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anika-ann · 2 years

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Love on the Brain - part 6.1

Ch6: Floriography (1/2)

Type: MCU x Criminal Minds crossover series

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 5000

Summary: After the long night, you come back to the case with fresh eyes… and a new piece of evidence. You wished more evidence was good news. It’s not.

Series masterlist

Warnings: series includes criminal behaviour such as stalking or kidnapping; graphic violence, gun violence; (mentions of) death; allusions to dub-con; possible PTSD and flashbacks; sexual innuendos and foul language. Loads of fluff and teasing. I’m covering my bases here to make sure - probably sounds worse than it is. If you’re interested in specific warnings for individual chapters, let me know.

A/N: divider by @firefly-graphics; I didn’t want to split this one, but it was getting really really long and no one wants like a 11k chapter. Enjoy 🥰

"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever." — Alfred Tennyson

When you slipped out of Steve’s room, you were met with the smug face of Natasha, the bodyguard ready to walk Steve to the conference room; she assessed your appearance with a smirk on her face, but at least she didn’t dare to say a word beside a good morning.

You questioned whether it was a good one. You strode to your own room to take the world’s quickest shower, jeans and the A.I. t-shirt and hoodie on in a record time, bursting into the room not later than seven minutes after Jarvis alerted you.

Everyone was already in there indeed and they all snapped their gaze to you as you took long quick steps, examining the tables and the white board for new notes. There weren’t many.

“Morning,” you greeted them swiftly, noting that some of them were nursing a small breakfast consisting of fruit, yogurt or granola and fresh juice or a cup of the black coffee, the half-empty pot sitting in the middle of the central table. “What’s the word?”

“Good morning to you too. The word is eat at least a granola bar or a piece of fruit before you ask about work,” Emily hummed good-naturedly, earning an unimpressed look.

Who thought about food when there was clearly some news even if you hadn’t seen any traces of it? They all knew what it was already, you could tell.

But instead of sharing, Emily told to eat.

That could only mean it was not good news, you realized; and you’d be terrified of what it was, but Steve was here, so whatever happened couldn’t be worse than your worst fears.

“She’s right. Sit down and eat something. Drink, Bean,” Spencer supported her, a brief tense smile on his lips.

Grunting, you obeyed, blindly reaching into the bowl of snacks and grabbing a small bottle of water. You took a seat between Steve and Spencer, closer to the latter. Even with the hum of a case in progress, you could sense awkwardness in the air, the unfortunate but expected outcome of the stupid maybe you had told Steve.

Because that was just what you needed now, on top of everything.

Once seated, you moved onto staring Spence down, hoping at least he might spill the beans; the idea that anyone else would was frankly laughable. Natasha wouldn’t budge, neither would Hotch, Tony probably got off of knowing something you didn’t and Emily apparently wouldn’t say a word until you finished chewing.

To his credit, Reid drummed his fingers against his chin, eyeing the board to avoid your gaze. Traitor.

“You didn’t miss anything. As of now, the security team of the Tower is on the highest alert, because of a delivery. We just found out and Tony was about to call Mr. Hogan to give us more information once you’d arrive,” Hotch explained as you took two quick bites and chunked half a small bottle of water.

You nearly choked on it, eyes widening in shock.

Now the semi-ominous faces they all had when you arrived made perfect sense.

This was not good. That meant the unsub was escalating, making contact for the second time in two days and you had a feeling that this time, she wasn’t sending photos.

This was so so not good. It had to have something do with the women in the pictures. God, if it was a body part-

“What kind of a delivery-“

“We don’t know,” Natasha said, not even letting Steve finish the question you would have asked hadn’t you been trying to clear your airways. “Tony?”

“Jarvis, put me through to Happy,” Tony hummed, not even bothering to look up, knowing the artificial intelligence would catch it. “Put it on speaker.”

“Yes, boss.”

You and Reid laid your elbows on the table, leaning forward; he nudged you lightly to finish your excuse of a meal, making you roll your eyes.

You weren’t about to chew when you needed to hear the slightly goofy but most loyal head of the Tower security, one Happy Hogan.

“Hey Tony.”

“And company. Hey,” Tony greeted the voice, the rest of the team following his example. “Talk to us, Happy. What’s up?”

“8 o’clock sharp, there was a flower delivery at the reception desk,” Happy announced matter-of-factly, having you glance at your phone – it was 8:08. This really was relatively fresh news.

Flowers though?

That could mean a myriad of things; and it depended on many factors, starting from the number of flowers, the kind, the price, the type of shop chosen and the area it was stationed at… and most of all, the note if there was one to begin with.

“Okay…? It’s for Steve, I assume?”

“Yeah, unfortunately, that’s all we can do right now. Assume,” Happy replied with a sigh. “There’s no name – no addressee, no signature besides ‘Yours truly’.”

Your eyebrows shot up, heart skipping a beat. It was natural everyone was being cautious – and thank god for that, your mind was already racing, analysing what the signature could mean, the choice of words yours truly rather than more common and less formal secret admirer – but… this could actually be a false alarm.

You prayed it was.

“Oh-kay…?” Tony mumbled, looking just a fraction unsure as he glanced at Hotch and then you.

You exchanged a look with your former boss; a barely visible nod told you he was giving you a green light to take lead on this since Tony seemed a little lost at best.

Steve noted your silent exchange, his foot gently nudging yours in support; even two chairs away, his toes were long enough to reach your insole. Glancing at him with your face as straight as you could muster, you were rewarded with an encouraging smile, causing you to gulp.

Damn him and his stupidly beautiful face and stupidly kind heart.

“Hello Mr.Hogan, Happy, this is Jones. Is there anything else you can tell us about the flowers? Was there something that tipped you off? It’s weird timing for sure, but could it be that the flowers are just for the girl working the reception desk today?” you asked, slipping into the investigation mode and trying your best not to get your hopes up – or to show them.

You fooled no one.

“Not much I can tell. Two dozen of white roses. They’re sweeping them for bugs and prints right now. As for Jody having a secret admirer, well, I doubt that because of the note. It says, and I’m reading word-for-word, ‘I’m sorry I scared you into hiding. I could hurt people who are not worthy of you, if necessary, but I would never hurt you’,” he recited.

The words were like a punch straight to your solar plexus, knocking the wind out of you. You pressed your lips together, hands curling into fists automatically, as if to strike back – but there was nothing you could punch, nothing you could fight off.

Well, except for a stupid bouquet for Steve, no doubt from the unsub himself.

Fuck.

“…fair enough,” Tony said into the stunned silence of the room, causing your eyes to slip shut as you pressed your lips into a thin line. Fair? Nothing was fair about this. “Thanks, Happy, we’ll be in touch.”

You heard the call disconnect, the frozen room coming back to life judging by the shuffling. You looked to your right when you felt Steve’s large hand gently curling around your fist.

So you summoned a smile for him – albeit a lame one.

He needed your head in the game; he needed a supportive friend who’d have his back. Not a weepy shaking weakling. He needed this crazy-ass delusional stalker gone so he could go back to his normal life as soon as possible. He needed a professional BAU agent.

And you were going to give him exactly what he deserved; even if his deep blue eyes told you he would accept anything less than that too.

Loosening your fist, you squeezed his hand shortly before dropping it and rising to your feet.

“Let’s get moving. Spence-“ you turned to him, only to see him already making his way to the board to take notes of what you just learned. “Thanks.”

“What’s the game plan?” Emily asked no one in particular, but automatically turned to Hotch, the team leader. “This is a clear escalation. Two contacts in two days. Less personal touch, but more defined threat of violence towards the women and somehow… more protective of Steve too.”

“I agree. We need to get the NYPD on this, or your agents,” Hotch beckoned to Tony and Natasha, naturally leaving out Steve – the subject of the case – out of the action. Even if the subject appeared much less shell-shocked than you felt; and he probably was, because you were in love with a reckless idiot. “The women for questioning shouldn’t arrive alone.”

“On it,” Natasha confirmed, exchanging a look with Tony, ready to help him choose from the most trustworthy – hopefully trustworthy – agents.

Your heart hammered against your ribcage at the thought: hopefully trustworthy. The circle of truly trusted people became absurdly short after yesterday – in fact, the most trusted people were in this room.

And they needed to stay here.

You knew it made you the biggest asshole in the world but you were just fine with the Avengers and the BAU being exclusively around Steve. You wished no harm to anyone, but if it came down to Steve or some random woman… as much as you’d give everything to protect all, you had your priorities straight.

The person you cared about the most was here, safe, and it had to stay that way.

Momentarily lost in thought, you barely registered the dialling tone from the phone in Hotch’s hand. However, you certainly heard the voice on the other end.

“You called the hot line. Would you like to talk to someone special?”

For the second time that morning, all noise and movement in the room stopped, only the startled faces of the Avengers snapping to the source of the peculiar greeting that could only be a misdial.

Your gaze flickered between all of them – your former colleagues clearly stiffening a laugh, Hotch closing his eyes as he realized his mistake of putting the phone on speaker right away – and despite everything, you burst out laughing. It was incredibly liberating.

It did sound like a misdial; or the BAU’s technical analyst, queen of all things awesome, speaking.

“Garcia, you’re on spea-“ Hotch broke through your laughter, only to be interrupted by her astonished voice.

“Oh my god, is it my time to go to heaven already? It must be, because I’m hearing angels! Was I called by someone special?”

Chuckling still, cheeks hurting from smiling even wider when you saw Steve’s baffled expression, you greeted your favourite IT magician.

“I’m here, Penelope, it’s good to hear your voice. And please, never ever change,” you pleaded heartily, your companions gradually relaxing and returning to their previous tasks.

“Oh honey, I could never,” she promised. “It would break Derek’s heart if I as much as tried to dim my amazing sparkling self. What can I do you for?”

Your smile slipped despite the innuendo, words caught in your throat as your saw movement in your peripheral vision. Bruce was making his way to the conference room, the glass automatic door revealing the huge white bouquet in his hands; and the ominous expression on his face. Your stomach twisted, throat tightening.

“Well, the local tech genius is a little busy, so we wondered if you could track a flower delivery for us?” Emily stepped in, causing your attention to snap back to the call, stubbornly ignoring Bruce as he walked in and set the flowers on the table. “The order would be within the last 24 hours, over two dozen of white roses, and was delivered to the Avengers Tower… exactly 16 minutes ago.”

A rapid staccato of Garcia’s fingers against the keyboard could be heard as the words spilled from her mouth just as fast.

“Who-oou, if I didn’t know we’re talking a stalker case I would have swooned. And they say chivalry is dead...” she contemplated. “Hello to the Avengers if there any, by the way. Is the Captain there? And Black Widow? Iron Man? It’s so cool that you got to work with them! And Thor, the actual god of thunder, not just my chocolate thunder? I’m so jealous…”

“Garcia, the flowers...?” Hotch reprimanded her, half-serious, half-resigned.

And secretly amused all as you all were.

Despite the horror Garcia tended to see on her screens, she was the literal bottle of sunshine that made all of your lives brighter, a force of nature and a ray of hope shining between the grim world of serial killers, stalkers and child abductors.

By right, she was thoroughly adored. By everyone.

“Please, sir Hotch, you know I can multitask,” she sassed him, sounding offended as the clicking in the background never ceased.

Even with your heart in your throat, you couldn’t but smile a fraction at her antics, giving her what she asked for – gladly.

“Steve, Natasha and Tony are here, now doctor Banner too. Clint’s around, but no Thor. And believe me, I know for a fact they should be excited as much as you are, working with a team as cool as the BAU.”

You caught Spencer smiling over his shoulder at you, still ready to write down any information Garcia was about to give you.

“Aww, honey! You just say that because it’s true!” Garcia cooed, causing the corners of your lips to twitch. You wished you had her cheerfulness – and her confidence, at least as a mask. “Alright, the delivery was executed by Bella Flora, pretty on the nose to be honest, a local shop owned by Julian Peters for eight years now. He’s clean besides doing dirty to his wife, aka cheating on her with his shop assistant, they divorced three years ago. Good for her if you ask me. The roses were paid from a credit card registered to… one Howard Fleming. I’m searching for—- oh.”

“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch questioned as everyone grew serious again.

You held your breath in anticipation; but you had a feeling that this was not a good kind of oh, even if you might be a little rusty on reading Garcia’s exclamations.

“Well, Mr. Fleming is 88 years old and lives in Idaho with his lovely wife and three adult children and way too many grandchildren. So I guess he’s probably not our unsub. Sorry, guys. I’m gonna dive into his kids’ background, but I’m afraid it’s more likely his card was stolen and not blocked properly. I’ll keep an eye on the activity on the card, keep digging and call you back.”

“We’ll be looking forward to it,” Spence assured her, not letting his disappointment show. “Thanks, Garcia.”

“Anything for you, Boy Genius. Hug Jones for me. Peace out.”

“He already did!” Tony called out, but the line was already dead. “I like her. Can I steal her for the A.I.?”

The response he got was overwhelming: Hotch, Reid, Emily, Natasha, Bruce, Steve and you managed to all to reply in unisono.

“No!”

“But-“

“Tony…” Steve warned him lowly, causing the man to lift his chin defiantly, a pout on his lips.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to deal with his child-like sulking.

“Let’s find each of the women an agent to bring her in, come on,” Natasha prompted him, her index finger poking Tony’s shoulder when he stared blankly ahead, still acting offended. “Your ego wouldn’t handle such competition in the house anyway.”

Considering everything you knew, you couldn’t argue; nor had the time for it anyway.

You had more important things at hand; to add to the profile since despite the new evidence surfacing, you had no names to add to the board.

“Okay. What do we know now?”

It could be barely an hour after the call and you were ready to scream in frustration: because you knew nothing anymore.

As nicely as you had wrapped it up yesterday, with a conclusion and a true sense of progress, the delivery made cracks in the very foundation of your investigation: the profile itself. You had planned to add to the profile after you regrouped in the morning, not to have it fall apart completely.

Too bad, it seemed.

And to add insult to the injury, you had nothing else either.

No useable fingerprints on the flowers or on the card.

No writing to analyse from the graphological point of view, because the card was typed and printed.

There was no residue of a chemical weapon to disguise an attack as a flower delivery.

There were no bugs.

Garcia had texted Hotch that the Flemings were coming off clean so far.

All you had was the photos and plain flowers with a crazy note, with a lot of questions attached to it rather than answers.

You were so fucked; back to square one if not on square zero or square minus one.

“There’s something off about all this… I feel like we’re missing an important variable,” Reid muttered as he watched the board, arms crossed over his chest.

“There’s something off from the start if you ask me,” Natasha said dryly, eyeing him, Emily, Hotch and you. “Thoughts for us with less profiling experience, please?”

You glared at all the notes, refusing to answer. To say you were thoroughly displeased with the development would be an understatement. You were pissed. Because nothing was making sense anymore, which was saying something, since it didn’t seem to make any sense from the very start. You were one step from becoming a nihilist.

Luckily, Emily took initiative, sharing her thoughts.

“Well, at first, we profiled the unsub as narcistic. The not worthy meaning why don’t you notice me, I’m right here, I’m much better than them… but then these flowers, white roses of all things – not passion. White signifies purity or grief, roses are timeless classics, expensive. Even the I could hurt those who are not worthy of you. It’s like she’s saying I would hurt people for you if they hurt you. It’s… it’s almost protective.”

Protective my ass. You did agree with Emily wholeheartedly, but her words only fed your frustration.

The most puzzling thing for you now was the bullets; what kind of an unsub could think of stealing a means of ending the object of her affections in case he’d disappoint her or rejected her so long in advance? More so if she was the protective type? It didn’t make sense – most people would care about this after their target betrayed them, usually using a weapon of opportunity.

Or were the bullets only something to ensure Steve’s obedience? You, my beloved, will do as I say, or I’ll shoot you dead? How was that being protective?

You were no fan of using violence at any cost but you swore you could put one of those modified bullets straight between the unsub’s eyes at the moment. If you only got the change or had any clue about who she was to begin with.

“It’s true that if you look at the note linguistically, she chose different modal verbs,” Reid jumped in, gesturing wildly as he pointed at the note he rewrote on the board, red marker in hand. “I would never hurt you suggests an incredibly low probability, leaning towards epistemic modality. In contrast, I could hurt those who are not worthy of you suggests not only determination, but also the ability, leaning towards deontic modality. She says she is able to hurt, she has the means. I would think she’s talking about the bullets, but those are not any more harmless than a normal bullets to anyone except for Steve…”

You shuddered as you watched him from the other side of the table, hating the invested expression on his face. You adored your friend, truly, but it would be great if he could come down from his genius plane of existence and think about the fact this was not a puzzle to solve for fun, but to save a life.

What was he even talking about? What did it matter?

“What are the chances she didn’t know what she was taking?” Reid asked, turning to Tony, who only replied with a silent confused frown.

“What do you mean?” you scoffed, irritation rising by the minute.

Everything you had put together was falling apart. You weren’t sure of anything anymore; something just wasn’t adding up, the unsub brimming with contradictions.

Protectiveness and care were more likely to point at a female unsub, than again the emphasis on violence was considered typically male.

An apology – I’m sorry I scared you into hiding – was extremely untypical for a narcissist at best.

And now Reid was questioning the intelligence of the unsub and the level of organization she possessed by wondering whether she knew what she had taken? Get the fuck out of here.

“Could she have thought she was simply taking some special reinforced bullets, not knowing they were designed to hurt Steve specifically?” Reid pressed, causing you to grit your teeth.

You believed the chances of that were zero.

But what did you know? What did any of you know anymore? All you had was a bunch of agents and profilers going around in circles.

“I don’t know, G-man,” Tony hummed sceptically, shaking his head. “There are a lot of devices that could do much more damage to anyone. And some of them just as easy to carry. And you said she was… what do you call it, organized? She had to know what she was after, right?”

It was a testimony to how fucking messed up the situation was that for once, you agreed with Tony Stark, even if only on one thing. You could still smother him though, with your bare damn hands.

More damage? Bullshit.

This was bullshit. More damage? How was it possible that something more dangerous than a weapon to murder his friend wasn’t guarded better?

Tony really had the audacity to say that the unsub could have taken something that—that was insane.

How was the theft still an issue with no real suspects in the first place?

Why were you still dealing with this, questioning motivations, the level of how organized the unsub was?

This should have already been done. These were the Avengers and the BAU and an artificial intelligence joining forces for god’s sake!

And yet, you were a mile behind the unsub.

You weren’t working fast enough. You weren’t doing your damn job and someone was going to get hurt. And that someone was going to be the person you cared about the most and that was just so fucking maddening and downright impossible, because this was Steve. Steve had to be okay, he was always okay, even when he wasn’t, because he was Steve---- god-dammnit he was not going to end up like Meyers, he had to be okay and it was your damn responsibility to make sure he would and you WERE going to do exactly that.

‘She knew what she was after?’ Fuck that.

“Who, you mean,” you muttered darkly, unable to hold your irritation at bay anymore.

Six heads turned to you, some swift, others with reluctance. Only Tony voiced his confusion, as eloquent as ever.

“Huh?”

“You meant who she was after,” you corrected him again, realization dawning on his face as you looked him dead in the eye.

The sudden thickness of air was nearly palpable. Good, you thought. The same air felt just as heavy in your lungs for a while now. Your heart was speeding up gradually, blood boiling

No one moved. No one spoke. No one dared to as much as suck in a breath, feeling a storm brewing. You purposely avoided looking at Steve; your voice would break, the indignation would give into self-pity – and you did not want that.

“How the fuck do we still not have a suspect? How the fuck did we just get a flower delivery with a note that screams stalker and the shop just went with it, no fuss, no calling the police? Or you,” you hissed, nodded to Natasha and Tony’s direction. “They were sending an absurdly sketchy stalkerish note to the Avengers Tower and they what, they just didn’t care?”

Were people really so stupid these days or maybe desensitized? Or simply indifferent? Not giving shit about anything anymore?

Natasha took a breath, ready to react, but before she could, Emily stepped in.

“Well… they do care about business. You worked with the BAU, you studied human behaviour… you know what kind of kinky stuff people are into, this is probably far from the creepiest note that went through their hands,” she reasoned, her matter-of-fact tone only feeding your anger.

“I don’t give a damn about people’s kinks or their damn business! They should have known better-“

“Sparkles,” Steve interjected gently, your head whipping his direction on instinct.

You didn’t linger with your gaze long enough to have him shake you, extending your index finger in his direction to stop whatever excuse he had for the damn shop owner – or your poor ensemble of a team.

No, you were done with this shit.

“Don’t- we should all know better. We’re profilers, you’re the Avengers for god’s sake!” you exploded, hands flying in wild gesture to each and every one of them. “We have an artificial intelligence on our side! With so many clues and assets, we should have already made an arrest. Instead, we are comparing modality as if she didn’t choose it completely randomly-“

“That’s not very likely, she is highly organized-“ Reid argued, voice perfectly levelled in contrast to the rising volume of yours.

You almost laughed, the sound tasting sardonic and fake.

For real? Who the fuck was Reid kidding?

“Do we really know that, Reid? Or are we just playing psychic, spit-balling as we go? What if she is so organized that she chose the modality to throw us off? What if she knows everything about damn floriography and she’s playing with us? Huh? Not even with Steve anymore, us, because she knows he came here, she probably figured we have profilers involved because she clearly did her homework on me and Natasha-“

“Sparkles-“

You promptly ignored Steve’s attempt to speak, only raising your voice further to drown him out.

“WHAT do we actually know? We had a profile and now it’s fallen apart! We have more evidence, but instead of suspects, we have fucking ziltch! Some profilers we are, if we’re completely hopeless until a dead body drops, which is not a fucking option here! What are we even-”

“Jones.”

The new voice had your mind come to a screeching halt, an old instinct kicking in, breath hitching.

A fresh flood of emotion – guilt and shame above all – cut off the burst of outrage. It was like flipping a switch on you, your brain in particular.

That was how powerful Hotch’s authority was: a single uttered word, not menacing, but a kind warning; strict, but gentle. Fatherly.

You did not fall silent out of fear; but out of deeply ingrained respect.

“That’s enough,” Hotch added for a good measure, his calmness washing over you like a wave.

You took a deep breath, feeling tears burning in your eyes as you looked at every member of each team, purposely only skimming over Steve again, unable to face him.

It was obvious to anyone who bothered to look: everyone in the room was tired and frustrated too, but also determined. Concerned, because they all cared – about you, about Steve, and about the case.

They were all good people and they were here to help. The last thing they needed was your salty attitude and your inability to deal with stress and past trauma.

You knew that all along; but you needed to realize it again. Just as you had needed to voice your irritation – even if your friends deserved better.

And so did Steve. If you looked at him for longer than a second, you were sure you’d cry.

“Sorry. I’m sorry, everyone. I didn’t mean to yell and—I’m sorry,” you stumbled over your words, taking another calming breath. Jesus, you needed to get the hell out of here. Now. “Uhm. I need fresh air. And some actual non-healthy sugar and coffee. What can I get you, guys? Macchiato with one sugar for Steve, mocha with a double shot of espresso and four sugars for Spence, you guys…?”

The rest of the room obediently told you their preference, not even blinking, tuning down the obvious concern in their expressions for you.

No one protested against your plan. No one pointed out that Tony’s coffee machine was a thing from caffeine addicts’ dreams and could prepare virtually anything. No one offered to help you with the large number of cups and sweet treats you had mentioned, understanding that needing air meant needing some alone time too.

It seemed they could all be pretty smart cookies after all – you would crack this case before it was too late, right? There were no other options anyway.

You motioned an awkward ‘gotcha’ on Emily and Hotch, nodding to yourself.

“Should have remembered those orders – some things never change,” you said wistfully, grabbing your phone with a credit care in its case. “Coming right up, guys. It’s on me.”

“Thanks, Bean.”

You smiled tightly at Spence, all but escaping the room as you felt more and more embarrassed at your emotional outburst – something coffee could hardly make up for, especially since it wasn’t your first scene in the past 24 hours.

You were all over the place ever since this mess started and you really did need to get your head straight.

And since getting a good night sleep in Steve’s room – bless him – didn’t help, your morning slip-up only making for more nerves, it seemed that you needed to do it alone.

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