#ch. study / the world was a cruel place. he would bring it a cruel justice. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saveyourblood · 5 years

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Stolen Dance | Ch. 2

Notes: Is this only gonna get 3 notes and 0 reblogs? Yes. Do I give a fuck? nope!

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: None I can think of.

Song: Warm With You - Hayden Calnin

Part 1

Spencer was gone by morning. He had a plane to catch, so you understood. A part of you wished you had the chance to say a real, verbal goodbye, but your conscious knew a silent departure was for the better. Watching the only man you’ve had a mental, emotional, and physical connection with walk out the door would be plain cruel. It was better for him to disappear without a trace.

Only… it wasn’t without a trace.

On the pillow Spencer hardly slept on was a note.

‘702-555-0103 Keep in touch.

-Spencer.’

You were so, so screwed.

After taking a shower and getting dressed, you were still practically vibrating. The more you thought about it, the higher your hopes grew. You started thinking of alternate scenarios, a world where you and Spencer were in love and alone. A world where state lines and job interferences didn’t exist. The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized that a world like that could be true.

State lines exist. High-demand jobs exist. Families exist. No matter how badly you wanted it to be true, a single man couldn’t make all those things go away. And yet, you pulled out your phone and added his number to your contact list. Because when it came to Spencer Reid, you went against your better judgement. You ignored your instincts. You broke your own rules. Really, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A knock on your door pulled you out of your fantasy.

You walked to the door and looked through the peephole. With a slight frown, you pulled away and opened the door.

“Agent Hotchner,” you said in surprise.

“Hello Y/N,” he greeted. Despite it being 7:30 in the morning, he was wearing a suit. You wondered if he ever got tired of doing so.

“How do you know where I live?” You asked.

“Sheriff Longman,” he answered simply. “May I come in?”

“If you want,” you shrugged, stepping aside so he could enter. You gestured to the small table in the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, water..?”

“Coffee would be great, thanks.”

You brewed a pot while you were showering, so thankfully, it sat on the hotplate, full and ready to be poured. You took two mugs from the cupboard, put a splash of milk in one, and let only coffee fill the other. You took a seat across from Hotch, pushing the mug of black coffee towards him.

“Thank you,” he said, then observed the hot beverage. “What makes you think I take my coffee black?”

“You’re a man of authority, and judging by your composure, you have been for awhile,” you said. “The lines on your face and bags under your eyes suggest you don’t get much sleep, so considering this and your demanding career, you drink coffee to function. You got used to the taste, eventually.”

You raised your own mug to your lips, then laughed nervously in realization. “Sorry. After helping with the case, my filter came off.”

“How long have you been profiling?” Hotch asked.

“Since before I knew its name,” you answered. “My dad always said ‘people watching’ was my hobby. Most people just think I’m good at spotting liars.”

“What do you think?”

You shrugged. “I’ve been profiling for as long as I can remember. I like studying people’s habits, learning the way they think. Humans fascinate me.” You paused. “Why are you here, exactly?”

Hotch smiled briefly, probably at how long it took you to ask. “You weren’t at the station for very long yesterday.”

“I talked to Caleb while you guys were arresting Beck,” you explained. “We talked. By the time you got back, I knew what I needed to know.”

“Which is?”

“I messed up the profile.”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “How so?”

“Caleb Chasing made mistakes when it came to his marriage, but he’s not a bad man. He told me it was his fault they ever got divorced, and that Stephanie didn’t win full custody, he gave it to her.”

“Really?” You nodded, sipping your drink. “It wasn’t court-ordered, but Caleb took the kids every other weekend. Stephanie agreed to that. I totally misread the situation.”

“You didn’t,” Hotch disagreed. “Your profile was spot on.”

You frowned. “How?”

“Stephanie was his type, and her divorce with Caleb was the stressor.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Austin didn’t kill because he was angry with Stephanie: he was angry with Caleb,” Hotch explained. “His love for Stephanie didn’t go away after she married, but his anger towards Caleb amplified.”

“He loved her so much that he didn’t kill Caleb,” you whispered in realization. “He wanted to hurt Caleb, but he knew it would hurt her, so he refrained.” Hotch nodded.

“But why not just kill Caleb?” you said.

“Like you said, hurting Caleb would hurt Stephanie. Invert that logic.”

“The women were surrogates for Stephanie, and when he was done with them, he used them against Caleb.”

“Your profile was right,” Hotch repeated. “We brought in the wrong man, yes, but without Caleb, we never would have found Beck. We wouldn’t have found Caleb without your profile.”

“I’m just glad I could help,” you ceded. You paused. “Did he ever mention why he washed and folded the clothes?” “He thought he was doing Stephanie justice,” Hotch answered. “He made his victims take off their clothes before he raped them, and after killing them, he wanted to touch the body as little as possible. That’s why he didn’t redress them.”

“So there was no blood on their clothes,” you thought aloud. “Beck just genuinely thought he was doing them a service.”

Hotch nodded. You merely shuddered in response.

“Have you ever considered becoming a Behavioral Analyst?” Hotch proceeded to ask.

You looked up in surprise. “That’s... not really an option around here,” you replied.

“You could relocate,” Hotch said. “You served in the Army, which means you could attend classes virtually anywhere, and they would be paid for.”

“Are you offering me a job, Agent Hotchner?” You asked, confused.

“I can’t promise anything, but considering your background and natural abilities, I think it’d be fairly easy to find an opening for you in the BAU,” Hotch told you. “You proved yourself to everyone on my team, including myself. All you would need is the credentials. ...That is, if you’re interested.”

You bit your lip, considering your options.

Hotch wasn’t offering you anything concrete, but damn if he wasn’t offering you something. You hardly knew the man, yet something told you it wasn’t everyday that he told someone they’d make a good profiler, especially when said person isn’t even in law enforcement. Not to mention, he was absolutely right — your service in the Army covered the tuition of practically any school you could dream of going to. You could get your degree in New York, or California, or DC.

You could be within a few miles of Spencer, rather than a few hundred.

When it came down to it, though, you didn’t live in a fairytale. Similar to your ‘relationship’ with Spencer, conflicts arose. You already had a job, and you loved it. Colorado, though not your favorite place to live, was home, and it wasn’t done with you yet. Life wasn’t as easy as moving across the country to pursue a career while courting a man who might not even be interested in you.

“I can’t leave,” you said quietly. “My life is here.”

Hotch didn’t seem to react; over the years, he mastered his poker face.

“It’s a lot to think about,” Hotch sympathized, “and I don’t expect an immediate answer. In fact, I don’t need an answer at all. All I ask is that you consider.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small card. “If you need anything, give me a call.”

Two phone numbers from two men in the span of two days. It seemed as though your bad luck charm was officially broken.

It took you 3 months to call Spencer. It wasn’t that you forgot, or met someone else — he crossed your mind everyday. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak to him.

For a long time, you tried convincing yourself that he didn’t really care. You decided he gave you his number out of charity, or because he didn’t want to be a guy who has meaningless sex. It took you a long time to consider the fact that he might actually like you, might actually want to spend time with you. That he might want to see you again as desperately as you wanted to see him.

Once you came to this conclusion, an opportunity fell in your lap.

You decided to finally call Spencer right before your shift started. Other people probably considered it to be the worst possible time, but you thought through your plan for days before the execution. Your work kept you busy, which meant you wouldn’t have time to think about your boy troubles. You’d be too busy saving lives. Also, your shift was at night, so by the time you got home, you’d be too exhausted to let your worries keep you up. It seemed like a win-win situation.

When everyone left the locker room, you sat down on the bench with a nervous breath. Your stomach was in knots and it got harder to breathe with each passing second. Biting the bullet, you went to your contact list, scrolled down to the “S” section, and dialed the first name you read.

After 3 rings, the call went to voicemail. Though this partially worried you, it mostly made you feel relieved. It would be so much easier talking to his answering machine.

‘This is Dr. Spencer Reid. I can’t come to the phone right now, so please, leave a message,’ a recording of his voice said.

It wasn’t a fake number. You sighed, endlessly grateful.

“Hi, Spencer,” you said, sounding like you had just run a marathon. You cleared your throat in an attempt to sound more composed. “This is Y/N, the paramedic from Colorado,” you said. “I was invited to this wedding in Vegas, and I was wondering if you wanted to be my plus one. It’s over the weekend, so you should be back to work by Monday.”

You laughed nervously. “I honestly don’t know if you even remember me. If you don’t, or if you don’t want to go, please ignore this message. If you do remember me, and you do want to go, feel free to text me or give me a call back. That’s it, I guess. Goodbye, Dr. Reid.”

The butterflies in your stomach dispersed by the time you hung up. You ran your hands through your hair, feeling both triumphant and anxious. You pushed the latter emotion to the side. The worst part was over. The ball was in his court.

_____________________

Your shift was the longest you’d had in a while. You resuscitated a middle-aged man, tended to to the bloody aftermath of a bar fight, and delivered a baby, all within the span of your 12-hour shift. Normally, your days were much, much slower. The silver lining was that you didn’t have a second to spare, which meant you went half a day without thinking of Spencer and the voicemail you left for him. That aspect of your plan worked out pretty well.

Once you got home, you tossed your coat onto the table and dropped your bag to the floor. You were exhausted. Despite the change of clothes you went through in the middle of the night, you still smelled like blood and other various bodily fluids. Oh, the glamour of working in the medical field.

Not wanting to bring the grime of your job into your bed, you hopped into the shower. You were in and out quick, deciding against washing your hair. You only wanted to clean up so you could get some sleep.

Once you were out of the bathroom, you walked back into your bedroom. You checked your phone, which you left on the nightstand. You had one text left unread.

‘Spencer: which weekend?’

So much for sleeping.

_____________________

Over the next month, you and Spencer worked out the details. The wedding was a great excuse, but Spencer actually proposed the idea of spending more time together, which may or may not have made you squeal. Thankfully, you were alone when you read the text, so only you had to live with the embarrassment.

The wedding was on Saturday. The flight he ended up scheduling was for Wednesday. He’d spend the night at your apartment, and on Thursday morning, the two of you would start a 7+ hour road trip to Nevada.

You enjoyed road trips already, so the idea of spending that time with Spencer seemed almost too good to be true. Plus, the fact that two nights would be spent at a hotel was no accident. You wanted to drag those 7 hours out for as long as possible, and Spencer didn’t seem too opposed to the idea.

If everything went according to plan, the two of you would be back in Colorado by Monday, and his returning flight was scheduled for Tuesday morning. Almost an entire week of nothing but him. You could only hope he was as excited as you were.

Though it seemed like a fantasy, Wednesday did come. You stood in the airport, holding a sign that read “Dr. Spencer Reid”. Mostly, it was a joke, but a part of you thought he may have forgotten your face.

Eventually, you saw a tall, gangly brunette with glasses make his way down the escalator. Your face broke into a smile as you lifted the sign above your head. You managed to catch Spencer’s attention. He broke into a grin.

Once he made his way through the crowd, Spencer simply stood in front of you for a moment. He looked your frame up and down, taking in every inch of beauty he saw. His eyes met yours.

“Hi,” he said quietly, smiling.

“Hello,” you responded.

The two of you chuckled and hugged each other.

He was quite a bit taller than you, so moments after wrapping your arms around him, you felt his chin settle onto your shoulder. When he adjusted, you felt his lips against your neck. You held him tighter.

“You look… amazing,” he said breathlessly, pulling away. He kept his hands on your arms.

Your face was beginning to hurt because of how much you were smiling. “Thank you. So do you.”

You reached your hand up, carding your fingers through his hair. “You cut your hair.”

“You like it?” He asked. There was a small, almost microscopic nervous edge in his voice.

“I like you,” you said simply.

That earned you a kiss.

To anyone passing by, the two of you looked like any average couple: happy to be reunited, and happy to be in love. Oh, how you wished it was that simple.

You weren’t sure Spencer was in love. You weren’t sure you were in love, if you were completely honest. All you knew was that around him, the world disappeared, at least for a little while. No one’s made you feel that way in your life, not even before you joined the Army.

You saw some things overseas, some things you wanted desperately to forget. You thought resigning and returning home would fix that, make you forget. All it seemed to do so far, though, was distract you with other things you also didn’t want to think about. It seemed like, no matter how hard you tried, you could no longer see in color. Since the Army, since your father… you saw the world in black and white.

Not around him, though. Around him, there was more color than you could fathom. Instead of trying to figure out why, you kissed him. You kissed him, and for the life of you, you didn’t want to stop.

By Thursday evening, the two of you had been on the road for almost 4 ½ hours. You had done most of the driving, but you didn’t mind. With Spencer in the passenger seat, you could be occupied for days.

All you had to do was ask about a highway or a structure you passed, and for the next 15 minutes, Spencer would tell stories. You were sure some people found it annoying — he stopped his rants several times to see if you were still interested. That broke your heart a little. You understood that his job could have intense moments where only basic information is needed, but you had a feeling that wasn’t the only time people cut him off. It made you sad to think he got shot down when talking about the things he loved.

“Are you sure I’m not talking too much?” Spencer asked for the millionth time.

You smiled. Your window was open, so your hair was blown back and your arm rested on the ledge. “I’m sure,” you promised. “Have you ever been to Vegas?”

“Vegas is where I grew up.”

“Wow, really?” you said in surprise. You’d never thought to ask. “You’ll have to show me around, then. I've never been.”

“You’ll fit in,” he assured. A brief silence washed over the car. “Did you grow up in Colorado?”

“Yeah, I did,” you nodded. “I grew up in Grand Junction, actually.”

“You never left?”

“Except for when I served,” you confirmed.

“How did that happen?” Spencer asked. “I mean, was joining the Army something you always wanted to do?”

You stiffened at the question. In an attempt to relax, you cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

You smiled sadly. “No, it’s… it’s okay. I just… I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone why.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Spencer assured.

You considered for a moment. “I do,” you eventually said, tapping your thumb against the steering wheel. “I want to tell you.”

He didn’t say anything; he simply waited for you to start.

“Do you remember the bar?” you asked, mostly rhetorically. “How you sat next to me, asked me why I profiled Derek instead of you?”

“I remember.”

“Do you remember when I said I have trust issues because my father wronged me?” You asked, this time, quieter.

You saw him nod in your peripheral vision.

“That wasn’t exactly true,” you said. “I mean, it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full story. You see, my dad didn’t wrong me so much as he… died.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You shrugged, wishing it was enough to brush off the feeling. “I was 16. Losing him made me lose myself for awhile, you know? He was there one second, gone the next, and I had to live with it. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of Colorado, start fresh. The Army did that for me. Plus, I got to help people. It seemed like a win-win situation.”

“You made the best of a bad situation,” Spencer said. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“I did get to help people,” you thought vocally. “That part was nice. The PTSD… not as nice.”

Spencer laughed sadly. “It never is.”

You decided to leave it at that.

The wedding was the part of your vacation you least looked forward to. However, you had to admit: you and Spencer looked incredible. You wore a short navy dress, he rented a matching suit. You turned heads in the church, at the reception. You swore the bride gave you a dirty look at one point. You didn’t care. All you cared about was Spencer’s hand on your waist as the two of you danced.

“Why did it take you so long to call?” Spencer asked during a slow song. His lips were close to your ear. His breath against your skin made a pleasant chill go down your spine.

“Life got in the way,” you muttered. It was a poor excuse, but it was hard to put into words that you wanted to see him but thought you couldn’t. Or rather, that you shouldn’t.

“I missed you,” he admitted.

“Oh yeah?” you teased. “What did you miss?”

“Being around you,” Spencer said. He pulled away a bit so he could look you in the eye. “You’re the only person who’s never looked at me like I’m crazy. Don’t get me wrong, my friends are great, but… they don’t understand. You do.”

You set a hand on his cheek. He leaned into the touch.

“I wish you were closer,” he said softly.

“Me too,” you agreed. “But right here, right now, we’re together. Let’s make the most of that, hm?”

He kissed you in silent agreement.

You were pouring a second cup of hotel coffee when you felt Spencer’s arms wrap around your waist. You turned around in his grip, offering him a mug while you took a sip from the other.

“Thank you,” he said as he accepted the coffee. He kept one arm around you.

“What’s on the agenda today, Dr. Reid?” you asked curiously.

“It’s a surprise,” he said, pulling you closer.

“Another casino?” you asked. “I like watching you call people’s bluff. It’s kind of hot.”

He chuckled. “Not a casino. I’m taking you somewhere special. Well, it’s special to me, at least.”

“I’m excited,” you grinned, running a hand down his chest. “You know that means you’ll have to put a shirt on, right?”

“I will,” he assured, setting his mug on the table. “Eventually.”

He then took your mug and set it beside his. This confused you at first, but you quickly realized why: Spencer picked you up by the waist.

You set your hands on his shoulders, tilting your head back and letting out a laugh. “What are you doing?! Put me down!”

Spencer threw you on the bed and crawled on top of you. He kissed you feverishly.

“Still want me to put a shirt on?”

You traced his collarbone with your index finger, humming softly. “Maybe later.”

You let Spencer drive to wherever he was taking you, as the element of surprise seemed to be important. You stared out the window for most of the trip, enjoying the scenery that passed you by. Your hand was on Spencer’s thigh, and his hand was on top of yours. It was brief moments like those that you let yourself believe you and him were in a relationship.

Spencer eventually pulled into a parking lot. You let yourself look at the building he parked in front of. In a plain, black font, the sign above the doors read ‘Bennington Sanitarium’. You turned your attention to Spencer.

“Do you trust me?” He asked instead of explaining.

You turned your hand over and laced your fingers with his. “Of course.”

The two of you got visitor passes quickly; it mostly likely meant he visited often. You weren’t sure how to feel about that.

As the two of you were lead through to building, you held Spencer’s hand. When you were shown to an open room that resembled something of a lounge, you felt his grip falter. You took it as a queue to let go. You let your hand fall back to your side, suddenly feeling cold.

A woman with short, blonde hair in a long sweater stood up upon seeing Spencer. She was obviously older than both of you, but she carried her age with grace. She had wrinkles only a mother could get.

“Hi, mom,” Spencer greeted warmly.

The woman smiled and hugged him.

“Hello, Spencer,” she returned.

When she pulled away, she noticed you.

“Who’s this?” She asked.

“Her name’s Y/N. She’s my…”

“Friend,” you finished for him. You stuck your hand out with a smile.

Though hesitant, the woman shook your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Y/N, this is Diana Reid. My mother.”

Diana looked to her son. “She’s pretty.”

“Mom!”

“What? It’s not like you didn’t notice,” she teased. She turned her attention to you. “Do you work with Spencer?”

“No,” you shook your head with a chuckle. “Well, not exactly. We met when he was working a case.”

“No conflict of interest…” Diana noted. Spencer gave her a look, but said nothing. “Do you play poker, Y/N?” “Not as well as Spencer, but I try,” you replied.

You headed out of Vegas early the next day. You wanted to get a head start before the morning traffic, and besides, you knew it would be nice for Spencer if he got some real sleep before his flight. You didn’t want to think about the fact that your time with him was ending, though, so you pushed that thought to the back of your mind.

“Why did you take me meet your mother?” you asked softly. Spencer opted to take the first half the drive back home. You agreed, hoping the silence would clear your head.

“She’s my biggest secret,” Spencer said. “It took me years to tell anyone on the team she’s been in treatment since I was 18.”

“Why tell me?”

“You told me about your dad. I thought it was only fair you learn something ugly about me and my life.”

You reached a hand out, brushing back some of his hair. “Nothing about you is ugly.”

When your hand hovered over his cheek, Spencer turned his hand to kiss your palm. You smiled.

“Thank you for trusting me with your secret,” you told him.

He smiled. “Thank you for letting me.”

The radio played quietly in the backdrop. The songs changed, and you recognized the faint beginning. You turned up the dial and sang along.

“A year from now, we’ll all be gone, all our friends will move away,” You sang, mostly to yourself. “And they’re going to better places, but our friends will be gone away. Nothing is as it has been, and I miss your face like hell,” you sang a bit louder, mostly so Spencer could hear. “And I guess it’s just as well,” you reached a hand up, running your thumb along his jaw. “...But I miss your face like hell.”

The rest of the ride was like a dream come true. At the halfway mark, you pulled over, got some lunch, and switched places. Other than that, the two of you sang, talked, sang some more, and stole kisses when the other person wasn’t paying attention. Of course, you were driving, so the kisses were nothing more than a peck on the cheek. Still, you blushed and giggled every time his lips touched your skin.

Maybe this weekend was a pipe dream, a delusion you’d soon awake from or a phase you’d outgrow. You didn’t really care. For a brief moment in time, you were in love. That’s what you chose to care about. That what you made matter.

_____________________

That night, your head rested on Spencer’s chest. You listened to his heart, and it seemed like with every beat, he pulled you a little bit closer. You felt euphoric.

And yet, at the same time, you felt guilty.

“Spencer?” you asked quietly, like if you spoke to loudly, the moment would evaporate. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything,” he promised. His hands ran up and down your back, as if to assure you.

“Hotchner came to see me the morning before your flight home,” you said. “He asked if I had any interest in becoming a profiler.”

Spencer shifted, sitting up against the bed frame. You sat up as well. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Y/N, that’s… incredible,” he said with a laugh of blissful disbelief.

Your head shot up. “Really?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Spencer asked. “You’d make an excellent profiler, and you’d be a welcome addition to the team. Plus, we could use someone with your sort of medical expertise.”

You smiled smally. “You think so?”

He took your hand, squeezing lightly. “There’s not a doubt in my mind.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier,” you apologized. “I’ve spent these last few months thinking.”

“I understand; it’s a lot to think about.”

As always, Dr. Spencer Reid was completely and utterly right.

Saying goodbye at the airport turned out to be a lot harder than you thought.

You sat side by side for a long time, holding hands and listening to music. You shared one set of earbuds, and the two of you took turns choosing the music. Spencer once mentioned that he mostly listened to Classical music, but he seemed to be enjoying the songs you introduced him to. And, surprisingly, you enjoyed the ones he chose too. You used to think you didn’t like classical music.

At one point, during a song he picked out, Spencer began to tap his fingers against your knee. You were leaned against his body, one leg crossed over the other, so it was easy for him to rest his arm on your thigh and tap your knee. It took you a few seconds to realize he was ‘playing’ the song on your knee as he would play it on the piano.

Eventually, his flight was called, and the two of you had to part ways. You stood up, and tears began to well in your eyes. You cleared your throat, forcing a smile on your face.

“I had a good time this last week,” you told Spencer. “I had a really, really good time.”

He smiled. “I did too.”

You felt a tear make its way down your face. You wiped it away hastily. “I hate goodbyes.”

Spencer moved in, kissing your forehead and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Hello, Y/N.”

You chuckled, leaning into his touch. “Hello, Dr. Reid.”

_____________________

“What did you do with your time off?” your mother asked, pouring hot water into your mug. She insisted on making you tea instead of coffee — something about how you should cut back on caffeine.

“I went to Natalie’s wedding,” you answered, taking a careful sip.

She frowned. “The one in Vegas?”

You nodded.

“You hate going to weddings,” your mom said, taking a seat at the table across from you.

“I hate going to weddings alone,” you corrected.

You bobbed your tea bag up and down. You chose to look at the movement rather than the look you knew was on your mother’s face.

“Who did you go with?”

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” you replied. Even in your peripheral vision, you could see your mom’s jaw drop.

“‘Doctor’?” She asked. “How old is he?”

“My age,” you responded. “He’s not an MD: he has a few doctorates, is all.”

“A few? And he’s your age? Who is this man, Einstein?”

“He’s definitely a genius,” you assured with a laugh.

“How’d you meet him?”

“Oh, he works for the FBI,” you answered. You tried to sound as casual as you possibly could.

“How did you manage to meet an FBI agent?” She paused. “You met him because of those girls, didn’t you?”

You tried not to think about that too often; it made you feel dirty. What happened to those girls was horrible, and it didn’t feel fair that one of the best things in your life happened because of their suffering. In fact, the guilt that fact caused you was part of the reason why you didn’t tell Spencer about Hotch’s offer.

“I did,” you confirmed. “I like him, mom. I like him a lot.”

She smiled, setting a hand on your cheek. “I’m glad you do, hon.” she moved her hand away to take a sip from her own mug. “How often do you get to see Spencer?”

“Not often enough,” you said.

“Is all you wanted to talk about, Y/N?” She asked. “You sounded worried over the phone…”

You sighed. “I applied to the University of Virginia… and I got accepted. I can start in Spring.”

“That’s… amazing,” your mom praised. “Since when did you want to go back to school?”

“Since I realized the world is bigger than Colorado,” you replied. “Bigger than the Army, even.”

“What will you be going for?”

“Psychology for sure. At least a Masters, maybe a PhD if I’m feeling adventurous.”

“Will you be working while you take classes? They could use a Paramedic like you anywhere,” your mom said.

“Mom, I never said I was going,” you told her.

“Why wouldn’t you?! It’s an incredible opportunity,” she argued.

“I know. It’s just… not here. I wouldn’t be in Colorado anymore.”

“So? Like you said, the world is bigger than Colorado,” she said. The expression on her face changed. “Honey, don’t stay here for me. Seriously, don’t. I can’t live with that.”

“It wouldn’t be your choice,” you said. “Besides, it’s not just about you. It’s about me too, you know.”

“It’s about your father,” your mother disagreed softly. She took your hand. “If Virginia will make you happy, then go to Virginia. You’ll visit me, I’ll visit you… We’ll make it work. Promise me you won’t stay for me, for your dad, or for anyone else.”

“I left you once,” you said weakly, shame in your voice and heart. “Dad died, and 2 years later, I left. I can’t just leave you again, Mom.”

“You’re not leaving me,” she promised. “You’re living. That’s what your dad would want you to do.” She squeezed your hand. “It’s what I want you to do.”

After awhile, you nodded.

You always thought you were good at leaving. Maybe now, you’d be good at living. You couldn’t wait to start living, especially if it meant Spencer would be by your side.

_____________________

Part 3

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid reader insert #criminal minds reader insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid/reader #stolen dance #part 2

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lenfaz · 8 years

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Time Upon Once, ch. 4 (4/?)

Summary: Killian Jones is a bailbonds man, living in Boston and doing his own thing. But on his 29th birthday, a kid knocks on his door and claims to be his son. What happens when Killian is forced to face his past along with a mystery prophecy about his own purpose in life?

Rating: M (eventually)

A huge thank you to @tnlph @businesscasualprincess and @blessed-but-distressed for beta duties and @shady-swan-jones for the banner!

Tagging a few people that showed interest in this story: @lk0622 @nowforruin @sambethe @xemmaloveskillianx @l-e-x-a-xd @profoundlyfadedprincess @once-uponacaptain @icecubelotr44 @poetic-justice-96 @allietumbles (want to be tagged? let me know and I’ll do it)

on Tumblr: I II III

ao3 ff.net

Killian shuffled in the driver’s seat of his Bug, his knees bending uncomfortably as his eyes squinted to read the local newspaper classified section by the glow of the streetlights, trying to find a place to live. The actions brought back memories of all the times he’d spent doing the exact same thing in the past decade. In every new town there had been several sleepless nights in his Bug, searching for a new apartment, with nothing but a duffel bag in the trunk and the hope that one day he’d find her.

Until he’d realized he was chasing nothing but a ghost from time long past, and he’d stopped looking.

A soft rap on the window broke him out of his reverie.

Killian shifted around in his seat to see Mary Margaret standing out on the street, looking at him with nothing but sincere concern. He rolled down the window from the driver's seat and she tilted her head. “Hey, are you okay?”

The familiarity he’d felt around her previously tried to creep its way back, but he kept it at bay, determined not to let himself get any more involved in these people’s lives. He pulled on his trademark everything is fine smirk. “Don’t you worry about me, lass. In the world of tight spots and inconvenient situations, sleeping in this old vessel doesn’t even make the top of the list.”

“You’re sleeping here?” She sounded so appalled at the notion that Killian couldn’t help the sheepish smile that came to his face.

“Only until I find something more suitable,” he promised, hoping she’d take his word for it and let him be. He didn’t need another pitiful stare or apologetic smile. If he had a dime for every one of those he’d ever gotten, he’d be a rich man.

“You decided to stay. For Henry.” Mary Margaret sounded so proud that it tugged at Killian’s heart. But it seemed impolite to continue sitting in his car when there was a lady standing by, with no apparent intention of leaving him to his own musings, so he quickly dropped the newspaper and exited the Bug.

“Aye… perhaps. But it seems this town doesn’t have any available vacancies. Not even a single one,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“It must be the curse,” Mary Margaret offered jokingly.

He chuckled before he noticed the hour on the clock. “You’re out late, milady,” he said, cocking a suggestive eyebrow.

She closed her cardigan tighter around her chest. “I’m a teacher, not a nun. I had a date,” she pronounced with a sigh of defeat escaping her lips.

“Didn’t go well, I take it?” he prodded, not wanting to intrude, but sensing that she might want a chance to unburden.

She shrugged. “As well as they ever do.”

“Do you want me to beat the bloody ponce?” he offered politely, finding that in that moment he very much meant it. There was something about her sad demeanor that made Killian want to punch someone. She shook her head and bit her lower lip. “I guess if true love were easy, we’d all have it.”

The words rang true in him, his smile faltering at the memories. Blonde hair tangled in his fingers, his nose buried at the hollow of her throat, his arms pulling her tighter to him as they battled the demons of their childhood together in the backseat of that same car.

Mary Margaret tilted her head, reading him like an open book. “You had it… didn’t you? Was it Henry’s mother?”

“Emma,” he breathed her name as a prayer. The same way he’d done all those nights as he’d pleaded with the universe for her to come back to him. “Her name was Emma,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m not sure if I’d call it true love because I don't quite believe in that… but it was love.” He sounded defeated, even to himself, like a man that had given up hope of ever finding that again. Because he knew he’d never find it. Not with another.

She let the silence stretch for a minute. “You know, if things get cramped, I do have a spare room.”

“Mary Margaret, that could be perceived as wildly inappropriate-” he stated vehemently but she cut him off.

“Are you planning to make a move on me?” she asked directly.

“No, not at all,” he answered quickly, finding also that he meant it. He was no stranger to resorting to finding a woman that might be willing to let him into her bed for a night. It would mean that he was in for not just enjoyable activities, but a comfortable mattress, a pillow and warm blankets for a few hours. Sometimes even a hot shower. It had been something he’d done a while ago, before he was able to build himself the life he now had in Boston. If it could be considered a life. But he’d always leave at the break of dawn, morning afters being the one thing he just couldn’t stomach. He never had morning afters, not ever since he’d lost Emma.

Mary Margaret lifted one shoulder in a careless stance. “Then let them talk - Mary Margaret Blanchard went on a date, and after that she went home with the same dark haired stranger that trashed the town sign.”

He laughed, the first genuine laugh he’d had since he’d arrived into town. “I can only imagine the gossip.”

“Besides, I can’t have my son sleeping in a car. What kind of mother would I be?” she joked.

“You’re too young and pretty to be my mother. Perhaps a younger sister,” he said in a flirty tone, using the compliment to deflect her attention, but Mary Margaret wasn’t so easily distracted. Killian started fidgeting, finding very hard to keep his armor under her stare. He finally relented.

“Only for tonight… then I’ll find something else.” He lifted his hand before she could speak. “And I’ll cook breakfast tomorrow.”

“Works for me,” she beamed at him and he sighed, turning his back and making his way back to the Bug.

“Well, at least let me offer you a ride home,” he said, pulling open the passenger door for her.

/-/

“I found your father, Prince Charming.”

The words were like a ton of bricks and Killian was glad he was sitting on the rail of that battered old playground, because otherwise his knees would probably had given way underneath him. Henry sat next to him in street clothes, that blasted leather-bound book open on his knees.

“Henry,” Killian sighed, but the lad cut him off, holding the book up to show a drawing of a sandy haired man.

“He doesn’t look like me.” No matter what Dr. Hopper said, Killian didn’t want to indulge Henry in this fantasy, but he couldn’t help the remark coming to his lips. He really didn’t look like the man. At all.

“You take after Snow White,” Henry shrugged, and Killian tilted his head. He could see that… maybe, a little. He and Mary Margaret both had dark hair and a strong complexion… He quickly shook his head, almost embarrassed that he’d gotten carried away by the lad’s fantasies.

Henry didn’t seem to have noticed, too busy studying the illustration. “He’s in a hospital, in a coma. See the scar?” he asked, his finger pointing to a noticeable cut on Prince Charming’s chin. “Can you see it? The guy in the hospital has one too!”

“So? A lot of people have scars,” Killian explained. “Even meself, I have one right here.” His fingers instinctively reached up to traced the line on his right cheek, but he quickly thought better of it and lowered his hand again. He didn’t want to get into further details with Henry, as it hadn’t been a happy tale. He’d learned the hard way in his first foster home that not everyone was like the Joneses. Actually, no one had been like the Joneses.

“In the same place?” Henry insisted stubbornly, his voice almost faltering as he felt he was stating the obvious. “Don’t you see what this means? The curse is keeping them apart with the coma. Now they’re stuck without each other. We have to tell Miss Blanchard we found her Prince Charming!” His voice sounded so hopeful that Killian almost wanted to believe him. But he’d also seen Mary Margaret’s disheartened face last night after coming from her date, and he simply couldn’t do that to her. It seemed too cruel to put such ideas in her head, only to have them crushed in the end.

“Lad,” he sighed, “telling someone their soulmate is in a coma is probably not helpful. Not having a happy ending is painful enough, but giving someone unrealistic hope is far worse.” His hand reached for Henry’s arm in a comforting gesture.

“But what if I’m right? We know who they are. Now they have to know!”

“How?” Killian wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten caught up in this entire ordeal until Henry gave him that look he knew so well. That look he hadn’t seen in a decade. That look that was all pleading without really asking.

“By reminding him. We have to get her to read their story to John Doe. Then, maybe, he’ll remember who he is.”

Killian had to admire the lad’s resilience. He wouldn't stop trying until he’d gotten his way. He reminded him so much of Emma, that same strong will that simply refused to give up. He’d loved that in Emma - her fierce and strong conviction that things would bent her way or she’d make them - and seeing their son - her son - turn out the same way ripped yet another tear in his battered heart.

He was torn: he knew he was helpless to deny Henry’s wishes - just as he had been to Emma’s, but at the same time he had no desire to bring any more heartache Mary Margaret’s way. Perhaps, if he tried this from another angle, it would be a good way to ease the lad into the truth - the disheartening truth that Henry refused to accept. How he wished he could just wave a hand and heal his son’s troubled heart.

“Alright,” he agreed, and Henry’s answering smile was almost heartbreakingly blinding. “But it will be done my way. I will ask her, aye?”

/-/

It wasn’t easy to approach Mary Margaret, but Killian sucked it up, bottled his own conflicted feelings. He simply proposed the idea as he stood in her kitchen, nursing a warm mug of hot chocolate in his hands.

“You want me to read to a coma patient?” She sounded skeptical, her eyes squinting in confusion. “I know my dating record is bad, but this-”

“Henry thinks it will help him remember who he was,” Killian tried to explain, taking a small sip of the hot drink she’d prepared. Damn, that woman made a killer hot chocolate.

“And who does he think he was?” she asked in her best teacher tone.

Killian fidgeted under her gaze as if he were a little lad. “Prince Charming.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes widened slightly. “And if I’m Snow White, he thinks me … and him… and you…”

“He has a very active imagination,” Killian offered with slight discomfort. “Which is the point, to be honest. I can’t disregard his beliefs without breaking his heart, so I thought that perhaps if we merely showed him... You don’t have to do much, just play along just this once and perhaps...” he trailed off, hoping Mary Margaret might take the hint.

“He might see that fairytales are just that. That there’s no such thing as love at first sight or first kiss.”

Killian felt a stab of guilt in his chest at her words, because for him there had been such a thing as love at first sight. And in the end it had brought him nothing but endless torment and heartache. Mary Margaret took a sip of her cocoa before speaking again. “He’ll see reality,” she finished, her tone as defeated as Killian felt. But he had to do what was best for Henry.

“Something like that,” he whispered softly.

“Sadly, it’s a good plan. You’d ease him into the truth without hurting him. It’s - it’s a good thing, Killian,” she offered reassuringly.

He pulled the book and handed it to her. “I told him we will meet you tomorrow for breakfast at Granny’s and you’d give us a full report.”

“Oh well, I suppose I’ll get ready for my date. I guess I’ll have to do all the talking,” she said sighing.

“And yet, I get the feeling that it would be an improvement over your last one?” He cocked an eyebrow, and Mary Margaret chuckled.

“I’ll be sure to say to your father that you send your regards,” she teased back.

“Please, I look nothing like the man!” Killian said affronted.

Mary Margaret shook her head from side to side, a small smile coming to her lips before she looked at him with a serious expression. “Do you have a place to stay tonight? You’re more than welcome to-”

“Oh no, it’s fine. I found a place,” he said quickly, lying through his teeth even as he plastered a smile on his face. He couldn’t keep doing this, growing attached to the people in this town. Not when he was planning to leave as soon as he was sure Henry was okay.

Something in her smile told him that she had seen right through him, but she chose to let it slide.

“My door is always open if you need it, Killian,” she finished softly and he gave her a small smile and a nod of his head before leaving her apartment.

/-/

The next morning Killian sat at one of the booths at Granny’s, his hand tugging at the sleeve of his black shirt, thanking the gods he’d always had a duffel bag packed and stored in the trunk of the Bug. Henry sat opposite him, helping himself to a hearty breakfast as they waited.

“Lad, where does your mother think you are?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Playing Whac-A-Mole,” he beamed, too proud of himself for Killian’s taste. A small tinge of regret reached him. He didn’t want to cause even more problems between Henry and her mother, and he certainly didn’t want to encourage Henry to lie to her. He’d only wished he could sort this situation as quickly as possible so he could say his heartfelt - and probably very painful - goodbye and let them be in peace. As it was intended when they signed the adoption papers.

“She believed you?” he asked concerned.

“She wants to believe it, so she does,” Henry said with a shrug of his shoulders.

It seemed the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

“Oh, imagine that. Henry, it’s not okay to lie to your mother-” Killian started to say but the rest of the sentence was cut off when the doorbell jingled, and Mary Margaret entered the diner.

“She’s here,” Henry announced, almost bouncing out of the booth.

“Henry, keep calm, aye? We’re just getting started,” Killian advised as he watched Mary Margaret made her way hastily towards their booth and slide over to sit beside Henry.

“He woke up!” she announced and Killian’s smile faltered on his face.

“I knew it!” Henry cheered excitedly.

“What?” Killian asked dumbfounded.

“He didn’t ‘wake up’ wake up, but he grabbed my hand,” Mary Margaret corrected, speaking hastily, her eyes shining in a way that gave Killian a very bad feeling about this entire ordeal.

“He’s remembering!” Henry announced, so sure of himself that Killian felt even more at unease.

“What did the doctor say?” Killian asked.

“That I imagined it,” Mary Margaret confessed in a small voice. “But I’m not crazy. I know it happened.” There was vehemence in her voice, and Killian tried to make sense of what she was saying.

“We have to go back. You have to read to him again!” Henry said excitedly.

Mary Margaret seemed thoughtful for a second. “Let’s go!” she announced finally and she and Henry got up and started to exit the booth. Killian sat there for one more second, wondering what in the blazes was going on.

“Wait!” he called for Mary Margaret and she turned around.

“If I got through to him, if we made a connection-” she started.

“You really don’t believe…” Killian began hesitantly.

“That he’s Prince Charming?” Mary Margaret asked, lowering her tone so Henry couldn’t hear her. “Of course not! But somehow, in some way, I touched him. We made a connection.” Her eyes were filled with hope.

“Mary Margaret, please don’t - I don't want you to get hurt,” he said softly.

“It will be okay,” she beamed before turning around and following Henry out the door.

Killian couldn’t do nothing but trail after them, his mind racing at the rapid turn of events.

Bloody hell. This hadn’t gone according to plan.

/-/

Mary Margaret and Henry rushed through the hospital entrance, Killian following a few steps behind, still trying to wrap his head around the recent events.

“You’re right - he’s waking up!” Henry announced excitedly, making his way towards the hospital bedroom.

The sheriff stood there, talking to some of the doctors. He quickly turned around when he noticed Henry, leaning over to stop the child from advancing any further.

“Henry, you should stay back,” he said hastily.

“What’s going on? Is it John Doe? Is he okay?” Mary Margaret’s almost tripped on her words, the concern palpable in her voice.

Graham lifted his eyes to Killian’s and he could see his hesitation. “He’s missing.”

Graham turned around slowly, and it was only then that Killian caught a glimpse of the hospital room behind him, and the sight of Regina standing by the vacant bed, talking to the doctors. Oh, bollocks. Her expression was stern as she made her way over.

“What the hell are you all doing here?” When her eyes fixated on Henry, Killian could see the sheer disappointment in them - and underneath that, he could sense the heartbreak.

Regina pulled Henry by his sleeve. “I thought you were at the arcade. Now you’re lying to me?” Her voice broke at the end of the sentence, and Killian felt bad for her.

“What happened to John Doe? Did someone take him?” Mary Margaret asked, seemingly oblivious to anything else going on around her that didn’t involve the man currently missing from his bed.

“We don’t know yet,” Graham sighed, his eyes darting once again between the teacher and Killian. “His IVs were ripped out, but there’s no sure sign there was a struggle.”

“What did you do?” Henry glared at Regina, pronouncing his words with such venom that Killian reacted instinctively.

“Henry!” he admonished, taking everyone - including Regina and himself - by surprise. “That’s no way to talk to your mother, lad.”

There was a brief, fleeting moment in which he thought that something that resembling gratitude might’ve crossed Regina’s face, but she quickly schooled her features as she addressed her son.

“You think I had something to do with this?” she asked, trying to mask the hurt in her tone and failing at it.

“Why are you even here?” Henry accused. He didn’t seem to realize how his words were affecting his mother, and Killian felt honorbound to intervene. Henry’s fantasies might be the way he communicated his complex emotions around the events in his life, but Regina Mills had adopted Henry, and she deserved a little more respect than what she was getting right now.

“Henry,” he chided. “Your mother is the Mayor, she surely needs to be informed when something happens that might put this town or its inhabitants at risk.” He offered a polite smile to Regina, but it seemed his attempts at peacemaking were no longer welcome.

“That is correct,” she pointed out, straightening her dress. “And I’m also his emergency contact.”

“You know him?” Mary Margaret asked, with a mix of hope and curiosity.

“I found him. On the side of the road years ago with, no ID. I’m the one who brought him here.”

“Mayor Mills saved his life,” the doctor agreed, stepping forward to join the fray.

“Will he be okay?” Mary Margaret inquired, voice laced with concern.

“Okay? The man’s been on feeding tubes for years, under constant supervision. He needs to get back here ASAP or, quite honestly, ‘okay’ might be a pipe dream.” The doctor’s reasoning was sound enough, but there was something about the man that rubbed Killian the wrong way. Something about how his gaze lingered just a second too long after Mary Margaret had turned away.

“Well, we shouldn’t waste any time then,” Killian pronounced, and all eyes turned to him.

“We?” Regina repeated in disbelief. “Just stay out of it, dear. And since I clearly can’t keep you away from my son, I guess I’m just going to have to keep my son away from you.” She shot him a condescending look over her shoulder, and Killian clenched his jaw to prevent him from speaking and alienating the woman even further.

“Sheriff!” she ordered. “Find John Doe. You heard Dr. Whale. Time is precious.” Then before anyone could contradict her, she turned and left the room, dragging Henry behind her, the staccato beat of her high heels against the tile floor echoing down the corridor.

“Doctor, how long between your rounds since you last saw him?” Graham inquired.

“Twelve hours or so.”

Graham gave Killian a pointed look. “Then that’s what we need to account for.”

Killian nodded, following the sheriff as they made their way towards the security room. Regina might have wanted him to mind his own business, but Graham clearly had other ideas. And since Killian had been the one to drag Mary Margaret into this mess in the first place, he was hardly in a position to refuse his assistance.

/-/

This town was going to be the death of him. Of that, Killian was certain. They were clearly unprepared for anything like this, and the amount of recklessness in the way these people conducted both the security and their searches made Killian wonder how anything got done in the first place. If he had ever been as sloppy in his bailbonds job as these people were about remembering details and descriptions, he’d have starved to death long ago. There had been a mix up with the security footage, which was just another unnecessary delay to their search. Luckily they got him to set the records straight as he figured out that it was the wrong tape and they eventually got their hands on the right tape, and figured out John Doe had left the hospital on his own, headed in the direction of the woods.

When they finally hit the woods it was clear they’d entered Graham’s turf, as the sheriff took over on the tracking side of things, leading them down a series of old hiking trails none of the rest of them even knew existed. Killian had to admit he was impressed by the expertise with which Graham conducted this part of the search.

“He’s clearly in his element,” Killian commented as he and Mary Margaret waited for Graham to pick up the trail again.

“Isn’t finding people your thing, too?” Mary Margaret asked confused.

“Aye, but the people I usually search for escape to places like Vegas or Atlantic City. I don’t think they’d even know how to hike in the woods. Let alone hide in them and survive.”

Mary Margaret tilted her head, wearing that quizzical look he was starting to fear from her. “How’d you fall into it? Finding people?”

Killian’s smile faltered, the memories hitting him like waves crashing on the shore. “Looking for people is what I do, what I’ve done my whole life.”

“Was it your parents?” she asked with an apologetic tone as she noticed Killian’s uncomfortable stance. “Henry mentioned that your parents - that your situations were similar.”

“You could say that,” Killian nodded, aware of certain similarities between his story and Henry’s. But he hadn’t thought of his birth parents in a long time. Granted, they had been on his mind constantly when he’d bounced from home to home, sick with grief and sadness over losing the only family he ever knew. Before that, his birth parents hadn’t been on his mind. The truth was, Killian had parents in his life. His parents were Isobel and Brennan Jones. His brother was Liam Jones. And they hadn’t abandoned him at the side of the road. They had never meant to leave him behind. They had died. It wasn’t the same. The people that left him at the side of a road where not the reason he excelled at finding people. “But it wasn’t - it wasn’t them,” he said with a sad, barely audible voice.

Realization dawned on Mary Margaret’s face. “Oh,” she said. “Was it her? Henry’s mom? Emma?”

Killian swallowed and nodded slowly. Whichever words he was weaving to get himself out of this conversation, and push back the pain that had started to creep back were cut off by the sound of branch snapping behind them. Killian and Mary Margaret both turned around, to find Henry trailing behind them.

“Did you find him yet?” he asked eagerly.

Killian cocked an eyebrow at him. “Henry what are you doing here? We’re in the middle of the woods, this is dangerous ground-” he trailed off. Gods, he sounded like his father when he used to scold him and Liam for sneaking out to the creek that ran behind their house.

Henry didn’t show a single ounce of regret at being there. At least Killian and Liam had known how to pull an acting face to save themselves from a bigger punishment. “I can help. I know where he’s going!”

“Where?” Mary Margaret asked and Killian made a mental note to have a talk with her later. If he was staying in town to ensure Henry’s well-being - as Mary Margaret had been encouraging him to do - then she was going to help him by getting Henry to stop running around directly into danger’s path, and listen to his mother for a change.

“He’s looking for you,” Henry explained to her, as though that should have been obvious. But instead of dismissing the idea as ridiculous, which it clearly was, Mary Margaret didn’t say anything at all. She just nodded slightly, the flare of hope in Henry’s eyes making Killian want to tear his own hair out.

/-/

Graham returned a few minutes later, announcing that he’d picked up a fresh trail. He looked surprised to see Henry with them, but no one suggested turning back. Instead they pressed on into the wilderness together, flashlights on their hands as night started to fall upon them. Killian kept his eyes carefully trained on Henry, trying to ensure the lad’s safety in the darkening woods. But if Henry was aware of the dangers, he didn’t seem concerned, growing more excited by the minute over the possibility of John Doe being Prince Charming.

“You’re the one who woke him up,” he insisted, his flashlight beam dancing erratically across the undergrowth as he moved his arms back and forth. “You’re the last one he saw in the Enchanted Forest. He wants to find you!”

“Henry, this is not about me.” It seemed that Mary Margaret had finally come to her senses, her voice soft and comforting as she addressed Henry. “I think he’s lost and confused. He’s been in a coma a long time.”

“But he loves you!” Henry insisted stubbornly, growing agitated, his little voice shaking with his need to be understood. “You need to stop chasing him, and let him find you.”

“Lad...” Killian sighed, trying to be understanding of Henry’s feelings, but also feeling the need to stop this nonsense. “You need to go home. This is no place for you, especially at night. Where’s your mother?” he asked worryingly. “She’s going to kill me the moment she finds out. And then you. And then probably me again.”

“She dropped me at the house. Then went right out,” Henry explained, and part of Killian wanted to kick Regina for not taking into account her son’s propensity for running away. He was after all his and Emma’s son, and if there was one thing they both had been, it was runners. It seemed Henry had picked up that trait effortlessly.

“We need to get you back home immediately,” Killian decided, exchanging a short look with Mary Margaret and motioning for Henry to turn back with him.

“No!” Henry yelled, and Killian was taken aback by the sheer intensity of his voice. He opened his mouth to say something, when Graham’s shout filtered through the trees.

“Guys!”

Killian and Mary Margaret wasted no time running in the direction of Graham’s voice, Henry right behind them. They entered the clearing to find the Sheriff bent over, his flashlight illuminating a small, shiny object caught on a rock.

As Killian came closer he could see it for what it was, a hospital wristband. John Doe’s hospital wristband.

It was caked in mud and spluttered with… something else. He leaned in to get a closer look, his worst fears confirmed.

“Is that…?” Mary Margaret asked with a thin voice.

“Blood,” Killian confirmed, leaning back.

Things became somewhat frantic after that. Killian kept up the pace, but let Graham and Mary Margaret take the lead. They seemed to know what they were doing, and to him every tree, every rock, and every fallen log looked the same as the last. Eventually they arrived at what seemed to be some sort of creek or river with a small bridge spanning across it.

“Where is he?” Mary Margaret asked, scouring the surroundings with her flashlight.

“The trail dies at the water line,” Graham replied grimly.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” Killian turned around just as Mary Margaret tossed her flashlight aside, and headed towards the water line, where the body of John Doe lay sprawled.

Graham put his flashlight down too, and reached for his walkie-talkie. “I need an ambulance,” he yelled into the device. “At the old Toll Bridge, as soon as possible.” He cut the communication and made his way towards Mary Margaret.

Killian quickly glanced over Henry, who was looking visibly shaken at the sight. Killian leaned down to make sure the boy was listening to him, his words filled with as much authority as he could muster. “You stay here!” he ordered. He waited for the lad to nod his understanding, before turning to follow Graham.

Carefully, but hastily, the three of them managed to drag the man out of the water and laid him out on the ground. He was unconscious, and Killian couldn’t even tell if he was still alive.

“No, no, no, no, no! No, no, no! I found you!” Mary Margaret whispered, lost in her own self, her hands cradling his face. “It’s going to be okay,” she crooned, though to herself or to the man in her arms, Killian didn’t know.

“Help is coming,” Graham said in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring, leaning in to assess his vitals.

“Is he going to be okay?” Henry’s voice came small and fragile out of the dark, and in a moment Killian forgot everything else and ran back to where he’d left his son and pulled him into his arms.

“Henry, lad. Don’t look,” he said softly as he caressed his head, averting the kid’s eyes from the scene in front of them. He’d seen many things in his life by the time he was Henry’s age - things that still haunted him during the long nights-, things he definitely wanted to spare his son from seeing. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mary Margaret started chest compressions.

“Come back to us. Come back to me,” she whispered before leaning in to give him mouth-to-mouth. It had been a long night and everything was half in shadow, with most of their flashlights lying forgotten in the mud, but Killian could’ve sworn that the respiratory assistance ended with a desperate kiss from Mary Margaret. But perhaps he was just imagining things. It could be the day playing tricks on him.

The man started coughing, and Killian sighed in relief. His shoulders sagged while Graham let out what sounded like a whoop of joy. But when John Doe finally opened his eyes, it was only Mary Margaret that he saw.

“You saved me,” he whispered in a throaty voice, and Mary Margaret smiled through her tears.

“She did it! She woke him up,” Henry said, amazed at what he was seeing and his voice carrying a hope that Killian couldn’t bring himself to snuff out. Not at this very moment. It was all far-fetched and impossible, but at this moment, he was running out of reasons not to believe. Not when Mary Margaret had brought a coma patient back to life by the sheer force of her voice and her kiss.

“It seems so, lad.”

“Who are you?” Mary Margaret asked, her fingers still tracing a pattern down the man’s cheek.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his eyes never leaving hers.

“It’s okay,” she said, grasping for his hand. “You’re going to be okay.”

/-/

It was a short ride to the hospital, and the four of them rushed behind the stretcher that carried the patient back into the care of the doctors. Their faces were pressed against the glass as they witnessed how he was monitored. A blonde woman frantically passed them by, desperately calling the name David and entering the room. Whale tried to intervene but she refused to leave, tears coming to her eyes.

“Who is she?” Mary Margaret asked confused, and a sudden sense of dread came over Killian.

“His wife.”

He turned around to find Regina standing behind them with a calculated stare. Killian almost gasped at the information. He hadn’t seen that one coming. “His name is David Nolan. And that’s his wife, Kathryn.”

It didn’t make any sense.

He listened as Kathryn tearfully recounted her story, about her and David growing apart years ago, the strain on their marriage, her belief that he had left town long ago. Her happiness to have found him again, and the second chance she was given to make things right.

It didn’t add up, and yet Killian couldn’t find a hint of a lie in the telling of it. As far as Kathryn Nolan was concerned, s was telling the truth. And he could see how it had visibly shattered Mary Margaret’s heart with every new word she’d spoken.

And it was all his bloody fault.

Whale came back and confirmed David was in good health, but his memory was affected and his wife excused herself to be by his side.

“Well,” Regina said, “The joy on her face has put me in quite the forgiving mood.” Her eyes focused on Henry. “We’ll talk about your insubordination at home. Do you know what insubordination means? It means you’re grounded.”

Henry made a face as if he wanted to contest the decision, and Killian couldn’t help himself. “Your mother is right, Henry. You can’t run away from her like that into the woods. It was dangerous and reckless.”

Henry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but Killian held his ground. He leveled his eyes with his son’s hazel ones, and for a moment he almost faltered at that pleading look - he’d been powerless against Emma when she had that look. “Rule number 3: You do not you leave your house without permission, ‘specially to wander around in the woods at night.”

His eyes darted to Regina’s dumbfounded face before he spoke again. “You could have gotten hurt, lad.”

Regina swallowed hard before she looked at her son. “Go wait in the car, Henry, I’ll be right there.”

Killian could see Henry leaning to grab his backpack and using the opportunity to whisper something to Mary Margaret. He couldn’t hear what, but the pain evident on the woman’s face was enough for him to figure it out. Once Henry was out of the room, Regina spoke again.

“We have you to thank for all this, Mr. Jones,” she announced and Killian could feel Mary Margaret’s shocked eyes on him.

“Me?”

“That tape you found was a stroke of genius. So, we went back and looked at past tapes. Turns out Mr. Doe’s been talking in his sleep. He’s been calling out for a Kathryn. After that, it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.” Regina shrugged, her eyes looking directly at Mary Margaret. “True love won out. So bask in the moment, dear. Were it not for you two, Kathryn and David would have lived their lives completely alone. That’s why I’m willing to forgive your meddling today. Because all this has reminded me of something oh-so very important. How grateful I am to have Henry. Because not having someone? Well, that’s the worst curse imaginable.” He couldn’t tell if the words were directed to him, to Mary Margaret or to the both of them. But they sliced through him anyway, like a sharp edged knife.

“I only want what’s best for Henry, Madam Mayor,” Killian professed, hoping that she could see that he had no intention to take him away from her. He just wanted to help Henry get better so he could go back to Boston with a clear conscience.

“Then you should leave,” Regina said with finality, before turning around and walking away. It was all Killian could do to stare after her, measuring the truth of her words, not able to stand the shattered look on Mary Margaret’s face as she watched Kathryn fold into David’s arms.

He’d done this. He’d given her false hope, and now her world was crumbling around her. He had to make it right.

I can’t leave. Not now. Not yet.

/-/

He stood by the green wooden door, shuffling his feet, trying to find the courage to knock. Regina’s words kept resonating within him, another set of memories coming back to him. He’d concealed those reminiscences in the back of his mind for so long, but now it was almost impossible to keep them at bay.

“Killian!” she’d laughed, trying hard to keep away from him as he chased her. He finally caught up with her, lifting her effortlessly by the waist and spinning around on the spot.

“Stop, I’m getting dizzy!” she pleaded.

“Liar!” he replied, but he’d stopped anyway, placing her carefully back down on the ground. She stumbled a little before she regained her footing. “You seem to forget, Swan, that I can tell when someone is lying to me.” His hand reached for hers and she let him pull her back into his arms.

“Your superpower,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at him. “The one you love to brag about.”

He tilted his head, “It is one of my qualities, isn’t it?”

“Bragging?”

He chuckled. “Knowing when someone is telling me the truth.”

She bit her lower lip, her green eyes boring into his. “So if I tell you something now, something I haven’t told anyone, you’ll know if I’m telling you the truth, right?”

His heart missed a beat, concern marring his features. “Swan, what is it? Are you in trouble? Is that why you ran away?”

She shook her head, a shy smile coming to her lips. “It’s something else, Killian.” She tilted her head, waiting for him to reply to her original question. “Would you be able to tell if I really mean it?” she wondered aloud.

“Yes, I’d be able to tell,” he confirmed, his heart beating frantically in his chest.

She leaned into him, her smile the brightest he’d ever seen it. “I love you.”

Three words. Three simple words that had changed his life forever.

He never took his eyes away from hers, even as he leaned in to rest his forehead against hers. “I love you too, Swan.”

He pulled himself together, taking a deep breath as he hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder, and reached out to knock on the door.

Mary Margaret answered almost immediately, her red-rimmed eyes confirming Killian’s greatest fear.

“Is that spare room still available?” he asked with a tilt of his head, his tongue darting out in a cheesy attempt at bad flirting.

It seemed to work, as she chuckled. “What happened with wildly inappropriate?”

He shrugged. “Well, you’re not planning to make a move on me, are you?”

Her smile was small but sincere, and Killian counted that as a victory. “Come in,” she said softly, opening the door and moving to the side to let him by.

He crossed the threshold in two strides, dropping the duffel to the floor and reached for her, pulling her into a hug. “It’d be okay,” he said, letting her sink into his embrace, “Mom,” he finished with a mocking whisper.

She chuckled again, squeezing him tighter. “Thank you, Killian.”

“Any time.”

#cs ff #lenfaz fics #time upon once #captain swan #canon divergence

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