you.”

A demanding tug to Killer’s jeans. Killer doesn’t think twice about it: It’s a relief to get rid of them, the fabric starting to cling to his legs with how hot he’s running, and Killer throws off his boots and shirt to places unknown while he’s at it. Rolls his shoulders where they’re still a bit stiff from carrying his scythes all day.

Kidd is watching him, a hand on his own cock even if it won’t get hard quite yet. Leaning back in a sea of fur with the effortless grace of a king and the look of arrogant expectation to match. Killer meets it as he ties his hair into a loose knot to get it somewhat out of the way, nodding at him.

“You too. Or do you want me to tear ‘em off of you?”

How dark Kidd’s eyes can get. Those are his favorite pants though – Killer decides to be nice about it, unties Kidd’s boots enough for him to kick them off and save the rest of his clothes from an untimely demise.

Well, most of them. When Kidd makes to shrug off the coat Killer stops him. “Keep it.” His hands are on those suede-clad shoulders he’s been salivating over for hours now. “Keep the fur, Kidd”, an order he has no right to give, fingers clawed as they burrow between that softness and a heat that’s all Kidd.

It gets a look of genuine surprise out of Kidd. That, along with a pleased smile, closed-lipped. “Like it that much, do ya?”

Killer hums, “It’s soft”, kisses him, hides his own smile against demanding lips and the warning bite of teeth. “Makes me want to fuck you on it. Got a problem with that?”

“Shit, you kidding? Let’s ruin it.”

As much as he’s an impudent little shit anywhere else, here, coming alive under Killer, Kidd is all eager compliance and greedy hands across Killer’s back; it shouldn’t be as addicting as it is, the notion that this – the needy panting in his ear, the flush high in Kidd’s cheeks and spilling down to his chest – is all Killer’s. Only his, nobody else’s.

Killer slows down, then. Once Kidd has scrambled for the slick they keep around and Killer’s got his hands warmed up, he takes his time. Pushes one of Kidd’s legs to the side, keeps him there while he stretches Kidd finger by finger and fuck, he’s tight, clenching impatiently where Killer pushes in knuckle-deep.

“You’re killing me”, Kidd says, whines really, easily worked up by the twist of Killer’s fingers in him. Kidd’s prosthetic clings to Killer’s shoulder, his other hand in his own hair and tugging. “I’m ready, just – get in there!”

Killer is willing to rush a lot. Not this, though, never this.

“Shut up and relax”, he grumbles but he kisses Kidd, too, along the jagged edges of the scar down his face and his neck to suck on his clavicle. Kidd moans shamelessly, hips bucking into Killer’s curling fingers as he adds another.

Seeking that burning stretch before Killer can stop him. Killer curses, pulls out.

“Don’t complain later. You wanted this.”

Kidd tosses his head back into the covers and laughs. “Yesss. Fuck me, c’mon.”

Smug asshole. More slick, dripping from Killer’s cock to the fur below. The glide of his hand as he spreads it is already a lot, the sight of Kidd’s muscular neck bared and vulnerable hitting Killer somewhere instinctive, primal.

Deep down, Killer doesn’t want to wait either. He props himself up on one elbow, a mere inch or two separating their faces – and he stares at Kidd when he guides himself inside. At the way his mouth goes a little slack with it, the flare of his nose at the threadbare breath that follows.

“Good”, Killer tells him, catches Kidd’s gaze that’s barely past half-lidded. Licks over his bottom lip and kisses him, chaste as to not distract him from that first, long thrust.

“Doing so well, Kidd, almost there.”

Kidd feels sinful around him, warm and fluttering with tension that melts under the gentle thrusts Killer opens him up with. Leaning up to nip at Killer’s beard, his chin, and Killer indulges him, pushes his tongue into his mouth, slowly, languidly. Swallowing the soft noises Kidd makes as Killer hoists him up higher in his lap, Killer’s knees sliding apart in sleek fur.

He fucks him just like that, arms steady around Kidd and locking him in place when Killer finds a pace he can keep up for a while. Kidd fights it at first, he always does, not the kind of man to lie there and take it – Killer nuzzles his jaw, “It’s okay, let go, let go”, words that he knows Kidd needs to hear, cocky as he may act. Kidd’s breath shudders out of him and he does, finally relenting against the angle that makes him come undone each and every time.

Letting Killer sink in to the hilt and he groans, bites at Kidd’s throat and the pulse thundering there. “Good, so good for me.”

He rocks them both, hard enough to make Kidd shift against the fur. Kidd’s legs tighten where they’re tangled with Killer’s and he whimpers, far enough out of his head not to care what he sounds like anymore. A sound that burns in Killer’s gut, his chest, mouth open and panting over Kidd’s skin as he does it again and again and again.

It’s Kidd’s fingers going for the bundle of Killer’s hair and holding on; the feeling of Kidd’s prosthetic drawing red, stinging lines down the length of Killer’s back. “Kidd”, Killer mutters, demands, “Kidd–”

Kidd pulls at blonde strands coming loose, hard. “Whatever you want, K. Whatever you want, please–”

Voice gone, hoarse with the things Killer is doing to him.

Something in Killer snaps. The coat is torn open: Killer hears some of the seams pop in some places and he doesn’t care, mind and soul focused on turning Kidd around and getting him on his hands and knees.

“Fuck”, Kidd half-gasps, half-moans, “fuck–”

Then Killer is inside him again, sweating skin slapping against sweating skin, and his lips trace the shivers racing up Kidd’s spine, the faint freckles dotting Kidd’s shoulders. Kidd, Kidd, Kidd, his senses sharp as knives and hands roaming over what’s his, all his.

Whatever sounds Kidd is making, they are beyond words as he drops to his elbows and bends his back, pushing back into every hard shove of Killer’s hips. Killer moans, loud and breathless – feels Kidd clench around him and he gets a hand on Kidd’s cock, hard and leaking all over the coat, that fucking coat.

For the second time Kidd’s voice trembles, breaks apart on a high ah! as Killer squeezes him tight, so tight. Kidd comes around a choked noise and Killer keeps fucking him, his own peak tantalizingly in reach, not quite–

Kidd goes utterly boneless but there’s determination in the sliver of his eyes, the rasp of “keep goin’, want to feel ya”, and Killer grabs onto his hair just to tilt his head to the side and kiss him.

Over and over Killer takes him, covering Kidd with his bulk and it melts his brain, how Kidd just lets him. How Killer doesn’t have to hold back with him, going as deep as he possibly can and barely coming up for air until he loses himself in it, in Kidd.

Shaking apart above him, head bowed against the nape of Kidd’s neck. Killer rolls the last few thrusts just to feel how slick Kidd is, how well he takes him like this.

After that: A head full of static, numb limbs, cooling sweat.

“Hey, Kil.”

It’s Kidd’s voice that guides him back, “You there?”, the gentle motions of Kidd’s hand brushing the tie out of Killer’s hair and letting it fall around them. Killer pushes into that touch, humming. So comfortable.

“Babe, I kinda need to breathe here.”

Killer laughs and it’s fine like that, low and muffled against Kidd’s neck. “That so?”, he mumbles but he gets the hint, pushing himself to the side with a tired groan.

“Mmh. My head’s all fuzzy.”

“Yeah?” A hand slaps down on Killer’s chest, rough knuckles rubbing over the half-healed wound there. “From drinking or from fucking me to oblivion?”

Ff ff ff, Killer makes. He feels so light.

“Both, probably.”

Yeah, Killer is allowed a little smugness, too: Kidd’s hair is all mussed, lips red from kissing, neck covered in fresh, rose-colored bruises. Well used and looking like he doesn’t plan on moving even if the Punk’s cannons started firing around them.

Definitely worth slaying the coat over, Killer decides.

Still, when Killer takes Kidd’s hand in his, it’s all tenderness. Killer’s thumb brushes over Kidd’s knuckles, the same spot he presses a soft kiss to. Kidd lets him, squeezing back.

Their fingers entangle without really having to think about it, years of partnership in a single touch; and with the Punk's gentle sway all around them, they allow themselves to drift.

#one piece #eustass kid #killer one piece #kidkiller #one piece fanfiction #fanfiction #this is ns//fw (i just can't tag it properly 'cause tumblr)#this fic is also on AO3!!#my stuff #one piece spoilers

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youarewarmth · 4 years

Text

Trying to mend my broken heart

(a very long post that started off as a letter to myself and others; I wasn’t going to post it, but my therapist said I should try, because it might encourage people to do the same if they’re struggling, so here it is)

So... I’ve been thinking if I should it. Do I have a right? I knew nothing of them – of him – until weeks ago. Can I even speak up? I have to let it out. Will I be scrutinized or listened and understood? I hope it’s the latter.

I knew SHINee was a thing, a band. A Korean band. I think my little sister was into them for a brief moment. I saw the band’s name mentioned on Twitter every now and then, but I never really cared. Just another K-Pop product, as they all are.

I fell into YouTube’s rabbit hole, as we all do sometimes, after I suddenly felt like listening to one of the songs I used to like. “Up next: SHINee – Forever or Never”. I thought “hm, what a coincidence!” and hit “play”.

“Wait… How is this the same song… but better?” I was so confused, but also thrilled. I don’t really like music that much. I have a hard time finding stuff that I really like and once I do, I stick to it until I memorize every note. I liked the version of the song. I really, really did, but I wish I never looked at the comments. That’s where it all started. The spiraling.

“R.I.P Kim Jonghyun you'll be forever in our hearts”

“Rest in Peace, my angel, you did well”

No.

My heart dropped. I looked up one phrase after another. I looked up SHINee, I looked up Jonghyun. Countless videos on YouTube. Of their first performances, of them having fun on stage, music videos, talk shows. Videos of Jonghyun breaking down in tears on stage. Videos of Jonghyung talking about the scrutiny, judgement and – again – breaking down in tears, wanting to be understood and accepted. Of his last show and the pain and emptiness in his eyes. Of how he died. Of his letter. Of them performing without him for the first time. Of “From Now On”. Of “Our Page”.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I’ve been sleep deprived ever since, because my thoughts keep racing and bring tears that I can’t contain. And with tears, immense grief. That’s all I can feel right now.

Why did it hit me so hard? Why him, why now? Maybe because we’re same age and I understand the struggles of getting older in the world where only the youngest can achieve something, though it was much worse for him. Maybe because I know what it feels like to lose a friend so suddenly. Maybe because I know exactly how he felt, even though we had completely different life experience. Or maybe we’re just kindred spirits that experience emotions a little bit too intensely.

You see, I’ve been dealing with depression ever since I was seventeen. That’s when my heart stopped. It was still beating, still keeping me alive, but I felt nothing. Nothingness slowly turned into pain. And hatred. I’ve achieved nothing. I’ve done nothing in my life. I’m a waste of time, waste of space. I was crying for help, but nobody ever listened. I would scream into my pillow every night until I fell asleep, I didn’t want to feel this pain. I wanted it to be gone. _I _wanted to be gone. I can’t count how many times I was minutes, seconds away from the irreversible. I didn’t do it and I felt like a coward. I was too weak to even do this much.

To this day I don’t know how I kept on living despite nobody giving a damn. I wanted to live, but I didn’t. And I think he felt the same. He desperately wanted to live. He was open about his condition, he reached out, looked for help. Except I got the help I needed. He, on the other hand, got scolded by his own “doctor”. He was told that it’s all because of his personality. What personality? A sensitive, compassionate angel? A loving friend? A gentle soul that wanted nothing, but to be an artist? Was it his fault that he was overworked, stressed, judged for every little thing he did? People didn’t really help either. They would ask “is crying the new way of promoting your music?” Or say that SHINee doesn’t need Jonghyun, that he’s the ugly duckling of the group, or that he doesn’t have to pretend to know how to sing. And I’m angry. I’m so angry, because how fucking dare you?

I can't get the images of his last performances out of my head. They override everything good and sweet about him, because good and sweet is not how he felt in his final days. He felt pain and sadness, he felt old and lacking, he felt like he was so much less than he was. And he was so precious, warm and soft. Just like the fluffy blankets he loved so much. Did he feel his Blingers' love when he looked at them this one last time? Was it any comfort to him that he WAS loved by so many, after all? Did he know how far that love goes?

In his last performances he looks like he accepted his fate. And he just looks empty. He knew. He must have known what was going to happen. He was taking everyone and everything in, he was saying his last goodbyes. And it undid me completely. When he was recording the Shinin' video, did he know? Did he already know and sang "always be with you" to us to let us know that he will always be here even when his body is not?

We lost this pure soul to a disease that could’ve been treated. It was preventable. He could’ve still been with us if he got the help he need. And it truly fucks me up, and I can’t hold back tears – yet again – because he wasn’t supposed to be gone. He was supposed to be here and enjoy his life. Hold hands with girls, kiss boys, date like crazy (for the love of god let your idols date!), marry or not, have kids or not. He was supposed to make all the choices we all take for granted. But depression is a bitch that sneaks up on you and eats you alive, eats you whole, until you’re a shell, an emotionless zombie, and the thought that he probably felt like that… My heart aches for him so much I want to tear it out. I want to go back in time and do SOMETHING. I want him to be happy, grow old and depart when the time comes and not a second sooner. Would he be happy in this time line? Could I pass the strength I've gained over the years to him, so he can power through this life like an absolute champion he was?

I was watching old videos of Jonghyun interacting with other band members and I noticed that he was always craving closeness and human touch. He’d always stroke someone’s back or neck, held hands with them, hug, lean on, pat. And they weren’t big gestures, it looks like he did it all without even thinking. He enjoyed these little gestures that spoke volumes. Or how in the Excuse Me Miss video, where he’s introducing all the SHINee members, almost hyping them up, and when he introduces himself it’s in a much calmer, quieter manner. Can’t put my finger on it, but my first thought was the obvious “he’s so humble”.

In this short time he had such a great impact on my life that I miss him immensely, even though I've never met him like you guys did. I feel guilty, because I feel like I have no right to miss him, and yet I do. And I'm so utterly sad that it's hard to get up in the morning and carry on with my day, that's why I'm writing this. Will it get the sadness out of my system? I don't think it will, but I hope my thoughts and feelings will be less chaotic now. That I will be able to accept the painful reality, stop daydreaming, thinking "what if" and blaming myself even more for something I couldn't possibly help.

The last thing I want to say is that – as crazy as it sounds – I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Jonghyun, that I couldn’t save you. Even though it was impossible, I’m sorry I didn’t do anything, that I wasn’t aware of your suffering, that I couldn’t be your shoulder to cry on when you needed one. I feel like it’s my fault, somehow, and that I should hop into the Future Gadget 204, 2nd Edition Ver. 2.31 right now and beg you to hold on. I wish I could. I wish it was possible. Because it does get better. It gets better. It gets better. It gets better. I don’t want any more people to feel like they’re lacking, like they aren’t enough, like they didn’t do well enough.

So, to whoever reads it and will possibly read this in the future, even if you stumble upon this “letter” a year from now, five hears, ten years; even if you’re not even born yet and it somehow survives, know that I’m here for you and I will always be here for you. If you’re looking for a sign not to do it today – let this be the sign. If you want me to remind you daily that you’re worth more than every star we’ve ever discovered – I’ll do it. I will be your friend, your shoulder to cry on, your safe haven and your protector.

And believe me, Shawols, when I say this - I wouldn't hesitate one bit if I could trade my life for his. This is the point where you go “damn, this woman crazy” and ridicule me to hell, but it won’t change the fact that if I were presented with the opportunity, I’d take it, because I have nothing to lose and there would be so much to gain. I know how many lives he affected and how many people are still hurting, and will be hurting until they meet him again. I don't believe in heaven or hell or afterlife, but thinking that he left this world in pain and there was nothing else waiting for him... I don't want it to be real. I wish he could make you all smile again. With his performances, with his IG Lives, with his wise words that touched so many, with his art, with his beautiful, gentle soul. And I'm selfish, because I want him back even though I know he didn't want to be around.

To you, my dear, dear, Jjong – you were loved. You were SO loved. You still are. You were a kind soul, a light of our eyes, that wasn’t meant for this cruel world. And your people are so proud of you. I truly hope there is life after life and that I will meet you there. And then I will give you the hug I couldn’t give when you were so alone. You will forever live in our hearts, some of which you touched even after your departure, and your legacy will never be forgotten.

I promise I will work hard. I promise to be more kind to people, but also to myself. I know you wouldn't want us to be hurting. You told us many times that we worked hard and we did well, even if they were the smallest things we managed to do at the time.

You were in my dreams the other night. You were sitting at a dining table in what had to be the strangest meet and greet ever and you signed a CD for me. For some reason it was a generic disc that was in one of those flimsy paper CD envelopes, because even in my dreams I have to totally embarrass myself. But you signed the envelope, smiled your beautiful smile and asked me if I'm well. I know it's all my brain's doing, because I've been thinking about you constantly lately, but I like to think that it's because you still very much care about your Blingers and want to check on them. Even on those that came long after you left. Hearing you now hurts, but I know that with time it will feel like warmest homecoming.

You worked hard, Jjong. Very hard. And you did well. And I thank you for that.

#tw: depression #tw: suicide #shinee jjong #jjong #jonghyun #shawol #shinee #kim jonghyun

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angelofrainfrogs · 6 years

Text

Heatstroke

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Pairing: None (Father-Son Relationship w/Dad Hank and Son Connor)

Description: Connor suffers a system malfunction while on a case and finds out that he's more similar to humans than he originally anticipated.

Rating: T

Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort

WARNING: UNSAFE TEMPERATURE INCREASE

BIOCOMPONENT INSTABILITY

INITIATE COOL-DOWN?

YES NO

Connor jerked his head to the right, selecting "NO" on the holographic display currently blocking his vision and kept running. He knew he should stop- the large red letters painting themselves directly in his eyesight made that extremely clear. However, he'd been trying to catch this perpetrator for two weeks straight and, now that she'd finally been found, Connor wasn't going to give up the chase that easily.

So what if it happened to be an unnaturally blistering 102 degrees outside? The android's advanced biocomponents should be able to handle the strain long enough for Connor to catch the criminal. He and Hank had worked too many long, tireless hours for Connor to fail now.

The warning began to flash again, repeatedly blocking the android's clear line of sight. His body did feel warm, extremely so, but he would soon find the nearest air-conditioned building and sit there for a few hours, and everything would be okay.

He just had to catch that criminal first.

The obnoxious alert is what Connor attributed to making him knock his foot on a loose brick and stumble. Connor reached towards the perpetrator running further away with every second, as if he could catch her from this distance, eyes locked onto her receding form as the telltale beeping sound of a FULL SYSTEM SHUTDOWN echoed through his head.

"Connor!"

Hank's scream was the last thing Connor heard before he hit the pavement with a sickening thud.

***

SYSTEM REBOOTING: STANDBY

Slowly, sounds began to fade back in. Save for the increased speed of basic life functions, which never truly stopped unless an android was broken, the hearing organs were always the first component to reactivate when an android awoke from a full system shutdown. Ambient sounds of a restaurant faded in: the clattering of plates, employees talking and barking orders, the noise of food sizzling on the stove. However, these sounds were uncomfortably muffled.

Through the fog in his brain, Connor wondered if he'd damaged his hearing organs in the fall. Carefully, allowing time to adjust to the dim lighting, he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. Beginning an internal scan to assure that all systems and biocomponents were functioning as they should, Connor turned his head to the right and found the reason the sounds were subdued: he was in a large storage pantry at the back of the restaurant, separated from the main kitchen by a closed, partially-insulated door.

Connor shut his eyes briefly, relieved that nothing appeared to be damaged. He had no time to locate a new compatible part; he needed to find that perpetrator and apprehend her before-

"Connor! Oh, thank fucking god!"

Hank's relieved tone prompted Connor to turn his head to the left, just in time to see the detective kneel down next to him and place a hand on his forehead.

"Hank, I'm sorry, I... I overheated," Connor explained, vaguely noting that the pressure on his forehead seemed calming, somehow, though he couldn't quite place why.

"Yeah, so the android-savvy guy on our team told me," Hank responded, the worry lines on his face deepening. "He said as long as I got you somewhere cool so your system could reboot, you'd be alright. This restaurant was the closest building with decent AC."

"Thank you, Hank." Connor offered the briefest of smiles. "You did the right thing; I'll be fine. My system scan is almost complete, and once I've assured that nothing is damaged I can go back out and-"

"Aw, Jesus, shut up," Hank snapped, lifting his hand away only to give Connor's forehead a light flick. "You're staying in here until it stops feelin' like the Sahara Desert outside."

"But-"

"Don't worry, we've got other people on the case; last I heard, they still had eyes on the perp. Just relax, Connor."

The android's lips pursed into a tight line, forehead creasing. He had failed yet another mission due to his inability to listen, this time to his own system regulators. He should have taken the time to cool down before rushing straight out into the heat; he should have known that there was no way he could make it out there more than ten minutes without a break, running at that speed. Androids could withstand a lot, but excessive heat or cold was still one of their weaknesses.

"...I'm sorry, Hank," Connor said, face still crinkled frustration.

"Stop fuckin' apologizing, kid, it's not your fault," Hank replied with the air of an exhausted parent.

"You should go help with the investigation; I'll be okay, really."

Hank let out a barking laugh. "Bullshit! You're gonna sneak out the back door the second I take my eyes off you." Connor's mouth twisted into a brief scowl, at which Hank rolled his eyes. "I'm staying right here until it's cool enough to get you back home."

"...Alright," Connor said after a brief pause. Hank was an extremely stubborn person, especially when it came to others' safety, and Connor didn't have the strength to pick a fight with him in his current state. With a grunt of oncoming age, Hank shifted off his knees into an actual sitting position, back against the wall near Connor's head and legs stretched out in front of him. The pair lapsed into silence for a few minutes, both mulling over their own thoughts.

"...You scared the hell outta me, you know," Hank eventually said, in a rare, quiet tone. Connor tilted his head back, essentially having to look at Hank upside-down because of the angle in which he laid. The detective was staring hard at the ground, refusing to meet Connor's eyes. "Just seeing you go down like that... I didn't know what the fuck was wrong with you."

"It was a system overload," Connor answered simply, "-caused by excessive heat." At that moment, a small ding in his right ear announced that his full-system scan was complete. The blue holographic display flashed in front of his eyes, causing him to smile. "There are no anomalies detected in any of my systems or biocomponents."

"Thank fucking god." Hank sounded relieved. "You hit that sidewalk pretty damn hard."

Connor slowly sat up, allowing his body to fully readjust to the reboot, and then maneuvered himself so that he leaned against the wall next to Hank. The detective glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, his expression difficult to read.

"Your heartbeat is slightly elevated," Connor said, cocking his head. "You still seem distressed, even though I've assured you that I'm fine; what's wrong?"

"I just told you, idiot." Hank gave Connor a light shove. Whether this was meant to be a gesture of camaraderie or annoyance was unclear. "It was really... disconcerting to see you just fucking drop like that. You're always so poised and proper..."

"Even if something did happen to me, I'll come back, remember?" Connor's mouth briefly flipped into a tight-lipped smile that he hoped was at least mildly reassuring. "I don't want to shut down, but if I do, my memory will be uploaded and CyberLife will send another Connor to take my place, just as before."

A grimace of unfiltered terror clouded Hank's face. Then, suddenly, he grabbed Connor by the front of his shirt and gave the android a light shake, speaking through clenched teeth. "Do not fucking think like that anymore, you hear me?!"

"Hank, what-?"

"Do you hear me, Connor?!"

The android nodded, LED flashing red, a tingling at the base of his neck signaling an unfamiliar emotion: fear. It wasn't a fear of Hank himself, for Connor knew that the detective would never truly harm him. It was fear of what could possibly be going on in Hank's mind to make him react this way. Connor understood that Hank had an issue with him "dying," even though it only occurred one time during their first few days together, when a deviant had gotten too stressed and put a bullet through Connor's forehead before shooting himself. However, Connor had been extremely careful to keep from losing his life during the rest of their investigation, mainly for Hank's sake.

Still, the true reality was that Connor's body could easily be replaced. He was a machine, after all, and part of his ability as a prototype was the capacity to upload his memory into a new version of himself to be deployed when the previous body failed.

“…You haven’t had any contact with CyberLife in a while, have you?” Hank said eventually, gently releasing Connor’s shirt. The android shook his head.

“No.” Connor blinked a few times, his LED settling to yellow. “Well, I’ve spoken to a CyberLife representative once during the early relocation efforts, but that was only to put the company in direct contact with Markus. I haven’t been in communication with them myself since the day androids gained freedom, when…”

Connor trailed off, locking gazes with Hank for a brief moment, who nodded in understanding. The android had confided in his friend about what happened that night on the platform when a remnant of his old programming nearly gained control of his system, and Hank had agreed to keep an eye out for “anomalies” ever since. Thankfully, up to that point nothing had been amiss; it seemed as though Connor’s deviancy had completely severed his connection with whoever or whatever was behind the detrimental Amanda program.

Hank heaved a sigh, pulling his legs towards his chest and resting his arms atop his knees.

“I went to CyberLife a few weeks after you started living with me,” he admitted. “I’d never had an android, especially one as… unique as you, so I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything special you’d need to function. You didn’t come with the usual package of essentials when I took you in, y'know. When I told the guy I had an RK800 model, he gave me this funny look and said that…”

Hank trailed off, exhaustedly massaging the bridge of his nose before continuing. “He told me that on that night in November, about the time Markus was making his speech, all the RK800 models they had in storage just… deactivated.” Connor’s eyes widened, but he made no move to stop Hank’s recounting of events. “There were only nine of them, the guy said, and they were in standby mode just in case… you know. But they all suddenly stopped working at the same time and no one’s been able to activate them since.”

Connor remained silent for a long time, processing what Hank said. That would explain why he was no longer able to feel a connection with CyberLife. His virtual link had been through the next version of himself, and if that android was gone then there was nothing to keep him connected with whatever electronic storage bank kept his memory alive.

That dark tingle appeared at the base of Connor’s neck again as he understood the full ramification of Hank’s words.

“If I shut down now… there’s nowhere to upload my memory to,” the android said slowly, staring hard at the ground.

“Yeah,” Hank agreed with a grunt, trying to remain as emotionless as possible, though he was doing a bad job of it based on his increasing stress level. “So stop with that ‘I’ll always come back’ shit, okay? You’ve gotta take care of yourself from now on and not be so fucking reckless.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Connor questioned with a frown, mimicking Hank’s sitting position with arms resting atop his knees.

“You seemed… calmer, recently.” Hank made a vague hand gesture, as if searching for the words. “More… settled; I dunno. Less hell-bent on ‘accomplishing the mission’ while ignoring everything else.” The detective let out a snort, his mouth momentarily breaking into a half-smirk. “I didn’t expect you to take off like a fucking rocket and go after that perp earlier.”

“I thought I could catch her…” Connor sounded apologetic; he felt guilty about making Hank worry. He was also still mad at himself for yet again refusing to listen to what his own systems were telling him. Now, he could no longer afford to be so careless.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t, and it wasn’t worth the risk.” Hank reached over to give Connor a hard pat on the shoulder. “Just keep that in mind next time you decide to run off like a fucking idiot in hundred-degree weather.”

Connor nodded, still staring at the ground. It was a weird sensation to suddenly find out that he was no longer “immortal,” in the sense that if he died now, he was gone for good. Though this obviously wasn’t a good thing, in a way, it made him feel more… human.

“Hey,” Hank spoke up, placing his hand on Connor’s forearm. This time he left it there, gripping the android with tight sincerity. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I found out. I… I dunno why I didn’t. Guess I was scared of how you’d react- like you might have an existential crisis or something.”

Connor gave a tired sort of smile. “I don’t think I’ve been a deviant long enough for that sort of thought process.” He rested his hand over Hank’s and reciprocated the pressure. “But thank you. I understand that you were trying to protect me.”

“I guess.” With a roll of his eyes, Hank took his arm back. “Don’t start gettin' sappy; you know I hate that shit. You’re so fucking blunt.”

“Because you are so in denial about your emotions,” Connor responded without missing a beat, cracking a smile. “I’m trying to help you become a better person by allowing you the opportunity to understand your own feelings.”

“Fuck off, Connor, you just realized what ‘emotions’ were seven months ago!”

“Seven months and nine days, to be exact.”

“Whatever.”

Connor let out a small chuckle, and Hank did the same, catching the android’s eyes for a brief second before turning away and shaking his head. After a moment, Hank reached over and coarsely ruffled Connor’s hair, causing the android to blink rapidly in surprise. He’d never received that gesture of affection before.

“I’m gonna go check the temperature outside,” Hank announced, pushing himself off the ground. Connor followed suit, standing up as well, but Hank held up a hand signaling for him to stop. “Nuh-uh- you’re staying right here.”

“But Hank, I can detect the temperature within half a second at an accuracy of-”

Hank shoved his open palm closer into Connor’s face, effectively cutting him off.

“Stay.”

Connor knew he didn’t have to listen. Hank was not his owner, and there was no reason for Connor to obey any commands the detective gave. However, as Hank walked through the back door, pausing before he opened it to make sure that he wasn’t being followed by a curious android, Connor felt no need to go against him.

It wasn’t really an order, anyway; it was more of a request intended to keep Connor safe, the sort of thing a parent would tell a child so they wouldn’t get hurt. Hank thought he knew the best course of action to keep Connor from harm, so he acted based on that personal judgment.

And Connor was finally starting to believe that Hank might, sometimes, be right.

This Oneshot is part of a series that takes place during the Post-Pacifist Ending of Detroit: Become Human.

Read Reunited.

Read Family.

Read Health.

Read Heatstroke. (You are here.)

Read Fear.

Read Nightmare.

Read Forgiveness.

Read MEMORY_CORRUPTED [Part 1/4].

Read MEMORY_RESET [Part 2/4].

Read MEMORY_RECONSTRUCTING [Part 3/4].

#detroit become human #detroit: become human #dbh #connor #rk800 #hank anderson #found family #oneshot #heatstroke #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #phantomhivemast3r #midna3452 #hurt/comfort

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the-bounce-back · 6 years

Text

“NEW MOMENT, NEW ME” - WHY WAITING FOR A NEW YEAR TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE IS A SCAM

Let me guess - you’re one of those “New Year, New Me!” merchants. Right?

As much as I hate to admit it, it takes one to know one. I’ll gladly “New-Year-New-Me” everyone’s ears off, in an overly cheery, Caucasian American teenage girl romcom voice. I’ll say it partially to annoy whoever is in my company at the time, but also secretly because I really want to believe that a year fading into another year adds more significance to our lives than just another birthday.

Just like everyone else, I make a huge list of resolutions of things I’m not happy with and want to improve upon in the coming year...and when I fail, I just postpone them to the next year.

Losing weight. Going to the gym more. Managing money better. Doing the splits (sigh). Being happier. Hell, even starting this blog has been a resolution for the past couple years (and here I am. We move.)

I’ve gone on like this for so long that it’s second nature now. But this year, I know for a fact it will be different for me - and hopefully you can take some ideas from this, too!

I’ll start off by saying that the end of 2017 and a vast majority of 2018 was the worst time in my entire life. My mental health was absolutely horrendous. I could barely get through the day without either crying, drinking, overthinking or overeating (or all four) and at some times I genuinely didn’t think I’d even make it to 2019. And to be honest, it’s not surprising - I was stuck in a city I only tolerated because my ex had to move there before things ended between us, surrounded by people that knew him and places that reminded me of him, and every day I was waking up to go to a job that I despised and didn’t challenge me. Who wouldn’t be miserable?!

It had been a particularly bad day when I finally snapped and told myself I couldn’t go on like this. I’d had enough of feeling stuck, depressed, worthless and completely stagnant in all aspects of my life. Looking back on it today, I still can’t even fathom how I put up with feeling that way for so long. However, I do have a few theories that were very hard to admit to myself, and that might be hard for you to accept about your own situations, too.

The first one is:

I put up with it because although I was feeling like sh*t, I was comfortable and wasn’t ready to give that up before.

Whew. Such violence. But probably true.

I could go on and on about my own situation, but to make it easier to follow I’ll apply this theory to a popular New Years resolution - losing weight/working out more.

When you’re overweight, you know in the back of your mind that you’re not healthy. You can see all the little signs - your clothes are getting tight, you’re out of breath from walking, you might have physical pains. But you’re alive, breathing and functioning - and this fact alone is enough to make you feel like skipping a workout or cheating on a meal won’t be the end of the world. But it all adds up - and one day, you find it hard to get out of bed and collapse.

All because you didn’t push yourself out of your comfort zone and to the gym. How tragic.

I avoided having to change earlier because the effort to change seemed harder than the situation I was in.

More tea to burn my tongue on, yikes. Also most likely true.

Continuing with the losing weight simile - when you’re out of shape, you might have some minor problems. Nothing too serious, but big enough for you to notice them and understand that something needs to be done. However, when cardio day approaches you’re suddenly a body positivity activist and want to embrace your body as it is.

Of course, there is nothing wrong with this if you’re truly happy with your body - in which case, congratulations. However, we both know you’re just saying this to avoid working out - because why have losing weight as a resolution if you’re already happy? Liar.

I was waiting for a nEw StArT or magic sign that this was the time to make changes.

Ok, this is a straight up personal attack on myself now - but chances are that you, as a fellow chronic New Years Resolutioner, can also relate.

We wait for a new beginning - whether it be a new day, new week, new month or new year, because we feel like making changes would be wrong to just do within a passing moment. Is a diet even a diet if it doesn’t start on a Monday, or - even better - tomorrow? You can’t just start a diet halfway through a Wednesday? Right?!

Letting go of this notion is what helped me turn my life around - and probably even saved me.

The moment I decided that I’d had enough of just accepting my situation, accepted that it would take hard work and a lot of patience to make changes and started planning, I could physically feel the dark and heavy pressure lifting from my chest. That’s when I knew that I had made the right choice.

In the last few months of 2018, I accomplished the following:

I finally quit my job.

I secured my dream job in another city.

I finally made peace with my former relationship and was able to let go.

I finally made this blog where I can share my experiences and advice with others that might be going through similar things (without being anxious that no one would read it).

In other words, the decision to change in that moment really changed my life - and I didn’t even have to wait until the following Monday for it to take action. This is also why I’ll never allow myself to be in a situation where I’m not happy ever again - regardless of if it’s a job, a relationship...or the realisation that I’ve cheated on my diet for the 3rd day in a row.

The moment I feel the urge to change something, I will. What’s the point of postponing your happiness? We literally have everything to gain and nothing to lose by taking action immediately in the moment.

“New Moment, New me!”

Despite somehow sounding even more cheery-Caucasian-American-teenage-girl-romcom than the other saying, this will be my mantra from now on.

Until, of course, I can confidently scream “New Year, same me because I’m perfect!”, like my friend Vanessa.

An energy we should all strive towards, to be honest.

Here’s to hoping that we all find the strength to take charge of our lives, and to ward off the spirit of procrastination! Happy New Year!

Love,

Liv

#opinions #selfhelp #goals

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rauliskafan · 7 years

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A Hard Lesson in Incrimination: Chapter 5

Authors’ Note: The time has come for Rafael to tell some truths... much to Natalia’s great horror and fear. What will Liv have to say? And what might a visitor to the interrogation have to share??? Read on for more!!! @vintagemichelle91 and I hope that you enjoy!!!

All eyes trained on him once the words left his lips. Glancing up, Rafael bore witness to Fin’s shock coupled with Carisi’s. Rollins tried to speak several times; Dodds didn’t even suggest a single sound. Yet the glares that kept coming from the sergeant’s father, from Maggie, cut him to quick. Nothing matched Liv looking as if he was suddenly speaking in tongues.

Nothing but Natalia’s anguished expression and her eyes beginning to brim with tears.

“I think you and I need to talk this out… privately,” Liv said as she seemed to search his face for some type of explanation. Nodding and following her back towards the hot seat, he heard Natalia stifle a sob and looked over his shoulder, his eyes pleading with her to stay silent.

Which she did as Fin touched her arm, trying to keep her from losing what was left of her balance.

In the interrogation room, he found one of the hard metal chairs. How many times had he been here before? Asking the questions or listening to suspects deny to save their own skin? Now, something was different, something unsettling about the room that made him shudder. Was it ever this cold in this place?

“I can explain everything,” he began, halting when Liv pressed one palm to the air.

“Rafael, what the hell is going on?” she asked. “We met earlier today… and you said nothing?”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “But you have to understand, I needed to---”

“No, I don’t understand,” she fired back. “Was Mike there? At Eve’s?

He nodded; how could he argue the evidence?

“How long were you planning to sit on this?” she demanded.

“I’m telling you now,” he said. “Liv, please. Just listen. Let me tell you now.”

Tossing her hands towards the ceiling, she sat across from him, folded her arms over her chest…

…and she waited.

“The night that Eve died, I went to her apartment. To confront her about the allegations she made against me…” In his mind, with his words, he retraced his steps, told Liv that Eve became violent. He swore that he had left, had to admit that Dodds showed up but only because he was foolish enough, selfish enough to snag Ms. Selby’s address from the sergeant’s computer.

Rising, Liv paced the room. Her fingers grazed her silky brown hair. At least she appeared… was she making an effort to comprehend his confession?

“Rafael?”

Holding his breath, he stared hard into her eyes. “Liv, I did not kill Eve Selby.”

“And is that the whole story?” she asked.

“Yes.” He made no mention of Natalia. Not just yet. Maybe never?

“Rafael, I want to believe you. I mean I know you… but why didn’t you let me in on this?”

Seeing her hurt only added to his sorrow, but he recovered quickly enough to set some of the situation straight.

“Come on, Liv. You really wanted me to tie you up with this? Think of Noah.” Flipping the script, he felt his defense walls start to rise when she sat again and reached for his hand.

“I still would have helped you, Rafael… don’t you know that?” Liv’s voice cracked slightly, and he was taken aback, touched.

“I do,” he admitted. “Liv, I never went there to hurt her. And when Dodds…”

His mind felt dull, his words starting to trip him up. But if IAB already had him in their sights…

“He only did it to help me, Liv,” Rafael said. “He’s… we’re family.”

“I know,” Liv said, standing again. “I understand that. Look, Rafael, I can only imagine how stressed you must be. But think like a lawyer for a second. This looks bad. We’re talking Dodds’ entire career. We’re might be talking you’re…”

She failed to finish the thought and took a few steps back as Rafael fiddled with his wedding band, only stopping when he felt Liv’s eyes fixed on his fingers.

“Tell me something else,” she continued. “Since we’re telling truths... was Natalia there? You and Dodds sitting on one more secret?”

He was ready to offer an objection, to call her line of questioning out on the carpet. But was it the right move? What if the other shoe were to fall and crush Natalia because he kept his admission incomplete?

“Between us?” Rafael asked.

“I don’t know if I can promise that,” she sadly stated.

“Why not? You have my version of events. You have Dodds… there is no evidence connecting any of this to Natalia.”

“Really? What am I going to see if I look through her phone records?”

“Who’s to say I didn’t have her phone?” Rafael countered, his mind clearing as his argument gained strength. “Liv, please. You want to help me out? Leave that alone.”

Maybe he was playing on her concern; when it came to Natalia, he didn’t care, would call on any trick at his disposal to keep her safe. Sighing, Liv looked to ceiling.

“Fine. And I won’t… just go home, Rafael. Obviously, don’t think about leaving town.”

“I have no reason to run,” he said. Standing slowly, he pulled her into hug, breaking away to the feel of her hand patting his face.

“We can still figure this out,” she whispered. “First thing tomorrow, I’m going to---”

“Ah, Lieutenant! And… Barba? Convenient. I have questions for both of you.”

Entering the room, Cutter closed the door before they could speak. Rafael quickly glanced at Liv; somehow she managed to comfort him with one look.

“Questions?” Liv echoed. “What about?”

“About… it’s delicate.”

“Delicate? How so?” He could sense her trying to play a kind of dumb in the presence of the DA. Wondering what his next step should be in this delicate dance, Rafael returned to his chair and braced himself, the seconds feeling like hours until Cutter spoke up.

“You’ll see soon enough.” He gestured for Liv to sit and circled the table as he whipped his phone from his pocket.

“Or hear,” he continued. “I received an audio file this morning. Barba, this might sound familiar to you.”

And as he pushed play, the sound of Eve Selby’s voice filled the room, a ghost exiting her grave to wreak fresh havoc.

“Wasn’t long after that that you popped the question! So her master plan nets her you and a house full of crying baby brats. Poor tragic princess!”

“Enough!”

“I’ll say when it’s enough!”

He shuddered at the sound of shattering glass and looked to Liv once more…

“No, you won’t, Eve. No one talks about my wife that way. You want to try to take me down? Give it your best shot. But Natalia and the girls are off limits.”

For a second he was too stunned to move or speak. But as for Liv…

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

“Emailed. From Eve Selby’s computer.”

“From Eve… well not by me,” Rafael said, stating what he thought was the obvious. “Eve probably sent it.”

“Why?” Cutter challenged. “Trying to point a finger in case things got out of hand?”

“Trying to add to her case against me!” Rafael insisted. “Listen, I... I went to her place. She was alive when I left. Whoever came after me… after someone sent that… Christ, I’m being set up here.”

Liv voiced her agreement as Cutter scanned his phone and shook his head.

“And what would you do if a suspect tried to sell you a story like that?” Cutter asked.

“Think the million-dollar questions is what would you do,” Rafael said. “Do you honestly think that I’m capable of this?”

“No. You would just have a colleague who happens to be your brother-in-law cover your tracks,” Cutter said.

“That phone of yours set up to receive notifications from IAB?” Liv asked with a scoff.

“I need to be in the loop, Lieutenant” Cutter said. “And I have to think of the optics before the media gets a hold of this.”

“Meaning?” Rafael asked, his voice thick as Cutter’s face appeared to morph into a mask of sympathy. But still a façade. No true compassion in his stare.

“Meaning that, and believe me I take no pleasure in this... but I’ll have to ask the lieutenant here to take you into custody, Rafael.”

It was as if his heart stopped beating in his chest, the blood ceasing to flow through his veins. Biting down on his lip, hoping that Cutter couldn’t see his fury and his fear, Rafael heard Liv protest, ready to put up a fight for him.

No. Not another person who should suffer because of his bad call.

“Drop it, Liv,” he soothed. “It’s fine.”

“But, Rafael, I---”

“I did not do this,” he said, the words meant for Cutter more than anyone else in the room. “You want to make an example out of me? Try it and see where it gets you.”

“Rafael, do you really want to threaten me right now?” Cutter asked.

Fair point. As a little boy he was always running off at the mouth. Consequences came in the form of fists. At this point in time, a small part of him swore that purging the secrets would sweep away the shadows. But the room felt darker… colder still as Liv swallowed hard.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Lieutenant,” Cutter quietly prodded. “Or I can ask someone else if it’s too much for---”

“I’ve got it,” she said. “For the record, this is wrong.”

“Not your call, Benson.”

She trembled as she brought Rafael’s hands behind his back and let the metal cuffs loop around his wrists.

“Rafael Barba, you are under arrest for the… for the murder of Eve Selby. You have the right to remain---”

She stopped speaking, and Rafael’s soul plummeted as soon as Natalia burst through the door.

“Atticus, what’s happening?”

#raúl esparza #rafael barba #natalia barba #olivia benson #michael cutter #a hard lesson series #a hard lesson in incrimination #law & order: svu #svu fanfiction

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 7 years

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TF2 Headcanon Fic - “The Strength in Tears”

@camiluna27 & I started going down the pairing list, with Pauling/Zhanna(/Soldier) at the top for various reasons. So, have this. It’s 6:30am what is sleep?

-Title: The Strength in Tears-

There had always been animosity between them; rather one-sided, if truth be told, and for no reason either could properly name. Zhanna had simply... taken a dislike to Miss Pauling when she laid eyes on her; there was some strange thought in her mind, when she saw the smaller assassin that told her to be wary.

And yet, even though she accidentally killed the Pauling woman once, it had not been held against her. Zhanna had begun to like the woman's attitude of practicality, even if she had felt it rather shameless that Pauling would dare ogle soldier's honey-coated nudity during battle. Had said so, in fact.

It had been a surprise to have the little loud one, the Scout who followed Miss Pauling like pet bear, be the one to mention the truth to her. He had come, for no reason other than to offer her a bottle of water; maybe sent by another mercenary, perhaps of his own will, who could tell his motivations?

Still, the boy saw her gaze harden as Miss Pauling spoke with Soldier... and his own expression grew annoyed. Like he wished to say something unkind, but could not do so...

How interesting. Before, when offered sex, he could not be silent for more than a second... and yet now when he clearly held something bitter to say, the Scout was quiet. They simply stared at one another for a moment, before his hands unclenched; and he eventually sighed.

"Look, I dunno why ya hate Miss P, 'cause she's super sweet and awesome and all kinds'a badass... but she... well, let's say she wasn't staring at Soldier. And yeah, I heard all about that crap when we got back, in weirdly vivid detail so don't tell me I couldn't know 'cause I wasn't there the whole time."

She raises an eyebrow.

So he adds, "She uh... y'know, can never like someone like me... even if I had a heck of a crush on her. Still do, sorta. But ya should have seen her face when she saw, uh..." he makes a gesture encompassing all of Zhanna, and impressing the concept he'd seen her naked and honey-coated but wasn't willing to say so out-loud for some reason.

It was... a different perspective.

"She... was not looking at Soldier?" she questions, to clarify.

"Heh, not in this universe, I promise. So just... maybe ease up on her, or something? The Administrator's real fucking tough on her most of the time, she barely gets to sleep or eat and only gets one day off a year... I dunno how she hasn't dropped dead of stress..." he pauses, "Though we do have respawn, and she's probably hooked into it, so it doesn't matter if she does... the Admin doesn't like to waste good employees or whatever..."

This was definitely new information, Zhanna would have to consider this further. She puts a hand on his shoulder, the only one she still has, and miles. "You have my thanks, tiny loud one. May your efforts at gaining the attention of your teammate be successful."

She walks determinedly towards Soldier, leaving the runner spluttering denials behind her. Perhaps she was not the only one who had needed to hear the truth this day.

Indeed, the trials they had faced already seemed so paltry in comparison to what had occurred next. The loss of her hand, their deaths and the sudden return to life... none of it mattered. What the Administrator woman had unleashed on them all had been utterly... indescribable.

The only good point of the whole situation was Zhanna being able to see, for herself, the way Miss Pauling reacted when accosted by a beautiful woman. It was somehow humorous to note that a woman who could calmly lecture and degrade dying enemies... was unable to hide her shock and delight at encountering someone she was attracted to.

Zhanna had been briefly concerned the other was liable to pass out in shock, when the Engineer and Administrator entered their temporary shelter. The surprise of all the mercenaries, her dear Soldier included, was tangible; but Miss Pauling was clearly most affected.

She also seemed quite distressed by this turn of events; the reality of why had not become apparent to Zhanna until after all had come to its natural,m hardwon, conclusion. When all debts had been settled, their enemies lay lifeless around them... and the Administrator took her final breath in a life that had lasted far, far longer than any mortal's should.

It was then she knew, and understood why... the fear and loss etched into the young face of Miss Pauling upon first sighting the Administrator. Though Zhanna had not seen her before, it was understood she had been elderly, ancient, and her appearance suitably similar to match. This new, youthful, beautiful face... it was as much a warning as the pretty colourings of poisonous frogs or sea creatures.

It was then, that Zhanna understood her own self, more fully. That is to say, her heart ached oddly to see the tear-stained expression Miss Pauling wore on that day... the strong desire to comfort her surged through her veins.

Miss Pauling excused herself, leaving the solemn mercenaries to riefly glance after her, before returning to their odd little groupings. The Scout looked like he would go after her, but the masked father restrained such an action with a hand; shaking his head to advise the action would be unwelcome.

He did not chase after, at least; though he looked directly across the room to Zhanna. Their eyes met, and she felt him plead with her... because they both knew that Zhanna would be far more welcome than he, at such an emotionally delicate time. Though, in truth, Zhanna hesitated.

Emotions, comforting... these were things Misha did; even now 'Heavy' was checking with the other smaller men, ascertaining all was well. She had envied that, when they were younger; but also mocked him in the way siblings did, for being so sensitive about everyone's needs and thoughts.

The value of such a personality is lost on children, but everything to the more mature. Only now did Zhanna wish to be more like Misha in that area; though they were closely matched in all else, from strength and size to brutality and loyalty.

She glanced to Soldier, beside her. He was half-listening to Demo and Engineer speaking; but turned his head her way at her movement. Many would not credit her Jane as a smart man, for he yelled and showed such reckless enthusiasm about many things; but Zhanna knew different.

Soldier said many things, and some were odd but many tended to be meaningful. He simply communicated differently, as one would expect after the life he had led; she never tired of his stories, and always matched them with her own. Jane liked the one about her first bear hunt, at age five, the most; said it was 'adorable'.

He was clever, exciting and passionate in the bedroom, too; she had never regretted her choice. Sometimes she did wonder how things would have changed if the loud Scout had managed to keep quiet long enough... but, that was a problem for an alternate version of herself, in another universe.

The Zhanna in this one, here and now, tilted her head at Soldier; expressing to him, without words, her intentions. And he, in response, nodded curtly; with a pat on her arm to signify that he understood.

She flashed a brief smile, and turned away. Striding past the other gathered men and after Miss Pauling; whose trail was not the most difficult to follow, despite the many twisting corridors and staircases of this metallic base.

Eventually, they all converged on a cavernous room half-filled with consoles and monitors. all blinking various scenes in black-and-white, some reading 'Error' in stark lettering. None showed any signs of life, save one in the far right-hand corner, which recorded the room they were just in...

In the centre of the room stood a large black chair, with a large oak desk to the side by some filing cabinets. A small microphone sprung up from the wooden surface... Zhanna only noticed because a slender, pale arm half-clad in purple was beside it.

She moved forwards to find Miss Pauling curled into the large leather throne, half-slumped on the desk before it. Sobbing quietly, desolately; like the heart-broken... or the grief-stricken.

Zhanna felt her heart... ache? The pit of her stomach felt hollow, yet roiling; as if she wanted to fight whoever had caused this woman's pain, remove her anguish with her fists. It worked with most problems Zhanna and her family had faced. 'Many fists make short work of a foe' her mamushka always said with a smile.

She takes a step towards the other, and the sound of her footfall registers with Miss Pauling; the purple-clad woman jerks upright, sniffing and hastily scrubbing at the tears trailing furrows down her far-too-pale face.

"I'm-... I'm alright Scout, thanks for coming after me but I don't want to... talk..." she trails off, realising her quiet grieving had not been interrupted by the concerned runner, but rather... by an unexpected person altogether.

"I am not the loud little one, Pauling... but I share his concerns for you." Zhanna bridges the silence, moving closer. She crouches by the chair, placing them at eye-height, with what she hoped was a comforting smile...

"Wh-what are you...?" Miss Pauling questions, not having realised the animosity between them had cooled, been replaced with something far more positive.

Zhanna placed her hand on the other's arm, feeling pleased when the other didn't jerk away. "You have lost someone dear to you, and do not need to hide your tears. Even if I did not feel the way I do for you, I would still come..."

Miss Pauling didn't seem to know how to respond to that statement. She just stared, occasionally sniffling, clearly trying to regulate her breathing and stem the tears that she couldn't seem to stop.

Zhanna continued, trying her best to be soothing. "When someone you care for is gone, it hurts us inside where no one can see... if you do not let it out in the right way, you will stay hurt and I do not wish this for you Little Pauling. You do too much alone, and I want to... help you, listen to the things that make you cry..."

She's fumbling slightly, her words could be so eloquent in Russian, and yet in English they came out so bland. "I mean to say, that I have feelings for you... they make me want to tell you everything will be alright, and kill anyone who dares to infringe on that promise. Your smile... makes my heart glow, like when Soldier shouts sweet things at me, or when he uses his tongue to-..."

Miss Pauling cuts her off with a quick, "Thank you for y-your concerns Zhanna, but I'm f-f-fine..."

Zhanna laughs, not unkindly, but clearly in contest of the statement. "You are crying, alone and away from comfort. That is not fine by any standard, Miss Pauling... so I have come to you, to listen and take the pain from your heart. I am strong, I can help you carry this burden until this has passed, da?"

Miss Pauling looked exhausted, but oddly grateful if not a little bit confused. "You... you want to hear me cry over the Administrator's death? Wh-why? I mean, I kn-know she wasn't the nicest, especially not to m-me but she was all I knew f-for so long..." the purple-clad assassin stutters out, around wheezy sobs, looking all the more frustrated by this uncontrollable display of emotion.

"I was the assistant f-for so long... n-now what am I? And h-how pathetic is it that she's dead, b-but all I can th-think about is mys-self? And I can't st-stop crying, this is so stupid..." she slams her hands on the table, frustrated. "I'm so-... s-so stupid, I've killed and buried s-so many people... and yet, this one d-death has brought me to th-this?"

She laughed in such a hollow, self-deprecating way, that it almost physically pained Zhanna to hear it. She wanted to smack the sound right out of Miss Pauling's mouth, stamp it into the ground and carry the woman away from such incorrect ideologies. But still, she stayed firmly in her place; letting the other speak her mind for the moment. This was necessary, catharsis.

"The Administrator... was the closest thing I h-had to family... even if it got a little weird a-at the end because she used the aust-Australium to become... young and b-beautiful again..." Miss Pauling's fervour is starting to drain, and she's slumping back in the chair, leaning more weight onto the comforting grip of Zhanna's hand. "A-and now she's gone... and wh-what am I but some crying w-weakling? J-just sitting here s-sobbing like a child, in th-the only place that feels s-safe? F-familiar?"

Then Miss Pauling fell silent, with only the few strangled sobs she couldn't prevent from escaping, echoing in the room between them. After a moment, realising all had been said and done, that Miss Pauling's dark thoughts had finally been freed, Zhanna stood up.

She did not ask, but instead picked up the other; holding her carefully, in a grip both gentle and firm, but close. The other was either too stunned, or too worn out to protest; but Zhanna took it as a hopeful sign when the small, delicate death-dealing hands tentatively clutched onto the fabric of her top.

Like a... the Australian bear babies, yes? She could not think of the word just now...

It felt right, to have the smaller so close; where Zhanna knew she was safe, in her arms. With a slight hesitation, the Russian stroked Miss Pauling's dark hair; it was slightly tangled from their trials, but still soft enough.

"Hush now, little (Fioletovyy/Violet), things will be alright in the days to come... but you must let the hurt go, now, in whatever way works for you. Tears, words, sparring, anything that helps you move through them; to know pain, understand and move past it... that is true strength."

Zhanna gently places a kiss on the top of Miss Pauling's head. "You are not weak, little Pauling... you are very strong, always have been. But you have been brave for such a long time, it can be hard to realise it is okay to let someone else in, to let them carry burden with you until you feel better, da?"

Miss Pauling had looked up at her in surprise the minute the other woman's gentle kiss had registered. Eyes wide, a little shocked; and a faint flush on her face that was unlikely to be based in her grief over the loss of the Administrator and, to an extent, her identity.

"R-really?" she asked, then scrunched up her face, wrinkling her nose cutely, as if horrified to have asked something so childish. "I mean, Zhanna I-... I just feel so... I don't know... lost or empty or... like nothing is real?"

"Do you feel me holding you, little Fioletovyy? My arms are real, the warmth between us is real... and my concern that you have lost your smile, is real. The affection I feel, is real, even though I know it does not cancel out the loss you are experiencing..." Zhanna soothes, rubbing the other upon the back as the last of her stuttered sobs peter out.

Miss Pauling's expression is hard to describe; the trail of tears upon her face shimmered in the dim light, and yet, underneath that, something had changed. The grief was there... but something approaching a shy, tentative hope, a longing was beneath that, plain in her eyes.

"You... really mean that, don't you?" she sniffs, the beginnings of a smile gracing her wan features. "I thought you... d-didn't like me because you assumed I liked Soldier..."

"Indeed, I did not. But, I have been wrong before... I misunderstood, until someone pointed it out; though it pained them to do so." Zhanna admits. "No matter, the past is completed and we cannot return there... the here and now is most important. I am hopeful that both my present and future will have you in them, Miss Pauling... though I will understand if you feel otherwise about this as I have been curt."

"But... what about Soldier, aren't you t-two...?" queries Miss Pauling, expression closing off as reality begins to seep back in.

"Da, I love soldier and will not leave him... but it does not mean I cannot love you too, little Pauling. Jane does not mind, and will not ask anything of you..." Zhanna reassures, knowing Soldier well enough to promise this. "I have enough love for two people, and you are welcome to be part of such if you wish it... my actions in the past were due to confusion over my feelings, my... fear of losing Soldier to you. As you are pretty and merciless, which are traits he finds endearing... as do I."

She laughs, "I see now I have been foolish... but no matter. Let me be your strength for now, and you can make a decision when you are settled... when your thoughts are not clouded by grief."

"No." Miss Pauling interjects, and Zhanna felt her heart drop. It must have shown on her face because Miss Pauling immediately follows it with, "I-I mean, no... I don't need time... I've wanted-... that is to say, I've liked-... yes, please. Just don't... let go of me yet, please..."

She pauses, and laughs before saying, "I know it sounds so corny b-but the world doesn't feel so big, so empty, when you're holding me... and I-... thank you. For coming after me, and knowing what to... say or do or whatever this it... I needed it."

Zhanna smiles, "I will always be there, when you need it... little Fioletovyy..." Zhanna reassures.

"What does that mean?" Miss Pauling queries, suddenly aware of how close they were, how easy it would be to just move closer a fraction and... press their lips against the other's.

"Hmmm, it is Russian for... I believe the word is Violet in English? It is what I think of when I see you... and so, I could not help it. If it bothers you, I can choose another-..." Zhanna pauses because Miss Pauling is laughing.

"Oh, oh no, I like it.... it's just, you-..." she pauses to giggle, "you wouldn't believe this but my... my name is actually... Violet Pauling."

Zhanna beams, "Then it must be fate, then..."

"Y...Yes, I suppose it must be." Miss Pauling smiles back. She looks tired, exhausted by the trials and tribulations of the day, the last week, the entire years since Team Fortress disbanded... but somehow, radiant as well.

Without another word, Miss Pauling closes the gap between them, and it is even more delightful a moment than Zhanna could have ever anticipated. Different to Jane, and yet, just as right.

Perfect.

Miss Pauling moves away first, resting her head on the broad Russian shoulders before her. She didn't seem in a hurry to do anything, much less leave the careful embrace Zhanna held her in.

"Thank you." whispers Miss Pauling, but then lifts her head to look at Zhanna more clearly. A thought worrying at her. "And... you're sure Soldier is fine with... us? I don't like... I mean, he's lovely but I'm not attracted to-..."

"Miss Pauling, you are not required to find my person physically attractive nor do anything involving it, should you choose not to." Soldier says, as he moves inside the room. Clearly having been worried about the extended absence of the pair, and followed them; waiting outside the door until it was appropriate to interject. "You are a superior officer, and I will follow your directions to the letter. As long as you are fine with sharing this glorious creature with me, have had all your shots, and don't mind sharing household duties amongst us... or the occasional visit from Merasmus, then we will be a highly successful tactical unit!"

Miss Pauling was staring at him, questioning how he'd appeared so suddenly, as if saying his name three times had summoned him.

Then her formidable mind caught up with the flurry of words she'd just weathered. "As long as you're okay with it too, Soldier, I'm fine with i-... wait, why do I need all my vaccinations?"

"Raccoons." Zhanna deadpans into her ear, the warm breath making her shiver. Soldier flushed under his helmet as Miss Pauling shuddered, and he averted his gaze.

"Ah, if you two have completed your emotional mission debrief, the others wish me to inform you that we are planning to go back to basecamp at teufort, to formulate our next move forward." Soldier adds, standing there stock still until Zhanna gestures with an arm for him to come closer.

With an arm supporting Miss Pauling's entire weight, she wraps the other around Soldier; Jane clearly hesitates, until he sees Miss Pauling isn't trying to get away, before reciprocating and accidentally partially-squishing her in the middle. Zhanna kisses him, then Miss Pauling once more, and laughs.

"Today has been a good day of many victories," she says, smiling down at Miss Pauling, as Soldier releases the pair. The purple-clad woman slips down from her previous position, and stands, wobbling slightly, on the floor between the pair.

Each place an arm on her back to steady her, not wanting to remove her autonomy, but rather support it. A lot of their trials had hit the woman pretty hard, and even the love Zhanna felt for her, and the admiration Soldier had always shown towards Miss Pauling would not heal it automatically.

They followed Miss Pauling as she walked out of the room, maintaining contact even a she paused to look back; to let her eyes wander over the familiar, metallic room, for the last time. She took a deep breath, placed a hand on each of the supporting arms, and continued forwards. Ready for the unknown, to find out what the future held.

- - - -

The End

- - - -

Bonus:

Zhanna felt, as the days grew long at the new base and all 'planning' tended to end up in circuitous arguments over who had to do what chore that week, that she was quite content.

Miss Pauling was excellent in many ways, and Soldier was also magnificent in his own way. They coexisted well, for her.

Yet she felt... a burden, a debt unpaid, so to speak. She could feel it on the one who had helped them become this unit, who still sometimes looked upon her little Fioletovyy with distant longing. Though, Zhanna felt it was more for what the woman had, than the lingering remnants of a past crush.

She decided, as was fair, to even things out.

One night, without warning, she seized the tiny loud one; he squirmed but she held fast, hushing him. Zhanna carried him outside, wrenched open the door of the van, and tossed the Scout in...

"What the bloody hell?" yelled the occupant.

"Zhanna, what-...? Snipes, I-..." Scout shouted back.

Zhanna briefly placed herself in the doorway, looking at the pile of limbs on the floor and simply stated, "Little loud one has strong feelings for you, and would very much like to do the sex with you... please discuss this and be happy."

She looked directly at Scout, "My debt to you has been repaid. I wish you joy."

And so saying, she slammed the door shut, pushing a nearby boulder over the entrance, as chaos erupted inside. Let them take the time to work it out...

When she smugly removed the boulder in the morning, both appeared rather dishevelled and wouldn't meet her eyes. Her debt had been repaid, indeed.

#tf2 #miss pauling #zhanna #soldier #scout #Sniper #zhanna/pauling #zhanna/soldier #zhanna/pauling/soldier #scout/sniper #no one can stop me on this trashbus to hell #administrator

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ohioguru03 · 6 years

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It may not be easy, but it will be worth it...

I’ve written several times on here about working out, diet, and my own personal struggle with body image, so it won’t be a surprise to the throngs of people who read my C- blog that the topic is resurfacing. This is something I’m passionate about, and I truly believe many people struggle with these same issues, which is why I write so much about it.

Working out has never really been an issue for me, rather, the diet and body image side of things is another story. Of course, if you read my blog, you already know this.

A little over a year ago, I penned an article referencing my increase in body weight and vowed that it would be taken care of immediately. I forgot one, small aspect to that, which is cleaning up my eating. I increased my workouts but failed to work on my diet. Guess what? If you do what you’ve always done, you will get what you’ve always gotten. Pretty basic, but how often do we live as if this isn’t true? We somehow believe that we will be the exception to the rule for the first time in human history. I guess that sums up how selfish we can be, but that’s another topic for another day.

I don’t know if it was the moron side of me or what, but I couldn’t understand why my waistline continued to grow despite working out at what I felt was an intense level. The more I worked out, the more and more I ate...anything and everything.

The picture shown below on the left is from January 6, 2018 at 208 pounds compared to the one on the right taken on July 25, 2018 at 179.8 pounds.

After summer ended, and I didn’t have to wear tank tops or swim trunks any longer, I found it cool to become a little thicker like I was some sort of powerhouse or something. However, it wasn’t long before I noticed my skin becoming nasty, my face ballooning, and my belly popping out in my sweaters at school.

One of our secretaries at school made reference to me being happy after I returned from our Honeymoon. Of course, that was true, but I know she was also noting my plump, jelly-belly. See, I returned from my honeymoon at 208 pounds, which is the most I have ever weighed. Mentally, I was beating myself up day-after-day but just couldn’t seem to get things turned around. It was like a hamster on a wheel.

The wife and I quickly hopped on the 80-Day Advocare Challenge after we returned from our Honeymoon, but I don’t think either of our mindsets were completely dialed in on the mission. Needless to say, we didn’t last anywhere close to 80 days. Maybe 80 hours? Despite the setback, I still managed to drop a couple lbs.

Over the next couple of months, I struggled mentally to turn on my discipline. In my mind, I woke up every morning wanting and hoping to make a change in my eating. I was somewhat becoming depressed with it. I just couldn’t seem to get it turned around.

Meanwhile, from January to the end of April I continued to eat very poorly...all day long! I continued to work out, but my workouts were so sluggish due to the increase in body fat. My sleep was being disrupted by the late night eating and all the crap I was putting into my body. When I say I was eating all day long, well, that is not an exaggeration. Pizza, cookies, donuts, cupcakes, candy bars, crackers, pretzels, chips, french fries, etc...Sweets during the day and pizza and french fries at night. This was all on top of everything else I was eating whether it was good or bad.

Over the past year, we got married and bought a new house during the school year, so there was some added stress, but no reason to turn to things that promise things they can’t deliver on. You know the momentary comfort (maybe 10 to 15 seconds at best) followed by the hours of guilt and beating yourself up for how you are eating and feeling. In other words, sin (gluttony) over promises and under delivers.

Their end is destruction, their god is their belly, and they glory in their shame, with minds set on earthly things. -Philippians 3:19

I even started a weight loss challenge at school to get me kick-started, but even the first three weeks of the challenge weren’t enough to knock down the mental bind that clamped me down and was squeezing the energy out of me. You are likely asking yourself, is there a turn in the story? Thankfully, the answer is yes!

In the latter half of April, my wife’s sister got married in Nashville, and like most weddings and receptions a lot of pictures are taken. It wasn’t until those pictures surfaced a week later that reality hit me with a Mike Tyson haymaker.

When I saw myself in those pictures, to be quite honest, I was disgusted in every sense of the word. I looked like I had aged quite a bit, my skin was nasty, and it appeared someone pumped me up with an air pump of hot garbage. Harsh enough? This is me on the left. My belt is begging for mercy. The last notch life.

I know I’m a child of God and made in God’s image, but He never meant for me to indulge in food and gluttony the way I had for nearly two years. Once I recovered from seeing those pictures, I knew there were no more excuses, it was time to get serious.

Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body. -1 Corinthians 6:19-20

On April 30th, I began my journey and I love the word journey because anything worth doing is a journey or a marathon if you will. I started the beautiful journey at 202 pounds.

But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified. -1 Corinthians 9:27

I really didn’t have a plan of what I was going to eat, but more so when I was going to eat. To start, I used my Advocare eating plan to time my meals and know what I needed in each. I used Advocare’s Spark, Meal Replacement, and Muscle Gain to support my change in eating. This wasn’t simply a change in eating, but a complete lifestyle change.

I kept telling myself, if I can make it through the first day, I can turn the corner and get this done. It started with a pound the first week and then another pound the second week. I refused to get discouraged despite only two pounds being dropped after two weeks. I was laser-focused on staying the course.

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. -Jeremiah 29:11

Finally, in week three, I dropped a total of three pounds. It’s hard to tell when you see yourself daily because in case you weren’t sure, you are always with yourself, but I’m sure inches were coming off if pounds weren’t. I knew that if I ate that poorly for two years, things weren’t going to change overnight.

It’s a slow cook that’s food worth eating is what I like to say. No pun intended.

My goal when I started was to get down to 185 pounds, and if I was able to attain that, my ultimate goal was 180. After 90 days, I can humbly say, I’m still eating clean. I have to be honest, I’m proud of myself, but also know it’s God’s strength that allowed me to accomplish something I wasn’t sure was ever going to happen again. Praise Him for the ability to persevere!

I’m not absurd about my eating, but there are things that I’ve totally steered away from including pizza, chips, pretzels, sweets of any kind, and fried/fast food. Oh, I did have an order of French Fries from Bob Evans after running the Savage Race back in early June, but after that race, I would’ve eaten the southbound end of a northbound skunk.

My energy levels have increased, I’m sleeping better, my overall performance at the gym and on my runs has increased significantly, my internal confidence has grown in many areas, and my wife tells me how good and young I look daily (that tops all of the other things). I honestly feel like I’m in my mid-20′s again. She has been my biggest supporter and encourager, and for that, I can’t thank her enough for her unwavering love!

The coolest thing happened, on day 50, I hit the 185-pound mark and finally on day 84 (12 weeks) I went under 180 pounds (179.8) for the first time in over two years.

My fitness journey is a perfect parallel to our spiritual journey. We go through seasons of peaks and valleys, but despite the valleys, our faith remains steadfast.

With my eating habits going out of control, it felt like I couldn’t see 5 feet in front of me as my windshield was smeared with heavy mud. However, through it all, God continued to teach me things and work on me even if I couldn’t see. This is precisely how our walk with Jesus can be sometimes. We can’t see the next step, but we know the One that holds it. It takes faith to move forward even if we aren’t sure where we are headed.

And without faith, it is impossible to please him, for whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him. -Hebrews 11:6

Whether you are struggling with weight, diet, mental strongholds, relationship issues, trouble with your kids or parents, addictions etc...I encourage you to just keep pressing forward. Your situation may not change today, tomorrow, next month, next year, or the next decade, but if you entrust it to God, I can assure you it’s in much better hands then striving to do it on our own.

Please, please don’t do life alone! We were never created to do life alone. I’m speaking to myself here as well because my default is to retreat and seclude myself especially when I’m going through the trials of this life. See, our enemy wants us to do this very thing because when he can get us alone that is when he will torment our minds and fill us with lies.

So, again, I encourage you to surround yourself with people that love you, will support you, encourage you, and tell you the Truth in love when needed.

I hope you find these scriptures helpful and bring peace to your soul no matter what you are going through.

Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. -Romans 12:12

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. -Galatians 6:9

Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him. -James 1:12

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