#did these people BARELY pass the psych eval????

[ikas-mist]

Casting knew EXACTLY what they were doing when they created the yellow tribe.

[messylxve]

burned hearts | aaron hotchner x reader

part three

content warning : psychotic break, gun, gunshots, injured reader, hospital/ER setting, sad love confessions, happy endings ( I love happy endings)

pt 1 pt 2

If the silence before was sickening, you didn’t even know how to describe it now. You spared him no words as you got out the car and made your way to your apartment.

Aaron only took that as a sign to follow a far distance behind.

Your apartment felt so fitting. It was an amalgamation of everything that reminded him of you and Aaron couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging in being there.

“I was forced to let go of three officers in the past year,” you uttered as you sat in front of your computer, typing away.

“Two moved away, one was let go for failure of a psych eval.”

Hotch frowned at that one. Placing a hand on the back of your chair, he leaned in close to get a good look at the screen.

“Pull up what you have on him.”

Your glance shifted over to him through your peripheral. He was close, his cheek nearly brushing against yours as his eyes stayed trained on the screen.

Catching yourself, you cleared your throat. “You’re breathing down my neck.”

Quicker than ever, Aaron backed away, clearing his throat as well.

You frowned, your attention now fully on him. “Martin Johnson, described as a family man, always talked about them in work when given the chance. But…”

Aaron looked over at you. “But?”

“They all recently passed. Car accident. Johnson was the only survivor.”

“How many people in his family?”

Your frowned deepened as the dot began to connect in your mind. “Four. His wife…two daughters…and a son.”

“Matches our victims.”

You looked up at Aaron. “He’s recreating his own family.”

Aaron fell silent in agreement. "Do you have an address?"

You nodded your head wordlessly. "Printing off his information now."

"Good, we need to get this back to the rest of my team as soon as possible."

He left your side as you waited by the printer and found himself lingering by the door to your office. His eyes trailed around the room, taking it in again. On a small side table, he saw a collection of pictures in frames of your family.

His face remained stoic, but he could feel the ghost of a smile creeping on his face seeing the pictures of you so happy.

However as his eyes dusted over each one, they snagged on something else: a slip of paper. It looked worn and old. Crumpled, folded, and possibly even cried on, multiple times over.

He would have passed it up had it not been for the pretty handwriting marking it.

'Aaron,' it read.

Instinctively, he grasped it. He held it with so much care, so much cautiousness as if it was to crumble in his hands.

He moved to open it, but it left his hands so quickly, snatched away by you.

"Don't touch my things," you grumbled, storming past him. "C'mon I have the information, we need to get back."

How could things have gone so wrong so quickly?

It was barely even half an hour ago that Aaron Hotchner decided to unturn the memories of a night you didn't ever want to touch again.

It seemed so major in those moments, but now, staring down the barrel of an unsub's gun, you found yourself rethinking every single decision you've ever made.

"Johnson." Your voice wavered as you released your gun from the holster, holding it in the air to show you meant no harm. "You don't want to do this."

"Don't tell me what I want!" His eyes were crazed and rimmed red. They shot all over the place, at the officers, the guns. At Aaron.

The fear clouding Aaron’s eyes squeezed at your heart. No one else could see it, but you did. You always did.

Finally, Martin looked back at you.

"All of you! Abandoned me! When I needed it most!"

"Johnson," an officer barked. "Back away fro—,"

"Get away," Martin screamed, stepping even closer to you, the gun pointed at the bridge of your nose. "Or I will shoot."

"No one is going to shoot, Martin," your words came out in a single breath. Despite the way your hands trembled so furiously, your voice never wavered. "I promise you, just put the gun down."

You saw the hesitation in his stance now. "My family was hurt," he cried. "No one helped me. I put them back together and no one helped me. And now! Now you just want to tear them away from me!"

"Martin."

Your eyes fell away from the man at the sound of a new voice. His voice.

"You didn't get the help you needed before, but we can help your family now. We can't do anything unless you put the gun down."

Everything slowed down in your eyes. You watched as Martin lowered the gun. No longer aimed between your eyes, you slowly let your arms fall to your side. Your attention fell to Aaron and you found a semblance of peace in the center of chaos.

It was calming.

You didn’t realize how much you yearned for that specific kind of peace. That kind of peace that only came from him.

But as quickly as that peace came, it washed away.

You saw the anger in Smith when he first heard the news of his pregnant wife's disappearance. You saw the anger in his eyes when you released him from the case. You saw the anger that burned away at his face when you threatened to withhold his gun.

Yet you never did. You should have taken it. Maybe that would have saved you.

You didn't know where or who the gunshots came from, but you know one of them hit you. You didn't know if you'd live or die, but you knew that between the stress of this case, the resurfaced emotions brought up from seeing Aaron again, and the impact of the gun, your body gave in.

The last thing you saw before it all went black was Aaron.

What a beautiful sight it was.

Aaron stayed by your side the entire time. He never left until he was absolutely forced to. Even then, he couldn’t find it in himself to be very far.

“How’s it looking,” Derek asked Rossi once he finally arrived to the hospital.

“l/n will be okay. Bullet only came in through the shoulder, so it’s a quick recovery.”

Morgan crossed his arms, leaning on the wall next to Rossi. “And Hotch?”

“What about him?”

Derek looked at the man further down the hall. His hands was clasped into each other and his knee bounced repeatedly as he recited unheard words to himself over and over.

“You’re kidding right?”

Rossi spared the man another glance, letting out a deep sigh. “I think he’ll be okay.”

“Are you Aaron Hotchner?”

Hotch doesn’t think he’s ever moved so fast, but he was on his feet quicker than he could even process his actions. “I- yes—that’s. That’s me.”

The nurse smiled softly. “She’s asking for you.”

Rossi could help but let out a chuckle watching Aaron hesitate before opening the door.

No words could sum up what Aaron felt. He supposed fear would be an appropriate word, but it wasn’t all fear. He felt as if an accumulation of all of his life choices waited behind that door.

In a way, it was.

With a final anxious breath, he pushed the door open.

On the other side, there he saw you. You looked oddly uncomfortable. You squirmed in your hospital bed and chewed on your fingernails as you waited for him. And when you saw him, you sat up straight and cleared your throat awkwardly, almost presenting yourself to him.

It reminded Aaron so much of when he first met you. That authoritative Chief of police personality had faded away into this. Something so vulnerable and fragile.

“Aaron…hi.” Your voice was so soft now.

“Hi.” His sigh died upon his lips when he saw you. “Can I…,” he motioned for the chair next to you.

“You don’t have to ask to sit Aaron.” You couldn’t help but breathe out a laugh, but that smile faded just as quick as it came, pain shooting up your arm.

“Don’t hurt yourself trying to make me laugh.”

You watched him as he pulled a chair up to your bed. You couldn’t help but notice the way your hand twitched, almost as if he was holding himself back from grasping your own. Well the one that wasn’t tied back by a sling.

The two of you sat in silence, the both waiting of the other to say something.

You invited him in with hope the words would magically come to you, but you felt the seconds tick by and all you did was get lost in his eyes.

His eyes were brown, but to you it never felt like just brown. It was that gentle shade that for a major portion of your life, you felt so much solace in.

Painfully, your eyes broke away from his saddening ones.

“I…I don’t know how to do this.”

You didn’t see it, but you could practically feel the way Aaron’s eyebrows dipped down in confusion.

“Do what?”

“This,” you tossed your free hand up in exasperation and glared at the fabric of your blanket. “I—, I had so many things I wanted to tell you, I need to tell you but…I don’t even know which words to start with.”

You didn’t know what to expect from him. Some part of him expected you to walk away like you did him, but instead, you found his warm grasp engulfing your own.

He held your hand with such a gentle hold, you couldn’t help but squeeze it to ensure it was really there. Your eyes moved up slowly, meeting his with hesitance and when you finally met his devastating browns, your heart broke for the thousandth time that day.

“I think you already know the words you need to say.”

He didn’t have to say its name for you to know what he was talking about. You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded to bag where your clothes would be.

Wordlessly, Aaron let his hand abandon yours to stand. You watched him sift through your things until he pulled out that infamous piece of notebook paper from your abandoned pant pocket.

He moved at an unbearable pace back to you, gave the note a once over, and passed the paper to you.

Back in your hands, you had this great urge to burn it, or throw it, or drown it away so you’d never have to face it. But you knew that it wouldn’t matter anyways.

“You know,” you breathed out. “You’d laugh but I think I’ve read this so many times, I think I memorized it. I-,” your voice cracked, tears found themselves fight their way to the surface. “I don’t think I even need this.” You waved the note in the air before letting it slap down onto your leg.

“I’m not forcing you to read this,” he reassured, placing a tentative hand on your knee. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes, I do.” Your words came quick. You weren’t sure about much anymore but you were sure about this at the very least. “You deserve an explanation for why I left. Why I really left.”

You didn’t open the note. You didn’t even touch it. Instead, you found a sense of fleeting comfort in staring into the empty space between Aaron and the door.

“Aaron,” you recited. “I feel like I need to preface this by telling you that I don’t expect some grand response out of this. I don’t expect you to feel obligated in reciprocating my feelings and I certainly don’t expect you to feel the need to choose anything.

I’m telling you this because I consider you my best friend and I believe, best friends do not and should not lie to each other. I can’t live with this weighing on me anymore and that is why I’m telling you this.

I…love you Aaron Hotchner.

I love you in a way a best friend shouldn’t love a best friend. And it hurts.”

You didn’t even notice the tears now streaming down your cheeks until a sob broke free from your breath. Your unopened letter laid free on your lap now as you moved to wipe your tears.

“It hurts so much, but I need you to know this because last night was a mistake. Not because I hated every moment of it, I didn’t.

It was a mistake because I’ve been lying to you. It was a mistake because I, as a best friend was supposed to help you grieve your breakup with Haley. Not throw myself at you in a moment of vulnerability.

I’m telling you this in hopes of moving past this because in the end, if I were to do something stupid, something I truly regret, I fear that I’d lose you and that…that would probably break me beyond repair.”

Through your own tears, you realized you had managed to successfully avoid Aaron’s eyes for the entirety of your monologue.

“How ironic of me,” you attempted to laugh off when the silence was just too much to bear.

“You’re doing it again,” Aaron noted.

You stopped yourself, looking down and then back at him. “I know.”

You watched as he process everything he heard. He blinked once. Then twice. Let out a breath of air and let his brows sink barely half an inch lower. “Do you know what I’ve always admired about you?”

This caught your attention.

“What?”

“You’ve always been so selfless. You worried so much about the happiness of others and it shined through in your best moments.”

It was now your turn to shake your head in confusion. “I don’t un—,”

“Please. Let me finish.”

“Sorry…”

You felt his hand leave your knee and find your hand once more. “But, it’s also always been your downfall. You’re so selfless, you forget to put yourself first. It always killed me to see you do it but I never said anything about it because I was young and stupid…”

You moved to disagree with that but he shot you a knowing look.

“I know things now that I wish I had half a brain to fathom then.”

He took your hand and joined it with his other do that now your hand fully disappeared into his own. “More than half of those things are how I feel about you. Us”

Your brows dipped down in vulnerability. “Us?”

“Yes. Us. I don’t know where we stand nor do I know where we go from here, but I know I’d rather figure it out with you in my life than acting like I never knew you at all. Because I love you.”

A final tear fell upon your smiling lips. “You love me?”

“Always.”

taglist: @mackannkees @gghostwriter @person-005

A/N: This is my first criminal minds fic so PLEASE leave criticism, I wanna know how I can improve

[suchaladyy]

Broken Resolutions by suchalady (Rated M, 1.6k)

I wrote this from two prompts: one from this list, and one from this one.

Thank you to @nonamemanga for being the first eyes on this and for helping me with the minutia!

—

It was a couple of minutes after midnight, and already there were a couple of resolutions broken.

—

Wednesday hadn’t even wanted to come to this stupid party. She’d had no obligation to, either - this wasn’t Enid’s affair; it was a Nightshade party that Enid herself had only been invited to because she was dating Ajax.

Wednesday certainly wasn’t a Nightshade, a fact that hadn’t earned her much good will with the other attendees of the party, as she had turned them down multiple times, each rejection more insolent than the last. She had a problem with people who couldn’t take no for an answer.

Therefore, there was no reason she shouldn’t be ringing in the New Year in her bedroom, spending the night like she would any other. She was not the type to look for a reason to celebrate, and the changing of the Gregorian calendar year was as arbitrary a reason as any.

Yet she had ended up there anyway, sipping on cheap, flat beer that offended her sensibilities along with her taste buds, as Enid anxiously socialized with her boyfriend’s friends. That was the reason Wednesday was there. Her roommate had been nervous to come to the party and face the scary, approval-withholding “popular” people, so she had turned her puppy dog eyes on Wednesday until she’d broken.

If Enid hadn’t finally transformed in the fall, Wednesday would think the girl had been misclassified and was really a siren.

That was the only phenomenon that could explain how the gloomy girl ended up with glitter swiped across her zygomatic and around the orbital bones of her shadowed, sunken eyes, surely intended to compliment her shimmery black dress, but the effect lacked luster on her cheerless form.

Wednesday blamed Enid for what transpired later, too.

Ten minutes before midnight, Wednesday had gone looking for the bathroom. Apparently, the ancient hidden library did not have modern plumbing, and so she had had to venture out into the deserted halls of Nevermore to empty her bladder.

After she relieved herself, Wednesday’s boot heels clicked against the stone floor and echoed down the hall as she checked her wristwatch. Seven minutes to midnight.

Looking back up, she stopped in her tracks for only a moment at the sight of Tyler Galpin lazily making his way down the hallway in the other direction. What was he doing here?

Back in November, rather than sending Tyler to a mental facility, or better, maximum security prison, after what he’d aided Laurel Gates in almost doing, the state of Vermont had decided that he belonged at Nevermore Academy. With children. The very children that he had tried to massacre not even a month prior.

This decision was probably not made lightly, and the administration would not have allowed it if they thought he posed a real danger to the students.

Still, administrative errors were made all the time.

Wednesday wasn’t interested in getting caught in Tyler’s web of deceit again, no matter what his clean psych eval said. She steered clear. And for what it was worth - so did he. He’d barely looked at her in the last month and half that they’d roamed the same halls, attended the same classes, breathed the same air.

The rest of the student body had a similar repulsion to Tyler Galpin, though she’d bet no ones’ was as strong as hers, not even Xavier’s, who made pointless, exaggerated displays out of berating Tyler publicly. He rarely responded to the taunts or shoves, and when he did it was never more than a twitch of his eyebrow or lips. He was untouchable - to her, to everyone else.

That said, she didn’t think Tyler would have any plans for New Years Eve. To her knowledge, he didn’t have any friends, period. Why was he wandering the halls, then?

She glanced at him up and down as they passed each other in the hall, the wide corridor meaning there was no chance of them brushing arms. He wasn’t dressed up, but he wasn’t dressed down either, wearing light wash jeans and a black t-shirt. He had a bruise on the side of his face and a scrape around his eye. She didn’t know where they came from.

As she continued towards the secret entrance to the library, she wondered where he was going to ring in the New Year, which was now - she checked again - six minutes away.

Was he going to meet a girl? an ugly voice whispered in the back of her brain. She never listened to this voice. It spouted a lot of useless nonsense. She thought Enid and this ugly voice would make great friends.

Wednesday was not paying attention, her thoughts preoccupied with analyzing Tyler’s possible plans as well as his unexpected wound, so she did not notice as he came up behind her until she was suddenly pressed against the wall next to the entrance to the hidden library.

She elbowed him in the gut and spun around, satisfied by his pained grunt, but Tyler grabbed her by the throat - not squeezing, just keeping her pressed back against the brick. His fingers tightened minutely before he leaned down and kissed her, stealing whatever vitriolic words were about to come out of her.

Her mouth opened for him automatically, letting him slot their lips together. She’d only ever been kissed once - a sickeningly perfect moment of innocent exploration in the Weathervane before all of her illusions of romance and trust were shattered.

But this was a crash course in heat; he was hungry and unencumbered as he descended on her. His hand slid from cradling her neck to her chin, tilting her up to him as he licked into her open mouth, finding her tongue and encouraging her to clumsily mimic him. His tongue rubbing against hers, soft but relentless, felt salacious to her, yet she whimpered in protest when he retreated from her mouth.

He soothed her desperation with a bite to her bottom lip, turning her pout into a tiny moan that made embarrassment flare up in her chest. He didn’t give her time to dwell on it, though; he crowded her even further against the wall, towering over her and making her crane her neck up so he could better nip at her lips.

Surrounded by him on all sides, caged against the hard wall behind her, she was enveloped in his scent, so much so that she felt like she was drowning in it. His smell wasn’t anything complicated - clean laundry, some kind of woodsy, masculine cologne, and something that could only be described as boy - but it made her mouth water, made her press up harder into Tyler’s mouth and lick behind his teeth, as if she might be able to taste it. The taste of his mouth was different - pretty much just spit and coffee - but it was no less intoxicating to her. His resulting groan only amplified the effect.

She felt like she was drowning in him, all of her senses overtaken by nothing but Tyler:

Taste - she flicked her tongue out again, this time trailing it along his full bottom lip, tasting his skin, wanting to suck the faint flavor of minty lip balm off of his mouth, and so she did;

Touch - his warm, firm hands on her straining body, smoothing up and down her sides in steadying caresses that only served to make her feel less contained;

Hearing - his heavy breathing and the slick sounds of his mouth on hers filled her ears and made her ache between her legs;

Smell - he pulled back, removing his lips from hers, and Wednesday reflexively took a deep breath of air through her nose, sucking down another heady gulp of his scent;

Sight - and when she blinked open her eyes - he was already staring at her, pupils blown.

—

Ten minutes later, Tyler and Wednesday found themselves in a dark storage closet, his hands much rougher on her body now as their mouths came together again and again. She was drunk on the feeling of his tongue in her mouth; he’d seemingly picked up on how much she liked it and was abusing it to the fullest extent.

There went her first resolution of the new year: To not interact with Tyler Galpin beyond what was strictly required of her by social or academic obligation.

When she moaned emphatically at him sucking on her tongue, he pulled away with bright eyes and a smirk. “You like that?” he asked huskily, teasing her.

This Tyler was a lot mouthier than normie Tyler - which was saying something. He’d already been snarky. It was one of the things she had liked about him. The slight edge that went against what his all American, cookie cutter appearance suggested he’d be like. Now that he wasn’t hiding who he was, or maybe because he wasn’t trying so hard all the time to trick her, he had even more bite - she hated how much she liked it.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his hand running up the smooth underside of her stocking clad thigh.

She didn’t like his earnestness nearly as much. “The posturing is unnecessary.”

“Have I ever lied to you?” he asked, his voice low but lilting, a twinkle in his eye, clearly joking.

"When have you ever told me the truth?" she shot back bluntly.

He sobered up and looked at her seriously. “Anytime I had a choice.”

He didn’t wait for a response, instead pressing his full lips back against hers, effectively silencing her and clearing her head.

Tyler trailed kisses along her jaw and to the soft, sensitive spot behind her ear. “I missed you,” he said, the words ghosting across her skin.

And there went her second resolution: To not ever believe a word that crossed his lips again.

[connellys]

izzy connelly’s psych eval.

Tell me about your sleeping habits over the past month. Have you noticed any changes? Difficulty sleeping? Restlessness? What was it like before you were on the island?

“i guess i’ve always, like, been kind of a heavy sleeper,” izzy offered. at home, but at the hospital, too. she could block out the beeping and the discomfort that came from being in a bed that wasn’t her own. it was a good skill to have. “even on the island. mostly, i guess.” when odessa had died, she’d stayed awake for as long as she could, then passed out, and when she woke, odessa was gone. the next time she slept after that, she’d woken up here. “i haven’t really been sleeping well since i got here,” she added sheepishly. she’d barely been sleeping at all. how could she, now?

How would you describe your appetite over the past 5 weeks? Have your eating habits changed in any way? What was it like before you were on the island?

“there wasn’t, like, a lot to eat, where we were. so we just got what we could, i guess. but, um, family dinners, they’re really important to my mom. and good nutrition, and stuff.” it was a very granola, no junk food kind of house - the softball team avoided strategically avoided it as an after practice hangout. still, she’d give anything to sit around the table with her parents again. 

Prior to the island, could you tell me about any times over the past few months that you’ve been bothered by low feelings, stress, or sadness?

“my sister just died,” izzy said, self-explanatory and glanced around the room. god, she was tired - she didn’t want to tell some stranger about this. she didn’t want to think about this. it was so much work to be so sad all of the time. she wasn’t sure she could keep doing it. yes, she’d had low feelings, stress, sadness. all of the above. did she have to go through it? “um, i don’t - wait, like - what does that have to do with our plane getting lost?” she added suddenly, turning back to face them. sad thoughts couldn’t crash a plane. ( probably ). 

How frequently have you had little pleasure or interest in the activities you usually enjoy? Would you tell me more?

“um,” she said, and bit her lip. it felt like a weirdly clinical question, a little pointless, something they might ask her in a doctor’s office. how frequently? like, in numbers? “it was hard to do anything after my sister died, but i tried. i just wanted to feel better.” so she’d gone to a party and done drugs and wound up in the hospital, but whatever. that wasn’t an activity she normally enjoyed. she saw no reason to elaborate. 

How frequently have you been bothered by not being able to stop worrying?

“pretty much my whole life?” she sighed. there was always something to worry about. that was basically rule number one of being a connelly.

Tell me about how confident you have been feeling in your capabilities recently.

“not... very?” she felt like she could be such a burden sometimes in the context of being on a deserted island. or, any context, really. she was never any good at what she was meant to be doing, was she? she never saved anyone. so, what was she even good for?

Let’s talk about how often you have felt satisfied with yourself over the past few months.

“do we really need to do that? i just, like - i feel like somebody said i could talk to my mom soon, right? and see the others, and stuff? and, like, i’m not trying to be rude, like, i’m sure you have your reasons for this and stuff, but i just, like - maybe if you let me talk to my mom or something, you know?” had she felt satisfied with herself? hardly. she’d hit plenty of home runs, she’d gotten plenty of decent grades, she’d kissed odessa. but did any of that matter, really? after everything? she just wanted to go home. 

How often over the past few weeks have you felt the future was bleak?

“the past few weeks?” she repeated. they’d been stranded on an island for the past few weeks. they’d watched people die. they’d begun to starve. they weren’t crazy for feeling hopeless. that didn’t make them unstable. it was scary. she had been scared. “the entire time, except for, like, an hour, when the plane flew overhead.” she had been so stupid then, hadn’t she? she really thought she’d be okay.

Can you tell me about your hopes and dreams for the future? What feelings have you had recently about working toward those goals?

“i’m not sure,” she answered, shifting uncomfortably. this was only because she couldn’t tell them the truth: i think i’m broken beyond repair. i think this experience ruined me for good. and i want to be someone who thinks about the future, and i know that i have to be, for my parents, but all i don’t think i’ll ever recover. who could?

Describe how ‘supported’ you feel by others around you – your friends, family, or otherwise.

izzy raised her eyebrows. “i mean, like - right now? not... that supported. because i’m alone most of the time in that room. i don’t have anybody to talk to. it’s hard to feel supported when nobody will let me talk to my mom or my dad or the others. i mean, you’ve got me all by myself. nobody can support me if i’m on my own.” izzy, fundamentally, was used to relying on others. she didn’t do well with being on her own; she was so used to being half of a whole, the planet orbiting around others’ suns. being all alone like this was eating away at her, and still, she wondered if it might be good for her.

What is it different on the island? Did you feel more or less supported?

izzy thought of odessa, and of halima and erin on the day odessa died. she thought of alexa doing her makeup, and of playing MASH with clarke. “more,” she answered, pushing a little bit of hair from her face. “definitely more.” 

Let’s discuss how you have been feeling about your relationships recently. Did you make any significant relationships on the island? How do you feel about them?

jesus christ. her last mid-interview asthma attack had been real, but she was thinking of faking one just to get out of this. her heart ached with grief and she tried to swallow it down. “i, um - i don’t really... i don’t want to talk about it. i don’t know how to talk about it. you weren’t, um - you weren’t there, so i don’t...” she couldn’t try to go into it. she didn’t want to start crying.

Tell me about any important activities or projects that you’ve been involved with recently. How much enjoyment do you get from these?

more questions that seemed a little irrelevant. “i... play sports. i have a few friends. i journal. i write poetry. i get... a normal amount of enjoyment, i guess? i don’t know if i understand, like, the metrics you’re using. i’m sorry.”

Were you particularly involved with activities on the island? Did you want to be?

"i... would have liked to be a bigger help than i was,” she admitted, guilt lacing into her tone. story of izzy’s life. she was an asthmatic recovering from a major surgery. she couldn’t do as much as she would have liked to. she’d always been so useless, hadn’t she? she couldn’t think of one thing she’d done right. not a single thing. it was this thought that made her eyes sting, and she blinked back the tears frantically.

How frequently have you been doing things that mean something to you or your life?

“doing them?” izzy asked, “or doing them right?” she bit her lip and wrapped her arms around her middle. she didn’t like talking to these people - she always left feeling worse. still, she figured she could at least answer the question properly. “sorry. i... always tried, i guess. but i know that’s not enough.” when had she ever been enough?

[stardust-walker]

High Hopes

word count: 3979

Chapters: 1

A week went by in the blink of an eye. It felt like it had dragged on at the same time. The group they were with was larger than Dove had expected it to be. There were about 40 of them, give or take a few. Dove hated it. Sure, some of the people were nice but some of them were people that she generally tried to avoid when not somewhere like where she worked...or used to work, rather. Still, it wasn't that she minded the people they were around at all as long as they contributed and minded their business.

She was used to seeing people like Merle Dixon, methed out of their minds and in for a 72 hour psych eval, strolling out the door after they had kicked it out of their system only to come back a few weeks later most times. Dove was sure she actually had seen Merle like that before but she wasn't about to mention that to him.

"How's your cheek feeling," Carol broke the silence as the two of them walked down to the water, each of them carrying a load of laundry in their arms.

"It's fine. Just stings a little when I touch it is all," Dove cleared her throat. She'd been trying not to think about how the bruise was probably fading, most likely an ugly yellow color by now. "I could ask you the same thing." She hadn't meant it to come out as mean as it did but she noticed the older woman almost flinch at the harshness of her words. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have said that." Dove shook her head and gripped the load of laundry she was holding a little tighter.

Carol held her head a up a little higher as she fell into step next to the younger woman. "You're right. You shouldn't have." Dove didn't know what to say. There was probably nothing she could say, after all. She'd made the decision on her own to set up her tent a short distance away from her sister and brother-in-law. If she'd been closer, it definitely would have caused a scene if it were more accessible for her to run to her sister's aid. It had happened before and it would probably happen again.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I guess I'm just a little..."

"Tense. We all are." Carol shook her head as they stepped through the trees into the small clearing where a small group of other women sat, all doing the same thing they were about to do.

"This is just fucking prehistoric," Dove snorted and shook her head. They had talked about this when more people started filtering in. They definitely had to be careful about other people coming into camp. Some of them could be dangerous. Uncertain times meant that people might come a little more unhinged than they might normally. Most of the other women seemed alright, for the most part. Jacqui was kind, definitely opinionated and observant. Amy and her sister Andrea kept mostly to themselves but seemed pretty nice for the most part. Carol seemed to have really clicked with Lori and Dove found herself not minding the other woman. She'd heard bits and pieces about her husband, Rick, and it made her heart break for Lori and Carl.

Dove had kept her distance from most of the men. Dale seemed pretty nosey, especially when it came to matters like the bruise on her face when he'd first shown up to the camp with Amy and Andrea. Shane had taken over as leader right away. No one seemed to want to question a cop's authority even in what might be the end of the world. Glenn was sweet; she was pretty sure he'd delivered her a pizza a few times when she was late night cramming for college but she didn't want to ask. Even though she didn't want to be around Merle, or his brother by extension, she didn't mind them coming around in the group. They were contributing to feeding the group, after all. Dove was pretty sure they were holding out on some of their hunt, but could she really blame them? Ed had almost lost his mind over Carol offering Lori some of his food on the highway.

In spite of their faults, the Dixons had actually managed to enlighten the people around the campfire on the first night they'd joined them. "Shoot em. Right in the damn head. One of them comes at you, you take the fucking shot. Ain't nobody there anymore." The tone of the younger Dixon had actually made Dove shudder. He was dead serious, there was no doubt about that. Then Merle had called him a fucking buzzkill.

It wasn't hard to notice their sibling dynamic wasn't exactly the healthiest. Maybe her relationship with Carol wasn't the healthiest either. She was a therapist, not a god. "Time to put the mask on," Dove mumbled, causing Carol to let out a quiet laugh as Amy turned and waved at them.

"Hey guys! We thought you were about to ditch out on laundry duty," Amy beamed at them.

"And miss out on some quiet time? Wouldn't miss it for the world," Carol replied brightly as she walked up and sat her and Ed's basket of laundry between her and Jacqui. Damn, she's good at this.

"I mean, I wish it was more like sitting in a laundry mat relaxing instead of manual labor, but I can't complain. I'd rather be doing this than sitting up there debating about what's more important to grab on a run to the city." Dove rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner and Jacqui laughed.

"Were they arguing about what's more important, toilet paper or batteries for the flashlights again?" Jacqui raised an eyebrow and Dove nodded.

"Please, tell me you'll talk some sense into these men on the run if they ever let anyone else go. I mean hell, grab both. I'd say they're both priorities. The campfire is nice every night but once it gets dark? Hell, it's like we walked into fucking Deliverance territory out here." Dove finished by whistling a part of 'Dueling Banjos'. Carol swatted at her with one of her shirts as she went to dip it in the water.

"You stop that." Carol shook her head in an attempt to seem disapproving, but she let out a quiet laugh. Andrea and Amy were laughing next to Dove.

"You think this was what people did when they had to wash clothes together before washing machines and stuff," Amy broke the silence a few minutes later.

Dove wiped the back of her hand across her forehead and moved her hair out of her field of vision. "You mean sweat to death?"

"Give themselves back problems?" Jacqui added before she nodded at the other women. "Probably."

"Probably complained about their husbands too," Andrea added with a subtle look towards Carol. Dove straightened up, ready to say something to the other woman about minding her business when a branch cracked in the woods behind them.

Everyone straightened up at this and Dove reached for the knife she had set next to her basket of laundry on reflex. She overextended herself, not realizing how far it was from her in her panicked state and fell to her knees, fingers closed around the handle of the knife as two figures stepped out from the trees.

Jacqui let out an annoyed sounding sigh as she lowered her own weapon, not bothering to hide the fact she rolled her eyes. Andrea scowled at the two men as Amy attempted to look composed even though Dove was sure she'd heard her panic too.

Carol looked the most shaken up of all of them and Dove couldn't blame her for that. It was what her home had created for her. Instant panic at the thought of the person stepping into their conversation being Ed.

Dove stood up slowly, throwing her knife back into the dirt as she brushed her knees off. "Jesus Christ, Merle. You're lucky none of us had a gun. Would've blown your head off," She grumbled as she turned her back to the older man, heart still racing at the potential of one of those walkers coming out of the woods at them.

"Oh do you think one of you would have, Birdie?" Merle didn't bother to hide his amusement. Dove turned slightly and flipped him off.

"Leave us alone, Merle. Can't you see we're workin' here?"

"Dove..." Carol tugged at her arm and Dove relented, picking up another shirt as she sat half turned towards the woods now.

"Well, shit. We just came to tell you lovely ladies that we hunted squirrel for dinner later. But if you're gonna be ungrateful about it then, shit."

Andrea frowned. Amy tried her best to hide the fact that she was disgusted at the fact that they were having to eat 'little woodland creatures' again. Dove had heard her complaining about it a few nights ago.

"Not being ungrateful, Merle. Just prefer you call me by my name is all," Dove rolled her eyes.

"Oh I'll call your name..." Merle was for sure going to say something that would make Dove want to go for her knife again when Jacqui cut him off.

"Will you be skinning them then? We'll cook them, so long as you do that." Dove shot Jacqui a quick look, trying to convey some kind of thank you without any words.

"I'll do it," a different voice spoke and the two set of sisters turned back to the hunters.

Dove raised an eyebrow slightly. They'd all barely heard Daryl speak since the first night when they were talking about walkers and Chupacabras. He seemed to let Merle do all the talking; or maybe Merle let himself do all the talking.

" Thank you," Carol nodded at him and turned back to the laundry. Ed would be mad if they were gone too long like they were last time.

"Yeah, thanks Daryl." Dove said as the two brothers turned to march back off towards their own campsite. Merle kept walking, the others kept washing their laundry, but Dove didn't miss the fact that Daryl turned slightly and nodded at her in recognition.

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

Dove was always good at keeping herself busy The only way she kept track of days was after she happened to find her planner in her bag as she was looking for clean clothes. That was how she came to realize that three weeks had passed so quickly. How had they been out here for a month at this point? She couldn't imagine how bored the kids around the camp felt and that was when she decided how she would spend the rest of her evening.

Dove sat in one of the folding chairs with a look of concentration on her face. Dark eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed as she glanced up and then back down at her hands again. "Got it," she said so suddenly that Sophia jumped a little in the chair across from her. Carl leaned forward in anticipation as a smug smile appeared on Dove's face. "Got any eights?" She sounded so sure of herself.

"Hm...go fish!" Sophia said brightly after a few seconds.

"Ah hell," Dove grumbled. She didn't miss the sideways look that Carol shot her when she swore. "Alright, Carl. Don't let me down, buddy."

The little boy shrugged, a smile on his face. "Go fish."

"Ah, double hell," Dove almost shouted, much to the amusement of her niece and the little boy.

"Children, that's enough of that," Dale chuckled as he walked past them towards the campfire, "besides I think dinner's ready anyways."

Before Dove could say anything else, the two children jumped to their feet. Sophia following close behind Carl as the two of them ran off to join their mothers near the fire. "Fine! Y'all were a bunch of cheaters anyway," Dove called jokingly after the children and she heard Glenn let out a laugh.

"How can someone cheat at go fish?" Glenn inquired as Dove strolled over behind Dale, who was shaking his head at the younger woman.

"Well, Glenn," Dove sighed as she sat down next to the Asian man, "You can have an eight in your hand and not give it to someone when they call it. Ain't that a good example, Carl?" She turned to look at the boy and waved a finger at him disapprovingly.

Lori ruffled Carl's hair as Glenn let out a quiet laugh. Dale shook his head as he started passing around one of the paper plates that was piled up with meat. "Well, it should be reassuring that fish isn't on the menu for tonight," the older man said which caused Amy to giggle.

"It smells good," Sophia piped up from the spot on Dove's left as the plate got passed to her. Dove shared a look with Carol before her gaze shifted up slightly. Ed didn't eat with the group, but still he lurked there like an albatross around her sister's neck. Carol forced a smile as she handed a piece of the currently unidentified meat to the little girl before passing it on.

It was actually peaceful that night as everyone sat around the fire. It was clear to Dove that most of the men, Shane and the Dixons especially, seemed to still be on high alert. However, the quiet was welcome.

"Ya know, I gotta say. This is probably the best thing I've eaten in almost a month," Shane chuckled as he moved to run a hand through his hair. The group nodded in agreement, a few mumbled 'Thank you's being uttered as everyone gradually finished up their meals.

"Yeah, rabbit is a little more tender than squirrel," Merle Dixon announced loudly as he threw a small bone into the fire.

Sophia let out a little squeak from next to Dove and the dark haired woman moved to put an arm around her niece as Carol brushed Sophia's hair back. "No, no, Soph. I'm sure Merle's just joking." Dove shot a dark look across the fire at the older man. She momentarily thought about jumping over the fire and punching him right in the mouth. The thought would have to be enough for her for today, though. Ed mumbled something from behind Carol, but she was grateful that her sister seemed to ignore it.

"A very mean joke, but I'm sure he's joking," Carol whispered as she pressed a kiss to her young daughter's forehead.

Dove still rubbed the little girl's arm in a comforting manner, her gaze shifted to the other man across the fire from her. Daryl looked miserable as ever but she locked eyes for a split second before he stared back into the fire.

"Yeah, Sophia, I'm sure he just cooked up Daryl's Chupacabra," Morales smirked from beside his wife. The laughter wasn't so quiet now as almost everyone around the fire struggled for a moment to hold in their laughter before Merle let out a loud, obnoxious laugh. Knee slap right along with it.

"You hear that, baby brother? You'd know all about that Mexican goat sucker, wouldn't you," Merle shoved Daryl's arm roughly.

Sophia shifted uncomfortably in her mother's arms, but a small smile was on her face. Lori rolled her eyes disapprovingly. "Are we really going to bring that up again? You gave the kids nightmares with that story..."

"Mom," Carl hissed through gritted teeth, "I didn't have nightmares, I swear." There were scattered chuckles around the fire this time. Shane reached over and ruffled the young boys hair, though this only caused the scowl to deepen on Carl's face.

"Yeah, I don't know why y'all try to make fun of that story, either. There's a lot scarier things out there than a Chupacabra," Dove announced to the fire. She couldn't stop the smirk that crept onto her face when most of the attention shifted to her.

"Dove's right. The walkers..." Amy frowned and leaned closer to her older sister.

Dove shook her head quickly, a hand ran through her dark hair. "Nah, I don't mean the walkers. I mean the wendigos," she stated matter-of-factly, "which, hell, might mean the walkers for all we know."

Ed snorted from behind her, "You sure you were workin' in that psych ward and not a patient there? I mean, you were not around enough to be in the loony bin," Ed kicked at the dirt by his feet. 

Dove sneered at her brother-in-law, "You know what..."

"Yeah I thought you were a psych doctor, not a psycho doctor," Merle snickered as he leaned forward in his chair.

"You know what, to you too, Merle Dixon," Dove turned again, a finger pointed at the older man. "I wouldn't make fun of things that you don't have knowledge of! The mind is a powerful thing. Chupacabras might not have been real once, but they might as well be now. There were these monks who practiced this super deep thought...meditation shit, you know? People said that if they focused hard enough on something in their heads, they could make it real. I mean that's the basics of it, but if enough people believed in it, they could make it real." Dove noticed now that most of the attention was shifting from her to Merle. Daryl, however, seemed to have finally moved his focus from the fire right to her.

"Sounds like psycho bullshit to me," Merle leaned back in the folding chair he was sat on, arms folded across his chest.

"Call it psycho bullshit all you want," Dove shrugged her shoulders, "but wendigos seem pretty damn real to me right about now." After a few moments of silence, it was Carl who spoke up.

"What's a wendigo," the quiet little voice spoke up from where he was perched at his mother's feet. Carol narrowed her eyes at her sister, their eyes locked for a moment before Dove looked away. There was movement next to her as Carol stood up, taking Sophia with her. "Thanks for the food. Night. C'mon, Sophia," Carol's voice was quiet as she placed a hand on Dove's shoulder for a moment before moving to usher the young girl off to bed. Dove thought she heard Sophia say something in protest but she didn't come back to the fire.

Dove cleared her throat and shook her head. "Well, Carl. I'll tell you." Dove looked at her feet for a moment before she turned her attention to the little boy, a reassuring smile on her face. She was going to tell this story now, even if just to spite Merle Dixon and Ed Peletier. "You see, back in the olden days, they used to tell stories to people in order to keep them from doing bad things." That was probably the easiest way to explain that to people, especially with children present. "There were these people called the Algonquians," Dove started.

"This is some of that featherhead bullshit. I should've known," Merle snarked.

"No one's making you listen, son," Dale said in a tone that was probably meant to be warning.

"If you don't want to hear the story, why don't you just wander off back to your tent and hope the Chupacabra doesn't get you," Jacqui piped up from the right side of Dale.

"Go on, Sawyer. I wanna hear the rest of it," a quiet voice spoke up. Maybe it was the fact that Jim, who barely spoke, actually said something to her that made her want to continue.

Dove narrowed her eyes slightly, "Anyways, yes they were a Native American tribe. Someplaces in Canada too, I think. There was this story about this trapper from Alberta, I think his name was...Swift something. His family was starving and one of his kids ended up dead."

"What happened to them," Andrea questioned.

"Well...by the time they found them, the guy had killed and ate the rest of his family that was still alive." There were murmured comments of disgust and horror from around the fire. Carl stared up at his mom with wide eyes for a moment before trying to seem like he had some composure. "But mostly, wendigos are seen as these supernatural beings. Cannibals. It was something they used to keep people from eating each other when they were starving in the winter. Legend said that whenever someone resorted to cannibalism, they would never be full again. They would just keep eating and eating. Never stopping. Constantly searching for new victims." Dove finished with a sinister tone.

"Well shit," Merle uttered from across the fire.

"And you know what their favorite food was?" Dove continued in a quiet tone, eyes flicking quickly from one person around the fire to another. "They especially liked to eat....little boys!" She almost shouted as she jumped slightly in Carl's direction.

Laughter echoed around the campfire, Lori shook her head as she tried to suppress a laugh. Carl was trying to look like he hadn't clung to Shane's arm for a split second, a nervous laugh escaped his lips.

"Nah, I'm just joking. What they really have a taste for is bald rednecks," Dove smirked as she reached over to ruffle Carl's hair. She thought she saw a smile for a split second across Daryl's face before Merle flipped her off.

Dove was tempted to say something else, but the smug look stayed on her face as Shane cleared his throat. "As much as I love campfire story time," Shane gave Dove a look that caused her to simply shrug her shoulders, "I think we should all be getting to bed. Especially the little ones."

"Sure thing, Deputy D-" Merle began.

 Andrea cut him off by jumping up from her seat. "Right well, night everyone."

Everyone said their goodnights as they began to trickle off to their respective tents. Merle and Daryl were some of the first ones to leave, not surprising anyone.

"Nighty night, Merle. Don't let the walkers bite," Dove called to the retreating backs of the hunters.

Lori shoved her shoulder slightly as she laughed quietly, "God, you're bad."

"Ah he can take it," Dove shrugged her shoulders.

"Night, Lori." Dove turned on her heel after a few minutes of helping clean up around the fire and started off towards her own tent. As she ducked into the tent, she hoped that sleep would come easier tonight. All she could do was listen to the quiet arguments from the tent closest to hers. She waited for a moment and, just like the past few nights, her tent unzipped.

"Dovey, are you sleepin'?" Sophia's voice, groggy and half asleep sounding, came from the flap of the tent.

"Not yet, bug. C'mon. You can stay with me again," she moved around in an attempt to make room in her sleeping bag for her niece.

Sophia shuffled over and once they were all settled, she yawned "Can you tell me a nice story to help me sleep?"

Dove flinched as she heard Ed shout something from a little farther away, followed by an unsettling quiet. "I sure can. You want me to make up one about Princess Sophia?" Dove tried to hide the stress in her voice. Her hands shook as she stroked her niece's hair.

Sophia nodded slightly, probably already starting to nod off in the safety of another tent. "Alright, there once was a beautiful princess named Sophia. She lived in a big castle in the mountains with her mommy and her auntie where everyone was always happy and she got to eat cupcakes whenever she wanted...." Dove continued the story until Sophia nodded off, the story made little sense by that point as Dove allowed herself to finally fall into a restful sleep.

__

@crossbowking​

[sleep-i-ness]

Bad Date? (Maria Hill x reader)

Request: YES (at end of oneshot)

Content Warning: Drinking, mentions of cheating

A/N: Here you go hun! I didn’t really know how to write the reader as a tomboy so sorry if it wasn’t quite what you wanted. Oh and one bit was a tiny bit inspired by Two Weeks Notice (with Hugh Grant and Sandra Bullock) so if you notice that well done? Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Taglist:  @holybatflapexpert​​ @startrekkingaroundasgard​ @natasha-danvers​ @a-stressedstudent​ (if you would like to be added, please fill out the form in my bio)

A loud knock at the door startled Maria out of her administration haze; she sighed, taking in the heap of strewn sheets. Her usually immaculate desktop was barely visible under the mountain of paperwork that had just been piling up endlessly since her day had started. It was already looking like she might have to stay well past her contractually mandated hours just to clear what she already had. The legal team at Stark Industries had been on the phone with her non-stop, demanding evidence or explanations that were either highly confidential, non-existent or possibly even both. Maria was honestly sick to death of having to clean up both the physical and PR messes of the Avengers.

“Come in.” She was unable to muster any energy into her order, hoping to whatever mighty being out there that it was an agent she could actually stand. Or really just any agent other than Agent Mace. He had been needlessly suffocating, bouncing into her office, whenever he so pleased, to ask a question that really only required the most miniscule amount of brainpower to be answered. It was a miracle he had ever been hired.

Y/N poked her head through the door, an easy smile tilting her lips upwards. Maria returned the infectious grin despite herself, a giddy, light sensation spreading through her chest.

“Oh, good, Agent Y/L/N. These are the mission debriefs that you filed, would you mind taking them down to Agent Coulson?” Maria rifled through the stuffed drawer by her leg and passed her a thick brown file.

Y/N grabbed it, their fingertips brushing lightly and Maria jolted slightly as an electric spark shot up her arm. “Sure, I got it.”

“Now, after you’ve dropped them down, you can start with the files for your next-”

Y/N interrupted her, smiling sheepishly, “Actually, I don’t know how much time I have. That’s what I came here to ask you about. Tony sort of set me up on a date with someone tonight.”

Maria’s heart sank, a sickening heavy feeling, and she wasn’t quite sure why. She shook it off, blaming it on a sudden bout of exhaustion and mustered an enthusiastic grin. Scraping the papers on her desk together, she stapled them together with a satisfying click.

“Great.”

Y/N took that as a dismissal as she backed away, towards the door. “I just have to figure out what to wear. I don't have anything.”

Y/N almost giggled and a wave of nausea rolled over Maria as she swallowed harshly. Y/N looked ready to soar with joy, like an entrapped bird in a cage that she held the key to.

“Have fun.” Maria couldn’t help the bitterness seeping into her words and Y/N’s face contorted, startled for a second, before schooling herself into a more composed expression.

What the hell was that. Maria was astounded as Y/N backed out without another word, a placating smile fixed to her cheeks. She attributed her sudden passive-aggressiveness on an envy of being able to leave work without feeling the immense burden of knowing how much else she had to do. But she’d never had this problem before when it came to her work-life balance.

Maybe she was finally feeling the need to get back into a relationship.

:.

Maria groaned as the clock hand hit seven and she hadn’t seemed to have made a dent int the pile. She’d have to work the night on this lot; she was prepping an incredibly time-pressured, high-stakes mission, so they were sending the team out tomorrow. The window had been made known to them only a couple hours ago, at most.

She wondered if Y/N was having a better night than her. A nice dinner out, good conversation and freely flowing wine. Then, dancing in the arms of her pretty date and maybe getting a kiss goodnight.

No. This was unprofessional. Maria shook her head, blinking hurriedly, as she tried to clear her mind of any distracting thoughts.

Work.

Right…

Eliott Callahan, ex-CIA, presumed deceased after a mission went wrong in 2007. Recently resurfaced with links to the Tribe of Salvation, an organisation that had been previously unknown until ties to the Ten Rings had been revealed. Supposedly owned a scientific reserve in North Carolina which was too heavily guarded to not be hiding anything. Callahan had given them a way in, now they needed to take the place out.

Maria’s eyes watered as she stared at the security schematics and the notes made by top SHIELD security specialists. God, she wished she had Y/N here to give her some advice on it. Y/N’s expertise was in getting into places she shouldn’t be, which is how SHIELD had found her. But Y/N was having fun on a nice date with a nice girl and Maria couldn’t help but admitting that it had brightened her day to see Y/N happy.

The last mission, Lima, had taken a toll on everyone’s mental health, and Maria couldn’t help but blame herself for the failure. Four of their top agents had been taken out and the others, who had barely survived, had still not passed their psych evals. Today had been the first time Y/N had been visibly giddy or enthusiastic about anything since then.

:.

“Hi.”

Maria scooted her chair to face the door; head buried in a document as she muttered the lines to herself as she read. Lifting her head slowly, she blinked owlishly at the figure in the door.

“Y/N?”

Y/N hovered in the doorway, still wearing a very flattering suit that Maria couldn’t help but admire. She offered Maria a small but weary smile, shifting from foot to foot.

“Come in, take a seat, how was it?” Maria wasn’t sure if she were acting enthusiastic enough to believably be realistically overjoyed for Y/N having been on a date, but she was sure she could instead pass as being worn out.

Y/N slumped into the hard-plastic chair, which rolled backwards due to her momentum. Unlacing her shoes, she yanked them off and massaged the soles of her feet. She stretched out her stocking-covered legs, gently rubbing circles into the back of her ankles and calves.

“It was horrendous,” Y/N groaned, tilting her head back in exasperation. “I mean, does Tony know me at all? Coulson made me babysit him for 3 years, he should know me better than to set me up with someone like that.”

“Like that?”

“Oh, God, she was about 20 minutes late and didn’t get off her phone the entire time. When she finally made some conversation, it was all about her ex-boyfriends. Like, not even ex-girlfriends. And she was always texting at the table. How rude is that!” Y/N’s cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes were glazed as she yawned, delicately raising a hand to cover a mouth while she stretched out like a cat. Y/N smiled sleepily at Maria as she curled into the uncomfortable chair.

Maria returned the smile softly, somewhat reassured by Y/N’s vehement complaints. “Sounds awful. No second date then?”

“God no, I’d rather be reassigned to… to the Arctic!” Y/N threw her hands up dramatically, the seat wobbling beneath her.

“That can be arranged.”

Y/N was unimpressed by Maria’s dry tone, bottom lip jutting out as she folded her arms sulkily.

A sudden thought popped into her mind. She brightened abruptly, sitting up again. “As if you’d do that. You wouldn’t survive without me.”

“You wish.” Y/N was cute while tipsy, Maria mused, before jolting at the thought. No, she was her supervisor, she could not be thinking like that.

“So, tell me.” Y/N’s chin was slipping off her hand as she yawned, elbow firmly planted on the desk. “I’ve told you how shit my date was, what’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?”

Maria paused as she took a mental step back from all the work thoughts accumulating at the back of her head. “Well, back in high school, it wasn’t really a date. At least, I hadn’t thought it was because I’d just come out. To everyone. And I went out for lunch with a friend, a guy named Tyler and he ended up telling me that he could turn me straight again. He also decided to show me the numerous photos of his penis. He had a whole folder on his phone in different lightings and from different angles.”

Y/N had clapped a hand over her mouth, “That’s horrendous, I don’t think I could ever look at someone the same if they did that. Like unsolicited and all that.”

“Yeah, definitely was the final nail in putting me off men.”

Y/N giggled, a pretty sound that Maria couldn’t help but want to hear more of.

“So,” she began, pursing her lips as she tried to think of how to continue.

“So?” Maria laughed

“Yeah, so, tell me. Is there anyone in your life? Anyone special?”

Maria snorted. “No, God no. I haven’t had the time in all honesty; I’m barely on top of my work, never mind sorting out a love life at the same time.”

“I thought… I thought that you were dating Agent Hayes?”

“No, we broke up a while ago over… mutual difference involving work and personal lives becoming too heavily involved.”

“Okay… so that’s what you wrote on the official forms about your break-up. Now, tell me again with feelings. Come on, let’s have a proper deep chat.”

“Hm.” Maria glanced back at the document she’d discarded back onto the pile and groaned. There was clearly a better option of the two. “Fine. I’m sure you are aware of Agent Hayes’ reputation.” Y/N frowned and shook her head. “As a… honey trap. It seems that she was unable to remove that part of her life from our personal lives and decided to… practice on other agents and people in our lives.”

Maria spoke bitterly, expression twisted in a grimace like she had tasted something extremely sour.

“So, basically she’s a cheating bitch.”

“Yeah.” Maria nodded. That summarised her perfectly.

“Well, fuck her, we don’t need shitty women in our lives. Am I right or am I right?” Y/N’s voice rose as she declared her statement triumphantly, sending Maria a quick grin as she pumped a fist in the air.

“Yes, you’re right.” Maria was tentative, unsure whether she wanted to ask the words on the tip of her tongue. “Anyone else in your life?”

“Well,” Y/N took a deep breath, working up the courage to do something momentous. “I did like someone, but I thought they were dating someone, so I let Tony set me up on an absolutely awful blind date.” Her voice lowered to more of a murmur. “But now I found out that the woman I like is single.”

Maria blinked. Could she-? No. Well, there was no point in not trying. “What if the woman liked you back?”

“I’d probably ask if I could kiss her.” Y/N glanced at Maria’s lips, the glaze in her eyes no longer from alcohol.

“I think she’d say yes. She’d be pretty dumb not to.”

Y/N leant in, and Maria’s breath caught in her throat. She had to be dreaming. Their lips met and every thought flew out of her head as she melted into the kiss. Maria pulled away, laughing at Y/N’s pout.

“Wait. Come here.” Maria patted her lap and Y/N eagerly straddled her legs, one hand cupping her chin, the other on the back of her head. “That’s better.”

She kissed her again, an awestruck expression appearing on Y/N’s face as she grinned blissfully. Maria could smell the sweet scent of Y/N’s perfume invading her senses, everything blurring as her mind focused in on the way Y/N seemed to fit perfectly in her arms. Or the hand gripping the hair at the base of her neck as Y/N kept her head in place, the other caressing her cheek.

As they broke apart again, Y/N stayed on Maria’s lap, wrapping her arms around her neck.

“I have to finish this work, but you’re welcome to stay and help. It’ll go twice as quickly.”

Y/N pecked her lips. “Deal.”

-

Request:  Maria hill x female, tomboy, reader where Maria hears that tony set the reader up on a date with some girl he knew. Maria can’t stop thinking about it and ends up staying up through the night until r dare is over. Reader comes back after the date and they talk and reader makes fun of how bad the date was. (aren’t in relationship but get together after talking)

[pastpatientlywaitingforimagines]

Andromeda |  Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 1865

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR 03x05 AND THE SECOND HALF OF SEASON 12, prison Reid, mentions of trauma/anxiety/therapy.

A/N: Remember this post?  I was talking about this fic. Anyways, the concept of both Spencer and Reader being groomed for the BAU was one that intrigued me so I wrote this. One day I’ll get tired of writing for this universe but today is not that day. Enjoy!

GALAXY MASTERLIST (not needed to understand the plot but there’s similar content here if you liked this fic!)

You had seen a lot of bad things in your life, but hands down the worst thing you had ever seen was Spencer Reid sitting on the other side of the partition in the prison visiting room. As always your proximity to the doctor cleared your head and relaxed you in a way you hadn’t felt in weeks, but due to the circumstances you knew it was only because he was alive.

“I don’t like this,” you wasted no time making your feelings known.

“I know, me neither,” even though he was alive, you could tell your friend was in rough shape, “how are you doing?”

You breathed a laugh, “I should be asking you that.”

“I’m the same as I was when Garcia visited last week, and we both know she called you as soon as she left here.”

He was right, Penelope had filled you in on everything he had said when she had gone for her visit the week prior.

“Have you gone back to work yet?”

“Yeah, but I’m still not allowed in the field. My therapist keeps telling Emily I’m compromised,” you rolled your eyes, “I think being back in the field would help me compartmentalize better than doing paperwork in Penelope’s office.”

“What have you been doing outside of work?”

“Has my therapist talked to you too? Yeesh,” you rolled your eyes again, causing Spencer to crack a smile, “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Luke, he reminds me of some of the guys from my Platoon. He lets me watch Roxy when the team is traveling, and we go to a veteran’s support group every Tuesday. I don’t think he actually needs the support but he definitely knows I don’t go if he’s not there.”

Spencer sighed, “support groups are good, is it helping?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “I already did the work to cope with my time in the military years ago. The problem isn’t my military trauma, the problem is that my best friend is in prison and the constant anxiety is dredging up old wounds.”

Your eyes narrowed, aware that he was definitely doing a light psych eval of you in that brain of his. You half expected him to start spouting exactly what was happening in your brain that was causing the increased frequency of your episodes, but it never came.

“Will you keep going, for me?”

“Sure, but only because you asked. And if Luke says anything about it you can’t tell him I don’t think it’s working.”

“Deal,” the light banter was the most normal thing that had happened to you since bringing Spencer home from Mexico.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“I know you’re a super genius and everything, but do you ever feel like you weren’t cut out for the BAU even though you were groomed for it?”  

“Yeah, I had to get waived on every physical part of training and failed my gun certification an embarrassing number of times even after I was hired. I wouldn’t have gotten the job if Gideon didn’t do some serious vouching for me. Do you… do you feel like that?” You thought it was ironic that Spencer was concerned for you when he was the one in jail.

“Out of everyone in my class at the Academy, Rossi and Hotch picked me. There were at least four other agents that were better at profiling than I was, I was not the obvious choice. My entire career has been defined by joining the BAU and yet I still get hit with some serious imposter syndrome, especially since you’ve been gone. Sometimes I wonder where I would have ended up if I hadn’t been picked, what kind of agent I’d be.”

“You would have ended up with the Hostage Rescue Team,” you knew Spencer was a know-it-all, but you were surprised at his confidence and quick response.

“How do you figure?” you questioned, watching the tips of his ears turn red as he blushed.

“Garcia and I overheard Hotch and Rossi talking about you when they came back from recruiting. We did some… ‘spelunking’ and found your file.”

“Anything juicy in there?” you teased, thoroughly amused at the image of Spencer and Penelope huddled around her desk investigating you.

“No. It said you were ex-military and had been psychologically discharged. We didn’t dig deeper into that, but I could see signs of anxiety the first time I met you so it wasn’t really going to be a secret anyways.”

“Fair, so how did you know about Hostage Rescue?”

“There was a note from their unit chief that they wanted you. It makes sense, you passed the field tests in the Academy with flying colors and you’re exceptional in the field. You would do really well on a tactical team.”

“In theory, until I have a panic attack and get thirty people killed,” you joked, “they probably asked Hotch to take me because I’d have the smallest chance of being a liability in the BAU.”

“Actually, Hotch said he liked how you had approached the exercise they had given you.”

You remembered that day like it was yesterday, Hotch and Rossi had come into your class with the bare bones of a case: an abducted child in a mall a week following a prior abduction of a similar nature. As a collective you had to solve the case, asking the right questions to get the information you needed from the two Supervisory Special Agents.

Your previously mentioned classmates that had a knack for profiling were quick to build a few theories and get a bit more information, including a glimpse of the girl on a security camera, but there were still a lot of missing pieces. Something about the whole thing felt off to you, so you finally spoke up.

“What if it was someone in her family?” Your classmates looked at you in confusion, a few of them jumping up to reiterate the evidence against your suggestion. “I see your point, and I’ll support the group if you still think I’m wrong, but hear me out. There’s evidence of the abduction being personal. I don’t think it’s related to the prior case at all.”

“The family has been with us the whole time,” one of your classmates argued.

“The father?” someone else suggested.

“No, not him,” your brain was working hard, “I think it was the aunt, Susan.”

“Well done, Agent,” you heard Agent Hotchner over the clamor of the room at your suggestion.

“Do you want to back up your theory?” Rossi asked once your classmates had settled down.

“Her husband shows signs of grooming Katie: he knows more about his niece than he does his own kid. If his wife noticed, she might be trying to protect her family. She was probably ashamed that her husband was a pedophile, her son had a record, and her marriage was falling apart. Susan already said she worked retail in a mall, even if she didn’t work at this mall she’d at least have knowledge of how malls work and where she could hide a body. The abduction from the previous week would have given her something to pin Katie’s disappearance on, and Katie would have trusted her enough to go somewhere without an obvious struggle.”

“Bingo, Agent…?” Rossi looked at you for your name.

“(y/l/n),” you offered.

“Susan took her own pain out on Katie. Our agents were able to recover Katie’s body and resuscitate her, and both Susan and her husband were brought into custody.”

Later, as class was dismissed, you were approached by the two men.

“What was it that made you look deeper into the family as suspects?” Hotch had asked.

“I just had a feeling, sir,” you told him honestly.

“What kind of feeling?” Rossi seemed genuinely interested in what you were saying.

“A gut feeling. I know we’re supposed to use the facts, and all the facts were presenting themselves as becoming a serial abduction, but it just didn’t feel right to me. When I started exploring other possibilities the relevant evidence jumped right out.”

“Sometimes we get cases with barely enough information to make decisions from. Following instincts can lead to breakthroughs that solve the whole case. Keep up the good work,” Hotch shook your hand before walking away with Rossi right behind him.

“Yeah, I went out on a limb with that one. I’ll tell you about it later,” you shook your head, knowing you didn’t have enough time to tell Spencer the whole story. He was quiet for a minute, glancing around the room before he spoke again.

“If I can’t get out of here, I think you should look into transferring to Hostage Rescue.”

“You’re not serious, are you? You’re getting out of here. I’m seeing to it personally,” you said it like it was a fact. His face told you he wasn’t kidding.

“Let me ask you this- if I’m found guilty at my trial, how are you going to take it?”

You wanted to tell him you would be fine and continue to fight for his freedom, but you both knew there was a reason your therapist wasn’t clearing you for field work that would only get worse if your best friend had to serve upwards of 25 years in jail.

The BAU without Spencer Reid just wouldn’t be the same BAU you fell in love with when Hotch and Rossi had hired you all those years ago.

“Do you really think the brass would approve a transfer to an anti-terrorism tactical unit when I can’t even get cleared for field work now?” you countered.  

“I do. Your coping mechanisms are well developed. If you separate yourself from the BAU… and me… I think you could pass their psych eval just fine. And everyone knows your tactical skills are off the charts, even after you’ve taken time off.”

“You’re not a very good genius if you think you can get rid of me that easily,” you were quick to point out, “even if I did transfer, I’d still be here as much as possible. Penelope wouldn’t let me cut myself off that easily from the rest of the team either.”

“Just think about it, please.”

You sighed, “I’ll think about it, but I’m still holding out that we’re proving your innocence and you and I will be back to our shenanigans in no time.”

“I’m looking forward to it. How’s my mom doing?”

“She’s been ok, I visit every day and JJ usually comes with me. Cassie’s been really great for her,” you told him.

“Good, will you tell her I-“

“Prisoners line up!” a guard yelled.

“Will you tell her I love her?” Spencer said quickly as he stood. You nodded, watching as he lined up with the other inmates and walked away.

As you left the prison you told yourself you were never getting used to this, and you were going to start working double time on proving Spencer’s innocence. There was no family like your BAU family, and whoever had framed Spencer was not going to destroy that so easily.

[spaceskam]

a little follow up to this for @skrtl ❤️️

ao3

warning: literally just talking about mental health

Michael watched Alex through the open door of the bathroom.

As mentally drained as he felt, Alex’s bed was his sanctuary and watching him get ready from the safety of it was something too lovely to apply words too. It replaced all the bad thoughts in his mind if only for a moment.

Things between them were slow moving, but he didn’t mind. Alex was still going to therapy and Michael had decided to do the next best thing with joining AA and a queer support group. He had to hide some truths, but talking about things even in a slightly altered way helped. 

Maybe he couldn’t talk about Max dying, but he could talk about the shed. Maybe he couldn’t talk about being an alien, but he could talk about being different and having to hide. He could talk about being exposed to drugs and alcohol at a young age and using them to numb his mind to the abuse, even if he couldn’t be specific by saying acetone. He hadn’t even realized how fucked up he still was over his childhood until he had to talk about it.

Alex was proud of him though. That was nice.

Alex moved towards the bed slowly, leaning heavily on his crutches with the weight of the bullshit on his mind. Today was his first day back to work because apparently even a mental break could be swept under Uncle Sam’s stripes-and-stars rug if he needed you enough. And Alex was needed.

“Show me you can handle it,” his superior had said, “And we’ll talk about a promotion.” Even Michael couldn’t deny that Major Alexander Manes had a nice ring to it.

Michael made space for Alex to fall into bed and felt a smile tug at his lips as Alex fell face forward into the pillow. His eyes dragged over Alex’s bare back and visibly saw his muscles relaxing out of sheer force of will. The dip of his back led to the hem of slightly-tattered Air Force sweats that he hadn’t even bothered to tie off beneath his leg. Cautiously, Michael reached out and tucked his hair behind his ear, revealing Alex’s eye that was peeking out from the pillow.

“Hi,” Michael said, voice hoarse for no reason. He cleared his throat and Alex shifted slightly to face him.

“Hi,” he said back, “How was your day?”

“Long.”

“Same.”

Michael ran his fingers through his hair again, trying to get his fix of feeling it because he knew he would probably be forced to get it all chopped off soon. Alex yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. When his eyes watered in response, Michael wiped those not-quite tears away too.

“How was it?” Michael asked, eager to hear more. The one thing they both were having to work on was not only making sure they themselves talked, but making sure the other person talked. Sometimes it seemed like poking a bear, but it was always worth it. Communication was key or some shit.

“Well, most of it was the Colonel making me follow him around all day. He basically wants to babysit me until he’s sure I can handle it or whatever,” Alex explained. Michael furrowed his eyebrows.

“But didn’t the General say you were good to go?” Michael asked. Alex rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but there’s talk that I only passed the psych eval because he pulled some strings. Which isn’t that much of a stretch, I get it. But I’d rather not be babysat,” he said. Michael understood that more than a little.

“Tell him to fuck off.”

Alex huffed a laugh, “Guerin, he’s my superior, I can’t do that.”

“See, this is why I could never be in the military,” Michael stated. Alex shook his head.

“There’s a lot of reasons why a lot of people couldn’t or shouldn’t join the military. I mean, the whole system is fucked so that’s why we have people that shouldn’t be there, but I’m lucky. I’m in a position where my worst situation is being babysat by some white guy who thinks he’s better than me,” Alex said, shrugging slightly, “Could be worse.”

“I guess,” Michael sighed, “I just still don’t get why they want you to stick around so bad.” Alex gave him a small smile and then tapped his temple.

“Got my dad’s secrets and the General knows that,” he said softly, “There’s a good chance if I try to get out, something bad would happen to make sure I keep my mouth shut.”

Michael’s stomach dropped and his body tensed. Alex had said the words so nonchalantly, but they didn’t feel nonchalant.

“Alex, that’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke,” Alex huffed a laugh despite it not being funny, “Wouldn’t be the first guy to mysteriously go missing because they knew too much.”

Michael kept staring at him and tried to find the best way to explain how much destruction he would cause if that happened. It did, however, successfully distract him from his own personal stress of the day. Alex disappearing was the most terrifying thing in the world. Especially now when they were getting better. 

“Okay, throwing that topic away, I’m not being serious,” Alex said, but Michael could hear that it was nothing more than a comforting lie. Still, he let Alex scoot closer and tap him on the nose to lighten the mood. “Tell me about your day.”

“Um,” Michael said, trying to think about anything but the shitty situation Alex was stuck in, “I was talking to, uh, my sponsor at AA and she asked if I wanted to come to this all boy’s group home and talk.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, when I said that I didn’t really have a success story to tell, she said was like, ‘what the fuck are you talking about, you have a job and a place to live, that’s a success story’ and, I don’t know, made me feel weird,” Michael admitted. Alex smiled.

“I don’t know her, but I like her,” he said. Michael rolled his eyes, but his smile matched Alex’s.

“Yeah, she was saying it would also probably help me because those kids get what I went through specifically,” he said, “I just feel stupid for having so many different issues that need so many specific things.”

“I get that, I felt like that too,” Alex explained, “My therapist back when I was admitted said that they tend to go hand in hand, though, which is just a shitty thing that happens. Like it’s all your life and so things are going to be intertwined and so if one big bad thing happens, there’s probably something else that’s bad that fucks you up that only happened because of the bad thing that happened before. It’s a big cycle that you have to break even if you didn’t start it.”

“So basically I’m fucked.”

“No,” Alex laughed, “We just got dealt shitty hands, but we’re not alone in it. You’re not the only person that has dealt with all of these things. Statistically impossible.”

“I’m probably the only one who dealt with all of those things while also being an alien.”

“You don’t know that either,” Alex said boldly. Michael took a deep breath and nodded.

“So what I’m hearing is you think I should go talk to those kids,” Michael said. Alex nodded with that sweet little smile.

“It’d be good for you.”

“Maybe,” Michael agreed, staring at him for a few seconds longer. He was so pretty. “Positive thing. Go.”

Alex snorted and rolled his eyes, but scooted closer because he could. They were almost nose to nose. For a moment, Michael thought about kissing him. Then he quickly threw that thought in the trash because they still had a long way to go before they did something more than just sharing a bed for comfort.

“Um,” Alex hummed, his fingers reaching out and tapping a little rhythm against Michael’s hip over the blanket, “Oh, you know what, Kyle and Forrest brought me lunch. Did you know they’re, like, weirdly good friends now? Anyway, it was from that new sushi place downtown. It was pretty good, we’ll have to go there sometime.”

“Yeah, we should,” Michael agreed even though he never really had sushi before with the exception of that one time Isobel force fed him sushi and he threw it up in the parking lot of the Wild Pony. But he would eat sushi again if Alex liked it.

“Your turn, positive thing.”

“Uh,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I don’t know. Does that one lady who comes all the time because she drives for Uber and always brings me coffee coming with coffee count?”

“Did it make you happy?”

“Yeah.”

“Then of course it counts.”

“Okay, then her.”

“Was it good coffee?” Alex prodded. Michael offered a little laugh.

“Yeah, it was good,” he said. Alex hummed sweetly, leaning in just a bit to bump their noses together which gave Michael more dopamine than he could actually comprehend. “But I think my main positive thing is right now, being with you.” Alex rolled his eyes. “I’m serious.”

“You keep complimenting me and I might start thinking you like me,” Alex teased. Michael laughed softly and just smiled at this man who he really didn’t feel like he deserved. Which, in itself, was a problem. He did deserve Alex. As long as he was trying to get better and be better for him, he deserved him. Thinking he didn’t would only lead to bad things. “We need to go to sleep, I’ve gotta get up early.”

“Okay,” Michael complied, still feeling much better than he had for most of the day just being with him.

Alex moved up to kiss his forehead and Michael flicked off the lights with his telekinesis.

“Goodnight, Alex.”

“Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Michael agreed, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And, still, he pulled him close and held him until he could fall asleep.

[captainofthebrokentides]

Drug Addled Confessions Michael Ragosa x OC

Rhia, a nurse at San Antonio is enlisted to keep her boss in check after he accidentally takes MDMA, advice is given and the start of something big is kindled. 

Rhia sighed as she reached the nurses’ station, joining in Kenny’s emergency huddle.

“So I promised, I’d keep this on the DL, But I think it might need some damage control.” Kenny nodded subtly over to the far wall, where Michael Ragosa was leaning. The dark-haired administrator’s shirt was untucked, the collar loose and tie barely hanging around his neck. He was staring intently at a pump of hand gel, pointing the bubbles out to anyone who was passing by; very loudly. “How long has he been doing that?” She asked furrowing her eyebrows. Michael Ragosa was always so straight laced. She couldn’t think of a time she’d seem him properly smile – like a cheek hurting, uncontrollable smile, and she’d been working the night shift for six months. They’d had a few run ins in the recent months, their last big one had ended with him hissing at her that this was her last chance, her paperwork was about five weeks behind and she’s forgotten to stock count the pharmacy three days before, but it was on her to do list. She’s tried apologising, had explained that she was only human after all, but he had reeled off that the board were unprepared to take the heat of a missed stock take and he didn’t have the time or money to deal with an incompetent nurse. She’d been angry, shouting at him that if they weren’t so low on staff she wouldn’t have had to run between three trauma emergencies at the same time, and did he expect her to pull extra hours of the day out of her ass? She’d finished off her tirade by throwing her iced coffee at him. The brown liquid coating his fine features and soaking through his expensive looking white shirt. Luckily she had walked away and bribed Mollie to put her finished paperwork on Ragosa’s desk for her by the end of the shift, so she could at least cling to the last vestiges of being able to save her job. That was a fortnight ago … and the last time she’d spoken to him.

They’d got on well until about three months ago. He’d made her feel comfortable and laugh during her interview. He’d been nice enough to take an hour out of his day on her first shift to introduce her to the night shift big wigs like TC and Topher, both of whom now treated her like a member of their family, and to show her around the place, buying her a welcome cup of coffee when they’d arrived at the food truck. In the early months he’s even made a point of stopping her for chat in the corridors, his eyes looking warm and caring as he checked how she was settling in and if she needed anything. But over the last couple of months he had been becoming steadily more and more cold. He was being a dick, sometimes with, but mostly without reason. The only person he’d talk to without an edge in his voice was Landry. It hurt Rhia a bit to think that those nice, kind eyes that once welcomed her, now looked at her as though they were hard as stone, with no feeling behind them except annoyance and anger.

“About ten minutes” Kenny said quietly, watching as their boss gently ran his fingers across the wall as if he was lovingly caressing someone’s cheek. “Mhmm you should have seen him earlier, gazing into the ceiling mirror in admissions for a good five minutes, like a child staring into a candy store window.” Mollie agreed, closing the chart she was looking at sharply. The unexpected noise made Ragosa jump, the soles of his leather shoes actually leaving the floor, but his eyes never left the bubbles. “Is he having a breakdown? Do I need to get a psych eval?” Rhia asked, feeling equally worried and perplexed. “I know the whole Jordan and the Christian Scientist thing is a big bundle of hell, but I’ve never seen him like that.”

Kenny chuckled and ducked his head, beckoning Rhia closer to him so he could whisper. “Na, he’s fine. He’s high as a kite.” Rhia’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline, surely she had misheard, “What?” “Yup, he took some aspirin from Landry’s desk, but they weren’t aspirin, they were MDMA, and now he’s totally spaced” Mollie laughed and sauntered away “And making an ass of himself”

Rhia sighed, she had a feeling she knew what the answer would be before it even left her mouth. “I’m not even going to ask why Landry has MDMA on her desk, but what are we going to do Kenny?” The male nurse grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “We aren’t doing anything, I’m needed in trauma two.” He clapped a large hand over her shoulder, “You however are going to keep him out of trouble, Jordan is already having a hell of a night, we don’t need him drawing attention too.” Rhia shook her head and tried to back away, but Kenny caught her by the crook of her elbow, his fingers gently squeezing the joint. “Oh hell no, Ken, he hates me. I’m not doing that.” Kenny smirked. “Who? Ragosa? That man doesn’t hate you. He can’t keep his damned eyes off you.” “Oh really?” Rhia pulled herself away from Kenny’s grip and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “What was all that shit he spewed at me the other week? He was so angry.” “You’re still here though, right? Did he even give you a disciplinary for giving him a bath in coffee?” Kenny had a point, she’d not heard a peep out of Ragosa since the incident, no word of apology or reprimand. “No.” “Exactly, the man has a sweet spot for you. Why don’t you use it to help us out?” Kenny wrapped his arm around her in a one-sided hug. Rhia sighed, she didn’t believe Kenny’s reasoning – Ragosa was married, sure it may be a little rocky right now, but she doubted he would be looking at her like that. She did have to admit though, she wouldn’t mind if he did, really. Michael Ragosa was an attractive man, with the warmest brown eyes she’d ever seen. She knew she’d get no peace for the night if she didn’t agree to Kenny’s plan. “Ok, but you gotta keep my back covered if we get busy.” “Sure thing! Good Luck!” Kenny nodded, grabbed a stack of files and walked away from the nurses’ station with a final chuckle at Ragosa, leaving Rhia alone.

She took a couple of deep breaths, she could do this, it was only Michael, he couldn’t hurt a fly really. She made her way over to the far wall, and reached out to touch Ragosa’s shoulder. He flinched for a second, but then turned to look at her, his eyes taking a second to focus. “Rhia!” he whispered breathily, and he smiled, and actual smile. Rhia found herself smiling back, his grin was infectious. “Hey Michael” she opened her mouth to coax him to leave with her when he cut her off. “Your hair, its so pretty, it always looks soft. Like silk. Can I touch it?” he didn’t wait for her to answer before twining his fingers through some of her loose waves, closing his eyes to indulge in the feel of it on his skin. “Sure you can Michael. And thank you, it’s nice of you to say.” His eyes sprang open again, and he gazed at her intensely. “I’ve got many nice things to say to you.” “Is that right?” he nodded, and fiddled with the ends of a curl. “Well, how about we go grab some water, sit in your office, and you could tell me them?” “Water” he repeated again. He allowed Rhia to take his hand in hers and pull him in the direction of his office. After a couple if seconds, he threaded his warm fingers through hers, and Rhia had to stifle a smile as a warm feeling began to bubble in the bottom of her belly.

Rhia closed the door of Ragosa’s office softly behind them and lead him over to the sofa. Michael sat down like a dead weight, the furniture complaining with a loud creek. “’m not that heavy” he mumbled. Rhia chuckled lightly and went to fill two glasses with water from the jug on his bookcase.  She passed one to Michael, and took a mouthful of her own, stowing it safely on the floor before herself down next to him. She made herself comfortable, crossing her legs underneath her. Michael watched her movements intently, sipping from his glass. Rhia looked up and caught his gaze, she smiled softly, but didn’t say anything, he looked like he was thinking. A few moments of peaceful silence passed.

“I didn’t mean it you know.” His head was hung in shame and he was looking up at her through thick, dark eyelashes. “I don’t think you’re an incompetent nurse. You’re so good at what you do.” He started counting compliments off on his fingers, avoiding Rhia’s eyes. “You’re kind, you’re caring. You always have a smile, people need to see that smile, it’s too beautiful to be hidden away. All the staff and patients love you. This hospital needs you, and I …” he swallowed heavily “I need you too.”

Rhia stayed quiet, listening to his speech, but she took his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers lightly for comfort.

“I’m sorry for saying it all. I’ve not been handling myself well lately, I let things get on top of me. Lydia and I are getting a divorce. She’s been keeping my kids from me. They have to call me in secret. Do you know how painful that is?” his handsome face crumpled slightly and his eyes became red with brimming tears. He rubbed a finger gently over her knuckles. “Everyone treats me like I’m a dick. All the time. Here and at home. Here at least it’s part of the job. Landry says I need to meet people halfway.” He slouched forwards, shoulders pulling themselves together in an unconscious self-protection move. Rhea sighed, it looked like these thoughts had been taking chunks out of him for a while. “I think that’s a good idea, it shows people you care and offers them some respect. That works for both here and at home. I won’t pretend to know what’s going on at home for you Michael, or how painful it all must be, but it can’t let you turn away from being the good, caring person you are. You should be you, live your life your way, give everyone respect and treat people fairly, and unduly judge no one.” Michael laughed and smiled at her. Another proper smile. Showing his pearly white teeth and displaying slight dimples. “Is that your key advice?”

Rhia smiled back warmly. “It certainly is.” Michael nodded. He pulled his hands away and rubbed at his eyes. “Do you want to know a secret?” he leaned in, so their faces were only a foot apart. His warm breath brushed cross her cheeks and Rhea felt her tummy clench with anticipation. His beautiful dark eyes held hers. He smelled like expensive aftershave, mint and coffee. She swallowed thickly and nodded, her words leaving her at their proximity. “I always wanted to be a doctor, you know, spend my life doing something to make other peoples’ lives better. I wanted to be good, beautiful Rhia. I wanted to be good, just like you.” He lightly touched his finger to the nip of her nose and gave her another heart-breaking smile.

“Why didn’t you?” She breathed, her brain clouded. He shuffled closer to her and put his lips next to her ear, his hand resting on her forearm. “I can’t see well enough, my eyes are deteriorating, I went with the next best thing. I’ve been waiting for something to push me to get surgery, something worth me facing my fear. I think I found it.” He pulled away from her, and watched her with sparkling dark eyes. Rhia smiled and cupped his face in her hands. “I think you should be you. Do what you want to do.” Michael nodded, and slid the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip, his eyes flicking between her eyes and rosy lips. His brows furrowed for a second, before smoothing out again. Clearly dealing with a inner battle. “You know what I’d like to do, right now?” his voice held a bubbling excitement Rhia laughed, “What would you like to do right now?” Michael got to his feet and took both Rhia’s hands in his, pulling her off the sofa with surprisingly controlled strength for someone that was rolling heavily on ecstasy. “I want to dance. Come on. I know where we can dance.” Rhia smiled and laughed, she let him lead her out of the office and into the courtyard where half the night shift were taking their breaks. A rhythmic Latino beat poured out of the speakers and filled the night air.

Michael, not caring about all the eyes on him, started to dance, arms in the air and hips swaying to the music. Unable to control her laugh or her smile that was mirroring Michael’s Rhia accepted his outstretched hand when it was offered, and tried to forget her surroundings. Ragosa spun her around and expertly helped her with every twist and turn. She laughed with him, and breathed in the fresh many scent of his aftershave every time she came up flush against his body.

“Rhia!” Rhia vaguely caught someone saying her name, trying to pull her out of her and Michael’s personal moment. “Rhia!” The voice belonged to Topher, who stood watching the two with his eyebrows raised. Rhia nodded at her friend and placed her hands firmly on Ragosa’s chest. “Michael stop, stop.” She coaxed, and he stopped, perplexed, watching Topher over her shoulder. “Yes Topher, what can I do for you?” she asked trying to catch her breath. “Kenny says you’re needed for an emergency assistance in Trauma three … if that’s not disrupting your night?” he grinned at her. Rhia looked at Ragosa who looked like a kicked puppy, his dark eyes sad. She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’ll be back, duty calls. Keep yourself out of mischief Mikey.” Rhia smiled and nodded at Topher as she passed him, “Cheers Toph, have a good break, we’ll talk later.” “Oh yes we will, you’ve got some explaining to do!” the older man shouted back as he made his way to the food truck.

Rhia pushed through people to get to the hospital doors, but stopped as she pushed them open. She watched as Michael continued to dance on his own, without a care in the world. “Wooh! Topher!! This is my jam!!” he yelled to the doctor over the music. Topher looked over at Rhia who laughed and shrugged going inside.

****

Rhia hadn’t seen Ragosa since she left him out in the courtyard, she’d figured he’d called it a night and gone home early, so she slung her rucksack over her shoulder and made her way out of the locker room and headed towards the entry doors to the ER department. To her pleasant surprise she found Michael waiting for her, leaning against a gurney. He had cleaned himself up, back to his usual smart standard, and his eyes were once again bright and clear. He shot her one of his dazzling smiles and waited for her to approach. “Hey, you’re looking good, how are you feeling?” she asked, placed herself next to him on the gurney, they were so close their shoulders rubbed against each other. He looked at her through his dark lashes. “Much better, I feel some … clarity.” He looked down at his toes. “my divorce is coming through, I worked out with Lydia that I can see my kids. And I decided to get the surgery.” He took a deep breath a looked up at her, his brow furrow free and open. “Thank you so much for tonight and everything you did for me. Thank you for listening. For being there. For indulging me. It means a lot.” He reached his hand out and grabbed Rhia’s giving it a squeeze. “I’m starting again. It’s a new chapter.” Rhia smiled at him, her cheeks flushing. She squeezed his hand back. “It’s a pleasure Michael, I’m always here, if you ever need me.” He breathed out a little chuckle and cupped her cheek in his hand. “I feel I might always need you.” Her cheeks burned with a blush and Rhia bit her lip through a smile that threatened to split her cheeks. “Would you like to come and grab a cup of coffee with me? One that we can drink, and wont end with it ruining my favourite shirt?” Rhia laughed and squeezed his hand tightly in hers. “I’m really sorry about that. I should have apologised sooner.” Ragosa waved his hand nonchalantly with a grin. “Never mind about that. So … coffee?” Rhia gave a sigh and leaned in pressing a kiss against his soft cheek. She liked how his skin felt under hers. “Right now, I think you need some rest.” She gathered her things and headed to the door. She turned back to look at him. He looked dejected and forlorn. “But let me know when your divorce comes through, then I’ll hold you to that coffee.” His face brightened and she waved, blowing him a quick kiss, “Have a good morning, Mikey.”

@reelovesbennycolon​ - it’s not Benny, but i thought you still might like.

[abigailjordanwrites]

Update Required

“I require an update,” said the smooth feminine voice of the robot.

Ethan groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s right, keep forgetting,” he mumbled to himself as he searched around for his tablet, “I’ve got to reorganize this workstation.”

The soft cool hand on his back startled him and he spun haphazardly knocking several items off his desk. Ethan felt the sound of mental and glass cracking against the hard floor like a blow to his gut.

“Oh no, Ethan! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Anna apologized as she bent to help him retrieve the broken tablet off the floor.

“It’s alright, Anna. It’s my own fault,” Ethan sighed and tried to test the tablet for signs of life. The screen, however, remained black and shards of glass fell away.

“I require an update,” his robot reminded him and Ethan groaned anew.

Anna winced in sympathy, “Funny how we take care of everyone else’s robots all day and can’t seem to take care of our own. Like the old idiom: the baker never has any bread and the butcher never has any meat.”

Ethan huffed a small laugh for her attempt to lighten the situation. It wasn’t the end of the world; he would only need to get it repaired and he would be able to update the robot on his home computer, but it was just one more thing to do. He helped Anna to her feet and enjoyed the flush in her cheeks when he did.

“I heard you’re leaving software and moving up to hardware,” she said, finding it difficult to meet his eyes.

“Yeah, I-I’ve submitted my application package. I’m expecting a response today, actually.”

“Oh. Well, you should let us know. Maybe we could all go and celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?” Nick cut in, joining them from his office and smiling down at Anna with a wink which she huffed at and shook her head in feigned annoyance.

“Ethan is going to be training in hardware,” Anna informed him.

“Is that right?” Nick asked, his eyes piercing Ethan in a way Ethan never could get used to.

“I don’t know for certain as of yet. I’m still waiting for a response, but I meet all the requirements,” Ethan clarified and held eye contact.

“Chapel starts in fifteen minutes,” the robot informed them, and then reminded Ethan, “I require an update.”

Nick smirked as he turned with Anna to head for Chapel, “You should probably take care of that.”

“Yeah, I know,” he handed the tablet to the robot and commanded it, “Stay here and refuel. I’ll update you later.”

The trio made their way into the hall, merging with others on their way to Chapel and having to slow their pace to match the foot traffic.

“Won’t have to worry about Chapel anymore as a hardware engineer, isn’t that right Ethan?” Nick asked, trying to be patient with the crowd.

“What do you mean? Everyone has to go to Chapel,” Anna said as they funneled outside, the Chapel in sight.

Nick chuckled, “Only because we don’t rate to be without god.”

“Who rates to be without god?” Anna asked indignantly.

Ethan looked toward the robotics tower, standing away from the Chapel amid the buildings of the city, reaching up higher than the rest.

“Those who rise high enough to believe themselves god,” Ethan answered, but his words drowned in the gentle hum of the crowd.

Ethan couldn’t shake his uneasy excitement. He tried all day to push it away, but it came back to tease him whenever a lull occurred. For instance, when he dropped his tablet off to be repaired and in between his robot’s reminders that it needed an update while he made his way home.

“I require an update,” it reminded him upon entering his apartment.

“Yes, yes, I know. Let’s get you plugged in,” but when he opened his computer, he saw his response had arrived. Ethan read it and read it again. Then he picked up his phone.

“Yes, hello, I would like to speak to HR about an application I submitted. Yes, thank you,” Ethan studied the robot as he waited, watching his blurred reflection pace across its metallic body.

“Hello, yes, thank you for taking my call. I have a question about my application. I have received a rejection for the hardware engineering training program and I would like to know why I was rejected and what I could do to be more competitive when I reapply. My name is Ethan Gale. Okay, yes, I’ll hold again.”

Ethan sighed, sat down at his desk, all the while keeping his eyes on the robot.

“Yes. My psych eval? There must be some mistake. I’ve passed all my psychological evaluations. Well, yes, they were for software programming, but surely— You mean to say that there are different psych requirements for hardware? Why? Well then, who can give me answers?”

Ethan pulled the phone away and blinked at the ‘call ended’ staring back at him.

“I require an update,” the robot said.

Ethan looked up at it, “Yes I know, but why? Why do you require an update? My phone, tablet, computer, they all have available updates. If I don’t update them, it just makes operations more sluggish and applications and programs glitch, but if I don’t update you, it could damage the hardware. Why? I know how computers work, I know how tablets and phones work. It isn’t even all that difficult to find hardware information on electronic devices, but robotics? I can only find information up until a certain point, until the new design, the updated models.”

Ethan stood and approached the robot. He reached out and ran his fingers down the seams of metal upon metal.

“I was so close. So close to finding out why.”

“I require an update.”

Ethan shook his head, “I want to see what happens if I don’t.”

The decline was quick, much quicker than he thought it would be. Within twenty-four hours the robot struggled to do simple tasks, its limbs lagged and it needed to refuel more often. Ethan tried examining the refueling station, which was basically a small closet, but was only further frustrated with questions. There were two tubes that the robot hooked itself into, one seemed to be for fuel and the best Ethan could figure the second one was for was waste.

“I require an update.”

“How do you work? You’re not a computer. I’m looking at it all wrong. You’re more like machinery. Like a vehicle, needing oil and oil changes and such? I mean, of course there is a computer chip involved in your processing but your body functions more like machinery. Is that it? Maybe robotics companies don’t want people to realize that they use fossil fuels instead of electricity, is that it?”

“I require an update.”

By forty-eight hours, the robot refused to refuel and could barely move. When it collapsed to the floor, Ethan spent the entire night figuring out how to pry off its screen. Finally, it popped off in a larger section than he expected and when he removed it to see what lay beneath he dropped the screen on the floor with an unheard clatter.

Two eyes looked into his, tear tracks down its— her— down her cheeks and streamed down her temples. Her nose and mouth were covered by a respirator mask. Her head was bald and seemed fused to the back of the headpiece. Her mouth didn’t move but her eyes looked to him with a weary agony and the familiar smooth feminine voice came from speakers in the mechanical suit,

“I require an update.”

Ethan threw himself backward and his hand flew to his mouth to stifle the silent scream which rattled his brain. He twisted to his hands and knees and heaved up the contents of his stomach.

He saw it— her– twitch within her metal body and the voice said, “Hardware engineers are on their way. They will determine whether you will receive a replacement bot according to your warranty agreement.”

Ethan could barely process what she said, he merely sat, curling in on himself and staring at his robot. He raked his fingers into his hair trying to pull on pain to signal that this was his reality.

When the hardware engineer entered his apartment, Ethan vaguely recognized him from his interviews and could only watch him kneel beside the robot and set to work. The engineer pulled a flashlight and shined it across her eyes then shook his head and pulled out a syringe. Ethan watched him open a slot in the arm piece and insert the syringe. Her eyes widened and the metal body twitched violently before it fell still. The man then took out his phone and entered something before he set it away and turned to Ethan.

He tilted his head a little and then with recognition, “I remember you, from your interviews. You were very promising, but didn’t pass your psych eval.”

He approached Ethan and sat on his haunches in front of him. Two more men entered the apartment and went about putting the face plate back on and carrying it— her– away.

“Too much empathy,” the engineer said matter-of-factly as he pulled out another syringe and gripped Ethan’s arm.

Ethan flinched, “What is that?”

The engineer’s face didn’t shift as he answered, “Oh don’t worry, it isn’t the same serum. This will just help you forget,” the needle pinched and the fluid seeped in like ice throughout his bicep. Soon Ethan felt himself slipping from consciousness and a fading voice,

“Next time remember to update.”

Photo Credit: <span>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@onebene?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">PIOTR BENE</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/i-robot?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></span>

[iwhumpyou]

Eyes

He woke up gasping.  Just a dream, he tried to reassure himself, just a dream.  It was difficult when he could see her body every time he closed his eyes.  Could see sand turning red, and a ruin of a face.

Just a dream.  Rani was fine.  She was alive.  The gun had backfired.  She was fine. 

He got ready in a daze, unable to shake the image, and was almost eager to get to work.  He’d see Rani and she’d be fine and he could stop seeing her dead body lying limp on the sand. Because the gun had backfired and she’d fallen but she’d lived.

She’d lived.

Hadn’t she?

The errant thought struck a deeper chord inside of him and Ryan buried it as quickly as he could, until he could pretend like it had never existed.

He got through security, his body almost vibrating with the urge to move faster.  It was nothing, he tried to tell himself, he just wanted to make sure he got the good coffee.  That was it.

The halls were emptier than usual, and the people that passed him seemed to stare at him, pausing or whispering to their colleagues.  Ryan walked faster.  He was almost at his office, almost there, he would turn the corner and walk through the door and then Rani would look up at him from her cubicle and smile and – 

There was someone new sitting at Rani’s desk.

Ryan stopped dead and stared. 

The person at the desk turned around and looked at him quizzically.  “Can I help you?” they asked.

“Where’s Rani?” Ryan managed to force out.  Maybe they were just waiting for her.  Maybe she let them sit at her desk while she went to talk to someone, or get a printout, or something.

(Maybe she was dead, lying in the sands far, far from home.)

“Who?” they asked, confused.

Ryan couldn’t breathe.

The office seemed to get smaller around him as he whirled, trying to find a familiar face.  There were only a few other people in, and he didn’t recognize any of them.  No Clara, or Akito, or Frank.  He saw looks of concern and confusion on faces he’d never seen before.

The room was suffocating him and all he could see was Rani’s body on the ground, red, red, red –

There was a hand on his shoulder and he turned, nearly crying when Agent Denito’s face swam into view.  “Ryan?” she asked, slowly and softly, “Are you alright?”

“Where’s Rani?” Ryan choked out.  He needed her to answer.  He needed her to confirm that the body was the nightmare.

“Rani?” Denito repeated.  Her face drew into a confused frown, and then smoothed out with understanding.  She was looking at him with – with pity.

Ryan went cold.

“No,” he breathed out, but the room was closing in on him and there was red everywhere and Rani’s limp body loomed large in his eyes.  “No!”

He fled.

~#~

Agent Denito found him later.  Ryan didn’t know how long it had been – he replayed the whole incident in his head, over and over and over.

The rebel, snarling at Rani.  Rani, on her knees, hands tied, but glaring at him.  Snarling back.  Goading him.  And the rebel, taking two steps forward to place his gun on her forehead, as if he was trying to bore through her skull.  And then squeezing the trigger.

And then red.  And screams.  And rapid bursts of gunfire.  And Rani, sprawled on the sand. 

He couldn’t see her face in his memories.

There was shouting outside and Denito’s voice, low and rough, but Ryan ignored it all.  He had managed to convince himself that Rani had lived.  Managed to convince himself so thoroughly that he thought the truth was just a nightmare.  They must’ve thought that he’d snapped.

Maybe he had. 

Footsteps neared him, and he heard Denito, her voice softer than he’d heard before.  “Ryan?” she asked, “Can you hear me?”

Ryan curled up further.

“Ryan,” Denito sighed.  He could hear her shuffling outside.  “Are you going to come out?”

“No,” Ryan said hoarsely.  There was a lump in his throat and it hurt to swallow.  It hurt to breathe.  It hurt to think.

Denito sighed again, and he could hear her taking a seat on the floor outside the desk.  He stayed where he was, curled in the hollow of the desk, and tried not to cry. 

“Ryan, what happened?” Denito asked and he shuddered.  He didn’t want to tell her.  He didn’t want to say it out loud.

“I just forgot,” he mumbled, hoping the answer would be enough.

“It’s okay,” Denito said quietly, “But why are you hiding under a desk?  Should I call the nurse?”

Ryan almost laughed at that.  He didn’t need a nurse.  He wasn’t the one who got injured.  (He wasn’t the one who got killed.)

“No,” he said when it became clear she was waiting for an answer.  “No, I’m fine.”

“You are clearly not fine,” Denito said firmly.

“I just – I needed a moment,” Ryan said, scrubbing a hand over his face and thinking about how best to get rid of her.  He sighed and realized something close to the truth would suffice.  “I – I forgot.  That Rani died.  And I just need some space.  Please,” he tacked on as an afterthought.

There.  Now maybe she’d go away and leave him to castigate in his misery in peace.

“You forgot Rani what?”  That didn’t sound like understanding.  That sounded like bewilderment.

Ryan huddled deeper in the corner and hoped she wouldn’t drag him out for a psych eval.

“You – where – what – how –” Denito spluttered incoherently.  He finally heard her take a deep breath to calm herself.

“Ryan,” she said, her voice level, and he prepared herself for her words, “Rani’s not dead.”

That…had not been what he’d prepared for.

“Ryan?” Denito said and he realized he was breathing too fast.  Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to stop.  “Ryan, Rani is alive and well.”

“You’re – you’re lying,” he accused, his heart beating too fast and the world washing out in gray.  There was something clenching in his chest, squeezing his lungs.

Rani, a gun in her face.  Her snarl.  The finger on the trigger, the bang.  Her body hitting the sand.  Red.

He couldn’t see her face.

“I assure you, I’m not,” Denito said calmly, “Why do you think she’s dead?”

“She – I saw the gun – my dreams –” Ryan was aware he sounded like a lunatic, and he seized upon the one thing she had to have seen, “She wasn’t at her desk!”

“Ryan, it’s Saturday,” Denito said.

It was?

“Also, I told you all to take at least a week off.  Do you remember that?”

Now that she mentioned it, Ryan did recall listening to Denito yesterday, but being too exhausted to actually hear the words.  He remembered Clara giving him a ride home and – and Rani waving off her offer, and telling them that James was driving her home.

He remembered the burns over Rani’s face, and remembered her breathing, rough and ragged, as they tried to cover her from the gunfire.  The gauze wrapped over half her face.  Remembered seeing her curled up in James’ arms on the flight home as the man glowered at anyone who gave them a second glance.

But what if all that was just a dream?

“Prove it,” he said shakily, trying not to feel hopeful.

Denito sighed.  “Ryan –” she started.

“Prove it.”

She sighed again and he heard her get up.  He tried not to feel too disappointed.  He failed.

~#~

She returned soon and Ryan felt treacherous hope rear its head again.  She was talking to someone, and when he didn’t hear a response, he assumed she was on the phone.

Was she calling the hospital?  Was she calling someone to take him away?

He pressed himself further into the corner and watched as shadows played across the light.

“Thank you,” he heard Denito say, and then she came closer, “Ryan, can you hear me?”

Ryan mumbled a yes.

“My phone’s on speaker,” she said, and he could hear the crackling of the line as she presumably pushed it closer to him.

“Ryan?” a tinny voice said, and Ryan’s heart clenched.

“Rani?” he whispered, frozen.

“Hi, Ryan!” Rani said brightly, “Agent Denito says that you went to work today.  Did you forget it was Saturday?”

She certainly sounded alive. 

“Yeah,” Ryan said hoarsely, “Yeah, I forgot.”

“Do you want to come hang out at my place?” Rani asked, “James brought some board games, it’ll be fun to –”

“Yes,” Ryan said, lurching forward, “Yes, that would be great, when can I…?”  He needed to see her with his own two eyes.  He needed to see her alive and bright and smiling, so he would forget the sight of blank eyes and a hole in her head.

“Come over anytime!” Rani chirped, and Ryan slowly eased out from under the desk.  Denito watched him emerge, and took the phone back.

“I’ll get someone to drop you off at her place,” she said, not unkindly.  Ryan couldn’t meet her gaze.  He didn’t want to see whatever expression was on her face.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan said faintly, scrubbing at his face.  He was losing his mind.

(But he could see it so vividly in his head, the blood, the screaming, the lack of a pulse underneath his fingers –)

“It’s okay,” Denito sighed, “But Ryan?  I don’t want you in here for a week.  And I mean it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ryan managed.

~#~

Ryan couldn’t sit still, the entire ride over.  He barely paid a second glance to the driver, and murmured an absent thanks as he stumbled out of the car.  He rang the doorbell and waited, heart in his throat – what if it was all a dream, what if no one answered, what if he saw her face, her brains blown out and blood leaking everywhere and –

“Ryan!” Rani smiled, opening the door.  Ryan stared at her, frozen.  “Come inside, everyone else is here – Ryan?”

“Yes?” he managed to say, blinking.  Rani was looking at him in concern, her bandage crinkling as she frowned.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, “If you’re tired, I have a futon –”

“It’s okay,” Ryan said, stepping inside, “I’m fine.”  He had a feeling his wan, lifeless smile didn’t convince her, but she let it drop.

“If you’re sure,” Rani said finally, before gesturing towards the inside of the apartment, “We’ve got some pizza and Clara and Akito and Frank came over too, and James has some board games we can play!”  Ryan slipped off his shoes and his coat and followed her inside.

They were indeed all there.  James was perched awkwardly on the armchair – the reason for which became obvious when Rani retook her seat – staring at everybody with a dark glower.  Of course, a dark glower was practically James’ default expression, so Ryan ignored it when it swung his way.

Clara smiled brightly at Ryan – a smile a shade too wide to be sincere – and Frank patted him on the back when he sat down, squeezing his shoulder as if to reassure himself that Ryan was actually here.  Akito smiled at Ryan, and he could see the dark bags under the other man’s eyes.

“Alright – shall we play Monopoly?” Rani asked, raising the first game.

“We just got out of a warzone, no thanks,” Frank said, to a round of uncomfortable chuckles.

“Okay…how about Clue?” Rani asked.

“Sounds good to me,” Clara replied, watching Rani.  In fact, they were all watching Rani – carefully, closely.  As if they were worried that they would look away and back again to a ghost.  Or a corpse.

Even James was cutting down on his glowering time to stare at Rani with an unreadable expression. The woman herself merely beamed at them before setting up the game.

“You’re going to see all my cards if you stay there,” she said to James over her shoulder, and his expression twisted into aggravation before he tumbled gracefully off the armchair.

Ryan never thought he’d see the day when he could classify one of James’ expressions as a pout.

The soldier swiped the cards from Rani’s hand and began setting it up himself as he took a seat between Clara and Akito.  Rani let him, and Ryan watched the imperceptible wince that crossed her face – the gun had backfired, true.  But it had still caused injuries.

Ryan knew from personal experience that burn injuries seethed and itched, and walking around with no depth perception must’ve been causing a hell of a headache.  He could see his deduction ripple across the faces of everyone else – they watched her when she wasn’t looking, turning back to their cards if she looked up.

Ryan had a half-formed thought to take it easy, to let her win the first game – he wasn’t here to win at board games, he was here because every time he saw Rani alive, the image of her dead body faded a little, because every time he heard her laugh, the hole in his heart healed a bit and he felt a little freer.

And then he stared at his cards and his notes in consternation as Rani snickered and showed them the target cards.

“What?” he managed. He had eliminated only seven options. Clara was staring at her cards in similar betrayal.  Akito smiled – he didn’t look awake enough to be playing properly.  Frank groaned and tossed his cards back on the table and even James looked mildly perplexed.

“You guys suck as detectives,” Rani informed them, still laughing.

Ryan scowled at her, but there was no heat behind it.

She was here.  She was alive.  (The gun had backfired.  It had.)

They played another round, they talked, they joked – for hours and hours, until Akito almost nodded off in the middle of a sentence.

“Tired?” Rani asked, and Akito blearily straightened up and nodded, “I have a futon, if you want to crash here.”

“That would be great,” he murmured, and Ryan stared at him with the faintest stirrings of resentment.

“We should probably wrap up this party,” Clara said, though she made no move to get up, “Do you want me to give you a ride, James?”

“I’m not leaving,” he said brusquely, and Ryan raised an eyebrow despite himself.  He flushed slightly under their stares, still glaring. “It’s a bit difficult to drive around or judge distances when you can only see out of one eye.  I’m helping Rani.”

“And thank you for that,” Rani smiled, returning with the bedding.  There were lines of exhaustion on her face, and she squinted at times and stumbled into furniture.  Ryan understood what James meant.  “But you won’t let me cook, and you can’t cook, so you’re really going to have to relax those restrictions because I’m not eating takeout for the next week.”

James scowled again at this, but quickly bounded forward to snatch the bedding out of Rani’s hands and begin preparing the futon.  Akito watching them with half-open eyes, almost swaying where he sat.

“I can cook,” Frank said suddenly.

“What?” Rani asked, and Clara frowned.  Ryan turned to stare at Frank.

“I can cook,” Frank said, more confidently, flashing a slightly desperate smile at Rani, “I can make you guys breakfast tomorrow!”

“Oh, um…that would be wonderful,” Rani said, looking taken aback.

“You need someone to water your plants, too,” Clara said, beaming at her.  Rani blinked.  “I mean, if James is making sure you don’t hurt yourself, and Frank is cooking, who’s going to watch the poor plants?”

“Clara, it’s a cactus,” Rani said, bewildered.

“And you need someone to help clean up the place,” Ryan interjected.

“Excuse me?” Rani looked slightly offended, and James turned to affix them all with a dark scowl.

“Not that your place isn’t clean!” Ryan backpedaled quickly, “Just that – if Frank’s going to be cooking, and we’re all staying over, there’ll be more stuff to clean and it isn’t fair to make you do all of it.”

“It isn’t fair,” Rani repeated, blank-faced.

“It’s a great idea!” Clara beamed, “We can all have a slumber party!”  Akito mumbled agreement from where he’d faceplanted into a pillow. James didn’t look pleased as he stalked off, deeper into the apartment, but he returned with a sleeping bag and several more piles of bedding.

Rani was still looking between them all in bewilderment, but a helpless smile was twitching against her lips.  “Alright,” she said, bemused, “I guess we’re having a sleepover?”

“Great!” Clara jumped up and hugged Rani, “We can share the bed and the boys can sleep out here.”

James’ scowl intensified into murderous territory.

Ryan quickly ducked behind the armchair, but Clara ignored his searing glare easily as she looped her arm through Rani’s and dragged her off to the bedroom.

Ryan warily poked his head above the armchair and got hit in the face with a pillow and blanket.  “I’m taking the other futon,” James informed them curtly, dumping the sleeping bag and the other bedding on the floor.  “The armchair reclines.”

Ryan and Frank shot each other a quick exchange of looks that went more or less like – ‘what crawled up his ass’ – ‘you know full well’ – ‘he’s in a snotty mood despite, you know’ – ‘do you want to test him right now’ – ‘…no’ – ‘then shut up and go to bed’.

The armchair did, in fact, recline and Ryan left the sleeping bag to Frank as he attempted to get comfortable.

He was exhausted, with his restless sleep the night before and the panic of that morning, and the sound of other people breathing was soothing to someone that had come home to an achingly empty apartment.

Sleep came easily.  It did not stay.

~#~

“Beg,” the man said, “Beg and I may yet let you live.”  There were snakes hissing everywhere, coiling around them, climbing up Rani and anchoring her in place.

“You are a coward,” she said, and the snakes writhed in a frenzy.

“And you…” the man said, spreading his arms, “Are dead.”

The snakes attacked. When they slithered away, Rani was on the ground, her face waxen pale, one eye staring blankly into nothingness. Half her face was gone.  The sand was red.

He hadn’t even heard the gunshot.

Ryan gasped awake and clutched desperately in the darkness to the sensation of falling.  Several harsh, heaving breaths later, he recognized the neon clock on the microwave.  1:13, it blinked at him.

He was on…an armchair. He was at Rani’s house.  He turned the other direction, and counted three lumps in the dim moonlight, and the sound of slow, deep breathing.

Rani wasn’t dead.  The gun had backfired.  Ryan had no idea where the snakes had come from.  Rani wasn’t dead.

He had slipped out of the armchair before he realized what he was doing.  Rani wasn’t dead, but – but it was better to check.  To make sure.  No, he knew she wasn’t dead, he was just…he was just making sure nothing had happened to her.  That the girls were sleeping well.

He kept his footsteps quiet, and slowly eased open the bedroom door.  A shaft of moonlight fell across Clara’s hair and illuminated the curve of her ear, falling short of the second lump in the bed.  But he could hear Rani’s breathing, turned harsh by the bandages covering half her face.

She was alive.  Of course she was alive.  (The gun had backfired and he hadn’t watched her die.)

Ryan turned to leave and nearly crashed straight into Frank.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, just barely remembering to keep his voice low as he rubbed his nose.

“Nothing,” Frank snapped back, “Just…uh…going to get some water?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Ryan grumbled, refraining from pointing out that the kitchen was in the other direction.

He wasn’t the only one who’d watched Rani fall.  Wasn’t the only one who’d been at her bedside.  Wasn’t the only one who still had bad dreams.

Ryan crept back to his armchair bed and tried to go back to sleep.

The good news was that he managed it.  The bad news was that he managed it.

~#~

“You insolent bitch.”

Red.  Red everywhere.

One eye staring at him in a mass of white and red and bubbling worms.

“Coward.”  The word snapped with disgust and revulsion.

“Take that back!”

The shrill whine of helicopter blades.  The rat-tat-tat of machine gunfire.  Red sand.

“Kill me yourself, coward. If you dare.”

The sun, gleaming off of metal and into his eyes.

“You can’t do it.”  A laugh, high and harsh.  “You don’t have the guts.”

The sound of a gun backfiring.

The sound of a gunshot.

Was there ever a difference?

A corpse crumbling and bursting into fire.

Red, red, dead.

~#~

He wrenched himself free of the stifling blanket and bolted upright, chest heaving, the image of blood seared into his eyelids.

He heard movement and he looked up – the kitchen light was on, silhouetting a figure, and Rani looked at him in concern, her mouth moving –

He couldn’t hear.  He could only feel the jitters under his skin, the sense of wrongness, the afterimage of a crushed skull every time he looked at her bandages –

He staggered out of the armchair on instinct – Rani was in front of him, she was alive, but what if this was the dream? – and reached a desperate hand out.

He needed this to be real. He was losing his mind and he needed this to be real.

Rani met his grasp, her face crinkled into worry, and he enveloped her in a stifling hug.

She was warm.  (He wasn’t holding a cold, decaying corpse.) He could hear her heart beat, feel it on his skin.  (It wasn’t the tune of blood gushing out or guns firing.)  He could feel her arms around him, her voice in his ears, the rough texture of the bandage against his face.

(She was alive, she was alive, she was alive.)

“I’m sorry,” Ryan said hoarsely, still gripping her frantically, “I’m sorry.”  He could see James out of the corner of his eye, a glare boring into his head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Rani said softly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. He couldn’t make his hands let go. “I needed – I needed to make sure you were alive.”

He could hear Rani swallow. “Ryan, I’m right here,” she said, “Right here.  Alive and well.  I promise. I’m right here.”

“I know,” he said, and it was a lie.  (He needed to be sure.)

“It’s okay,” she said, making no move to step back.  They stayed there as Ryan buried his head in her shoulder and let her shirt soak up his tears.  She was alive.

He had to remind himself of that, every time he woke up.  But she was alive, and he could remind himself over and over until he remembered.

~#~#~#~#~#~

Masterlist.

[petertingle-yipyip]

Idle Worship - Thomas

Part Two - Hard Times

// IW1 // Series Inspo: @writingsbychlo // Series Tags: @writingsbychlo​ @dylinski​ @moongoddesskiana​ @technolilly​ //

Pairings: Thomas x Reader

Word Count: 5080

Summary: WICKED is working with two very promising subjects, A2 and B2. Although they are set for separate Mazes, a deep connection forms between the two. Sneaking around the Compound, training together, and working together leads to many good times and even more Hard Times. How did Y/N and Thomas meet and fall in love?

//Quick Formatting Note: This chapter is set before Thomas is sent into the Maze. The current time for the chapter is regular type and flashbacks or rewinds are italicized. Enjoy!!//

“Tell me, Thomas.” Janson said as he sat in front of Thomas. “What was your relationship like with B2?”

Thomas waited at the table, his arms resting on the cold aluminum surface. Mere days had passed since you were gone and he could already feel the emptiness in his chest. He volunteered to monitor your Maze often, watching you specifically. He knew it wouldn’t make the separation any easier. He knew it was driving the stake in his chest deeper and deeper every day he saw you. But he couldn’t help it. You were the only thing that mattered to him.

“She has a name.” Thomas said simply. “Her name is Y/N.”

“Right… Y/N.” Janson nodded carefully. “She’s excelling in the new setting. Have you noticed?”

“Of course she is.” Thomas said, biting back his proud smirk. “Did you really think she wouldn’t? She was the best damn thing that ever came out of this place.”

“What was your relationship like with her?” He pressed.

“Wh-what do you want me to say?” Thomas asked suddenly, knowing what the Assistant Director wanted. “You want me to say that I miss her? That I loved her? It doesn’t matter anyway. You sent her away.” Thomas sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. No matter what he felt for you, he wouldn’t tell WICKED anything. “You know, she hated this place… Planned how to get out a hundred different ways..”

“Yet she never left.”

“No” Thomas agreed. “She didn’t.”

“B2- I mean, Y/N, just couldn’t see the bigger picture. You’re all a part of something that will save everyone. You see that, don’t you?”

Thomas didn’t have an answer. Teresa would tell him that Janson is right, that what WICKED was doing would help people. Teresa would swear up and down that WICKED is the good guy and that they’re there to help. But Y/N told a different story. Y/N saw what things were on the inside. It was manipulation, isolation. Y/N saw the kids losing their identities, becoming just another test subject, and being scared as hell because they remembered nothing. How could WICKED be the good guy when they do things that bad guys in books do?

“Why’d she stay, Thomas? If she hated us so much..”

“She stayed for me.” He admitted, a slight tug in his chest. He felt a tad guilty now that you were in your Maze and he was still at the Compound. You could’ve been safe from all of this if he had agreed to go with you. But at that time, he was convinced that the right thing to do was to stay. After losing you to WICKED’s twisted, oversized game, it didn’t sit right in his gut to be there.

-

“You must be the new girl.” Thomas greeted you with a wide smile.

You were taken back by his effortless good looks. The dark brown hair that fell onto his forehead, the hopeful and welcoming smile, the deep hazel eyes that quickly scanned your figure. You were stunned into silence, only able to nod and grin. You felt the heat creeping up your neck and to your ears.

You chuckled nervously as you heard the man say something about this boy showing you around the Compound. Everything else was muffled, white noise that didn’t seem to make sense. It was like all your brain let you focus on was the boy in front of you. He made your stomach tighten, your breath shallow, your heart beat fast, your fingers tremble. You had barely laid eyes on him and you were already in love. You started to wonder if soulmates were a thing.

“Hi.” You managed. “I’m Subject B2, I guess.” You shrugged sadly, already tired of the number you were assigned. You wanted more than anything to use your name, but it seemed like that didn’t belong to you anymore. Given names weren’t protocol at WICKED.

“I don’t care about that.” He waved a hand to dismiss your introduction. “What’s your real name?”

“My real name?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed. Everyone else in the Compound only cared about your number or your subject title. “Uh, it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N..” He nodded, holding a hand out for you to shake. “I’m Thomas.”

“Thomas..” You smiled softly, taking his outstretched hand. “I like that.”

After that first day, you never seemed to let go of his hand and he never let go of yours. Whenever you walked the Compound with Thomas, you held his hand. When you snuck into his room because yours felt too cold since you were alone, you held his hand while you slept on his chest. When you two were having sex, he held your hand. When you were working together in the lab or filing paperwork, you held each other’s hand. Until the day you got caught.

“And what do we have here?” Janson asked from behind you, clasping a hand onto one of each of your shoulders. “Hand holding? In the cafeteria?”

“We should probably run.” You told Thomas, who simply nodded with a mischievous smile on his face.

You two slid under the table and out of Janson’s grip. You both crawled out over the feet of the kids at your table and ran through the cafeteria. You heard the thump of boots chasing you, the yelling of your subject numbers, the sound of the alarm. But Thomas simply grabbed your hand and ran through the halls, you easily in tow. You laughed out of pure joy, genuinely having fun in that moment, and realized that you really did love Thomas.

“We’re surrounded.” You said between breaths when you and Thomas came to a hallway where guards were coming at you from both sides. “I’ll take the fall this time.”

“What?” Thomas asked with a small chuckle. “It’s my turn!”

“Too late.” You shrugged, putting your hands behind your head and dropping to your knees. “I’ve already surrendered.”

“I love you.” He laughed.

“You owe me.” You winked as you were hauled to your feet and dragged away.

Your punishment was a night in the Hole. That wasn’t what it was actually called, but it’s what all the kids called it. It was a small room, smaller than your individual rooms. It had an old cot and no windows. There was no light and the room was practically soundproof. It was intended to be a room of reflection, to think back on how your actions don’t help the cause. But for you, it was just a weekly change of scenery.

“These actions are… unbecoming of such a promising candidate, B2.” Janson sat you down the next day. “You cannot continue this behavior.”

“A promising candidate?” You laughed. “I’ve yet to be fully compliant. I spend at least one night a week in the Hole. I misspell words on my paperwork so they’re invalid. I sandbag my physical fitness tests. I hardly respond to my subject number. Tell me, Rat Man, how am I a promising candidate?”

“Trust me, we’ve noticed the fitness numbers.” He replied simply, waving his hand to dismiss your confession. “We’ve seen the way you run these halls. You keeping pace with A2 tells us all we need to know.”

“And what exactly do you need to know?” You lean forward onto the table, head tilted in curiosity and eyebrows lifted.

“Just how cunning you really are.” He replied lowly, as if it was a secret. “And now that your confession is on camera, you’re going to be a bit more compliant.”

“Why should I?” You challenged.

“If I give this video to Ms. Paige, she’ll have you sent in much sooner than we’d like.” He threatened.

“So I either follow protocol more or I lose everything?” You sat back and nodded slowly. “Alright, fine. You’ve got yourself a deal, Rat Man.”

“Director Janson is how you will address me from now on.” He said firmly, standing from his chair. “That is all, B2. And I expect to see no more PDA between you and A2.”

“Sure.” You nodded, pressing your lips to a line. “You won’t see us holding hands any longer.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“You’re wrong, by the way.” You added as he stood to leave. You tapped your finger against the table, staring at the rhythmic movement of your hand. “All of you are.”

“About what?” He asked with a sigh.

“All of this.” You said, clenching your other hand into a fist. “You don’t want to save anyone but yourselves. We aren’t here for a cure for the world. We’re here to make a new commodity that no one will have access to. I’m guessing the currency system went out the window by now, so what? You want people to pay with their first borns?” You paused, faking an epiphany. “That’s how we all got here! WICKED told the world if they give up their kids-”

“That’s enough!” He shouted suddenly, slamming his palms against the table. You shot up quickly, knocking the chair away from you in the process. You pressed your palms flat against the cold, aluminum surface, leaning into them.

“You know I’m right.” You said simply. “The only people that will have access to the cure is in this building.”

“You don’t see it yet, B2.” He replied, shaking his head in disappointment. “But you and the rest of those kids are going to make the world a better place.”

“It’ll be better once you’re dead and WICKED is gone.” You scoffed, standing tall.

“Is that a threat?” He cocked his head, straightening and fixing his jacket.

“Not at all.” You smirked. “It’s a promise.”

From then on, you didn’t hold hands with Thomas where anyone could see. Instead, you would subtly hook two fingers around his. You walked a bit closer to him in the halls, hiding your hands from the line of sight. If anyone wanted to catch you, they’d have to look very closely.

Janson kept you, Thomas, and Teresa on tight schedules. Breakfast at 6AM. Labs at 7:15. Psych evals at 8:30, but only every other day otherwise it was reaction tests. Stretching and yoga at 9AM, and fitness training at 10:30. Every Friday was a fitness test instead of training. Lunch at noon, followed by Clinic Meetings at 1PM. Paperwork at 2. Leisure time until dinner at 6PM. Reports and briefings at 7, then leisure until lights out at 10PM.

During your time at WICKED, you learned the guard rotation. You learned which guards they kept posted where, when they switched shifts, how long was the gap time. You watched the codes to the doors, which were fingerprint locks and which were keypads. You mentally noted elevator shafts and stairwells, always knowing what level you were on. You, Thomas, and Teresa had rooms on Sublevel 2 but the rest of the kids stayed together on Sublevel 3. Your programs never intertwined unless you were training.

The gym was on ground level. You didn’t know what the level below that contained everyone else, but all you knew was that the kids that went down there didn’t come back. You had yourself convinced it was Hell, and the Compound was a facade for the Gates.

You often wondered what the outside world had come to. What did the Cranks actually look like? Were they like the zombies you saw in movies? Were they something else completely? You wondered what happened to the kids you went to school with, the ones you grew up with. Were they alive? Was your family alive?

“Hello?” Teresa said, waving her hand in front of your face one morning while you waited for your psych evals. The psychiatrist was talking to Thomas, which left you and Teresa in the waiting area. There were two guards posted by the door, their weapons were aimed down but their eyes never left you two. “Are you paying attention?”

“No, I wasn’t.” You shook your head and offered an apologetic smile. “What were you saying?”

“The groups are progressing nicely. We’ve begun sending in members of Group A. And Group B deployments are scheduled to start next week.” Teresa said proudly.

“Can’t wait till I’m out of here.” You mumbled, letting your head fall against the wall behind you. “Who was sent in for Group A?”

“The only one I know for sure was a boy named Nick.”

“Nick?” Your head lifted for a second before letting it fall again. You tried to remember Nick, but your mind was blank. You felt bad for not really knowing him, but the three of you barely interacted with the rest of the kids. “Poor kid.”

“George is next, I think. Then Al-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” You cut her off. “Those boys are our friends and we’re watching them lose everything and get sent into an oversized children’s game. And for what, Teresa?”

“You’re supposed to call me A1.”

“A1, sorry.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m tired of this. All the other kids live in dorms and we’re separated. Why? Cause we’re special? It’s bullshit!”

“Keep it down.” The guard ordered.

“It’s bullshit.” You said in a quieter voice. “Te- A1, you can’t tell me that you’re okay with all of this. What about when it comes to Thomas? Or me? What happens when we get sent in?”

“You just don’t see the progress we’ve made, B2. WICKED is good.” She nodded.

“Right…” You trailed off.

“B2? Your turn, sweetheart.” The psychiatrist said as she opened the door to her office. Thomas quietly walked by you, shooting you a quick wink. You blew him a kiss and followed the psychiatrist into her office.

The tension only grew in your body. Every day that you had to wake up in that place, fake compliancy, and help WICKED made you feel sick. You hated your life, your routine. You had begun to wish there was nothing special about you and you could’ve been left with your family. You had to constantly remind yourself that you had at least one good thing. You had Thomas. And you had made a couple of new friends in the general kid population, Newt and Minho and Alby.

“How’s it going, A5?” You greeted him as you turned on the treadmill next to his.

“Since when do you follow protocol?” Newt laughed, not breaking stride.

“Since I got threatened with deployment over a week ago.” You shrugged. “Only way to keep what I got is to do what they want.”

“Keeps us alive, doesn’t it?”

“You really call this living?” You scoffed, beginning your run. “It’s a fucking nightmare.”

“At least you’re not bunking with a million other guys.” Newt shook his head. “They’re great and all, but they stink!” He joked.

“It gets lonely on Sublevel 2, believe it or not.”

“I bet you have something that keeps you occupied.” He teased.

“Oh you mean T?” You replied casually. “He definitely keeps me occupied.” You winked.

“Gross!” Newt laughed, almost losing his footing on the treadmill.

“Focus, A5!” The trainer yelled. “Another half mile!”

“Yes, sir.” Newt replied before glaring at you. “Thanks a lot.”

“How about I run it with you?” You offered. “I’d run it for you, but I have to follow protocol now.”

The desire to tell Thomas that you wanted out burned you every second you spent with him. The thought bounced around your head constantly, begging to roll off your tongue and be free. But after the way Teresa responded, you were scared that Thomas would give you the same response.

“Y/N?” Thomas noticed you weren’t paying attention one day during early leisure. You were laying in his bed with him, talking about things you missed. “What’s wrong?”

“Have you ever thought about what’s left? Like outside the Compound.” You said idly, drawing small circles on his chest.

“No..” He said gently, lifting his head from his pillow to look down at you. “Why? Do you?”

“I want out, Thomas.” You admitted suddenly. “I want to get back into the real world. I don’t care if it’s turned to shit. I don’t care if I die within a few days up there.I just can’t be here anymore.”

“Where is this coming from?” He sat up slightly, now very concerned.

“My family. I wanna know if they’re alive. I want- I want fresh air and I want to feel the sun. I miss looking at the stars and feeling the trees. I want to feel the grass and sit on the roof to watch the sunset. I want to stare at the full moon just so I can see the craters. Thomas, I want my old life back, or as close as I can get to it.”

“It’s not safe up there.” He began carefully. He didn’t want to seem like he was dismissing you. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Thomas wanted to comfort you, remind you why you were with WICKED. He wanted to remind you that without WICKED, you wouldn’t have met. “Besides, it’s not all bad down here… You have me.”

You smiled softly, leaning in to place a sweet kiss on his cheek. “Maybe that’s all I need.” You said honestly, hoping to convince yourself that was true. But no matter how much you wanted it be enough, not even Thomas could replace the freedom you longed for.

You thought WICKED made the mistake of training you. You were in the best shape you could’ve been in, able to run farther than you ever thought possible. You were able to lift more weight than you ever thought you would’ve. They taught you basic self defense and weapons handling. Why a teenager needed to know how to shoot an assault rifle was beyond you, but the hand to hand was always fun.

You sat alone, watching the live footage from Group A’s maze. Group B had its first few entries and you watched those girls too, a tug in your chest knowing that could’ve been you. Group A had its first dangerous Griever encounter. Nick had placed himself in charge, and Alby had to kill one of the others. Janson called it “collateral damage”, said that all of the higher ups expected some deaths within the Maze and that’s why they were going to send so many. You called it a crime.

You watched your friends more than the others that you didn’t recognize. It was biased, you knew that. You knew your reports always contained those names, but Janson still put you on footage review and you had yet to be thrown in the Hole for insubordination so you figured it was okay.

You were making notes in their subject files when you came across something that scared you. Newt’s file said he wasn’t immune to the virus. Newt could catch the Flare. You quickly printed the screen and folded the paper, tucking it into your pocket. You knew there’d be a notice that a file was printed so you quickly left the room to find Thomas. You found him a couple doors down, watching the footage from other cameras, cameras from within the Mazes.

“Check this out.” He said, waving you over when he noticed you.

“I have something you need to see.” You said as you sat in the chair next to his. “Some of us aren’t safe.”

“Is this about wanting to leave again?” Thomas asked, gently placing a hand over yours. “Y/N, I thought-”

“It’s not about that!” You cut him off quickly. “Look.”

You pulled out the file and unfolded it, flattening it out against the table. You watched his eyes scan the paper, going wide when they saw the checked box that stood out to you too.

“This doesn’t make sense.” Thomas muttered.

“That’s why we can’t access our own files and why the three of us can’t get into each other’s.” You said, tapping your finger against the paper. “So we don’t know if we’re immune or not.”

“What do we do?” He asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly.”But this, it changes things, Thomas. I think it’s time we find out what we’re really up against.”

“Yeah, maybe...”

“B2!” Janson’s voice boomed through the hall.

“Shit.” You sighed. You leaned over, leaving Thomas with a quick kiss before entering the hall.

You had the paper in your hand as you dropped to your knees, raising your hands to be above your head. The guards came to you quickly, locking your hands behind your back with cuffs and hauling you to your feet. They snatched the paper out of your grip and gave it to Janson.

“You lied to us.” You sneered. “You said we were safe! That we were all safe!”

“You are safe, B2.” Janson answered calmly as he looked over the paper he was handed. “This is the safest place for you. For all of you.”

“How many of them are at risk, hmm? How many don’t know they’re not immune!?”

“Take her to Sublevel 4.” Janson told the guards. Your heart stopped. “Prepare her for deployment.”

“What?” You panicked. “No, no, that’s not your call! No, please!” You screamed as you were being dragged down the hallway. “Please, don’t do this! I want to talk to Ava! I want to talk to Ms. Paige, please!”

But it was no use. The guards ignored your pleads. When you struggled in their grip, they only held you tighter, tight enough to leave a bruise you were sure. When you kicked out or used your feet to keep you out of a doorway, they yanked your legs down. They talked about sedating you to make it easier, but Janson said just to use whatever force they had to.

“What’s going on?” Teresa came out of her room and saw the fuss.

“You still think WICKED is good?” You scoffed, trying to free your arms.

“Where are they taking her?” You heard Thomas from behind you. “Director Janson, where is she going?”

“Don’t you worry about it, A2.” Janson said in a fake soothing voice. “She’ll be fine.”

“Thomas!” You shouted over your shoulder. “Thomas, I’m sorry! I love you!”

“Wait!” Thomas yelled to the guards, hurrying to try to catch you. “Hey, wait!”

“Hold on.” Janson said after a hesitation.

The guards stopped, roughly pulling you to turn you around. You came face to face with Thomas who only looked at you with sad eyes. You offered a smile, but you both knew there was no joy or even hope in that smile.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, leaning into his chest. His arms came around you instinctively and held you close. You cried lightly against him. “I’m so sorry. I tried to be good and follow the rules. I tried. I really did.”

“Hey, hey.” He said softly. “It’s okay. Don’t apologize, alright? Hey, look at me.” He leaned away enough so you could lift your head and look at him. He gently wiped your tears away with his thumbs, holding your face between his hands. “You’re gonna be alright.”

“I’m being sent in, Thomas.” You confessed. His face dropped. “I won’t see you again.”

“We’ll figure this out, Y/N.” He kissed your forehead gently. “It’s alright.”

“There’s nothing we can do now.” You said sadly as you felt the guards grip your arms again. “Be safe, please. Don’t die, and don’t do anything stupid and end up like me.”

He chuckled sadly. “I always was the smarter one between us.”

You had been right about Sublevel 4. It was Hell. You kept in total isolation. You had no visitors. No psychiatrist, no trainer, no friends, no guards, not even a worker to bring your food. The tray was slid through a slot at the bottom of the door, and you were supposed to slide it back when you were done with it, even though you barely had it in you to eat. The thought of losing everything you had made you feel sick. It made you physically sick twice during your prep period, and you didn’t even get a doctor visit to check your health.

The Iso Chamber was the Hole, but brighter. There was a fluorescent light above you, and a camera in two of the four roof corners. There was a hospital bed on the back corner, a sink and toilet were behind a paper screen. There was nothing to keep you occupied so you slept often.

You lost track of how many days you were down there. You knew that it would come eventually, being sent into the Maze. You just hated the anticipation that sent in in isolation. You wanted it to be over with, just wipe your memories and send you in.

-

“You can’t blame yourself, A2.” Janson tried to console Thomas. “She knew the consequences.”

“Consequences?” Thomas laughed. “I thought WICKED is here to help, that me and every other kid in those Mazes are supposed to help. How are there consequences if this isn’t a punishment?”

“A2, listen.” Janson tried to explain.

“My name is Thomas.” Thomas muttered.

“Don’t exhibit the same behaviors B2 did.” He warned. “You’ll end up the same as her. You know us, A2. WICKED is good.”

-

“B2.” A voice boomed through the room. “Director Janson has requested to speak to you. Please, seem presentable.”

“Well I haven’t had a shower in however many days. I’d like to request access to the showers before the meeting please.” You replied towards one of the cameras.

“A staff member will be down momentarily to guide you.” The voice answered and you were left in silence once again.

After another eternity of silence, the door opened and Teresa stepped in. She offered a polite smile and motioned for you to follow her.

“How long have I been down here?” You asked casually, trying to ignore the tight feeling in your chest. You were feeling a bit anxious to see Thomas again, but part of you doubted it’d be possible.

“A week.” She replied casually, more pep in her step than you remembered. “I’ll take you to the showers so you can clean up and then I’ll take you to Director Janson’s office.”

“What does Rat Man want with me?”

“Director Janson-” She emphasized. “-wants to discuss your deployment with you.”

You hummed in response as she stopped at the door to the showers. You were allowed to clean up without supervision so you took your time, enjoying the warm water against your skin. You knew it’d most likely be the last real shower you’d have for a while, so you savored the moment. After you were cleaned and dressed in clothes left by the door, you followed Teresa to Janson’s office.

“Ah, B2!” He greeted, motioning for you to sit. “Come in. Have a seat. I hope your stay downstairs wasn’t too bad.”

“You deprived me of all human contact, mental stimulation, physical activity, and even showers for a week straight. It felt like I was losing my mind.” You replied angrily. “I was told you wanted to discuss my deployment.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “I wanted to offer you one last chance. Ava is not thrilled about sending you in so soon and has ordered that you get an offer, one that you can’t refuse.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued.”

“We start over.” He said simply. “We noticed you started acting out worse recently, so we’ll just readjust you to before that.”

“You’re gonna wipe me..” You realized. You almost didn’t want to say it out of fear.

“A very minor wipe, but yes.”

“No.” You said with finality. “I’d rather lose everything than be a puppet.”

“I think A2 could convince you otherwise.” He commented, wagging his finger as if it was a new idea. Janson left the room and Thomas soon entered instead.

You jumped from your seat and ran into his open arms. He held you tight, so tight that you felt that you would fall apart as soon as he let go. You prayed that he wouldn’t because once he let go, you’d lose him.

“I’m scared.” You mumbled into his shoulder.

“Yeah, me too.” He admitted.

“I’m gonna lose you.” You whined. “Thomas, I can’t lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me, Y/N/N.”

“The worst part is that I- I- I won’t even know what I’ve lost.” You sobbed, your breath coming in heavy pants. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. And if I do, I won’t know it’s you. You won’t know it’s me. We- We’re gonna be strangers to each other.” You ranted, your voice broken and raspy.

“Don’t cry, alright?” He said gently, rubbing your arms in an attempt to soothe you.

“But how will I know it’s you? They’re taking our memories. I can’t- I can’t lose you too. Not after everything that’s been taken already. They can’t take you too!” You pouted. You knew better, but maybe if you said it enough times - if you said that they couldn’t take him away from you - that they wouldn’t.

“You won’t.” He cut in once your jumbled words slowed. “Hey, they won’t, alright? You mean everything to me, Y/N. You’ll know it’s me once you see me. Trust me.”

“I love you so much.” You whispered.

“I love you too.”

“Be safe, Thomas.”

He leaned down and kissed you softly. It wasn’t the kind of goodbye kiss you used to see in movies, the heated and passionate kiss. It was soft and gentle, promising and hinting that it wasn’t the end. His hands roamed intently, hoping to memorize the curves of your body one last time. You had your hands balled in his shirtfront, clutching to him as if he was the only thing you needed. And he was.

The guards tore you apart. Once you were away from him, you were numb. You were completely compliant. You answered every question, did every little task. You knew your fate was inevitable. Fate had come to collect.

The only thing that felt real was the fear. The panic and the utter blackness that surrounded you as you shot upward in a rickety metal box.

You didn’t know where you were. Where were you going? How did you get there? Who were you?

[heartslogos]

executive assistant to the batman [49]

Dick has very fond memories of his first official W.E. company run gala organized by Tim Drake. He’s sure that Tim’s memories of the night aren’t nearly as fond as Dick’s, considering he was barely sixteen, fresh to the job as Bruce Wayne’s Executive Assistant, and about as well versed in party planning for the obscenely rich and influential as any other normal sixteen year old would be.

Dick remembers Tim looking like he was about to pass out every time someone so much as looked at him.

And now here they are.

Tim’s eyes survey the room, voice flat and inflectionless as he says, without prompting. “I’m in hell.”

“Wonderful job as always, Tim,” Dick says ignoring that for now, standing next and adjusting his suit cuffs while the younger man watches over the delicate dance of wait staff coming in and out, revolving around the floor in a clock-work balance of savory, sweet, bubbly, and flat. “You changed caterers?”

“There are many things I can forgive,” Untrue. Completely untrue, but Tim seems to be in a good enough mood that Dick doesn’t want to ruin it by pointing that lie out. “But I cannot forgive the use of fig with a sharp aged cheddar. W.E. is innovative, but the time for innovation is not with the palate of our most important clientele. I’ve made it clear that we are only to use the cheddar with the chutney and the figs will only go with the brie.”

Dick’s seen Tim’s party planning books, and the section dedicated to cheese and its pairings is so incredibly detailed that if Tim were any body else Dick would highly recommend they get a psych eval and maybe some kind of security detail in case they snap in the near future.

Tim Drake is not anyone else, so this is just another part of his many, many quirks that makes him extremely good at his job.

“Is that the reason why you’re in hell? I didn’t realize hell involved so much little weenie dogs.”

“No, I’m in hell because of this.” Tim pulls his phone out of his inner jacket pocket, quickly unlocking it, opening something, and passing it to Dick.

It’s a text conversation with Conner Kent, and it will always tickle him that Tim’s befriended Super Boy, and is completely casual about dropping the Kid’s name in regular conversation but gains sudden and complete amnesia regarding any incident involving Superman, Batman, or any other of the numerous people he knows in and out of masks. Though, to be fair, Kon’s persona as the Kid is public knowledge. Sort of. Depending on where you go and how far you’re willing to dig.

And since this is Tim, even if he didn’t know already, he would be willing and able to dig straight through the center of the Earth’s core if necessary.

Tim’s a miracle worker, after all. He can bring the dead back to life with a pen.

Just ask Jason and Bruce.

Dick scrolls up a little, ignoring the keysmashing exchanged between the two.

“Is this how the young folk communicate now?” Dick teases as he finally gets to the last legible series of texts. “Oh. Well. Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Tim agrees darkly.

Kon’s texted Tim a series of exclamation marks and screenshots of Oliver Queen’s twitter page that show pictures of him driving into Gotham, time stamped for about an hour ago.

“I expect him to arrive within the half hour,” Tim says, holding his hand out for his phone. “After Mr. Kent and Mr. Kent are allowed in with the rest of the press. I’m uncertain as to whether he’ll show up before or after Mr. Wayne makes his entrance. I’m hoping it’s before. Best to get it over with, so I can try and intercept Mr. Wayne and brace him for the news.”

“You could just text him.”

Tim levels him a withering look.

“At this time of the night? You and I both know he isn’t looking at his phone. He should be driving. He can’t look at his texts and drive at the same time. It’s incredibly dangerous.”

“Right.” Dick looks around again. “I’m sorry that your party is about to be crashed by the pissing contest that is Oliver Queen and Bruce Wayne, Tim. You put a lot of work into this. Everything looks great.”

“If you’re sorry will you do me a favor?”

“Depends.” Damian might call Dick an old dog, but he’s still capable of learning a few tricks. And after years of working with Tim Drake Dick knows better than anyone else not to fall for it when Tim Drake innocently slips in a request for a favor. Tim’s only gotten better at making it sound innocuous over the years, sliding it into normal conversation like it’s nothing, but Dick’s not falling for it. Not again. He’s been burned by that too many times for counting. “What’s the favor?”

“If Oliver Queen shows up with Roy or Mia or Connor, take them and make sure they’re as far away from Mr. Queen as possible during the night. I can handle one or the other at separate occasions, but I can’t handle Mr. Queen plus one.”

“What if he brought more than one? I don’t think I could handle more than one of them at a time, either. Especially not if they’re planning something together. I’m only one man, Tim.”

Tim’s gaze is unimpressed.

“Did the Wayne family suddenly shrink in size without my knowledge?” Tim replies, “There’s got to be a million of you by now. I trust that you can handle the Queens.”

Dick grins, “You believe in our abilities!”

“I believe in the power of a home field advantage and numbers.”

“What if he brought Dinah?”

Tim checks his watch. “I have a plan for that. She’ll be here in five minutes.”

Dick’s eyebrows raise. “You called Selina?”

“I didn’t call Selina. I planned around Selina. This is her favorite caterer and I’ve invited her favorite targets.”

“Targets?”

“Conversational targets,” Tim corrects easily. “The ones with the sparkly everything and attention spans of sugar addled toddlers.”

“You’re too good for us. I’m sure you know that already, but I just wanted to say it out loud. I don’t now how we ever managed any of this without you?”

“You didn’t. Alfred did. Now go stand by the door, make idle conversation, and keep an eye out for the Queens. I’ve got to check on the parking situation.”

“What parking situation?”

“I have to make room for Mr. Wayne’s car. In the back. Where it can’t be seen. You know? Because he’s particular about his car? His special car?”

[kateyandthecloset]

Sect Bound . Aaron Hotchner [2.1]

Request . Prompts . Masterlist . Sect Bound

David Rossi has an unconditional love for coffee so strong it could wake the dead. Whether he be recovering from a late night of poker, or a case had been active so long her had become easily agitated, coffee was his stimulant of choice. As a true Italian, he wouldn't drink the fancy coffee that he had seen Penelope order from Starbucks, no, David would only drink dark roast with a splash of milk. The way it was supposed to be.

That was why he was in the break room when Annabel's visitor badge was traded for an employee ID. To say he was surprised would have been a lie, David had seen the secret meetings between the newly reverted ginger and Erin Strauss, with the occasional addition of Aaron, but he hadn't expected it to happen this quickly. He had spent a great deal of time with Annabel over the past few months, particularly as she seemed to live in Aaron's office when they only had paperwork to complete, which meant that he knew that she still had a closet full of skeletons.

David watched carefully as the woman shook hands with Erin, the latter surprising him by encasing Annabel's hand in her own. David wondered if the two could possibly know each other, the mere fact that she was given visitation privilege so often being an indication in that direction. However, it wasn't until that moment that he came to believe his own hypothesis. Erin's smile seemed genuine - and almost proud - as she looked at the women, almost as though she were looking at her child.

There was a quick nod of Annabel's head that ended the conversation between the two women, Erin crossing the floor to her own office without hesitation. David couldn't tear his eyes from the ginger as she stood, seeming lost, outside the glass doors that lead to the bullpen. The newest Bureau employee let out a large breath, smoothing down her skirt with shaking hands, before finally walking through the door.

She saw David almost instantly, throwing him a quick smile as she crossed the bullpen to join him. He hoped that she hadn't caught him staring, though he also knew that she was understanding of the team's fixation on her and the mystery that surrounded her name. However, none of them had known her before the disappearance, and, while he hadn't been as familiar with the girl as Aaron, David had been an acquaintance of Annabel's back when she had been a young adult with big dreams.

Having pulled a second mug from the cupboard, David held up the coffee pot causing her to grin as she nodded. It wasn't until she was stood just a few paces away from him that the Italian could see the dark patches below her eyes. Aaron had told him about her restless nights during their many conversations over scotch once they had finished cases, but, from the way the girl laughed with the rest of the team, he never would have guessed the physical toll it had on her.

Annabel thanked him as she took the mug, her eyes scanning the rest of the floor as she said, "I don't know how to do this Dave."

"What do you mean?" He questioned, watching as she rested her hip against the counter, still ensuring her back was not to the door the way she had since late November.

"Strauss has brought me in as a victim communications and support officer," she explained, causing David's eyes to widen. As she mentioned it, he remembered how she had always dreamed of helping people recover from traumatic events. He always assumed that she had her share of darkness in her past, and now he realised that, by that point in her life, she must not have suffered the half of it.

Annabel has taken a breath, and a mouthful of the coffee her nose screwing up at the taste in a way that David was sure his had the first time he had drunk the Bureau's mixed blend. Shaking the sour look from her face she continued, "JJ just left you all, and I've not exactly done anything to earn your trust. I keep running different scenarios of how doing this job will go, none of them include it going well."

"The old first day nerves," David mused, a low hum leaving his chest as he withheld a laugh. "Let me tell you something, that team in there respect you more than any outsider. We've watched you pull yourself up from the ground over the last couple of months, and none of them wish they could go back to before they knew you."

"I just," she paused, shaking her head, "it's stupid really."

"I can assure you; I've heard stupid and I don't think you can say anything to match it." David chuckled, causing Annabel to smile in a way that lit up her entire face.

She looked at her feet, not matching David's gaze as she muttered, "I guess I'm just scared that they'll think I've gotten special treatment."

"How so?"

"Well, getting this job in the first place seems like a miracle to those I've just met," she explained, tilting her head. "Before all this I was an intern here."

"I remember," David declares, managing to hide the shock in his voice. "You were with child crimes for a while before moving to sex crimes."

"Crimes against women," she corrected. "Strauss said that my training was still valid, that was why she spoke to me around Christmas."

"Did you pass the psych eval?" The elder Bureau employee asked, watching as the woman nodded a sheepish look on her face. "In that case, the team shall have no problem with the logistics of your arrival."

"But-"

David shook his head, placing his hand on the small of her back and guiding her out of the break room and towards the clump of BAU employees, "No 'but's. Now let's introduce you to the team."

"I've already met the team," she argued, but the agent simply shook his head.

"Excuse me," he spoke, interrupting whatever joke Spencer was telling. Each of them turned to look at the duo, Annabel's face pulling to an awkward smile. "I want to introduce you to Annabel Bradey-"

"Rossi, we've met Annie before." Derek interrupted, causing Annabel to raise a brow at David as he reiterated her earlier point.

"Ah, if you would let me finish," Derek nodded, intrigued with where the conversation was going. "This is Annabel Bradey, the new Victim Communications and Support Officer for the BAU. She will be joining our team for the foreseeable future."

There was a silence, the three agents sharing looks of shock at the new status of the ginger before them. It was Derek who broke the silence, a grin forming on his face as he clapped his hands together, "Alright, alright. It'll be good to have you out there with us, Baby Doll."

"Calm down, Morgan," Emily declares, rolling her eyes at her colleague's flirtatious manner. Having reprimanded Derek with a slight slap to the arm, she turned to Annabel, a supportive smile on her face, and added, "Welcome to the family, as long as you don't snore on the plane, we'll be good."

"To snore you have to sleep," she laughed, her eyes growing wide as she became aware of the over sharing. "What I mean is-"

"It's okay," Emily interrupted, placing a hand on the woman's forearm. "You've been through a lot; we are under no delusion that you suddenly went back to regular life."

Annabel smiled at Emily, reassuring, "I'm okay though, really. I even passed the psych eval."

"No one doubts that," Derek explained, watching as the woman became visibly apprehensive before him. "There's really nothing to worry about."

"Thank you," she blurted, the words having escaped from her mouth before she could even consider them. "Honestly, I owe you all a lot."

David placed his arm around her, stating, "You don't owe us anything."

She smiled back at him, wanting nothing more than for her heart to stop racing. As if he could sense it, David suggested he show her where she would be based. Nodding her head, Annabel bid farewell to the rest of the team before following him across the bullpen to Jennifer's old office. She grit her teeth, not wanting to take the BAU veteran's old office, but David reassured her that she needed a space to talk confidently to victims and families who required her support.

As he left her, David noticed how she had already begun to organise the room. It had been spotless when they had walked in, but she was straightening every small detail of the room. She would check everything multiple times, which he noticed was similar to how she had acted that morning when she had straightened out her skirt. Before then, he hadn't picked up on the quirk, but he was sure, had he have spent more time with her over the past months, he would have noticed it in every aspect of her life.

He also noticed that she had tried everything she could to separate herself, aesthetically, from the woman who stood in Aaron's office in late November, barely able to string a sentence together without bursting into tears. She had cut her hair, stripped the red dye from it leaving her with - what he assumed was natural - ginger and dressed in a way that contrasted the simple, almost hippie, attire she had arrived in. It was as though she was reinventing herself, but for Annabel, she was reverting to the woman she had been before her life had been turned upside down.

Tags: @fandoms-unite14​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ (Message to be added.)

[today-only-happens-once]

one of my own (part 3)

Find the Con Artist AU here! Read part 1 and 2 of the bullet fic.

Warnings: trauma, angst, discussion of violence and gun violence, therapy, emotional distress, anger, happy ending

Con artist au tags: @nbelievablenerd, @4amanxiety, @secretlypansexualmango

Part 3 -

So when Thomas finds Virgil who is getting checked out by agents and treated for wounds, etc., Virgil isn’t super responsive to the questions they’re asking about what happened.

He just has this thousand-yard-stare and is monosyllabic, etc. That is, until he hears Thomas say his name.

Thomas walks up and is like “Virge.... I’m so sorry...” because he is, because he hadn’t meant to put V in harms way, and Thomas really should have known better--

Virgil is just staring at him and eventually says “That was a really risky thing you did” and it’s a simple thing to say but there’s this undercurrent of disbelief and emotion

And Thomas just kinda shrugs and is like “yeah, but. it was the best and fastest way to get you out of harm’s way”

But that only makes Virgil more dumbfounded. So he’s like “Thomas, you could have been killed for that” 

And Thomas tries to kinda play it off because he doesn’t want to freak Virgil out even more. So he’s like “I knew what I was doing, Virgil”

And then agents come up to Thomas and is like “we have to check you out for injury, it’s protocol” so they pull Thomas away but all Virgil can do is watch his retreating form and try to understand why Thomas, of all people, just did that for him. 

Because the only people that Virgil trusted to watch his back like that were the other three CIs, and he’d do the same for them. but Thomas? an FBI agent? The same one that put him in prison???

Virgil doesn’t understand. He also doesn’t know how to ask Thomas about it, though, y’know. Because what is there to ask, really?? So Virgil just kinda keeps quiet on the ride with Thomas back to the FBI building.

When the two of them get there, the other three are waiting by the elevator. Literally.

Virgil’s barely gotten both feet out into the hallways before he’s enveloped in a hug by Roman that’s a little too tight against his cracked ribs and he kinda yelps a bit. Roman immediately lets go, but he keeps a hand on Virgil’s arm as if he’s afraid V is gonna just. vanish.

Patton doesn’t really know what to do with himself, honestly. Virgil doesn’t look good--he’s pale and unsteady and battered and has this haunted look in his eyes--and Patton wants to make it better, but he doesn’t know how. He cracks a joke in an effort to at least see Virgil smile again. When it sort of works, but the smile vanishes quickly, Patton asks if he can hug V. Virgil nods because a part of him wants them to have contact like Roman just did because it reminds Virgil too, that he’s really back with them and safe and okay. Patton’s hug is very, very careful. 

Logan’s eyes are flitting over Virgil quickly as Roman and Patton talk to him. He’s assessing damage, as much and as fast as possible. He more he knows, the easier it will be for Logan to assist him and his recovery. His wince when hugged suggests damage to the torso, amplified by the sharp wince Virgil made when he sighed. Perhaps broken ribs? Blood along the hairline suggests a possibility of concussion, though lack of sunglasses in a building as brightly lit as the FBI suggests that it’s at least not a severe one. Damage on his hands look to be defensive in nature, so he at least tried to fight back, which Logan isn’t sure is a good or bad thing--

“Logan?”

Virgil’s noticed by now that Logan has just kind of been.... staring at him. Logan’s been all kinds of hard-to-read for as long as Virgil’s known him. But there’s something.... unsettling to Virgil about Logan’s silence. 

But Logan just kinda meets his gaze and quietly asks, “Are you all right?”

Virgil kinda averts his gaze (which really is answer enough for Logan), but says “I’m alive. Thanks to Thomas.”

It’s then that they all notice that Thomas isn’t anywhere to be seen? He slipped around the group during their little reunion. Logan glances back through the glass doors that lead into the White Collar division and can see Thomas heading up the stairs to the Deputy Director’s office. 

Thomas gets chewed out a little for being so reckless. It went against protocol, it put himself in direct danger, etc. Larry can’t be, like, condoning that, y’know? Because then it may make other agents more willing to be so cavalier and etc. So Larry chews him out for it even though he understands why Thomas did it, and puts Thomas on desk duty for a week. 

Thomas calls the people necessary to expand the CIs anklet radius (Virgil gets his back on basically as soon as they get him back) so that the four of them can hang out together. Thomas knows they aren’t going to want to be separated and that V probably doesn’t want to be alone right now because he wants to feel safe, so Thomas makes it a possibility. Then he tells them to go home. Get some rest. 

He tells Virgil especially needs to take it easy. He explains that Picani needs to meet with him for a psych eval this week, but Virge can take a few days if he needs it.

They all just kinda.... stare at Thomas, none of them sure what to say. 

Virgil wants to say thank you and also wants to yell at him for being so reckless and also wants to demand why he did that  at the warehouse. 

Logan wants to apologize. He’d been the one to lose his composure and yell at the agent, after all. Logan also wants to thank him. He’d gotten well-used to the idea that the only people he trusted to look out for his psudeo-family was... well. Other members of the family. But he trusts Thomas now. He wants to tell Thomas that, but he doesn’t know if Thomas would understand. 

Roman is still angry. He can see the way Virgil is swaying a little on his feet, his gaze distanced and afraid, his form still a bit shaky. And though Roman knows that Thomas saved him, he can’t quite let go of the feeling that it was Thomas’s fault in the first place. 

Patton wants to thank him. Thank him for keeping part of his family safe at great risk to himself. But “thank you” doesn’t seem like enough. He also kind of wants to cry, but he doesn’t want to do that in the middle of the FBI building. 

Thomas just kinda gives them a small smile and nods at them to dismiss them. Then he just. Goes and sits back at his desk. 

Which only confuses them all more. Because Thomas didn’t even like. Ask for them to thank him or indicate he expected anything of them. In fact, he made it easier for them to stick around each other right now.

It’s that moment that it really sinks in for Logan, in particular. That Thomas sees them as real actual people, not just criminals and not just a “useful resource” for him to close cases. It’s also the moment that Logan sorta realizes that he’d do just about anything for Thomas now. Not out of an obligation, exactly, but more... out of complete trust. Logan did not trust easily nor quickly, but... Thomas wins it over completely by rescuing Virgil and expecting literally nothing in return. 

Over the next few weeks/months....

It takes several meetings with Picani before Picani feels comfortable passing Virgil on his psych eval. It’s also over the course of that time that Virgil begins to reach the same level of trust that Logan has in Thomas. It just takes him talking and working past the whole “I just.... don’t understand why he did that? What does he want from me?” and Picani explaining that’s not how Thomas works before Virgil actually accepts it. 

In fact, later that night on the day it finally really sinks in for him, Virgil goes to Thomas’s apartment with the intention to thank him or something (Virgil doesn’t even really know). Except... V still doesn’t know what to say. 

Thomas just kinda smiles a little and invites him in for some pizza. Virgil never actually finds the words to thank him, but Thomas somehow kinda gets it anyway. They chat--Thomas asks V how he’s doing, and Virgil honestly responds that he’s better now--and they sort of talk around what happened but in a way that is still.... helpful and healing for Virge. 

Virgil is grateful and trusts him a lot now, but... “it’s kind of an understood thing”. Heh. 

It takes some time for Patton to process it all, too. Thomas checks in with him because he knows Patton is more sensitive than he lets on, but he does it casually. Patton knows what he’s doing though, and... appreciates it. Patton talks to him about what happened, and Thomas is willing to answer his questions and explain things as best he can and as honestly as he can. And as time goes on, and Thomas continues to expect nothing extra from any of them and in fact gives them room and time to process and stuff, Patton finds himself trusting Thomas, too. It’s just more gradual and less “epiphany like” than the others.

Roman, though....

Roman is still angry. And he holds on to that anger for weeks. He’s short with Thomas, and with Logan and Patton too as they start to become friends/show their trust in the agent. He’s more reckless out in the field, too--and always needlessly so. 

Weeks go by and it takes both Logan and Virgil to convince Roman that maybe he needs to talk to Picani too. Logan is like “this isn’t healthy, Roman, and it’s literally Picani’s job to help” and Virgil is like “he’s good, Roman. He’s helped me, maybe he’ll help you too”

And Roman can’t say no to Virgil after what happened, so he agrees. 

It’s like, three sessions with Picani in when they’re talking about how he can’t seem to forgive Thomas despite knowing intellectually that Thomas is a good person and he rescued Virgil and Virgil is okay and all that jazz. 

Picani kinda sighs, looks at Roman, and is like “Are you sure it’s Thomas you can’t forgive?”

And Roman’s like “....What?”

And Picani explains that sometimes people who carry feelings of guilt around look for places outside of themselves to place that feeling of guilt, and then the guilt turns to anger. Because sometimes, anger directed at another person is easier to experience and manage and cling to than anger at yourself rooted in guilt. And basically what Picani is getting at is that Roman actually blames himself, and can’t let go of that feeling of guilt, so he looked for something/someone outside to project those feelings. 

And Roman.... Roman’s just like “oh.... oh.” 

And it takes them a few more sessions to kinda work through it, disentangle it all, and find healthy coping and processing mechanisms for Roman. But they get there. 

A couple of weeks after Virgil did the same thing, Roman finds himself knocking on the door to Thomas’s apartment and the first words out of his mouth are “I’m sorry... I haven’t been fair to you.” And they kinda have a heart-to-heart. 

Because Thomas didn’t hold the weeks of anger against him, at all. He was just... reassuring and understanding and patient. And that means a lot to Roman, especially after everything. And Roman knows, by the time he walks out of the apartment, that he’d trust Thomas with his life. 

Thomas also has a few meetings with Picani and passes his psych eval pretty easily. He still meets with Picani a few extra times to process some of the feelings of guilt over “letting” V get kidnapped in the first place, but he gets to be in an okay space with all that. And getting tighter with the CIs helps, too. To know that they don’t hate him/blame him anymore.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 52

Happy Tuesday, everyone!  We have a pretty fun chapter today, so I hope you all enjoy it.

Also, we have another cameo from a character who was submitted to the character contest. @dierotenixe, I hope you like it!

Speaking of, I am currently at 408 followers, which is mindblowing. I love you all and I appreciate every note I get on these chapters, especially the comments and reblogs. You each keep me going every single day with this story.

Alistair showed up, not bright-eyed but at least early the next morning to discuss the results of the festival. I was barely out of bed, stifling a yawn as I greeted him at the door and shooed him inside.  Not having been allowed entry on the one occasion he had previously ventured to my quarters, he glanced around as though cataloguing the contents. A snore erupting from the bedroom sent his attention whipping that direction with wide eyes.

“Coffee?” I offered calmly, refusing to be embarrassed or laugh at his incredulity.

“You allowed me inside your quarters while a gentleman caller is still here?” he hissed in reply. I took that as a yes and staggered toward the kitchen. “That is incredibly uncouth, Sophia. I expected better of you, at least.”

“Not a caller,” I yawned again, handing him a steaming mug. “They live here, and they don’t have to be on duty for another two hours.  Figured I’d let them sleep in.  It’s been a very eventful few days, they deserve it.”

He scowled at me in disdain. “You could have simply asked me to come back at another time.”

I waved his objections off, gesturing toward the armchair. “It’s fine, I swear. I would have still been in my pajamas, and GK and Lyric would have been here, most likely.  They usually swing by for a few hours if I’m going to be home alone all day.”

A particularly loud snore prompted a sleep-husked objection and a grunt before the snores got much quieter.  I ignored the eyebrows that threatened to leave Alistair’s face in favor of the ceiling and flicked open my data pad instead. “How did the numbers from yesterday look?”

“What? Seriously? You really expect me to just ignore – “

“Alistair,” I interrupted sternly.  “I told you I would be in my quarters, working, for the next several days. I don’t know what you expected, but you probably won’t find it.  I’m staying home so I can recover from handling the festival, which means I’m not getting primped for work, my partners will likely be here, and yes, one snores.”

“Partners? Plural?” he nearly shouted, redder than embarrassment could account for.

“Oh, bloody hell, you posh wanker,” Conor’s voice bellowed from the bedroom. “Some of us are sleeping!  Either pipe down, or feck off! Jesus…”

Instead of the reaction I expected, my assistant was immediately mollified. “Ah, well then.  Messers. MacMaoilir and Okima, I’m guessing?”

I quirked an eyebrow curiously. “Does it really matter?”

“I believe it quite matters.” He actually sounded offended. “Those two are clearly smitten with you, and good men, besides. I was worried you had some other dunderheads here.”

“You do realize it could have been a woman?”

“If a woman snored like that, I would have much graver concerns about you and your taste in partners, I assure you.  Such as a female what? A warthog, perhaps?  While we may no longer be on Earth, I do believe that is still illegal.  Or at the very least should be.”

“Well, then. Now that I have Uncle Alistair’s approval…”

“Bite your tongue.”

“Can we please work, now?” I begged wearily.

Getting down to business, Alistair provided a summary of the data he had spent the previous day reviewing.  Mostly, it confirmed the early reports: Overall, the festival had been a rousing success with minimal complaints reported.  The low-stimulation session was viewed highly favorably, with a note to include it in future events, accompanied by requests from those who had been able to attend a ship-wide social event for the first time.

Tyche’s suspicion about natto was partially confirmed, as well.  “Can you please explain to me why the food festival as resulted in a sudden increase in rotten soybeans from the food consoles?” Alistair asked, drily.

I shook my head and held up my hands. “For starters, they’re fermented, not rotten. Second, please tell me it is not programmed in the consoles under that term?”  I shut my eyes and mentally crossed my fingers in vain hope.

“Of course not,” he scoffed, prompting a whoosh of breath from me. “However, I was curious what dish was so popular, so I searched the database from Earth.”

“I think it ended up being the single most-popular dish we could track,” I admitted. “But it’s still decidedly not rotten.”  I always tried to be impartial to foods I didn’t like, and I was trying the hardest I could remember with what was decidedly my least favorite food.

“Fine. Controlled rot.”

I sighed and pinched my nose. “Lots of foods are fermented, Mr. Worthington, including several I am sure you quite enjoy.”

“Alcohol is not a food, Miss Reid.”

“Bread. Cheese. Sour cream. Yogurt,” I ticked off on my fingers. “Miso. Fish sauces. Kimchi. Just about any hot sauces or anything with vinegar…” I glanced at him pointedly.

“Bread is not fermented,” he grumbled.

Behind us, a sleepy voice interjected. “Leavened bread is, especially sourdough.”  I turned to see Maverick scratching his bare chest and stretching, his hair sticking out at angles from sleep.  “Was the natto really popular enough to make it into a report?”  Without asking, he gathered our coffee mugs and shuffled off to the kitchen to refill them.  When he returned, he had one for himself. “Besides, you left out pickles.”  He dropped a kiss on top of my head before collapsing on the couch next to me.

“It was either that popular, or that disgusting,” Alistair confirmed before taking a grateful sip of hot caffeinated heaven. “Either way, people are requesting enough that poor Noah has asked if we need their services to augment the atmospheric scrubbers.”

“People could be using it for pranks,” Maverick warned as he slung an arm around my shoulders. “Granted, some people probably actually like it, but still.”

I wrinkled my nose and thought for a minute. ���If that’s the case, I’ll suggest to Xiomara that we check the sensors to identify who did it and make them eat the stuff.  Not a fresh server of it, the actual server they used for the prank.”

“She would never agree to it,” Alistair warned.

“Au contraire,” I smirked. “She likes the taste but hates the smell. And the medbay can fix food poisoning. To her, it would be a very solid case of the punishment fitting the crime.”

Hands flung in the air with exasperation, my assistant surrendered. “If you get that policy passed by the Council, I will…” He thought for a moment. “I will learn to swim.”

“From the mermaid,” I insisted, inciting a yelp from Maverick.  How Conor was still asleep, I had no idea.

“Fine. From the mermaid,” Alistair agreed, sticking his hand to shake.

Laughing, I shook my head and took it. Maverick shook me slightly. “What mermaid? I thought mermaids were made-up. Please tell me they’re real. I wanna see one.”

“Kinda real?” I hedged, glancing at him. “Nixe is the beginners’ diving and swimming instructor.  I don’t know what happened to her before coming on the ship, but her file shows she suffered an incredibly significant brain trauma. Like, she should be dead kind of serious.  Our best guess is that she was a professional mermaid performer at some point, because she has an amazingly detailed memory of a life that didn’t exist and a swimming tail that ended up being some of the most expensive nanotech anyone on the ship has ever touched, let alone seen.  Even Noah was somewhat impressed by it.”

“That’s sad but kinda cool,” Maverick admitted, only slightly disappointed.

Alistair scoffed before ending up on the receiving end of my best death-glare. “And she’s nice and patient,” I asserted, somewhat angrily.

“She’s barmy,” he argued.

“And I don’t care,” I ground out. “She is on this ship, so she needed a task.  Teaching swimming makes her feel useful, and she is incredibly. Good. At. It. Grey and Noah cleared her psych eval – she’s no crazier than anyone else on this ship.  And anyone who can swim in over forty pounds of gold gets an automatic lifeguard certification from anyone on this ship who can swim.  Believe me, I ask frequently.”

Alistair opened his mouth to respond, but discovered one of the virtues of having a conversation that included Maverick. “Wait – how much weight? And gold?” my partner asked, astonished.

“Forty pounds,” I confirmed. “They’re actually diving weights, but tests show they really are solid gold. And they could be made of paper for all that they slow her down.”

“She could at least have her memories restored,” Alistair begged, trying to get me to see his version of reason.  Before I could snap a response, Alistair’s gaze snapped up over my shoulder on the opposite side from Maverick.  Apparently Conor hadn’t been able to sleep through our argument.

“They can’t be restored,” he stated, quietly but factually. “Asked Grey about it once, Charly did. The brain tissue was regrown, but without an exact scan of her brain – down to the molecules – those memories are gone.”

“But Miss Reid has her full memories from before she was attacked,” the argument came.

“Cause our brains are scanned every sixty seconds we are on board,” was the response. “Only exception is when we’re asleep or bathing.”  Maverick squeezed my shoulder at hearing this, before grabbing Conor’s hand to reassure him.  It was still, and probably would always be, a sensitive topic.  “On top of that, we are constantly being healed of minor ailments and even aging.”

That was news, even to me.  I chanced a crick in my neck to look up at him. “Why aging?”

He stared down at me, pointedly.  When I still did not understand, Alistair gasped softly. “Children,” he nearly whispered. “So there are people who can carry and raise children.”

I swore under my breath at my stupidity. “Of course,” I groaned. “With the exception of Derek, everyone on board is old enough that we would be largely middle-age by the time we reached the colony.  Hell, a lot of us already are.”  I tapped my knuckles on my lips, brain firing on all six processors to calculate the impacts.  Absentmindedly, I handed Conor my coffee and ignored Alistair’s curious glance as I heard it gulped down before footsteps headed to refill it. “Do we know how much of the aging is being ‘healed’?  Are we staying at the age we were when we came on board, or are we getting younger?”

“I’m not sure,” Conor admitted as he walked back in and returned my mug, shoving me and Maverick over so he could sit in his usual spot. “Noah?” he called out. He didn’t ask the question on our minds, as we were all aware that Noah was listening to everything in my quarters.

“Good Morning, Conor,” was the reply. “To answer your implied question, any environmental factors that cause humans to grow old are consistently being repaired, along with damage due to cellular senescence.”

“How?” I asked. I was absolutely floored.  Human…. Terran scientists had been trying to figure that out since recorded history.

“Food and drink additives to limit telomere shortening, along with therapeutic chemicals in the bathing system,” was the slightly chagrined reply. “Everyone brought on the ship was treated for progerial genetics and non-superficial environmental damage that would lead to premature aging.”

“Are we getting younger?” Maverick whispered.  Given his childhood and mine, I couldn’t blame him for the fear in his voice, and squeezed him back just as hard as he grasped me.

“Only marginally,” Miys clarified. “By the time we reach the colony planet, only five Terran revolutions of aging should be reversed from when we left your planet.”

To my surprise, Maverick looked horrified. “Noah.  Does that apply to every person on the Ark?”

“Only those who are outside of their maturing period.”

“So, not any humans who were under the age of twenty…five?” Alistair ventured suspiciously, seeming to pick up on what Maverick was suggesting.

“No, Administrator Worthington.  Only humans whose aging exceeded the equivalent of thirty Terran revolutions of standard aging are provided telometric and progerial treatments.”

“Thank you, Noah,” Maverick sighed, running his free hand through his hair and nodding at my assistant.  “And thank you.”  To myself and and Conor, he clarified. “Derek is only seventeen. Sam is not even thirty, and Zach is twenty-six.  It wouldn’t be fair for them to barely get out of puberty – or in Derek’s case, stare down the end of it – and have to go back.  Can you imagine?”

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