#and sitting by the sea while reading that first conversation with emily as she walks along the beach… wah! really worth it

[sayburgundy]

recently, in reds and oranges and so forth 🍊🍅

[whatwewrotepodcast]

The first time I saw her, she was sitting on the wharf, her legs crossed under her, a book propped open on her lap. She was wearing a knitted cap over her long, thick black hair, and a chunky cream scarf was wound around her neck against the cold air. I wondered how long she’d been sitting there. It seemed too cold to be reading outside. It was a strange place to sit and read. There was no beauty in the spot today. Low, grey clouds hung over the choppy, cold water, and every now and then a few icy spits of rain came splattering down. It was a damp, unpleasant sort of day, the sort of day you only ever got in the British isles. A grey sky over a grey sea, a landscape permeated by grey. I stood and watched her for a while, curious. She only moved to turn the page, flipping it over with small, delicate fingers. After a while, I shook my head and walked on, leaving her to her strange pursuits.

The next time I saw her was a watercolour day, a brief respite from the rain. A watery sun threw its warmthless light over the soaked green fields. The sky was washed out, as if all the colour had been wrung out with the rain. She was still wearing the knitted cap, but she’d traded the scarf for a battered looking hoodie. She wasn’t reading this time, just looking out over the water, a vivid slash of colour in the otherwise pale day. I was in a hurry, and didn’t linger.

The next time I saw her, curiosity got the better of me. She was lying on her stomach on the end of the wharf, heedless of the damp that must have been soaking through her clothes. Her hands were held out over the salty waves, and I had the perverse impression that she was trying to summon some creature of the deep, some malevolent water spirit to wreak revenge on her enemies. It was a fanciful notion, but something about the intense set of her features unsettled me.

“What are you doing?” I asked as I approached her. She showed no sign of surprise at my voice, as if she had expected me to speak to her. Perhaps she’d just heard my footsteps on the boards. She stretched downwards, leaning even further over the edge of the wharf until her fingertips could brush the surface of the water, as if I supplication. I resisted the urge to grab her by the back of her shirt and pull her away from the edge, lest she fall in.

“Waiting for him to come back to me.” She said as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I considered that for a moment. It would be logical to assume she meant someone on a ship – a father or brother or lover? Sailed away to fish, or fight, or travel? And yet somehow, with the way she peered so intently into the depths, I had the odd feeling that wasn’t it.

“Who?” I asked. She didn’t look up, her long dark hair nearly touching the water as she exhaled, stroking the water again.

“Oh, he doesn’t have a name. But he’ll be here, soon.” She said, and then she did turn to me, a wide smile curving her mouth, “Soon.” She repeated. Something about her expression filled me with a sharp, nervous jolt, and I found myself turning and walking away before I even knew what I was doing. I was unsettled to my very core with no idea why.

According to the newspapers, the girl – her name was Emily Rosscore – disappeared that night. No one ever saw or heard from her again. I never told anyone of the conversation I’d had with her. I was only half convinced I hadn’t imagined it. The official line was that she’d fallen in the ocean and drowned, but for some reason, I could never quite bring myself to believe it. I hoped whoever she’d been waiting for had come back for her, and swept her away from this humdrum world.

[your-eternal-muse]

Kinda Wish She Were Dead

Heather Series Part 8

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Bonus! Readers Card Confession Series Playlist 

Summery: During a night out on the town with the girls, Reader see’s something she wasn’t supposed to.

Words: 3.7k (my longest yet!)

Warnings: Swearing, a few sexual innuendos, Cheating, Mentions of Alcohol, and a fabulous right hook.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Heather Carmichael, Spencer Reid x eventual Female!Reader 

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one....turn it up! Also, the song that inspired this chapter. For the meaning of the song, not that fucking boat scene.

~~~~

It’s hot.

Like “laying naked in the middle of your apartment with the air cranked and every fan blowing on you” hot.

I’m one of the lucky ones.

My old apartment was renovated to include central air a few years before I moved in.

Still, the humidity was smothering.

So why was I putting a full face of makeup on, knowing damn well I’m gonna sweat it off before the end of the night?

Because why the hell not?

It’s the first time I’ve made plans with the girls in months, and I deserve to feel pretty, even if only for an hour or two.

My therapist tells me I’m making progress.

And it finally feels like I am.

I don’t hate the day before it even starts when I wake up.

I hardly close my curtains anymore.

I’d like to say that with her help, everything went back to normal.

I go to work and come home. I hang out with my friends, water my potted plants. Talk to Spencer like I never confessed my love for him.

But it didn’t.

I haven’t really spoken to Spencer since the day I left.

I’ve wanted to.

I’ve wanted to tell him that I’m here. I’m still here. That I’m always going to be here.

That I care about him more than probably life itself.

Ever since I came back, we’ve had to work together, and we’ve had a few small conversations, but nothing like what we used to have.

I crave those conversations.

How we would bounce back and forth from idea to idea, topic to topic without so much as breaking a sweat.

The late night conversations about the probability of aliens, and life on the opposite side of the universe.

I crave him, and the intimacy he brought.

Lately though, he’s been coming to work with a sullen look on his face.

He shows up earlier, and stays later, drowning himself in his paperwork.

When her calls interrupt a caseload, he no longer eagerly picks up to hear what she has to say.

All I want to do is walk over and ask him how he’s doing. How the married life is treating him. If there’s anything I can do to help lift his spirits.

But I can’t.

I’d be overstepping a boundary I didn’t even know I created that night out on the balcony.

Knocking on my door snaps me out of my daze, and I quickly cap my lipstick, making my way towards my front door where my night stands, waiting.

JJ, Emily, and Penelope are waiting, big smiles and laughter bubbling from their lips.

I let the smile spread across my face.

“I just need to grab my shoes and then I’ll be ready.” I usher them into my hallway, running back to my bedroom to grab the pair of heels resting by my closet.

I sit on my bed, slipping them on with ease and grabbing my bag on my way out.

They all ooh and ahh when I step into the light of my kitchen, and JJ grabs my hand, twirling me in place so they can get a better look at my outfit.

“I almost forgot you had party attire, y/n.” 

“God, I wish I had an ass like that. I’m older than you. That’s not fair.” Emily says, landing a playful slap against the fabric of my skirt. 

“Oh stop it, you flatter me.” Once upon a time, the attention would have made me antsy. The voice in my head would whisper that they were lying to me, that they really thought I was the ugliest thing in existence. 

That was then, and this is now. Now the confidence shines off of me like a spotlight.

“You deserve to be flattered, you beautiful goddess you.” Penelope says, her hands waving in the air.

I take a look in the new mirror that hangs in my hallway, and I can’t help but agree. The tight black skirt accentuates my curves, the low cut golden crop top that sticks to me like another skin puts the girls on display, and my heels give me legs for days.

I look damn good.

“Okay okay okay, pre-game selfie!” Penelope grabs her phone and holds up in front of her while we gather around. 

She snaps the picture and within a few quick taps, a buzzing emits from my bag. 

I dig my phone out, seeing the picture pop up in my notifications. 

JJ has her arms wrapped around me, and I’m pressed to Penelope's side. Emily stands over us, one hand on JJ’s shoulder, the other on Penelopes. 

I don’t think I could fake a smile like the one on my face even if I wanted to. 

I save it to my phone.

~~~

If I thought being in my house, alone, with air conditioning was bad, then I shouldn't have even bothered coming out.

The bar, albeit small, was packed. 

Even if there was a breeze, or any airflow at all, the combined body heat of the crowd would have swallowed it up.

I couldn’t really bring it in me to care all that much, though.

The dim lights and heat left my skin with a sexy shine, bringing attention to all the right places. 

I could feel the eyes on me. 

The ones belonging to men wanting to drown their sorrows in a woman like me, one who appears vulnerable, willing to go along for the ride.

It’s been a while, since I’ve had the attention of the opposite gender, especially this very specific kind of attention.

It feels good, in a way. To be wanted so openly. But it doesn’t mean jack to me, not if it’s not the pair of eyes I’ve been desperate to catch.

I should stop thinking about him.

It’s a girls night out. I don’t have to think, or worry about anything. 

Besides, he’s probably busy doing other things. Thinking about me is the last thing on his mind.

I laugh and take a sip from the Shirley temple sitting in front of me, laughing as JJ recounts a story about will and a botched attempt at breakfast in bed.

I pick a cherry up from the fizzy drink, and bite the end off, relishing in the sweet flavor. I pop the stem in my mouth, twirling it around my tongue as I listen to the conversation, pulling it between my teeth and setting it down on the table in a knot.

“Oh my god. Did you just tie a cherry stem with your tongue?” Penelope is cheesing from the other side of the table, the bright pink straw of her margarita almost to her lips.

I laugh, holding it up for them to inspect. 

“You know what that means.” Emily says, taking a sip from her own drink, before continuing her thought. “You, my friend, can give great head.”

A blush covers my cheek, but I cock an eyebrow. “Who told you?”

The three women burst into high pitched laughter, and I see Pen pull out her phone. She holds it up to me. 

“Do it again. The internet needs to be blessed with this knowledge.”

I chuckle again, the spirit of the night enough to get me drunk off the energy. I grab another cherry from my drink, sucking the end into my mouth before popping it off, and swallowing it. 

“Alright, we have one, untied cherry stem before us.” I hold out the stem for the camera to see. “Now watch as I tie it with no hands.”  I stick out my tongue, placing it in the middle before closing my mouth. 

I rest my elbows on the table, working my tongue around the stem, forcing it into submission to do exactly what I want. 

Within 15 seconds, I pull it through my teeth, and hold up a tied cherry stem. 

“Ta-da! Magic.” I place it on the table as they clap, smiles wide and goofy from their own alcoholic concoctions. 

“She’s single people. And there’s a line forming so shoot your shot.” JJ is the one to speak to the camera, and I giggle, taking another sip. 

Penelope brings her phone down, and within a minute my phone buzzes again, this time with the notification of the video being posted. 

There are worse things to be posted on the internet about me.

“I never knew you could do that, y/n/n.” Pen says, taking a sip from her drink. 

I run a hand through my hair, shrugging. “Didn’t think I needed to put it on my resume. It’s mostly a party trick I use when I like someone. I haven’t used it in years though.”

The unspoken question lingers on the air. 

“No, I never showed Spencer. But I’m sure it’d blow his mind. The way that man applies math and logic to everything he does just solidifies the fact that I know he wouldn’t be able to do it.”

It’s been a while since I’ve joked about him openly, but it wasn’t forced. It didn’t hurt. 

It was just a natural statement.

“Have you guys noticed that something’s up with him? He seems distant lately.” JJ says, leaning in closer so she doesn’t have to talk over the crowd. 

“Okay, so it’s not just me.” I reply, playing with the straw in my drink.

“It’s gotta be something at home. I mean, he doesn’t even remotely act the way that he did when him and Heather first got together.” Emily's eyes look me up and down, reading my body language, but I’m done hiding. 

I let the building anger ripple through me.

“He seems...sad. And not like, normal Reid sad where it has to do with his mom or something, no this is like..” she stops herself from continuing the sentence.

I finish it for her. “It’s like, me, sad.”

JJ sighs. “I hate to say it, but do you think it has anything to do with Heather?”

A glass shatters across the room, and like the red sea, the crowd parts.

Everything happens in no more than a couple seconds, but it feels like a lifetime. 

Through the empty space, I see two people standing at the bar. The woman has her hands wound into the man's shirt, her body turned as she laughs at someone behind her, I’m assuming the one who dropped the glass. 

The man has his hands gripped on her hips, smiling into her hair, before she turns back around, connecting their lips in the most disgusting kiss I have had the displeasure of witnessing.

The rage builds swiftly in my stomach and it pulses from my soul outward. The world’s tint changes and I see red.

“Even if it doesn’t right now, it will.” 

When the hell did I stand up?

They stand with me, and I’m about to argue my point when Emily speaks. “You want something to record, Garcia?” She moves by me, fixing my hair, handing me her glass which holds a swig of her drink left. “Record this.” 

I take it, downing it for a little liquid luck, and start for the bar, the three of them on my heels.

I profile him as best I can in the 20 seconds it takes to get through the now reforming crowd. 

There’s a gold ring on his hand. His pants and shirt are dirty, and his boots are thick. He works in something having to do with construction, which means he’s probably done around 5 every night, and I know for a fact that it is way past that.

I walk up to them, grabbing her shoulder and pulling them apart, stepping in between them, getting face to face to him.

“Before you even think about laying a hand on me, my name is SSA Y/L/N of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the F.B.I. From the look of your clothes and the ring on your finger, I’m gonna go ahead and assume that your wife is waiting for you at home.” 

His hand instinctively falls to his back pocket.

“And since you just reached for what I’m assuming is your phone, she’s called you multiple times tonight. She knows. Now, fuck off and maybe you can salvage things with her, but believe me when I say this,” His breath smells sour. “You aren’t even half the man that she’s married to.” 

He opens his mouth to say something, looking from me, to Heather, to the three women surrounding her, keeping her from leaving, and the camera pointed directly at his face.

He looks back down to me, and huffs, stepping back and walking in the other direction.

For a moment, I stare at where he stood. 

And then a fire ignites in my stomach and it takes everything in me to not beat the girl standing behind me.

I turn, and lightning strikes behind her eyes. 

“You’re not gonna tell him.”

“Like hell I’m not!” I take a step forward, and she takes one back, bumping into Emily who has her arms crossed, and her shoulders raised. “You know, I tried so hard to give you the benefit of the doubt, Heather. You made him happy and I honestly thought you loved him, but I realize now that he deserves someone so much better than you.” 

“Oh what, someone like you?” She’s snide, her demeanor defensive and cocky at the same time. She thinks she’s gonna come out on top of this.

“You know what? Yes. Someone like me. Someone who wouldn’t even think about doing this to him, because the amount of pain that he is about to go through doesn’t even come close to the stupid fucking reward. Oh, so you slept with some douchebag because what? You’re not getting enough attention?” The words are cathartic, leaving my belly with the venom that has been brewing there for the past 2 and half years.

“I found your letter. I was right about you.”

That would have stopped me in my tracks 6 months ago. Now I don’t even flinch.

“Oh honey, it’s not a fucking secret anymore. You want to hear me say it? I love him. I am in love with Spencer fucking Reid, and the only reason that he is with you, is because I was a decent human being and could see that you made him happy, so I kept my mouth shut. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t give a flying fuck what happens now, because whatever it is, it has to be better than being with a lying, cheating bitch like you.”

“You think he’s gonna run to you? Is that what you’re hoping for? He’s not gonna believe you. And even if he did, I’d turn on the water works and make him believe it was just this one time.”

She doesn’t know she’s being filmed. 

I turn to the bartender. “Excuse me, is she a regular here?”

The bartender smirks, wiping down the wood. “Yep. She comes in at least a couple times a week with that dude you kicked to the curb. They almost always leave together.”

Heather scoffs, crossing her arms. “Again, he’ll never believe you.” 

“You sure about that hot stuff?” Penelope steps forward, shoving the camera in her face. “Smile for the camera.”

Heather's eyes go wide, before turning to me. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“I would do it for a fucking corn chip.” 

I place my hands on my hips, getting so close to her our noses almost touch. My voice is dangerously low when I speak. “Either you tell him everything or I will. And trust me. I have my ways of finding out if you did.”

I step back, wishing the daggers in my eyes could inflict actual pain, as I turn to walk away. 

I hear her shout in frustration before I feel her hands on my back, pushing me forward into the mass of people. 

A couple people unaware of the confrontation help me back up with a smile, thinking I’ve just drunkenly tripped over myself.

Emily and JJ each hold one of my arms, making sure I’m stable, while Penelope keeps filming a look of shock on her face.

A wicked smile forms on my face.

I was hoping she’d do something like that.

I turn and my fist connects with her face, a nice cracking noise satisfying the lust building in my chest, as a thin coat of blood covers my knuckles. 

Though, it’s not my blood. 

She’s holding her nose in pain as she falls to the floor, taking down a bar stool with her, and I swear I see the bartender laugh.

I grab a napkin off the bar, wiping my knuckles before throwing it on the floor by her feet. 

“C’mon girls. The night is still young.” 

I see them cover their own smiles with their hands, and Penelope starts to giggle the shock away. 

I know I should feel bad. It was unprofessional of me. 

But she shoved me first. 

It is, legally, self-defense. 

Is it sick that I wish she would have punched me?

It doesn’t matter anyway. I know she won’t press charges. She’s smart enough to know she just dug her grave.

And now she has to lie in it.

~~~~

The atmosphere is different when I walk into the office the next morning. 

It’s tense. 

And one look from JJ and an inhale of air tells me why. 

Spencer’s here. 

I barely have time to set my bag down on my desk, before he grabs me suddenly by the arm, dragging me into a nearby conference room.

The anger is rolling off of him in waves, and I can see by the way he clenches and unclenches his fists, he is pissed.

He almost throws me into the room, slamming the door behind him. 

“You want to tell me why the fuck you punched Heather in the face for no damn reason?”

Stupid, stupid girl. 

Did she not think, that the way I would find out, would be from Spencer himself?

I can’t help but shake my head and laugh. “She didn’t tell you.”

“She told me that she was having a drink with a girlfriend of hers when you came up drunk, yelling at her, until you just punched her. Can you explain that to me?”

He’s finally yelling at me. After months of begging for him to yell at me, he finally is. 

It doesn’t feel as good as I had hoped it would.

I don’t say anything, just pull out my phone to find the video that Garcia sent me.

“Are you serious right now, Y/N? Put your fucking phone down and explain to me why you broke my wife's nose!”

I sit in a chair, setting the phone on the table and sliding it towards him. I lean back and cross my hands over my stomach.

“Watch the video, Spencer.”

“Why? Why should I listen to anything you tell me?”

I lean forward, onto my elbow, annunciating every syllable. “Watch the damn video.”

He stands, and I watch as he fights with himself, before huffing in defeat, sitting in a chair and pulling my phone towards him.

He presses play.

I watch as his anger flows away with each passing second, despair taking its place. 

This is what I wasn’t looking forward to. Seeing him see it for the first time.

Watching him break. 

It wasn’t pretty.

I watch as tears form in his eyes and silently drop down his cheeks. 

He clenches his jaw as he watches her shove me, and the punch that followed. 

The room is dead quite when the video ends.

I’m the one who speaks first, my voice soft. 

“I punched her, because she had the audacity to do this. She had the audacity to hurt you, and flaunt that fact publicly.” 

I swallow, taking a breath before speaking. 

“I meant everything I said in that video, Spence.” 

He looks up at the nickname, his anger no longer directed at me.

“She hurt you, and I saw red. I didn’t think about what I was doing, and frankly, I’m glad I didn’t. I don’t regret standing up for you. I never have, and I never will.”  I clasp my hands together, forcing myself to continue. 

“I love you Spencer. I don’t think that’s ever going to change. I’m going to have to live with you finding other people and falling in love, and I promise you, I will support you in that. But not with her. Not after that. You deserve so much better than a girl who thinks she can get away with this just because she’s pretty and jealous.”

He taps a couple things on my phone, before turning the screen off and sliding it back over to me. 

He stands. 

I don’t. I continue talking as he walks over to me.

“You mean everything to me, Spence. If I know you’re happy, truly happy, then I’m satisfied. I will defend you until the end of the universe comes. You are my best friend, and I love you. And I’m sorry I was never upfront about it before, but I am now.”

I look up at him as he stands in front of me. “I’m done hiding from you.”

He’s still for a moment. 

He reaches down and grabs my hands, pulling me up before he wraps his arms around my waist and buries himself into my neck. 

I pause, but only for a moment, before wrapping my arms around him and holding him tight against me. 

I can feel the wet spots on my neck as he cries, and his hands wind themselves into the fabric of my shirt.

When was the last time he was held like this?

I don’t count the time until he loosens his grip, stepping back from me and wiping his face. 

I would hold him until the end of time if he let me.

“Thank you.” He whispers, before moving towards the door. 

He opens it and walks out, and I grab my phone, running after him.

I stop in the doorway. 

“Hey!” 

He stops and turns, and the rest of the team is watching over their files. 

My heart is pounding, and I feel out of breath.

“I don’t have a choice,” I let him remember. “But I still choose you.”

A small smile flutters across his face, before he turns and walks away.

I look down at my phone.

Spence xp

[Video]

    Sent, 9:06 a.m.

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[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

The Sight of You (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer’s disturbing dreams about his childhood bring him back to Las Vegas to face two of his childhood’s greatest enemies: his estranged father and his ex best friend.

AN: it’s a friends to enemies to lovers fic! Set in the episode “Memoriam” 4x07

Content Warnings: usual Criminal Minds stuff, mentions of child death, childhood trauma, descriptions of a dead body. Let me know if I missed anything!

Despite seeing Spencer around Pre-k, Y/N did not trot over to talk to him with their brightly coloured rucksack swinging vigorously and violently behind them. They walked faster instead once their parents had dropped them off. Spencer did his best to catch up to Y/N but lost them around the corner in the sea of students seeking their next class. He was meant to be one of them. Adjusting his glasses as they slipped down his nose, Spencer noted that he needed a new prescription before entering his own class and preparing to focus on a subject he was already well-versed in.

It was lunch time when Spencer finally found Y/N. They were sitting at the furthest end of the table in the canteen. But Y/N cowered away from him, his shoulders drawn up defensively.

“Are you OK, Y/N?” Spencer asked before getting to what was more significant to him: “Do you know when you will be free to play again?”

The next sentence out of Y/N’s mouth stung like a nettle. They stood up, their face contorted in their fit, and they pushed Spencer hard on the shoulders.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!” They cried.

They went silent when Spencer was laughed at by those who heard what was said. Just grabbed their lunch and moved away, leaving Spencer spellbound in the middle of the canteen, heartbroken and with a new opening for a potential chess partner. Maybe that man they saw last week at the park would be kind enough to join him again.

But there was no replacement for Y/N, who now never said a word when they caught a glimpse of Spencer being bullied – only dithering about on the spot before fleeing the scene moments before a teacher would show up.

Spencer was hurt; that hurt warped into hatred when he was next out with his mother and father. They were at the shopping mall and had just bought Spencer his new glasses. Going down the escalator, he saw Y/N. They were smiling and skipping between their parents, a new pair of shoes shiny on their feet.

The second they spotted the Reids, Y/N ducked behind their parents. Spencer could still see their face: brow furrowed, eyes squinting, hands shaking now that nothing was holding them. Their parents didn’t seem to notice. They kept talking and walking even as Y/N stopped in time with the Reids stepping off the escalator.

Sudden footsteps running away was what dragged the public’s attention to a suddenly absent child.

“Y/N!” The parents called out as they chased after the four-year-old. They were quick past the Reids, not stopping to say ‘hello’.

Spencer kept his eyes trained after Y/N’s fleeing form, right until his mother’s face came into view. Diana looked saddened; she too was staring after the L/Ns. Turned to his father. William was composed but his eyes were turned down and watering.

For making his parents react like that to their mere presence, Spencer despised Y/N.

---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

 The burning hatred from adolescence staled once Spencer reached adulthood. The protective nature that spawned from it for his mother remained.

Which is why, when Diana Reid casually mentioned Y/N when asked about Riley Jenkins, Spencer froze up.

“You remember Y/N?” He said stiffly.

Diana didn’t notice her son’s change in tone, “Of course, you two were opposites but you got on so well. So sad what happened to them.”

The first guess was that she was referring Y/N’s repeated attempts at running away before Reid cut contact with neighbourhood gossip at age fourteen. He didn’t bother with a second attempt to understand what his mother meant.

“I don’t care about Y/N. I want to know if you remember Riley.”

“And I told you: Riley was a boy you made up.”

“No, Mom, he was a real boy who lived in our neighbourhood, and somebody killed him. And, I don't know, I think-- I think that dad might have had something to do with it.”

“He was real?”

“Yes. And...”

“He was on that little league team, too.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

The whole case was surreal - “case” being a very loose term.

When they got into his office, Spencer thought that perhaps things might simmer down a little. Unfortunately, as soon as his father spoke about their history of similarity in appearance, Spencer’s usual comfort of statistics and facts on the elderly and pets failed to conceal his abandonment issues.

William Reid was clearly affected by Spencer’s accusations, calling the idea of fitting the profile thus being Riley’s killer “absurd”. Furthermore, he was confrontational when asked for access to his files and demanded a warrant. Coupled with Lou Jenkins’ absolute certainty that William was not involved in Riley’s murder and Penelope asking him “you sure about this?” concerning invading the aforementioned files, Spencer was very close to snapping.

“I really wish people would stop asking me that.”

Then there was the envelope posted beneath his motel room door. Suspicious timing aside, there was a brand-new suspect basically handed over on a silver platter. One Gary Michaels whom Spencer couldn’t remember him but he couldn’t be sure that he didn’t know him. Uncertainty being the feeling he hated the most.

This man could fit the profile; his previous of exposing himself to a minor was a precursor to molestation. But that wasn’t what Spencer wanted to hear from the shady file slipped to direct his attention away from William.

Garcia reported back about his father’s drives, “No kiddie porn, no membership to illicit websites, no dubious emails, no chat room history.”

“What about his finances?”

Hotch joined the conversation, “We went back ten years. No questionable transactions that we can find.”

Spencer sighed while Emily decided to crack a joke: “Well, he did buy a ticket to see Celine Dion six months ago, but I think we can overlook that.”

“He’s smart. Is it possible he kept things under the table?” Spencer persisted.

“Well, of course,” Hotch answered, “But from what we can tell, Reid, he doesn’t fit the profile.”

“We can tell you other things about him, if you want to know.”

A peace offering on behalf of Emily. Clearly she had improved after her night out and subsequent hangover. Spencer gave the go-ahead and Emily listed her profile:

“He's a workaholic, he actually logs more hours than we do. He makes decent money, but he doesn't spend a lot of it. He has a modest house. He drives a hybrid. He doesn't travel much. He stays away from the casinos. Um, and according to his veterinary bills, he has a very sick cat.”

“He appears to spend most of his free time alone,” Hotch added, “He goes to the movies a lot, and he reads. And from his collection of first editions, it seems his favourite author is-”

Spencer interrupted his boss, “Isaac Asimov, I remember that one.” He pressed his lips together. They were right; William Reid did not fit the profile.

Garcia piped up once more, “He does have one other major interest. On his home computer, he's archived, like, a ka-jillion things on one common subject.”

“What?”

“You, kiddo. He's got, like, everything that's been published online. Every article you've been quoted in, pieces you've written for behavioural science journals, He even has a copy of your dissertation.”

“He's keeping tabs on you,” Rossi said, That's saying something.”

But Spencer smoothly dismissed this attempt to make excuses for his father, “Yeah, he googled me. That makes up for everything. I'm going to get some air.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

After getting said air, Spencer went to the local bar and began playing an computerised poker game. His paying attention was only to distract himself, clear his head with something he knew he could control. And thankfully, a chance interaction with a lady at the bar spawned the inspiration for a sporadic hypnosis session.

Doctor Jan Mohikian allowed them a session. Reminded of the limitations that a four-year old’s memory could provide, not including the bias he already had as a son and a profiler, Spencer lay on the couch. His feet hung over the end so that his head could be comfortable in a pillow. There was no time for self-consciousness with Rossi in the room observing. He closed his eyes and felt his hand be placed upon Doctor Mohikian’s body.

She spoke low and calmingly, “I want you to hold my wrist in your left hand. And if you should feel any fear, I want you to squeeze, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Go back to the night you were just telling me about. You're at home, in your room. You can't sleep because your parents are arguing.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 His eyes were closed still, but the couch shifted into a bed. His bed. A floor below, the faint shouting between his mother and father was heard. There was someone else there too. A child wailing, and it wasn’t him.

Suddenly his father was at his side, touching his arm, saying, “I know you’re awake. Daddy loves you; you know that?”

Spencer didn’t want to be there, and then it was the following morning.

Putting his glasses, the room fell into focus. His mother was there, she didn’t see him because she was too busy looking out the window. Her body language told him that this was not a meltdown, but what she saw was distressing. She’d been crying. As she walked away into the house, she hid her face as if she knew Spencer was watching and she wanted to hide her reaction from him.

Spencer ran to the window the second Diana had left the room.

His father was in the back garden and burning clothes. A bloody shirt, a tiny cardigan, landed on top of the pile already set alight.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and wake.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 And Spencer was shocked out of the scene, back to the doctor’s couch and gripping her wrist with an iron grip. Rossi was by his side, bringing him back to peace with his voice.

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Derek was clearly disturbed that Spencer was very set on his father being a paedophilic murderer as much as he had been that Spencer was taking something that was said after his mother’s fit seriously. He continued however to assist with Rossi in Spencer’s investigation.

As if everything else hadn’t been hard enough, the captain took some time to agree to holding William Reid in custody. Finally, he settled for twenty-four hours. William was as resistant to the questions as he had been upon the initial reunion. All he could say was that he didn’t hurt Riley. Spencer wore him down, getting him to drop the Gary Michaels bomb plus the threat that he “didn’t want to go down that road”.

Garcia’s search of Gary Michaels’ DNA on the databases brought to light that their suspect was dead. Buried across state lines, beat over the head with a pipe or bat, and the body was discovered in 2001.

“Maybe it wasn’t Riley’s blood on the clothes he was burning.” Derek was about to hang up when Garcia began to speak again, a new discovery ready for her team.

“Also, Todd found something in your father’s finances. There was a standing order for a therapist, specifically a child therapist from 1985 to 1995. I thought it was for Spencer, but William left when you were twelve, and these sessions continue irregularly after he left you!”

“Who was the patient?”

“One Y/N L/N. Local to North Vegas, born 1980 to Shelly and Finley L/N.”

Both Rossi and Derek looked away from the phone to Spencer and he knew. He knew he’d have to face another villain from the past – like a knight in one of Y/N’s stories.

“Still alive?”

“Yep, already pulling up an address. There’s a lot of short leases attached to this name. Lucky for you, they keep going back to live with their parents.”

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure that he could handle two bitter reunions in one day.

“We’ll send off the fingerprint while we visit Y/N. They could have been a potential victim of Michaels before he died. They might know something.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was a normal home in a normal neighbourhood. Spencer had never visited Y/N’s house. Their play-dates were always at the park.

“Hello, Mr L/N,” held up their badges, “I’m Agent Derek Morgan, this is Agent David Rossi and Doctor Spencer Reid. May we come in and ask you some questions?”

“Sure. My wife is uh out at work at the moment,” Finley opened the door wider and stepped aside for the trio to enter, “I’m the house husband as it were.”

Looking about the kitchen, Spencer spied several photos of an adult Y/N but very few of them as a toddler and even less as a teenager.

“You have a child, Mr L/N?” Rossi asked.

“All grown up now, Y/N,” Finley smiled with a nod. Then he squinted at Spencer, “You’re not related to William Reid by chance, are you?”

Masking his bitterness, Spencer said shortly, “He’s my father.”

Finley seemed in awe at the prospect, so Derek redirected the conversation back to the matter at hand, “What was Y/N like as a child?”

Nodding still, like a bobble head, Finley looked weary at the notion, “Troubled. They were very young when they withdrew into themselves. Used to run away from home a lot. I don’t know what happened, but Y/N never told us.” He then jumped to protect his child’s reputation at present, “They’re doing better now, went to therapy and they’re doing very well for themselves.”

“I’m glad to hear.” Rossi replied.

Finley continued his defence of Y/N, “They’re a published author, they write fantasy things for kids and young adults. We’re very proud of them.”

“Did Y/N know Riley Jenkins when they were a child?”

“Riley Jenkins, that’s Lou’s kid who died, right?” Finley sought confirmation and, when he had it, he spoke, “Not personally. I think they might have played at the park once or twice. Before he died, Y/N would play with anyone. But you… you know that.” And Finley gestured to Spencer, much to his disgust.

“Is Y/N in the area?” Spencer asked briskly.

“Well, they’re due for a visit in a few hours. They went on holiday.”

“They still live with you?”

“A month ago, they got a new flat in the city. But they’ve got their own room here, for whenever they need it.”

“May we see it?”

The wallpaper was barely visible beneath exam revision notes, posters of Fresh sheets on the bed and the clear space on the floor were the only tidy things about the place. It was a haven of organised clutter.

A chess set caught Spencer’s eye. It sat upon the windowsill, recently dusted. The pieces were not that of a classic set; each was painted prettily but with enough error to indicate it was a personal touch.

“You and Y/N were close then?” Derek was holding up a photo album. Upon inspection, the photograph the page was open on was of Spencer and Y/N dressed up for Halloween as Doctor Frankenstein and the Monster respectively – accurate to the book of course.

“Yeah, ‘were’,” Spencer turned back to the chess set. He didn’t bother to ask when his friends had figured out he knew Y/N.

Rossi decided to further test the waters, “You think that Y/N could have killed Riley?”

“Of course not. A four-year-old couldn’t kidnap, tie up, rape, and kill a boy their own age. No violent history that indicates they would ever do something like this. Do I think that Y/N knows something about what happened and my father is trying to keep them quiet? Yes.”

Rossi moved beside Spencer, picking up the knight. Except it wasn’t a knight. It was a wizard of some kind in purple robes.

“We’ll stay up here for a bit then go down once Y/N’s inside and settled,” He gestured with the knight to the window. Spencer blanched as he spied a cab at the end of the driveway. The trunk was open and someone was retrieving a suitcase from within.

Y/N appeared around the corner, waving off the cab and turning to the house. Mr L/N appeared on the drive and they met in the middle for a hug. Over Mr L/N’s shoulder, Spencer could see that Y/N had grown into their chubby childhood features. They looked genuinely happy.

He would have to go through with it, but he didn’t have to like it. And he couldn’t go hide in the bathroom like with his father.

The trio plodded down the stairs when the sound of the front door closing was replaced with a joyous gathering in the kitchen. It all changed when Y/N went to take off their jacket and caught sight of the three FBI agents standing in the doorway. Taking out his badge, Rossi led the way.

“Hello, Y/N, I’m Agent David Rossi, this is Agent Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid. We’re looking into the death of Riley Jenkins, and we were hoping to ask you some questions.”

To the naked eye, very little changed about Y/N’s appearance. To the three profilers, there was a visceral reaction: Y/N’s right hand started trembling, the hard swallow, the dropping of their gaze from Spencer to the floor.

“OK,” They said, a great deal quieter than they had been with their father.

Rossi sat next to Y/N at the dinner table. Derek was beside Rossi; Spencer stayed standing. Mr L/N stayed in the kitchen, at Y/N’s request.

“Can you tell us what you remember about Riley?” Rossi began.

“Not very much, I don’t really remember much about school.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Spencer blurted, “Well, I do.”

Derek glanced back at him with a look that just screamed “shut the hell up”. It seemed to cut down Y/N’s resolve, their jaw quivering.

“Sorry, can you give me a moment?” They stood up quick, the chair legs scraping loudly against the floor as they walked just as fast to the kitchen. Through the open door, Rossi, Derek, and Spencer watched Y/N grab a glass from the open dishwasher. The water from the tap hit the bottom of the glass harsh, crashing out like a wave of the ocean hitting a cliff. Y/N didn’t seem to care. Their hand dripped water onto the surface as they chugged back some of the drink before returning to the table with a topped-up glass.

“Are you alright?” Rossi inquired, leaning closer to Y/N.

They answered wearily, “Fine, just feeling woozy.”

“You’re a writer?”

“Yeah, you’re a writer too. My mom reads your stuff before bed.”

“Bit of an odd nightcap,” Rossi said with a little chuckle.

Y/N shared that smile for the briefest of moments, replying “You’re telling me.”

From their pocket, they pulled out some painkillers, popping them back with a slug of water then speaking again. “I remember Riley was smaller than me. Still figuring out coordination, but he liked to play chase. I know he was killed; I didn’t find out how until I looked into it last year.”

“Why did you look into it?” Rossi gently probed.

Y/N rubbed two fingers back and forth across their head as they spoke, “I was back here, I felt sick so I went for a walk in the park, and I just remembered him tripping over while trying to tag me. No one ever told me what happened, just that he had to go away. I wanted to know what happened to him.”

“Are you sick often?” Derek asked suddenly, his voice soft to match Rossi. Spencer grimaced at the treatment Y/N was receiving but said nothing.

“Headaches and stomach aches mostly.”

“You get them whenever you come home?”

“I do. Figured I was allergic to something but never figured out what.”

That would have to be a very quick response, like a dog allergy. And coincidental, seeing as the symptoms didn’t start until they saw Spencer.

“Y/N?” called their father, “Can you come here a moment please?”

“May I?”

“Of course,” said Derek and Y/N was out of the room. Derek pivoted in his chair to include Spencer in his theory, “I think they know something, but they don’t know they know it. I think they repressed this memory like you did, Spencer. We should take him to the therapist, see if we can jog his memory.”

“You can’t be serious,” Spencer covered his face with his hands, dragging them down with irritation.

Derek was persistent though, “Spencer, like it or not, Y/N’s linked to this investigation. Put aside your differences for a moment, please.”

Spencer all but squawked, “Put aside my differences?”

“You have brought a lot of bias to this case. Let us at least pursue this lead.”

“Sorry,” Y/N interrupted Spencer’s retort, sitting back at the table, “He needed someone to get unhook the loft door. Mom usually does it.”

“That’s alright.” Rossi waved a hand dismissively. Once Y/N accepted that, he moved in with Derek’s suggestion, “You know, some people have strong physical reactions to memories, trauma. Maybe you’re not getting sick. You’re rejecting something.”

“Rejecting?” repeated Y/N. There was no doubt in their voice, more cautious curiosity.

Derek nodded, “A memory, repressing it, and your body has linked the physical responses to your home. We think it has something to do with this case, and we’d like to see if we can retrieve any memories you might have. Would you be alright to come with us?”

“Yeah,” said Y/N, though they didn’t sound too certain, “Yeah sure.”

The resigned, too tired look on their face, and Spencer felt a tug in his chest. A longing to see Y/N smile like they had when they first entered the house. He’d rather hate someone who was happy than someone who suffered the same as him.

Leaving the house, Spencer took a deep breath of fresh air.

“Spencer?”

He ignored Y/N’s voice for a moment, but he couldn’t disregard Y/N standing in front of him and speaking again, “Spencer, can we talk please?”

“I’m busy,” He said, already walking off as he pretended to call someone, “Hey Garcia.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 “Hold onto my hand, use it as an anchor, and squeeze when you feel fear.” Doctor Mohikian accepted Y/N’s hand on her wrist and their silence nod as they lay back on the same couch Spencer had been just hours before.

“I want you to think back to your childhood, back to when you were five. You’re at the park, your parents are on a bench watching nearby to keep you safe. What do you see?”

“Spencer Reid.”

Derek and Rossi glanced at Spencer, who did not react. They kept quiet so that Y/N could immerse themselves in the hypnosis.

“What’s he doing?” Doctor Mohikian continued.

“Teaching me chess.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Sat on opposite sides of the table, Spencer and Y/N’s eyes were glued to the chess pieces that were neatly organised between them. Spencer was thinking strategy. He could not say the same for his companion Y/N. They reached a hand out and hovered over the pieces before finally selecting their last knight.

Their tongue clicked as Y/N trotted the piece on the spot.

“What’s this one again?”

“The knight,” Spencer recited, “It moves two spaces up, down, left or right, and another step perpendicular to the first direction.”

“Brave creatures riding into battle,” Y/N narrated before continuing their clip-clopping to its new position, “Pawns in the game of war.”

Spencer didn’t understand how they were coming up with this whilst playing. Well, actually, he did. Because Y/N was clearly not playing to win. They were playing for the best possible story.

“Where do you think this story will end?” Y/N asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” said Y/N, pushing back the sleeves of their white cardigan, “Come on, you can tell me, with your magic powers.”

“It’s not magic. It’s logic.”

“That’s magic to me,”

Narrowing his eyes, Spencer decided that he should give his friend the information they sought: “I see checkmate in fifteen moves.”

“See? Magic! The gift of sight!” crowed Y/N, clapping their hands together. The cardigan sleeves fell back in place as they did so. Spencer felt his cheeks heat up; he dropped his head so he could smile in privacy while Y/N began to decide their next move.

“How’s your mommy today?”

Shrugging, Spencer said, “Better than normal. But that means a bad day is around the corner.”

Y/N nodded solemnly. “Do you want another ice cream? I got more birthday money.”

“No thank you.” Spencer moved the piece but was immediately intercepted by Y/N, “You’re getting better.”

“Fank you.”

“You’ll have to wait longer to beat me though.” And he snatched Y/N’s knight away, just as planned and much to Y/N’s dismay.

A new voice from their left spoke, “Hey you’re pretty good.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Y/N’s grip tightened on Doctor Mohikian’s wrist, “Someone’s with us.”

“Who do you see?” Doctor Mohikian asked patiently.

“A man. He’s asking us if he can watch us play, listen to the story.”

“Do you want him to stay?”

“No,” Y/N flinched, “But Spencer keeps talking to him. The man won’t go away.”

“It’s OK, it’s OK, you’re safe, Y/N.”

Y/N flinched again, this time letting out a whimper, “He’s on the floor.”

“Spencer is?”

“No, the man.”

“What’s he doing on the floor?”

“He’s,” Y/N began panting, their face tensing and body jerking, “I can’t get to him. There’s glass in the way and the ground is shaking.”

“Y/N.”

“I can’t look, I’ll be sick! Whenever I see them, sick.”

“OK, you’re going to wake up in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!”

Their eyes snapped open with the click of the fingers and Y/N leapt out of Doctor Mohikian’s couch. Their head aimed over the bin by the door and they retched. Nothing came up but their stomach continued to squeeze up

Spencer fidgeted in his seat, trying his best not to look at Y/N. The choice words of the session, three in particular, wrapped around his head.

“Floor”.

Y/N had seen Gary Michaels inside, somewhere that wasn’t the park.

“Glass”.

A window, Y/N was watching what Gary Michaels was doing.

“Sick”.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!”

“Them”.

It wasn’t just Michaels in the room alone. They had been a witness to his murder.

Derek’s movement to help Y/N took Spencer out of his analysis. Sweaty, Y/N was led back to the couch, the bin between their legs, head lolling forward. Spencer tried to move beside them for questioning, but Y/N winced and began heaving again. He felt that ache in his chest again. He was causing this and nothing he could do would change that. Not until they both knew what happened to Riley and Y/N got help through it.

“What did you see, Y/N?” Derek asked as he replaced Spencer’s spot beside them.

With watering eyes, Y/N looked at Spencer, “The man we played with, he was on the floor. His head – thank you.” They accepted the water from Doctor Mohikian, gulping some back, “It was smashed in.”

The three agents left the room, Doctor Mohikian following after Y/N left to get some air.

“It’s logical to assume that Y/N tied that sickness, that repulsion because of what they thought they saw your mother be involved with, to you and your family,” Doctor Mohikian evaluated.

Interrupting again, Spencer stammered his way through his analysis, “That’s why they avoided me. They associated me with being ill. It’s probably also why they ran away so much; they had to get away from this horrible feeling they had associated with their home.”

Doctor Mohikian shook her head, “We won’t be able to use this in court, I told you when we started.”

Derek’s phone started to ring. As he answered, Spencer somehow managed to slip away for long enough to find Y/N. They were leaning against the ramp’s railing in front of the practice, their body lifting and slumping with each deep breath they took. Against his better judgement, he moved toward them.

“Y/N? Can I have your number?”

The breathing slowed again.

“I need it to call you with an update on the situation as soon as we get one.”

Without looking up, Y/N pulled out their phone and handed it over to Spencer. He punched his number in a new contact, using this time to gather the courage to maybe say something else. The hurt and pain went beyond him now. Y/N was suffering and had been much longer than he had.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Spencer said quietly, hoping that his didn’t add to the illness, “I hope you feel better soon.”

Their head still down, Y/N croaked, “You too, Spencer.”

“Spencer, get over here! We got a match on a print on Michaels’ body!”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“What makes you think Gary Michaels killed your boy?”

“He admitted it,” Lou Jenkins said, as monotonous as he had been for the last fifteen minutes of the interrogation.

Derek’s quickfire was on Jenkins instantly, “You beat a guy with a baseball bat, he's going to admit to a lot of things. How do you know he was the right guy?”

“I know. He approached another kid in the neighbourhood.”

“And how do you know that?

“I was told by a concerned party.”

“Who? Another parent?”

Jenkins leant back in his chair, “That's all I'm going to say on the subject.”

“Who was it?” Spencer suddenly spoke up.

Caught off guard at his interjection, Jenkins awkwardly parroted himself, “I told you that's all I'm going to say on the sub—"

Reid slammed his hands on the table, getting right up in Lou’s face, “Who was it?”

The door opened, Detective Hyde appeared, “Agent Reid?”

“Do not interfere with this interrogation, detective,” shouted Spencer, “This is not your case anymore!”

Once again, he was cut off. This time, by the arrival of his own mother, Diana, and her admission of guilt: “Spencer, it was me”.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

  Of all the things this case had brought him, Spencer least expected to be sitting in a room with his mother and father together for the first time in years. To have Diana explain to him how she was involved in a child’s murder was also up there with the unthinkable.

But he stayed quiet and listened to her confession.

The reveal that she had seen Gary Michaels playing chess with him and Y/N, that she and got a feeling that something was wrong before anything had even happened, opened the story. Lou Jenkins’ involvement was next on the menu. Two days after the chess game, he drove Diana to Michaels’ house, disclosed his history of child abuse, and demanded she leave while he went into the house.

Upon reaching the point where she entered the house, Diana struggled with her words. William reached over and took her hand.

She described seeing Lou with the bat, standing over the body, slipping in the pool of blood, finding Y/N standing in the window and their face, their little face as innocent as the white cardigan that covered their shoulders and absorbed the blood from Diana’s hands as she shook their shoulders.

“And the rest... It's all dark after that.”

William continued for her. Diana came home and brought Y/N with her. Eventually he came to understand what had happened and decided that nobody could ever know.

“You were burning her bloody clothes,” Spencer concluded.

His father nodded, “But the knowing, you can't burn that away. It changes everything.”

“You paid for Y/N to go to therapy.”

William didn’t seem surprised that Spencer knew this, going straight into explaining: “They went into a dissociative fugue state after seeing what Lou had done. When Diana brought them home, they were just stiff. I asked them for their home number, to call their parents, but they started screaming and throwing up. We had to take them to the police station.” He mopped his brow with a handkerchief, “They needed help, but their parents couldn’t afford it. And they didn’t know what had happened. I couldn’t drag another person into this, Spencer.”

“Is this why you left?”

“I tried to keep us together, Spencer. I swear to you, but the weight of that knowledge, it was too much.”

“You could have come back. Could have started over.”

“I didn't know how to take care of you anymore. When I lost that confidence, there was no going back. What's done is done.”

“At least now you know the truth,” Diana made an effort to smile at her son

Choking on his words and the overwhelming remorse he felt, Spencer refused to look at his parents any longer, “I was wrong about everything. I'm sorry.”

And William said something that Spencer had been waiting for, for a long time, “I am, too, Spencer.”

  ---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

  All of this was repeated when Spencer walked with Y/N through their old park the following day. Filling the final gaps in the memory would hopefully bring some respite to them both. Or at least maybe something to start the recovery process, easing Y/N’s sickness and Spencer’s pain.

“I’m sorry for my behaviour during this case,” Spencer sniffed, “When you said we made you sick, back when we were four, I thought you had seen my mom during one of her episodes and thought she was a freak, like everyone else.”

That stopped Y/N in their tracks, their hands coming up to cover their mouth, their eyes misty, “Oh Spencer, I’m sorry too, I’m so, so sorry I caused you so much pain.”

Spencer’s hands rushed up as if to create belated damage control, “It’s ok! I hurt you too. I made you sick.”

“That wasn’t your fault though.”

“It wasn’t yours either. We were kids.”

Almost pedantic, stropping, like a child again, Y/N moaned, “It’s all been such a waste. We could have been friends all this time!”

“We can be friends now,” Spencer pushed his hands down into his pockets to stop them flailing about anymore. His sentence was phrased more like a question.

One that Y/N gladly answered, “I would like really that.”

Sitting in the reply for a moment, Spencer followed up on his concerns, “How are you feeling? I mean, are you feeling sick again?”

“A bit, but I can handle it.”

Spencer could not see any changes in their behaviour from the day before. So obviously they were lying about that. But he didn’t protest. The lie meant Y/N wanted to stay with him, which was good - Spencer wanted that too.

They kept walking, only in silence for half a minute before Spencer broke it again, “I read your books last night.”

“Yeah?”

“‘The Siege of the Lost Faiths’ in Rogue’s Mask, that was our first game of chess.”

“It had by far the best narrative,” Y/N dragged their shoe a little on the grass before coming to a stop, “Do you still play?”

“All the time.”

They nodded over to where the old chess tables still stood, “Fancy a game before you go?”

Spencer grinned, “Just promise that this is the only setting where we’ll be on conflicting sides from now on.”

“Promise.”

Brushing the debris from the table, they both took their places opposite each other. From Y/N’s bag was revealed a box, spilling their painted chess pieces across the board. Remembering how they had stood in Y/N’s room, Spencer helped to set up the match. They took their seats opposite one another. Y/N was the green side, Spencer the purple.

Spencer moved first. After a second’s deliberation, Y/n moved their pawn.

“Isn’t there a story with this one?” Spencer said, an implicated teasing in his tone despite his shyness.

With an equally bashful eye roll, Y/N started their new story, “First begins the battle with the royals on both sides sending intrepid messengers to meet and pass along their deeds.”

Spencer took Y/N’s pawn. As he lifted their piece away, he spoke quietly, “One not as intrepid as the other.”

A gasp dropped from Y/N’s smile. He had never joined in the narrative telling before, always too taken up in the match to invest in whatever story they spun. 

“He’s not a coward,” They said, still smiling, much to Spencer’s delight, “Prisoner’s dilemma, he just couldn’t trust the other with his life.”

“Did they know each other before this battle?”

“Yes,” Y/N moved a knight across, stealing Spencer’s pawn, “They were brothers who once shared a crib and now they share a grave.”

Throughout the game, Y/N continued the story with Spencer asking questions just to hear them talk more. The maturity of the stories had grown just as Y/N’s voice had. They knuckled their eyes a few times, but they didn’t complain about the headache.

“I know what endings you like,” Spencer moved his rook, “Checkmate in five.”

Y/N didn’t seem to mind that little dig, “This’ll have to be a short story instead then.”

Spencer’s next sentence got away from him, trailing off the closer he got to the end of it, “You could write an anthology series, if we see each other again and play more games.”

Where Spencer’s voice disappeared, Y/N’s returned with invigoration, “That’s not a half bad idea, Spencer.”

The checkmate never came. Y/N diverted the ending into a draw.

“A peace treaty has been forged by the survivors, because too many lives have been lost to justify this violence anymore. If only they realised sooner that no blood had to be shed for peace to rule the lands.” And they smiled at Spencer, clearly chuffed as they leaned back in their chair, “Bit of an upgrade from the horse noises, I’ll say.”

Spencer rotated the purple knight – the illusionist – between his thumb and forefinger, “I liked the horse noises.”

“You should have said during the match! I’d recreate them, for you.”

One by one, the pieces were placed back into their box until the last piece remained in Spencer’s palm: the knight or Soren the Illusionist, distractions and deceptions but he loved the tricks that delighted most of all. Just like Spencer with his magic tricks but a little to the left. The character was always one of Y/N’s favourites. Some solace away from the pain of thinking of who he was based on.

Y/N pushed Spencer’s hand away, closes his fist around it, “Keep him. He was made with you in mind anyway.”

The information sank in and Spencer’s nose wrinkled with the little smile on his face as he cupped the little Illusionist, “I’m Soren?”

Nodding, Y/N confirmed, “You’re Soren.”

“But what about your set though?”

“I can always make and paint another knight,” and Y/N tilted the piece upside down in Spencer’s hand, revealing the signature on the underside, “You and him are the originals, it’s only fair you stay together.”

In a moment of pure instinct and nostalgia, Spencer clicked his tongue as he twisted Soren in time with the noise. Y/N let out a burst of laughter that dragged the air out of Spencer’s chest.

“Hey, do you wanna get dinner tonight?” He said, running out of breath very quickly as a result.

It had a similar effect on Y/N, “I thought you – don’t you have to get back to Virginia?”

“I have time for dinner. For you.”

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 The bookstore was packed but the breath of the patrons was held as one. All eyes were watching the mini stage where a crouching figure lifted their head up slowly. A jump as the tension broke with the figure leaping up to their feet with a bang.

Y/N pushed up the brim of their cap. Snatching a deep green hoodie from the purple trunk – silver constellations painted on the sides – they swung it over their back before picking up the page where they had left off.

“Nasima looked up at Mason and said, ‘Well that was just unnecessary.’”

A burst of laughter shot through the pre-teens in the front row, spreading to the adolescents sitting further back who had grown up with the author’s other works, finally reaching the adults at the back where Spencer was fiddling with his cane. He adjusted the sleeve of his costume absentmindedly. He was just like everyone else in the room: captivated by how Y/N was so immersed in their reading.

They had just mimed kicking down a door, plus sound effects from their mouth. Swapping back and forth between the two conflicting characters arguing with one another, changing between the hoodie and the cap with every other line of dialogue and taking both off for the role of the narrator, it was certainly a workout.

An exaggerated breath was drawn into Y/N’s lungs, flopping over in a melodramatic state, which caused another laugh in the audience.

Spencer’s nose scrunched up as he grinned. He knew this was part of the scene; he’d seen Y/N rehearse this story in their sitting room. It was so much better to share this with an audience, for their reactions to fuel Y/N’s energy.

Y/N finished the short story A Battle of Bent Truths with a flourish, leaving the rest of the anthology for their audience to read in their own time. The kids were up on their feet first. Some of them were jumping up and down as they applauded with the rest of the shop. Y/N gave a big grin as they bowed, sweeping their cap off for extra drama.

There was a book signing and a photographer that followed, and Spencer waited patiently at the end of the queue, thankful that the store allowed him to bring a chair along with him. He was happy to entertain his godson and friends with a few tricks to pass the time.

“Another one please!” Henry jumped up and down when Spencer revealed his card.

A minor commotion arose by the photographer’s backdrop. There was a teenager was crying; she was clutching her copy of Untold Tales of Human Nature. Y/N was holding their shoulders, rubbing gently and speaking softly. Only half paying attention to his next trick, Spencer kept an eye on Y/N as they hugged the teenager, looking near tears themselves.

“Spencer?” J.J tapped him on the shoulder and Spencer realised that Henry was looking a little mad to have lost his godfather’s attention so easily.

“Sorry, Henry, can you pick another card please?”

When they reached the front of the queue, JJ went up first and took Henry and his pals up to see Y/N. They instantly recognised JJ and welcomed her with a tight hug. Henry was delighted to see his favourite babysitter and show them off to his school friends, boasting that they had read to him before today.

“They read me bits for bedtime, Mommy!”

“I know!” JJ tickled his cheek, “I read them to you too.”

“Who do you like better?”

“Mommy,”

Y/N gasped, dropping to their knees which made Spencer wince, “Henry, you wound me!”

Rossi approach next, knowing that once Spencer got to Y/N, they would not be left alone.

“You really know how to captivate an audience,” He kissed them on both cheeks, “Though don’t take offence if I don’t use the same tricks at my readings.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it! Thank you for coming.”

Y/N then caught Spencer’s eye and began meandering over to him with a smile they were desperately trying to stifle. Spencer rose from his chair, meeting Y/N in the middle.

“Hi, Spencer.”

With his free arm, Spencer flaunted his cloak, “Who is Spencer? I’m Soren the Illusionist!”

Giggles from his godson, his godson’s gang, his co-workers and friends, they almost caused Y/N to lose their composure. They held on just long enough to continue the banter.

“Oh, forgive me, you look so much like my boyfriend.”

“Hmmm, he must be very handsome,”

And Y/N burst into peals of laughter, waving their hands about, “OK, stop, stop, stop, I can’t.”

“Hey!” Spencer pretended to take offence, pouting as Y/N brought him into a hug.

“Don’t worry,” They kissed his cheek between giggles, “You are so very handsome.”

“To think you were once sick at the sight of me.”

[pennamesmith]

For Want of a Skeletor

Entrapta hosts a Princess Alliance meeting at the Crypto Castle and absolutely nothing goes wrong. More Skeletor stories!

*

The lights were on late in Dryl. 

Stars shone outside the windows. Entrapta sat hunched over her desk, studying datapads and readouts. A polite cough from the laboratory door caused her to look up from her work.

“Oh! I’m sorry Hordak, did I wake you?”

Her partner stepped softly into the room and shook his head. “Imp did. You know how he gets when either of us take too long to come to bed.” 

Hordak crossed the cluttered floor and joined Entrapta at the desk. He was holding Imp in his arms, and the smaller, winged clone whined plaintively when he saw her. Entrapta kept her screens on, but leaned gratefully into Hordak’s side and curled a tendril of hair around his waist. She yawned, despite herself. 

“I know. I just want to make sure I get everything right before the other princesses come over tomorrow.” She glanced back at the data, nervously tapping her fingertips together. “I’ve never hosted an Alliance meeting before! And this rescue will be our biggest mission since… well, you know. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

Hordak smiled. “Your diligence is admirable. But I also seem to recall someone telling me that imperfections are beautiful.”

Entrapta stuck out her tongue. “No fair.” 

“I’m afraid the science is sound. Come to bed, my dear.” 

The scientist scoffed, but she did not protest when Hordak gathered her up in his arms. She wrapped more of her hair around him, and Imp settled sleepily in the resulting nest. Entrapta could already feel herself drifting. 

“You will be a shining star tomorrow,” Hordak promised, as he carried his family back to rest. 

“Tomorrow,” echoed Imp.

*

The next day saw the Crypto Castle’s largest meeting room filled with princesses, dignitaries, and other honorary Alliance members. While Scorpia and Perfuma admired the tiny refreshments laid out for everyone, Mermista split her time between groaning at Sea Hawk’s boasts and trying every available chair to find the most comfortable one. Glimmer and Bow stepped uneasily around the edges of the room, watching carefully for anything that might be a trap, and Frosta followed their lead. Netossa and Spinnerella tried their best to find a chair Swift Wind could sit in. 

Adora and Catra, wearing increasingly baffled expressions, were conversing with two domestic-looking robots who sat at the head of the table next to Entrapta. One was tall and skinny, and the other wore a welded-on handlebar mustache. 

“Entrapta has parents?” Catra was asking, her face a galaxy of disbelief. 

“Adopted, technically. Or adapted,” the skinnier bot explained. “We’re Entrapta’s parental units. She built us when she was six. You must have seen the painting in the foyer.” 

“Yeah, we’ve been here pretty much the whole time,” the mustachioed model added. “You kids sure made a racket during your last few visits. What was that all about?” 

“Uh,” Adora faltered. 

To her immense relief, Hordak swept into the room at that very moment, flanked by Imp, Emily, and the reprogrammed Horde drone Entrapta had dubbed ‘Skeletor.’ 

“Welcome, everyone,” Hordak boomed, bringing the gathering to a respectful hush. 

“Witless fools! I’m in charge now! And if you know what’s good for you you’ll do as I say!” Skeletor shouted. 

Hordak scowled and shooed the fussing robot away from the table. “Pay no mind to that one,” he grumbled once he’d regained the floor. “Now then. Please allow me the honor of introducing the unparalleled mind who has made this operation possible, Princess Entrapta.” 

“Thank you all for coming!” Entrapta started, while everyone took their seats. “I know you’re all excited about what we’re planning, but there’s still a lot of preparation to do before we can take off. As the chief science officers for this mission, it’s vital that Hordak and I gather as much data on your abilities as possible! Interdimensional travel is severely unpredictable and —” 

“Hold on,” Mermista interrupted. “Exactly how high are the chances of us getting mutated by cosmic space energy or whatever? Because I only want cool mutations, not gross ones.” 

“Maybe thirty, thirty-five percent?” Entrapta guessed. She shrugged. “A lot of this is theoretical. You guys will be like my guinea pigs! By which I mean the small robotic animals in the castle I protect and care for. And experiment on, sometimes.” 

She laughed heartily. Glimmer and Bow shared a nervous glance. Perfuma turned slightly green. 

Entrapta regained her composure and pointed back to the display board. “Ahem. Anyway, the good news is we already know some things about where we’re going! Probably.” She shuffled her notes, gaining confidence as she spoke.

“Before Adora found the Sword of Protection, historians debated ancient records of She-Ra. Some claimed she was called ‘Her-Ra’ and fought for the ‘Power of Grayskull.’ But I theorize that what those archaeologists actually uncovered was evidence of —”

“I have a question!” Frosta yelled. “Will there be hunky guys in the other dimension? I’m asking for a friend.”

“It’s funny you mention that, actually,” Entrapta replied. “Listen, just let me finish and…” 

Unfortunately, anxious impatience had already gripped the assembled Alliance members. They clamored with questions, all talking at the same time. Entrapta shrank back in her seat and pulled her welding mask down, seeming to reach for something under the table. 

Hordak stood up. Just as it looked like he was about to do something violent, a loud alarm sounded and the lights in the room flashed red. 

“Uh-oh.” Entrapta glanced around at the assembled company. “Um, get ready to tuck and roll everybody!”

“Get ready to what?” Mermista cried out, but it was already too late. Multiple trap doors swung open across the meeting room floor, and with flailing limbs and startled shouts the guests were sent tumbling down chutes in every direction. In moments they had all vanished.

“I always feel so much better after doing something bad!” Skeletor cackled. “Now we begin phase two!” 

*

Adora and Catra, who had clung to each other as they fell, landed with a bump in a darkened, underground space. As soon as they arrived, bright lights flickered to life and a huge screen lit up against the wall. 

Entrapta’s face appeared on the monitor, larger than life. “Oh good! You’re alive,” she chirped when she saw the other two. 

Adora clambered to her feet. “Entrapta! What’s going on?” 

The scientist glanced away. “Well, I guess Skeletor didn’t like that we were ignoring him. So he stole my map of the castle and activated the security systems! Which means we’re all lost in the labyrinth until I can catch him. Isn’t that great?” 

“It’s something,” Catra groaned, rubbing her head. 

“Exactly! Now, without my map I can’t come find you. But if you can make it through the traps, the hallway you’re in should take you back to the meeting room. Then you’ll be safe until I can fix things!” 

The screen dimmed again before Catra or Adora could protest. Left with few other options, they turned to get a good look at whatever dangers lay ahead. 

They were standing at one end of a long corridor. Square blocks floated along its length, suspended in midair with anti-gravitational tech. An interrogative punctuation mark flashed on one, while a squat robot with painted-on angry eyebrows shambled slowly back and forth beneath it. 

Catra took it all in. “You have got to be kidding.” 

Adora had already drawn her sword and begun to venture forward. Catra was about to follow her, when something made her ears flick. A suspicious frown crossed her face.

“Hey, Adora!” Catra called. “Listen!” 

“What?” 

Catra pressed her ear to the wall. “There! Do you hear that?” 

“Obviously not,” Adora huffed. “Now stop dawdling, the first puzzle looks pretty easy.” 

Catra stayed where she was. “Hold on a second. This part of the castle feels familiar. I remember walking through here back when, uh, back when it was still Horde territory.” She coughed awkwardly, and then reached up to tilt the frame of a big-eyed kitten painting. “Look!” 

Something clicked and the wall slid open, revealing a new passageway. Distinctive laughter could be heard coming from the other end of it. A purple neon sign reading “Secret Entrance!!!” buzzed to life. 

Adora sighed and rolled her eyes. 

“One time Entrapta had me and Scorpia over for a life-size Snakemen and Ladders game that got a little out of hand,” Catra explained as they entered the tunnel. At the far end there was a brightly lit office; inside, it was filled with laboratory equipment, video monitors, and a humble but dignified desk. 

Hordak was sitting at the desk, in what appeared to be a smaller version of his old Fright Zone throne. It swiveled. Entrapta was sitting on the desk, and she waved as the other couple entered. 

“Myaah! Sleep gas and stun-rays only, my evil minions!” muttered Skeletor, who was busy working the video monitors. On closer inspection, Adora realized that each of them showed some of the other princesses as they traversed the castle labyrinth. 

“Welcome to mission control!” Entrapta sang, spreading her arms wide. “Hordak didn’t think you’d find us, but I had a hypothesis you might.” 

“It was a ruse!” Adora gasped, scandalized. “You’re not lost at all!” 

“You really need to hang out with Entrapta more if that still surprises you,” Catra observed. She looked at the monitors. “Ah, are they gonna be okay?” 

“Better than!” Entrapta sprang off the desk, hanging by her hair as she showed off multiple datapads. “Everyone was getting a little… distracted upstairs, so I just decided to speed things up a teensy bit! The princesses using their powers to escape the maze will let me get all the readings we need, and then we can have a nice little party! I had the baker make tiny cakes.” 

“I made sure Hordak’s doomberry pie was especially tasty!” Skeletor piped up. 

“And it’s all perfectly safe!” Entrapta promised. Discreetly, a ribbon of hair reached out to push a blinking button. On the monitors, Mermista and Sea Hawk were rescued from a robot shark attack by a convenient change of the currents. 

“This is hilarious,” Catra laughed, looking more closely. On one of the screens, Swift Wind was gleefully running loop-de-loops along a curving racetrack. “I think they’re actually having fun in there. Can we stay and watch?” 

“I’m afraid not,” Hordak said. She-Ra’s — and your — assessment is the most important of all. But we’d love to have you over to the castle for dinner soon. Shall we say eight o’clock next week?” 

“That sounds nice!” Adora chimed, before Catra could stop her. 

“Splendid. I’ll cook,” Hordak concluded. Then he pressed a button on his desk, and a trapdoor sent the younger women plummeting through the floor. 

Catra and Adora yelped in surprise, only for their fall to be cut short by an enormous pile of pillows on the level below. They struggled to their feet. Another corridor stretched away in front of them, filled with further challenges. Floating gold coins, each about four feet tall, indicated a pathway. 

“Try not to have too much fun,” Hordak called good-naturedly as the trapdoor slid shut. 

“Use the warp zone! It’s faster!” Entrapta added. 

“Have a nice trip down!” said Skeletor. 

*

Hordak settled back in his chair (it had soft armrests, and a cushion for lumbar support) and watched his partner at work. Entrapta flitted from screen to screen, taking notes and making adjustments. On one display, Bow and Glimmer had met up with Netossa and Spinnerella while navigating a cage minefield. On another, Frosta was making an ice bridge to help Perfuma and Scorpia cross a slow-moving spike trap. 

“I’m sorry you had to use your backup plan. They really are utter fools if they ever doubted your genius,” Hordak mused. 

“Different people have different strengths and weaknesses,” Entrapta replied, without looking up from her work. “And a good scientist collaborates whenever they can! Even if that requires a little creativity sometimes.” 

Hordak nodded. “Fair enough. Nevertheless, I would not blame you if you wished to have nothing more to do with the Princess Alliance. Even their attempts to help you can seem… insensitive. You’re not obligated to forgive that.” 

Skeletor looked up from his control panel and shook a fist. “Don’t you get awfully tired of being a hero all the time? Don’t you ever feel like doing something evil?” 

“They’re trying to be good friends,” Entrapta defended. “And so am I. And if I really did need their help, maybe things would be different. But I’ve got it all under control!” 

She vaulted across the room, flipping switches and turning dials along the way. On the monitors, Perfuma’s fall from a tall platform was gently broken by a sudden anti-gravitational field. 

“Besides, forgiveness isn’t always about the person being forgiven. It’s also about taking back potential energy that was lost.” 

“Did you learn that in my brother’s therapy group?” Hordak asked. 

Entrapta smirked. “Actually, he got it from me.” 

A pleasant ding sounded and Entrapta clapped her hair. “Hooray, everyone made it back! I’ll calculate the high scores and then we can continue the social experiment!” 

“You astonish me every day,” Hordak purred as he rose to follow her. Entrapta put out her hand, and he took it. 

“Wait for me!” Skeletor cried out. “You might get lost by yourself!” 

*

One week later, a much smaller gathering of royals met in Dryl. 

Catra and Adora sat together in one of the Crypto Castle’s least intimidating dining rooms, listening with barely-contained delight as Entrapta’s parental units thoroughly embarrassed their former boss. 

“...And so I said to him, ‘I have charging ports Hordak, can you download raw data offa me?’ Ha! Oh, you shoulda seen his face!” 

Hordak slouched in his chair. “I do not think we need to bore our guests with the details of this particular story,” he protested, feebly. 

“Oh, I’m not bored at all! I want to hear everything,” Catra said. She leaned forward, grinning. “So, was this before or after you hooked him up to the lie detector?” 

Entrapta giggled, and gave Hordak a gentle pat on the shoulder as she reached for another helping of his tiny quiche. All things considered, the night was going surprisingly well. 

It was exactly what Entrapta wanted. 

After dinner, wheeled bots carted away the leftovers and dirty dishes. Hordak poured coffee for himself and Adora, and the parental units retired to wherever it was they lived in the cavernous castle. Entrapta, lost in thought as usual, felt a familiar feline presence approach her. 

“Thank you,” Catra said, sincerely. “Not just for this. For everything. For being so nice all the time. For making this mission happen. It means a lot to me.” 

Entrapta smiled softly. “To me, too. Everyone makes mistakes. It would be a shame not to learn from them when we can.” 

“Did you say something?” Skeletor squawked, suddenly materializing in the doorway. 

Entrapta, unbothered, immediately produced a datapad. “Oh we’re just talking about the big rescue mission! Actually, you should probably take a look at my data, Skeletor. I haven’t told you much yet, and we might need you!” She held the blinking screen out happily. 

Skeletor looked at the datapad. At first he seemed confused; then he boggled as he registered the information in front of him. “Eternia?” he gasped in disbelief. “Grayskull?” 

His voice rose to a fevered pitch. “He-Man!”

For once, Skeletor had no words. He shrieked incomprehensibly instead, fists shaking. 

Hordak chuckled. “It’ll be just like the old days!” 

Skeletor screamed. 

[spencers-renaissance]

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.1

this arid world has turned my deep heart dry

This is the first chapter in my new ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Chapter Summary: follows S5E1 and Spencer's depression and disordered thinking is introduced.

TW: depression, disordered thinking, loneliness, the events of s5e1 (guns and knives)

Word Count: 3.4k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

SPENCER

"She simply said this arid world has turned her deep heart dry, there was just one way she knew of to finally feel like she was free, and it was 1400 feet beneath the cold and stormy sea." — Erin Hanson

Spencer’s entire body feels heavy as he drags himself into work, and it’s not exactly a good sign when he can’t even find the energy to press the button for the right floor; he just stares pitifully at the array of numbers as if the elevator will read his mind and resolve the issue for him. Eventually, he brings himself to move his finger the short distance, cold metal colliding with cold flesh, and the doors shudder close, catapulting him up several storeys towards his fate.

Some might call the emotions Spencer’s experience typical burnout, far too common in the FBI and even more so in units that deal directly with horrific crime on the regular, but he knows it’s more than that. His entire life is operating in a minor key, he’s functioning entirely on auto-pilot, and chunks of his day are a blur, almost impossible to recall. He knows he’s depressed. Knowing such a fact, however, does little to cure the actual problem. He has no idea what to do with information like this except bottle it up and shove it as far down as possible while pretending as much as possible that absolutely everything is fine.

Emily and Derek are laughing about something as he approaches their group of desks. Only weeks ago he would’ve been crushed when they don’t so much as look over to say hello, but now he’s glad to not have to fake a smile, invent a story to tell about his weekend, pretend he’s not currently being held together with slowly peeling sellotape.

Instead, he focuses on feeling grateful that no one’s commented on him arriving a whole hour later than he used to as he unpacks his messenger bag. It’s not like it’s his fault he can’t pull his exhausted body out of bed in the morning, but since he’d rather not disclose such sorry information and finding an excuse is way too much effort, spending the morning in solitude seems the only option.

He doesn’t really understand how he’s gone from being a genuinely happy person, thick as thieves with everybody on the team, to this. It’s almost as though somebody’s cut the rope tying him to the others and now he’s drifting away, sinking without everyone else’s buoyancy to keep him afloat. He can see them all still tied together, barely seeming to notice their drowning team member, clearly not missing his presence.

This misery over his inevitable isolation, though, is his own fault: he can’t believe he let himself forget his place. He’s useful, good to keep around for his intelligence, his reading speed, his problem-solving skills, but it doesn’t go beyond that. Spencer is not friendship material. And he certainly isn’t relationship material.

The day starts off slow, everyone burying themselves in their paperwork, but Spencer finishes it far too quickly for it to really serve as much of a distraction. Depressingly, it’s still miles slower than he’s used to. Since his pile of consults seems too exhausting to even look at, he decides another coffee is very much in order.

“Hey, Spence,” JJ says happily as soon as he pushes his way into the breakroom. She’s leaning casually against the counter as she drinks her coffee, reading through what looks like case notes at the same time.

“Hi,” he says, trying for a smile but he knows there’s no way he could possibly match her relaxed grin. Instead of trying to converse, he just heads straight for the coffee machine, fixing his eyes on the steady stream of coffee pouring into his mug already piled high with sugar.

“You alright?” JJ asks, sounding a little suspicious. Not concerned, Spencer notes, just suspicious.

“Hmm?” He looks up and catches her eye before deciding he should probably answer verbally. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been acting a bit off the past few weeks.”

Spencer sighs. Maybe this is an opportunity to actually communicate his feelings. He doubts JJ will be able to help but really he’d just like a bit of comfort: he’s in so much pain that a hug would feel really nice right now. And besides Penelope, she’s probably the team member he’s most comfortable with. If he’s going to share with anybody, it should be JJ.

“I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, I guess,” he admits, looking up as his left-hand fidgets on the hot ceramic side of his coffee mug. He resents how vulnerable his voice sounds, he’s giving far too much of himself over to hands he’s not sure he can trust, but there’s nothing he can do about that now.

“Really?” JJ sounds surprised. Spencer recognises the tone as that of anyone who has a certain perspective on him realising that he also has feelings alongside his intelligence, and it hurts. “I’m sorry, Spence.”

Spencer just presses his lips into a thin line and nods awkwardly in thanks.

“I mean… at least you’re not going through what Hotch is,” she offers, completely unhelpfully. “He’s still trying to cope with his divorce and isn’t seeing Jack as much as he used to. Derek was almost killed by the Reaper just a few months ago, Emily only recently lost a childhood friend — I mean, the whole team has been through a lot. Keep your chin up.”

She smiles at him, patting him on the shoulder, before leaving the break room and heading back to her office, leaving Spencer standing in the middle of the room like an idiot. He wants to shout that he was literally poisoned with anthrax only a month ago, if they’re tallying bad things happening as a method of tracking who has the right to be miserable. The others might be going through a lot, that’s true, but it doesn’t lessen any of the pain thudding in his chest and stirring in his stomach.

As he walks back to his desk, he realises he’s learned one thing: opening up = not a good idea.

As completely fucking miserable as he might be, there’s exactly one person in this world who doesn’t deserve to be burdened with any of it, so he carefully tucks it away in his pockets and plasters on the mask he’d perfected so many years ago. It might be a little rusty, after all, it’s been little used in recent years, but it works just as well as it used to do when he pushes the door open to Penelope’s office.

“I bring blueberry muffins,” he says as cheerfully as he can muster, and something inside him does warm as Penelope’s face lights up, squealing a little as she reaches her arms out eagerly, making grabby hands at the paper bag he’s holding.

“Oh, you have no idea how much I love you,” she moans, keen to rip the bag open as he pulls up a chair next to hers.

“I think I do,” Spencer chuckles, and it’s one of the only genuine reactions he’s given in months, “mostly because you tell me every day.”

“Mm, that’s right,” she concedes through a mouthful of warm muffin, pointing a finger at his chest. “I love you even more than I love coding.”

“That’s a lot,” Spencer says, trying for serious but he can’t stop a fond smile slipping across his face.

Penelope swallows her rather large bite of blueberry muffin and passes him his one. “It is,” she says. “How are you, anyway? You look tired, poor baby.”

Spencer looks down for a moment, schooling his expression for a second before he forces himself to look back up at her. “Yeah, I didn’t… didn’t sleep well last night, I guess.” He tries for a reassuring smile but he knows it’s more of a grimace.

Penelope’s face immediately morphs into one of grave concern. Spencer knows that that’s just the way she is, melodrama and fierce protectiveness is virtually her brand at this point, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t any less agonising to see, or the anxiety of being found out any less paralysing. He decides not to give her any room to actually address it.

“I’ll be fine, Penelope, don’t worry,” he says, turning away to brush some muffin crumbs off the desk and into his hand, purely so he doesn’t have to attempt another pathetic smile. “A good night’s sleep tonight will fix me right up.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, still looking far too worried for Spencer’s liking.

“Of course, Pen.” He feels sick at lying to her, but he has no idea how to broach any of the tumultuous emotions raging inside of him, especially after JJ shut him down so brutally. “It’s only a bad nights’ sleep.”

He’s saved from her inevitable continued line of questioning by Emily poking her head round the door and asking for Spencer’s opinion on a consult.

While getting out of bed in the morning might be an almost impossible task at the moment, the idea of getting into it at night seems rather depressing, really. That’s probably the reason he’s still at the office, despite the time nearing 8 o’clock and exhaustion settling into every muscle fibre of his being. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it’s just a little more time in close proximity to one Aaron Hotchner.

Of course, he’d had to accept the fact that he was maybe, just a little bit in love with his boss a long time ago. He just refuses to admit that he’s this embarrassing about it. Perhaps staying late to spend more time with someone you like this much wouldn’t be so weird if there was a reasonable chance of conversation — if he ever even saw him — but there isn’t even that: Spencer sits and works quietly at his desk, Aaron sits and works quietly in his office.

Today, though, today his lingering finally pays off.

Aaron is on his way back from the photocopier when he stops by Spencer’s desk. He doesn’t see him coming, though, is the thing: he has no time to try and make himself look even a smidge less miserable or to school his surprised yet utterly lovesick expression.

“Won’t you want to be heading off soon, Reid?” he asks, clearly curious as to why Spencer remains at his desk when there’s no real work to be doing, but he cleverly paints it in a light-hearted tone. Even though Spencer is completely aware of what Aaron’s doing, he doesn’t feel attacked or under pressure.

“Oh,” Spencer says unintelligently, stammering a little as he scrambles desperately at a somewhat coherent reply, “yes, yeah, I’ll get going soon.” He doesn’t want to lie when he doesn’t have to, so he doesn’t try and offer an explanation for his staying late, and he knows Aaron won’t push. He manages an almost entirely genuine smile, though, which must count for something, even if it’s only because he’s hopelessly in love with the man leaning casually against his desk.

“Right then,” Aaron says, offering a small smile in response, letting his hard exterior drop in the nearly empty office, and even though it’s nothing special, not really, Spencer carefully files it away as his heart pitter-patters against his ribcage and his stomach pools with warmth. “See you tomorrow, Reid.”

Spencer just nods in response and gathers his things, placing them carefully in his messenger bag and shrugging his jacket on before walking out of the building. When he glances back, just as he pulls the glass door open, Aaron is watching him carefully. He doesn’t turn away but instead offers a small wave, which Spencer returns bashfully, blushing scarlet in the elevator and on the walk out of the HQ and during the whole trek down the street and sat on the metro train and on the final stretch home. He fumbles with his keys and curses himself for being so goddamn pathetic.

He doesn’t consider it for long, though, because he’s utterly exhausted and his tired bones collapse on the sofa, and who is he to try and get them to move again? Sleep is a mercy.

🌧

The case is gruelling and stressful enough without the endless and constant worry about where on earth Aaron is. He never turns his phone off and Spencer can’t think of a time he’s worked a case without him, not properly; he’s always the first one at the office, the first one on the plane, the first to jump out of bed towards the chance to make a real difference in the world. It’s so out of character for him and it’s utterly distressing.

Nevertheless, he focuses all his attention on the job; on protecting Jeffrey and Tom Barton, on bringing justice to the perpetrator when they inevitably find them. He offers lame and desperate excuses for Aaron not being there, all the while knowing full well that none of them are likely. Something is wrong and he’s powerless to help.

Emily tells him why. He sort of forgets how to breathe.

Getting shot in the leg while simultaneously petrified for the livelihood of the person you’re in love with is inconvenient at best when trying to talk down an unsub and protect a victim and eventually fatal at worst, but somehow he half-manages and Tom escapes unscathed, though he isn’t quite as lucky with the unsub.

That’s what matters, really, isn’t it? That others are safe, even if it means he’s in danger? After all, Tom Barton has lives to save and a son to raise, a wide social circle, and a loving family. What does Spencer have? No, it’s much better that he’s the one hurt than anyone else.

Of course, once the adrenaline of the situation starts to wear off and medics arrive on scene, he realises quite how badly he’s hurt. Already feeling woozy, energy seems to seep out of him as roaring, raging agony takes its place. It’s the first time he’s ever been shot and it’s worse than he could have imagined: no amount of studying literature and anecdotal evidence could prepare him for the feeling of a small metal ball tearing through the flesh and muscle and tendons — though, hopefully, and judging by the amount of blood he’s lost, no arteries or large blood vessels — of his thigh.

His team arrives, minus Emily and minus Hotch, and they’re concerned, of course they are. That is, until he presents them with someone they see as much more important, someone whose life is worth something, someone they care about deeply being hurt. And they leave.

He doesn’t get a chance to tell the medics that he doesn’t want narcotics, so the ride to the hospital is a blur of morphine and voices talking to him, though he can’t quite piece together what they’re saying. He wonders vaguely where everybody is, whether Hotch is alright, whether he’s about to die, but no real emotion is attached to any of these thoughts, they just… are.

He’s rushed into surgery almost immediately after he arrives at the hospital, and the next thing he’s aware of is a dull, ever-present, agonising ache in his upper thigh and exhaustion settled into his bones like his body is pain’s home, fatigue’s resting place. The last time he’d blinked himself awake in a hospital bed, blinding pain burning in one part of his body or another, Derek had been sat by his bed, eating jello.

There’s nobody by his bed this time.

A PCA pump is resting by his right hand but he doesn’t touch it. Clearly, nobody from his team has informed the hospital staff of his previous addiction; he doesn’t even know if they’re at the hospital; if they know what’s going on. The morphine he’s already had is going to be hard enough to deal with, he can feel the future cravings itching beneath his skin already, scarred-over track marks simmering away.

It’s over twenty-five minutes of lying helplessly on a hospital bed in a cool, impersonal room, feeling a certain kind of emptiness sitting in his stomach, before a nurse comes by. She looks pleased enough to see him awake, but he doesn’t care about her satisfaction, he cares about his team, about Penelope, about Aaron, and he’s too exhausted to do anything about it.

“Good, you’re awake,” she says cheerily and for once, he doesn’t try and conceal his despondency. It’s oddly freeing. “I’ll get the doctor to come and explain the situation.”

She bumbles out of the room, clearly not fazed by Spencer’s expression, so he resumes staring at the wall, allowing his thoughts to wander, still not managing to attach much emotion to them other than a miserable sort of emptiness.

The doctor is nice enough, making sure he understands his injury and the procedures he’s had done, as well as the recovery ahead of him, but he just can’t bring himself to care. It’s as though this is the last straw; this is the proof, the evidence to win the case he’s been fighting in the court of his mind. His team doesn't care. His life is worthless. He will always, always be alone.

JJ stops by briefly. This feels like it should be a consolation, but it isn’t. He learns of what’s happened to Aaron, what his family is going through, and suddenly he feels selfish: how dare he demand and crave attention when Aaron is far more hurt and injured than he is? When he’s far more important and far more deserving of the team’s attention? Self-loathing creeps up his throat and settles into grey cotton wool that won’t melt in his mouth.

Spencer doesn’t know how to react to the incredibly overwhelming events of the day, and JJ doesn’t seem to have time for this. “Right, Spencer,” she says, visibly impatient with his emotional floundering, his lack of verbal response, “I need to go. We need to sort this out for Hotch. We owe it to him.”

She leaves, and all Spencer can think is how much more worthless not being able to work on his case makes him. If he can’t even work to save the man he loves; if he can’t strive effortlessly to protect him and make him happy, then what is he doing here? Aaron will be furious when he finds out Spencer laid in bed lazily instead of diving headfirst into the case.

No. That’s not true. He’ll be sickeningly nice about it, while on the inside suppressing his disappointment, and Spencer will feel even more guilty, he’ll be even more irate with himself, and life will seem just a little bit bleaker.

He’s discharged a few days later, and nobody has visited, barring JJ’s fleeting, impatient stop by. He goes home in a taxi and struggles up the stairs on his crutches, almost glad he didn’t have many personal items at the hospital. Then again, that was because he was completely isolated. And if he did have people to bring him things in the hospital, then he’d probably have someone to help him up the stairs too.

It’s a moot point, really. He dives straight for the non-narcotic painkillers he’d been prescribed as soon as he sits down on his dusty couch in his messy apartment, desperate to relieve at least some of the agony throbbing in his leg still. Clearly, the universe decided he wasn’t in enough pain already; that the unrequited love and the growing depression and the recurring stomach cramps and clenches in his chest weren’t quite sufficient.

He knows the team is working flat out on the Foyet case. But even Penelope, who probably works the hardest of all of them, has had time to send him an encouraging text message promising to pop round as soon as she can. Other than that, his phone is dry and his heart slowly freezing over.

Truthfully, he’s not sure how much more of this he can stand. He’s feeling the same way he did as a child: isolated, othered, hurt, and utterly, utterly alone. When he’d joined the BAU and was welcomed immediately into the arms of a family, he promised himself he’d never feel like that again. He would never, ever allow himself to sink so low; not when he was surrounded by so many people who proved day in day out how much they loved him. Surely, feeling like this would simply be impossible.

For once, Doctor Spencer Reid is proved wrong. And it burns, festers, and screams like nothing else.

Chapter Two

taglist:@criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch (taglist form)

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[doctorreids]

folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER FOUR - exile 

previous chapter | next chapter 

word count: 2.3k

a/n: so i thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter so i hope you all enjoy! i’m the slightest bit worried that spencer is ooc but i’ll let myself lose sleep over that at some point. the donny hathaway song i’m referring to is this one - one of my favourite songs ever, so so so beautiful. reblogs, likes and comments are, as always very much appreciated - thank you for all the love so far x

“i can see you standin’ honey, with his arms around your body, laughin’ but the jokes not funny at all.”

It had been 3 months, 2 weeks, 3 days. He wishes he could recall the exact time but, for once in his life, he can’t.

There was life before Y/N and there was life with her, he never imagined that there would be a life without her; because if this is life…

The curse of having an eidetic memory is recalling every word, every glance, every silence, and every mistake. They filled his head every day, cacophonous and relentless.

He knows that 50% of couples break up then reconcile, he knows that this is more typical for unmarried couples to do. Yet, statistics do nothing to calm his frustration at himself. Statistics don’t tell him what he can do to fix what is broken.

There’s so much that he misses; her jumping at any chance to be with him, accompanying him to foreign film festivals, conventions, and anything he showed the slightest interest in. She would do anything for him, long before he ever called her his.

He’s still processing the depth of his loss. He had convinced himself for the first month that he could carry on and ignore the chilling cold of his bed at night or the loneliness of the subway journey home. By the second month, he could hardly look at himself. Now, three months on, the pain is so visceral, so real, that he cannot escape the crushing silence that surrounds him. No more quiet conversations on the jet, or laughter in the bullpen.

He wonders if her apartment feels just as empty as his.

He can’t help but let his mind wander to the conversation he overheard between Emily and Y/N in the bullpen - something about setting her up with a guy she knew from outside of work. He tried hard not to read into how reluctant she was accepting Emily’s offer or how defensive she looked when he went back to his desk.

What did he miss? Were there signs? Or did he, like he always did ignore the cracks as soon as they started to appear?

He didn’t want to think about someone else holding her, making her laugh, or being the reason for her smile.

It was dark outside, leaves littering the street, the rain pattering on his window. The sound of the occasional car passing by was the only sound that filled his apartment. Autumn was always his favourite season, it reminded him of change and growth, and when he first met her. It was cool that day, she was wrapped up in a royal blue knitted scarf and a soft brown worn coat - he swore to himself that he’d never seen anyone as beautiful before in his life.

He could barely focus on anything nowadays, from paperwork to books, everything was too difficult to confront. Sure, he’d been attending meetings, discussing his urges to numb himself from the world again. The beginning of his battle with addiction came before she did, it haunted him.

If he was being honest with himself, his addiction was the only thing he had fully confided in her.  She gave him all the understanding that, at times, his own chosen family didn’t give him. He didn’t resent them for it but it was frustrating.

He knew he immersed himself in work too often, the sea of paperwork and cases kept his head above the water that threatened to drown him. After all his years working for the BAU, he still didn’t know how to properly talk about what they witnessed. He tried to chalk it up to facts and probabilities, that evil exists in the world and all he can do is use what he knows to prevent it from happening again. But he couldn’t stop it from happening in the first place.

Despite how much responsibility he placed on his shoulders with his work, he questioned whether or not his career was what he really wanted. He’d promised he would find a cure for schizophrenia by the time he was thirty. Yet, here he is - alone, many a Ph.D. to his name but no overwhelming achievement.

He knew his first mistake was not telling her about how he was feeling. But he was angry, he didn’t know how to verbalise what was overwhelming him. Frustrated and choked up, he pushed her away. He kept telling himself that he felt suffocated, he was anxious that he would lose her to his job and he couldn’t prevent that. There was so much in his life that he couldn’t control.

His mother wasn’t improving, getting worse day by day, and all he could do was stand by and watch. He could write as many letters, call every day, and visit as often as he could but he couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t change what was happening.

He was surrounded by people he considered to be his family yet he felt alone. All the time. So, he pulled up his guard, plastered a smile on his face, and carried on. She would always go before him in his life, nothing could change that.

Work had been…tense. He knew from the start that the girls would be protective of her and he didn’t blame them - he knew that very next day when she didn’t reply to his texts or calls or when JJ told him to ‘give her space. His only other option was Derek and his advice wasn’t, at times, what he wanted to hear.

Derek told him to fix it actively but he wasn’t even sure what he was trying to fix. Himself or their relationship? Some big romantic gesture would win her back, he was told, but he knew she hated those. He tried bringing her favourite flowers, roses, but he would freeze up every time he got to her front door. By now, it wasn’t the season for roses and he was running out of options.

JJ, Emily, and Garcia never treated him any differently, he just felt exiled from their bullpen meet-ups. From the start, all he wanted was JJ’s advice. That night they all went out, he sat in her house with Henry, listening to him babble on about Aunt Y/N and Uncle Spencer.

He won’t ever forget the sad look JJ gave him when he left, underlying anger and bitterness in her voice when she bid him goodnight.

He can’t help but think that he had irreparably messed up.

“all this time, we always walked a very thin line.”

They always said that working together was more of a blessing than a curse, they were never without the other. They could read each other like the back of each other’s hand. Until one day, they couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure what switch flipped in his mind but his ability to be vulnerable with her and to open up completely was turned off. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find the words to express what was going on in his mind.

Then again, neither could she. That connection between them was lost, there was this impenetrable distance between them now.

He couldn’t get comfortable in his chair, his glass of whiskey sitting beside his growing stack of books. He kept trying to find room for them but he just couldn’t bring himself to put them away - it reminded him of her apartment; books scattered on different tables, never on the shelf. It was the only trace of her left in his apartment.

His pillow no longer smelt of her, sweet and fresh. Her toothbrush was no longer sitting by his sink nor her shampoo in his shower. He’d taken down the photos, they were too painful to look at almost every day. Yet, he still kept that scarf she had left at his apartment after one of their dates, the royal blue one. Her perfume was fading on that too.

“you’re not my homeland anymore, so what am i defending?”

She had been quiet the entire car journey home, exhaustion clearly written on her face. Her brow was furrowed in thought.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked softly.

A slight smile flickered across her face for a split second. It went as quickly as it came, she was angry.

“I just want to get us home in one piece, Spence,” she snapped, “can you let me do that?”

“Sure.”

She wasn’t just angry, she was pissed.

By the time they got back to his apartment, she was tired, cold, and frustrated with him. He was equally as tired but grateful to be with her, alive and well. His run-in with the unsub resulted in an overnight stay in the hospital and minor surgery. Well, he thought it was minor. She clearly didn’t.

She didn’t stop for tea the way they normally would nor did she bother to leave the light on for him in the bathroom. She just crawled into bed without a word spoken to him since they’d gotten back to his apartment. In all honesty, he thought she was just going to drop him off then go back to her own home. He was surprised that she didn’t.

Lifting the covers, he slid into bed as silently as he could as not to wake her.

“What you did was really stupid, you know that?”

She was awake. He should’ve guessed.

‘I know.”

She sighed, turning to face him, “Spencer, I know our jobs don’t exactly meet safety regulations but you can’t play the hero all the time. I had to tell myself a long time ago, that you can’t save everyone. I know you, Spence. You’re a good man, brave and you have more courage in you than literally every other man that I’ve ever met and I love you for it. But you can’t keep doing this to me, to us.”

“Doing what?”

“Scaring us all half to death. You don’t remember me holding your hand while we waited for the medics. You don’t remember Morgan telling me that you’d pull through. You didn’t get to see everyone’s faces in the waiting room. But I remember it all, I don’t think I’ll forget it.”

He was stunned into silence.

“I could only think of the worst. How was I going to be able to tell your mother? How was I supposed to carry on knowing,” her voice broke and his heart shattered, “that I would never get to hold you again, or hear one of your many facts, or be able to explain how much you mean to me.”

“But, you didn’t have to-“ he started.

“I know. You’re alive and I’m so grateful. But if you ever pull a stunt like that ever again…”

His smile was sad, “I won’t ever leave you. You’re my home. I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

“And you’re mine too.”

“i think i’ve seen this film before and i didn’t like the ending.”

The memory echoed in his mind. He thinks about what could have been, the family he pictured them having. He knew, even though it was unsaid, she wanted a little girl. He couldn’t lie and say that he wouldn’t want to see a miniature Y/N running around. He always wanted his own kids ever since Henry was born and something inside him changed when he saw you holding Henry for the first time.

He saw his future before him.

Or so he thought. His dream disappeared when he heard his front door slam that night. He would give anything to take that night back. Take back the things that were said, the things left unsaid, and go after her.

By now, he thought he was too late. He witnessed the most perfect, the most precious thing he had in his life play out like a Shakespearian tragedy on the big screen. His heartache played like a movie he had seen far too many times before.

Maybe they were doomed from the start, their ending determined by fate. Something he only ever believed in with her.

“You can’t save everyone.” He couldn’t even save himself. He thought he was kidding himself when he thought he could ever win her back, too much time had passed, too much distance.

There were oceans between them, and for too long he was too scared to start to cross the vast space.

He stared at his now empty whiskey glass and out onto the street - the rain was heavier now. He had no idea what time it was, it was late. He wonders if she’s still up. If she’s sitting in that chair by her window, like he is, thinking about him.

His whole body aches for her touch. He aches to tell her everything, to apologise and to tell her all the small little things that have happened since they last spoke. Like how that mug she used to always drink out of shattered when he was putting it back in the cupboard and how he cried because he couldn’t glue it back together. Or how he searched and searched for a new one but he couldn’t find it so he decided to not buy a new one, it couldn’t be replaced.

He would tell her that he listens to that Donny Hathaway song she used to always play in the car late at night. He’d like to think that she would be proud that he knows all the words - that he doesn’t just listen to Beethoven. Morgan told him to play a song over a boombox outside her window. He didn’t get the reference but he knew he would play that song.

He opened his wardrobe to pull out his pyjamas when it caught his eye. The scarf, a shimmer of glitter caught in the moonlight.

He knew what he had to do.

Grabbing his coat, keys, and the scarf, he opened his door and walked out into the night.

[awakendreamersworld]

Here’s Chapter 9! Missing Love

The next day, Doria had Maria go back to school so she could become stronger than she was before, "And don't worry about and her friends, I already had a long talk to them and their parents." Doria said and kissed Maria on the head and waved goodbye before swimming away to her post to protect the Sea Emperors and the kingdom. Maria swam towards her class a bit nervous hoping they wouldn't bring up her 'incident.' "Ok, class! Today we're gonna play a little game of hide and seek, the rules are simple: I'm gonna place these human stuff around and you have to find them, whoever has the most human items wins! I'm gonna be the human who's gonna try to find you all, don't get caught! You get caught, your out! So try to find some place to hide." Mr. Powell said and everyone began hiding, Maria hid next to Emily who was sitting behind a rock. "Hey." Maria whispered, "Hey, are your wounds ok?" Emily whispered back looking at her bandages "Yeah, they're fine." Maria said smiling. Maria then looked behind the rock and saw a human item, it was a nickel, she looked around for the teacher and quickly swam towards it and picked it up then quickly swam back behind the rock with Emily, "Got one!" Maria said and showed Emily, Emily pulled out a bag with dozens of human items inside, "Whoa your good!" Maria said amazed "Dorms have a very unique sense of smell to find objects." Said Emily. After a few hours of everyone collecting, hiding and getting caught the game was over and the teacher started tallying up who got the most. "Omar and Sebastian, first place! Maria and Emily, second place! Kristine and Danny, third place!" Mr. Powell announced, some of the class cheered and some remained silent, then it was time for lunch. While Maria was trying to eat her lunch with Emily, some of the other students came and started asking her questions like, "Is it true you were attacked by a shark?" Or "How deep was the Midnight Zone? How'd you get out? What creatures did you see down there?" Then some came and apologized about her mother's death and how cool she was and that they hope Maria will grow up to be like her some day. Maria thanked them then continued with her lunch break. After school, and being tired of everyone's questions, Maria just wanted to go to bed and forget about everything that just happened, forget about the questions they asked. She looked up at Alberto's record player, she reached up to the handle to turn it and it began playing the singing lady again. It made her smile, then she turned over and looked up at her seashell ceiling and thought about Alberto, "I wonder how he's doing..." She said.

Giulia opened her window and played her trumpet noises once again which, again, startled Alberto awake, "Could you please stop doing that!?" He shouted "Well, its the only way to get you up, big guy! C'mon, breakfast is ready!" Giulia said and hopped down from the window and began running downstairs to the kitchen with Luca and sat at the table waiting for Massimo to get done with the pasta. Alberto came downstairs and saw Luca and Giulia reading another boring book while eating next to each other, Alberto sighed and sat across from them and ate his pasta trying to ignore their conversations of what he thinks is useless and boring stuff. Once done, Massimo asked Alberto to come and help him hunt for some more fish and so that everyone can get the day started getting their jobs done. Once at the docks, Alberto and Massimo climbed onto the boat and started heading towards the open sea, Alberto navigated Massimo where the fish were and Massimo threw the giant net into the water to catch some fish. Alberto sat and waited for Massimo to finish when he turned to his right and saw something light blue, he thought it was Maria's dress attached to Maria, "Maria?" He said smiling hoping that was her, but it turned out to be a little kid wearing a swimsuit and holding up a bucket of clams. Alberto sighed in sadness and frowned and looked down. "I know, Alberto. I miss her too, she was good person. But we must wait till she heals, shark bites are very powerful and could tear you in two if your not careful. She's a strong woman, she'll make it through." Massimo said taking the net out to reveal a giant pile of fish and brought onto the boat. "I know but, how long do we have to wait?" Alberto said, "I don't know, but only time will tell. We must be patient." Massimo said and started the boat's engine and began heading back to town. Giulia and Luca were finishing their deliveries riding down the hill back to their home, "HA! A new record!" Giulia said looking at her stopwatch and then hopping of her bike, Luca hopped of the back of the empty cart and came up behind her "Wow, that was quick!" He said "Hehe yeah!" Giulia said and then saw her dad and Alberto return with another giant pile of fish they caught. "Woohoo! Another great catch!" Giulia cheered, "Thanks to your friend here." Massimo said patting Alberto's shoulder, "Its no problem" He said trying to act casual and went inside the house, Giulia and Luca looked at him knowing something was wrong. "He's just heartbroken. Just give it time." Massimo said, Luca and Giulia looked at each other with worry then walked back inside their home.

Alberto was up in the tree looking up at the sky, once again thinking about Maria, wishing she was right next to him like before. Luca came through the window onto the tree and sat next to Alberto.

"Hey Alberto." He said,

"If your gonna ask me about Maria, don't, I don't wanna hear it." Alberto said and turned over to his left side

"I-I wasn't!" Luca said "I just wanted to ask if your ok."

"I'm fine, now just leave me alone and go to sleep or read another boring book about whatever." Said Alberto

Luca looked down then left the tree back through the window into Giulia's room, "How'd it go?" Giulia asked.

Luca sighed, "He doesn't want to talk about it..."

"Let's just leave him for now, he'll feel better when Maria returns from recovery." Giulia said.

A few weeks later, Maria woke up the next morning feeling better but still felt like something was missing, like a big part of her, and she felt a little sick, but didn't bother and went to her aunt so she could check her wounds. Maria sat up on the table and Doria took off her bandages to see if her wounds healed, Maria's wounds turned into scars and seemed to be healed. "Ok, your healed, but we need to wait one more day for your scars to get used to being revealed without the bandages, otherwise they'll dry and burn." Doria said, Maria gasped and cheered and hugged her aunt. "Ok, now, go on ahead to school before your late." Doria said and Maria began swimming to her school. She told Emily the good news and said that she'll be returning to Alberto tomorrow morning, "That's great, Maria! I bet he's gonna be so happy to see you!" Emily said happily "I know, it feels like its been forever!" Maria said excited, "Oh, please..." A voice behind them came up, it was Alice with her friends "The only thing your 'boyfriend' is gonna do is expose you to the humans and get you captured, that's what Sea Monsters do." She said, "How do you know? I never seen you with a Sea Monster before, much less prove that they do that." Maria said "Because I know, I don't have to prove it." Alice said, "So... You just know, but won't show anyone any proof?" Maria said then bursted out laughing and so did Emily, "That doesn't make any sense!" She said still laughing, Alice blushed from embarrassment and looked around and saw everyone else giggling at her. "Y-Yeah? Well, prove me wrong then!" Alice yelled "Four words, 'ask the Sea emperors'" Maria said and turned back around giggling and eating the rest of her food "I mean, unless your too scared." Maria teased, Alice scoffed, "Fine! I WILL prove that I'm right and that YOUR wrong, shark bait!" Alice yelled and swam off towards the Sea Emperors' facility overconfident. "I can't wait to see the look on her face when she realizes that rules changed." Maria said, "Yeah, heh." Emily said "I still can't believe you used to be friends with her." Maria said "Yeah, well, your a better friend than she is." Emily said smiling at Maria "Thanks." Maria said "I'm actually gonna miss you when I'm gone." "Me too, but I can still come and visit!" Said Emily "That'd be great!" Maria said and then they finished eating and when school was done for the day, they waved goodbye and headed home.

Maria swam back home and ran into Alice with a grumpy face, "How'd it go with proving me wrong?" She smirked. Alice didn't say anything, she gave an angry look at Maria then swam away and Maria smiled with pride that she was right as she swam the rest of the way home. "Welcome home, Maria! How was school?" Doria asked, "It was great, I'm just gonna miss Emily when I leave." Maria said "Hop up here and let me take another look at your scars, just to make sure they aren't drying up." Doria said and Maria hopped up on the table to get checked out. Doria looked over Maria's scars, they seemed to be healing perfectly, but thought maybe another week should have them healed and 'used to' the bandages not on them. "Ok, just let me add this ointment and they'll be fine within a week!" Doria said grabbing the medicine from the rocky cabinet, "WHAT!? But you said-" Maria cried "Yes I know what I said, but I'm just trying to make sure your scars don't go bad and begin to wither, wrinkling your scales so that they look old." Doria said applying the medicine onto Maria's scars, Maria groaned in anger, how long must she wait? Seriously, she's starting to act like her mother, Firtha.

Once Doria was finished applying the ointment, she sent Maria to bed. Maria was very upset that she had to wait longer than expected, she sighed and turned over towards the record player again. Every time she looked at the record player, she can't help but think or feel like Alberto is right behind her, but he isn't. She missed him a lot, he was fun to hang out with, and willing to be in a relationship with her that easily, especially since he wasn't even in a trance. That's odd, usually the Siren Song would hypnotize their victims, but Maria didn't sing the Siren Song, she sang something else, something she felt besides the song. These feelings were something weird, Maria never felt like this before, like she's being left alone or forgotten, invisible from everyone and everything. But Alberto, when she first met him, he showed her everything, he wasn't ignoring her or making her feel invisible, he was helping her see for the first time in millennia that she was truly 'free' that she was able to be herself and that she didn't have to hide anymore! He was the actually the one who 'cared' for her and not keeping her away from the world, he gave her ice cream, knew that the rules were wrong and was there for her when she was on the edge of death. Its just like he said: 'I would follow you through ANY deep ocean depth.' It was so weird, besides her mother, she never missed someone so much in her life. What was this feeling? Maria knew she's seen and felt it before, but what? Was this feeling perhaps what everyone called... Love? Maria just had to see Alberto again, to stop all these weird emotions from circling around in her head, to be comfortable without worrying so much, but she didn't want to wait that long, so she came up with a plan.

Alberto was swimming in the water rounding up some fish for Massimo, he managed to get them entangled in the net and Massimo pulled them up onto the boat. "Perfetto, Alberto." He said "Yeah, I'm pretty much an expert on fish." Alberto said turning back into his human form. Then Massimo started the boat and they began heading back to shore just as Giulia and Luca were getting done with the deliveries. Once everything was finished, they went back inside and ate pasta. Alberto was back on top of the tree, not wanting to talk or hear Giulia and Luca going awe over some stupid books. Giulia climbed on top of the tree to see if she could try to talk to him.

"Alberto, can we talk? I know you miss Maria, and there isn't anything you can say to me that's going to get me to not talk to you." Giulia said "Can you at least tell me what's wrong? Besides venting about Maria?"

"Ugh, fine, since you won't shut up about it." Alberto sighed annoyed, "Look, I don't know what's wrong with me. I've just been getting these really weird feelings I don't know about, and they hurt, mostly in my chest. And every time I think of Maria these weird feelings race around my head, like I miss her or I need, like REALLY need to see her!" Alberto cried.

"Aye, Alberto. You have 'Broken Heart Syndrome.'" Giulia said

"What's that?" He asked

"Its when you miss someone so much that your heart begins to ache and you feel like you can't breathe, they're caused by stressful events." Giulia said

"So I'm stressed and... Brokenhearted?" Alberto said,

"Yes! Because of how much you love Maria, yet, she's not here and hasn't been here for a while, your brokenhearted." Giulia said,

"Love?" Alberto asked

"Yeah! Wait, you were really in love with Maria, Right?" Giulia asked,

"Well, most of the time I was just hanging out with her cause I saw you with Luca and it made me feel isolated... But then, after a while, when we were swimming to my island, I think that's when these feelings started, when we were having fun jumping out the water. Then there was a moment where we just looked at each other, I dunno, I thought I was just dizzy from jumping too much." Alberto said

"Yes! That's what love is! A great interest in something or an intense feeling of deep affection!" Giulia exclaimed.

Alberto looked down and thought about it for a moment, all those times with Maria, getting ice cream, fighting Ercole, swimming together, even down there in the Midnight Zone when he kissed Maria on the forehead, he really just did it cause he saw humans do it, but now that he thought about it, was that actually...? For once, he actually believed Giulia, he was in love with Maria! "But, how do I cure my 'Broken' Heart?" he asked "First off, STAND UP STRAIGHT! Just because Maria's been gone for a few weeks doesn't mean she isn't coming back, and it doesn't mean its the end of the world! Second, don't beat yourself up, its not your fault she left. She's injured and wounds take up time to heal. You need to stop worrying and get over it, Maria's fine." Giulia said. "Uhh... Ok?" Alberto said a little scared whenever Giulia yells like that, "Anyways, that's all I wanted to say! Goodnight Alberto!" Giulia said heading back to her window into her room and closing the window.

Alberto turned back and looked down, he was really thinking about what Giulia just said about 'love.' 'An intense feeling of deep affection' he thought, he layed back down and looked at the sky, for some reason he could hear Maria's song play in his head, he remembers the lyrics: 'Let's run away into the sea as I hold you close to me. Let's slide beneath the waves down into the caves. If you wanna escape with me, come take my hand. We'll run away to a better land, a better land.' He told her to sing something she felt, is that what she felt about him? To run away with him into the sea to some place better? After finding that out, it just seemed to worsen his affection for Maria, he wanted to find her, to tell her he's sorry for kind of faking his love interest in her, and that after realizing his great interest in Maria he wanted to tell her how much he really loved her, how much he 'needed' to be with her, to SEE her. Giulia's words echoed in his head, 'A great interest in something or an intense feeling of deep affection, that's what love is.' "So... these 'intense feelings' are...  love?" He said to himself looking down and then looking back up at the starry sky.

Link to other chapters: chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

[soul-music-is-life]

Can u please write a short fluffy happy prompt of Emily returning from the army and meeting Alison and her kids in the airport??

Little late on the Christmas deadline, but two people asked for a prompt for the holidays. So Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Maybe next year Santa/the Hanukkah Beagle shouldn’t use USPS, cuz those presents are ALWAYS late…

You can read it on Fanfic (or, as always...below the cut)

***

Grace had insisted on blue. Lily wanted pink. They’d settled on purple. They had managed to get most of the marker on the poster board. Their little fingers ended up covered in glitter and glue. The first ‘e’ in “Welcome” was backwards and the ‘o’ in “home” had gotten smudged. But when they looked at Alison and asked,

“How does it look, mommy?”

Alison said, “Perfect.”

Because it was. They had made it with love. They were so excited that their mama was coming home.

***

The flight had been nerve-wracking. It’s not like Emily hadn’t flown before. She was used to it. It wasn’t the actual plane ride itself. She was having trouble shaking off the residual anxiety she had from being in combat. She was also anxious to hold her babies and kiss her wife again. She spent the entire flight thinking about them. She couldn’t wait to see them again.

When the plane was approaching Rosewood Emily opened the window shade and looked at her town below. When the aircraft started its descent Emily could see the clouds, as soft as white mountain peaks covered in snow. The wings sliced through them as though they were nothing. She could see the bulbous shadows hovering above the ground.

She felt something brush against her arm on the armrest. When she looked over her shoulder she saw the little girl next to her sitting up high in her seat, trying to look out the window. She had been playing games on the screen in the seat in front of her the entire trip, but now that the window was open she was trying to get a better look at what was happening outside. 

“Can I see?” she batted her big blue eyes at Emily. She had her little palms against Emily’s arm.

Her mother looked over and saw the little girl practically climbing over on to Emily.

“Amelia, honey, what did we talk about earlier? It’s not polite to touch people without asking first.” She faced Emily. “I’m sorry. She doesn’t understand boundaries yet.”

“It’s okay. I get it. I’ve got two girls around her age.” Emily smiled.

“Must be hard to be away from them.”

There was an unspoken understanding between the two mothers.

“Yeah. They grow up so fast.” Emily looked at Amelia, who was oblivious to the adults talking around her.

“Amy, you remember how we talked about how some mommies and daddies have to spend time away from their babies to be somewhere else to protect us?”

“Uh huh.”

“What do we say, do you remember?”

The little girl looked at Emily’s uniform and it registered. She smiled at Emily and leaned up on her knees.

“Thank you for your service.”

Emily had to bite back tears. It was such a sweet and simple gesture. And it was something that she’d obviously learned from caring parents. It made her realize how much of her daughters’ lives she was missing. She had been gone for nine months. What had she missed in that time?

“You’re very welcome.”

“I like your pins.” Amelia pointed to Emily’s medals.

There was one medal she hadn’t gotten in person yet. It was one that Alison didn’t know about. It was the reason she was coming home.

Her purple heart.

She’d been injured by a roadside bomb. Fortunately, no one had been killed, though they had been ambushed after the attack. She’d suffered three broken ribs, mild burns on her side, two fractures in her arm, and a laceration on her right hand. She’d managed to pull three of her squad members to safety even with her injuries.

She was healing up nicely. She’d mentioned the ambush to Alison, but she had downplayed her injuries and told her that she was okay, which was the truth. 

She didn’t realize that her commanding officer was going to give her the option to be medically discharged due to the nature of the problems her injuries might cause in the future. She didn’t know that nearly being blown up was going to bring her closer to her family.

The little girl was squirming in her seat, trying harder and harder to look out the window.

“She’s welcome to sit on my lap if you’re okay with it.” Emily offered.

“It’s fine with me.”

Emily helped the little girl into her lap and they looked out the window. They watched as the buildings and streets turned from tiny blips into shapes and images they could actually recognize. She held her, pointing to the landmarks below, until the “fasten seatbelt” sign came on. Then she helped her get settled back into her seat.

Landing was always the hardest part. She knew from experience that take-offs and landings were generally the most dangerous parts of the flight. But when she looked outside at her town, her home, she couldn’t feel anything but excitement.

***

The airport was lined with people, a sea of faces all moving in waves to their next destination. Some were rushing. Some were sitting and sleeping in chairs. Others were waiting in the crowd for their loves ones.

Alison held the twins’ hands firmly as they moved through the crowds. One of her biggest fears was losing one or both of them in a busy place.

“I don’t see mama.” Grace whined, twisting the poster board with her fingers.

“She’s still coming home, right?” Lily looked at Alison, a sad look of fear in her eyes.

Sometimes the girls worried that they’d never see their mama again. They didn’t know the extent of what Emily did, but she and Emily had had the conversation with the girls that sometimes mama would be in situations where she had to help others, but that she would always do her best to come back safe and sound.

Alison looked up at the plasma screens that showed the arrival and departure times. Emily’s plane was at its gate. She would be coming towards them any minute. She felt a bubbling sensation in her stomach she hadn’t had since she was in high school. She hadn’t seen Emily in nine months. It felt like forever. She couldn’t wait to hold her again.

“She should be here soon.” Alison assured the girls.

“I wanna hold the sign.” Lily reached for the folded up poster board.

“No! I want to!”

They were both cranky, because they’d fought in the car on the way over. Alison told them to behave and that they could both hold it. They each stood on one side and held the sign up, but it kept flopping forward, so Alison ended up holding the damn thing while the twins pretended they were the ones holding it up.

A crowd of passengers rounded the corner and started walking towards them. They dispersed, finding their family members. Alison watched everyone hugging and it made her antsy. She wanted to be in Emily’s arms. She wanted to kiss her wife…to touch her cheek…to bathe in her aroma.

It was the twins who spotted her first. The uniform was a dead giveaway. Grace squealed and Lily shouted “mama!!”

Emily turned and saw them and she felt her heart melting. She saw the large childlike letters on the poster board covered in sparkles and glitter. They had drawn hearts around their simple message.

“Welcome Home Mama. We Love You.” 

The twins were supposed to stand behind the roped off security line, but they forgot everything they’d been told to do when they saw Emily’s face. They dropped the poster and raced forward before Alison could grab them.

No one in security stopped them. In fact, one of the men in uniform walked over to where Alison was standing and unlatched the rope to let her through so she could be with her family.

Emily dropped her bag and fell to her knees as the twins ran into her arms, both of them crying ‘mama!’ so loudly that everyone in the airport turned to see the commotion. She didn’t even feel the tightness of her still healing injuries. All she felt was her children’s love.

Grace and Lily wrapped their arms around her neck. She reached up and gripped the backs of their heads with her palms and peppered them with kisses.

“Hi, babies.”

Emily was not someone who cried easily. She’d been through a lot in her life and some of it had hardened her. She had a tight lid on her emotions. But she was a sucker for her kids. And the second she had them in her arms she crumbled, burying her face in between their necks, letting her tears fall down her face.

“Oh, I missed you so much.”

“We missed you, mama.” Lily pulled back. “Why are you crying? Are you sad?”

“No.” Emily reached up to wipe away her tears. “No, I’m crying because I’m so happy to see you.”

They had gotten so big. She felt like she hadn’t seen them in years. Being overseas away from her family was hard. She didn’t know how much she was missing until she had them in her arms. It was like a piece of her she didn’t even know was gone had been returned to her.

She saw Alison approaching. She gripped Lily and Grace and picked them both up, putting one on each hip just like she’d done since they were babies. She instinctively moved forward towards Alison and their lips met. Alison put her palm against Emily’s face and thumbed away a stray tear.

“Hey.” Emily pecked her lips again.

Alison tasted as sweet as she remembered. She couldn’t believe she was here. She couldn’t believe she was with her family again. She had a new appreciation for what her mother and father must have felt like every time they reunited.

Alison wrapped her arms around her wife and children. Her body melded into Emily’s, as if they were a perfect fit, even with their children…especially with their children. They stayed in their embrace for several minutes.

They could hear the applause and the cheers of the other passengers in the airport, but they still felt like they were in their own little world.

Grace started wiggling and wanted down. She was suddenly on a tangent about how she wanted to show Emily their poster, which was sitting on top of a counter over by the security area.

Emily put Lily and Grace down, which gave their mothers a moment of intimacy without them. Emily reached up and cupped Alison’s cheeks. The blonde’s eyes were brimming with tears. She couldn’t contain her emotions any longer.

“I missed you so much,” Alison sobbed with a smile on her face. She was so happy to see her…alive…home in one piece.

Emily wiped away Alison’s tears with her fingers and pressed her lips against Alison’s once more. Their noses touched. Their foreheads met. They took a moment just to hold one another.

“Mama.” Lily tugged on Emily’s hand.

Emily forced herself to pry her eyes away from Alison’s and look down at her little girls. 

“Can we go home now?” Lily asked.

Emily leaned down again, giving the twins another opportunity to hug her neck. She picked them up, balancing them on her hips. She snuggled Lily and then Grace. They both giggled.

“I want to hear all about what you two have been doing while I’ve been away.”

She carried them as far as the food court. The second they saw ice cream they were begging for sugar. Alison and Emily bought them each a cone and they walked out of the airport together. They’d both inhaled their treats by the time they got to the car. Their moms got them situated in their booster seats. Emily threw her bags in the back and then climbed up front with Alison.

She took a moment to appreciate where she was. It was something so simple…sitting in the car with her wife and her children. But it was something she knew a lot of people took for granted. She didn’t want to miss a single second.

“So.” Alison put her hand down against the center console. “How long are you staying?”

Emily hadn’t told her the good news. She’d wanted to see the look on Alison’s face when she told her she was coming home for good.

Emily reached down and took Alison’s hand, linking their fingers together. She smiled.

“How about forever?”

[qdtquietdownthere]

Day 9- Magic in mix ups.

Day 9

I start the day with babies. Completely surrounded by babies. I walk into Victoria library and ask for the story telling event but the man seems very confused and tells me there is no event. Ah! but there is! I get escorted to the baby library with a clear sign outside which reads “no unattended adults allowed” or something like that. I feel a bit peculiar to be there childless. When I sit down cross legged on the coloured carpet I introduce myself straight away to one of the mothers who is there with her little girl. Then for the first time ever in the residency- I introduce the project unannounced. Maybe to soften the weirdness of being a young person sat cross legged in a sea of children. The class is great and the children love it. It Is madness actually. There are toddlers everywhere. Something hits me about the session however as I watch- non of the parents talk to each  other. Even at the beginning, before the session had started, no one interacted. People then streamed out after the session had finished. Completely consumed by being parents. Which is fair enough. Its just fascinating how this space which was for kids and babies, was somehow ghost chaperoned by parents. The parent, and woman, who is spoke with told me she had a teenager and was looking for activities for him to do. This is the first time someone has reacted with a request for information when they find out why I am there. I like this reaction especially because I also feel there isn't much going on for teenagers, from what I have seen. We talk about how it needs to be cool but not sport. A tricky brief for self conscious pre pubescent kids and teenagers. I leave the class feeling broody, but needing a coffee and thinking about this lack of conversion. Im pickled. I eat some dates.

I pop into the Victoria shopping mall for a loo break. I am happy because they are free and clean and there isn't a big line. It makes me wonder about getting people out the house. An elderly person, or even younger people often worry about access to toilets while in public. I wonder how much more of a consideration is for disabled people, or parents with babies. I noticed on my first day in Pimlico library there was a sign on the door giving directions to the closest public toilet other than the ones in the library. I want to suss out the obstacles which will hinder someone from getting off the settee and leaving their flat. 

In the afternoon, something magic happens. 

It is magic from a big mess up…a mess up I made.

I ever so orderly walked on to the library to get changed into my leggings and sports bra for my afternoon session of yoga. After the last exercise class, I think it’s better to be overly exercised dress than under. I head over to Thamesbank centre gearing myself up then BOOM, I remember, Yoga is at The Abbey Centre. Which is 30 minutes minimum walk away. Class was about to start. This, however, is where the magic is. I initially think oh no what have I done, this is there residency ruined and then I though, what will I do for 1hr30minutes. Without much consideration or hesitation I wandered into the Thamesbank centre to see what was happening. Their door is always open, literally. I was greeted with big smiley faces from some of the older ladies I recognised from the ETAT session earlier in the week. Emily was also there with her carer. People were coming and going. Some were eating chilli and others painting. A war veteran who was at the last session was continuing to paint his remembrance poppy painted clock. It was a living room. I wandered to the back to sit with Edna and two ladies who I had been at Lunch club with in week 1. It felt natural and powerful because this was my decision. My connections. It was a space for me to hang out. I wasn't there with agenda or a task. I was there to spend 90 minutes just being. We spoke of all things, of Ireland, of volunteering, attractive dentists, fussy house guests and I was even told how best to eat spam (covered in batter then deep fried). I was also able to have a good conversation with one of the ladies who I had met at lunch club and got the sense she didn’t like me. We had a good chat and Im now pretty confident she does like me. I think. 

The whole experience felt really natural, which is something I know I crave. It was enjoyable for me, simply as me and I was proud that being in this community lead to choosing not to go to the library when I messed up, or had free time, but to put myself into the complete unknown. I then started drawing with a lovely young lady called Mazz. We exchanged pictures and I walked away feeling better than I have felt before In the residency. As I walked away I wrote: 

“I go back as a friend, as an equal, as just someone who is a bit lonely in that minute, to pop in and say hi. I am now a promoter or being a popper. I will advocate the hugely beneficial effects of popping in. Popping your head in. Stopping for one cup of tea. For a quick natter as the side of the street. There is power in the little moments. There is power in being a regular. Pop in. EVERYONE SHOULD ALWAYS JUST POP IN”

This has been overwhelming in my time here in and around Churchill Gardens. It has been overwhelming at how regular people are to activities because of the lack of commitment needed to be a regular. It doesn't require money, a rolling bank transfer, monthly subscriptions. People come and go and talk and talk it seriously or don't talk it seriously. The activities in place work at this point because they are accessible to people who don't know what next week will be like. I believe the quick fleeting moments of joining in with a space or activity for whatever amount of effort or time you can give is wonderful. It works on this level, and in this instance. 

There is a List which my Dad of all people gave to me many many years ago. It is titled ‘Golden Rules’ and at this point in my life, and in the residency it seems vital. 

(Excuse the poor picture quality)

Today has given me a deeper belief in the golden rules and a further sense of home in this community. I think the rules ignite what this residency has been, and what it continues to deliver. Tiring and vulnerable and gosh I have never needed so many baths, but it has been such a privilege to be a regular, to be tired even. The golden nugget of today however, be a regular.

I end the day walking round Tate Britain, nattering away with Charlie. We don't take in any of the art but its a great ending to the day. A happy day. 

ps. sorry I missed yoga 

[whatwewrotepodcast]

Waiting

The first time I saw her, she was sitting on the wharf, her legs crossed under her, a book propped open on her lap. She was wearing a knitted cap over her long, thick black hair, and a chunky cream scarf was wound around her neck against the cold air. I wondered how long she’d been sitting there. It seemed too cold to be reading outside. It was a strange place to sit and read. There was no beauty in the spot today. Low, grey clouds hung over the choppy, cold water, and every now and then a few icy spits of rain came splattering down. It was a damp, unpleasant sort of day, the sort of day you only ever got in the British isles. A grey sky over a grey sea, a landscape permeated by grey. I stood and watched her for a while, curious. She only moved to turn the page, flipping it over with small, delicate fingers. After a while, I shook my head and walked on, leaving her to her strange pursuits.

The next time I saw her was a watercolour day, a brief respite from the rain. A watery sun threw its warmthless light over the soaked green fields. The sky was washed out, as if all the colour had been wrung out with the rain. She was still wearing the knitted cap, but she’d traded the scarf for a battered looking hoodie. She wasn’t reading this time, just looking out over the water, a vivid slash of colour in the otherwise pale day. I was in a hurry, and didn’t linger.

The next time I saw her, curiosity got the better of me. She was lying on her stomach on the end of the wharf, heedless of the damp that must have been soaking through her clothes. Her hands were held out over the salty waves, and I had the perverse impression that she was trying to summon some creature of the deep, some malevolent water spirit to wreak revenge on her enemies. It was a fanciful notion, but something about the intense set of her features unsettled me.

“What are you doing?” I asked as I approached her. She showed no sign of surprise at my voice, as if she had expected me to speak to her. Perhaps she’d just heard my footsteps on the boards. She stretched downwards, leaning even further over the edge of the wharf until her fingertips could brush the surface of the water, as if I supplication. I resisted the urge to grab her by the back of her shirt and pull her away from the edge, lest she fall in.

“Waiting for him to come back to me.” She said as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I considered that for a moment. It would be logical to assume she meant someone on a ship – a father or brother or lover? Sailed away to fish, or fight, or travel? And yet somehow, with the way she peered so intently into the depths, I had the odd feeling that wasn’t it.

“Who?” I asked. She didn’t look up, her long dark hair nearly touching the water as she exhaled, stroking the water again.

“Oh, he doesn’t have a name. But he’ll be here, soon.” She said, and then she did turn to me, a wide smile curving her mouth, “Soon.” She repeated. Something about her expression filled me with a sharp, nervous jolt, and I found myself turning and walking away before I even knew what I was doing. I was unsettled to my very core with no idea why.

According to the newspapers, the girl – her name was Emily Rosscore – disappeared that night. No one ever saw or heard from her again. I never told anyone of the conversation I’d had with her. I was only half convinced I hadn’t imagined it. The official line was that she’d fallen in the ocean and drowned, but for some reason, I could never quite bring myself to believe it. I hoped whoever she’d been waiting for had come back for her, and swept her away from this humdrum world.

-Emma

[beca-mitchell]

came all this way to say

Summary: Their first kiss is everything. 

(Beca-centric. My take (one of many of my head canons) on the kiss that should have happened. Thanks, Universal!)

word count: 1834

The rush of performing never quite seems to grow old. Beca lets it rush through her, lets the residual excitement blanket her like a security blanket.

 “Chicago asked me out,” Chloe is saying to Aubrey. 

“I’m happy for you,” Aubrey says excitedly. “Are you going to say yes?”

It seems to echo around the hotel room and falls on Beca’s ears with heaviness that makes her choke on her coffee. Flo and Emily give her concerned looks, so she waves them off nonchalantly. 

Her eyes sweep for Chloe after that statement and Aubrey is smiling happily at Chloe, so Beca figures she knows where that conversation went. She follows Chloe’s figure as it moves to sit out on the balcony attached to the hotel room.

“One sec,” she says to Theo who is tirelessly chatting away.

She lets Fat Amy swipe her fourth, barely touched wine cooler, and makes her way out to the balcony.

It’s warm and humid, making Beca cringe momentarily as the fabric of her jeans rubs uncomfortably against her skin.

“Hey,” she greets, not wanting to startle Chloe.

“Bec,” Chloe says, cheeks flushed lightly under the glow of the outdoor light. “Hey. Some night, huh?”

Beca thinks about walking off stage and seeing Chicago with Chloe. The warring emotions – from the sight and from her first solo live performance – make her sick.

“Some night,” she agrees. She leans against the wall by Chloe, looking down at the top of her head. “How are you? Why are you out here, dude?”

“Just getting some fresh air.” 

“Oh, same.” 

They fall into silence, not uncommon for them, but Beca feels that they’ve grown heavier and more painful over the past little while. She tries not think about why, but she knows that she can conjure up a million reasons, each more painful than the last.

There’s something oppressive about the silence that overcomes them. It’s nothing like the silence that Beca knows from her experience. Years of sitting in silence with Chloe, where Chloe let her do homework; days in the sun on the Barden lawn reading while Chloe braided her hair; falling asleep on the couch in Chloe’s dorm and hazily feeling fingers running through her hair comfortingly.

Reality and present-time crash back on Beca’s head as laughter echoes from the hotel window behind her. She tilts her head, looking through the window they’re leaning beside. She can see their friends – their family – laughing, drinking, singing. And then there’s Chicago and Zeke amidst them. New friends they’ve made along the way.

‘Along the way’ means that Beca can reflect on how far she and Chloe have come from that first encounter at the activities fair. The confusion Beca felt when that girl with the bright blue eyes looked at her like she was the only person who would be able to make her world whole again. 

(Beca knows because Chloe has been that for her for so long that it’s second nature to see it now, in her mind’s eye.)

“So you’re going to give it a shot, huh? You and Chicago?”

Chloe’s smile is wide. Genuine. Open and honest for the first time in months. It shatters Beca. “I guess I am.”

“But you haven’t said yes yet?” Beca asks, to clarify.

Chloe shrugs. “I wanted to be sure and I…” she sighs. “I’m ready.”

“You’ve known him for like two weeks,” Beca points out. Chloe’s laugh is self-deprecating. It makes Beca’s stomach drop. “What?” she asks tentatively.

“I mean…I guess it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fallen for somebody within the first couple of weeks of knowing them. Meeting them,” Chloe says, her eyes focusing on her hands folded in her lap.

Beca swipes her tongue over her bottom lip. “Oh,” she breathes.

(She’s not an idiot. She knows.)

“I…for what it’s worth, I…knew, I guess.” It isn’t worth anything.

Chloe doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even seem to breathe. Beca does her best not to look at her because she doesn’t want to see devastation, hurt, or confusion.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Chloe asks, tucking her hair behind her ears.

Beca laughs awkwardly, rocking back on her heels before she settles down next to Chloe on the balcony. She watches the ocean ebb and flow beneath the glow of the moon.

“I don’t know,” she says. 

“I don’t know,” Chloe echoes, tilting her head back to rest against the stone. “I thought I knew everything about five minutes ago, Beca Mitchell,” she mutters.

Beca nods to herself. “It felt like the last chance I’d get, I guess.” It’s the confidence of the three wine coolers coursing through her.

There are times where Beca likes not knowing things. She likes the uncertainty because making hard decisions means – often – letting something go. If there’s anything Beca knows with certainty, it’s that sacrifice is inevitable.

(She thinks of Los Angeles and opportunity.)

“Kiss me,” Beca whispers, unsure why she’s even pushing for this – not when she knows Chloe is not hers, will never be hers from now on. Not when she knows Chicago could see, though a part of her hopes that he will.

(She tries not to think about Chloe being hers, maybe, in the past, that it was in the realm of possibility to begin with; she tries not to think about being so stupid and dense.)

And Chloe looks uncertain, only for a moment, because she nods and leans in – full view of their friends behind the hotel window pane. 

For the first time during their trip, Beca lets herself take stock of the warm air around them. The unfamiliar sounds and the twinkling lights. They could be strangers in a new country, trying something new for the experience and nothing more.

Beca closes her eyes because she doesn’t want to look at Chloe’s eyes, the endless blues that refuse to let her go. Before she can say anything further, soft, warm lips are pushing against hers insistently. She cups the back of Chloe’s neck, sinking her fingers into soft hair, unable to even begin to compartmentalize the emotions that flood through her at the sensation.

Beca thinks of the first time she set foot on the Barden campus. She thinks of how-

Before she can open her eyes again, Chloe’s hands are cupping her cheeks, holding them together for a moment longer.

There’s a delicateness to kissing Chloe – something Beca has never had the privilege or joy of experiencing before. She’s not entirely sure if she will ever get to experience it again. Chloe, while not necessarily delicate, is soft. She is summer and sunshine. She is wedged heels on a camping retreat. She is summer dresses and happiness.

Beca feels herself gasp into the kiss, more than she hears it. It’s the culmination of many unanswered dreams and the echo of the almost-moments and could-have-beens. She thinks there is desperation in Chloe too. Beca’s not blind. She has seen and cowered from the way Chloe looks – had looked – at her.

Without thought, Beca grips the sides of Chloe’s dress and holds on, a lifeboat in the raging sea. She had held on when she finished performing, surrounded by the warmth of her Bellas family. She can’t imagine letting go, not ever. She can’t let go because she doesn’t want to be swept away, at least not for the moment. She wants to breathe just a little while longer 

(And there’s a part of her that wants to drown in Chloe, to let Chloe support her like she always has and has always offered to. There’s a part of her that wants to die in Chloe because she feels like she might die otherwise anyway.)

A quick tongue swipes over her lip once, twice, and Beca whimpers, toes curling at the eagerness of Chloe’s own response.

In the inevitability of her own dreams, Beca’s still unsure as to why she held herself back for so long.

If holding Chloe like this – kissing her like it’s their last – feels so right, Beca’s not sure why she didn’t do it earlier. When they had all the time in the world. It makes her finally feel like her heart can beat in peace, not like it’s constantly searching for its last missing piece.

But Chloe is more than that, more than a puzzle piece. She is grace and elegance, disguised as simplicity. She is passion and excitement – never backing down from a challenge.

Beca winds her hands further into the hair at Chloe’s neck, pushing their lips impossibly closer. There’s a curiosity and need nagging at Beca – she desires to discover more about Chloe through this one kiss with an unparalleled hunger that she never felt for Jesse. An uncharacteristic shiver travels deep inside her - through her - as she thinks about how much further she could push her own fantasies and she moves to pull back, but not before a last nip at Chloe’s lip. Perhaps too boldly on her part, Beca catches Chloe’s lower lip and gives it a quick pull before forcing herself back.

They stare openly at each other for the first time, neither bothering to hide the affection in their eyes as Chloe’s thumb rubs along the length of Beca’s neck.

Chloe is love.

(Beca is in love with Chloe.)

“That was…” Beca trails off, at a loss for words. She swipes her tongue over her lower lip and is met with the taste of Chloe’s chosen lip gloss. There is apology in Chloe’s eyes, even as her eyes track the motion hungrily. The nonverbal apology hanging over their heads makes Beca’s hands clench in her lap.

Chloe nods once, her lips twitching into an almost-smile as if she knows Beca’s thoughts. She probably does, the knack with which Chloe susses out Beca’s moods and feelings was unnerving but had grown into a comforting assessment of Beca’s own feelings. “That was—I’ve never felt anything quite like that before,” she admits in true Chloe fashion – honesty in the face of definite heartbreak. She says that with a broken tone and she looks at Beca uncertainly. “Why did you do that?” Chloe whispers. Her eyelashes flutter and her eyes glisten in the slowly fading light.

Beca thinks that time moves quicker when you’re seeing your entire life flash before your eyes. She sees Chicago making his way towards the door leading out to the balcony, adjusting his jacket primly. Whether he’s seen or not, Beca feels the timer verging on midnight.

When she looks at Chloe, she sees the opportunity she missed and the life she was too afraid to pursue. Chloe’s eyes scream at her in her confusion and hurt, but Beca knows that the distance between them was always meant to grow.

“I did that because I thought he should know how it feels to lose you,” Beca says. She lets her words linger in the air, carried off by the sound of crashing ocean waves.

[beatricethecat2]

one step forward, two steps back (v2.0) - 1

Way back when, last December, to be exact, I gifted a fic to @apparitionism for the B&W Secret Santa extravaganza. I'd threatened a second part, which is nearly ready to go, but before that I needed to do some housecleaning on the first story (thank you appy for pointing out issues.) So I'm starting over by posting an edited version of this story then moving on to a six chapter "part two" that fixes everything. I’ll be posting new chapters regularly, maybe every other day if I can mange, just to get this out of my system. 

NOTE: This story is an inbetweener - set after episode 4.8 “Second Chance” (the one when Mrs. F tells Helena to disappear with the astrolabe) but before 4.9 “The Ones We Love.”

/////////////////

As the loudspeaker crackles to life, Myka pushes herself up into sitting position and snuggles further into her coat. She glances to the side at Pete, still lying next to her, sprawled across three whole seats. He hasn’t moved an inch since she dozed off.

“Pete,” she says, more as a puff of air than a name.

No response.

“Pete,” she repeats, louder, adding a poke to the arm.

“Ggnah,” he grunts, flinching but holding his position.

“Get up. Our gate’s moved.”

“Fivemoreminutes,” he mumbles, pulling the hood of his jacket over his eyes.

“Fine,” she says through a yawn and stretches her neck to the left then right. “I’m going to go clean up. Be ready when I get back.” She shoots Pete a stern eye, but he’s already dozed off. She’ll wake him for real when she gets back.

She navigates out of the waiting area, past the meager breakfast options, thinking there better be better coffee by their new gate. Spying signs for the facilities, she strides towards the ladies but is thrown off by a hand grabbing her elbow. She's swept into the family restroom, and as the door slams shut, she spins around and pins her abductor to its back. She’s not in the mood for detour, nor a new mystery to solve, she really, really just wants to get home.

“We must stop meeting like this,” the woman chokes out, one hand tugging at Myka’s forearm, the other clicking the lock closed.

“H.G.?” Myka says, lowering her arm. “What are you doing here?"

Helena holds Myka’s gaze as she rubs her neck. Myka’s unsettled by the anxious look in her eyes.

“Are you ok? Where have you been? Why were you following us—“

Helena’s lips halt Myka's words, one hand tangling into thick curls, tugging her close. Seconds later, Helena pulls back, and Myka lists forward but is met by Helena’s forehead instead of her mouth.

"I’m meant to trust no one. No one at all. You cannot tell a soul you've seen me," Helena says, looking down at her hands, turning them over, flexing her fingers repeatedly. "Irene will be livid.”

Myka stiffens at the mention of Mrs. Frederic, her eyes following Helena as she paces the tiny room.

“I tried, you see, tried, but I can’t fix this on my own,” Helena says, muttering almost to herself.

“Fix what?” Myka asks but gets no response.

Helena examines her hands again as her steps become erratic.

"Fix what?" Myka repeats and steps into Helena's path.

Helena bumps into Myka and looks up, her eyes round and wild. Acting on impulse, Myka leans forward and presses her lips to Helena’s, just as Helena did before.

This time, the kiss lingers, and Myka's libido thrums awake. Helena soft, warm lips are full of everything she’s been missing since their glorious night together after Sykes. Her hands rise to circle Helena’s biceps, then skim down to her elbows, but Helena gently pushes her away.

“You got stuck. In your head. I thought kissing you might help.”

“If only that were the remedy,” Helena says, her lips curling up slowly at the ends. “One more for good measure couldn't hurt."

Myka smirks, crookedly, and walks Helena back, pinning her to the wall, palms pressing into tiles on either side of her head. She dips forward and kisses Helena, properly, lips squarely aligned, her arousal soaring as Helena presses their bodies together.

“Mykes, you in there?” Pete bellows, too few moments later.

Helena growls at the interruption and as Myka looks away, presses her lips into the twist of Myka's neck. Myka gasps at the pressure, head tilting instinctively towards Helena, Pete already forgotten about at the door.

“Mykes?”

“Don’t answer,” Helena grumbles, her breath exciting already sensitized skin.

“I know you're in there because I already checked the ladies.“

Myka looks towards the door, but Helena cups her jaw and guides her back, pressing her lips into tender spot behind Myka's ear.

“Listen, Artie’s on the line. We got a ping. He wants to talk to both of us—“

“Ow!” Myka yelps, her body collapsing forward, temple hitting the wall. “Why’d you do that?” she says, rubbing brow while looking around the room for Helena.

“You talkin' to me?” Pete asks.

"No," Myka answers, grimacing at Helena, now standing next to her scowling, arms crossed over her chest.

“Maybe I should come in there to, you know, avoid prying eyes?”

“Gimme a minute,” Myka says, taking a step back, squinting Helena. “How hard did I hit my head? You’re kinda...glowing.”

Helena clasps her hands in front of her and straightens her spine while breathing out a heavy sigh.

Myka's eyes widen as the gravity of the situation dawns on her.

“You see the issue—"

“Artie's getting waaay testy out here!” Pete says, rattling the door handle.

“I must go.”

“Helena, wait!” Myka lunges as Helena steps away, but her hand passes completely through her.

“Once this is resolved, I’ll look forward to further pleasantries, but for now..." Helena says, spinning around to face Myka. She bows humbly, then disappears through a solid wall.

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

After a grouchier than usual talk with Artie, Myka and Pete are rerouted to Schenectady to meet with a curator from the Museum of Science and Innovation. Myka half-listens as Pete takes the investigative lead; her mind caught up in solving Helena's predicament.

How can she fix an after-effect from the coin? Her first priority is to locate it, then neutralize it, because maybe it wasn't neutralized properly in the first place...

“So this Photophone,” she interjects when she senses Pete faltering, "it was a donation?”

“Yes. We think it's the original GE prototype, from the twenties,” the curator says and hands Myka a photo.

Myka glances at the image, then at the item in front of her. She stares at it for a long moment as if concentrating, but her thoughts slip back to the orb. What if it’s not at the Warehouse? What if the coin's being used again?

“Was it, like, missing stuff, when you stuck it together?” Pete says, elbowing Myka when she doesn’t continue.

“We recreated several parts.”

Myka raises a brow and Pete smiles.

“Can you show us the schematics and identify which pieces?”

“Sure. Follow me.”

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

After a lengthy pow wow with Claudia and a swift interview with the donor of the machine, it’s determined several boxes from the donation went in error to a charity shop instead of the museum. A quick visit to the drop off location reveals the boxes were sent to a sorting center, so after obtaining directions, Pete drives to a warehouse just off the highway.

"This place is massive,” Pete says as he pulls into the parking lot. "How are we going to find anything in there?”

“Maybe donations are sorted by date?” Myka says while exiting the car. Her confidence fades as she passes lumps of tarped goods lining the walkway to the building.

They flash their badges at the front desk, and the guard waves them through.

"Is there someone else we can ask for help?” Myka says.

"Nope. Weekend," he says, eyes barely leaving the moving image on his phone. "Place is yours. Knock yourselves out.”

They walk through a wide doorway lined with vertical plastic strips then out onto the main floor.

"This place is in-sane," Pete says as he scans the sea of boxes, bags, and furniture before them.

"Yeah," Myka says.

"At least we know it's a vase."

“It’s a horn."

"But the old lady kept flowers in it."

"It shapes sound, Pete. Here take the picture."

“Brass funnel?" Pete says, with a wink.

Myka rolls her eyes and gives him a push. “Let's split up. Yell if you find anything."

Pete gives a two finger salute then marches to the other side of the room.

Myka meanders in the opposite direction, sifting lightly through piles and jumps as her coat pocket vibrates. Her cell and her Farnsworth are in her jeans pockets, so she’s unsure of what it possibly could be.

She maneuvers the pocket, so it opens toward the floor and shakes it until something falls out. Recognizing the shape, she bends down to inspect it and sees a post-it attached, reading “Give to Claudia” in flowing script.

Her stomach sinks a little because of course, the kiss was for this…then again Helena probably panicked when she felt herself fading. But Helena’s lips against her neck, her hand resting on the small of her back, that was out of want for a real connection. The flutter in her heart tells her so.

The phone vibrates again, and the screen lights up as text appears under the post-it. She picks up the device and peels off the note.

- Hello? the screen reads.

No caller ID, but it must be Helena.

- Are you ok?

- I think so

- Where are you?

- I’m not sure

- What do you see?

- Books, movies, CDs. The Fly on DVD, but no Metamorphosis?

- You’re in a store?

- An apartment

- There must be a reason you’re there

- I see a note

A note? Helena said she trusted no one, so who would leave a note? She scans the room for Pete to ensure he's otherwise occupied and wracks her brain for people Helena might trust. She begins to worry when no new text appears.

- What does it say?

Still no response. Maybe Helena's a hologram again? She did dematerialize rather suddenly earlier. As she scrolls through, reviewing their short conversation, something dawns on her. Helena's phrasing is off, and the book and movie comparisons are odd, both date from after she was bronzed.

- Emily?

Myka holds her breath, praying she’s wrong.

- To whom am I speaking?

Myka closes her eyes and rubs the bridge of her nose. This is getting more complicated than it needs to be.

- Agent Bering. Do you remember me?

- The secret service agent?

- Yes

- Am I hiding from that evil man?

- No. He’s gone. You’re safe

- Oh thank goodness. He frightened me

- I know. I’m sorry. What does the note say?

Myka flicks her eyes around the room as dots animate in a speech bubble, noting Pete’s new location.

- Under no circumstances may you use the phone nor leave the flat. Wait here for my return. Food is available in the refrigerator

- That sounds like Helena

- Helena? The person those evil men thought I was?

- Yes

- She has lovely penmanship

Myka smiles. Emily's a schoolteacher no matter the circumstances.

- Why am I here?

- It sounds like you’re safe. Do what Helena says

- I don’t understand

- Hang tight. I’ll figure out where you are and meet you. Don’t call or text anyone except me

- Could you bring Dickens?

Myka grimaces; of course, she’d want her cat.

- I’ll see what I can do

- Do you know where he is?

- I’ll look into it

When no new message appears, she slips the phone into her pocket, but it vibrates again.

- I’m scared.

- You’re safe. Please stay put. Do what Helena says

- You’ll take care of me, won’t you?

- I will. Leave a note for Helena. Tell her what we talked about

- Why? Can’t I tell her in person?

- You might be asleep when she gets back

It’s a weak answer, but she hopes it works.

- I am tired

- Everything’s going to be ok. Ok?

- Thank you Agent Bering.

- Call me Myka

- Thank you Myka

Myka chews her lip as she waits for further response, not trusting Emily to be done just yet. It's terrifying to be alone in an unfamiliar place and Emily’s searching for a connection, she gets that. After a few moments of silence, she tucks the phone away and turns her attention back to the search.

—————————

First thing in the B&B, Myka hunts for Claudia and finds her, hunkered down in the living room, in the midst of an all-night movie marathon with Steve. Instead of approaching her, she stands in the doorway, mulling over options, not wanting to raise suspicions, as the Brother Adrian situation has everyone on high alert. But she needs to pull Claudia out of there, pronto, as Helena's situation's only going to get worse—

She startles as a hand touches her shoulder.

“Everything ok?”

“Hey, Leena, hi,” Myka says, spinning around to greet Leena. "Yep. All good."

“Can I get you anything?” Leena's smile dims as she takes in Myka’s aura.

“Thanks, but…I’m, uh, beat. I’m going to turn in." Myka stumbles over her words as her pocket vibrates.

“Let me know if you need anything. Even just to talk.”

“Thanks,” Myka says. She tempers her gait as she walks towards the stairs then rushes up, running head first into Pete at the top.

“Wheres the fire?” Pete says, bending back, waving his hands.

“Shower. Now," Myka replies, pointing to her door.

“Movie time de-nied.”

“I need today to be over. And yesterday. The past few days.”

“But you’re missing out on some sweeeet—"

“Don’t,” Myka snaps, thrusting her hand over Pete's lips, squeezing them shut with her fingers.

Pete peels her hand off his mouth. “You're just sore because I won. I found the funnel.”

“Horn, Pete. For the millionth time, it was a horn.”

“Whatevs. I scored, and you flopped. So there.” He leans forward, hands on hips, and sticks out his tongue.

“A guilt trip’s not going to work."

“Party pooper,” Pete says, index fingers pointed toward Myka, thumbs moving as if shooting a gun. He then jumps down the stairs.

Myka sighs tiredly then enters her room. She closes the door and locks it, then slips Helena’s phone out of her pocket.

- I apologize for that woman earlier

Myka collapses on the bed, relieved it’s Helena and not Emily.

- How long has this been happening?

- Since shortly after I was released. It began as a mere suggestion but lately has taken a turn for the worst

- Can I call you?

- Is the area secure?

- I think so. I’m in my room

- Not there. Outside

- It’s 1AM

- Sneak out

- Everyone's watching movies downstairs

- Have you spoken with Claudia?

- No. We literally just got back

As she waits for a reply, Myka scoots back on the bed. When none comes, she pushes on.

- Where are you?

- Safe. If that woman stays put. She's a menace to society

- She’s scared. She doesn’t know what's going on

- I understand, but she's a security risk

- I'll talk to Claudia as soon as I can. We’ll find the coin and fix this

- Do you know where it is?

- No. Do you?

- I’ve looked, but I’m afraid not

- You said Mrs. F would be angry. Why?

Seconds pass with no reply. That must have flipped the off switch. Is she not answering on purpose? If so, why?

- I don't know a Mrs. F and who's Claudia? Is she the menace to society?

Emily. Myka grits her teeth and closes her eyes, rubbing circles in her temple with her fingers.

- These texts say something’s happening. What's happening? Why am I holding the phone?

Myka hesitates, tumbling through possible explanations.

- And why am I wearing skinny jeans?

Myka smirks at that.

- Helena was just there

- I didn’t see her. Should I look for her outside?

- NO. Stay there

- No need to yell

- Sorry. How are you feeling?

- Blurry

- Eat something. Rest. Helena will be back soon

Myka's stomach twists at the lie, but it came out unthinkingly. Then again Helena will be back, just occupying her body, or rather Helena’s body.

- I’d like to meet her if she’s no longer endangering my life

- She's not

- Will you be coming soon?

Her fingers hover over the keyboard; Helena’s right, she is a security risk, so whatever it takes to keep her there, she’s game.

- I will. Hang tight

- Thank you

- Get some rest

Myka drops the phone onto her pillow and closes her eyes. She needs to talk with Claudia, now, which means movie time is no longer de-nied.

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

Myka showers to keep up appearances, her mind toggling between heated kisses and Helena’s dire situation. As she emerges, she lunges towards her vibrating phone and hits accept as she attempts a one-handed towel wrap.

“Helena?”

“Did I wake you?”

“You said this wasn’t secure."

“I’ll call later if—“

“Don’t hang up.”

Myka’s stomach flutters the line quiets, thrilled to hear Helena’s voice, but fearful of what she might say next.

"I’ve no control over whatever this is.”

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it."

“I’m afraid so."

"I’ll go get Claudia. We have to fix this before…"

The thought withers as neither party jumps complete it.

“Do you remember being Emily?”

“Not a thing. Though she is quite the pain in my arse."

“Why?”

“She acts like a petulant child, notes littered everywhere: why this, why that, ad nauseam. And can you please tell me why she's so offended by my attire?”

Myka snickers. “She likes cardigans. And floral prints. Bright colors. Her tastes are...different from yours.”

Helena doesn’t respond, but her disdain seeps through the line.

“Where are you?”

“A rental.”

“I told Emily I’d meet her.”

“Don't. It’s best you stay away.”

“But—"

"Once this rigamarole is sorted, I’d very much like to see you. But now..."

“I’d like to see you, too,” Myka says, her pulse quickening at the thought. “Try to stay solid and, um…yourself. I’ll be in touch, soon.”

-TBC-

[beanjuice-duh]

Happy for You

a/n: Fuck @exadorlion putting Stone Cold and Moreid together. Warning: Unrequited Love. W/c: ~2.3

“You know statistically most marriages end in divorce.”

“Reid…” Prentiss looked him up and down, shaking her head a bit at him as she crossed the room. Her heels clacking against the newly polished floor of their office, she went to retrieve something from the table as Spencer stood there in the middle of their headquarters, stoic and suffocating in a new suit.

“Its true” he watched her with a coldness as she picked up a white box tied with a white bow. “And the rate of divorce of first marriages tend to fail even more so, subsequently we’re really just expending useless time…” It wasn’t going to last, in lame man’s terms. That was a fact…a truth that Spencer was holding tighter to his mind than any psychosis research or neurobiological thesis he had collected over the years. “Also …in Japanese culture white is the color of mourning for funerals and—“

A hand touched his face gently, he looked up and saw Emily Prentiss’s face. She pursed her lips a little, unsure what to say to him. She patted his cheek a bit and nodded, “it’s a good thing we’re not in Japan, we don’t have time to rewrap.” She placed the gift in his hands and soft softly. “Spence you don’t have to go…”

Reid looked down at the gift. He didn’t have t go. His facts were real, the marriage was going to fall apart in a year, two years max since they had a child on the way. He could skip this unnecessarily stomach churning event but  avoiding this would only raise some questions even his genius didn’t want to touch. “I have to…I’m the best man.”

Cruel was a good word for what was happening right now. Cruel was the only word Spencer could conjure up for how this all felt. The entire time, Hotch and Jack included, flew out to Chicago. They were at some botanical garden in the middle of the city. It was a pretty place. Rossi and Luke were already looking for drinks. Penelope was making sure she was going to have the perfect angle for the vows and the I do’s to come.

The last ones out of the car were Emily and Spencer. They arrived together and before Emily could give him any more encouragement or words of wisdom Emily’s attention was taken by a blonde sporting curls for the first time. “How long did that take.” Emily gently touched one of Jennifer’s curls, producing a soft pinkish glow to her cheeks. That look was enough to keep Emily distracted for ages...

“Longer than it took getting the boys ready and Will dressed.” Jennifer snickered a bit. “I can’t believe this is happening.” She beamed, happiness rolled off her. So much so, Reid shifted uncomfortably.

“I better go …uh find the groom, I guess.” He muttered, his awkwardness was common but it was especially heightened today. Emily chalked it up to the crowd or the fact he had never been a best man before. JJ ate up the reason, but Emily gave Spencer’s retreating figure one single solemn look.

Reid shimmied through a crowd of men, all larger than he was clapping their hands as Morgan emerged from his dressing room in a perfectly fitted tux. Spencer, watched through the filtered view point of broad shifting shoulders and caught a glimpse of that smile, as he did a ceremoniously slow turn. Just as Spencer thought he could stay where he was and remain hidden until it was time, he heard Morgan call out for him.

“Pretty boy!” He laughed, and just like that, the sea of men parted down the middle leading up to Reid. “Here I thought I was gonna have to find another best man, what took you so long.”

The voice in Reid’s throat was stuck, his eyes glazed over Derek’s suit. He looked amazing, of course. But it wasn’t the suit. It was him. The way he held himself, the way he looked, he seemed so alive so awake. There were times Reid saw him this way, this was the first time…

Morgan’s happiness had something to do with someone else. “I-uh…” He looked down and slowly held out the gift to Morgan. “I was telling Emily how white is—“

“color of death in some countries. Yeah I remember that talk.” Derek held the gift in one hand and then looked around. “Thanks man.” He placed a hand on Reid’s shoulder and pulled him close for a hug. He looked around for a moment at his wedding party and then nodded. “I’ll be out soon, mind…giving me and the kid a minute.”

The groups of men slowly dispersed giving Morgan one last round of good lucks, congratz, and see you out there before emptying out of the room.

“Reid…” Morgan stared at him and Spencer thought he was looking right through him. Guilt grappled at his throat then, “…I shouldn’t be this nervous right? Like…this is it…this is my wedding…I’m about to marry her out there. The mother to my baby…” Derek looked as though he was having an out of body experience. He looked above and around Spencer like he wasn’t even there. He was looking at his whole life…up until now and what he imagined after it. Reid was terrified. He was scared Derek liked what he saw.

Reid didn’t have anything to say to Morgan. The silence grew to a point Derek realized there was something up now. He broke his trance and took a step towards Spencer, eyes ready to ask him what was going on in that big brain when the door opened and Morgan’s sister whispered in.

“Its time.”

Reid exhaled, he looked up at Morgan almost sorry he was getting away with this. “Let’s get you married.” He forced a smile and walked out.

Spencer for one of the few times in his life wished he didn’t have photographic memory. He wished he could say he was going to forget this. Forget the music that played as he joined Derek on his side of the aisle. Forget the way Derek softly gasped to himself as his the future Mrs. Morgan strolled down the aisle a few months pregnant. He prayed to whatever deity he didn’t truly believe in that he’d never remember the sound of their vows.

The never-ending joy that ebbed and seeped out of each word. The immense and indescribable happiness that flooded each phrase, down to the softest promise of an eternity. And for the life of him he wished he could forget the kiss, a scene he watched through side eyeing the way Morgan draped over her and held her as lovingly like she was a frail dream barely in his grasp.

Heat began to build in his mind, it hazed most of what happened for the moment. Perhaps a defensive mechanism, a coping method to keep himself together while they were in public. Whatever it was mixed with whatever Rossi was drinking and willing to share while they were seated at their table was working for the doctor. “How are you holding up?” Emily whispered to read, keeping an eye out for any prying ears that might pick up on their conversation. Luckily for them everyone was waiting, eyeing the doors to see Mr. and Mrs. Derek Morgan.

“Fine, why wouldn’t I be?” Reid chuckled a bit, sipping the bourbon again until the heat pushed back the emotions that threatened to preach his professional demeanor. He fixated himself on repeatedly ringing his hands over and over again under the table when he wasn’t drinking. Something Prentiss could see sitting right beside him. He flinched when Emily placed a hand over his and shared a softness, “Emily, I swear I’m fine.” He smiled, of course he was fine. Social functions were never his strong suit. These mundane emotions and yet…

When those doors opened, when the announcer shouted the words, “Mr. and Mrs. Derek Morgan!!” and ushered them into their first dance. Spencer felt his mood dim along with the ceiling lights. He watched as two people, joined by some frivolous need to commit so publically danced. Worse of all he didn’t hate anyone. A part of him relished in Morgan’s smile, his charming, eye wrinkling laughter as he twirled and danced his new wife around.

A part of him  was so happy to see him this happy. It was a happiness that came once and Spencer was at least happy enough to have been there to see it. Even though he had no part in this.

As the danced settled and the people sat to enjoy their meals, the booze swirling around Reid’s gut made his mind’s defenses weaken. He watched with heated annoyance as Derek sat across the way, never looking this way at a table full of his friends. His family, and not once did he try to. He was enveloped in his new life. His whole life that didn’t include them. Worse of all no one seemed to feel this, everyone was happy for him. Everyone so why wasn’t he?

Why did Spencer…hate this? He hated being there, he hated seeing it all and knowing this was going to change everything. This was a deep fissure in the core of all Spencer had grown to love and know… It was all too much that Spencer rose to his feet just as Penelope finished giving Derek and his wife a speech with love and plenty of embarrassing moments of Derek.

“Spence?” Garcia turned holding the mic in her hand. His abrupt jolt to his feet had his table and everyone in the dining hall looking at him. Spencer’s mouth went try as his eyes met Morgan’s who for the first time since saying I do finally looked at him. Morgan’s face got a little more stoic, confused perhaps? Then knowing as if remembering Reid was acting strange only moments before the ceremony began.

“Uh…may I…just…” He pointed to the mic in Penelope’s hand. Emily gave him a wide eye look as he received the mic and held it up to his mouth. “Um…as some of you know …or don’t, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI…I’ve known Morgan…well, since I started and well we’re all here for the same reason. To watch Morgan get married but why?” He asked suddenly the question made Emily’s hair stand on end, what was he doing? Was this some cover up or a genuine speech? She prayed to god he wasn’t going to talk about divorces and the meaning of the color white in front of Morgan’s family and half the bureau.

“I’m not much of an abstract guy. I hold several degrees, PH.Ds and have many interests in sciences and written work, so to me love and all this is just…equated to the amount of dopamine the brain can generate. Love is nothing more than a combination of hormones that could be recreated by also eating chocolate or petting a dog or…falling in love.” He stared at Derek and felt his voice drop a bit, “that was…what I had always believed love was…just a series of abnormal spikes of dopamine going off in the brain…then I met Derek.”

And just like that…he felt his brain explode into a white space where there was no guard or script. There was a wall Reid had always shared with his mind. A wall that kept the important things like research and knowledge apart from his emotions and it wasn’t a wall he made but he was made with. Over the years of being here, with these people he loved so dearly that wall had developed a small window. One of which he was falling out of and heading right into a part of him that he rarely exposed.

“Derek is the kind of guy do first think later…Whenever the team needed someone of action or a people’s man…Derek was that guy. There are not many people who can stand me…apart from my mother …and the team. There are even fewer who can manage to teach someone like me something …Derek taught me plenty. Of all the things Derek taught me he taught me how…we can put definitions to things. Research and reasoning to anything but that doesn’t make it less real. So…in a way Derek taught me love, in the sense that…Love maybe defined in science as just a few imbalances making you feel something…but that doesn’t take away how much love can really effect someone. Derek Morgan has more love and dopamine than any substance on Earth. So much so…there is no science behind it.” Reid rose his glass up as Morgan’s serious face turned into a softened smile, one that brought a hot fluid to the corner of Spencer’s eyes as he ended with.

“May you always be filled with dopamine…”

A few laughs broke out, even more warmed smiles as the quirky best man managed to steal the spotlight. Reid handed off the mic to anyone willing to take it then softly excused himself away from the dining area.

With each step he felt his mind pull a memory back from the vault of his mind. Moments that were irreplaceable and now were never to be remade, the moments Morgan smiled at him, held him, touched him. Times were the kid Doctor was just Spencer and agent Morgan was just Derek. He made it out of the venue all together and started waving down valet for his SUV.

“Kid…hey Kid!” a hand came down hard on his shoulder and whipped Spencer around. Rossi took one look at Reid, his eyes red and the tears pouring from his face like a broken water pipe main. “…shit…kid…” He pulled him into a hug. Reid crumpled into him, his face burned into his cigar scented suit shoulder and hands desperately clutching to his back to keep him up.

“I-I don’t understand…I’m happy for him I swear I just…” Reid tried to speak but the sobs broken any explanation other than the searing hole that ripped through his mind down his chest.

Rossi rubbed soft circles into Reid’s back as the car pulled up. “I know…I know…”

[vicioushyperbolizer]

More Ace Dex

Ace Dex combating the casual aphobia that we all deal with at some point.  

“Dude, you’ve never done the nasty?”

Dex rolled his eyes, hard. Whiskey’s tone was just this side of shocked, and it made Dex was to take back the fact that he had said anything at all. It wasn’t exactly that he expected the team to be more understanding than other people, but he hoped that was the case, anyway.

On top of that, Whiskey managed to catch the attention of Ransom and Holster, who were walking past, heads close together.

“Wait, what’s this about someone never smuggling the ol’ bone?”

Ransom gave Holster a critical look, then grinned in that way that only someone on the wrong side of tipsy can. “Playing hide the sausage.”

Holster countered quickly with, “Making the beast with two backs.”

“Assault with a friendly weapon.”

“Entangling the lower beards.”

“Joint sessions of Congress.”

Holster held out a fist. “Bro, pound it out for that one.”

With a solemn nod, Ransom offered tapped his fist to Holster’s. Dex hoped that their (truly awful) back and forth would distract them from what was going on, but instead they plopped onto the couch to join in the conversation. Well, they pushed their way onto the couch, which was already too full, Ransom on one end and Holster in the middle of Nursey and Dex.

Whiskey pointed in Dex’s general direction, and told the captains, “Apparently, Dex has never had sex.”

Holster threw a big arm around Dex’s shoulder and turned toward him. Dex could smell tub juice wafting off of him. “Dex! My dude. My man. Bro. We gotta resolve this.”

“It’s not a problem. There’s nothing to resolve.”

On the other side of Holster, Dex could see his boyfriend’s concerned face. Nursey knew that Dex’s sexuality (well, his asexuality) was still a touchy subject. On the best of days, it was hard for him to have a conversation about. On the days after a game loss and with a group of drunken and less than subtle frat boys, well…. Chances were that it wasn’t going to go well.

“No, but Dex. Dexy. Dex. Sex is so good. Tell ‘im, Rans, tell him about… Shit, what’s a good one for Dex? Crab fishing in the dead sea.”

Dex scrunched up his face. “Dude, that’s fucking gross. And no, whatever fucking euphemism you use, the answer is no.”

On the other side of Holster, Nursey stood up and held a hand out to Dex, and yeah, that sounded like a better idea than having a discussion about life choices with a very drunk Holster. Dex pushed off the couch with a solid fist to Holster’s thigh, maybe a little harder than strictly necessary. He followed Nursey under the caution tape and up the stairs to Chowder’s room.

They spent the rest of the not-kegster (because apparently it could only be a kegster if they won the game) hiding out, watching Brooklyn-99. Dex could feel Nursey sending him concerned looks, but he ignored them. They fell asleep together, cuddling on the thin mattress.

When Dex woke up, he felt like he was roasting. Sometime during the night, Cate and Chowder had climbed into bed with them. Somehow, Cait ended up cuddling close to Nursey, while Chowder was curled up at their feet (probably because it was the closest to the bathroom door… he was a bit of a messy drunk).

Dex stripped off his hoodie and headed downstairs, where he could already hear the sounds of Bitty’s hangover breakfast being cooked. Bitty was in front of the stove wearing an oversized pair of sunglasses, listlessly tending to a pan. Ransom was sitting at the table, head in his hands; his shirt was on backwards. Holster, who had by far been the drunkest of the night, looked the most aware, running a big hand over Ransom’s back.

Dex really hoped that the conversation from last night had been forgotten in a daze of alcohol. He managed to get as far as pouring milk into his coffee when that hope was shattered

“Dex, we have a score to settle, my dude.”

“The fuck we do.” Dex slammed the fridge a little too hard, making Ransom hiss and Bitty flinch at the loud noise of rattling bottles inside.

Bitty waved his wooden spoon, pointing at Holster and Dex in turn. “If y’all are gonna be fightin’, you’d best get your butts out of my kitchen. It is too early and I am too hungover.”

Holster held up his hands in surrender. “Not fighting, just discussing. Important things. Very important discussions.”

The rest of the team chose that moment to walk down the stairs. Cait had pulled on Dex’s sweater, which fell well below the shorts she had been wearing to sleep. Chowder was following behind her, eyes closed, holding onto the hood of her borrowed sweatshirt so that he wouldn’t fall over. Nursey brought up the tail, shirtless and rubbing a hand over his stomach blearily.

He headed over to Dex and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Cait settled her boyfriend in an empty chair before heading to the coffee maker and making a mug that Dex knew was for Chowder, since she didn’t drink caffeine. She bumped Dex’s shoulder and gave him a small smile.

“What is a very important topic?”

Holster jumped at the opportunity. “Dex has never had sex.”

At the stove, Bitty shook his head and muttered, “Lord give me strength.”

From where he was huddled, Chowder muttered something that sounded like, “a deck has an ace.” The only one who seemed to understand him was Cait, who looked between her boyfriend, Dex, and Holster with a surprised look on her face.

“Oh. Well, okay then. That makes sense.” She handed the mug to Chowder and perched on his knee.

Holster opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything, Bitty dropped a plate piled high with his special hangover eggs in the center of the table. Ransom and Chowder both groaned at the noise.

Trying to head off any more discussion before it began, Dex told Holster, “Look, I’m asexual. I don’t feel sexual attraction, so I don’t want to have sex.”

“But, like, how do you know that if you’ve never had sex?” Dex could tell that Holster had good intentions, or at least not bad ones; he just didn’t know any better. Hell, he wasn’t even focused on Dex. Instead, he had an arm slung around Ransom’s shoulders, trying to push a spoonful of eggs at his boyfriend.

Nursey broke into the conversation. His tone sounded casual, bored even, but Dex knew differently; that was how Nursey sounded when he was pissed off. “Yo, Bitty. Have you ever had sex with a woman?”

Bitty didn’t bother answer, just gave Nursey a look over the top of his sunglasses that said it all. Nursey turned his attention forward. “C, you ever fool around with a dude?”

“Nope.” Chowder didn’t bother to look up from his coffee.

“Cool, cool. Holster, have you ever let Ransom sleep with anyone else while you’ve been together?”

Dex could see Holster’s arm tighten slightly around Ransom’s shoulders. “What’s your point, Nurse?”

“I just find it funny,  is all. You never questioned Bitty being gay, or Chowder being straight, or whether or not you’re actually polyamorous. You never tried to force anyone else into bed when they clearly don’t want to go. But Dex is somehow different, I guess. Weird.”

Without waiting for a response, Nursey stomped off. Dex followed after him. He heard the creak of the stairs, but when he got to Chowder’s room, he found it empty. It was a few seconds before he realized the window was cracked.

Dex absolutely hated the Reading Room, but he knew Nursey found it relaxing when he was in a particularly bad mood. He could make an exception for his upset boyfriend, so he climbed out, careful not to look down.

Nursey was sitting on the folding chair that had seen better days, rolling a cigarette between his hands. There was a tension in his shoulders that Dex hated to see. He sat down next to the chair, bracing himself on the roof with one hand and holding the other one out.

It was a long minute before Nursey sighed and handed Dex the cigarette. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“What for? You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Dex wanted to march right back downstairs and punch Holster. He could say whatever he wanted about Dex, but upsetting Nursey was a step too far. Stress smoking was one thing. It didn’t take a lot to drive Nursey to pull out his emergency pack. But Dex had worked long and hard with Nursey about feeling guilty about things he had no control over. Nursey only did that when he was well and truly upset. Fucking Holster.

“I’m sorry that I spoke for you. And that you even had to deal with any of that shit to begin with The Haus should be a safe space for you,not a place where you have to explain yourself over your sexuality. It’s just bullshit, Dex.”

When they started dating, Dex and Nursey only had a short conversation about Dex’s sexuality. Well, it wasn’t a conversation so much as Dex told Nursey that he was ace, that they wouldn’t have sex, ever, and if that was a problem, they should stop before it even started. Dex was realizing that he owed Nursey the full conversation.

“Have I ever told you about Emily? Or Jake, or Tyson?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Dex flicked the unlit cigarette over the edge of the roof and turned his attention fully to his boyfriend. “Emily was my first girlfriend. She was my first crush, and my first kiss, and she wanted to be my first time. But I didn’t want to have sex. She… well, she didn’t take that well and among other things, she called me a fag. That got me thinking, maybe I was gay.

“So, Jake was my first boyfriend. Except, in the end, I didn’t want to have sex with him either. He knew I was asexual before I did. He was supportive and I just… I fucking loved him, Nursey, I swear. He went off to Stanford, but told me that Samwell was more accepting, and that I could find someone for me.

He cleared his throat. “Tyson was in my kinesiology class the first semester of freshman year. We flirted and went on dates, but I made the decision not to tell him about being ace. When it did finally come up, it was like a repeat of Emily all over again.

“I thought that Emily’s reaction was because we were from a small town, or because she was straight, or that she was the outlier. Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that the shit Holster’s pulling? That’s the norm, and I’ve accepted it. He’s not trying to be malicious, he just doesn’t get it. Yeah, it pisses me off that he’s being ignorant, but at the end of the day, people who are supportive, like Jake, are who matter. You’re the only one who matters, Nursey.

Nursey finally looked at Dex. He didn’t say anything about Nursey’s misty eyes, just tilted his head up for a soft kiss.

Nursey clambered out of the folding chair so that he could cuddle closer to Dex. Head titled to sit on Dex’s shoulder, he asked, “So tell me about this first love… Jack? Jace? What was his name again?”

“Fucking jerk.” Dex couldn’t help but smile. “You would love him, too. He’s-”

[hollywoodx4]

Sticking with the Schuylers (43)

Hi to all of the new readers who’ve just caught up...I don’t know where you’ve all come from but thank you so much for taking that time (all that time omg) to read this series. :) And as always for your lovely comments because they make me so happy I can’t even believe it.

 1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   1112   I  13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18CI  19   20   21   22   23   24   25  26   27  28   29   I  30  31  32 33 34 3536  37  38  39 40  41  42  I  

Tagging: @linsnavi  @butlinislin @adothoe

Warnings: This story is pretty heavy on mentions of both physical and emotional abuse.

The yellow wallpaper had always been a bit much in this room; once spacious for an apartment, the girls’ back bedroom was closed off by bunk beds and clothes that littered the floor. The sunny yellow had been a forced compromise between soft pink, radiant purple, and electric orange in a conflict that just could not be solved. Shoving three girls into one room was far harder than the three boys across the hall. The Laurens boys had agreed on nearly everything when they were younger, from paint color to room arrangement to what time the lights would go off at night. Whether or not the male agreement had come from Luis’s forceful older brother style only the boys knew.

With Valeria’s girls, nearly everything had been an argument. Amaia, as the oldest, felt as if her vote in these matters counted more. She was always busy with her studies and her older friends, so much so that she'd often kick her two younger sisters out of the room to have ‘well-deserved privacy.’ Mari had just wanted to please everybody, as long as their opinion would include her small unicorn nightlight by the doorway. She could not sleep without it, and as much as the glow annoyed the older girls there was no sense in arguing with fear.

Emily had always been the headstrong one; she had no time for the arguments of others. If something annoyed her, she would be the first to let her sisters know. When it came time for a remodel of the bedroom they were severely outgrowing she'd made a compelling argument in favor of the orange paint she so loved, one which went in one of her mother’s ears and out the other. She had been listening to the fighting all day; they’d translated it to their play with their dolls and spat crumbs of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at each other. If the sisters couldn't agree, then Valeria would choose.

Tweety Bird yellow was the first sign of failure seven year old Emily had faced. She helped to paint with a scowl on her face which only grew in its stormy size when Amaia admitted how much she ended up admiring the color, and when Mari dutifully placed her unicorn nightlight back in its place. She still hated the color, even after Valeria let her choose orange sheets, or Mari gave her the bottom bunk so that she could build herself a little alcove. The walls were still glaringly, stupidly yellow, and nothing she said could change that fact.

She still hates the color of the room.

Emily no longer loves electric orange, at least not as much as she had as a child-definitely not so much as to paint a wall with the color. The walls in her own apartment are a standard white, a few smatterings of brick exposed here and there. The plainness of it all is a clear juxtaposition to the sea green sofa and red armchair and eclectic side-of-the-road furniture that make the living room pop with screams of mismatched color. It is still better than canary yellow, soft and unapologetic. Her slightly broken bedside lamp is far superior to Mari’s unicorn nightlight (which is still plugged in to the girls’ room at the Laurens’s, much to Emily’s chagrin). And all of it; her currently obnoxious roommates, the lack of privacy, the aggravating commute to the NYU campus…everything is better in comparison to putrid yellow.

Although this night, this back-and-forth with John, comes close to winning that space of annoyance.

Her brother is honest. From the moment she’d been able to walk, Emily had known that fact. Back then, when she was a follower to his sandbox adventures, he’d often wave her away with a roll of his eyes. She was too much for him; too clingy and too little and comparatively a lot to handle. She likes to think back on these moments, to remind him of those days as if they are completely over. That pull toward her Irish twin brother is not that intense anymore. She’d far outgrown her puppy-dog ways and hair in pigtails and bows. What she hasn’t outgrown, however, is her need for his guidance-whether she’d like to admit it or not.

               John puts around the apartment, shuffling in front of the couch with a spring in his step. The freckles that dot his cheeks lift and pull along with them, in a dance that taunts her with its unrelenting optimism. Emily’s posture slouches on the couch, so much so that her head is now resting on the cushion. Her feet, adorned in mismatched black and white socks, are propped on the coffee table so that the space between her hips and her toes is suspended in the air. She crosses her arms over her chest, drawing out a long and heavy sigh as he crosses her path once more.

               “You’re going to run out of oxygen with all of that sighing, you know.”

               “Shut up, John.” There’s a change in his eyes, one that is immediately noticeable although Emily can only see the corners of his eyes. It’s a filament flash, flickering in a burst only long enough to bring attention to itself. And then it dies, dissipates slowly although its bright and teasing warmth remains a stain on her vision as he wheels around to look at her.

               “I mean it, this is serious stuff-you might want to lose that attitude before all of this drama kills you.”

               “Okay, mom.”

               “Emmy,”

               “-Could you just shut the hell up and clean your apartment, please? Let me enjoy this peace before the ‘Little Women’ get here.” Her eyes are dark and laden with an unrelenting sarcasm that comes through the way they roll in her head; from the way that cynicism seeps through the alto tone of her voice as she attempts to win the argument. If she hadn’t been dragged here under the false pretense of just getting drunk with John and Alex, there would be nothing she’d have to win. After being lied to so outright, however, there is so much to make up for.

               Emily Laurens cannot see past the lie; there were seemingly no intentions in John’s mind other than attempting to fool her into thinking this night would be an easy, fun little getaway from the chaos her life had currently driven her into. That had been fine. She’d been excited for that. This next layer adds in an entirely new level of annoyance she hadn’t been expecting. Sitting on the couch waiting for an unsolicited night of socialization makes her blood boil and her body ache with anxious tension. She had never been one for surprises, or even socialization for that matter. John is well aware of the fact. He’s known his sister’s aversion to new situations for her entire life. This doesn’t seem to matter now, while he sends her optimistic grins every so often as they wait for their guests to arrive.

               The sisters are first, much to Emily’s dismay. They file into the room in a poetic synchronization that is almost sickening for her to witness. Angelica leads them, making their entrance by holding the door for her sisters and sending a loud greeting through the room. Eliza is next, holding a platter with some form of pastry that she brings straight to the kitchen. Then she’s saying hello to everyone individually. Her pause is brief with Lafayette, who nods before turning away from her completely. With John she stays much longer, spending a deal of time whispering in his ear. Emily crosses the apartment to greet her, shaking her hand with a bright smile and a warmth that sends John back a few steps. It is a bit taxing, the show she is putting on, but the way she makes herself radiate positivity is not hard when she feels it coming from every portion of Eliza’s being. Whether that positivity is as genuine as the public makes it out to be is an entirely different analytical nightmare-one she’d rather discuss with Alex than his ‘work the room’ girlfriend.

               The last through the door is Peggy-Emily can just barely make out her head of springy coils as she bounds through the door behind her sisters, her voice loud and raucous and immediately calling for Hercules. She makes herself comfortable almost as easily as Eliza had, kicking her feet up on the ottoman, her frame dwarfed as she curls herself into Herc’s side to show him something on her phone.

               There isn’t a word to describe the sensation that wraps itself around Emily’s body, coiling and twisting and fighting herself in such a raucous way that she pauses mid-conversation with John in an attempt to gather her thoughts. He calls her name, a quiet echo that doesn’t quite reach her well enough to resonate, or pull her from her state of shock. A soft canary yellow-failure-adorns Peggy’s waffle-knit sweater, which is far oversized with the way it dips down just above her knees. She tucks her legs under one another, taking a sip from Lafayette’s cup as her voice bounces off of the walls with a jovial sort of freedom. Emily scoffs, turning to her brother as her own hair flips over her shoulder in soft waves, an accidental embodiment of her own annoyance.

               “Can I just go? I mean you guys are pretty evenly matched now, I’d say. Why make the numbers uneven?”

               “Alex is still coming.” His voice is low, and although he completely ignores her requests she knows what his answer will be. It isn’t as if he would hold her hostage here in this tiny apartment, or force her to do anything at all. The door is only a few footsteps away, and with a good enough excuse she wouldn’t make a complete ass of herself if she just slipped away before the party even started. But then there is John…her brother, her closest friend. He pats her shoulder and nods, as if he knows the thoughts that are running through her mind at that very moment. His own collected energy moves through her in waves that keep her grounded to the floor. And then he knows, he’s aware of the fact that while she may not want to stay, she certainly doesn’t want to go back to her apartment right now. This is what he uses to tether her here. Her brother is too smart for her sanity.

               He pours her the drink of the night, concocted by Hercules after a binge of Food Network shows that had, by some magnificent stretch of fate, drastically improved his skills in the kitchen. This drink he totes proudly along, standing by the kitchen urging the newcomers to fill their glasses from the slow cooker. None of the roommates are sure where the device had come from, but Herc had pulled it out and dusted it off early this morning. It filled the room with the aromatic scent of apples and citrus and cinnamon, one that filled mugs and kept their company warm with its temperature (and the salted caramel vodka).

               “This is what you’ve been raving to me about all these years?” Emily smirks as she remembers the calls. Even from the first year of college, back when he’d lived in his crappy shared jail cell of a dorm with Alex and a communal bathroom, game night is something he’d talked very highly about. She’d never come before-back then, it had been strictly a guy’s night. She’d always wondered what the hype had been about. Now, she is able to witness it. John is a lax, leaned back presence within it all, sipping on his drink and letting the warmth of the room wash over him.

               “Yes.”

“So…you sit and get drunk and play video games?”

               “Basically.”

               “Well, now I can say I’ve seen it all. Nerd.” It’s a warm word, spoken with the affection shown through a roll of her eyes and a brush of her knuckles on his hair, ruffling loose tendrils away from its ponytail. He shoves her toward the couches then, plopping her down in an empty spot before sitting on the arm next to her.

               “Go. Socialize. Forget about her. Have fun.” Emily turns to see her forced company, expression flat and unchanging as she’s met once again with bouncing curls and the color of that painful bedroom wall.

               The door opens again half an hour later, a voice loud and resounding off the walls breaking the streak of billowing laughter coming from the living area as Angelica drives her little kart backward down the Mario racetrack. The tone of argument is sharp and cutting, lawyerly jargon spilled between tight lips and angered tones. His shoes are kicked off at the door and the chill of the outside air comes along with them. The game is paused as the conversation ends, with a huff and the plunk of a cellphone down on the kitchen counter.

               “Oh…hi, everyone.” Alexander stands still, his face reddened by embarrassment and a hint of anger left over with the conversation he had been having on the phone. His eyes are widened with the sting of surprise upon seeing the apartment filled with people.

               “You made it!” John is the first to greet him, shaking his head with a chiding smile. From the slight gape of Alex’s mouth he is sure that his friend had once again forgotten what day it is, maybe even where he lives. Alex shakes his head and pulls his jacket off, hanging it on a hook by the door before slipping next to Eliza on the loveseat. He takes a sip from the cup she has in her hand, kissing her forehead affectionately. Emily sits up in her chair as she watches the interaction. From her place on the couch she can see the slight tightening of the sister’s muscles, the way she crosses one leg over the other and keeps her eyes trained on the game.

               “We were wondering if you were going to show up.” Emily isn’t sure if the others in the room have caught it, the snag in Eliza’s tone as her fingers find the hem of Alex’s sweatshirt. The timbre of her voice raises on the last word, not in question but silent speculation. It’s enough to make Emily lean back on the couch, biting her lip with widened eyes as she whispers a curse under her breath.

               “You saw that too?” Peggy’s shaking her head, her voice just as low as their eyes remain trained on Alex and Eliza in curiosity. He leans over to whisper something in her ear and she pulls away, shrugging and keeping her attention away from him. Alex’s posture shifts-realigns itself so that he is able to wrap a hand around her waist. His head tilts but his voice remains too soft to be heard from their side of the room.

               “What’s he saying?” Peggy leans herself closer to Emily, shoulders brushing as she begins her own side-conversation with John’s sister. Emily seems to be just as invested in this as she is, eyes trained on the couple in sideshow speculation that none of the other company pays any mind to. The only break in contact is when Peggy is passed a controller, urged to beat Hercules as reigning champion. She steers wildly between watching her sister and the screen, Emily whispering updates consisting of broken-up information ceased from bad lip reading and assumption.

               “I don’t know what’s happening but now he’s getting up to get a drink. Man, your sister looks pissed. I didn’t know she had that kind of look in her.”

               “Oh, great. Are her arms crossed?”

               “No, she’s kind of...hold on, just look.” She puts a hand over Peggy’s, just long enough for her to spare a glance Eliza’s way. She groans under her breath, speaking through half-closed lips in an attempt to keep their conversation private.

               “That’s not good. She’s never testy like this. And that little leg kick she has going on? Nervous habit. It used to drive me crazy when we were younger.”

               “What did my brother do now, do you think?”

               “Who, me?” Emily ducks as the weight of John’s hand pats her head repeatedly, leaning into her and smothering her in a hug. “Look at you, making friends. Are you having fun yet, Emmy?”

               “Please leave me alone and move over before I punch you, Johnny.”

               Eliza lets out a slight laugh at the interaction on the other side of the room, where John and Emily have begun to wrestle each other with strength meant to embarrass rather than hurt. The room is filled with a sense of peace-of a calm she hadn’t felt in days. It does not wash over her in the way she had thought. It does not move into her body. The serenity travels around her in bursts of wind that come with Herc’s laughter, or Angelica’s celebration of another drunken victory. She can practically see it, the way its warm hues of color swirl around her. They never quite reach her, rather sway and ebb around an invisible shield constructed without her knowledge. She reaches out, attempts conversation that seems near impossible to continue. When Alexander gets back she grows silent again, trading her attempts at normalcy to let her head rest back against his chest.

               He can feel the hesitation in her movement. It’s minute, barely any different from her usual self. But he’s known her so long, and loved her so fiercely, that these details scream out at him in an immediate alarm. Her shift in position is only disguised by a yawn; where she’d usually curl herself into him or splay her legs across his lap, she keeps herself in line with the television and the games at hand. When his hands move to the waves that fall over her shoulders she is still. Where there would once be a kiss or a whispering of words laced in her dulcet tones there is merely a smile which barely reaches her cheeks. Alexander is left with one hand feeling stupid, coiling her silken strands of dark honey around fingers itching to wrap themselves around her. He sips from his drink instead, letting the boiling cider course a path down his throat. The burn does not shock him as he’d hoped. This is not a dream.

               He clears his throat, then, although the drink has not offended his palate. In an attempt to decipher what is going on he leans down to whisper the question into Eliza’s ear. He is met with an immediate chill as he pulls away from him, shaking her head.

               “Not here,” she says. Between the lines of her words her voice wavers, and it is only when her eyes finally meet his that he can see that she’s cried today-not so recent to allow puffiness or moisture within them. At the corners of her eyes there is a slight redness, where she must have been rubbing away the emotions he hadn’t been there to help her with. He wonders how many times this has happened since he’s moved, but the thought tugs too harshly at his heart. He doesn’t want to know.

               “Do you want to come over after or are you busy?” He nods, a response to the first question he can only make with movement. She does not return the warmth to his chest, then, as he expects. Alexander watches as Eliza rises from their recliner and grins at his sister, squeezing herself on the floor in front of her and Peggy.

               “Trouble in paradise?” Alexander jumps as the thickness of a familiar French accent sounds in his ear. Lafayette’s voice is a trumpet; although quiet in volume it rings with brassy tones that do not play gently with his ears. They reach a level he’d define as crass, if he’d be daring enough to utter the words. Instead he tightens the corners of his mouth, lowering his eyes at his roommate.

               “Fuck off, Laff.” Although Alex’s voice is terse and condescending his friend does not get the hint. He props himself up daintily on the arm of the recliner, leaning with one arm stretched along the back to keep himself up. From this vantage point he is able to look down on Alex; to see the path of his eyes cross the room to Eliza. It is almost hopeless, the way his once independent and reckless friend has transformed into a mess from just one turn of his girlfriend’s nose. This is the farthest Lafayette has seen him stray from himself; where a tomcat once sat is now a tiny, mewling kitten just waiting to be told what to do next.

               “Fine, I’m backing off. Just don’t waste your life on this one, okay? I’ve lived it.”

               Alex’s knuckles tighten around the nearest stitch of fabric he can find, gathering the cushion of the couch in his hands and squeezing as he lets out a breath of annoyance. The back of his head pinches where his hairline ends and his neck begins, and he counts in slow numbers with the silent movement of his lips. There are thousands of responses coursing through his mind, curses and filth and shouting that would get him into more trouble than it is worth. The only words he can manage are incoherent, mumbled and condensed versions of the image of a tirade just the skipping of a breath away.

               Lafayette doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the night.

               He does speak to everybody else, save Eliza. He rolls over her in conversation, passing through any form of contact even after she wins the tournament against him. She does not seem to be bothered, or even take notice of it. Eliza is passive; she floats through the haze of the party with only small additions to conversation, keeping her spot on the floor and stopping Hercules after he attempts to refill her drink for the third time. She builds a calm façade, one which is executed with flying colors through most of their friends.

               When the night is over she is the last of the guests to leave. Her sisters trail in front of her, laughing and hollering through the bitter night air in a tipsy sort of haze. Emily walks with them, teetering on sneakers not quite meant for the moisture of fresh, powdery snow. She takes Eliza’s place in the cab, squeezing between Angelica and Peggy with the first genuine smile seen from her all night. Her heart warms at the sight, and she waves the car off as Alex steps off the curb to hail their own.

               It is quiet; the air is thin and her breathing comes in a sporadic rhythm she is unable to control. While his hand hesitates to hold hers, moving on and off of his own lap, she glues her eyes to the window before accepting it. There is something foreign, a comfort that reaches her heart with simultaneous unease. She allows her mind to drift outside of the window, to a time much different than the rolling of tires against dark asphalt and the hum of classic rock coming through the radio. She remains in this place as she leads him up the stairs, through the door that had once been theirs. His askew letter A still accompanies the tightly curled E on its surface, and it sends Alexander some semblance of peace.

               The peace is disrupted by a broken sort of familiarity when Eliza opens the door. Their home-her home-seems barren although it has been decorated by a keen eye and her mother’s guidance. Alexander takes his shoes off at the door, propping them on the drying mat as he watches her mill about the room. Her nerves have manifested into tiny habits at this point; the straightening of cushions, a pull at her hair, until he can’t take it anymore.

               “Please just tell me what’s wrong.” His voice breaks a silence that had been coated in an eerie sort of vibe, one he hadn’t realized until his tenor cut through it, awkward and inquiring. Eliza sighs, nodding. She pauses in her wandering to fall back onto the coffee table, a foot clad in a long wool sock tapping the hardwood floor.

“I just….I think I’m just adjusting to this whole living apart thing, but I haven’t seen you in a while, and,”

“I miss you too, I miss this,”

“-You never showed up on Wednesday.”  Her interruption is so sudden, its pace so quick, that he has to stand still and let it run over in his mind before he can process it. His eyebrows quirk, just for a moment, before his jaw drops. “I called you, but you never picked up. I feel like texting would’ve been useless since you haven’t been lately, and then I called John and he said you were at the library.”

He had been. Wednesday was a more bustling day, from work to class and back again. But Wednesday had always been their day. They’d catch up on their shows, order takeout…no matter what happened during the week, he could always count on Wednesdays. And she could always count on him.

               Shit.

               He had left work and gone straight to the library, fragments of his current case study swirling in his mind just waiting to be deciphered. He hadn’t meant to stay long, only an hour or so. But suddenly the lights brightened, and his vision grew hazy. Suddenly he was the only occupant of the gigantic room, the minute sound of his breathing the only trace of life within it. He hadn’t even known what day it was then, hadn’t connected the dots from the similarity in his schedule to he and Eliza’s night. He’d forgotten. The realization hits him with an immediate apology, one that comes tumbling from lips that ache to brush against hers, to make her disappointment disappear.

               “I just wish…we haven’t talked all week. I know you’re busy, and I know how your schedule gets, but I just missed you. You weren’t calling me back, and then you didn’t come on Wednesday, and,”

               “I am so sorry. You don’t deserve that, Eliza, I swear. I never want you to feel like you don’t mean everything to me, or that I don’t care about you or I’ve forgotten you. It’s just been crazy lately and that’s no excuse, there’s no reason I shouldn’t have been there Wednesday night. I could never say sorry enough.”

               His eyes are wide and apologetic, with the depth she had gotten lost in just four months before knocking her off of her feet again. Her hand meets his shoulder, trailing down his arm in comfort and attempting to get his rampant rant of words to stop. Alexander nods at her silent concession, slow and meticulous as his anxiety yields to the calm of her touch. It’s uncertain, the way his heartbeat returns to the typical racing the lift of her cheeks brings him. It doesn’t seem fair. But she’s there, her fingers brushing the back of his hand, and he’s forgiven.

               “Well we have tonight, right? You can stay, we can pretend this whole moving out thing never happened…” She bites down on her lower lip then, looking up at him through eyes slightly widened by suggestion. He is sold; saying no to her had never been much of an option. Even if he had wanted to, by some stretch of an imaginary world, she always managed to draw him in. He wraps his arms around her waist, the taste of apple cider made sweeter by her lips as she hums in response to his touch.

               They have tonight; he lets himself fall to the couch, Eliza toppling over him, as his promise is painted in breathless words against her neck. There is simplicity in his presence, a fill in the hole she had created with necessity in place of her own desires. With Alexander there, his body pressed against hers and his love demonstrated so clearly, she is at peace.