#and i only post this now after letting it marinate in my files for months

[cynanan]

may never ever finish these but im letting them go be free!

merlian(minding his own business) got abducted by a crew of spooky ghost pirates. the captain WANTS YOU

[moussedoodles]

🐙‼️OCTO ALERT‼️🐙

After a long bit, I finally finished the rest of the Octonauts! Enjoy more of my interpretations of them, and if you haven't seen my previous post about them, click here for Peso, Kwazii and Captain Barnacles!

In a world where most of the population consists of animal shifters, the Octonauts are a group marine biologists and activists who help bring attention to both the curious beauty of the Earth's waters and the harms that threaten its incredible ecosystems.

Tweak is the Octonaut's engineer, and she was the only member apart from the Captain himself who had been a part of the Octopod's original, hired crew. She's seen members come and go and had gone through the worst alongside her captain, yet her loyalty hasn't wavered even in the years she had served by his side. In fact, her love for adventure and marine life only seemed to grow as time passes. Apart from Kwazii- who she didn't fully trust at first, and rightfully so at the time- Barnacles considers her as someone he can put 100% of his faith in, and even the rest of their crew knows that she's someone they can truly rely on with anything.

Shellington is the Octonaut's scientist and was hired as their marine specialist. His colleagues would consider him a considerate man who's knowledge is only second to their founder, which sometimes scares the crew with just how much information he knows of any given animal. As for the Vegimals... Well, Let's just say that Shellington wanted to produce some food for the crew to keep them from surfacing every few months, and so, decided to start a greenhouse within the Octopod. Disappointed at the rate of which their goods are growing, he decided to "lend them a little help", though he instead finds himself becoming a father of 5 the following morning. He is now a full carnivore. He can't look at certain vegetables the same way again.

Dashi is the Octonaut's IT specialist and photographer, and so, often works alongside Tweak and Shellington (who she had been hired alongside) both on-field and within the Octopod. Though her knowledge on marine life can't compare to some of the other members, as a photographer she documents their missions, the creatures they had helped and occasionally files or publishes any new findings or updates regarding certain species. Prior to her work as an Octonaut, she was actually a well-renowned journalist who had earned several awards.

And, of course, how could I forget

Professor Inkling is the Octonaut's renowned founder, and is one of the oldest shifters to date. He's a knowledeable octopus, and though most founders and CEOs would rather lounge comfortably for the remainder of their lives, Inkling enthusiastically works alongside his employees and even assists and advises them if ever needed.

Why is he the only member of the Octonauts who isn't part human? the artist thinks it was funny Well, some believe that he's from an older generation of shifters, raised in his animal form. It certainly has some merit to it, especially considering no one- not even the octonauts themselves- had even recognised his species.

Barnacles believes that Kwazii should show more respect towards Inkling and should stop muttering assumptions and theories with Dashi and Shellington.

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

Continued from this post, Part 3 of my discussion of Essek Thelyss in the context of real-world espionage. This time: what happens to espionage assets in the long run? Do they break contact, and why? What might have been in store for Essek?

At the treaty meeting Essek tells Ludinus to his face that he wants no further contact with the Assembly, not even to learn what the Assembly discovers via their own beacon. He’s far from the first asset to try to sever their relationship, and it ends in one of three ways: they don’t manage to break contact, they break contact but voluntarily return, or (rarest of all) they end the relationship permanently. 

Most attempts don’t go beyond option 1, because intelligence agencies are not in the business of respecting their assets’ choices. Handlers are skilled in keeping the upper hand in their asset relationships and will take any further opportunity to gain leverage by compromising the asset. For instance they’ll often pay for information even if the asset hasn’t requested it, because money changing hands makes it far harder for an asset to frame their activities positively to their own side if they attempt to confess (”You expect us to believe they were blackmailing you when you got $10,000 to hand over the secret manual?” etc.) And when push comes to shove most people aren’t willing to accept the severe punishments for espionage. An asset’s threat to confess is more likely a negotiating ploy than a serious option.

Some assets, especially nervous or ego-driven ones, get the carrot: the KGB did a strong line in awarding secret medals to convince them they were doing important, well-regarded work and that the KGB would protect them - not an empty reassurance, as highly-placed moles like Aldrich Ames warranted elaborate ops involving double and triple agents to avert suspicions. And some assets get the stick: the handler tightens the screws using whatever leverage they’ve gained, implies that they’re already “too far in to go back,” or gives some time for those who were blackmailed into spying to think about the consequences of exposure.[1]

Those who get as far as option two, breaking it off and later returning, are usually driven away by fear but back by finances. Fantasy spies have all sorts of motives but in real life the majority are in it for the money. Assets, as you might imagine, make bad choices. About half start selling secrets just to stave off massive debt from overspending and poor financial decisions (the rest feel underpaid.) So even if these assets stop temporarily, the circumstances that drove them to espionage in the first place are still very much present. In these cases all a handler has to do is shrug and say, “You know where to find us.” Infamous FBI mole Robert Hanssen broke off contact with his Russian handlers when the Soviet Union collapsed, fearing he might get outed in the chaos, but linked back up with them just 10 months later when, surprise surprise, he needed some cash.

And then there are the rare handful who stop completely. There’s a bit of survivor(?) bias here because anyone who passes along secrets, breaks off the relationship before being caught, and manages to get away with it is by definition someone we don’t know about. Those who do manage to break contact long-term are usually able to do so because they left the situation that gave them access to interesting secrets and therefore the controlling agency determined they were no longer a useful resource and not worth pursuing. But even if an asset stops working for an agency, they’re far from forgotten - and far from off the hook. Names and evidence of their espionage would be kept on file for potential use as blackmail, leverage in state-to-state negotiations, or expendable material to prove bona fides in ops involving fake defectors or triple agents. A surprising number of spies are caught/outed years after their espionage ended.

Very few assets permanently sever their espionage relationships the hard way: making a genuine confession and accepting punishment. But it’s not unheard-of, especially if the espionage was brief and the asset believes the damage can be repaired. In 1989 Army signals analyst Michael Peri disappeared from his post in West Germany along with a portable computer containing numerous classified documents. Eleven days later he returned to his previous post with the computer and voluntarily confessed to the theft and sort-of defection to East Germany. When interrogated, Peri - who had been a model soldier until that point - said he felt overworked and underappreciated by his superiors, though he couldn’t entirely explain his decisions either to leave or to return (a sexy female Russian agent might also have been involved). He received a 30-year sentence.

Marine Clayton Lonetree, a guard stationed at the US Embassy in Moscow in 1985, was blackmailed over an affair to hand over details on the embassy compound for a year, but his conscience finally got the better of him and he confessed in late 1986. Being a Marine he faced the very real prospect of death by firing squad, but the court martial ended up giving him a 30-year sentence. It was later reduced to 15 after the Marine Corps Commandant wrote a letter to the Navy Secretary on his behalf attributing the young Marine’s actions not to treason or greed but to loneliness, naivety, and poor judgement.[2]

Going back to Essek’s case, he’s already in the minority of espionage assets because he doesn’t want money in return for the secrets he passes along; though the knowledge the Assembly promises him in return fulfills a similar desire, Essek doesn’t need that knowledge to pay off the equivalent of debt or to maintain his lifestyle. He has no pressures at home that force him to continue spying. With the beacons returned, the fall guys in place, and their tracks seemingly covered, he tells Ludinus that all he wants is to be rid of the entire affair. That rules out option one (he sincerely means to cut the Assembly off) and option two (he won’t be driven back by need.) 

Essek is also in an unusual position in that the worst of the damage he caused is repairable - just return the beacons.[3] A secret, once compromised, can’t be un-compromised. If an asset hands over a cipher machine they can’t fix the situation by stealing the cipher machine back; the foreign agency they sold it to has already studied the machine and learned its secrets, meaning it’s now effectively useless. But returning the beacons restores what the Kryn lost. While keeping dunamancy secret gives the Kryn a tactical edge, and I’m sure the Dynasty would prefer to keep the magical soulstones of their elite hidden from their long-time rival, the beacons don’t need to be secret to work. Essek therefore has a much better chance than most to simply repair the damage, cut off his handlers, and try to forget the whole affair ever happened. He might even think that, now that the Assembly has their own beacon, they’ll have no further use for him and will just leave him alone.

But from the Cerberus Assembly's perspective, this fruit still has plenty of juice in it and they risk nothing by continuing to squeeze. Now that they have their own beacon Essek’s knowledge becomes even more valuable. He has access to hundreds of years of dunamantic spellcrafting - and more importantly the rite of consecution, since the Assembly were probably after beacons in the first place to make themselves immortal. If Essek is caught, it’s treason for him, but the Assembly doesn’t suffer; they were doing it for the good of the Empire, learning about dunamancy to help the war effort. So if he refuses to keep spying voluntarily for the Assembly, they’ll just have to find another way to motivate him. 

As part of evaluating Essek before recruitment, Assembly operatives would have noted that he’s, well, highly motivated to save his own skin. Ludinus’ goal therefore becomes to make Essek see further espionage as the only way to stay alive. So instead of confronting Essek then and there, Ludinus shrugs and goes, “Okay. Sure.” Then he activates the Volstruckers, maybe leaks a little info to the Dynasty about a traitor in their midst, and sets up Essek to stew in fear, feeling isolated and attacked from both sides - targeted by the Assembly for his defiance, under suspicion from the Dynasty, unable to ask for help because of his crimes. Ludinus sits back and waits for Essek to re-establish contact on his own. Of course Ludinus didn’t know that the M9 had confronted Essek and gotten him to confess, making a return to spying impossible even if he tried.

While Essek’s motives revolve around ego, frustration, and rebellion, his situation is more like those of people who end up defecting because they’re unable to pursue their careers or live as they want to back home. He has virtually no social/family ties to leave behind, no loyalty to Dynasty authority, and no religious fervor to defend the Luxon, while the Assembly promises him the company of like minds and free rein in his experiments. Assuming no intervention by the M9 I think Essek would have ended up defecting to the Cerberus Assembly. If he did it early enough in the story he might have even joined the Volstruckers to complete the narrative foil transformation.

If the crew had confronted him at the treaty but not offered mercy I think he would have defected purely out of fear, thinking the Assembly were the only people who could protect him from both the Dynasty and the M9. He was already on edge watching the guy he'd set up to take the fall getting walked away in chains and with the Assembly's Wind of Aeons ship right there it would be the ideal time to make the move. Assuming the treaty confrontation went as it did (the crew makes him confess but lets him live) but the M9 hadn’t shown up in Eiselcross, Essek would likely have fled the outpost and gone into hiding in a bid to outrun his crimes (and probably gotten caught two weeks later given how awful he was at being “Dezrain Thane.”)

Essek is far from the first recruited asset to regret what they did even as they kept doing it. Those who can sell out their nation and not feel even a pang of guilt are thankfully thin on the ground. Most start off doing what seems to be a favor for a friend - or accepting a favor from a friend who wants to help with their “financial difficulties” - and end up so deep they can’t see any way forward other than to keep handing over secrets. He’s one more in a long line of those who compromised information out of frustration, especially through the appeal to shared professional interests (that’s how industrial assets tend to be recruited.)

But he’s also in a much better place to make up for it than most assets. Since he primarily compromised property, not secrets, returning said property can (somewhat, mostly) repair the damage done, which goes a long way towards buying leniency from the powers that be. And now I’m realizing that this post actually needs one final part, which is: how do you try someone for espionage, and should you charge them with it in the first place?

[1]  While spy dramas love sexy blackmail, and handlers will happily collect it to leverage against a balky asset, it works far less often in reality as a main reason for espionage. Social penalties for extramarital affairs pale before actual legal penalties like the death sentence for treason. On the other hand, those with foreign relatives are sometimes coerced by threats against those relatives.

[2]  Lonetree’s case for leniency got a boost in 1994 when Aldrich Ames was finally caught and some serious breaches of embassy security that had been attributed to Lonetree were found to be Ames’ work instead. In 1996 Lonetree was released after having served 9 years total.

[3] Although I did just think of a really messed-up Cerberus Assembly plan: consecute a handful of completely loyal Volstruckers, kill them, and send the beacons back so said agents will be reborn in the Dynasty and work to undermine it from within. How fucked up would that be?? Campaign 3 plot hook anyone?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

[froggie-recs-fics]

Fic Roundup (up to 9/26/21)

I'm gonna start collecting fics I've read recently to recommend them, because making trope lists takes too long and many fics fall by the wayside. Let me know if you like this new format!

The fandoms in this list are as follows: Marvel (SamBucky, HTP, SpideyPool, WinterHawk, WinterIron, Stony, Stucky, SpiderShield), DCU (Bane/Blake), Inception (Arthur/Eames), Teen Wolf (Sterek).

A * signifies a particular favorite (though I love all these fics)

Marvel

Sam/Bucky

double back by flowermasters (E, 12K, Post-Endgame, Time Loop, Time Travel)

Sam gets stuck in a time loop. In 1943.

Things could be worse, but they could certainly be better.

Companion piece here: quick time

I'll explain everything to the geese by napricot (Post-Endgame, E, 50K, Sam can talk to birds)

Bucky is so competent that it hurts my feelings is not a rational complaint to have about a person, and yet, after a year of being Captain America and partnering up with Bucky for the new and improved, post-Blip Avengers, that’s kinda how Sam’s feeling.

It’s not great. It maybe leads to Sam making some rash, ill-advised decisions like claiming he has a previously undisclosed superpower, and then getting caught in a web of lies when he ends up actually developing that surprisingly inconvenient superpower. Talking to birds had seemed like a harmless superpower, but it turns out that birds have a lot of opinions, and they don’t hesitate to tell Sam about them, especially when it comes to his supposedly subpar courting skills. Which is ridiculous, because Sam isn’t courting Bucky. Right?

Rumlow/Bucky

**blueprints for a better world series by itallstartedwithdefenestration @astralhux (CATWS, Post-CATWS, Noncon, E, 115K, Dark Main Character)

When Pierce discovers the asset is no longer capable of getting himself hard during recreational use, he tells Rumlow to figure out what the problem is, and to fix it. The solution turns out to be more complicated than anyone expected.

I can't recommend this series enough

Peter/Wade

*Dead Men Walking series by doctorestranged @lazystrawberrymilkshakes (E, 235K, Identity Porn, Slow Burn)

When a series of murders take place, Peter Parker goes undercover in Sister Margaret’s to get intel on Tony Stark’s prime suspect: Deadpool. Peter goes in hoping to get enough information so that Spider-Man can save the day, but like everything in Peter’s life, it becomes a bit more complicated than that and it soon becomes apparent that he might not be the best fit for the job.

All About Chemistry by TwiceBakedPotato @sedatedkoala (No Powers AU, M, CNTW, 74K, Teacher-Student Relationship, Slow Build)

After serving his 20 years in the Marine Corps, Wade Wilson is cashing in his GI Bill and going back to college. He feels like the old man on campus, but that doesn't matter. He likes his classes. He likes learning. And he especially likes his Chemistry professor with the messy brown hair.

Clint/Bucky

Making Me A Habit by Kangofu_CB @kangofu-cb (No Powers AU, T, 20K, Pet Store, Slow Burn, Pining, Misunderstandings)

Bucky is a disabled vet struggling with reintegrating into civilian life. He has a routine and a rhythm, and he doesn't like to let anything - big or small - disrupt it. That all changes the day Bucky finds himself inside CATastrophe, the local pet rescue, recovering from a panic attack in the back room of the shop.

He’s used to walking by the place, not visiting, but the next thing Bucky knows, he’s hanging signs and being used as a climbing tree for a bunch of freshly-acquired kittens. And he just...keeps going back. First for the kittens, then for the disaster shop owner who rescues actual kittens from actual trees and teaches archery as a side-gig, and eventually because he’s hopelessly in love.

(Clint was in love before Bucky ever walked in the door.)

*Nameless by AvaKelly (Post-CATWS, M, 101K, Time Travel, Time Loop, Slow Burn)

A gun is pointed at him before he can even move from his position, the Soldier's metal arm steady in its aim. Clint sighs.

"Nemo," Clint says. "It's tattooed on your wrist, right here," he lifts his right hand and taps his left index finger where his palm ends.

The Soldier's eyes widen. "How do you know this?"

"I put it there."

Glitter, G-Strings and Other Mission Hazards by flawedamythyst @flawedamythyst (T, 16K, Undercover, Stripper Clint)

“Which is why you need me to shake my booty for cash,” said Clint.

“Precisely,” said Coulson. “You’re the only agent we have who wouldn’t need additional training in the skills of an exotic dancer to take on the mission, and we want to get someone in there as soon as possible.”

Clint nodded, shutting the file. “Okay, awesome. I’ll dig out my sequined g-string.”

“You’ll have full access to requisition any costumes you might need,” said Coulson.

A mission requires Bucky to be Clint's back-up as he goes undercover as a stripper, which gets more difficult with every new costume he comes out in.

Paternal Error by EVVS @skylarkevanson (Post-CATWS, T, 33K, Kid Fic, Established Relationship)

Bucky has never once thought of being a parent. Not since the Winter Solider happened.

Until he falls in love with Clint Barton. And that idiot just keeps collecting children for his flock.

Now Bucky has to pretend like he's good at parenting.

Bucky/Tony

Forms of Love by bear_bell (Post-CACW, E, 33K, Split Personalities)

Months after the Avengers' dispute in Germany, the team returns to the US and moves back into the tower. As always, everyone pretends that nothing happened. Tony is just fine with this. He's used to pretending, and he'll be damned if he lets any of them see him flinch.

Tony's the bad guy, after all. He's used to it. He's fine with it. He's good at it.

Only now, there's something far worse loitering around the tower - The Winter Soldier. No one notices the guy at first, but when they do, Tony figures that he should have the soldier's back.

Birds of a feather should flock together, and the bad guys should start a book club.

Steve/Tony

While You Were Sleeping by betheflame @betheflame (No Powers AU, M, 65K, While You Were Sleeping AU)

It's been years since Steve Grant Rogers Drysdale has spoken to his twin, Ransom. So it was quite a shock when he was summoned to a hospital and found out that Ransom was in a coma.

Even more shocking? That Ransom is engaged. To Tony Stark.

Steve/Bucky

The Road Goes Ever On And On by PipGraham (Omegaverse AU, M, Noncon, Graphic Violence, 20K, Road Trip, Pre-Serum Steve, Past Domestic Violence)

When Brock's continued domestic abuse puts not only Steve's life in danger, but also that of his unborn pup, he flees into the night with just a small backpack of clothes and almost no money to his name.

Steve quickly runs into trouble as he tries to embark on a 3-day cross-country bus journey back home to New York City.

He meets a kind veteran when he most needs a helping hand.

Just Words by LadyRazzle (crimegimp) @ladyrazzle (Pre-CATFA, Soulmate AU, T, 2K, Fluff)

Inspired by that now legendary post: "soulmate AU where you wake up on your 18th birthday with the first words your soulmate will say to you tattooed on your body so you’ll know them when you meet them." Well what if they appear the moment you turn 18, rather than just the day? And what if by the time you turn 18, you'd already fallen in love?

Bucky wasn’t eager to discover what the words said. He already knew what he wanted them to say. He always had.

Peter/Steve

Forgetting It's There by spinstitcher (stygian) (NR, 8K, Crack, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn)

“You’re Captain America,” he blurts out.

“What?” says Captain America, looking a little wide-eyed. He casts a nervous glance at the girl at the counter – he has nothing to worry about there, she’s rocking out to her iPod and could care less what they’re talking about – and says, “No, uh, Steve, it’s just, I’m Steve.”

“Right,” says Peter, and then because his brain-to-mouth filter had apparently been completely destroyed in the fight on Oscorp Tower: “Hey, your butt really is as tight as it looks on TV.”

DCU

Bane/Blake

7 Deadly Ass(as)sins by teacuphuman @teacuphuman09 (AU, E, 23K, BDSM)

Bane and Barsad own a sex shop and John needs a job.

Straws by Menirva (Bane/Blake/Barsad, AU, E, 38K, BDSM)

John works in a smoothie shop.

He has a knack, a second sense if you will, for being able to look at a person and know what they're going to order. It's not the most spectacular gift in the world but he likes being able to figure people out and he's never wrong.

Except for this scruffy asshole who is clearly just ordering the wrong thing to fuck with him.

How is he even finishing an extra-large?

Inception

Aurthur/Eames

Rough Trade by Whisky (whiskyrunner) @whiskyrunner (AU, E, 23K, Internalized Homophobia)

Arthur is an investment banker. He is professional and efficient. He's a halfway decent cook. He's totally independent and has been since the age of eighteen. Maybe he's tired all the time because he works about ninety hours a week which is twice what normal people do, but he's rich and he's competent at his job. He's almost thirty, and already a success.

And there are some things Arthur is not. For instance: Arthur is not gay.

Lucky by earlgreytea68 @earlgreytea68 (M, 37K, Kid fic)

Arthur finds a baby.

Teen Wolf

Stiles/Derek

Cut to the Bone by standinginanicedress (Omegaverse AU, E, 112K, Secret Relationship, Enemies to Lovers kinda)

“Not that it’s any of your god damn business, but my name is Stiles. Do you need something?”

The alpha grins. All teeth, shiny white, straight as an arrow. He’s got this sculpted perfection to him that Stiles is sure has worked on all the omegas he’s ever encountered before, but Stiles stands his ground and narrows his eyes. “A date.”

Stiles looks him up and down, slowly, from the black shoes on his feet, to his uniform khakis and blazer littered with pins, to his face. He frowns, makes a face, and says, “pass.”

Cornerstone by Vendelin (Human AU, E, 83K, Marine Derek, Blind Stiles, Friends to Lovers)

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.

Stand Fast in Your Enchantments by DevilDoll, Rahciach (AU, Graphic Violence, E, 76K, Captivity, Feral Derek)

"Stiles knew damn well what a pissed-off wolf sounded like, and every hair on the back of his neck was telling him that somewhere in this room was a very pissed-off werewolf." An AU in which Derek is feral, Stiles is magical, and they eat a lot of fast food.

The Payoff Pitch by Leslie_Knope (Sports AU, E, 83K, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers)

Derek is on the cusp of his second season with the LA Dodgers, and as the reigning runner-up Rookie of the Year, the pressure’s on him to become the team’s star pitcher and lead them to the playoffs for the first time in five years. He’s trying to deal with the burden of expectations and really has zero desire to spend any extra time or energy on anything that isn’t baseball.

But then he meets Stiles.

[aaronhotchnersquarterzip]

Meeting You Flipped the World Upside Down - Or Maybe Just Mine

So I’ve decided I’m gonna start posting the finished fic on here. I hope y’all enjoy it as much as I do :) 

Summary: Reader has been a rut, stuck in a never ending cycle of college worries and job interviews. Never did she think that SSA Aaron Hotchner, or Agent as she likes to call him, would walk into her favorite late night diner and flip her world upside down. And he for sure didn't expect to fall in love so quickly with the soon to be college grad. They navigate finding love and working together to rediscover what that means for each of them.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner X Female Reader

Word Count: 1.2K

The Diner

I quite literally had nothing to do. I swear the couch had an indent from where I had sat for, minimum, the past week. There were three months before the new semester started and I was nonstop scouring for a part-time job in the area. Whilst all my friends partied the summer away I was stuck in my parents house so I could at least live three months rent free. As I was approaching my senior year at Cornell, I carried an impressive amount of student loans to my name. I worked several jobs to keep myself afloat during the year but for some reason I had no luck the past few months. With a sigh I closed my laptop for the third time that evening and decided to go for a late night drive. My tiny Subaru sped through the Virginia freeways until I ended up on the edge of D.C. 

This wasn’t the first time I drove into the city at such a random time, 2:54 to be exact. There was a 24 hour diner just outside the city that I frequented on nights like these, I guess subconsciously I wanted a milkshake and some fries. Sure, McDonalds would've been more convenient, smarter too, but where's the fun in that? I sat down in a booth facing the entrance so I could have a clear view of my surroundings. Something my former Marine father instilled in me at a young age, never have your back to the enemy. Nobody had ever bothered you before at the diner so you weren't on high alert when the bell rang, signaling someone had walked in. It was only when you heard his voice did you acknowledge his presence. He was talking to the waitress about what she recommended at the time like this, going on about how he wanted something sweet. 

“The chocolate milkshake does me wonders at 3 am,” you yelled over with a smile. One he returned. 

“One chocolate milkshake then please.” After ordering he promptly stood up and walked over to your booth. “Would you mind if I sat?” 

You thought for a few moments. He didn’t look like a threat, hell, what serial killer orders a milkshake at 3:15 in the morning on a Wednesday. It was best not to think about statistics actually, this would be a pretty good ploy. As if he sensed your hesitancy, he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out his badge. 

“SSA Aaron Hotchner, I don’t want to intrude but it's hard to avoid the presence of such a beautiful woman so close to me.” Damn, well now I had to let him sit with me. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere Agent,” you smirked while gesturing for him to take the seat across from you. “I’m Y/N Y/L.”

The waitress appeared moments later with his milkshake and smiled at the both of you before walking back into the kitchen. 

Taking a sip on his milkshake he smiled up at you, “thank you for the suggestion Y/N. Now what brings you into a diner this early in the morning? You can’t be much older than a junior in college.”

“Sometimes you just need a break from reality. I could ask you the same question, Agent but I don’t think you’ll give me a clear answer either.” He raised his eyebrows at your remark, testing you. “Unless I pegged you wrong Agent, so tell me, what are you doing here?”

“I certainly like the break from reality answer, but you’re right there's always something more. I just got back from a case and my son was already asleep at his aunt's house, I figured I could use the distraction. An empty house isn’t the most comforting.” You nodded along, knowing all too well the feeling of being alone. When you weren't at home you were normally holed up in the campus library or in your apartment. Your roommate during the semester was nice and all but you both had your own lives, mainly she had one. 

“Trying to find a job that will utilize my education is draining, I needed a break from the constant rejection. A real mood killer.” 

“What do you study and where?” When you entered this conversation you did not expect some real interest. This was beginning to feel like the small talk part of a first date, something you’re way too accustomed to lately. 

“Cornell studying economics.” You slowly sipped on your straw and pushed your fries toward the center of the table to share with Aaron. “I want to work for HUD, although that's nothing compared to the FBI Agent Hotchner.” You smirked and winked at the man. 

“It’s certainly not unimpressive though, you should be proud, honestly. The FBI isn’t all it's cracked up to be, it has its moments but I feel satisfaction from what I do. That's what matters in the end isn’t it?”

“I was a federal prosecutor before I joined the FBI, being able to stop criminals in the act grants me more satisfaction than reading their case files and presenting it in front of a jury. I feel like I do more good this way.”

Never in a million years did you think this was what you were going to walk into when you got in your car hours prior. How in the world did this seemingly kind hearted man, and not unattractive as well, walk up to you of all people. You stared in awe as he drank his milkshake. I guess you were staring far too long because all of a sudden his voice boomed in your ears again. 

“You still here? I know I can be pretty boring.” He smirked and snapped his fingers in front of your face making your cheeks tint a shade of red. “Yeah yeah of course I am. Sorry about that, I guess the time is starting to get to me.” You chuckled slightly and shifted under his soft gaze. “You aren’t boring Aaron, in fact you’re the opposite. I haven’t talked to anyone so passionate about what they do. It’s - It’s inspiring, really.” Your body reacted on impulse and reached across the table for his free hand, holding it over the table. 

Both of you seemed just as shocked at your actions, making you quickly let go and cough to try and ease the awkwardness in the air. Luckily, the waitress came by with both of your checks at the exact right time. Before you could reach into your wallet Aaron had already placed his card out and handed the waitress both of your bills.

“Aaron, I am capable of paying for my own food.” You still smiled at the sentiment. 

“I am well aware that you are capable, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to thank you for your company.” He swiftly grabbed your hand in the same fashion you had earlier, except this time you didn’t pull away. 

“There were other ways to thank me, Agent.” Summoning all of your confidence, you reached for his phone and quickly typed your name and number into it. “Don’t be afraid to use it, Agent. I’ll be waiting.” And with that, you winked and walked out of the diner without a glance back. 

And man, were you hoping he would use it soon.

[ellstersmash]

Not to Keep

Fandom: Mass Effect (Original Trilogy) Pairing: Kaidan x f!Shepard Rating: T for Teen (cw for alcohol use) Words: 2.7k [Read on Ao3]

shep and kaidan go undercover, set early in me1. this was originally a prompt for "fake relationship" from Leather & Lace Romance Week, but then I waited 3.5 years to finish it 🥀

-

It all seemed so simple. Infiltrate a wedding, extract intel on Benezia, use that to find Saren.

Easy-peasy.

Until Shepard shows up in the shuttle bay looking like that. They've only been working together for a couple of months, and Kaidan has seen her covered in blood spatter, dripping sweat post-PT—hell, even bare naked in a hotel room. But it’s safe to say he never thought he'd see her like this. Full makeup, soft curls, a long red dress that shouldn't fit anyone that perfectly, and, dangling from two fingers, a pair of classy black heels.

Kaidan swallows hard and gives her a curt nod. “Ma’am.”

“Alenko.” He shifts on his feet as her eyes travel the length of his body and back up, her cool stare giving nothing away. “You clean up nice.”

“Ah, thanks. And you look—”

“Oh, I'm dressed to kill.” Lips the same shade as her dress curve into a grin. “Figuratively, for once.”

Kaidan chokes and laughs, caught off guard in a mixture of nerves and surprise. “Was that a joke, Commander?”

Her expression narrows into a pinched, self-deprecating smirk. “If you have to ask, then no. And I definitely haven't been thinking about it since Williams zipped this damn thing up.”

The thought of his CO, this formidable woman, giggling to herself over a stupid joke for an hour is... well, it’s uncharacteristically cute. Kaidan rolls it around in his head for an indulgent minute, trying on the fit before letting the image go.

Just one more thing to jam into that Never Gonna Happen file.

“Right,” she says, back to business. “Let’s get this over with.”

They board the shuttle for the short trip to the venue, and go over the mission brief one final time: intel extraction remains their highest priority—one of their hosts, Polona T’Shan, was rumored to have a close business connection with the matriarch; protecting their cover is important, but heavy security is not expected; their false identity profiles should be enough to get them in the door, and from there the two of them will be responsible for avoiding unwanted attention by appearing as a couple.

Kaidan knows his own limits. He’s a soldier, not an actor. This pretending to be someone else, this lie, it isn't part of his training and it sure as hell isn't part of who he is. But if Shepard’s as nervous as he is, she isn't showing it.

She’s looking at him again, in that intense all-in way she sometimes does. Before her, he had never met someone who was aware of—and pursued—what they wanted with such confidence, such dogged determination, and to have that kind of focus set on him even for just a moment is… terrifying. In a good way, he thinks. It makes him feel warm and cold at the same time. It also makes him want to stare right back, but that way lies only trouble, and none of them need another helping. Not right now.

Kaidan leans back and rests his head on the cool, if slightly unsteady, inner shuttle wall as Shepard drums a rhythmless pattern into the space between their seats.

---

Kyra drains her glass.

As it turns out, Asari weddings aren't all that different from the few human ones she’s attended. Though this reception is a far more extravagant affair than she’s used to: four days of mingling and games and dancing and drinking and food. Really not her cup of tea.

And apparently not Alenko’s, either.

He’d made a beeline for the bar as soon as they’d entered, and returned with an easier stride and a glass full of some bubbling neon sugary shit for her. She’d have preferred something stronger, of course, but they do have a mission to complete. If they can manage to get Polona alone for a moment.

She slips her hand into the crook of his elbow and feels him stiffen, then relax. Quick and conscious. He’s nervous, out of place, on edge, and then completely calm and collected.

No doubt in her mind he was the right pick for this one.

The thought settles her stomach, and just in time. Two asari approach, their hands extended in enthusiastic welcome.

“Greetings!” one of them says, with a voice smooth and sweet as wildflower honey. “Oh, what a lovely pair you two make. Right out of the vids, could be. This one’s even better looking up close, don’t you think so, Liria?” The asari takes Alenko’s hand, sensual and deliberate, then turns her attention to Kyra. “And goddess, that dress is stunning; really, sweetie, it fits you like a glove. You”—she drags one finger down Alenko’s lapel—“are a lucky man, I hope you know.”

Eyes wide, he clears his throat and coughs, then regains his composure with a brief glance in Kyra’s direction.

The second asari offers an apologetic look to each of them in turn. “Rialla, darling, slow down or you’ll scare them off.”

“They certainly look sturdy enough.”

“I am so sorry. She’s had quite a bit to drink, I’m afraid. Never could pace herself at a wedding.” She laughs. “My name is Liria, and my companion’s name is Rialla, and ever since we saw you walk in, we have just been itching to get to know you.”

Kyra plasters what she hopes is a warm smile on her face, mentally pulling up her cover identity as reference. “Emily, and I’m delighted to meet you both. This is John, my um—”

“Her very lucky partner.”

The two matriarchs titter and tease him, both in turn, and once again he’s in control. Kyra can’t help but be impressed by how effortlessly he charms them. And she’s far from immune. It’s her mission, yet she is all too prepared to be led around the room by that firm hand at the small of her back.

Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko: respected Alliance Marine, powerful L2 biotic, all-around stand-up guy, and—apparently—a smooth son-of-a-bitch. It’s an unexpected feature for someone so soft-spoken and unpretentious. Like he has a hidden switch somewhere.

Or a button.

Press For Instant Charisma.

She briefly entertains the idea of hunting for it, then aborts the thought with a twist of her lips and tunes back in to the conversation.

---

The lie is getting easier. Shepard is tucked under Kaidan’s arm, and he’s almost comfortable.

Their new friends are exactly the right sort. Nosy, talkative, well into their cups, and connected. Old friends of their mark, both of them, and Liria has history with Benezia herself. Shepard spins her tale about a chance meeting with the missing matriarch at a charity benefit and their tapering correspondence, followed by a rumor igniting hope for reconnection. And they eat it right up.

All he has to do is act natural and help Shepard keep them talking.

“Well, you know Polona wasn’t only Benezia’s lawyer.” Liria leans in close, her voice not quite as hushed as she probably intended. “They were involved, some centuries back. Quite the scandal at the time, but then Benezia always had... selfish tendencies. Now, I’m not sure why they parted ways, or how serious it was, but—”

Not to be outdone, Rialla’s hands flutter for attention as she pipes in. “It must be more than a passing fling from two hundred years ago, though, because I heard that her Turian lover—or, well, husband now—almost called off this very wedding!”

“Really?” Shepard asks. What’s supposed to be idle curiosity is bordering on serious interest, her voice taking on a firm, interrogative quality to match her narrowed gaze, but a brush of his thumb on her shoulder and she reigns it in. Loosens up with a tilt of her head and a hand to his thigh that has him tensing up instead.

“Oh, yes,” Rialla says. “It was all very tenuous there for a while. And to think, then the four of us would never have met!”

Kaidan raises his glass with a smile as genuine as he can muster. “A tragic loss for us, to be sure.”

With a deep, warm smile, Rialla fans her face and leans in close to Shepard, but speaks for the whole table to hear. “Do let me know when you're finished with him, would you, dear? I think I may be quite in love.”

He's fine until Shepard smirks, then he's far too warm. Suffocating.

He tugs at his collar. “You think their, uh, conflict had something to do with Polona and Benezia’s involvement?”

“I seriously doubt it,” Liria says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “That was ages ago, not yesterday. Beni’s still pining after Aeth—”

Rialla laughs. “Oh, it’s Beni, now? I had no idea you were such intimate friends!”

“I’m 800 years old, my dear.” Liria scoffs. “I have quite a few friends you don’t know about.”

“Is that supposed to make me jealous?”

“Of course not, don’t be silly!”

“Silly? Goddess, must you always be so patronizing?”

“Must you always twist my words?”

“Oh, here we go!”

The situation spirals into chaos before either he or Shepard can recover it, and she stands up from the table, pulling at his elbow.

“I love this song,” she mutters pointedly, and leads him to the dance floor. It’s a slow number, thank god. He’s not nearly drunk enough to dance to something with a beat.

They sway slowly, and she presses close, his neck prickling underneath her palm. His own hands settle on her waist, then more naturally to her hips.

“Damn,” she whispers. “Damn.”

“I know. But hey, we’ve got the rest of the night. And tomorrow night. And the next night. And—”

“The next night, I know.” She groans and drops her head to his shoulder.

Kaidan smiles into her hair.

---

The night is officially over. The band is still playing, but most of the guests are gone, and despite making a number of connections, they’ve learned nothing more about Benezia's whereabouts.

They have, however, made decent use of the open bar.

Kyra downs the last of her champagne and orders a cocktail, dealer's choice. It arrives glowing and smoking and she takes the skyward trajectory of Alenko’s brows as a personal challenge not to hesitate.

A potent combination of peppermint and blueberries and battery acid hits the back of her throat and makes her head swim on contact.

Next to her, Alenko is nursing his third.

“How’s your drink?” he asks.

“Surprising.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“Um… Yes.” She clinks her fingernail against his glass. “How’s your whiskey?”

He frowns and takes a sip. “This is not whiskey.”

“Didn’t realize you were such a connoisseur.”

“No, I mean it is literally not whiskey. Didn’t have it, I guess.” He drinks again. “It’s weird, right? Walk into any bar on Earth and they’ll have a dozen to pick from, but soon as you take off…”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “No burgers. No guac. No ice cream.”

The low chuckle he gives is a sound she’d like to hear again. And again, and again, and—

“When you put it like that, this spacer life is a real sorry existence.”

Kyra nods and wonders what he misses most from home. Or who. But that is none of her business, so she empties her glass and tips the bartender in preparation to leave.

“Sorry tonight was a bust, Shepard.”

“It wasn’t a total loss. Decent food, free booze.” She rests her chin on one closed fist. “Good company.”

“By that, I assume you mean our new asari friends.”

“Sure.”

Holding his gaze is harder than it should be. He cradles his nearly-empty glass and taps his fingers in sequence. Up and down, like a zipper.

At last, he looks away. “I was going to say ‘beautiful,’ by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“Earlier, before we left. I was going to tell you how incredible you looked, but then you interrupted me, and I never really got the chance to say it so I figured I might as well say it now.”

Warmth rises in her belly and she rides it like a wave, unscathed and unchanged on the other side. She turns to face him, wriggling in the seat in preparation like he’s about to try and upend her. “All right, Alenko. Hit me. I’m ready.”

He gives a huff of nervous laughter, one hand going straight to the back of his neck. “Well, uh... that was pretty much it.”

“That’s it? You waited all night to tell me that you were going to tell me I looked beautiful, but didn’t?”

His lips roll together, and he cedes the point with a tilt of his head, then meets her eyes again before his take a slow, uncertain wander around the rest of her features.

“Shepard,” he says when he makes it back, and it’s a name so overused it may as well be a title—but not spoken like that. Low and drawn out and a little bit reverent, it becomes almost intimate for the first time in years and she can't help but wonder how her first might sound.

“You look really beautiful tonight.”

Oh. Oh no. Kyra knows she should say thank you, and tell him to finish his drink so they can get out of here, but this next wave won’t subside and the air won’t reach her lungs and all she can do is stare at him.

“I mean, not just tonight, but especially—” he continues, visibly flustered by her silence. “You know, the dress and the lips—ah, make-up! And, and the hair and everything, it’s just very, um, tasteful, and… Um.” He clears his throat and pushes his drink away by inches, folding his hands tight together. "Feel free to stop me anytime.”

Ah. There. That’s the Alenko she knows and can handle.

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” she says, sending a silent prayer of thanks to whichever god kept her voice from breaking.

The smile they exchange is soft and charged and it smooths him over. His eyes are brown. Kyra knew that already, but clinically. On paper. Hair: black. Eyes: brown. Year of birth: 2151.

She didn’t know it like this, tangibly, all wrapped up and swept away in a simple fact.

This time she’s the one to give in. “You know, you should really keep that button pressed, Alenko.”

“What?”

“The charisma button.” She jerks her head toward the door, grabs his hand for the sake of anyone who might still be awake and sober enough to notice, and leads him out. “Push it. More.”

“I— what?”

Kyra chuckles to herself and steps into the elevator. “Forget it.”

The doors close once she chooses a floor and she regrets taking his hand because now she has to let go.

Kiss me. Come on, Alenko. Quick, before we go back. She can’t think it any louder, can’t make it any clearer without crossing a line. Be better if he does it, but he won’t. She knows he wants to just like she knows he never will, because he’s a good soldier and a good soldier doesn’t fuck with the chain of command. Not without a compelling reason, at least, and she can’t give him one.

Their floor lights up and reality pours in. He follows her across the dock, at a distance now that no one who would care might be watching.

Kyra takes a sharp, deep breath. Three more nights of this—unless they can get their intel sooner. Three more nights of flirting and dancing and soft touches all for show and not to keep. Maybe she should have brought Williams after all. Or Garrus. Or anyone else.

Distracted, she nearly trips getting into the shuttle, and somehow he’s right there, a broad hand on her waist to steady her.

A nod and he detaches. Steps back. “Ma’am.”

Ma’am. But he is a terrible liar, and she’s never been good at a long con.

[winterscaptain]

figure it out.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this has been in my wips for literal months as i’ve done my best to get it just right for yall. i hope you enjoy it, and tell me what you think! There’s an addendum to this one, and i’m already working on it, but we’ll see a few more things before that’s ready :)

words: 3.5k warnings: sex mention, sex implication, language

summary: “love is like a backache. it doesn’t show up on an x-ray, but you know it’s there.” - george burns. au!january 2012. 

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

You roll over in bed when your alarm goes off, but you don’t get very far. Aaron throws an arm over you and pulls you back to him with a grumble. 

You huff a laugh and wiggle up against him. It’s all a tease and you both know it - there isn’t any time to get up to anything fun before work, but it’s far too entertaining to rile him up.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” His voice escapes his lips between your shoulder blades and you can feel his smile. 

“Oh, trust me, babe. I can finish.” 

He hums, his smile breaking out into something real. “I noticed.” 

+++

When the two of you finally make it out of bed (surprisingly still on time), you grab one of Aaron’s scarves and a hat on your way out. It’s your turn to drop Jack at school today on your way into the office, and the task serves two purposes. 

The first? It’s nice to spend time with Jack, just the two of you, when it’s your turn and you’re not on a case. It’s the same for Aaron, who always leaves a little earlier so he and Jack can sit down somewhere and have breakfast together.

The second is pure logistics. You two can’t show up to work in the same car at the same time, so a convenient excuse to separate and stagger your arrivals is welcome. 

“Really?” 

Aaron’s question stops you at the threshold and you look over your shoulder “What?” 

“My hat? My scarf?” 

It’s almost too tempting to cave when he’s looking at you like that - his tie hanging around his neck, shirt untucked, arms crossed, and playful frown hiding a smile. 

“Yeah. It’s warm and it’s here and we’re late.” 

Jack squints up at you and says, “We’re not late.”

“You’re not late.”

The observations come within split seconds of each other and you laugh. 

“Fine. Not late, but warm. And you have more hats.” You scamper back into the house to plant a kiss on his lips, smoothing the hair at his temples. 

Jack’s laughter is the underscore to your next quip. “You’re very handsome and I’m sure you’re very smart so you can figure it out.” 

“Yeah, Dad,” Jack chirps. “Figure it out.”

He has nothing to say to your retreating forms as he catches a glimpse of your smile through the crack in the closing door.

+++

Emily and Spencer are away at a conference-book-signing thing, so it’s just the five of you and Penelope this morning. You’d normally figure that would be Rossi’s purview, but apparently - 

“My book-signing days have been put on hold indefinitely in favor of -”

“ - He’s back.” Garcia interrupts, tossing case files at all of you. The conversation is cut short and you suppress a smile. “The Marin headlands last night.” 

You can see Aaron’s lips pull as well. 

It’s the little things. 

Penelope gestures with the notes and crime scene photos appear on the screen. “David Atley and Nicole Puli, both 24, both grad students at Berkeley, shot multiple times in their vehicle-- wait for it--” She clicks again and a familiar sigil appears. 

“The Zodiac?” Morgan’s shock is almost sardonic in its delivery. 

Rossi snorts. “No way.”

“Come on,” Derek says, amused, while JJ chimes in as well. 

 “It's gotta be the 2.0 version.”

While neither of you speak, you share a glance with Aaron. You’re kidding. 

He only raises his eyebrows for a split second and shrugs. 

There’s some part of you a little paranoid that you’re the most obvious couple to exist in the history of the universe. Sure, the team has been teasing you about your friendship for years, the will-the-won’t-they of it all, but now that it’s real you’re almost terrified that they know everything. 

Thus, the overcompensation has been wretched. You and Aaron barely look at each other in the field if you can help it (which you usually can’t) and he tends to put you with Derek more often than not. 

In truth, the others have noticed, but are far too interested in the spectacle to say anything. Emily’s almost certain the two of you have slept together, and Dave may or may not have suggested the possibility of a secret marriage during your period of suspension. 

However far-fetched and ridiculous their theories, they know you two well enough to know that something happened. The tension is gone. 

Derek almost finds himself missing the tension. There hasn’t been much to tease you about lately in its absence. 

“Yeah, you would think so, except for the crazy similarities in the MO.” Penelope clicks through the photos as she talks. 

“I'm talking same victimology, same geography. And,” she adds. “Two souvenirs were left at the crime scene.” She clicks once more and stands back for the full effect. 

“He left a photo?” Rossi asks.

She hums in the affirmative. “Local police say that is Marcia Miller. She was found near Napa in 1971. Strongly suspected that she was a victim of the Zodiac, but police never confirmed it and they didn't publicize the case.” 

Morgan’s still squinting at the screen. “So the Zodiac took this photo at the killing and then saved it all these years?”

“The Zodiac's last confirmed victim was the cabdriver Paul Stine,” Dave notes devolving into a conversation about The Zodiac, his timeline, his signature. 

It’s nothing new - The Zodiac Killer’s case details are common knowledge in your line of work, nevermind the sheer number of copycats that try their hand at the highly-ritualistic murders before inevitably getting arrested. 

There’s a reason this guy hasn’t been caught in forty years. 

After a few minutes of bouncing between you all, Hotch pushes back from the table and stands. “Have Reid and Prentiss meet us in San Francisco. Wheels up in 30.”

He heads straight to his office to collect his things and you swing in by the tips of your fingers for just a second. “You wanna call Jess or do you want me to?” 

In the middle of throwing files in his briefcase, he doesn’t look up when he answers. “Can you, please? I was supposed to meet with Strauss this afternoon and need to stop by her office before wheels up.” 

You smile at him, tapping the door frame twice. “You got it.” 

+++

It’s boots on the ground right away when you land in San Francisco. You drive to the crime scene with Aaron in the passenger seat beside you and JJ in the back. The radio’s on, and you sing under your breath, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel as you make your way up to the crime scene. 

Before you get to the local FBI agents, JJ catches you by the sleeve. “It’s nice to have music in the car again.” 

You just smile at her. Aaron looks a little puzzled. 

The three of you wipe the looks off your faces by the time you get to Agent Lynn. 

+++

“What did JJ mean?” Aaron asks you. 

The two of you are alone for the time being, posted up in the conference room with the old Zodiac case files. You look up. “Hmm?” 

“What did she mean when she mentioned the music earlier?” 

“Oh.” A little flush of embarrassment shoots down your gut. “Derek pointed out to me last summer that I didn’t play any music in the car.” 

...while you were gone is the thing you don’t say, but he knows that’s what you mean. 

“I didn’t really notice.” You shrug to cover your fib. “I guess I’ve reacquainted myself with the radio in the last couple of weeks.” 

Aaron hums, returning to his work. Something’s off, but you’re sure it’ll come up later. 

+++

“You don’t think it’s really him, do you?” You ask, unbuttoning your shirt and throwing your pajamas on. 

Surprisingly, this case seems to be one of those that allows for sleep at regular hours. For that, you’re grateful. It’s much harder to find time to wind down with Aaron at the end of the day when you’re all forced to sleep in shifts. 

Aaron shakes his head, “No, I think Reid’s right. We’re looking at a particularly sophisticated copycat.” 

“Isn’t that kind of worse?” Hopping up on your bed, you curl up and look at him over your nose - a clear invitation to join you. 

With a huff down his nose and a little smile, he flops down beside you and props his chin on his arms over your belly. “Could be. Luckily, we have Reid.” 

You almost think he’s going to say something else, but he gets that pensive look on his face again. 

“What?” 

With a sigh, he says, “I’m just thinking about what JJ said.” 

“Oh, Aaron -” 

He doesn’t let you finish. It’s probably a good thing. You didn’t know what you wanted to say anyway. 

“I knew how hard it was on me, but I’m realizing more and more how hard it was on you, too.” He shakes his head. “I feel ...I don’t know. I feel like I should have known better… or something.” 

Winding your fingers in his hair, you sit in silence for a moment. He doesn’t have anything more to say and eventually he crawls up your body and settles in under your arm, his head on your chest and legs wound between yours.

Sometimes, you’ve found, he likes to feel small.  

“You’re safe and you’re home. That’s what matters.” You kiss the top of his head. “And I love you.” 

He hums, arcing into your touch and wrapping an arm around your waist. “I love you.” 

+++

You spend much of the next day chasing Spencer around the city, keeping notes handy (for yourself, not for him - he doesn't need them) and reporting back on his discoveries to the team like some kind of overwrought and hyper-trained secretary. 

Stepping off to the side, you answer a call from Aaron. 

“Hit your limit yet?” 

You look over at Spencer, who’s flipping through a newspaper like a man on a mission. “It’s actually kind of entertaining.” 

And that’s actually true. Watching Spencer push the limits of his intelligence is always a treat - it happens so rarely you almost forget how much you enjoy it every time. 

He huffs into the phone. “Hang in there. We’ll all meet back at the precinct once Reid’s done -”

“Doing magic?” 

“Exactly. Keep me posted.” There’s a pause. It’s an odd little habit you two developed in the field to leave space for the words you can’t say in front of the others. 

I love you.

“Me too.” 

+++

You’re almost asleep when a sliver of yellow light shoots across your room, promptly disappearing as the door to the hallway closes. 

He pads across the room and slips under the covers. “Hi.” 

A little smile crosses your face as you roll over to face him. “Hi.”

Before you can say anything else, his hands are on you and he’s half on top of you as he captures your lips. 

Needless to say, the lack of sleep is worth it. 

+++

Emily, long after she and Aaron are the only ones left in the precinct conference room, squints as she notices something right under his collar. 

He’s already loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt, no longer standing on ceremony now that all the local police have retired and the rest of the team gone up to their hotel rooms. There’s not much to do, but the compulsion to get ahead for tomorrow is one neither one of them can shake. 

What Aaron failed to remember when executing his wardrobe adjustment was the rather...spirited romp in your room the night prior. The little purple swatches painted on his skin just under the line of his collar stood out stark against the crisp lines of his dress shirt. 

Fortunately for you, there was no way in hell the rest of the team would find anything he left on you last night. 

Emily reaches into her purse and pulls out a tube of concealer and a powder compact. Though he’s more olive-toned than she is, it’ll be good enough in a pinch. “Hey, Hotch.” 

He looks at her over his nose, his eyes tired. 

“You might want this for tomorrow morning.” She pushes the crisis control kit across the table to him, but he only frowns and deepens his squint. 

By way of explanation, she reaches across the table and presses the tip of her finger into one of the visible bruises in the hollow of his throat. He flinches, freezes, and then immediately drops his head into his hands. 

It’s easy to say Emily is amused in the extreme. “Those look...really fresh.” 

He shakes his head, insisting as he picks up a file at random, “They’re from before we left.” 

It’s only because it’s Emily that he’s even humoring this conversation. 

“No they’re not.” She sticks her tongue firmly in her cheek. “These ones are though.” She points at yellowing marks on his collarbone and he smacks her hands away. 

“And I know what fresh hickies look like, Hotch. Those are fresh fresh. Like, last night fresh. And we’ve been here for four days.” She frowns, tracking back through the day. “When on earth would you have time to -” 

A series of images flash through her head, random wayward connections flashing together in an alarmingly clear picture.

You, avoiding her at the office back in September with quickly-covered marks painted across your neck.

You, flirting with Sean and having way too much fun doing it, looking over his shoulder at ...someone else.

Hotch, in a perpetually good mood (for him, anyway, and despite looking ill-slept) for the last five months. 

The way the mistletoe kiss at Dave’s Christmas party looked way too easy, too familiar. 

And now, the obvious indicators that Hotch is not only getting it, he’s getting it good. 

If he got those last night…

Wait. 

Their hotel rooms are right next to …

Oh my God. 

Hotch watches the realization flash across Emily’s face, and he knows you’re both busted. Instead of losing her shit like he expected, Emily just leans back in her chair - smug. 

“So. Are you still Not the Boyfriend, or has there been an update?”

He sighs. 

The corner of her mouth tips up. “How long?”

“For which part? The not-boyfriend part, the boyfriend part, or this part?” He gestures vaguely to the space behind his tie, and Emily snorts. 

“Just spill it.” 

Holding up a finger, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, dialing the first number on his speed dial. 

You’re hardly asleep, sitting up in bed waiting for him with a case file in your lap, when you get the call. You’re not sure who’s listening, so a “Hey, Hotch. What’s up?” will have to do. 

“Emily knows.” 

You straighten. “How?”

“Doesn’t matter. She knows.” 

There’s a scramble, and suddenly Emily’s on the other end of the phone. “He’s got very questionable and very fresh bruises just under his collar. Care to explain?”

There’s another shuffle. 

“Ignore her,” Aaron says. With a hand pressed to your forehead, you understand the question implicit in his phone call. 

“Just tell her. It’s basically her fault, anyways. If she hadn’t ditched it then we’d have our heads up our asses for another five years.”

“Alright,” then, after a second of realizing you don’t sound sleepy at all, “Go to bed.”

“I’m in bed.” 

He rolls his eyes. Emily can only look on with amusement, gleeful in the extreme. “You know that’s not what I mean. Go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright. Fine.” You reluctantly close the casefile and put him on speaker so he can hear the light click off. “I’m going to sleep.” Then, “I love you. Come up soon.”

“Okay.” He shoots a glance at Emily. Because he’ll never hear the end of it anyway, more ammo won’t hurt at this point. “I love you too. Now, really. Go to slee -”

You hang up on him. He double-takes at his phone for a moment before shoving it back in his pocket. 

He’s met with Emily’s surprisingly moved eyes. “You’re...okay.”

What she means is, You’re happy. 

He knows. 

He nods. “I’m okay.”

She puts her files down and leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and lacing her fingers. “Tell me.” 

So, he does. 

He tells her about the way you stuck to him like glue through the divorce, the way you wiggled your way into Haley’s heart, captured the love of his son, and earned the trust of his entire family. 

He tells her what Haley said in the hospital, the tenacious care you showed his unyielding and unwilling ass when he was healing, the way your grief soothed his in the wake of Haley’s loss. 

He tells her about the moments of euphoria in the years of want and doubt and fear. 

He tells Emily about the day she died, how there was nothing more painful than that necessary lie. He tells her how easy it was to lie to the others, how it ripped him in half to lie to you. 

He tells her about the day he left for Pakistan, about the fight the night before, the kiss he pressed to your cheek on the tarmac, the endless, wretched nights missing you in the desert. 

He tells her about the fight when he finally came home, skims over the following days, jumps and meanders around to Christmas, to moving in, to the bliss that now seems to follow him wherever he goes. 

Emily watches the smile that plays at his mouth when he talks about you, the softness in his eyes as recalls the look on your face and the words you said and the way you are with Jack. There’s a kind of peace in him that she’s never really seen before. 

Maybe, she imagines, it was there before she met him (the second time). Maybe this peace existed with Haley. Maybe this is the most she’s ever heard him speak at once. Maybe it makes her smile. 

Maybe this peace is what his love looks like. 

If that’s the case, she thinks, you are very lucky indeed. 

It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, but at some point he stops talking. 

“Hotch?” 

He looks over at her, the softness lingering in his eyes. 

“I’m really happy for you.” 

His lips twitch. “Thanks.” 

“And you know it’s my God-given right to tell everyone else once this case is over, right?”

+++

You actually are asleep by the time Aaron gets back to the hotel. He leans against the wall in the dark with his hands in his pockets, enjoying the peace before the inevitable shitshow. 

He crosses the room and crouches at your side, running the back of his fingers over your cheek. You stir, sleepy noises leaving your throat as your eyes crack open. 

“Aaron?”

“Yeah. Just me.” 

You smile a little and close your eyes again. “How’d she take it?”

“Remarkably well.” He kisses your forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“No,” you whine, drawn-out and slurred. “Don’t leave. Stay. I set an alarm.”

With a resigned sigh, he strips and slides into bed behind you, wrapping you in his arms and holding you close. 

+++

You and Aaron sit on proverbial pins and needles for the rest of the case, but Emily keeps her word. The only indication of her knowledge came the morning after her chat with Aaron, when she pulled you to her and hugged you so tight you could hardly breathe. 

She seizes her moment on the plane, about halfway home. 

“Derek, you owe me fifty bucks.” 

She hardly looks up from her book as she speaks. 

He takes off his headphones and wrinkles his brow. “What?”

She repeats herself, slower, as if she was speaking to a child. “You. Owe. Me. Fifty. Bucks.”

“...Why?” 

Emily finally looks up from her book to pointedly stare at you and Aaron, seated next to each other and sharing a bag of Goldfish you stole from Jack’s snack drawer. You’re both reading from the same file, absently reaching for crackers as you go along. 

Derek’s confusion continues to smother his face until it finally clicks in. 

He steals a page from Reid’s notebook and balls it up, tossing it across the plane and breaking your concentration. You look up, only a little startled, to find a face-splitting grin blinding you across the cabin.

Derek’s small ruckus has drawn the attention of the rest of the team - well, all except JJ, who’s fast asleep on the couch. 

There seems to be a collective sigh of relief as money exchanges hands. You’re not quite sure what the bet was, but Emily seems to have won handily. 

Aaron takes your hand under the table, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

It doesn’t. 

Everyone simply returns to their tasks, little smiles on their faces. 

+++

tagging: @quillvine @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygrangerwriting @ssaic-jareau @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @arthurmorrgans @the-falling-in-the-danger @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @kerrswriting @messyhairday-me @ssworldofsw @deagibs @crazyshannonigans @moonshinerbynight @jhiddles03 @teamhappyme @mendesmelodies @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos

[onepiecereactions]

Vice-Admiral Smoker and the joys of administration, OS

Smoker, Tashigi, Garp, Kizaru OS.

Humour.

Warning vulgarity.

2100 words.

English Version

Vice-Admiral Smoker and the joys of administration

Smoker hated coming backfrom a mission. Don't get me wrong, he loves his job! But two things annoyed him the most about these moments.

On the one hand, that meant not going on the sea for at least a few weeks. Indeed, Marineford had established a complex system of turnover of vice-admirals so, with some exceptions, at least 3 vice admirals are always present on the base in case of necessity.

The feeling of freedom, feeling the air on his face, not being locked, that was what made Smoker happy deep inside him. That and the feeling of having helped the citizens and brought some justice back to this damn world, obviously.

On the other hand, returning to base meant a horrible administrative mountain. And just thinking about it, headaches were already migrating through the vice-admiral's head. Luckily, Tashigi was always ready to help him and do some of his duties to let him rest.

So it was with a heavy heart that Smoker set foot on the base for the first time after months of mission. While Tashigi was already rushing into his office with the firm intention of working all night to do her report on time, Smoker was walking mechanically to his private apartments. He threw his dirty jacket on the floor, took a long, hot shower, and get into his bed, already cursing tomorrow's hellish day.

The next morning the vice-admiral woke up in a bad mood. He grabbed his jacket that he had left on the soaked bathroom floor and sighed: it was ruined. As resistant as the clothes made by Marineford are, staying intact when you get cannonballs in your back is complicated. And Smoker, unlike many of the women on the base, hated walking around topless.

So his first resolution of the day was to go find a new jacket. And of course, he was going to ask Tashigi to do it for him. At first, as a man of integrity, Smoker was remorseful about leaving so many of his tasks to his colleague, even if the latter was doing wonderfully. But after several years in Marineford, honestly, now he didn't care.

So he grabbed his den den mushis and called the brunette. After several seconds of waiting, Tashigi did not pick up. Smoker worried, it was very unusual for the young woman who had a reputation for answering even when she was asleep.

He then quickly took two cigars from his desk, threw his dead jacket over his back, and walked quickly to his office.

Misfortune never happening alone, of course, on the way he passed Admiral Kizaru. The latter joined him in his race to his office and took the opportunity to discuss. The Yellow Admiral had the reputation of loving to talk, much to the misfortune of Smoker who loved calm above all else.

"Oh, tell me dear friend, are the holes in the jacket a new fashion? I know that I am no longer very young but still, I don’t understant. Is it to provide a ventilation system? Don't tell me you have a fever my dear friend? Do you want me to call the dear caregivers of the "

Kizaru didn't even have time to finish his monologue when he got the door of Smoker's office in the face. The latter had already crushed his cigars to refrain from hitting the high-ranking officer in the face.

Once he was sure he heard the yellow monkey leave, he got into the chair across from his desk and reached into the second drawer to extract two new cigars.

After a few seconds of enjoying the smoke reaching his lungs, Smoker grabbed the stationary den den mushi of his desk and, as he went to call Tashigi, a note stuck to the back of his device intrigued him.

"Even though I warned you last night, that I sent you an official mail 48 hours before and that I slipped a note under the door of your apartment, I want to remind you, just in case, that I am absent that day until 7:30 p.m. All the captains have a meeting. I wish you a very nice day. Captain TASHIGI. "

Oh shit. For a little Smoker could have cried. It was certainly one of the worst announcements he could receive. No Tashigi. No Tashigi for a whole day! One more day after a mission! All the calls and assignments she receives today will go straight back to him, her boss! In addition to her work he was going to have to do his own! With holes in his jacket.

Smoker decided to go on strike. The schedule for that day was already far too scary to be able to live it. A thousand times he would have preferred to fight against Monkey D Luffy rather than going through it.

He then decided he would do what was necessary. He got up quickly from his seat, crashed out of his office and almost ran towards Building C. It was barely nine in the morning but the Vice Admiral thought he was fainting when he saw the huge queue in front of the door. . Obviously, it was Monday, and those morons in the administrative sector never worked weekends.

He then did like everyone else, walked over to the door to grab a numbered ticket, sat down on one of the few free seats and waited.

To his left was an ordinary soldier, without a shirt and pants, just his underwear. Smoker could smell a familiar scent of magma. Akainu had made his own again during the training of his subordinates.

Smoker looked at his ticket, number 38 and sighed. As he was about to improvise a nap while waiting his turn, his portable den den mushis rang.

"Vice-Admiral Smoker, I'm listening. » He said wearily.

The soldier at the other end of the line looked surprised to find the Vice Admiral and not the Captain. “Captain Tashigi is in a meeting, her calls are being redirected to me. If it's not urgent hang up ". Without further ado, the soldier hung up to the vice-admiral's delight.

1 hour later.

"I swear in front of Gol D Roger that if that damn den den mushi rings one more time I will blow his head against the wall." Grumbled the marine for the third time in a minute.

After an hour of waiting and 15 calls, the Vice Admiral was finally called into the room.

He almost tore his jacket from his back, put it violently on the desk while trying to keep his nerves and glared at the woman in front of him who remained unmoved.

"Vice Admiral Smoker, registration number XXXX, I need a new model 3 series AB size 98 jacket with option 13". Smoker had been clear, to the point, and hardly angry.

The woman, who was well into her fiftieth, looked at him indifferently.

“It doesn't work like that, vice-admiral. She said in a weary voice, as if she was talking to the first moron in the area.

Smoker struggled not to crush his cigars again but revised himself to think it would be difficult to face this without cigars.

"So how do you do in this case?" He asked sharply.

The woman didn't even bother to answer him, she just gave him a form. Smoker thought it was a big joke when he found himself with a five-page double-sided document in his hands.

" Are you kinding me ? Five fucking pages for a fucking jacket? Can't you just write 22 fucking words on a fucking post it note and talk about it? Bellowed the Vice Admiral who was already starting to turn to smoke in annoyance.

"Blblblbl, blblblbl, blbllb" The den den mushi began to ring, straining Smoker's last strength to stay calm.

" It's not my fault ". The woman began in a slow, boring voice.

Blblblbl, blbllblb, blbllb

"If you are too stupid"

Blblblb, blblbl, blbllb

"To complete a simple form"

Blblbllbbl, blblbl

"That even Kizaru gets to"

Blblbl, SCRATCH.

The vice-admiral's den den mushi flew across the room, finishing its course into the wall.

To the slow voice of the woman was added the tears of the den den mushi.

"FUCK OF," Smoker yelled as he stormed out of the room to make sure his fist didn't end up in the woman's face. He went out like a madman and locked himself in his office to try to find calm and serenity.

He grabbed a third cigar and after about ten minutes of relaxation began to fill out the damn form. He was only halfway through when the door to his office slammed open, knocking out the lustrous wood that had already received quite a few knocks.

"Ah my dear friend, I went to the infirmary and got you some medicine to lower your temperature. But beware, this is a suppository! ".

Smoker felt his heart stop beating when he saw the yellow admiral's face in front of his nose.

Blblblb, blbllb

"Oh my dear friend I think someone is trying to reach you on your stationary den den mushi. "

Blblblb, blbllb

"Maybe you should answer, maybe it's urgent, don't you think? "

Blblblbl, blbllb

Smoker had a vision. The den den mushi stuck, smeared with haki, right in the middle of the admiral's face, his nose bleeding.

It took phenomenal self-control for the vice-admiral not to reproduce his impulses. For the second time, he chooses to escape.

He took a pen with him to finish filling out the damn file that had become completely unreadable so much he had massacred it.

He found himself in front of the lingerie door, walked past all the soldiers and walked into the office. He barely had time to put a foot inside when he felt a stapler cross his face with its smoke.

"I DON'T THINK I CALLED YOUR NUMBER!" Yelled the woman who had "briefed" him earlier.

Smoker crushed the doorknob but stayed calm. He turned around, took a ticket from the machine, and sat down in the only seat available: the one next to Vice-Admiral Garp. "

Smoker sighed and prayed to all the gods that this old fool would leave him in peace.

So he settled down next to him and inspected him discreetly. He then realized that the old man's uniform was impeccably worn if the traces of grease were omitted from his shirt from all the donuts he had. But the Marineford hero wasn’t wearing socks.

"Don't ask questions kid." The grandfather simply told him when he met Smoker's gaze.

"Hey Smoker, I heard you're after my grandson. Did you know that when he was young he used to have fun sticking his finger up his nose to eat his boogers? Except that this stupid pirate, as he is elastic, he always ended up bleeding from the nose. Suddenly he would start screaming and running in all directions. Most of the time he would smash into a tree or a wall and fall apart, by the time the bleeding ended. Did you also know he got clean very late? I had to buy him pyjamas with an opening pocket on the buttocks because he never managed to undo his buttons and ended up pooping on himself? Ah and also the time when ”.

Smoker wanted to: die.

Blblblb, blbllbl

A mirage ? a hallucination?

"Vice-Admiral Garp, I'm listening. Ah hi Sengoku, how are you? A fishing trip? Now ? Ah I'm coming. By the way, don't you have pairs of socks to lend me? »And so the Vice Admiral disappeared through the maze of hallways, much to Smoker's delight.

It took no less than forty-five additional minutes of waiting for Smoker to finally put the damn file in the damn good drawer which, by chance again, was in building A and, as it happened, no administrative soldier was available to take the paper which he therefore had to deposit himself.

The same day, at 10 p.m.

"A call for you Vice Admiral Smoker." The bartender handed the den den mushi to the vice-admiral, who took a last sip of sake before answering.

"Good evening Vice-Admiral, I hope you had a good day! » Tashigi began. "I was wondering why you weren't answering den den mushi... I received an official document for you. It involves a fine for "disrespecting an administrative colleague" as well as a two-week ban from returning to the lingerie office. Is everything okay ”.

"I STILL PREFER TO WALK NAKED THAN TO RETURN TO THIS OFFICE".

[talltree-writes]

We’re Going on a Trip

Fandom: PJO and MCU

Summary: The annual school trip has rolled around and the teachers have been keeping it oddly quiet. When they finally announce it, Peter’s heart sinks— just once, could he have a normal field trip? Coupled with the stress of having Percy Jackson, a relatively recent addition to the Avengers, on the trip, Peter is dreading Friday. 

Genre: fluff, irondad and spiderson, avengers fam, someone give Percy a break

Pairing: Percabeth is there 

Warnings: Cursing, Character typical injuries, Nightmares

Author’s Note: I keep forgetting this account exists, so I forgot to cross-post from my Ao3. Anyway, I’ve had this done for months, but haven’t been fully happy with it. It’s part of a series of one shots that I’m apparently only updating once a year... oops. Anyway, here’s this

“Class, as you know, the science department takes one field trip together every year. This year, I am excited to announce, Mrs. Pruta’s marine biology class, Mr. Looves Physics class, and our Chemistry class will be the first group to tour the newly reinstated Stark Tower this Friday. Now, Stark Tower was intended to close around this time last year, but Mr. Stark…” Peter tuned out whatever Mr. Gray was saying. 

Stark Industries? Really? The big annual field trip that he looked forward to every year was to the building he spent most of his time in anyway? He’d been on that tour already, given to him by the head intern herself once his Stark Internship turned from a cover story to fact. 

****

After Peter was shot, the Baby Monitor Protocol automatically called Mr. Stark, who demanded that Peter come straight to the tower to get patched up.

Unable to use the medbay that was still under construction, Colonel Rhodes set up his makeshift OR in Mr. Stark’s lab. With no anesthetic, as they did not have any of the stuff that could knock out a super soldier or enhanced human, Peter allowed his eyes to wander as Rhodey pulled the bullet from his leg and stitched him up. His eyes caught on an unsolved problem scribbled on a chalkboard.

Once Rhodey had finished patching him up, Peter hopped off of the table and limped over to the  chalkboard. He scanned his eyes over it, looking for the issue, for why it was unsolvable to the smartest man Peter knew. Finally, his eyes caught on it. “Hey, Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah, kid?” Mr. Stark came to stand behind Peter. 

“You forgot to balance the chemicals. Just redo it from there and your answer should be… this.” Peter picked up a piece of chalk and finished the problem after doing the calculation in his head, writing the answer on the bottom. 

Mr. Stark double-checked his work, marking his own calculations to the side. When he came up with the same answer, he turned to stare, astounded, at Peter. “Kid, that was a graduate-level problem, and you just solved it.” 

Peter shrugged, “You just needed a fresh set of eyes. Besides, I’ve studied ahead. How else could I have created my web fluid?” 

“Yo-wha- studied ahead?” He sputtered. 

Peter shrugged again, as if he hadn’t just admitted to knowing graduate level science and math at a high school age. “I was bored, so I read ahead and looked stuff up. When I finished our book, I moved on to the next, and then the next, and suddenly I found myself reading research essays and then I guess I could do this stuff. I didn’t know it was that advanced…” He blushed at the end. 

Mr. Stark stared at him again for a minute before speaking. “How’d you like to help me in the lab sometimes? Let’s say once or twice a week for now, and then we’ll see where it goes.” 

Eyes round as saucers, Peter met Mr. Stark’s gaze “Work in your lab… with you?” A pause as it sunk in. “Yes! Mr. Stark, yes! I’d love to!” 

“Great! You start Monday. You’ll be getting your first paycheck from Stark Industries in no time!” Mr. Stark clapped Peter on the shoulder.

If possible, Peter’s eyes got bigger. “P-paycheck? You’re going to pay me for working here?” 

Mr. Stark chuckled. “Of course, Underoos! Stark Industries doesn’t have unpaid interns anymore. I recently realized that minimum wage isn’t even a viable income, so why should I expect my hard-working interns to live off even less. I need them to be focusing on their work, and if they don’t know where their next meal is coming from, they can’t do that. You’ll be a fully realized intern, with higher access, of course, so you’ll receive the same treatment. Of course, school must come first, or else your Aunt will kill me. But I expect that will be no problem.” 

“Th-thank you, Mr. Stark! Thank you so much!” 

Mr. Stark smiled fondly at Peter and said, “It’s no problem, kid, now go on home before your aunt gets worried.” 

Peter nodded and headed towards the window, pulling his mask down as he did so. He opened the window and waved as he jumped out, nearly giving his mentor a heart attack, as that move always does. 

As soon as he knew Peter was out of earshot, Mr. Stark said, “Hey, FRIDAY? Remind me to tell Pepper we’re paying all of our interns now.” 

When Rhodey just stared at him, Tony shrugged. “The kid and his aunt can barely make ends meet, but they won’t let me help them. If I can give the kid a little extra change and gain an employee, I should do it. I mean, it’s not like it’s going to put a huge dent in my wallet, anyway.” 

****

“Get these permission slips signed and returned to me by the time we load the bus on Friday.” Mr. Gray shouted as the bell rang and all the students filed out of the classroom. 

Ned caught up with Peter after grabbing a permission slip. “Woah, dude! This is awesome! We’re going to Stark Towers! Well I guess it’s not as awesome for you, since you work there and all.” 

Before Peter could remind his best friend that he worked there as well, Flash cut in. “Ha! How lame do you have to be to lie to your own best friend, Penis?” He jeered as he passed. “We all know you don’t actually have a job at Stark Industries. They don’t even accept applications until you’re a grad student, and even then, only, like, seven get it. No way that you, Penis Parker, have a job with Stark Industries!” 

 Peter glowered at Flash but didn’t deign to answer. Ned on the other hand, shot back “He’s not lying, Flash! And he’ll prove it to you on the tour! Peter knows Tony Stark personally!” 

Turning away, Flash scoffed, “Yeah, right. You’re fooling yourself if you think he’s not lying to you. We’ll all see on Friday how much of a liar he is.” 

As Flash walked away, Peter and  Ned turned back to their lockers. “God, I hate that guy. I can’t wait for you to show him he’s wrong. Hey! Do you think you can get Mr. Stark to show up? That’ll really give him a kick in the ass!” 

Peter shot a look at his friend. “No! You don’t understand, I can’t let Mr. Stark know I’m going to be there. He’s going to embarrass me! It’s one thing for people to know I’m an intern, it’s another thing for people to know Tony Stark is basically my father.”

Ned’s demeanor shifted. “Oh, yeah.” He perked up again. “At least you’ll have Percy! Mr. Gray said his class is in our group.” 

Upon hearing this, Peter slammed his head into his now-closed locker. “Shit. Percy. At least I have an internship. How are we going to explain him and his clearance? He’s not been released to the public as an Avenger yet. This is going to be an absolute disaster.” 

“Hey, maybe it won’t be that bad. It’s not like there’s any guarantee that all of the Avengers will be there.”

Peter brightened up. “Yeah, why would any of them be there? They don’t live there. And it’s not like Mr. Stark knows about the field trip. Why would he? He’s got a billion dollar company to watch Pepper run. And he’s an Avenger. He’s super busy, like, all the time, and he never knows what’s going on in his building.” Maybe this field trip wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

***

  The day of the field trip arrived and Peter was up well before his alarm went off. “Aunt May? Is there any way I can not go on this field trip?” He called from his bed. 

“Peter, this is the biggest field trip of the year, and you always look forward to it. Don’t let the minor possibility that Tony Stark will be there ruin your day.” She said as she stood in his doorway. “Besides, you’ve missed too many days while Spider-manning to miss another.” 

Having risen into a seated position, Peter collapsed onto his pillows with a groan. “But May, Mr. Stark is going to embarrass me!” 

May chuckled. “Tony probably won’t even be there. You know how many meetings he has. He’s a busy man. He most likely doesn’t even know about the tour today.” 

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m just nervous. I’m scared about my identity getting let out of the bag, not to mention Percy’s. God, if Percy’s gets out we’re going to have serious problems.” 

Walking back into the kitchen, Aunt May called over her shoulder. “None of that is going to happen!” 

Peter groaned again, but got up and started getting dressed for school. He brushed his teeth, and tried to brush his hair, before looking at the clock and realizing he was going to be late if he didn’t leave now. 

He grabbed a Poptart from his aunt’s waiting hands, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and was out the door a second later, calling back “Love you, Aunt May!” 

Despite everything, Peter was kind of excited about the field trip. Sure, embarrassment was inevitable, but he was about to see a bunch of floors of the tower he never saw when he was working there. Plus, the look on Flash’s face when he realized the internship was real would be priceless. 

He made it to the school just in time to see the kids start loading the buses. Peter jogged forward and moved into the back of the line he saw Mr. Gray marking roll for. Just as he was about to board the bus, Mr. Gray pulled him aside. 

“Peter, you and I need to talk for a second.” He said. 

Confused, Peter went along. “Mr. Gray if this is about being tardy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, honestly.”

Mr. Gray shook his head. “No, Peter, this is about the rumors you’ve been spreading around about you being an intern at Stark Industries. Now, we’re very lucky that we got this opportunity, but I don’t want you, or Mr. Thompson, to embarrass us with talks of this internship. And if the talk continues, I’m going to have to have a conversation with the principal about it.” 

Near tears, Peter couldn’t muster any words to counter his teacher’s disbelief. So he just nodded and got on the bus. 

***

Meanwhile, at the Jackson-Blofis residence, Percy sat snoring through his alarm clock, Annabeth curled beside him. Annabeth, who was visiting both camp and her boyfriend while on break, had started the night alone on the bed, but when a nightmare woke Percy up, she allowed him to crawl off the floor and into the bed. 

“Percy… Percy… Percy!”  He startled awake to the sound of both his alarm and his mother saying his name. “Percy, it’s almost time for you to go. Remember you have your field trip today.” 

Percy shut his eyes and breathed “Shit.” 

“Language!” His mom bopped his head and left him to get ready. 

Through everything, Annabeth slept on. Suddenly, Percy had a brilliant idea. “Wisegirl?” He gently shook his girlfriend. “How would you like to tour Stark Towers with me today?” 

Her eyes blinked open. “Will Pepper Potts and/or Tony Stark be there?” She mumbled, sleep still heavy in her voice.

“Probably. I can introduce you if you’d like.” Percy smiled at the girl next to him. His Wisegirl. 

She glanced at his smile curiously, more awake now. “You’re very smiley for this early in the morning.” 

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have a girl like you”

She smiled back and a light pink dusted her cheeks, as if Percy didn’t say something like it every time they saw each other. “You sap. Now, c’mon, if we don’t leave soon, you’ll miss the bus and I’ll miss the train. 

“The train?” Percy said curiously. 

Sitting up, Annabeth tied her hair back. “Yes, the train. You didn’t think I’d be able to just join your field trip did you?” 

Percy pouted. “I thought maybe you could use your Yankees cap and sit on the bus with me.” 

“And what if someone else needs to sit next to you? I can’t just stand or perch or something.”

A devious smile crossed Percy’s face. “You could always sit in my lap.” 

A sharp intake of breath, a shove, and a thud later, and Percy was back on the floor, Annabeth laughing above him. “So I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then?” He asked. 

“I’ll see you at Stark Towers. After I take the subway there.” She stepped over him and grabbed her clothes. “Get up, Seaweed Brain, before we’re late.” 

Just then, Sally popped her head in the door. “Percy, what are you doing on the floor? You need to leave in 10 minutes!” 

Percy just groaned, but got up and started to get dressed. 

****

When Percy got to the school, he barely made it in time to catch the bus. His teacher shot him a sour look, but let him on nonetheless. He found a seat next to someone he didn’t know, and took out his phone to text Ned and Peter. 

From: Sea dude

To: Man in Chair, Geeker Parker

What’s the plan, gents

From: Geeker Parker

To: Sea dude, Man in Chair

Hope and pray we get out of this unnoticed. No chance your dad can help? 

From: Sea dude

To: Geeker Parker, Man in Chair

No… That’s not really how that works…

From: Geeker Parker

To: Sea dude, Man in Chair

:/

From: Man in Chair

To: Geeker Parker, Sea dude 

How does that work, anyway?

Before Percy could answer, he felt the eyes of someone on him, and looked up to see his teacher giving him another stink eye. He swiftly put his phone away. The ride was almost over anyway, so he just relaxed and focused on seeing his girlfriend again soon. 

Upon arrival, it took the teachers several attempts to calm the students down. Finally, when they did, they went over last minute rules. “Turn your phones off and be attentive, we’re very lucky to have this opportunity, and you’re a representative of the school. Please be on your best behavior, but don’t forget to have fun and enjoy the experience!” Mr. Loove said. 

It took forever to get everyone off the bus, as people kept stopping to stare at the top of the building. Percy didn’t know why, they saw it from their school every day, but he guessed one of the tallest buildings in New York was quite the sight up close. 

Inside, Percy caught Annabeth’s eye as she talked to the receptionist, trying to get a visitor’s pass. She shot him a smile before returning to her conversation. Percy turned his attention to Peter and Ned as they came over. 

“Dude, isn’t that Annabeth?” Ned asked as soon as he was close enough. 

Percy smiled. “Yeah, that’s her. She’s in town for a few days and I thought I’d invite her. I’m going to help her get her guest pass really quick, ‘scuse me, boys.”

He slid past the two towards the desk. Slapping an easy grin on his face, he approached the receptionist who was currently fighting with Annabeth. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you aren’t registered for a tour today, so I canno- Oh! Hi, Percy!” She smiled and blushed. 

“Hey, Erin. I see you’ve met Annabeth, my girlfriend. I was hoping I could get here first so I could request a pass for her, but she beat me to it. Do you think you could-“ 

Before he could finish, he was interrupted, once again, by Mrs. Pruta. “Percy Jackson, please stop flirting with these two fine young ladies and return to the group so we can check in.” 

“Oh, you mean this lovely young lady, here? Annabeth, this is my marine science teacher, Mrs. Pruta. Mrs. Pruta, this is my girlfriend, Annabeth Chase. She’ll be joining us on our tour today.”  Percy grinned. 

Flaring her nostrils, as she always does when she gets mad, Mrs. Pruta said “I’m afraid we only have enough badges for the class and she hasn’t registered in order to get one.” 

Erin piped into the conversation “Oh, that’s quite alright. Percy’s clearance is permission enough to give her a badge. She’s fine to join you.” 

“P-Percy’s what?” She spluttered, but quickly recovered. “We will discuss this later, young man. Now return to the group.” She stiffly stuck one arm out in the direction of the congregated students. 

As soon as they got to Peter and Ned, they burst out laughing. “Did you see her face? I thought she’d seen a ghost!” Percy said. 

“‘P-Percy’s what?’” Annabeth mocked. Normally, Annabeth respected teachers, but this one put a thorn in her side. 

Annabeth’s face suddenly sobered up as she glanced down at her phone. “What’s wrong, Wisegirl?” Percy stopped laughing. 

“I just got a text from a certain messenger friend of ours with a specific message to give you.” She pulled out her phone and showed it to him. 

Mist falling today. Time to tell the world everything.- H

“Fuck.” He muttered. “I had definitely planned on having a few more months without people knowing.”  

Ned and Peter craned their necks to see the message, but Percy handed Annabeth’s phone back to her. “What’s up?” Peter asked, concerned for his friend. 

“The Mist is going to fall much sooner than we anticipated, and as usual, the gods have no explanation for us.” Percy explained. “I’ve got to get an emergency press conference together by the end of the school day.” 

Peter grimaced. He had never experienced the stress of a press conference, and hoped he didn’t have to. Ever. “Just tell FRIDAY after we go through security. She’ll notify Dad and set it all up.” 

Percy nodded silently. Then, they both came to the same conclusion at the same time. “FRIDAY is about to let the cat out of the bag, isn’t she?” He groaned. 

Solemnly nodding his head, he patted Percy’s shoulder. They were screwed. 

Resigned to their fate, the boys looked to the approaching figures. And groaned.

****

‘Crap.’ Peter thought, as he recognized the two women coming towards them. Lacy and… Shuri. He’s in for it now. 

“Welcome, students!” Lacy shouted to get their attention. “My name is Lacy Ames, and I will be your tour guide for the day. If you will turn your attention to me, I have a few announcements, some rules, and then some guest badges to hand out.” The group quieted, especially when they noticed the intern’s companion. 

Lacy continued. “First of all, Princess Shuri of Wakanda will be joining you on your tour today. Any words, Princess?” 

Catching Peter’s eye, Shuri smiled wide. “I just heard there was a tour, and I was bored. So I thought I’d tag along and learn a little bit more about where I’m staying for the next few weeks.” She subtly winked at Peter. 

‘Hell yeah two weeks of lab time with Shuri!” Peter thought. He and Shuri had met at an otherwise boring meeting and bonded over their love of science. After her show of force in the battle for Wakanda, she had been established as a Junior Avenger.  

Peter briefly thought he would escape the embarrassment of seeing his best friend in front of his classmates, but he was mistaken. Once Shuri had caught his attention, she called out to him. “Hey Peter?”

He sighed, but answered. He knew what was coming. “Yes, Shuri?” 

“Toss me my keys!” 

Peter, without a printer in sight, chose the next best thing. He threw his backpack at the Princess of Wakanda. 

“I said my keys.” She said, deadpan as the backpack flew past her. 

“I thought you said printer.” Peter shrugged. 

“Why the fuck would I say printer?” She disregarded the teachers’ looks. 

The two came together in the middle of the space and did an intricate handshake that involved feet, hands, and hips. They had developed it when they were bored after they had both been kicked out of an Avengers meeting because they were ‘only Junior Avengers’. As they concluded their handshake, they burst into giggles together,  until Lacy cleared her throat and shot a pointed glance at the shocked class behind them. She, who had retrieved Peter’s backpack, handed the bag back to him and gestured for them both to rejoin the group. 

With the class still sitting in stunned silence, it was easy for Lacy to regain their attention. “Now, for some rules. No touching, no yelling, no pushing, always wear these badges I’m about to give you in a visible spot, or you will be escorted from the premises, and, biggest of all, no bullying.” Peter shot a glance to Flash, or, well, the back of Flash’s head, since he was front and center and Peter was in the back again, doing his best to hide. 

“Now, as I call your name, please come forward and get the badge I hand you. Cindy Moon.” Cindy went forward and grabbed the white badge. “Eugene Thompson” 

“It’s Flash, actually.” He said, and winked at the Princess. Shuri looked like she might puke. 

On and on the list went until there were no more badges. Mr. Gray, who had been checking off his sheet as the list went on, spoke up. “Um, ma’am, I’m afraid a few of the students didn’t get one. Mr. Parker, Mr. Leeds and Mr. Jackson seemed to be missing badges.” 

With a bright grin on her face, Lacy said “Oh, they can just use their own. Happy, our head of security,  has a thing about not giving one person two badges at the same time. Boys, do you have your badges?”  

They all pulled them out, Peter and Percy’s a shimmering gold, Ned’s a bright red, much different from any of the guest badges, and even the badge hanging from Lacy’s lapel. 

Flash, upon seeing the difference, threw his hand into the air. “Miss, why are theirs different?” 

“Good question, Eugene. It has to do with the ranking system. We have five levels here at Stark Towers, Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, and Epsilon. Alpha is the lowest ranking, and Epsilon is the highest. You all have Alpha clearance, which is clearance for guests and the press. Beta is for interns on the lower levels. These are usually our graduate interns, Gamma is for our R&D department and marketing, Delta is for our top scientists, who often get to work with Doctor Banner plus accounting and department heads, and Epsilon is for the Starks, their close friends or family, and the Avengers. Now, if you’ll follow me, I need you all to scan your badges here. Please make sure to remove anything from your pockets and put them in this bucket.” 

Peter, Percy, Ned and Annabeth filed to the back of the line. Lacy went first. “Lacy Green, Gamma clearance.” Everyone except the three boys, Shuri, and Lacy jumped. 

“Oh, don’t mind FRIDAY, she does that with everyone. She’s the building’s AI. She is the eyes and ears here and will detect anything that happens.” Lacy explained. 

Each time someone went through the scanner, FRIDAY announced their name and clearance, and each time, it spooked them. Peter wanted to laugh, but then he remembered how he reacted when he first spoke to FRIDAY. He was like a child on Christmas morning every time she spoke. 

Finally, it was their turn. When Peter went through the scanner, FRIDAY’s voice suddenly had a familiar Irish lilt. “Peter Parker, Epsilon clearance. Welcome back, Petey, I will alert Boss to your arrival.” 

Resigned to Mr. Stark finding out anyway, Peter calmly replied “Thank you, Fri. Will you remind him that I am here on a school trip, though?” 

“Yes, Petey. Mr. Stark said to have fun.” 

As he tried to ignore the stares of his classmates, Peter heard Friday say “Percy Jackson, Epsilon clearance. Welcome back, Mr. Jackson. I assume you’re on this field trip as well?” 

“Yeah, FRIDAY. Quick question, where are Tony and Pepper?” 

FRIDAY responded immediately. “Miss Potts is in a meeting until 1 and Mr. Stark is in his lab. Should I alert them to your presence?”

“Please. Could you also organize an emergency press conference for 3:45 this afternoon?”

“Yes.” A second of silence. “Boss has asked for an explanation.” She informed him.

Percy thought for a second. He wanted to remain under the radar, even if this information was coming out later that afternoon. “Tell him everything is going public today.” When she didn’t respond again, Percy assumed he got the message. 

Peter was thankful that most of the attention was off of him as everyone shifted to the bigger mystery. 

Percy looked around at the crowd of teenagers and smirked. “What, never seen someone talk to an AI before?” He confidently crossed to stand beside Annabeth, one arm around her waist, the other stuffed in his pocket. Peter was pretty sure only he and Annabeth knew how anxious Percy really was. He did well to cover up, but his smile was just too tense, his posture just too alert, he was nervous. 

Lacy smiled brighter and raised her voice slightly to grab everyone’s attention. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll begin our tour in the Avengers’ museum. 

As they walked forward, Shuri dropped back to walk with Peter. “I take it Percy is the new addition I’ve been hearing so much about.” She said quietly.

“Yeah, that’s him. His girlfriend, Annabeth, probably isn’t far behind, honestly. I’ve met her a few times and she’s brilliant, not to mention awesome at fighting. She reminds me of you, actually.” 

The princess studied the back of the blonde’s head. “I think she and I could learn a lot from each other.”

At Peter’s look of surprise, she laughed. “I’m not a man, you ass. I know that even with all of Wakanda’s advancements, technology, and knowledge, there are still things I don’t know. Annabeth and I have different backgrounds, so we’d obviously be familiar with different areas.” 

“So… you know about… them?” Peter hesitated to say anything incriminating around his classmates. 

She chuckled again. “Yes Peter, I know about ‘them’” she mocked. “I’m here to develop a new suit for Percy. He can’t battle evil forces in the world without some sort of protection.”

Peter nodded. The two fell into companionable silence as they listened to Lacy’s speech, following behind the students and occasionally whispering dumb comments or jokes until they stopped in front of an open doorway. “-and here we have our first stop, the Avengers museum. You will have 45 minutes to explore. Just remember the rules and we shouldn’t have a problem.” Lacy stepped aside to allow the students forward into the exhibit. 

The duo followed Peter’s friends as they wandered through the exhibit, the three young Avengers having already seen most of it. They stopped at each one so Annabeth, MJ, and Ned could get the information. “How long exactly are you in town?” 

“My brother plans to leave in two weeks, but I think I will stay longer. I will be finished with the gear Tony commissioned in little time, but I want to work with Percy and Annabeth on developing more weaponry, perhaps incorporating Vibranium. I have brought all of the materials I need and I suppose I can work with your rudimentary technology for a little while.” Shuri shot him a mirthful glance.  

Before he could respond, Ned called him over to see one of the new exhibit. “Dude, come over here! They’ve got a Spider-man exhibit!” 

Peter rushed over with a giggling Shuri close behind. What he found made his jaw drop. Behind a glass case stood two mannequins; one wearing a replica of his current suit, the other clad in his old pajama suit. To the side were facts about Spider-man and a small screen showing him in the middle of a fight. “Woah…” 

“Dude, does this mean Spider-man is officially an Avenger?” Ned asked. 

Peter kind of shook his head. “I guess. I wonder if Mr. Stark was ever going to tell me.” He trailed off in thought. 

“Once you had graduated and were ready to publicly become an Avenger is what he said when he told the rest of us.” Came a voice from behind them. 

The five jumped and turned around, coming face to face with a casually dressed Wanda. Peter’s face paled. “W-wanda, what are you doing here? I thought everyone was at the compound.” 

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “They were, and then Stark told them about your field trip and they all came back into the city to pop in. Even Steve was on board after he found out what that Eugene kid had been doing to you.”

Eyes shutting, Peter groaned. “I’m done for. This is it, I’m going to die.” Okay, maybe he was being a tad dramatic, but can you blame him? 

“I’m sorry, Peter, but I thought I’d give you a heads up. Stark is definitely making an appearance at some point, and it’s going to be big.” 

Before Peter could say anything, maybe a prayer to one of the many gods, Flash rushed over to get a glimpse of the Spider-man display, not noticing the civilian-clothes-clad superhero. He shoved Peter and Ned out of the way. “Out of my way Penis. You too, Dead. I need a picture with the Spider-man suit.” 

Peter shot Wanda a glance, and caught the tell-tale red cloud of her magic in her eye. He subtly shook his head at her. She didn’t need an assault, or, gods forbid, a murder charge on her hands. Instead, she took a deep breath and said, “I’m pretty sure bullying is not allowed in any building Stark Industries owns.” 

Flash turned, a haughty sneer already slipping onto his face, until he realized who spoke. Expression melting away, he gulped and started to back away. “Y-yes ma’am.” He scampered off before anything else happened. 

She sighed and looked back at the group. “I should probably go. But good luck today, you’ll need it. Especially after that little scene: Friday has orders to send any alarming footage straight to Tony.” 

At Peter’s swear, she gave him one last sympathetic look and ruffled his hair before turning to weave her way back through the exhibit to the private elevator. 

Running his hand through his hair, Peter turned to Percy, “Well… we’re fucked.” 

Percy laughed. “No, man, you’re fucked. They aren’t targeting me-- I’m not the one who lied about a bully. The only thing I have to deal with is a press conference at the end of the day and maybe some weird looks.” 

Annabeth snorted. “Only thing? Seaweed Brain, you don’t explain the whole gods thing well to new demigods, how are you going to explain it to the entire world?” 

“It’s a good thing I’ve got you here then, Wise Girl.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and tucked her into his side. “What better way to introduce the world to demigods than by introducing them to the children of prophecy.”

”You ass, you didn’t even ask.” She playfully shoved him. He widened his eyes and stuck out his bottom lip. She rolled her eyes. “But I guess I’ll help you.” He pulled her back into his side and kissed her head.

Suddenly, the class heard from the end of the room “It’s time to move to our next section, so if you would please all follow me.” Lacy led the group towards the public elevator. “We’re going to have to split into a few different groups. So I’ll go with the first group. Princess? Would you and Peter mind going with the second? And Percy could go with the third?”

Peter nodded, uncertain, his Spidey-Sense already tingling. He traded a glance with Percy; Lacy was definitely in on Mr. Stark’s plan.

The first group filed into the elevator, while the other two waited patiently. As soon as the doors closed, Peter heard a heavy scurrying in the vent, undetectable to anyone else. He shot Percy another look, this time glancing up to warn him of what was to come. 

Just as the vent opened and a leather-clad figure dove through it, Peter sidestepped. The man hit the floor with a “shit” and rolled over to reveal his face. The children around them murmured in amazement as they realized that the lump in front of them was the one and only Hawkeye. 

“Aw, Pete, how do you always hear me coming?” Clint moaned as he sat up. 

Peter froze. Was Clint trying to out him as Spider-Man? Percy stepped in “It’s because you’re loud, bird brains. It’s a wonder that you made it this far as a super spy.”

Eyes going comically wide when he spotted the source of the voice, Clint feigned surprise at Percy’s presence. “What do we have here, folks? Could this be my favorite junior Avenger?” 

Amidst gasps of shock, Percy grinned and held his hand out to help Clint up. “Are you saying I’m your favorite because Spider-Man kicked your ass in that accuracy competition?”

“You can’t prove that.” Clint said, folding his arms. “Speaking of, though, you need to work on your accuracy. Didn’t they teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow at that camp of yours?” 

Annabeth laughed. “Oh, they tried to teach Seaweed Brain. He managed to nearly shoot Chiron, who was standing behind everyone. They haven’t let him near a bow since.” 

Pouting, Percy mumbled, “I’m still better than both of you at hand-to-hand.

Eyebrows raised, Annabeth turned to Percy. “Really? You think you’re better than me at hand-to-hand combat?” She whirled back around to face the acclaimed archer. “Is there anywhere that I can prove him wrong before the end of this trip?”

Clint grinned a Cheshire-cat grin while the blood drained from Percy’s face. “I do believe there is, Miss…?” 

“Annabeth Chase” She stuck her hand out. 

Clint shook it, the evil glint still in his eyes. “Well, Miss Chase, I do believe that there is a stop on your little tour here that will take you to the Avengers training room. In fact, I’ll make sure of it. And I certainly want to be there when our dearest Avenger gets taken down.” 

“I really don’t think there’s any need for that, really. Wisegirl, you know I don’t think I’m better than you at hand-to-hand combat. In fact I know I’m not as good. There’s really no need to show everybody.” Percy panicked. 

At this point, the elevator returned and the second group loaded in, including Peter and Shuri, who had stayed quiet for most of the encounter. As Peter passed, though, he clapped his hand on Percy’s shoulder, “Good luck, dude.” Accompanied by a grimace. He’d only met Annabeth a few times, but he’s pretty sure she isn’t one to let a challenge like that go by.  

The doors slid shut on the group. Even though it was only a ten second ride (Stark tech did have its perks), everyone shifted uncomfortably in the barely-big-enough elevator. No one uttered a word until the doors opened again and spit them out onto one of the research and development floors. 

All of the students, and even Mr. Gray, were fighting for a position at the observation window to see what the lab ahead of them was working on. Peter and Ned hung out in the back, having already seen this floor, and occasionally worked on it themselves when the scientists needed some help on new tech. 

Moments later, the last group joined them, sans Clint. One look from Percy told Peter they had not seen the last of the archer, though. Upon the arrival of the rest of the group, Lacy continued her monologue. “Here we have one of our research and development labs. This is where we work on lower clearance tech, like new Stark phones, and interns work on solo projects. Mostly this lab is populated by the lower level interns who each have one or two scientists or higher level interns that they check in with.”

Peter froze, again. He forgot about check in leaders. Which wouldn’t be important, except that he himself is a check in leader, and his team works on this floor. In this lab. Not even Percy could get the attention off of him now. 

“Hey, Pete! Can you come check something out for me?” He heard a voice. Looking over, he saw Mikey, one of his team members. 

Looking to his teachers for permission, and taking it from their stunned expressions, Peter nodded once and silently followed Mikey through to the lab. On Mikey’s workstation was a little robot, designed to help people with arthritis in their hands do small tasks, like shoe tying or, hypothetically, writing and typing. 

Mikey pressed the On button, and they both waited for something to happen. Nothing did. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong. It was working fine yesterday.” He said, helplessly. 

“Calm down, let me take a look at the inside.” Peter grabbed a nearby screwdriver and unscrewed the back panel. Inside was a cross of different colored wires and motherboards and circuits and-- there. “There’s a tiny disconnected wire in the back.” Peter fixed Mikey with a look. “This is a simple mistake that you usually catch. What’s up?” He narrowed his eyes and asked “How much  sleep have you gotten recently?”

“Eight hours!” Mikey responded defensively. Another look from Peter and he amended his statement “In the last three days…” 

Peter placed a hand on his intern’s shoulder and began leading him toward the door on the other side of the lab from the elevator. “You know I can’t condone that as both your friend and your check in leader. For both the safety of this lab and your health, I need you to hit the barracks. There is no way that you can safely operate any equipment in this state, much less conduct experiments.” 

They reached the door, and Peter opened it. Inside there were three sets of bunk beds. Mikey nodded and headed for one of the beds, and Peter shut the door behind him. Turning back to Lacy, he said “Please continue the tour, I have something I need to do. I’ll catch up when I’m through.” 

Mr. Gray started to object. “Mr. Parker, this is highly against the rules, and how could you possibly find us or get around the building--” Peter cut her off. 

“Mr. Gray, it’s obvious you don’t believe me about my internship, but I have to call a group meeting right now for the safety of this lab. As for how I will know where you are, FRIDAY will tell me. I practically live in this building and I have a higher access level than our lovely tour guide. Now, if you’ll please excuse me…” Peter no longer seemed like the excitable and cheerful .

He turned around and called his interns’ attention. “Alright. I know not all of you are in my unit, but I think it’s time we do a lab wide check in. So, keep working, but I’m going to check on everyone.”

Clapping her hands, Lacy called everyone’s attention back to her. “While Peter does his job, we are going to continue on. Next, we’re getting a rare treat. We are going to go to the Avenger’s floors and get an exclusive look into the life of an Avenger.” Her eyes sparked with excitement, obviously she was just as excited for this as the children. 

As the words left Lacy’s mouth, Percy’s hand tightened around Annabeth’s. Concerned, she looked at her Seaweed Brain. His face was grim and he leaned down. “A lot of secrets aren’t going to be so secret by the end of this, I guarantee.” 

Annabeth’s stomach dropped. She knew he wasn’t just referring to their secret. That was coming out today anyway. He was talking about Peter’s. Percy and Shuri exchanged concerned looks. Poor Peter. 

As they filed back into their groups, Percy was approached by Flash. “Hey! Jackson!” Percy turned to Flash with an unimpressed gaze. “Uh, I mean, Percy,” He amended. “What the hell is going on with Penis? What did he do to get all of this stuff?” Flash still didn’t believe Peter? Gods almighty, this boy was dumb. 

Percy sighed. “Eugene, Peter works here and he works closely with the Avengers. He got all of that by working hard and studying harder. Get over your jealous bullshit before it bites you in the ass.” 

His teacher snapped “Language, Mr. Jackson. We are guests here and you will not be the reason we get thrown out.” She turned away, making no comment on Flash’s behavior. 

Incredulous, he turned to Annabeth. “I hope she realizes that they aren’t going to kick me out. And that, technically, I could kick her out… right?” 

Annabeth just shrugged. “For all the knowledge your school claims to have, your teachers are pretty stupid.” 

The second group, chaperoned by Shuri, entered the elevator, which left Percy with his class. “FRI, you’re getting all of this footage of Eugene Thompson on film and voice recording, right?” Percy asked, once the doors had closed on Flash’s group. 

The Irish A.I. responded. “Yes, Mr. Jackson. I have already sent the footage to Boss. A Code Spider-Baby has been set in place. 

Percy sighed, once again. Code Spider-Baby meant that the Avengers were mad. And when they were mad, it didn’t end well. “Remind the Avengers that murder is not only immoral, but also illegal.” 

A moment passed. “Boss says that intimidation is not.” 

Percy had no answer. Intimidation of a minor was probably immoral, but there was no stopping protective-father Tony Stark. 

The elevator door dinged as it opened, allowing the third group in. They closed once the last person had filed in, and automatically took them to their destination. Floor 47. Fuck. 

Floor 47 was the Avengers training floor. The door opened and the group rushed out when they saw the set of adults standing there waiting for them. 

None other than Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, and a smirking Clint Barton stood waiting. “Now that everyone is here, let’s begin. Today we’re going to teach you some self defense skills. We’re going to split into groups and cycle through stations. But first, how about a few demonstrations?” 

The class cheered, drowning out the ding of Peter’s arrival. They did not, however, drown out Natasha. ��Glad you could join us ребенок пауk.” The class turned around as he entered. 

Peter’s stomach dropped when he saw the glint in every super adults’ eyes. The Captain’s voice boomed as he exclaimed, “Peter! Percy! Why don’t you come help us?” He phrased it in a way that was definitely not a question. 

Resigned to their fate, the two trudged forward. Steve had a shit-eating grin on his face as they made their way to the front. “Why don’t you two choose your own partners?” 

Clint spoke up at this moment. “How about Steve, Annabeth, and Peter, versus Percy, Bucky and Natasha?” 

“What about you?” Annabeth questioned, walking up to join the group, grinning widely. 

Clint grinned innocently. “There’s six of you and that perfectly matches up. Adding me into the mix would only complicate matters.” 

A cough that suspiciously sounded like the word coward came from Bucky’s general direction. 

Rolling his eyes, Peter asked “Full capacity?” with the hint of a grin on his face. The whole class faded from his consciousness. 

Smirking, Natasha replied “Full capacity.” 

Steve called out to FRIDAY “Please activate operations PH2O and PW.” Part of the floor opened up to reveal a large salt-water pool. Parts of the wall and roof came outward. 

The five Avengers and Annabeth squared off. Natasha and Peter faced each other, Percy and Annabeth shared grins across from each other, and Bucky and Steve shook hands before stepping a few feet back from each other. 

“Fight!” Clint called from his place amongst the crowd of children, a place he knew he wouldn’t get dragged into the fight. The group converged at the same time. 

Despite the clash of super soldiers on the far end of the room, the Midtown high group focused on their classmates. Percy and Annabeth were blurs that no one could tell apart as they produced weapons from seemingly nowhere. As the two whirled around in a deadly waltz, Percy’s energy seemed to be flagging. The students watched as he stepped into the pool and seemed to gain his strength back. Slash. Jab. Clang. Their weapons moved with renewed vigor. As they watched, a tidal wave encased both of their legs and lifted them into the air. 

Peter, meanwhile, jumped into action, facing off against the deadly assassin with calm grace. He flipped over her as she struck a low blow to his legs, missing him by half an inch. He whirled around when he landed to face her and brought his leg up in a high kick. Natasha grabbed his standing leg and flipped him on his back. Before she could do anything else, he shot a web at the roof and pulled himself up to stick to the protruding piece of ceiling. He smirked as Natasha looked up at him. “Come down here, ребенок паук” She said in a sing-song voice. 

“You said full capacity, I’m just using my full capacity.” He teased. 

She rolled her eyes and pushed a button on her wrists. The class gasped as the Black Widow fired at their classmate. “Hey!” Peter cried as he leaped from the ceiling to the floor, where Natasha was ready to intercept him with her widow’s bites. She started to swipe at him and he double tapped his watch face. “Karen, activate gauntlets.” Instantly, the nano-tech of his suit wrapped around his forearms. He intercepted the Widow’s Bites with his suit covered arms. He didn’t hear the gasp of his classmates. 

They continued their fight until Natasha had him twisted with his back to her and a knife she grabbed out of nowhere to his throat. They both panted from the exertion of their fight, before grinning. Natasha released him from her hold and he twisted around. “Where did those come from?” She asked. 

“They came from adaptation. Last time we fought, you electrocuted me with those things. I adapted my suit to cover only parts of my body, just like Mr. Stark’s.” He grinned that grin that made the Avengers all fall in love with him in the first place. 

Natasha rumpled his hair and pulled him into a hug. “Brilliant job, ребенок паук.” 

Around them, the other duos came to a stop as well. Annabeth had her drakon-bone sword poised at Percy’s heart, his sword clattering to the floor far below them. Steve and Bucky both stilled with a shield at one throat and a dagger on another. 

The room was still and quiet; a pin could drop and everyone could hear it. Percy and Annabeth’s critiques of their fight as they descended from the water column broke the silence. The students gaped as it lowered them to the floor before calmly splashing back into the pool. 

“Ok, what the fuck?” Flash yelled, a small amount of pure terror glimmering as he looked back and forth between the two students. No teacher reprimanded his language. 

Steve traded a look with the rest of the Avengers. “Now would be a good time to remind you about the non-disclosure agreements you all signed.” He said. “I think we might have to allot a little bit more time to the question and answer portion of this tour.” 

The other Avengers in the room, including Peter and Percy, nodded their heads and they led the group back toward the elevator. The ride in each group was tense and awkward. No one knew how to process the information. Percy and Peter? That girl, Annabeth? What were they? Even Flash was silent. 

Finally all three groups had been corralled into the very same room Percy’s press conference would be held in only a couple of hours later. Silently, the group of Avengers in the tower filed onto the stage, minus Percy and Peter. Nat led the pack, followed by Clint, Steve, Bucky, Tony, Bruce, T’Challa, and Shuri brought up the rear. 

The room sat in silence until Tony said “So who has questions?” Every hand went into the air. 

Tony pointed at one hand in the crowd, and Betty stood up. “Are Percy and Peter Avengers?” 

A pause, before “Is everyone’s question about Percy and Peter?” Tony asked with an exasperated sigh. Everyone but Annabeth nodded their heads. 

Another sigh. “Alright, lets get those two up here, then, to answer your questions.” 

Peter and Percy both made their way up to the small stage. The other Avengers gave them space up front. Only Tony remained, acting as a mediator for the two teens. 

Every hand shook with earnest, trying to get called on, but Tony gestured for Betty to ask her question again. “A-are you two Avengers?” She stuttered. 

The two looked at each other, and Percy saw the anxious look on Peter’s face, so he spoke for them. “Yes.” He said simply, not expanding on the matter until he had to. 

Tony pointed to another hand. Abe stood up. “Uh, Percy, how could you do that stuff with the water? An-and fight like that?” 

Percy took a deep breath. Now was the time. “I fight like that thanks to five years of training with swordsmen far more experienced than I, and obviously, my beautiful girlfriend. I could do that stuff with the water because…” He took a deep breath . “Because I am a demigod. I am half god, half mortal, and my godly parent is Poseidon.” He smiled bravely as the group burst into disbelieving chatter. 

Tony whistled loudly  to draw their attention back. Immediately, hands flew back into the air. Peter’s stomach sank when Tony gestured to someone within Flash’s vicinity, and Flash spoke up. “How come you let Penis Parker and Pussy Jackson into the Avengers? Just because Jackson is supposedly some freak hybrid doesn’t mean he should be in the Avengers. He’s probably never done anything. Not to mention, Penis is some wimp loser. You need someone like me. I’m brilliant and I kick major ass.” He finished smugly, not aware of the glares from the stage, and the single pair of eyes being restrained behind him by a pretty pissed Ned. 

Not letting either boy try to de-escalate the situation, Tony Stark leaned forward, and said in a deadly quiet voice “What did you say about my sons?” 

The grin dropped off of Flash’s face. “S-sons?” 

Tony took on a manic grin. “Oh, yes. Sons. Not only do I know what you just said, we know everything you’ve said within this tower. Now, usually I’m above threatening minors. Usually. But due to your actions today, I think you deserve it. If you ever, and I mean ever, insult, ridicule or diminish in any way my sons, I will personally call every notable university in the world and get you blackballed from admission. And I promise Eugene, you will never, ever have a job at Stark Industries, or any worthwhile company in New York.” 

Flash, much to Peter’s surprise, did not back down. “But what’s so special about them? Penis, especially. He’s not worth anything.” 

Tony went red in the face, and Clint had to hold Natasha back, her weapons drawn already. The other Avengers seemed to be stifling anger as well. “Not worth anything? Buddy, let’s get something straight: Peter Parker is worth everything. Far more than you will ever be. He is the kindest, smartest, most humble and giving person I’ve ever met. This kid is smarter than you, smarter than me, hell, this kid is smarter than Bruce Banner. Not only that, but he would also give anyone the shirt off of his back if they asked him for it. But he’d never brag about it to anyone. You know how I know this kid is the best of his generation? Because not only is he brilliant, he could also boast about his position on the Avengers, but he doesn’t. He could have been like me, and told the whole world who he is, but he didn’t. Now, I think it’s time he does.” Tony finished, leaning back and gesturing to Peter, who stood a little taller after hearing everything Mr. Stark said about him. 

He took a deep breath and tapped his watch face twice. “Karen, activate Iron Spider.” The nano-tech creeped swiftly over his skin until the full Iron Spider suit encased him. The class gasped as they realized who their classmate was. 

“No!” Flash cried, outraged. “There is no way Puny Parker is Spider-Man! This has to be some kind of trick! Penis could never do what Spider-Man does!” 

The marine biology teacher crossed her arms. “Mr. Jackson, Mr. Parker, I think enough is enough. Please apologize for this silly prank and get down off the stage. I don’t know how you pulled this off, but I will be having words with Principal Morita when we return. Now get down.” 

In a flash, Tony’s wrath turned on the teachers, who had clumped together. “And you lousy lot call yourselves teachers? Are you so dense that even after everything you’ve seen today, you still don’t believe them? Percy Jackson and his girlfriend have saved this world more times than me! Peter Parker has saved my ass too many times to count.” Tony looked over the disbelieving eyes of Flash and the teacher. “Alright, you know what? You all signed a non-disclosure agreement, so if you leak anything you’ve seen or heard here, we’ll know it was one of you, and our lawyers will bury you in so many lawsuits, you won’t be getting out of them for decades. Now get out of my tower.” He said sharply. No one moved. “Now!” He shouted. 

Everyone jumped up and filed out of the room as quickly as possible. The last person was Mr. Gray. “Percy, Peter, you heard the man, come along.” 

“I will be keeping them with me. You’ll find I’ve been listed as a guardian for both of them.” Tony said with narrowed eyes. 

Mr. Gray nodded and scampered from the room, leaving only a single, blonde-haired girl sitting in her chair. Percy hopped off the stage to go talk to her. He pulled her to a standing position and into a hug. “Think that was good practice?” He asked. 

She chuckled. “I think most of the attention was on Peter, but yeah, good practice.” 

Tony Stark approached. “And who do we have here?” He asked. 

Percy straightened and grabbed Annabeth’s left hand. “Tony Stark, I’d like for you to meet my amazing girlfriend, Annabeth Chase. Annabeth, this is Tony Stark.” 

Tony smiled and extended his hand. “We’ve heard a lot about you, Miss Chase.” 

“All good things, I hope. I’d love to get you opinions on some of my designs.” Annabeth shook his hand. 

Natasha approached. “You must be Annabeth. Percy never stops talking about you. You’re a spectacular fighter. We should train together sometime.” She winked before walking off again. 

One by one, each of the Avengers introduced themselves. “After what I saw today, I think you would be a valuable member of our team.” Steve said with his Mr. America smile. 

“Ok, but first, the cat’s got to come out of the bag. That goes for a couple of things, I think.” Tony’s face was steeled in determination. 

Curious, Peter turned to Mr. Stark. “What’s the other thing?” He asked. 

“That’s a surprise. Peter, go put on the suit that’s in your room. Percy, the same goes for you. Annabeth--” 

Natasha cut Tony off. “Annabeth can borrow something of mine.” She smiled. Annabeth lit up at the opportunity to talk to the superspy more. 

Tony nodded. “Then that’s settled. We’ll tell the world what it needs to know in an hour and a half.”

****

The crowd of reporters talked animatedly. The Starks were about to announce something big, and no one had an inkling what it was. 

In the antechamber off to the side, Percy paced nervously while Peter sat with his knee bouncing. Percy felt bad for him; at least Percy knew what he was about to announce. Peter had no idea what he was doing here. Mr. Stark hadn’t told him anything.

Annabeth grabbed Percy’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly. “Percy, we’re going to be fine. It’s just like telling a group of new campers.” 

“You’re right. They’re just a bunch of unclaimed new campers who don’t know what they are. With cameras. And a lot of questions. Oh gods, I can’t do this on my own.” Percy’s eyes started looking panicky.

Annabeth grabbed his face and turned it towards her own. “That’s why you’re not alone, Seaweed Brain. You have Peter over here, you have Tony, and you have me. And if we have to, we can Iris Message Chiron and he can help explain. It’s okay.” 

Percy nodded and took deep breaths. Then Tony walked into the room in a tailored suit and his signature glasses. In his hands were two small boxes. 

Tony went immediately over to Peter, who had his head in his hands, covering his ears from all the noise of the reporters. “Kid, I got some things to help you.” He opened the smaller of two boxes. Inside sat two earpieces, like the ones singers and performers wear onstage. They were smaller, though, less perceptible. “They block out all of the useless noise and help you focus on the noise you want to. And these,” He opened the second box, revealing identical glasses to the ones he wore, “just look cool.” When Peter just stared, he thrust the boxes into Peter’s hands. “Take them. They’re yours to keep. Use them whenever you need them.” 

Peter gingerly took the boxes. “Thank you, Dad.” He hadn’t meant to say it , but he paid no attention to Tony’s reaction as he fit the earpieces into his ears and put on the glasses. Immediately, he sighed with relief, quickly followed by a gasp of surprise as the glasses turned on. Analytics scanned across his eyes. He realized that Karen had been programmed into the glasses, and that he now had her at any time he wanted. He got up and hugged and a still-stunned Tony, who slowly hugged him back. 

They embraced for a moment before Tony’s watch beeped. “It’s go-time, kids. You guys wait here until I announce you. Peter, you’ll know when to come out.” He winked at Peter. 

Tony opened the door and stepped out and up onto the stage. “Welcome, everybody, to this press conference. Today we have a few announcements from a few different people, including one from me. So without further ado, allow me to introduce our newest Avengers, Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase.” 

The pair traded glances. When did Annabeth officially become an Avenger? They stepped out the door and into the hoard of flashing lights and screaming reporters. They walked up to the podium set up with a dozen microphones, ready to capture their truths. 

Percy cleared his throat and everyone settled. “Hi, everyone, my name is Percy Jackson and this is my girlfriend, Annabeth Chase, and we are demigods.” The crowd jumped into a frenzy, shouting questions and snapping pictures. 

Tony came back to the microphone. “Everyone calm down and raise your hands like civilized people. Thank you.” the crowd calmed slightly. 

Annabeth pointed to a blonde haired reporter. “What do you mean by demigod?” 

“We are the product of relations between gods and mortals. We are half god or goddess and half mortal.” She answered. 

Pointing to another sandy-haired reporter. “Who are your godly parents?” 

Percy answered. “I am the son of Poseidon and Annabeth is the daughter of Athena.” 

A dark hair reporter stood up with no prompt. “What good do you bring to humanity? Why shouldn’t you be subject to tests or wiped out completely? Do you pose a danger to us?” 

Percy took a deep, calming breath, then launched into their story. “Our kind has spent centuries fighting monsters and wars. In the past few years, myself, Annabeth, and several other brave demigods fought multiple primordial beings that tried to take over the world, resulting in tolling wars. We’ve been key characters in those  wars and history in general, and you would be amazed to find out how many historical figures were demigods. We don’t pose any kind of direct threat to the mortal world, we’ve been saving it for centuries. Next question.” 

A curly haired reporter stood. “What benefit do you bring to the Avengers?” 

Annabeth took this question. “We are skilled fighters who train from the time we discover our identity to now. We have demigods who have been training constantly for ten or more years. We also have knowledge of and weapons that can kill monsters” 

The next question came from a raven-haired reporter. “How many of your kind are there?” 

“Fewer now, thanks to the last couple of wars, but our numbers grow every time a new demigod child is born. There are many kinds of demigod, Roman, Greek, Norse, and probably more that we don’t know about yet. Annabeth and I are Greek, but we have friends and family from other pantheons.” 

Annabeth leaned forward to speak. “This will be the last question, thank you.” 

The final question came from a reporter up front. “Why tell us now? You’ve kept the secret for so long, why now?” 

Annabeth answered. “We’ve kept our secret for so long thanks to something called the Mist. It’s a veil between the mortal world and our own. Unfortunately, I received word today that the Mist will finally fall at any moment, and we wanted to make the world aware on our terms.” 

There was a flurry of movement as the reporters tried to ask more questions, but Tony, once again, stepped forward. “That will be all for this segment of the press conference.” The two filed off, disappearing back to the antechamber. They both breathed a sigh a relief that it was over, even if the effects of everything they just announced would last for the rest of their lives. 

Onstage, they heard Tony calming down the crowd. “Now, I have an announcement, myself. For this, I’d like to bring out my personal intern, Peter Parker.” 

Peter braced himself and stepped into the room, hesitant smile on his face. Mr. Stark was standing at the podium and gestured for Peter to join him. “Ladies and gentlemen, and those who identify as neither, I give you my heir to Stark Industries!” 

Whipping his head around, Peter came face to face with a beaming Tony Stark. Him? Heir to Stark Industries? Surely Mr. Stark didn’t mean it… He glanced back toward the crowd of reporters and gave them a brave smile. 

“Peter will not be taking questions at this time. I’m afraid he just received this news as well. Thank you everyone for coming today, this now concludes our press conference.” Tony led the dazed teenager off the stage.

They entered the antechamber and Percy clapped him on the back to congratulate him. Tony didn’t stop in the antechamber, he led Peter all the way to the elevator and then into their lab before either of them talked. 

“You ok, Pete?” Mr. Stark finally asked. 

“Ok? Mr. Stark, I’m in shock, I’m overwhelmed, but yes, I’m ok. I was just given the most prestigious honor I could ever imagine. Your heir? I mean… wow. Although this means I’m going to have to triple major or something. I was already going to double major in chemical and mechanical engineering and now I’ll probably need to add business so I can run the other side of things… Unless you’re leaving that half to someone else, of course, then please disregard everything I’ve said--” 

Mr. Stark cut him off. “Pete! You’re rambling. It’s just you, but don’t worry about anything just yet. You’re not taking over tomorrow. You’ve got time.” 

Peter took another deep breath to calm down, then turned to Mr. Stark and pulled him into another hug. They both melted into each other. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark buried his head in his kids shoulder and smiled. “You’re welcome, kid, you’re welcome.” 

[agentblyeanddeeks]

Chapter 1

Finally happy enough with chapter 1 to share it with you all. Still deciding on a title, then I will post to ff.net. A HUGE HUGE THANK YOU to @mashmaiden​ for listening to my indecisiveness until I finally got to where I wanted. And for the constant motivation to keep going.

AU of the team first meeting Deeks. What happens when Kensi gets caught up in one of Deeks undercovers. Will contain flashbacks.

August 17, 2010

“Mr. Callen. Nice of you to decide to finally come into work this morning.” Hetty stood in the archway of the mission entrance as the senior agent arrived.

“We live in LA. You know the traffic is always unpredictable.” Callen responded.

Hetty folded her arms, “Mr. Hanna and Mr. Beale don’t seem to have any trouble being on time. Might I suggest an earlier departure from now on?”

“I will do my best, Hetty.”

“That you will, Mr. Callen. That you will. Now, up to Ops you go. There’s a case to be solved” Hetty shooed him towards the stairs.

————-

“Well, well, well. Third time this month, G. Let me guess, you were busy switching apartments because this one was too relaxing.”

“Too relaxing? What does that even mean?”

“It means you need to stop making excuses and just settle down in one place. It will be good for you.”

“Or I could just stay with you, Michelle, and the kids.”

“We tried that once before, remember? By the way, you still owe me a toaster.”

“Hey, that was not my fault.” 

Um, guy. We have a case.” Eric interrupted the partners bickering.

“Sorry, Eric.” Callen noticed the room was still one Agent short, “Where’s Kensi?”

The automated doors opened again revealing their operations manager, “It seems your tardiness is beginning to rub off on your teammates. Rest assured I will have a talk with her later. Now let’s not waste anymore time. Eric.”

Eric swiveled his chair around towards his computer. After a few clicks on the keyboard, an image appeared on the main screen. “Meet Petty Officer 3rd Class Evan Wade. He was stationed at Point Loma until a year ago when he received an other than honorary discharge.”

“What was his offense?” questioned Sam.

“Multiple failed drug tests. His CO said he had been to rehab twice but only stayed clean for about a month before relapsing.”

“Did he have drugs in his system when he died?” Callen asked.

“Yes. The coroner found traces of heroin. She also said the body had been there at least three days before hikers discovered it.”

“I’m guessing from the amount of blood on his body, the cause of death wasn’t an overdose.” Callen concluded.

“That would correct.” Eric grabbed his tablet and zoomed in on the picture, “Wade was killed by multiple gunshots to the torso.”

Sam took a minute to study the image, “Looks like they could be from a 9mm.”

Callen shook his head, “Pretty common caliber. Doesn’t really narrow it down.”

“This might.” the tech operator chimed in. “After the petty officer was discharged, he began working at Crescent Creek. They are a beer distributor that have been on the LAPD watch list for a while now. Most of their employees have pretty impressive rap sheets. B & E’s, assault, you name it.”

Sam scanned the employee photos on the screen, “Are any of the other employees former military?” 

Eric nodded, “Two. But no connection so far to Wade.”

“Ok, keep digging. See if anything sticks out.” instructed Sam.

“On it.” Eric returned to his computer desk and began a new search algorithm.

“What about a few days before he died? Anything out of the ordinary?” asked Callen.

Another file appeared on the screen, “Let’s see. The last credit card transaction was at Mariasol’s on the Santa Monica Pier the day he died. Pulling up the pier security cameras now.”

The video of the pier began to play. Eric increased the speed until it was close to the time of the transaction.

Callen pointed to the screen, “There’s Wade.”

“What’s he doing?” Eric asked, curiously.

“Probably nothing good. He keeps watching over his shoulder. He’s nervous about something.” Sam observed.

While Eric and Sam were focused on their victim, Callen was more interested in the other guy in the frame, “Eric, can you get a better angle of the guy he’s with?”

Eric pulled up a second camera from the pier as Callen stepped forward to get a better look at the blonde gentleman. “I know that guy.”

“From a previous case?” Sam asked.

Callen shook his head, “No. It’s the owner of the bar that Kensi took us to a couple months ago.” He snapped his fingers a few times til the name came to him, “Squid & Dagger.”

Eric types the name that Callen gave him, hoping it would provide them with a lead. “The owner of Squid & Dagger is listed as Max Gentry. He’s owned the bar for six months. Single. Address is listed in Culver City. No military background. No criminal records.”

“We need to find Kensi now and see what she knows about him.” Hetty suddenly spoke up.

“I’ll call her.” offered Eric.

“Ok, Sam and I will head to Max’s place and find out what his connection to Wade is.”

They two agents turned to leave but stopped when they heard a familiar warning beep coming from the main screen. 

“Kensi’s cell is offline.” Eric announced as he began to worry.

“Well, turn it back on!” Sam ordered.

“I can’t. Either the battery has been taken or the phone has been severely damaged.”

The scenario playing out in front of them reminded Sam of what the team had gone through earlier in the year with Dom. “What about her car?”

Eric brought up a map of Los Angeles on the screen. After a few seconds, a blinking icon appeared. “GPS location has it at Pico and Sixth since midnight.” He paused when the realization hit him, “Guy, that’s Max’s bar.”

Hetty moved to the front of the room to face her staff. “Eric, find out everything you can on Max. Gentleman, go to Santa Monica and figure out what the hell is going on.”

——————-

As the Challenger turned onto Sixth Street, Sam and Callen were met with red and blue flashing lights. An officer walked around the building, dragging yellow caution tape behind him

“This is not good.” Callen said as the car came to a stop. Their arrival didn’t go unnoticed by the man in a suit by the bar entrance. He made his way up to the yellow tape, meeting the agents halfway.

“Can I help you gentleman?”

“NCIS. I’m Special Agent Hanna. This is Special Agent Callen. What happened here?”

“Detective Danny Hall. Neighboring business called it in this morning. The door was kicked in and the inside shows definite signs of a struggle. One victim.”

Callen pulled out his phone and clicked on the DMV photo of Max Gentry, “This him?”

“No.” The detective shook his head then reached down for the caution tape, raising it up, “Follow me.”

The three men walk into the bar and take in the chaos in front of them. The front door laid to their right, no longer on the hinges. Multiple tables were upturned and the chairs were scattered and broken throughout the business.

“Woah, you weren’t kidding about the struggle. It’s a wreck in here,” Callen said. While he assessed the furniture damage, Sam made his way to the body laying near the bar, covered by a sheet.

“Looks like blunt force trauma to the head. Probably from being slammed into the bar.”

Detective Hall took a small notebook from his pocket, “According to the tattoo on his arm, he is a member of the Sanguine street gang.”

“Guns for hire.” Callen assumed.

“Can I ask why this interests NCIS?” the detective asked.

“The dead body of a marine was found this morning. Gunshot wounds to the chest. He might have had a connection with the owner. Plus we have an agent that we have lost contact with that frequented this bar.” he told the detective.

“My guys didn’t find any shell casings. They most likely kept it hand to hand. A gun fight in this area would have caused attention right away. They wouldn’t have been able to make a clean getaway.”

Sam rejoined the others, “I wouldn’t exactly call leaving a man behind a clean getaway.”

“We also found blood on a pool stick and some leading out the back door to the alley.” Hall informed them. Another officer appeared in the doorway and signaled him over. 

“Excuse me for a moment, Gentleman. Forensics is done here. Feel free to look around. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” Sam shook his hand.

“So is Max still a suspect or is he our next victim?” Callen began to theorize.

“He could be both. Max kills Wade, then bad guy send the gang after Max. Or Max could be innocent and our suspect is tying up loose ends.”

“For Kensi’s sake, I hope it’s the second one.”

“Me too.” Sam thought for a moment, “If they wanted to kill Max, they wouldn’t have ambushed him here. Like Hall said, attracts too much attention.”

“They obviously wanted him alive for a reason. But for what?”

Sam looked around the room, trying to envision what might have gone down. “Ok, so the gang members come through the entrance. Chaos ensues. Max shoves the dead guy into the bar.”

Callen removed the black gloves from his pocket and put them on his hand. He then grabbed the broken pool stick the detective had mentioned. “Someone defended themselves with the pool stick. Whoever it was, was bleeding,” noting the bloody fingerprints.

“G, over here.” Sam crouched down near the back exit. “There is blood smear leading to the door. It’s probably Max’s. They hit him from behind, knocking him out and they take him out the alley door.”

Following Sam’s hunch, the men go out the backdoor. “Easy get away. Especially in the middle of the night.”

“It still doesn’t explain where Kensi is. Or what she was even doing here. The bar is closed on Monday nights.” Callen said, bringing the focus back to their missing colleague.

“We need to look in her car.”

The car was parked in a community lot outside of the crime scene. Thankfully the other detectives hadn’t known it was related to the crime at the bar. Callen pulled out the spare key and unlocked her car. Sam opened the driver side door and began searching for clues. Callen did the same from the passenger side.

“Nothing seems out of the ordinary.” Callen said, looking in the glove compartment. He leaned forward to feel between the seat and console and  pulled out something mushy and brown, slightly disgusted, “Looks like I found Kensi’s stash of Reese Cups.” 

Sam shook his head, “When we find her, she is getting an intervention about her refined sugar addiction.”

Callen removed his chocolate filled glove and searched through the center console with his other hand. 

“Her badge and wallet are both still here.”

Sam straightened up after checking under the driver seat. “Her gun is not.”

“Agent Callen! Agent Hanna!” Detective Hall yelled as he approached. “Does this vehicle have to do with the investigation?”

“It’s our missing agent’s cars. She left her badge but took her gun.” Sam explained

“And you think she’s got something to do with this?”

“I hope not but I’ve got a bad feeling about it.” Callen noticed the surveillance photos in the detectives hand. “Can I see those?”

“Oh yeah. That’s why I came over here. One of the officers found these in the office. Anyone look familiar?”

Callen took the photos and started flipping through them.“That’s Petty Officer Wade and our bar owner Max Gentry. Someone was definitely watching them.”

Sam moved beside Callen to have a better look at the photos. “They're not the only ones they were watching.”

The next photo in the pile was that of Kensi and Max. It was taken at night and they appeared to be on a rooftop. As they flipped through more photos, they became more concerned. Whoever took these photos had continued to follow Kensi without Max. Some were even taken near her house.

“We’ve got to find her now. She might be compromised.” Callen said.

“Which means so are we.”

Sam took the photos and laid them out of the car hood. He took out his phone and took pictures of them to send to Ops.

“Call us if you find anything else.” Callen asked of Hall as he handed him his card.

“Same to you.”

Sam handed back the photos and they headed to the Challenger. “Eric, pull the security camera from the Squid & Dagger and surrounding areas. We need to see where Kensi went. We’re headed to her house to see if there are any clues.”

“I’ll pull the feeds but Hetty wants you guys at the boat shed.”

“We don’t have time, Eric. We need to find Kensi before it’s too late.” Callen spoke into the earwig.

Hetty’s voice interrupted, “Gentleman. Please redirect yourselves to the boat shed immediately. There is someone here that might be able to help.”

———-

Callen and Sam arrived at the boat shed to find an older, grey haired man standing next to Hetty.

“Agent Hanna, Agent Callen. Meet LAPD Lieutenant Roger Bates.”

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Lieutenant Bates?” Sam greeted him.

“I got a call from Detective Hall saying NCIS had taken an interest in his crime scene this morning. I put a call into my old friend Henrietta and thought I would brief you all myself.”

“Oh, Roger. I’d say old foes was more like it.”

“Eh, bygones.” Bates shook her off. “Six months ago we began an undercover operation to get close to the people inside Crescent Creek. The business had been around since the early 90s. Very reputable and what you would expect from a beer distributor. Until two years ago, when they started distributing things of illegal proportions.”

“Drugs.” Callen guessed

“Bingo. Specifically heroin, ecstasy, cocaine.”

“Petty officer Wade had heroin in his system when he died,” added Callen.

“When he was murdered.” Sam corrected.

“That’s unfortunate to hear. I had thought we really broke through to him this time. Our man inside quickly bonded with Evan. They both came from broken homes, abusive dads, and a no good childhood. It wasn’t too hard to convince him to become our informant.”

“Do you know who killed him?” Callen asked

Bates grabbed the remote from the table, hitting the center blue button. A picture of a Hispanic man appeared on the screen.

“Ramon Murillo. He took over the company in 2007 when his father Arturo passed away. The problem is Ramon has his finger in just about every gang in West LA. They do his dirty work so we can never get anything to pin on him.”

“So why did he kill Wade?” Sam questioned.

“Evan wanted out. He said he was finally ready to turn his life around. But he was worried that Ramon wouldn’t let him go that easy. And he was right. Three days ago he met with our undercover in Santa Monica and …..”

Callen interrupted the Lieutenant “Wait. Max Gentry is one of yours?”

Bates hit the remote again. A picture of Max filled the screen. Only this time it was a photo of him with his hair kept and wearing a suit and tie. Much different from the DMV photo they were given.

“One of the best. His real name is Martin Deeks. We backstopped him as the owner of the Squid & Dagger. He was oddly proud of the name he created for the bar. Anyways, Deeks met with him on the pier that morning to give him the address to one of our safe houses. The investigation was coming to a head so Evan was to stay there until we arrested Ramon and then he would be put in WITSEC. Deeks said when they met Evan seemed really jumpy and paranoid, like someone was watching him.”

“That’s because someone was.” Sam added.

“Right. Evan never made it to the safe house and until this morning, we had no idea where he was. Yesterday, Deeks found an envelope slid under the door at the bar. Written on the front was Detective Deeks. Inside were the surveillance  photos Detective Hall and his team came across this morning.”

“But Hall saw Deeks in those photos but didn’t say he knew him.” Callen questioned.

“That’s because he wouldn’t know him from Adam. Deeks was a loner. He never played well with the other cops. Always preferred to work alone. That’s why deep undercover was perfect for him. He didn’t have anyone else to worry about.”

“Until Kensi.” Hetty added.

Until Kensi.” Bates repeated “Deeks was freaked out enough that his cover was blown and his informant was missing but when he saw those photos of Kensi, he was furious. He called me to ask if I could help him track her down. She wasn’t answering her phone so he left her voicemails saying she was in danger and needed to leave town. He told me her name was McKensi Cole. But the name lead nowhere. I didn’t hear from him after that. I had hoped he had found her and went into hiding but unfortunately that wasn’t the case when Detective Hall called me this morning.”

After working with Kensi for over a year, Sam was getting familiar with how she operated “That explains how she ended up at the bar last night. If Kensi heard those voicemails from someone she cared about, she wouldn’t have run the other way.” 

Hetty nodded, “She would have stood and fought. That’s who she is.”

“And now Kensi and Deeks are both missing.” Callen concludes.

The images on the screen suddenly disappeared and were replaced by a video feed of Eric from Ops. 

“I might have a lead on that. Now the security cameras at the bars had been disabled but I was able to pull a traffic cam from the north east corner that shows the alley behind the building.”

The feed from Ops shrunk to the top corner of the screen as the traffic cam feed filled the rest.  Just as they feared the team saw an unconscious Deeks being dragged out the back exit and into a van. Movement at the bottom right of the screen caught their eye. Kensi was watching from around the side of the building, both hands on her gun at her side. They watched in horror as the shadow behind Kensi grew closer and then grabbed her, placing a white cloth over her mouth. After a moment of struggle, Kensi’s body went limp and she too was thrown into the back of the van. Landing right next to Deeks.

[ofheroesandvillains]

To Catch A Ghost - B.Russo - 1

Billy Russo x assassin!reader

Words: 2k Warnings: None  Summary: Post-season 1 of the Punisher. Billy helps Frank defeat Agent Orange, but doesn't realise that his initial involvement has landed him right in the middle of an investigation nobody knows about. 

I’ve had a Billy fic in my head for a very long time but I was always worried that I wouldn’t do the characters justice. I’ve decided to just go for it anyway, but please let me know if it’s something you’d like to see more of - I don't want to waste time on it if no one likes it haha! 

(Not my gif, credit to the creator!) 

“Y’know, I always knew I’d see one of you on my doorstep someday.”

He smiled. 

“Mind if I come in?”

You stepped aside with a sigh. At least he had the good manners to toe his shoes off before stepping inside. It hadn’t snowed in a few days but the dirt road leading to your little cabin was still predominantly sludge and you weren’t in the floor-scrubbing mood.

“This is...cosy.”

He looked about the room the same way you always did. Builders took their tools home with them, but people like you and Coulson, you took home vigilance. There was no telling when work would sneak up on you, and after spying the file in his hand, it was clear that now was one of those times. 

“Thanks, renovated it myself.” 

You made your way to the quaint little kitchen that sat attached to the living room. Bottled water, unopened. You knew it was all he’d take, and he probably wouldn’t drink it anyway. Again, vigilance. Or paranoia, you had a hard time telling which was which nowadays. 

Either way, he accepted the bottle with a smile.

“You know I’m retired, right?” you asked, making yourself comfortable on the plush chesterfield. “Handed in my resignation right after-”

“Right after the Triskelion, yeah.” Coulson nodded, making his way over to the armchair beside you. 

Your eyes narrowed as he leaned back into the leather, far more comfortable than expected.

He dropped the file on top of the small coffee table and cracked open his bottle of water. To anyone who didn’t know you, you could be two old friends sitting down after years apart and reminiscing about the good times. Except, there was a reason you hadn’t seen each other in so long, and good times were few and far between in your line of work. 

“I know what you’re doing, Coulson.” His brows shot up innocently. “I’m not taking another job.”

“Of course not. You’re retired.”

A strained silence stretched long enough to make you squirm in your seat. Your eyes were burning a hole through the folder as it sat there staring back at you. Coulson pretended not to notice, instead drumming his fingers against the armrest and feigning interest in the wooden beams overhead. 

You rolled your eyes with a huff. 

“Damn it.”

You swiped the folder off the table and didn’t need to look over to know he was smiling.  

The first page seemed to be a profile, the layout familiar but obscured by pictures. The couch dipped beside you. 

“William Rawlins, former CIA.”

You stared down at the middle-aged man in the photo with a grimace. His hair was sparse and he had a milky eye, but it was the self-important look on his face that didn’t sit well with you.

“Want me to kill him?”

Coulson huffed in what might have been a laugh, had you thought him capable. 

“No need, he’s already dead.” With that said, he removed the photo from the folder and placed it on the table. Beneath it was another face you didn’t recognise.

“Colonel Ray Schoonover. Former marine, turned drug lord.”

“I always liked a challenge.” Your lips twitched up, only to fall as Coulson put that photo right beside Rawlins’.

“Oh, he’s dead too.”

You shot him an exasperated look.

“Well, who the hell am I killin’ here, Coulson?” 

“Not killing, investigating. You’re investigating him.” He pointed down to the profile.

There were two photos of one William “Billy” Russo. The first was a typical military headshot. With his uniform and short hair, he looked a lot more baby-faced than he did in the full body shot below. There, he was pictured in a tailored suit, his face sterner and older - a man who’d seen too much in his short life. 

But none of that negated the fact that William Russo was a handsome man.

Your brows furrowed as you scanned through his details, and you looked back over at Coulson with a frown.

“You want me to...babysit a former Marine?”

“Investigate,” he repeated.

“Right,” you drawled. “And there’s no one else available? Like, no one at all?”

A sudden seriousness settled over him, and he gave you that same genuine look that always managed to rope you into life-threatening situations. You cursed yourself for respecting him as much as you did.

“No one I trust as much as I trust you.”

“Don’t let Nat hear you say that.”

You shared an amused glance.

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought anyone else could do this job, kid.” He sighed. “I know you’re out, but this guy’s good at spotting a tail. Agent Ramirez gave me his report from a hospital bed.”

You snorted. “I’m no spy, Coulson. What makes you so sure I won’t end up in that same bed?”

Coulson smiled. “Ramirez was a spy, you’re a ghost. A little harder to catch one of those in my experience.”

“Just my luck Romanoff’s a public figure now, huh?” 

You mulled over the idea, eyes unconsciously locked onto the darkest pair you’d ever seen. His numbers were impressive, but you’d seen better. You had better. Alright, Russo.

“What exactly am I looking for?”

---------

“Rawlins was heavily involved in multiple illegal operations over east and on home soil. Our main concern, however, was his involvement with HYDRA.”

“Why is it always HYDRA?”

“We know that Rawlins funded Russo’s company, ANVIL. But we don’t know the extent of their relationship.”

“In other words, you don’t know if this Russo guy’s taken it upon himself to finish whatever Rawlins started with HYDRA.”

“We need you to get close to him, find out if he knows anything.”

“If he does?”

“Then congratulations, Nine. You get to kill someone after all.”

---------

The best way to lure someone in was to stoke their curiosity, then pretend you wanted nothing to do with them - at least in your line of work. Make him think he’s approaching you, not the other way around, Nat’s voice echoed in your mind.

The little hole-in-the-wall dive bar he frequented when he wasn’t entertaining company, wasn’t much of a stretch from what you’d usually enjoy. Admittedly, you didn’t have many friends, and your cabin was isolated enough to ensure that the only interaction you usually got was on your trip to the store for your weekly haul. 

But this...it was nice. It would be even nicer without the wasted frat boys in the corner eyeing you while they decided which one was macho enough to try his luck.

They weren’t regulars. You’d been coming here for almost a month and had never seen them before. More importantly, you hadn’t been seen before either. Not by Russo, at least. That would all change tonight if things went according to plan. 

Wednesday night, an early finish at the office. Too early in the week to go wild, but late enough to enjoy a night out. 

By now, Reggie - the old bartender - knew your usual order without asking, and what little backstory you’d supplied was firmly cemented in his mind. He even flicked the game on for you with a wink - you’d raised your glass in thanks.  

“H- ehem...Hey…”

Your eyes barely drifted from the TV. A cursory glance was enough to confirm that one of the fledglings had finally plucked up the courage...or was too wasted to stay away. 

“What?” 

He swallowed thickly, and you almost felt bad when you considered just how young he looked. Was he even legal? 

His friends laughed on the other side of the room and he scowled over his shoulder at them before turning back with a smile. 

“Mind if I buy you a drink?”

“Sorry, I don’t accept drinks from minors.”

Apparently insulted, he stood a little taller, chest puffed out and lips pursed.

“I’m not a kid.”

“I didn’t say you were a kid. I said you were a minor.”

You saw him roll his eyes from the corner of your eye. Yeah, not a kid, you mentally scoffed.

“Would you just accept the damn drink?” 

“No.”

“Why?” He sounded exasperated, and you were just about at the end of your rope. 

You finally dragged your gaze from the TV and the look you shot him must have held the right amount of warning, because it certainly had the desired effect. His shoulders fell and he took a slow and sheepish step back.

“Because,” you began, voice low. “I said so. Now, beat it, kid. I’m trying to watch the game.”

He scurried off with his tail between his legs just as someone slipped into the seat beside you. 

“Ouch.” 

It was barely a word, but the way it rolled off his lips was smoother than the drink you were nursing. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was him, and you cursed his timing.

“Think he’ll walk it off?” He asked in good humour, before motioning to the bartender. 

You decided that the photographs didn’t do him justice. Even when he traded his suits for his sweaters, he still looked better than any mark you’d tailed before. 

“They always do.”

The glass of scotch passed to him snatched his attention, and he shot Reggie a grateful smile.

“Make it two, Reg.”

“Sure thing, darlin’.” 

A silence settled between you, interrupted only by periodic laughter and the chatter of commentators. You could feel his eyes on you. 

They were glued to your chest, a furrow in his brow and a small frown on his lips.

The best way to get his attention? Tell him about yourself without saying a word. Let him think he’s figuring you out. Men love thinking they’re smart.

“You okay?”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed and apologetic.

“Sorry, I wasn’t...” he huffed an embarrassed laugh, before nodding toward your chest, eyes pointedly on your own. “You served?”

You glanced down at the ball chain that disappeared beneath the neckline of your shirt. 

“Good spot. I guess I’m not the only one.”

He smiled, something more genuine and proud than you’d expected from him, but it was quick to falter. It reminded you of whenever you would think of S.H.I.E.L.D. You’d done great things together, made friends you wouldn’t trade for the world, even saved that same world a few times. But knowing just how rotten the organisation was at the core left a bad taste in your mouth.

It tainted those memories and reminded you that everything they asked of you and everything you did for them was suspect. 

He recovered quickly. 

“Right you are.”

Your eyes narrowed as he took a swig of his drink.

“I’m thinking...Navy.”

He grimaced into his glass, and you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You’re just out here usin’ everyone’s pride as a punching bag tonight, huh?” He joked with a short laugh of his own. 

“Well, now you’ve gotta be Army!” 

“Marine Corps.”

Your brows shot up. “Nice.” 

He traced the lip of his glass with a small smile. It probably wasn’t the thing he was usually complimented for, but he certainly wasn't this bashful about his looks. 

A vibration shot through your leg and while knew your conversation with him was over sooner than you would have liked, it may have just been in your favour. 

He likes women, and women like him. You’re not going to be one of those women, and he needs to know that. Half the fun is in the chase, got it?

“Sorry, I gotta take this.” You slipped your phone out of your pocket and shot him an apologetic look. “It was nice meeting you though...”

His smile faltered and the hint of disappointment that flashed in his eyes was gone in a blink. 

“Billy,” he supplied. “Billy Russo.”

You shook the hand he offered you. 

“I’m sure I’ll see you around, Billy Russo,” you said, slipping out of your seat with one final smile. 

His eyes trailed after you until you were out the door and out of sight, but he would think of you again that night. 

---------

“Have you made contact?”

“Sure have, and you have shitty timing, by the way.”

“Keep me posted.”

He hung up without another word and you sighed. 

“Love you too, Phil.”

---------

Part 2

[invidiosa]

IWTB fic

In honour of the 12th anniversary of the IWTB release, here is a fic I wrote 10 years ago (1 March 2010 to be precise):

In a Graveyard by Circe Invidiosa Rating: PG-13 for the swears Disclaimer: I know the law, and the law would win.

Summary: He hated snow…Mulder attends a funeral. A post-I Want to Believe fic. 

Keep reading it here or read it on: my fic site LJ

He hated snow, he decided. Considering the week he’d had, Mulder didn’t know why he hadn’t come to this conclusion before now. He watched the flakes begin to fall in bigger clumps, sticking to the casket in splotches.

The snow muffled the minister’s drone, making him sound like he was rooms away. Like when Mulder would hide in the linen closet when his parents had company over and they thought he was asleep, back before Samantha was born. He’d hoped to hear something he wasn’t supposed to hear. Why else would they send him to bed? But it always turned out to be boring adult talk. They didn’t even talk about him.

Mulder shook off the memory and the snow that had collected in his hair and tried to concentrate on what the minister was saying. But it was obvious the officiant knew Dakota Whitney about as well as he did. The trite platitudes, the words about faith and God’s will, seemed even more pointless to Mulder than usual.

He couldn’t give Scully an answer to why he was going to Dakota Whitney’s funeral. He didn’t know what he’d hoped for — meaning, absolution? None of that was here.

He’d stayed back, far enough away that he could scan the faces of the crowd. He’d recognized a few faces, older now, just as he was. No one would meet his eye except Drummy, who glared openly at him. Mulder wished he had a reason to glare back.

It was during this absurd staring contest that someone approached and stood next to Mulder. Walter Skinner didn’t even acknowledge when Mulder turned to see him, hands shoved into his overcoat pockets staring forward. But Mulder felt bolstered enough by his presence that he could forget about Drummy and his censure.

Mulder leaned toward Skinner. “Arlington, huh? How’d she score this kind of real estate?”

Skinner motioned his head to the older uniformed man who held the folded flag. “General Whitney.”

That explained a lot.

Mulder realized that he hadn’t really considered anything about this girl — woman. Christ, she was older than Scully had been when they’d first met. Obviously — far too obviously — Dakota Whitney had been interested in Mulder and had considered everything about him. He began to feel embarrassed for her, and for himself, remembering their final conversation, when she’d made a play for him.

Uncomfortable again, Mulder turned to Skinner to make his apologies and leave when Skinner said, “There was snow at your funeral, too.”

Well, fuck. Mulder knew that he hadn’t said it out of maliciousness, but maybe Skinner was making a point — he’d been to enough funerals and didn’t want to go to another of Mulder’s. Whatever Skinner’s reasons, it rooted Mulder to his spot.

Mulder changed the subject as fast as he could. “Did you know her?” He nodded toward the casket.

“Sorta. She came to me, before this case, wanting to know about you, about the X-Files. Pestered me every day for a month. Kept telling me it was all ‘off-the-record’.”

“What did you tell her?”

Skinner snorted. “I’m still an AD because I know there’s no such thing as ‘off-the-record’. And because I know when to leave something damn well alone. Last time she talked to me was last week. Came into my office and triumphantly told me she’d gotten approval to get you for consulting on some hot case, and thanks for nothing.”

Mulder smirked, remembering her tenacity. “I noticed she didn’t take no for an answer.”

“She didn’t get to be an ASAC by backing down.”

Mulder sighed. “Well, it got her killed. Bringing me back got her killed.”

Skinner shook his head. “You’re unbelievable. Isolation has actually made you more egotistical. You must’ve been a joy to live with these last six years.”

One thing Mulder knew was that regardless of how many times Skinner threw everything aside to help him, there was only one reason he did it: for Scully. And this was Mulder’s cue.

“Thanks for the chat and for the cuddle the other night, Walter. Drop by any time now that I’m not wanted.” Mulder started to back away.

Skinner rolled his eyes and walked past him, back down to the path. “Get over yourself, Mulder. There’s something here you need to see.”

Mulder took one last look at the snow-freckled coffin before he followed. They walked away to a gun salute.

———-

Skinner led the way. After a few minutes, he veered off the path and stopped in front of an unremarkable headstone. Unremarkable until Mulder read the name aloud: “Frohike.” Sure enough, Langly and Byers flanked him.

“Shit,” Mulder muttered. Scully had told him all about The Gunmen’s heroic deaths, but it never seemed real. Especially not with the spectral visits the boys occasionally had paid him.

Skinner pointed to the fresh flowers left at all three graves. “Jimmy, that kid who started following them around that last year, he visits every couple of weeks. Makes sure it looks like someone’s been here. That someone remembers what they meant.”

“I met him once. He was –” How could he put it delicately?

Skinner read his mind. “What he lacks in sense, he makes up for in eagerness. I thought their deaths would kill him. But he’s still putting out the paper. He still believes.”

Lucky kid.

Skinner bowed his head momentarily, paying his respects, before he cleared his throat. “I’ll give you some time alone here. I’ve gotta go make an appearance at the wake and do Assistant Director stuff. You can make it outta here okay?”

Mulder nodded. “I’ll just follow the breadcrumb trail I left.”

“Tell Scully I’ll be in touch,” Skinner said before he walked away.

Mulder knelt down by Frohike’s headstone. He didn’t have to wait long and was not startled when a voice spoke.

“I thought he’d never leave.” Langly appeared from behind a nearby tree.

“‘Bout time you showed up,” Frohike said as he stood up from behind his tombstone.

Mulder rolled his eyes and stood upright. “You might recall that up until very recently, I was wanted by the FBI for killing a marine. You even warned me to go on the run and not look back. So it would be a pretty stupid idea to just waltz into the largest armed forces cemetery. But thanks for understanding.”

Byers appeared from behind Mulder. “Don’t mind him, Mulder. The afterlife isn’t what he expected.”

Mulder chuckled. “What, all the great conspiracies didn’t just reveal themselves to you when the pearly gates opened?”

Langly was leaning on his own headstone. “Nah. He’s just got his panties in a twist because it turns out he’s just as bad at getting dead tail as he was at getting live tail.”

“At least I’m looking for girls! You’re just interested in other long haired dudes!” Frohike said.

Langly’s fist came down. “Joey Ramone is a GOD, not a dude!”

Mulder was getting fed up. “Guys! I’m here now. Not that you couldn’t have come to see me any time, you know, what with having shuffled off your mortal coils and all.”

Byers shrugged. “Mulder, even you think we’re figments of your impressive imagination. If you haven’t seen us lately, maybe you should ask yourself why.”

Mulder rubbed his forehead. “If you really are figments of my imagination, why haven’t you gotten any better looking?”

“Speak for yourself, Not-so-Grizzly-Adams,” Frohike said. “Did you shave just for us?”

“All right,” Byers intervened, his hands raised like a referee. “Mulder, we know why you came here today. We’re sorry about the girl, Agent Whitney. You and she seemed to work well with one another.”

“Too well,” Frohike interjected.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mulder replied a little too defensively.

Langly sighed. “Don’t get him started.”

Frohike waved him off. “Too late!” He turned to Mulder. “Running off with this young chickie, Mulder, just because she’s all into the paranormal? When you’ve got the luscious Dana Scully waiting at home? What are you thinking?”

Mulder turned away. “It wasn’t like that –”

“It never is,” Byers said, to Mulder’s surprise. “And that wasn’t our point, Mulder. It’s not your feelings for Agent — Doctor Scully — that are the problem. It’s where your relationship stands now that you’re free.”

Mulder replied. “Look, Scully knows where we stand –”

“Does she?” Frohike asked.

Mulder threw his arms up. “Of course she does. How could she not?”

“Have you actually told her, Mulder?” Byers asked.

“Yeah, that really seems to be a bit of a foreign concept for you two,” Langly said.

“Think about how ready was she to give up on you when you went into crazy investigator mode.” Frohike said. Don’t give up. Maybe it was Mulder that Father Joe had been referring to all along when he said that to Scully. Frohike added, “Does that seem like a person who knows where they stand?”

But I can tell you that I won’t be coming home. Mulder had just chalked it up to Scully having a passive aggressive tantrum for not getting her way. He hadn’t understood a single thing she said that night. He still didn’t.

“She doesn’t need to worry. We’ve been together for years now.”

“Only because you didn’t have a choice. You were in hiding. You had to rely on her,” Byers said.

“Maybe she thinks she’s a placeholder. Just good enough for now until you were able to get back to what you love doing,” Langly added.

Frohike shook his head. “Lemme tell you something. I ever had a woman half as smart, sophisticated, and hot as Dana Scully, she’d never have to guess what she meant to me.”

Langly laughed. “Like that would ever be a possibility. She’d have to be half as tall, too.” Frohike made a hand gesture at Langly.

Byers interrupted, bringing them back to the matter at hand. “The point is, Mulder, whatever you end up doing now that you’re a free man, you have to let Dr. Scully know where she stands.”

“Ditchin’ her ain’t an option any more, man,” Langly said, adding, “Even if you are pissed at her.”

Frohike rubbed his hands together. “All she’d have to do is open up that top button and I wouldn’t be mad at her any more.”

Mulder pointed at Frohike in warning. “That’s far enough, Melvin. You’re talking about the mother of my son there.”

Byers said, “You know, that’s another thing we should probably talk about.”

Mulder stooped and picked up a bouquet of flowers from Frohike’s grave. “Not today, boys.”

Frohike stepped forward. “Hey! Jimmy just gave me those!”

Mulder shrugged. “It’s for a good cause, Melvin. ‘Sides, you really wanna go around yelling that a dude left you these?”

Frohike grimaced. “Touché. Tell her we said hi?”

“Not on your life,” Mulder said.

Langly walked up to stand beside Frohike. “Considering we don’t have lives, that means absolutely nothing.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back. I’ll bring you something nice.”

“Scully would be nice,” Frohike said.

“You can’t win, Frohike,” Mulder said. “You don’t even have a body.”

“Don’t rub it in, Mulder,” Byers said, now standing on the other side of Frohike. “You don’t have to spend eternity with him.”

“No, I don’t,” Mulder said, walking back down to the path, “I have to make sure I’m spending it with someone else. Thanks guys.”

When Mulder turned back to wave, they were gone.

[kelseeeckhout-blog]

Here goes nothing//update.

I wrote this on my private tumblr, but thought I’d share it. Incase anyone was wondering.. Promise this is no cry for sympathy and the last I’ll post about the situation. The last few months have been very tough on me. I’m still trying to figure out exactly where I went wrong. How could I let this happen to me? I recently got out of a relationship. I honesty adored the guy. He was crazy funny and him and I never had a dull moment when we were next to each other. Things started going more public, I clearly am a sucker for posting on social media. I heard some chatter about the man I was seeing. I brushed it off as probably just an ex saying things to bash him. He even played the part very well, that his ex trashed his name for no reason at all. Hanging out with him, I soon realized he drank a little too much and a little too often. At first we just had so much fun being drunk in love. Honestly I wouldn’t change those moments for the world. We had a blast. Things started going south when his ex started sending messages his way to remind him that she was still alive and well. I fought through that day in and day out. -Finally we got through the ex. We broke up soon after we vacationed and got a dog together. We still hung out everyday we both were free. Nothing changed at first. Finally about a month later he stared being mean towards me. I just brushed it off as he was drunk. We broke up again even though we were not “officially” dating. We stopped seeing each other for about two weeks. He caught wind that I was talking to someone new. He came back hard with the I miss you and love you. We started to hang out again. Things were “ok” most days. He often was in bad moods because he was sober or coming off a few day binge. He had no one to take his bad moods out on except me. I thought it was so normal and okay for him to be so rude and take advantage of my time and kindness. While sober and not in each other’s presence things would be not good. While sober together things would be great. The first 6-8 beers things were fun and lovey. Then he would hit a wall and be way too drunk suddenly. The fun easy going guy I knew was no longer with me. He would say really mean things. A couple times he slapped me across the face. He was very drunk and I mean very drunk, so I brushed it off completely. I did not bring it up to him because I didn’t want to upset him and make him leave me or be rude to me. Weeks pass of the some good and some bad days. I start to realize he is getting meaner. So I not in my finest moment decide he must be talking to his ex again, who won’t see him but message him like there is a chance. I sleep at his house a few nights a week at this point still. So he left for work and I go through his Apple Watch which has his text messaging on it. I read a few conversations and am sick. He tells me he loves me and would never do anything to hurt me. I see he is talking to his ex in a manner he shouldn’t be. A few more days pass of him being rude. I finally have enough one night. I tell him, I don’t think we should see each other anymore. He gets very upset. We talk for for a while about everything, it’s very late now so we go to bed. He texts me the next day asking to see my son and if I really broke up with him. I invite him for dinner, because clearly I’m weak for him. That night he decided to adopt a cat from my mother. I bring him the cat and he tells me “I guess you have to take my keys back to check on the cat, ok?” I just smiled and said ok. A couple weeks go by and he is being so kind and sweet to me. I fell again for this cruel trick. All of the sudden his rudeness came back. I asked if he was speaking to his ex and he said “no, I’m done being her security blanket” So I again went through his watch to be sure. He really hadn’t been talking to her. I was like wow, maybe this is it. While putting his watch down 10 minutes after he kissed me goodbye and told me he loved me he gets a message from a name I don’t recognize. I open it and it is a lady who looks to be in her late 40s who works in the same area as him. So I shrug it off. Then the watch kept going off between the two and I read a few. Turns out they had matched on bumble. The conversation was inappropriate. I was in disbelief because she was much older than him, but I was seeing the messages right before my eyes. A couple days pass. We are out to dinner and he says I seem off. I was shrugging and saying no babe, totally fine. I wasn’t. All I was thinking about was me not being good enough. Ever. Why was he wasting my time? Finally that night we get to talking (after plenty of beer) he can’t believe I’d assume he was taking to someone else. We played a video game for almost two hours having fun after that. It’s now like 3am. We go to the living room. The sick feeling is back. I look at him and said “****, if you’re talking to someone else I don’t want to do this any longer” Then. He slapped me very hard across the face. His face looked like he had seen a ghost. I shouted “what the fuck, ****” He knew what he did. He quickly said well you ask me to hit you while we are having sex. I said yeah while having sex sometimes not a conversation.... He changed the subject quickly. I just sat there and let him. We went to bed. A day goes by. Neither of us bring it up. I feel the lowest I ever had. He again is on a sober stretch because of work. So he’s taking his bad mood out on me. He says maybe we should not see each other anymore. I had a long text written and it took me an hour to hit send. I called him out for slapping me. Told him good luck and to no longer message me. All that was said back to me: Thanks. Will do. I was heartbroken and felt worthless. A day passed. I now am angry so I made a tweet. I couldn’t help myself. Come to find out someone alerts him of my tweets, which I made public for a reason. This person makes some sub tweet about it. So he messaged me. Definitely denying it. I couldn’t believe he was telling me I only was saying that because he broke up with me. After a couple days of not speaking I even in my head was like well did it happen?? He literally made me feel crazy. A classic case of gaslighting. It’s only been about a week since I’ve come to terms with him slapping me hard across the face. I still feel worthless. I still feel ashamed of myself. I let a man be so mean to me while I was nothing short of generous to him always. The worst part is I feel bad for putting it out there that he laid his hand on me. I feel for him. When I think of him I get sick. He took advantage of me so hard and hit me and I still am worried for his well-being when clearly he could careless about mine. I am in a spot right now of how could someone hate themselves so much to let this happen to them for months? I really can’t get out of my head. I hate that I’m still letting this control my life. So please forgive me being distant and maybe canceling on plans right now. I’m honestly trying my hardest to forgive myself for letting this happen.

Update 9/26/2019 Backlash. I am not sure why I expected anything less than being called a liar who just got their feelings hurt. Displacing blame. I literally have nothing much more to say. About my side. Here is just a follow up. After talking to a few police officers and finally going to the police station to file a report, I have opened my eyes even more. While speaking about the times my ex slapped me, I said “well, it wasn’t that hard the first two times” “he was very drunk” “I really don’t think he meant to”. The police officer said stop right there. Do you hear yourself? “He didn’t hit me that hard” “he was drunk”. You can stop making excuses for him now. I said it out loud again. “I don’t think he meant it or was aware because of how drunk he was” Then the officer said “even if he didn’t mean it, he did it”. Why did I wait? I was so scared. I am still scared. Not of him hurting me, because I will never see him again. I’m scared because being a female still in 2019, you get belittled, told you’re acting crazy, some believe the man over the woman and that is so scary and makes me feel absolutely worthless. Being a female is supposed to be empowering. I feel worthless most days when I think about myself and letting this happen to ME. Why didn’t I hit him back? I like to think I’m a tough girl, but that’s just it, I am a female. Not a highly intoxicated ex-marine. Could you imagine what may have happened if I tried to hit him back? Why did I not seem scared of him/ keep hanging out? As stated above I kept telling myself “it wasn’t that hard” “he didn’t mean it” “Stop being such a baby” I just wanted to be sure he was okay. I stated many times to him I was worried with him being alone drinking so much. I have helped him plenty times from being passed out facedown on the ground. I was worried for him because no one else was helping him. I would repeat to myself you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. I just couldn’t give up on him. Which was ultimately my biggest mistake. I honestly believe that he has no idea he slapped me the first two times. He was THAT drunk we were not arguing whatsoever and he carried on with conversation immediately after. The last time he hit me, he hit me very hard as I said and his face knew. He knew this last time exactly what he did. As for the “out of context” texts from his ex I came across I didn’t bring those to the public like he did. I was just reminding him that he in fact had done some pretty monster invading things while being drunk and she confronted him about them. I not only read them via text, but he also told me one night and I asked him not to tell me anymore. As for the one person who reached out and said “I just got my feelings hurt” Sure, they were hurt because my ex emotionally abused me and lied a lot. For me to make this up is asinine. Unfortunately I knew that he was still texting his wife at the time, now ex wife in ways he shouldn’t. I knew the entire time from when it started happening. I would look at their texts all the time. So it wasn’t me in a jealous rage making this up. I have lost much more than a boy I dated for 9 months and I have never had any bad blood. I have never had anything like this happen to me. I have never been slapped across the face by a man. I have never felt this worthless. I am trying to get through this. I feel much better with the police being involved. I honestly hope he is staying strong with sobriety, before I was made to block him by the police, he sent a message saying he hasn’t been drinking since the last time him and I hung out on September 3, 2019. (Weird he thought he needed to stop after that night and I didn’t finally confront him for hitting me days later) I of course was sent pictures of his current posts with beer in his hand. I just hope he can stop displacing blame and hold himself accountable for his drinking problem. I wish him well in that endeavor. I was just telling my story and wanted to warn people about this mans other side. As many people in Saginaw tried to do to me when I first started seeing him. I figure with the entire story people would stay clear. I am really trying to stand my ground as a strong female. I am really trying to make sure that the middle aged alcoholic white male that doesn’t know limits, does this to no other female.

[galwednesday]

I wish you would write wholesome Shrinkyclinks! Modern AU or WS!Bucky or anything :) especially anything where people take Bucky as super intimidating and seemingly Not For Steve but he's actually soft-spoken and embarrassingly in love with his bf. Also inspiration art, take out the parentheses: coldcigarettes(.)tumblr(.)com/post/155362763256/you-know-how-i-never-do-comics-well-ive-done-one

What I ended up with is a little askew from the prompt, but it is Shrinkyclinks with besotted WS!Bucky and people being surprised Steve is his boyfriend, just with the surprise going the other direction.

Sam did one more circuit in the air just to confirm that everything was under control. The wannabe-despot of the week was being loaded into the back of a SHIELD van in handcuffs, and the three bioengineered chimeras she’d released in Central Park were all safely contained. They were part hyena, part cat, and part…actually, Sam had no idea what the hell was making them glow faintly purple, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t normal cat or hyena behavior.

Fortunately, the chimeras weren’t nearly as aggressive as their creator had hoped. Once the Avengers had herded them into a sunny area by a fountain, the chimeras had settled down to bask on the warm stone, ignoring their creator’s increasingly frustrated commands to make with the rampaging already.

“Can we keep them?” Clint was shooting boomerang arrows from the top of the fountain. One of the chimeras was lying on its back, batting lazily at the arrows passing overhead. “I’ll feed them and walk them and not let them maul any civilians, can we keep them, sir, pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“No,” Coulson said. Sam could see him standing by the SHIELD van, arms folded as he watched Clint.

“I want this one.” Natasha sat on the ground by the fountain, posture relaxed, apparently ignoring the chimera five feet to her left. The chimera ignored her back, except to twitch an ear in her direction.

“No,” Coulson repeated, but only after a pause long enough signal defeat.

Natasha rolled slowly onto her side. The chimera tracked the movement, then put its head down on its paws and half-closed its eyes. “I’m naming her Boadicea.”

“So we’re done here? We’re done here,” Sam said, and turned his comm off before he could get sucked into the argument.

He touched down outside the SHIELD perimeter, where Tony was shedding his suit like a lobster shucking off its shell one segment at a time. Each piece folded up neatly into the briefcase at his feet. The Winter Soldier was standing next to him, his face blank but calm.

The Soldier had been an official part of the team for a few months now. Sam still didn’t have much of a read on him. The Soldier had been invaluable during the whole Hydra/SHIELD clusterfuck, and that was enough to earn him a lot of goodwill, but just about the only things Sam knew about the Soldier were his fighting style and his call sign.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony greeted him. “Where are the spy kids? Let’s do post-battle brunch, I’m starving.”

“They’re trying to convince Coulson to let the mad science experiments follow them home.”

“Good luck to them, but God help them if they try to keep them in the Tower, Pepper put her foot down about pets. You buy out one animal shelter because the cages are too small and all the animals look sad and suddenly everyone thinks you’re a hoarder. I don’t get what the big deal was, we weren’t using that floor of the Tower for anything important anyway. Tacos?” Tony suggested. “I’m thinking that place by Fordham. BattleBot, you in?”

“Can’t,” the Soldier said, typing something into his phone. “I have a date.”

Tony stopped talking for an entire three seconds. “You. Have a date.”

The Soldier looked up and blinked, clearly nonplussed to find Sam and Tony both staring at him. “Yes.”

“With who?”

“My boyfriend.”

“You have a boyfriend. You have a boyfriend?” Tony looked like he’d just walked into a lamppost, and then the lamppost had handed him a birthday present.

The Soldier’s brow furrowed. “Is that a problem?”

“Hey, this isn’t disapproval on my face, this is flabbergast. Flabbergastness? Flabbergosity?” Tony waved a dismissive hand. “I’m just a teeny bit surprised, no need to do that thing with your face where your eyebrows try to merge with your nose. Details! I need details!”

“Tony,” Sam tried.

Tony ignored him. “Is your boyfriend also a former brainwashed Soviet assassin?”

“No.” The Soldier’s stance eased. His phone chirped and he went back to typing.

“I guess that was a longshot. Is he a Marine?”

“No.”

“A fireman?”

“No.”

“Mixed martial-arts instructor?”

“He’s a painter.”

“Pics or it didn’t happen,” Tony demanded.

“Tony,” Sam sighed, but the Soldier was already holding out his phone. Tony barely resisted grabbing it. (People who grabbed things from the Soldier had a tendency to break fingers; granted, they were usually bad guys going for the Soldier’s weapons, but there was no telling exactly how the Soldier would react to a grab in a non-combat situation, and Sam for one would not want to be the first person to test it).

“That’s your boyfriend?” Tony said incredulously. “Him? No way. I don’t believe it.”

The Soldier’s eyebrows were advancing south again. “Why not?”

“Why not? Look at him, he’s adorable.”

“Yes,” the Soldier agreed, mollified.

Sam gave up on resisting his own curiosity and leaned over Tony’s shoulder. The Soldier obligingly held out his phone, which displayed a picture of a short, skinny guy with a neat blond crew cut. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt and giving the camera a grin and a dorky peace sign.

“When are we meeting him?” Tony said. “Is it now? Can we meet him now? Does he like tacos?”

The Soldier gave them both an evaluating look. Sam tried to radiate friendly acceptance and not show that he was dying of curiosity almost as badly as Tony was.

“Yes,” the Soldier said eventually.

“Yes, he likes tacos, or yes, we can meet him now?”

“Yes.” The Soldier’s phone chirped again. He glanced at it and said, “He’s nearby. He’ll meet us there.”

The Soldier started walking. Tony and Sam fell in beside him, Tony throwing new questions at the Soldier with every step.

“Where did you meet?”

“JDate.”

“Seriously?”

“No.”

“Are you actually Jewish, though?”

The Soldier shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

“Same.” Tony held out a fist. The Soldier bumped it without looking up from his phone. “How long have you been dating?”

“Five months.”

“Five months! You need to tell me these things, this is information I needed to know, I thought we were friends.”

“Why would you think that,” the Soldier said, so flatly that Sam was almost entirely sure he was joking.

“I’m hurt, Ice-T, I’m wounded and distraught. If I ask you about your sex life are you going to punch me?”

“Yes.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed in calculation. “With which arm?”

“You guys hear that?” Sam interrupted. Angry shouts were echoing down the street ahead of them. He put a hand down to the shield at his side to check its position, his wingpack a reassuring weight on his back. A particularly loud yell was followed by a loud thud and the sound of glass breaking, like a waiter dropping a tray of glasses. “What is that?”

A beatific smile spread across the Soldier’s face. “That’s Steve.”

“What?” Sam said, but the Soldier had already broken into a run.

The commotion was coming from the taco place. Sam rounded the corner at a jog just in time to see a tiny guy pick himself up from the ground and hurtle forward into a much bigger man’s kneecaps, tackling him to the sidewalk. The contents of a knocked-over recycling bin were spilling into the street, sprays of glass marking bottles that had broken on impact.

The Soldier dove swiftly into the tangle of bodies and hauled the big guy up by his collar. “What did he do?” he asked the other man.

“Got handsy with a server,” the man replied. His nose was bleeding, but he didn’t seem to notice. He grinned at the Soldier, and suddenly Sam recognized him. This was Steve? “You want to sit on him until the cops come?”

The Soldier put the man in an armlock and didn’t move an inch, no matter how much the man struggled, until the NYPD showed up. Sam adopted his most Captain America voice and reassured the bystanders that everything was under control. The crowd petered out once the fighting was over, not even the spectacle of three Avengers helping with a citizen’s arrest enough to meet New Yorkers’ jaded standards for a free show.

Once the cops had loaded the still-protesting brawler into the back of their car, the Soldier gave Steve a thorough once-over, eyes lingering on the smear of blood under his nose. He pulled Steve into a careful hug. Sam tried not to stare at the novel sight of the Soldier initiating non-violent physical contact. “Ribs?”

“Totally fine.” Steve gave the Soldier an extra squeeze before letting go. “What about you, did you get hurt at all?”

“Strained knee. Your nose is bleeding.”

“Shit.” Steve swiped at the blood under his nose, made a face at his messy hand, and gave Sam and Tony a little wave instead of trying to shake hands. The Soldier dug into one of his belt pouches and handed Steve a wet wipe. “Hey, you must be Bucky’s coworkers. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Tony said. It was more of a question than a statement. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

“Me,” the Soldier said.

Tony and Sam exchanged a look. Steve just cleaned his hands and threw the wet wipe away.

“Is that something we should call you, too?” Sam asked.

The Soldier shrugged. “Sure.”

“And hey, you should’ve said your knee was hurt,” Sam told the Soldier as they filed into the taco place–told Bucky, and that was going to be a weird adjustment. “We could’ve given you a lift.”

“It’ll heal,” Bucky said, entirely unconcerned.

“You guys shouldn’t rely on air support so much,” Steve said, eyes wandering over the menu. “Your team has so many fliers that it’s weakening your ground game.”

“Excuse me?” Tony said.

“You almost lost the third chimera when it went under tree cover because Iron Man and Captain America were both in the air, and Hawkeye and the Soldier were in elevated sniper stands. If the Black Widow hadn’t been in that quadrant already, the chimera would’ve made it past the SHIELD perimeter. Hey, Bucky, have you ever had mole?”

“No,” Bucky said. He was standing sideways in line, his back to the wall–and to Steve, Sam noted, who was apparently allowed inside his blind spot. “Is it good?”

“Yeah, I think you’ll like it. Want to split mole and pulled pork?”

“Yes.” Bucky slipped out of the line and went to stake out a booth.

“I know we make it look easy,” Tony said, “but saving the world on a weekly basis is actually kind of difficult, and we’re pretty good at it by now.”

“Oh, sure. All of you are brilliantly effective at what you do, but that means you’re not working as a group as well as you could. You’re all playing to your individual strengths instead of cohering as a unit. Hi, could I get one order of mole tacos and one of pulled pork?” Steve asked the cashier, his voice abruptly polite.

Sam distracted Tony with questions about Pepper’s latest gallery opening until they got their food and sat down. Bucky had managed to claim a corner booth by the kitchen and was sitting on the bench that faced the front doors. Steve climbed over his lap to get into the corner seat. Bucky slid a little further in after Steve sat down, in a move that Sam interpreted as 30% doting boyfriend seeking closeness, 70% bodyguard blocking potential lines of fire.

“Okay, so you think our ground game is weak.” Tony steepled his fingers over his plate and narrowly avoided putting an elbow in the guacamole cup. “Elaborate.”

“You don’t need two fliers and two snipers on a five-person team. The Iron Man suit is a walking tank, Captain America’s shield is a perfect melee weapon, and Hawkeye and the Winter Soldier are both hand-to-hand combat experts. There’s no reason any one of you couldn’t fight in close quarters. You need to vary your approach before the people you’re fighting catch on and start staging battles in places where long-distance engagement is impossible.” Steve dragged the wadded-up tortilla end of his taco through a smear of sour cream on his plate and passed it to Bucky, who stuffed it into his mouth without comment. “Any time you can’t fight from the air, you’re at a real disadvantage. Bucky told me about what happened in the sewers last August.”

Sam’s face wrinkled at the memory. Clint had almost gotten eaten by an alligator-dinosaur-thing, and the smell had clung to Sam’s costume for weeks.

“Oh, you heard all about it?” Tony said. “Fine, bantamweight, lay it on me. What would you have done instead?”

Steve’s smile went sharp. “Well,” he said, and shoved everything out of the middle of the table. “For starters–”

Sam pulled his taco plate into his lap to keep it out of the way of the rapidly unfolding model of the sewers, which Steve assembled out of straws and sugar packets. Steve moved the salt and pepper shakers (Iron Man and the Winter Soldier) through the grid, while the straw wrapper (Black Widow) slipped ahead to provide recon and a plastic knife and spoon (Hawkeye and Captain America) guarded the exits. Tony challenged every call he made, and Steve pushed right back, questioning Tony’s assumptions and demonstrating his own reasoning. Sam ate his tacos and put in his own two cents whenever he could get a word in edgewise.

Sam’s attention was split between the conversation and surreptitiously watching Bucky. Bucky didn’t react to anything that was said, although Sam was sure he heard every word. He looked more relaxed than Sam had ever seen him, like the sound of Steve and Tony bickering was a zen meditation podcast.

“Huh,” Tony said, halfway through their fifth iteration. “You have a point.”

“Yep.” Steve sat back in his seat and stretched out his back, all that startlingly intense focus draining from his posture. It was amazing how quickly he went back to looking like a nerdy grad student. Sam might have been fooled, if he hadn’t just heard Steve argue Tony Stark to a standstill, and if Steve didn’t have dried blood ringing his nostrils.

“You said he was a painter,” Tony told Bucky accusingly.

“He is,” Bucky said. “He also has a PhD in history with a specialty in wartime tactics and strategy.”

“Seriously, how did you two meet?” Tony asked.

“I saved him from a mugger,” Steve said.

Tony stared at them. “I honestly can’t tell whether you guys are fucking with me right now.”

“I know,” Bucky said serenely.

“Hey, Steve, you want a job?” Sam asked, because unlike some people, he had his priorities straight.

“I already have a job.”

“Come on, don’t tell me you just pulled that analysis out of your ass, you’ve been thinking about this,” Tony said.

“How would you feel about working freelance?” Sam asked. “You could do strategy consulting, be our eye in the sky on missions–”

“Help keep your Bucky-boo-boo safe,” Tony interrupted.

Steve gave him a level look, then turned to Bucky. “I see what you mean.”

“I’m choosing to interpret that as a compliment,” Tony said.

“Yeah, okay, let’s talk terms. Churros first, though. You want churros?” Steve asked Bucky, who nodded.

“I could–” Bucky started, but Steve was already climbing over his legs to get out of the booth.

“I got it.” Steve leaned over the back of the booth and kissed the top of Bucky’s head. He didn’t have to lean down very far. “You take a load off, rest that knee.”

Tony watched Steve go up to the counter, then turned to Bucky. “Okay, nevermind,” he said. “I get it. He’s scrappy, huh?”

“Buddy, you got no idea,” Bucky said, and stole the half-eaten taco right off of Tony’s plate.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

relinquo

s9: post the truth and release, with flashbacks to my struggle ii; references to william and john doe and 4-d. doggett and reyes. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: How Doggett and Reyes left the X-Files.

note: this fic arose out of a desire to explore several different things: doggett and reyes’s partnership, what happened to doggett between season 9 and 10, redeeming reyes (because it needed to happen) and exploring why she’s (seemingly) working with csm. (i mostly skimmed over the msii flashbacks, since msii was all undone but reyes is clearly working with csm in s11... i took creative liberties.) i also wanted to explore doggett’s feelings about catching his son’s murderer in release, and how that related to scully’s decision in william (since doggett and scully are two characters who have lost children and confront this fact in two episodes one after the other and it’s never acknowledged!!). mulder and scully aren’t in this fic, but that didn’t stop me from mentioning them five million times.

warning for discussion of doggett’s son’s death.

---

For years, Doggett has associated Monica with the moment he found his son dead. He's always felt like it was unfair to her, after everything they've been through, but the fact remains. He brings her along when he and Barbara meet to scatter Luke's ashes for comfort, but a part of him also feels like he is doing it to reassociate her in his mind with a pleasant memory instead of a horrible one. She is his friend, and it's become easier to be around her as time goes on, enjoyable—he doesn't know what he'd do half the time without a partner like her—but she is also at the center of too many unpleasant memories.

Doggett feels more companionable towards her than he ever has, through the years they've known each other. After the case closed, he and Monica used to meet regularly to review notes on the case, try to find the killer. Out of everyone who worked the case, the NYPD or the FBI, Monica was one of the only people that he felt like really cared about the case. That Luke was more than another number. (He'd even heard rumors, years later, that she'd cried in the bathroom during the case.) Once every few months had become once every year had become once every few years; he'd called her once when he entered the FBI, they'd been on the same task force before, but other than that, they mostly didn't stay in touch. He wouldn't have called Monica a friend before they became partners.

Now, she's undeniably his friend. Now, he's glad to have an ally, a familiar one, in this strange journey that he likely shouldn't be on. Being in the X-Files office has always felt strange, like standing in someone else's shoes (Agent Mulder's, mainly), but it feels even stranger without Scully. Like he's an intruder. Having Monica along for the ride helps.

When Scully and Mulder are gone, disappeared into the night like bandits, the feeling is even worse. It's absurd, but Doggett feels like a ghost, haunting the wrecked shell of the basement office. After he and Monica get back from New Mexico, they clean up the wreckage of the office together, picking it up, filing away the files that weren't stolen. Doggett saves the poster. If he owes Mulder and Scully anything, it's that.

---

But then again, maybe he doesn't owe them anything. Mulder's only ever resented him. Scully became more and more distant as she collapsed into herself, and John used to think that he understood, but that was before Monica told him what she had done. That she'd given the kid away. And Doggett understands the fear of having your kid in danger, hurt, more than most do, but he still cannot comprehend that she gave William up for adoption, the cute little baby who Doggett has held on his lap on occasion when Scully is doing their autopsies for them and recruits him and Monica to watch the kid. (Pains of a single mom.) He'd never said anything, of course, it wasn't his place, but he'd felt unexpected resentment rising in his throat when he heard the news. Selfish envy, that Dana had a son to throw away. They'd gone for drinks, once, the three of them, after they closed Luke's case, and Scully had begun by congratulating him awkwardly and ended in crying all over them both and apologizing repeatedly. He understands and he doesn't; she is mourning a son that she chose to leave. And even though she did it to keep him safe and it's clearly been hell for her, he can't help but be just a little bit jealous that she had a choice to make.

Doggett can't let himself be too mad at Dana, though. He can't. He's only ever known her in varying stages of grief; his initial thought when he'd heard the news about Mulder, when he told her and watched her face crumple with tears, was, Not again. He didn't know how he could support her through another one of Mulder's deaths. (A fucking ridiculous, tragic sentence.) He can't blame Scully because he's had a front seat to too much of this shit. He knows what she's been through. But he knows lost children, too. That is one thing he and Scully and Mulder, even, understand about each other.  

Most of the time, Doggett can't decide whether he owes Mulder and Scully or not. He's loyal; everyone from his buddies in the Marines and the NYPD to his co-workers in the FBI have commented on it. The furthest he's strayed from his loyalty has been divorcing Barbara, and that hadn't even been his idea. (She'd needed space, and he gave it to her.) And that loyalty extends to Scully, and Mulder by default. Once his partner, now his friend, and Scully has stuck her neck out for him before. Mulder, too, even. But the two of them have this cliquish air about them, excluding all others unless someone is useful in protecting the other. (Even Skinner has commented on it, and Skinner is more loyal to Mulder and Scully than he is.) It's impossible not to feel like an outlier, even when one of them is gone. That was why Doggett was so grateful when Monica was assigned to the X-Files; finally, a partner that was his.

He and Monica are reassigned to the VCS shortly after Mulder and Scully escape. They are not prosecuted for their role in Mulder's escape. They are kept together as partners, news that Skinner delivers proudly, adding on that he fought for this. He looks surprised when Doggett and Monica only thank him mildly; Doggett figured they'd see each other whether they stayed partners or not. He's all the way home before he realizes: Skinner is used to stick his neck out for Mulder and Scully and their all-consuming partnership. Maybe he even misses them.

It takes weeks upon weeks of no weird-ass cases with ghouls and goblins, no crazy conspiracies, for Doggett to realize that he does, too. In a way.

At least he still has Monica. At least that part of his recent life changes still feels normal.

---

Monica and John end up at her apartment after work one night, beers from the fridge and Polish sausage from the stand John is always raving about. He gives her a funny look in response to her wistful one when he presents the food to her, and she has to catch herself from bringing the whole ordeal with Lukesh up. It's strange, knowing that there's an entirely different reality that no one remembers but her. Another universe, even, where she is dead. She's found X-Files where Mulder reported similar phenomenon, but she never got the chance to ask him about it.

It's bizarre not to have Dana around after all this time, over a year. Part of her missed the excitement, but she missed her friend more than anything. She comments on the unusualness of it, and John bobs his head back and forth in agreement. “Weird not to be waking up in the middle of the night to chase down some alien or something,” he comments.

Monica nods her agreement. She's half-afraid that someone’s going to come after them the way they've been going after Dana and Mulder for years, but she hasn't seen any signs of it yet. She hopes it'll never come to that.

She and John drink their beer and eat their Polish sausage. It's the kind of companionable she can really appreciate.

---

When Monica thinks about it for long enough, she realizes that she's been there when the two people she would currently consider her best friends lost their sons. And remembering that makes her chest sting with sudden guilt.

She's made her peace with Luke Doggett, more or less. She'll always feel guilty about being unable to save Luke before it was too late—and she'll live with the moment where she realized it was room late for the rest of her life, she and John both will—but catching Regali helped alleviate some of her pain in that area. They've done everything that they can do. But William Scully… she didn't even have a hand in that decision, and she still feels some of the guilt for it. She was there, she tried to talk Dana out of it, but she couldn't. And now Dana and Mulder both have to live with that decision. Monica barely knows Fox Mulder, but she also was there when he met his son for the first time, watched him carry Dana and the baby out of that house,  and she saw the tremendous look of love on his face. A nervous, devoted father.

Skinner had told them, remorsefully, that he'd told Mulder that Dana had given up William. “I know it was Scully's place, but I couldn't bear him asking about that poor kid,” he'd said. “Knowing that he wouldn't get to see him… But Jesus Christ, the look on his face…” And Monica had felt a little of that guilt. She'd had a chance to stop it.

She knows, intellectually, she couldn't have stopped Dana outside of physically taking the baby away from her. The same way she knows she couldn't have saved Luke. But a small part of her insists there was a chance. She had a chance no one else had.

William isn't the first child Dana has lost, either. She told Monica months ago about a daughter, made without her knowledge or consent, an experiment who died painfully days after Dana found her. This conspiracy that she and John have been roped into chasing, it's taken away both of Dana's children and Dana's sister (the one she said Monica reminds her of) and Mulder's sister and Mulder's parents and countless other horrors Monica has only read about in the Files.

Out of all the agents assigned to the X-Files at one point (even Jeffrey Spender, who Monica only met once, and Diana Fowley, who died before Monica ever arrived), Monica has experienced the least amount of loss. She still has both of her parents. She isn't a parent, and doesn't know if she'll ever want to be one, but nevertheless, she has never lost a child. All of her siblings are alive. She has never been kidnapped or tortured or ended up in the hospital for anything other than a car accident or the expected injuries on cases. It makes her feel bizarrely lucky and guilty at the same time.

She's watched this conspiracy of men and monsters and aliens take so much away from Dana and Mulder and others, and she's only had knowledge of it for a year. And now, with Dana and Mulder gone and the X-Files closed, that should be the end of it, but Monica isn't ready to let it go. When she thinks of William Scully growing up somewhere with someone else's name, when she thinks of lost sisters and daughters and all the times she's seen Dana cry over her lost partner. When she thinks of Dana's friends, the Gunmen, who she liked quite a lot, dead in Arlington. When she thinks of John near death in the hospital because he tried to protect Dana's baby. All of it. She can't walk away from that.

Someone sends a postcard to Monica's apartment. Colorado, snowy mountains even though it's the middle of summer. It reads, simply, Thank you, and is signed with a simple, tiny DS.

“Did you get the postcard from Scully?” John asks her the next day in the parking garage. (Their parking spots are next to each other, close to the basement because their new assignment didn't come with new parking spaces.)

“Yes,” says Monica. “From Colorado.”

“Huh. Mine was from South Dakota.” John stabs the elevator button with the tip of his finger.

“I guess she's trying to cover their tracks,” Monica says as they step into the elevator.

“Hmm.” John rocks back and forth on his heels. “I just don't understand why they don't leave the country like Kersh told 'em too.”

“Maybe it's too late to get over the border,” Monica offers, a little defensive. “Or maybe they… didn't want to leave the search behind just yet.”

John blinks at her in surprise. “Why the hell wouldn't they wanna leave it behind?” he asks, astonished. “After all the danger it's put them in?”

Monica crosses her arms, the elevator dinging as they move up. “Think about it,” she says in a soft voice. “There was a reason Mulder wouldn't testify, try to save his life. And it certainly wasn't to protect this truth he's spoke of. There's something else he found, maybe even something he found worth pursuing.”

John nods, clearly in thought. The door dings again as it slides open, other agents climbing on the elevator. “I just don't see the point,” he says finally, quietly, bending down to speak into her ear. “After all they've both lost.”  

The elevator door closes.

---

It's a missing child case that does it. Somehow, Doggett always knew it would be that.

The problem with the Violent Crimes Section is that, well, the crimes are violent. And Doggett has seen a lot in his time, he has a strong stomach and he can handle most things… But the victim reminds him of his son.

Doggett used to use his pain as a motivator, in the mindset of I can help this family, this child, even if I can't help my son. I can bring their child back, or I can bring them the peace I never had. It worked with Billy and Josh Underwood, and with other cases where children are in danger. And he's avoided cases with children as much as possible, but it's inevitable that he's had to work on a few. But this one feels different. After all he's gone through with his son's murder in recent months, looking the bastard who did it in the eye and having him explain why… he doesn't know how he can watch someone else go through this.

He remembers how it felt in Mexico, the gut-wrenching moment when he'd realized that the little boy he dreamt of was dead, had been murdered years and years ago. He hadn't remembered his life, and he's glad he does now, but there was nothing worse than those brief days when he actually thought his son was alive. At home, missing him, worried about him, ready to hug him when he got home. Everything in this past year, finding Luke's murderer and believing Luke was alive and watching everything Dana had gone through with her kid… It's too hard. The picture of Luke on his mantle makes him want to cry, want to throw up.

He calls Barbara in a drunken moment of weakness. She is nice—nicer than he deserves, all things considered. She refuses to reminiscence with him, stops him anytime he says anything like, “Hey, do you remember…”, but she does console him. And finally, she seems to hit the nail on the head in a way that shocks him to the core. “You've been chasing Lukie all this time,” she says. “Never walking away, working in careers that remind you of him. And I never understood that until you found the guy who did it. But John… he's dead now. It's over. We let Luke go. And now… maybe it's time for you to move on.”

John hunches over, his ribs against his knees, rubs at his face with his callused palms. “I just don't want to forget him,” he whispers. Not the way he did in Mexico; a willful sort of forgiving, where he can pretend it never happened, avoid thinking about his son every day so he doesn't feel the pain. It's what he'd silently accused Barbara of, when she pushed him away before finally divorcing him (“I need to forget,” she'd sobbed the night he left, “I can't go on like this.”), when she refused to participate in the investigation because it was too painful for her. He won't accuse her, of course, but he doesn't want to copy her. He can't abandon his son.

“You wouldn't be forgetting him,” Barbara says. “I know you, John. And I haven't forgotten him. Just because I don't let the pain control my life doesn't mean I'm forgetting my son.” Her voice is too rough now, full of pain. A pain that is all too familiar to John.

John rubs his hand over his face, wiping away his tears. “I know you haven't,” he says softly. He doesn't want to have this conversation with her. “Thanks for talking to me, Barb. I'm sorry to bother you.” He reaches up to hang up the phone.

“You need to live your life, John,” Barbara says just before he hangs up. “It doesn't mean you're forgetting Luke. I just want you to be happy.”

“Thank you,” John says softly, and hangs up. He lets the phone fall onto the couch, runs his damp hands through his sweaty hair.  

---

Monica knows a little bit about the man that Mulder and Dana call the smoker. CGB Spender, mystery man, a true B-movie villain. Mulder and Jeffrey Spender’s father. Dana has always described him with an overwhelming ounce of disgust, hatred. She's only gotten bits and pieces of their history with the purported smoker, but it's enough to mutually hate this man she's never met. Who she never will meet, because he’s dead. Or so she thought.

She soon finds herself being summoned to a hospital in New Mexico, a couple of months after Mulder and Dana disappear. The hospital won't tell her why, only that a patient wants to see her and they are insistent that it's important. They won't tell her who the patient is. “I'm afraid I'm going to need more information than that,” Monica says cautiously, not wanting to walk straight into another trap.

“I’m afraid we can't give it to you,” says the man on the other end. He pauses for a second before adding, “But I was told to tell you something.”

“And what is that?” Monica asks.

The man waits a few beats before saying, “I was told to tell you that this is about Dana Scully.”

Monica goes. She doesn't think she has a choice, because that could be Dana or Mulder there in that hospital, needing her help. She doesn't tell John, which is silly, but she was told to tell no one. Dana and Mulder trying to cover their tracks, she thinks. It feels nonsensical, considering the fact that they both know John better anyhow, but she still doesn't tell him. She flies out to New Mexico alone, hearing the thud of her heart in her ears. Even with her worry about Dana and Mulder, she finds that she is almost excited; it's been so long since she did anything outside of routine.

Her worry is clearly not necessary. She realizes this as soon as she gets to the hospital and the men with suits usher her in. It's not Dana or Mulder, and the man in that room doesn't need her help. At least not any help that she is willing to offer.

The smoker lies in the hospital bed, burned nearly beyond recognition, is the man she's seen in old, blurry photos stashed in the X-Files. CGB Spender. The man she'd assumed was dead. She remembers, suddenly, the fireball that consumed the pueblos where they found Mulder and Scully; was he in that?

Monica has no idea how the smoker knows her or how he found her, but he had an offer for her. He wants her to join him, he says, in a plan to reshape the Earth radically. He wants to create a virus to counter the apparent planned alien invasion in 2012. He tells her that very few people are actually immune. He tells her that Dana is one of the few who are. He offers her that same immunity in exchange for her help.

Monica is beyond baffled. Even after everything that has happened to her, she never expected to be offered something like this. An opportunity to go over to the dark side, to betray everything they've been working for over the past year. She's astonished, horrified, repulsed. She bites out some angry words, exits the hospital room angrily and lets the door slam behind her. She would never, ever do anything like that, even to save her own life.

She makes it all the way to the hotel before the implications of what Spender has told her sink in. A virus that will wipe out most of Earth's population. An alien invasion scheduled for 2012. The casualties will be horrifying. Do Mulder and Dana know about this?

Monica sits at the little desk in her hotel room, her head spinning. She can't just walk away from this, she has to do something. She has to stop this because now this is so much bigger than Dana and Mulder and Dana's baby and all the other horrible things she's heard about. This is all of mankind.

All she can think is that she has to do something. She has to tell Dana and Mulder. They're the only ones who would know how to deal with this. She calls Skinner, perched on the end of her bed with a cigarette in hand. (She's trying to quit, and the taste of it in the back of her throat makes her think of fucking Spender, begging for cigarettes on what should've been his death bed, but she needs it now, needs to clear her head.) When he picks up, she blurts, “I need to talk to Mulder and Scully.”

Skinner is silent on the other end for a few beats. And then he's saying, “Agent Reyes?” in confusion.

“Yes, this is Agent Reyes,” Monica snaps, taking a drag on her cigarette. “I need to talk to Mulder and Scully.”

Skinner is silent again, maybe in astonishment. “I don't know where they are,” he says finally.

“It's important, sir,” says Monica, the smoke expelling from her mouth in a thin line. “Incredibly important.”

Skinner's voice goes quiet on the line, hissing into the phone. “I can't exactly discuss this with the level of subtly it deserves on this line,” he whispers. “But either way, Reyes, I don't know where they are. Truly. The most I've heard from them is via postcard.”

Monica bites her lower lip, takes another long, burning drag off of the cigarette. She doesn't know who the hell to give this information to if she can't get in touch with Mulder and Scully. Skinner is the obvious option—more obvious than Kersh, at least, who Monica still has some distrust of, even after he helped Mulder escape—but over the phone clearly isn't the best way to do this. And besides that, Skinner has been tied up with trying to find Gibson a safe place to go. She can hardly ask him to do more.

“What do you need to tell Mulder and Scully?” Skinner asks in a hushed voice on the other end. “Agent Reyes?”

Monica swallows. The cigarette is burning up between her fingers. “I can't say on this line, sir,” she says, and hangs up.

She puts out her cigarette and lights another one. She takes her pack outside and sits on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water. The moon is out.

For a split second, she imagines Mulder and Dana driving into this hotel, tired and world-weary. She does something she hasn't done in years, since long before the FBI, and plays out wishful scenarios in her head. She helps Dana and Mulder save the world, kill the smoker, clear Mulder's name and get their son back. (Goddamn, that kid was cute, and Dana missed him so much.) The X-Files are reopened. Luke Doggett is found alive, and John is overjoyed. Monica gets a promotion and a nice fucking apartment and a date and maybe that cat her sister is always telling her to get, and everyone gets a happy ending.

Life isn't a movie and Monica is much too old to pretend. She lights another cigarette.

She remembers Leyla Harrison's eagerness, her constant references to Mulder and Scully and her admiration of them. What would Agents Mulder and Scully do? What would John do? Monica tries to imagine. What would Monica Reyes do? There seems to be only one option, but she doesn't know if it's a sacrifice she should make.

Her feet splash the top of the water. She gives up. She goes in and dials John's number.

---

They catch the killer. Doggett feels like he has done nearly nothing to help. Monica is out of town, and he finds himself missing her, her sunny attitude. She'd find a way to make him feel better.

He keeps coming back to what Barbara said on the phone before, about his job. Staying in careers that remind him of Luke. He likes his job, though; it's like a step up from police work, in the same vein of the military. But it's cases like this that always manage to get to him. That bring back the nightmares, the ghost of his son. If he believed in ghosts, that is.

He's sitting at his desk, fiddling with an Empire State Building snow globe Monica had bought for him in a souvenir shop downtown (the irony—but god, he misses the city) when the phone rings. It's Monica, calling from New Mexico, apparently. “Hey, Mon,” he says with pleased surprise. “What are you doing in New Mexico again? I thought your parents were in Arizona.”

“They are,” Monica says. “I'm on a… case. Sort of.”

“Oh.” Doggett turns the snow globe over in his hand. He's wondering why she didn't invite him. He's wondering if this has to do with Mulder and Scully, who they last saw in Arizona. “What kind of case?”

“It's… complicated,” says Monica in a rush. “Listen, John, would you mind coming down here? I need your help with something. And I don't want to discuss it over the phone.”

Doggett’s mouth tenses in surprise, letting the snow globe fall to the table. “Sure, Mon,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “Everything okay? Are you…”

“I'm fine,” Monica says quickly. “I just… I need you out here, if you can make it.”

“Be there by tonight,” Doggett says.

---

Monica meets Doggett at the airport in Roswell. She looks as if she's deep in thought when he sees her, huge sunglasses falling over her face, an unlit cigarette in her hand. But she smiles as he draws closer and he feels a wave of relief. He doesn't have many friends left after he tanked his reputation on the X-Files, but he has Mon, and he's grateful for that. She'd be the reason he stays at the Bureau, or even in DC, if he stays.

When he hears what Monica has to tell him, it feels like it's all inevitable: Barbara's suggestion, the missing child case, finding Luke's killer, the Files closing. Maybe this is all fated to end.

When Monica finishes, they're parked in the parking lot of her hotel, the sun sinking over the desert. The sunset and the sand seems to give everything a red glow; it's making Doggett's head spin. He says slowly to her, “So this… smoker guy…”

“CGB Spender,” Monica supplies.

“Whatever. So this Spender guy… who just happens to be Mulder and Scully's worst enemy and who, by all accounts, should be dead… wants you to join him?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “And you're actually… considering it?”

“I'm not considering joining him,” Monica says, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. She taps a cigarette absently against her leg. (Doggett recognizes the habit almost fondly from years of meeting in increments, Monica insisting she was trying to quit every single time.) “I'm considering infiltrating him. So I can put a stop to his plans and hopefully save the entire human population.”

“The entire human population,” Doggett repeats slowly. “And you believe this… CGB?”

“John, you've seen what these men can do,” she says. “I have no reason not to believe it. I have no choice.”

Doggett rubs a hand across his mouth tiredly. “And you don't think he won't notice you're a double agent? This sounds dangerous, Monica.”

“Part of the job,” Monica says simply. “And besides that, this is bigger than you and me. We're talking about the world here. The good of all mankind.”

Doggett sighs, looking out to the horizon. Sand stretching out for miles. He can see nothing else. “I dunno, Mon,” he says wearily. “I hardly think the two of us are the leading experts on this shit.”

“Skinner doesn't know where Dana and Mulder are, and I didn't want to bring too much suspicion on him,” Monica says. “And I wouldn't trust anyone else with this information.”

“Good instincts.” Doggett sighs, leaning back in his seat. “I dunno, Monica, I dunno. Do you want me to tell you to do it? I dunno if I can tell you to do it. I dunno if I can tell you not to do it.”

“I have a unique opportunity,” Monica says. “I have the knowledge of what these people do, the horrible things they do, and the smoker has no reason to distrust me. I have an in that even Mulder and Dana don't have.”

He laughs quietly. “Well, it sounds like you've already made up your mind.”

“I don't want to do it,” says Monica. “But I think I have to. For my family, for my friends, for the world. For Dana and Mulder and that poor kid of theirs.”

It always comes back to Mulder and Scully. Doggett wipes his mouth, nods a little in understanding.

“I guess I just want you to tell me I'm doing the right thing,” Monica finishes.

“You're too damn noble, Monica. Of course you're doing the right thing. The question is, what'll it cost you? You'd be going deep undercover, betraying your values. Hell, this could take years.”

“I know,” Monica says. “That's more or less what I signed up for, isn't it?”

“I dunno about that.”

She removes her sunglasses and turns to look at him. Drops her box of cigarettes in the cupholder and gives him a small smile. “I hate to leave DC though,” she says. “Brand new apartment and all. And… I'll miss you.”

Doggett smiles back, just a little. “I'll miss you, too,” he says. “Although you might not believe it, Mon, but… I've been thinking about maybe quitting. This may be an opportunity for both of us to move on, Mulder-and-Scully style.”

“Quitting? I never would've expected that from you, John.”

“Neither did I.” Doggett leans against his elbow, shrugging a little. “But this last case… it really shook me up. I couldn't handle it the way I used to be able to. Couldn't stop thinking about Luke. I called Barb and she… she thinks I should move on.” He rubs his face with one hand, tries to scrub it all away. “Not… forget Luke, but move on. Get away from things that remind me of what happened. Try to be happier.”

Monica watches him quietly, fiddles with her sunglasses absently. “Where would you go?” she asks quietly.

“I dunno. Maybe…” Doggett has a sudden memory, painful and joyful at the same time: Luke on a vacation in Florida they took when he was five. His tanned face grinning up at Doggett where they stand in the water, little hands clutching a fishing pole. It's an oddly happy memory. He wants to hold onto this feeling. “Maybe Florida,” he says. “Get some sun. Get back to nature or whatever.”

Monica smiles again, sunny as the Florida sky. “Sounds pretty.”

“I'm sure it is.”

They sit in silence for a minute, the air conditioner humming. The sun sinks below the horizon.

“So… we're going to do this, huh?” Doggett says finally. “Leave it all behind?”

Monica looks down at her tanned hands, reaches for the package of cigarettes again. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I guess so.”

---

He buys her a drink, his friend, his partner. One last hurrah. It's some cheesy alien-themed bar that Mulder would probably love. A few drinks in, and he's repeating the sentiment to Monica, and she's bursting into giggles. They stay up too late, drinking and joking and goofing off.

He'll miss her. He really will.

Monica drives him to the airport in the morning, the sunglasses sliding back over her nose. “Practicing your covert routine, huh,” Doggett says at baggage claim, and she says, “Guess so.”

She walks him as far as they can go and stops, the two of them standing in awkward silence. Finally, Monica says, “No one can know what I'm doing. What I'm really doing. Let them think I went evil, that I went off the grid or whatever. Not even Skinner; he's surrounded by too many dangerous people.”

Doggett nods. “What about Mulder and Scully?” he asks. “If I ever see them again?” (He's not holding his breath.)

Monica hesitates before agreeing, “Sure. But only because I never want to be on their bad side. Especially not Dana's; she scares the shit out of me.”

They both laugh at that. And then it is silent again, the awkwardness thick in the air. Doggett fidgets with the handle of his suitcase, unsure of what to say or do. But Monica does it for him; she steps forward and wraps her arms around his shoulders, the way she suddenly hugged him months ago when he'd brought Polish sausage to her apartment. He hugs her back on instinct.

“You call me,” he says into her hair. “You need anything, you get into trouble, and you call me. I'll kill that smoking son-of-a-bitch. Probably get a medal for it.”

Monica chuffs out laughter, kisses his cheek gingerly before drawing back. “I'll keep in touch,” she says. “Somehow.”

“Well, good.” Doggett crosses his arms over his chest.

Behind him, they call his flight. He scoops up his suitcase, somewhat reluctantly, and waves a little to Monica. “You be careful, okay?” he instructs her firmly.

“I will.” Monica grins like she isn't about to do something incredibly dangerous (or stupid) and try to save the world. “You have fun in Florida.”

Doggett nods. Turns and walks towards his gate because he's awful at goodbyes. When Dana had left, packing up her stuff just before they went to break Mulder out, he honestly hadn't known what the fuck to say to her. He's horrible at goodbyes.

He's halfway to his gate when Monica calls out, “Hey, John!” from behind him. He turns. She shouts, “You should get a dog!”

“This wouldn't happen to be a joke about my name, would it?” Doggett shouts back. He's heard it all, ever since preschool, for Christ's sake.

“No, you just always seemed like a dog person to me!” Monica calls.

Doggett chuckles in soft surprise. Goddamnit. He really is going to miss her.

---

Monica drives straight to the hospital from the airport. Attempts to put on the persona that she will unknowingly be sporting for years: cold, unfeeling. She feels like she is doing something too significant, changing her entire life. She tells herself it will be worth it. For Dana and John and her family and all of humanity.

She tells the smoker that she will do it, her face blank, her voice hard. “If,” she adds warningly, “I'm guaranteed immunity. Myself and my family and friends.”

The smoker pulls his charred lips upwards in a snake's smile. “We'll see, Monica,” he says. “A few years with me, and you may find you don't care as much anymore.”

Monica keeps her face hard and neutral. Thinks, I will never be as cold and unfeeling as you, you bastard.

She's about the least equipped for any of this. She has the least amount of experience with this conspiracy, the least tragedy in her life. She has less to lose.

And that, Monica Reyes thinks to herself, is exactly why she has to do it.

---

Doggett gives his two-week notice.

Skinner gives him a strange look, somewhere between confusion and disappointment. (Maybe he likes having reckless X-Files agents around, being in the midst of the action. Or maybe he just really misses Mulder and Scully.) “What's going on here?” he whispers to Doggett privately, later. “Does this have anything to do with Agent Reyes’s own resignation? What the hell are you two up to?”

Doggett says, as innocently as possible, “Sir, I'm moving to Florida. I'd like to start a new stage in my life. And as for Agent Reyes…” He lowers his voice and leans in closer, whispers, “Whatever she's doing, it's important.”

That's the most detailed he'll get. He promised Monica.

He moves down to Clearwater, Florida about a month later. Gets a dog because he promised Monica that, too.

The waves crashing across the street from his crappy little house make him think of his son. They scattered his ashes in the Atlantic because Luke loved the water.

---

Four months later, he gets a letter from Monica. It's short, abrupt, but it says she's okay. It says that she's going to try and stop this. It says she'll be in touch.

Enclosed in the envelope is a postcard from South Carolina.

Doggett burns the letter. The postcard he keeps, puts up on the fridge between the postcard from Dana (Washington State) and the old pictures of Luke, sunscreen smeared over his nose as he smiles into the camera.

[blizzweirdo]

StarCraft Fanfiction: “No Omen, No Country’s Cause”

A few months ago, during the StarCraft 20th anniversary celebration, I created a blog for the sole purpose of remedying a great injustice: according to an infographic I saw here on Tumblr, fanfiction involving my favorite character, Vice Adm. Alexei Stukov, comprised only 1% of StarCraft fanfiction (in English, I’m assuming). 

And so I embarked on a months-long odyssey, putting together what I thought would be a short story about how Stukov would react to the UED returning to the Koprulu sector. What it turned into is a multi-perspective, most likely novella- length text that I think would work well as a serial.

In “No Omen, No Country’s Cause,” I seek to reconcile discordant parts of Stukov’s personality, give him something to live for, flesh out his backstory, make him to engage in some badassery, and get him back to where he was in SC: Brood War (personality wise). Along the way, expect a lot of battles, new characters, and interactions with other canon characters like Adm. Matt Horner, Valerian Mengsk, Alarak, Zagara, and others.

This teaser is rated T, but expect some chapters to be M for language, violence, sexual content, and zergy squish-squish. I’ll probably post small bits once or twice a week, releasing what I’ve written so far and giving me a chance to write more. I do see myself finishing it (I’ve already written the ending but not the middle) unless there’s just zero interest.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated. If you’d like to view this in a different format, it is also available on FanFiction.net, Archive of Our Own, and Wattpad under the same username.

Note: someone pointed out this sounds like it’s going to get political. I promise it is not.

“No Omen, No Country’s Cause”

TARSONIS CITY, TARSONIS: 09:55

"Five minutes to air time, people. Let's get moving!" Kate Lockwell paced behind Adm. Matthew Horner as he stood at his podium. From the side of the makeshift stage, she shouted at a few people in the wings. "Tim! Where's Kallie with the other camera?"

"The replacement lens didn't come in. Wasn't a 'priority' shipment and didn't make it through customs. She knows a guy uptown and she's going to borrow one. She'll be back in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen?!"

"We'll start without her! It'll be fine. No one will notice we're down a camera."

"They'll notice if we're down two presidential debaters... Where're my challenger candidates?" Kim Lockwell stopped on her heel and put her hand on the shoulder of Horner's blue suit.

"Well, if there's one thing that I can say for you military types, at least you're punctual, Mr. President." She winked at him, and before he could respond, she was gone. 

Horner leaned over the podium and looked into the "audience." In the makeshift broadcast room, there were about two-dozen seats, all of which were full of journalists from around the sector-Umoja, Moria, and even some of the outlying colonies. All were there to see the beginning of Tarsonis's new government as it shifted from the Terran Dominion to the Terran Republic. After defeating Amon and negotiating peace with the zerg under Zagara, Valerian Mengsk had begun focusing on rebuilding Tarsonis and Korhal, and that's when the political shitstorm started. The Dominion needed the Umojan Protectorate's help, but they refused to acknowledge a "medieval monarchy spawned by a dictator" as a valid government even though it was constitutional. The Umojans also released more information about Valerian that was potentially damaging-that the labs run by Mobius Corp. had been more closely supervised by him than he had originally said. Skygeirr Station was the most egregious. Horner had asked him, man-to-man, what he actually knew. He had told him that he was only aware they were performing experiments on zerg and xel'naga tissues-he didn't know about the hybrid breeding program. But he did know about what they were doing to UED POW Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov. Valerian said that he willingly turned a blind eye to what they did to him because he thought it vital, at the time, to finding a way to neutralize Sara Kerrigan. Whether it was because he was UED or because he was infested and technically zerg, news reports focused on the hybrids and glossed over the torture of someone he knew to be a decent man. If it bothered Valerian, it was hard to see, which made Horner watchful of him now, waiting for more of his father to emerge. The Umojan Protectorate has a point, Horner thought.

Valerian was forced to step down, and his cabinet named Horner as his interim successor until the Terran Republic could build its infrastructure enough to hold an election. The Umojan Protectorate began helping Tarsonis pick up the pieces of the coup against Arcturus Mengsk and the invasion by the Queen of Blades. It had been five years, and Horner was just now thinking that he had the hang of governing-and now he would have to publicly debate other candidates and run for the position to keep it for another five years. Even so, Horner had doubts about his leadership capabilities. Raynor should be up here-not me, he thought. But he knew that would never have worked. Jim Raynor had not wanted to lead even when he was with the Raiders. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them, he thought, Valerian was the first, Raynor the second... But Valerian was disgraced and Raynor had vanished. Hopefully I'm the third... After Valerian stepped down and the smoke cleared, there weren't many other options.

Horner took a deep breath and thumbed again through his notes on the datapad in front of him. His main talking points were those of national security. They had been burned before by outside threats. Other than a few outlying factions, the protoss were their allies, but on the other hand, the zerg, even with Zagara leading them, could be fractured by a new leader-just as Abathur almost had done. Worse, if Horner had learned anything, it was the threat that could not be predicted that always ...bites you in the ass. Restructuring was also critical. The military needed its academies back online, and the education system-especially on Tarsonis-needed new buildings, updated materials, and staff that were not praising the "glory of the Dominion." Trade deals with the Kel-Morians and the Umojan Protectorate to bring food and other resources to people who needed it were his other sticking points. Things we can all agree on, not too detailed, and enough to talk about but not enough to make me look like a boring, stuffed uniform-I hope.

Finally, one of the other candidates entered the studio. The journalists all stood at once, their cameras flashing as she strode in. He recognized her; It was Dr. Joan Slavens, a philosophy professor at Tarsonis City Colonial University, the largest and most prestigious public universities on Tarsonis-before it was shut down by the Dominion. She had settled into being a nuisance via private broadcasts during the war. Horner had watched a few of them. Dr. Slavens was a good speaker, and she had the air of a rumpled intellectual with her barely-tamed blonde curls and wrinkled tweed jacket. She waved warmly to the journalists. This made him even more nervous. Dr. Slavens was a well-known personality and respected. She already had a following, and it would be easy for her to build a bloc of voters. He, on the other hand, had name recognition, and was known as a war hero on one hand but a compatriot of the now-controversial Valerian Mengsk on the other-his alliances could make someone's decision either way.

Dr. Slavens took her place at the podium next to his and adjusted her microphone, tapping on it to test it. She put her hand over it and turned to Horner, giving him a rueful smile.

"Of course, Mr. Marinakis isn't here yet. I hope his freighters are timelier than he is."

"You have some experience with Marcos Marinakis?"

"Unfortunately, yes. He told me he would let me interview him for my vids a half a dozen times... He was a no-show on half of them and more than an hour late on the rest. We could be here a while. I mean, this only a presidential debate, after all. I'm sure his business brunch was much more pressing."

"Well, if he's much later, we'll have to start without him."

Marcos Marinakis was a shipping magnate-one of the few that wasn't Kel-Morian. He had a reputation of being loud, obnoxious, but shrewd in business. Some people would believe that would make him good at guiding the Republic, but Horner didn't really see him as a threat. Because of his manner and what inevitably comes out about anyone who runs a large company, he was by far a long shot.

Horner's thoughts were interrupted by a low rumble far in the distance. It shook the building, and a little bit of plaster rained from the ceiling.

"What the hell was that?" Lockwell said. Horner's security detail, two marines in street combat gear, came in from outside the room.

"Mr. President, we have reports of an attack on the outskirts of town heading inward to our position. We need to get you all to a secure location."

"Where?" Horner said quickly.

"The basement of this building is a nuclear bunker. We should be able to hide out there."

Horner sprung into action.

"All right everyone, listen," Horner said into the microphone. "We're all going to do this quietly and without panicking. Please follow these gentlemen downstairs. Keep aware of your surroundings..."

There was another rumble and the power went out. Horner shouted over the din of fighting and the journalists talking nervously among themselves.

"And don't panic."

The journalists filed out of the room with Horner taking up the rear. He paused to look out the window. Republic troops had began flooding into the streets, and before them, a nydus canal had opened. The infested crawled from its maw, waves of them flooding over abandoned hovercars and the makeshift barriers troops had constructed along the way. In the distance, a siege tank and a platoon of Terran Republic troops began firing at them, but were overwhelmed by the sea of flesh and claws almost instantly. With dread, Horner realized there could be only one person responsible: Stukov.

And there's the threat we didn't anticipate.