#gunshot wound tw

[nohomomilo]

Reread the comics for the first time since 2019 after finally getting my hands on the directors cut so I wanted to redraw some panels I really like :)

[l4ndojpg]

Whumptober 2023, Day 29: "What happened to me?"

fandom: criminal minds | characters: spencer reid (centric), derek morgan, jennifer jareau, aaron hotchner | ship: none | trigger warnings: past addiction, gunshot wound | content: spencer is shot on a case, pain relief used in the hospital brings up bad feelings, team as a family, dad!hotch | word count: 888.

Spencer comes to slowly. His brain feels thick with fog, like he can’t form a clear thought. His mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, his head heavy. He blinks a couple of times before he realizes there are other people in the room. He blinks another couple of times before he realizes what the room even is - he’s in the hospital.  

“‘S happening?” he mumbles lethargically. Morgan, sitting next to his bedside, jumps. 

“Kid! I didn’t realize you were awake! You good?” 

“Uh…” Spencer says, swallowing a few times, trying to get his bearings. “Thirsty?” 

“I got you,” Morgan says, leaning over to the bedside table and pouring a glass of water. He helps Spencer sit up - his whole body feels like it weighs a ton - and helps him sip the water. As he lays back down, a significant wave of exhaustion hits him. 

“Wha’ happened t’ me?” he asks. He falls back asleep before he gets his answer. 

When he wakes next, it’s dark outside. JJ is at his bedside, and Morgan and Rossi are standing at the end of the bed, talking softly. JJ is watching him, and she gives him a small smile. 

“Hey, Spence, welcome back.”

“Jayje,” Spencer mutters, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as best he can. “Where’d I go?” 

She laughs quietly. “Sorry, nowhere. I just meant you’ve been asleep for a while.” 

“Happened?” he asks. It takes incredible effort to ask such a simple question. She sighs. 

“You were stabbed, sweetheart. You passed out before the medics arrived, but you got through surgery fine. You just need to rest now.” 

“Oh,” he says. “‘M tired.” 

“Yeah, you will be for a while,” she says sympathetically. “You take as long as you need, okay? We’re not going anywhere.” 

He strains himself for a moment to look up at the end of his bed where Morgan and Rossi stand. 

“Where’s…” he struggles for a moment to put the pieces together, but JJ does so for him. 

“Emily and Hotch just went for a walk to get some food. They’ll be back soon.” 

Things get fuzzy again after that - he doesn’t remember what he says in response to JJ, or whether he says anything at all. The next time he opens his eyes, he aches all over. The pain is dull and throbbing and he trembles in bed. He must moan or say something, because he squints to see Hotch spin around from talking seriously to two people he doesn’t recognise - doctors. 

“It’s okay Reid,” he says soothingly. “You’ll be okay in a moment.” 

“It… hurts,” he gasps, and he has no idea where the pain is coming from, only that it’s everywhere and his skin feels like it’s on fire. He's so hot. He’s drenched in sweat, and Hotch comes over to push his hair back off his head. 

“I know,” Hotch says, something in his voice Spencer can’t quite place. “It won’t soon, Spencer. It’ll be over soon.”

A nurse comes over and takes Spencer’s arm. Something flits across Hotch’s face - regret? Spencer can’t tell, everything hurts too much. The nurse produces a needle and injects it into Spencer’s arm. The relief is almost instant. He slips back into sleep easily. 

The next time he wakes up, it’s still dark, and he feels… good. Really good. Pleasant, even. Is he still in the hospital? It all feels very nice, truly. Like he’s floating. A little euphoric. A little bit like… 

The recognition of the feeling hits Spencer with full force, slamming into his chest. He gasps and sits up, dizzy and hazy as ever. Emily and JJ sit on one side of him, Hotch on the other. All three look at him with the exact same expression, somewhere between sympathy and pain. 

“I’m - they gave me - why didn’t you tell them-,” he still feels so foggy and distant, he can barely string three words together. He slumps back against his pillows and looks at Hotch, who shuts his eyes for a second and wipes a tired hand over his face. 

“Give us a moment,” he says to Emily and JJ, who nod and take their leave. Once the door is shut behind them. Spencer tries again.

“I’m - on something,” he says, stilted. The words feel ugly in his mouth. His lower lip trembles, and he presses them together to stop himself from bursting into embarrassing tears in front of his boss. “What did they give me?” he whispers. 

“Morphine,” Hotch says quietly. “I’m sorry, Spencer.” 

“It’s - in my records. That I don’t-,” 

“I know. But I’m your medical proxy, and you couldn’t keep pushing through the pain without it. You burnt through all the other stuff and you-,” Hotch inhales uncharacteristically shakily. “I didn’t have a choice, Spencer. I am so sorry. We can talk about it more when you’re a little better, but please, don’t strain yourself now. Please. Just rest.” 

“I-,” Spencer chokes, wrapping the blanket around him tighter. He wants to sink into it. He wants to disappear. Even his fuzzy, drugged up brain can understand why Hotch did what he did. But the irrational part of him is beginning to panic. 

“I don’t want it,” is all he can manage without sobbing. 

“I know,” Hotch says tiredly. “I know, Spencer. I’m sorry.”

[bloominghands]

What we became

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

I Just Loved Her

Day 22 with Alt 2 Gunshot Wound for @ailesswhumptober's event

(this scene lives rent-free in my head and is among my most influential whump awakening moments)

[walker-extended-universe]

(Not) Just A Graze

Relationship(s): Stella Walker & Sadie Yoo, Cordell Walker & Stella Walker, Geri Broussard/Cordell Walker, Geri Broussard & Sadie Yoo, Cordell Walker & Liam Walker

Tags/Warnings: Episode: s03e18 It's A Nice Day For A Ranger Wedding, Alternate Universe- Canon Divergence, Gunshot Wound, Blood, Blood and Injury, Hospitals, Hospitalization, Breaking and Entering, Crime Scene, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Summary: In which Stella caught the bullet instead of the man who broke into Geri's house

Written for @whumptober Day 27: "Let me see."

taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks, @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

------

Sadie froze when the shot went off. She waited with bated breath for someone to move, to see who was hurt.

Her worst fears were confirmed when the intruder crawled out from under Stella and blood started pooling on the floor.

“You said the house would be empty.” Sadie’s eyes shot to the intruder, who lifted his mask. Witt. “That was the deal; the house was supposed to be empty.”

“It was,” she defended. “It was empty for hours! I thought you would’ve been gone by now.”

Witt rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t here, got it?”

She nodded and stumbled when he shoulder-checked her on his way out. As soon as he was gone, she found a towel on the table and tried to stem the bleeding from Stella’s side. “You’re gonna be okay,” she said. “It’s gonna be fine. Just fine….”

This wasn’t supposed to happen. No one was supposed to get hurt. What the fuck was she supposed to do now? How was she supposed to explain this?

Sadie dialed 911 and prayed to a God she stopped believing in for a small miracle.

—----------

Cordell sat on the bench outside the Side Step, still trying to process the fact that the Jackal- or god forbid a copycat- was back on the prowl. He still remembered all the details of the case as if it had been closed yesterday. Except, it never closed, not really.

He was just happy to have Geri by his side. She always had a way of grounding him in situations like this.

Her phone ringing jarred him out of his thoughts and he missed her warmth when she got up to grab her phone out of her purse.

“Hey, Sadie,” she said, coming back to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Are you and Stella on your way here? I thought you’d-”

He looked up when she cut off, just in time to see her reaction to whatever Sadie was saying. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. “I- What? Sadie, what hap- Okay, okay, just calm down. Which hospital did you say you were at? St. David’s? Yeah, okay, we’ll be there.” She covered the speaker with her hand and turned to him. “Go get August. I don’t know what happened but Stella got shot and she’s in surgery right now. We need to go.”

Cordell had a million questions to ask and not enough oxygen to do it. He just nodded mutely and went inside to get his son. “Your sister’s in the hospital; we need to go.” 

August, who had been slumping over the bar, quickly sat up. “Stella- Dad, what happened?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Sadie’s waiting for us at the hospital.”

Geri offered to drive and Cordell didn’t feel like arguing. He needed to call Liam anyway.

—-----------

As soon as they made it to the hospital, Cordell made a beeline for the reception desk. “Excuse me, do you have any updates on Stella Walker?”

“What is your relation to the patient?”

“She’s my daughter.”

The nurse glanced up at him, then nodded. “I’ll let her doctor know you’re here. Right now, she’s still in surgery. As soon as there’s an update, you’ll know. Please have a seat, sir.”

He nodded stiffly and turned to walk back to his family.

“Hey, Cordi.” Liam hugged him as soon as he came over. “What’s going on? Is Stella okay?”

Cordell hugged back. “She’s in surgery. We won’t know for sure for a while. But I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he said, looking between him and August. “This is a good hospital; they know what they’re doing.”

Liam nodded and squeezed him before pulling back. Cordell patted his shoulder and looked around for Geri. She’d just been there a second ago. Where-

He swallowed hard when he saw her. She was approaching Sadie. Cordell could see the blood on her hands- Stella’s blood- and the blank look in her eyes. He knew that look; Lord knew he’d seen it in the mirror more than a few times. He started walking toward them, gesturing for Liam and August to follow.

“Sadie, are you okay?” Geri knelt in front of her and took hold of her hands. “What happened?”

Sadie looked up at Geri and swallowed hard. “I- Well, we stopped at the house to get changed for the afterparty. Just to change our shoes, set down our purses, charge our phones…. But when we got there, the place was a mess. And then…. Then we heard someone…” She closed her eyes and covered her mouth. “This- this guy just came charging at us. We were both freaked out but Stella just- She just tackled him! I tried to stop her but-”

“It’s okay,” Geri said gently. “It’s not your fault. Did anything else happen?”

Sadie shook her head. “No. The guy ran off after…. and then I called 911….”

Cordell set his jaw. He couldn’t handle this. This was supposed to be a good day. His best friend was getting married, he asked Geri to be his girlfriend again, Stella was moving forward with her life, he was ready to accept Sadie into their family, everything was fine. They’d had so many bumps on the road on the way here, they deserved one good day. But no. August wanted to go into the military, the Jackal was back and now this.

He couldn’t handle it.

One step at a time. What's the first priority, Ranger?

“I’m going to call Cassie and Trey,” he said, pulling out his phone as he shifted into Ranger Mode. “They’ll go look at the house and update us on the situation there. And we can just wait here until Stella’s out.”

Liam nodded. “I’ll call Mom and Dad.”

He sighed. “No, Liam. They’re about to get on their flight if they haven't already and they won’t even see it for the next 16 hours. Or they will see it and then they’ll cancel their honeymoon again. Just- Just wait here for any news while I call my team.” He pat Liam’s shoulder again and briskly walked out of the entrance to the hospital to make the call.

One step at a time.

—-------------------

They didn’t get any updates on Stella until almost two hours later. Thankfully, it was good news. Mostly, anyway. “She was very lucky,” the doctor said. “Nothing vital was it. She’s stable now and she’ll likely be awake before tomorrow morning. We’ll keep her here for a bit to heal and make sure nothing gets infected but if all goes well, she’ll be home within 14 days.”

Cordell nodded stiffly, slowly coming out of his compartmentalized Ranger mentality. “Can she have visitors?”

“You can see her if you want, but she won’t be awake for some time. I’d recommend you all get some rest and come check on her in the morning.”

“We’re still waiting for some people,” Liam said, answering so Cordell didn’t have to. There was no way he was leaving his little girl here alone overnight. “But thank you.”

Geri rubbed his back after the doctor left. “She’s gonna be okay,” she murmured. “I think I need to get Sadie back home though. She needs rest-”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Cordell said. “We should wait until we hear from Cassie and Trey. You may not even be able to go home right now. I mean, your house is kind of a crime scene right now.”

Geri frowned. “But- Where are we supposed to go?”

Before he could offer the ranch, his phone rang. He held up his hand and checked his screen to see the Caller ID. Cassie. “Hey, Perez,” he said, answering the phone. “I’m putting you on speaker. Are you at the house? What’s the situation.”

“Not good, Walker. It’s a literal crime scene over here. They got up the yellow tape and everything.”

“Are you serious?” Geri asked incredulously. “It- It can’t be that bad…”

“I’m afraid it is,” Trey cut in. “Aside from the attempted murder, the whole place has been ransacked. Half of your kitchen cabinets are on the floor, the closets have been cleaned out, furniture is turned over, the works. Whatever the intruder was up to in here, they weren’t trying to hide it.”

Geri seemed shocked into silence so Cordell took over. “Okay. We’ll find a place for everyone to stay while the house is handled. Can you get me the names of the officers on the scene so I can follow up with them later?”

“Sure thing,” Cassie said. “Anything else you need?”

“Nothing I can’t get from the office on Monday. You guys go on home and get some rest; I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

He hung up and turned his attention back to Geri, pulling her into a quick hug. “You and Sadie can stay at the ranch while we figure all this out,” he murmured. “And I’ll talk to some of the guys I know over in evidence handling about getting your personal stuff out of lockup as soon as possible. August can drive you guys there.” He handed the keys to the truck to his son. “I’ll- I’m gonna stay here for a bit, see if there’s anything new on Stella.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Liam offered.

Cordell shook his head. “No, you should go home and help them get settled in. I’ll let you know when I hear anything.”

“But-”

“Just go.” He squeezed Liam’s shoulder and walked back toward Stella’s room.

He couldn’t explain why, he just knew he needed to be alone with his daughter right now.

—--------

Liam followed August on the drive back to the ranch. He hopped out as soon as he parked and herded everyone inside. “August, why don’t you head to bed? I’ll get Geri and Saide sorted,” he said, taking the keys and pushing his nephew up the stairs. He looked like he wanted to protest but didn’t end up saying anything. Poor kid really needed to rest. The last few hours had been intense for all of them.

He guided Geri to Cordell’s room and took Sadie to the empty toom August had left to move into Stella’s old room. “I think Stella left some things here you can use until we get your things,” he said, opening one of the dresser drawers.

“Uh huh, sure….”

Liam turned around, some spare clothes in hand, to see Sadie sitting on the bed. He tried to ignore the dried blood on her hands. “Here. The bathroom’s just down the hall; you can take a shower and get ready for bed and we’ll figure things out in the morning. Okay?”

Sadie took the clothes but didn’t get up. “Hey, you’re a lawyer right?” she asked. “I mean, I know you do the horse rescue stuff and you got fired from the DA’s office but you didn’t get disbarred or anything right? You can still like… give legal advice and represent people in court?”

Liam didn’t like where this conversation was going but he didn’t think he could stop it. “Yes, that’s true. I actually use my law experience to help people in the agriculture community now. Why are you asking?”

Sadie bit her lip. “Okay so…. There might be a teensy-tiny itsy-bitsy chance that I know why that guy was in Geri’s house….. And I may know why they knew the house would be empty at that time. And-”

“Sadie.” Liam stopped her before she could dig a bigger hole for herself. “Are you telling me you’re connected to what happened tonight? Do you understand the implications of that?”

“...Yes, but I also understand attorney-client privilege so you can’t tell anyone else about this!”

“That- That’s not-” Liam sighed. “For that to work, I would have to accept you as my client. Which I haven’t yet.”

She shrugged. “Well, maybe, but also if you don’t accept me as your client, Geri will be really mad at you. And probably other people too.”

Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, look- Before we go any further, how deep are you in this? Is there any serious evidence of your connection to…whatever this is?”

She bit her lip. “Well…. There’s text messages. They probably have videos of me agreeing to stuff too. But I’m not, like, in the inner circle or anything! I don’t even know those guys. I’ve only met a few people and I know they’re not that high up in it. And I haven’t even been involved with them for very long, just a few months….”

Okay, that wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible. If Sadie’s involvement in whatever this was has to come to light in court, they could probably swing it as coercion and get her off or at least a light sentence, depending on how deep it went.

Liam sighed. “Okay, okay, I’ll- I’ll do what I can. But we’re going to need to talk about this more tomorrow. And do not say a word about this to anyone else until we know more about what we’re doing.” If he knew his brother, Cordell was going to be less than sympathetic to Sadie’s situation given everything with Stella.

Sadie nodded. “Yeah, definitely. I think even Geri’s gonna be done with me if I just tell her now.” She smiled like it was a joke, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks,” she muttered before finally leaving the room to clean up.

Liam sighed and pulled out his phone as he left the room to let Cordell know everyone was settled.

—-----

When Stella woke up, she wasn’t sure where she was. She just knew it was dark and there was this really annoying beep. She tried to sit up but a shooting pain in her gut kept her down and she groaned.

“Stella?” A lamp near her bed flicked on and she saw her dad’s face. “Hey, babygirl… How are you feeling?”

Stella blinked and tried to get her thoughts in order. “I- I feel okay. Where….?”

“You’re in the hospital. You got out of surgery a few hours ago,” Cordell said gently. “You sure gave us all a scare.”

The hospital? Surgery? What-

Oh. That’s right. She’d been shot. That guy had shot her. “Is Sadie okay?”

Dad nodded. “Yes, she’s fine. She’s at the ranch with Geri and August and your uncle. Are you sure you’re feeling okay? I can call the nurse if you-”

“Dad, I’m fine,” she said. “I mean, it hurts a little but I’m okay.” She was just glad Sadie hadn’t gotten hurt.

“Let me see?” he asked softly, reaching for her. She looked down to see a bump in her hospital gown, likely where the bandage was, and nodded. He carefully lifted the thin fabric and peeled back the bandage. She had to look away- never could stand seeing the sight of her own blood- until he put it back.

“It looks okay,” he murmured before sitting down in a nearby chair. “Can you tell me what happened? We already heard about it from Sadie but I want to know what you remember.”

Stella thought for a few moments, straining to remember. “I remember…. We got to Geri’s house to change into something more comfortable. We didn’t see anyone else there until we got into the house. I remember the place was a mess and we heard someone messing around. I- It was stupid but I didn’t think to run or anything. I just- I grabbed a lamp off the table and used it. I remember fighting. I remember-” she swallowed hard “-I remember getting shot….” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It gets all blurry at that point. It hurt so much.”

He nodded. “Yeah. getting shot hurts a lot,” he murmured. “Speaking of which- We need to talk about what you did tonight.”

She frowned. “That doesn’t sound like the beginning of a congratulatory speech.”

“It isn’t.” He looked at her, stern face reminding her of many a time-out. “What you did- You can’t do things like that. You see a guy with a gun, you don’t hit them with a lamp or jump on them. If you come home at night and you don’t have a weapon on you and you hear someone messing around in the house, you leave and call me or 911. Bringing fists to a gunfight is stupid. What you did was incredibly dangerous.”

“I- I was just doing what I thought was right. I mean, isn’t that what you would’ve done, Mr. Big Brave Texas Ranger?”

“Stella, there’s a difference between bravery and recklessness,” he said firmly. “My job requires bravery too, and maybe I’m a little reckless at times, but even when I’m not being my smartest I don’t go in completely unprepared.”

“You jump on guys with guns all the time!” she snapped.

“Yeah! And when I do, I’m wearing a Kevlar vest, not a sundress!” He sighed and sat back in the uncomfortable plastic chair. “I- Look, I know how adrenaline affects a person. But you can’t just do things like that. That bullet was a hair away from hitting some vital organs; you’re lucky you made it to the hospital alive.” His voice cracked on the last word and he took a deep breath to keep the tears at bay. “Stella, I need you to promise me that this isn’t going to happen again. I-I can’t get a call like this again, butterbean. I can’t.”

The pain in his voice hurt her almost as much as her new bullet wound. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I just- I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

“If I had a nickel for every time I said that,” he muttered. She couldn’t help but chuckle, which ended in a groan as the pain hit her again.

“You okay? Do you need- I can get the nurse for more pain medication. It’s probably about time for your next dose anyway….”

Stella nodded and watched him get up to leave. Then, something hit her, a memory.

“Wait, I think I remember something else.”

Her dad stopped in the doorway and turned back. “Really? What is it?”

Stella rubbed her forehead. “I don’t- It’s fuzzy but…. I swear I heard Sadie talking to the guy that broke in before I blacked out….”

Cordell set his jaw and nodded. “Right. Well, we’ll be talking to Sadie about what happened. Don’t worry about it, okay? Just get some rest, butterbean.” He smiled tightly and left the room to go find a nurse.

[neonbitemarks]

  Send me "are you okay?" for my muse to look down and realize that they've been shot somewhere. - Rab and Chase for Reasons XD

@grayedlense

Getting caught up in a shootout was the last thing Chase had wanted, but he should have expected it would happen sooner or later after he'd cut contact and gone off the grid. He just hoped he would have a little more time before they sent anyone out after him.

Even after the bullets stopped flying and he and Rab had escaped, running so high on adrenaline meant Chase had yet to notice he was hurt, but the moment Rab drew attention to the bloodstain spreading through his shirt, everything hit at once.

"Fuck..."

[faofinn]

The Past Coming Back With The Light In The Morning

Part 1 | ???

You guys wanted it, here it is! This is part 1, so things might look a bit familiar, but there's plenty more to come :)

Winter, the worst time of year. Or, at least, Harrison thought it was. Deals were so much more difficult, stakeout so much harder when you could see your breath and not feel your feet. Cold season had well and truly got its claws in, and they'd found a firm hold on Harrison.

He wasn't going to let it stop him, but the fuzzy head and persistent cough and sniffle made him wary. The last time he'd pulled out of his job, the rest of Fred’s men had been quick to tease and taunt him, and he wasn’t in the mood for a repeat.

When the page went off in the middle of the night, he grumbled. It was just his fucking luck. Despite his protests, he still made it, turning up at the depot fuming.

The evening passed in somewhat of a blur, the fuzzy tinge to his thoughts only settling further. He knew he ought to just go home, but he couldn't let his small team down. He wasn't sure where the rain of bullets came from, but he saw Chris fall, felt the heat as they whizzed past them.

Harrison shouted down the radio, opening fire in return as he dragged Chris out of the way. He was more stunned than anything, a graze to his thigh and shoulder. The man Harrison had only ever known as Romeo finished the attackers off, rushing to their side as the alley silenced once more.

Reinforcements were quick to swarm them, the van swerving between warehouses to pick them up. They were quick to jump in the back, the five of them quickly taking stock and checking each other over.

Harrison quickly braced himself against the side as they started moving, the sudden movement sending a lance of pain through his abdomen. He groaned, unfortunately all too aware of the pain. His vest had a nick out of it, and he could tell by the budding bruises growing under it. The pain was worse than just that, and he couldn't quite believe it as his fingers came back red.

The bullet had missed the vest, only by a fraction, but that was all it needed to make its mark. He swore quietly, pulling on the velcro. The vest was stuck to his top, and his top to his skin, sticky red seeping through the fabric.

It took him a moment to catch up, and to realise he was being gently convinced to sit down. Their hands were gentle, though they shook. He rested his head against the side of the van, his vision starting to fade. He groaned, shaking his head as if to clear it, his brow furrowing.

"Fuck." He breathed, breaking off into heaving coughs. "This is bullshit."

"Hars, what do we do?"

He managed to glare at them. "Are you fucking wit' me?"

"There's just - it's a bit - it's just - "

"Fuck off with that." Harrison didn't have time for his crap. "One of you call…call Fao."

He barely managed the sentence, each word slurring into the next. He pitched forward as the van swerved, but he made no attempt to save himself. There was a dull thud as his body fell against the floor, his eyes rolled and unresponsive.

"What's going on back there?" The driver called gruffly.

"Harrison’s down."

"What happened?"

"I don't know!" His voice whined, his age showing through his panic.

"Call a medic alert, get the kit out and treat the fucker."

When Fao’s phone rang in the middle of the night, he startled awake, fumbling for it in the dark. He’d been out for dinner that night, definitely wasn’t sober, but the adrenaline was already doing a pretty good job of fixing that. They didn’t give him much information over the phone, just that they’d got a GSW and their rough location, in code so they’d be safe if anyone else happened to be listening. They were too far out to get back to the basement, and Fao would need to meet them halfway to treat.

He woke Ely, gave her a quick update, and pulled on some clothes, the first thing he found on the floor, his shirt and trousers from the evening. He didn’t have time to go looking for anything else, and bolted out of the house. There was kit in his car, and he knew there was kit in the van. He wasn’t sure what he’d need, but between both he’d probably have everything he needed. He sped through the streets to the meet location he’d been given, ditched his car somewhere safe, and scrambled into the van.

“What am I doing? Talk to me.” He asked breathlessly.

Harrison had become combative as he deteriorated, struggling between conscious and not. It scared the men, and they'd all taken a step back, too uncomfortable to help.

Fao was a welcome sight, his reputation preceding him.

"Uh, Harrison got shot. He won't let us near him, so we haven't."

Fao’s heart sank. Of course it was Harrison. “Oh, good. Just him bleed out all over the van, then.” He snapped, quickly throwing his hair up into a bun. “I need proper light, one of you sort that.” His voice was cold, commanding, rolling his sleeves up and quickly looking Harrison over. It wasn’t hard to see where the blood was coming from, and he shifted his weight to brace himself as he grabbed gauze and put as much pressure on it as he dared. “You. Come here, take over the pressure.”

“I, uh, I…”

“Shut up, I don’t want to hear it. Cover my hands with yours and hold the pressure until I say otherwise. Unless you want to start an IV? No? Didn’t think so.” He snapped, as the other man took over. He wiped his bloody hands off on his shirt, and shifted over slightly to Harrison’s arm, eyes looking critically for a vein as he rifled through the kit.

The pain somehow got worse. Harrison wasn't sure how, but it did. He cried out through gritted teeth, trying to arch away. It took a moment to coordinate, but he started swinging, trying to get away.

Fao ducked out of the way, catching Harrison’s fist and gently forcing his arm back down. “Harrison? It’s okay, you’re okay. It’s Fao, I’ve got you. Try and relax, you’re safe now. I’m helping, alright? Let me help.”

"He's going to hit me!"

“He’s half unconscious, try harder to dodge him.” Fao shot back. “I’m working as fast as I can.” He gritted his teeth as he tried desperately to get a vein, struggling with poor light and Harrison’s struggling. He got one eventually, shouting triumphantly. It wasn’t enough, and he wanted more access, but he could at least get some pain relief in, hopefully settle him.

Harrison twisted as Fao shouted, whining as he tried to get away. His chest heaved as he struggled to get his breath, the feeling he was drowning all too much.

“Sorry, sorry.” Fao soothed. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay, Hars. Just focus on doing that breathing, let me to do the rest. Giving you something for the pain, now, gonna make it easier.” He told him, quickly checking the drug before he gave it.

His shouts died down into cries, quiet whimpering softly to himself. The pain had started to ease slightly, making it easier to focus. It made breathing more difficult, though, and he couldn't stop the panic coursing through him.

“You’re okay, that’s it. Well done, keep breathing for me.”

He turned his head, looking towards Fao's voice. "Help."

“I’m helping, I promise.”

"It hurts." He managed, finally managing to focus on him.

“I know, I know. I’ve given you some painkillers, they’ll work soon.”

"'m dying."

“No you’re not. Just focus on your breathing for me, let me sort the rest.”

"I am."

“That’s it, good.” Fao reassured. There was so much blood, and he was really struggling to properly control it. The van went over a bump and jolted, and Fao tried to brace himself on his knees. “Fucking hell.”

Harrison whined, trying to pull away from the pain. It was everywhere, though, and there was nothing he could do.

“Well done, that’s it.” He soothed. “I’ve got you.” He stretched for his kit, rifling through to try and find what he needed. He needed a trained someone, anyone who he could trust. Not Harrison’s little team.

Frustrated and tired, he started fighting against the other man. He got a solid elbow in their ribs, the relief of pressure against his side just bliss.

“I know, I know.” Fao murmured, moving to try and pack the wound.

He twisted again, curling away from Fao. His scream died on his tongue, his hands pushing against Fao's.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” Fao muttered. He was happy enough with the packing, and moved to try and get a listen to Harrison’s chest. It was loud on the van, and he struggled to keep his balance as he listened, swearing to himself.

Harrison could feel himself slipping, the ceiling of the van swimming in and out of focus. Even the pain couldn't keep him conscious, his head lolling.

Fao’s stomach twisted as Hars lost consciousness, but he was relieved in a way. At least he wasn’t in pain. He didn’t like what he was hearing at all from his chest, and dug in his kit to find what he needed for a chest drain. It certainly wouldn’t be perfect, but it would do. He didn’t even bother talking to the other men as he grabbed a scalpel, found his landmark, and made the cut.

He definitely felt that, and he cried out again, but he wasn't with it any more. The men beside Fao retched, especially as blood quickly poured from the drain.

Fao rolled his eyes as the men retched. What he wouldn’t give for Steve or Finn or someone. Trying to manage this completely on his own wasn’t working. He took a set of obs as best he could, blood soaking his trousers and making them cling to him. The numbers he got back were more than a bit concerning, despite his interventions, and they weren’t getting any better. Fuck.

Harrison coughed and choked, spots of blood on his lips. His resps were through the roof, his heart rate doing its best to compensate for his blood pressure circling, for his blood volume pooling on the floor. He managed to catch Fao's eye, and he met his gaze with panic and fear in his eyes.

Fao locked eyes with Harrison. “I’ve got you, Tomcat. You’re gonna be okay.” He told him firmly. Things were just consistently getting worse, though, and Fao felt considerably out of control. He gave as much TXA as he felt he could, but it wasn’t close to enough to help the bleeding.

“How far out are we?” He snapped, asking whoever cared to listen.

"We've still got at least fifteen minutes."

“Fuck’s sake.”

Hars could feel himself slipping again, missing parts of the conversation. He grabbed for Fao's top, his hand leaving more bloodied streaks across it.

"I want Steve."

“We’re gonna be with him really soon, Hars.” Fao murmured. “He’s gonna be waiting for us at home.”

He shook his head. "I'm not gonna make it."

“As if I’m giving up on you. I’m gonna make sure you’re okay, alright? Hold on for me.”

He knew Fao was trying his best, and he’d continue to do nothing but. He trusted Fao with his life, and they unfortunately kept ending up in situations where it was tested. It didn’t take a genius to know he wasn’t okay, and the small bit or working brain he had left had worked out it probably wasn't going to end well.

He forced his eyes open again, though he didn't remember closing them. "It's okay."

Fao’s repeat set of obs were no better. In fact, they were worse. He swallowed thickly, digging around in his pocket for his phone. He needed to talk to Steve, needed someone medical he could talk to, to reassure him he wasn’t completely out of his mind.

He chucked it on the floor of the van on speaker as it rang, and he prayed he’d answer.

"Fao, talk to me. I heard the call for medical."

“It’s Hars, and it’s bad. We’re still miles out, in the back of a shitty van, and all I have is my kit.”

Hars stirred again. "Steve?"

"Hey, Hars. You causing problems for Fao, eh?" He tried to sound light for him, but even he could hear the waver in his tone. He cleared his throat. "What's happened with him? Head to toe, obs, and what kit do you have?"

“GSW, it’s gone just under his vest, entry is the abdo but exit is further up into the chest. Haemothorax on the right. I’ve got a drain in but it’s putting out so much fucking blood. Pulse 138, BP 76/50, SpO2 94 on high flow, Resps sitting at 36, he's still not getting chest rise on the right. He's with it enough, but he's starting to pass out and stay out. I've given the TXA but it's just not stopping. The floor is covered, I'm covered. It’s my kit, it’s decent. Airway kit, ket, paralytics, TXA. I’m just out of my fucking depth here, nobody else knows a fucking thing and I feel like I’m going insane.”

Steve took a moment. Well, fuck. "Right. Take a breath. Reassess, keep going ABCs. You need to get on top of that bleeding. He's not going to be able to compensate forever. Have you got anything to give? Will they follow instructions?"

“I know he won’t compensate forever.” Fao snapped. “I’ve got saline but no blood. They’re fucking useless, hadn’t touched him at all when I showed up. Not even put pressure on.”

"Fucking hell. Okay. Fluid bolus, see if that helps his pressure at all. He's not going to hold his airway by himself if he goes, so just be careful."

Fao quickly set up the fluids, wiping his hands on his trousers as he struggled with the connectors. Fluids running, he forced himself to breathe. “Alright. Fluids in. I want to sort his airway before it becomes a problem.”

"If you're thinking RSI, you need to trust they can help."

"Steve." Harrison interrupted again, apparently unaware of the conversation.

“I don’t think I’m going to have a choice, Steve. I’m watching him deteriorate in front of me, and we’re still miles out.”

"You can see him, not me. Do what you think is best."

Unimpressed by Steve's lack of response, he shoved at Fao with a frustrated grunt. "Steve."

Fao huffed. “Thank you, Hars.” He muttered under his breath. “He’s very insistent that he wants you, Steve.”

"Hars, we're just trying to help you."

"No." He shook his head, though Steve couldn't see, and Fao wasn't sure he didn't realise that.

“We are, I’m doing my best right now Hars. Focus on breathing like I said.”

He sniffed, setting himself off coughing again. The pain exploded again, despite the morphine, and, once more, slipped under.

God, it was just getting worse. He hated watching Harrison slip into unconsciousness again, powerless to stop it.

"Fao, talk to me." Steve's tone was tense, and Fao could hear him pacing.

“Unconscious again, I’m repeating obs.” Fao replied, his own tone similarly tense.

"Come on, Hars. Don't do this." Steve murmured, wishing he was there with them.

The blood pressure cycled, protesting at the numbers. It continued tightening, way into the two hundreds, and Harrison gave a whine. He tried to pull away from it, panicked.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just give it a minute, I know it’s uncomfy.” Fao murmured, but it wasn’t a good sign. He knew full well it wasn’t high enough to need that kind of pressure - it was just struggling for a read full stop.

Harrison, of course, didn't listen. He twisted away, an unintelligible shout in both pain and frustration.

"Hars, listen to Fao. He's looking after you."

“It’s alright, it’s okay.” Fao tried vainly to soothe. But sure enough the blood pressure gave up, failing to get a read, and Fao’s stomach dropped. “Fluids haven’t done shit. It won’t even read, just cycles until it gives up.”

"You're going to have to give more, you can't RSI that low. Has he got a radial?"

It took Fao a moment. “No. Nothing.”

"Give him fluids."

“I might as well just pour them on the fucking floor.” Fao muttered, but swapped the bag over to give more.

"Just try."

“Yeah, they’re running.”

Harrison screwed his face up, managing to squint at Fao. He was sure he'd heard Steve too, but the huddle of men behind Fao were too small to be him.

“That’s it Hars, you’re alright.” Fao said softly, half as reassurance for himself.

"Where's Steve?" He slurred, more of a mumble than anything.

“On the phone with me.” Fao replied.

"Right here, Hars."

“Both of us are looking after you.”

"Sorry."

“Don’t apologise.” Fao said firmly.

Harrison lapsed back into silence, somewhere between conscious and not. As the blood pressure started again, he whined once more, but didn't pull away.

Harrison’s blood was drying on his hands, as Fao waited for the machine to read, praying it would give him something. Just a number would be better than the endless cycling.

Harrison's breath caught in his throat again, and his frown deepened. He knew Fao was looking after him, and Steve was there too, somewhere. He could see Fao leaning over him, doing things in slow motion. Which left Steve..

"Dad?"

Fao’s stomach twisted, and the noise Steve made over the crackled phone line was less than dignified.

“I’m right here, Hars. I’m right here, I’ve got you.” He replied, his voice wavering. “You’re going to be okay.”

He seemed to have a sudden rush of energy, though his observations were still terrible, and his prognosis even worse.

"Thank you." He muttered softly.

Fao sucked in another deep breath, forcing himself to re-focus. He had to keep doing this. “Blood pressure is a little less shit. I’ve at least got a number.”

"That's good." Steve managed.

Harrison reached for Fao’s hand, for a moment of comfort in his desperation.

Fao squeezed his fingers. “I’ve got you.” He murmured. He laid out his airway kit with the other hand, leaving smears of blood all over it, though he didn’t notice. He needed the blood pressure up a bit more before he could fully RSI, but it never hurt to prepare.

The squeeze managed to help, a tiny hint of a smile gracing Harrison's blood-splattered lips. He tried his best, his fingers twitching in Fao's before his eyes rolled. It didn’t take long for things to go south, as Hars took a breath and then stopped.

“Fuck.” Fao muttered, snatching up his kit. He couldn’t put this off any longer now, he needed control of his airway. Unsure just how conscious he was, having watched him flick in and out, Fao chatted away to him as he sorted it, half to keep himself from losing it. “Alright Hars. That’s you finding your limit, hmm? It’s okay, I’ll take over from here. Got some meds to get you off to sleep now, so you can have a nap whilst I do the hard work.” He quickly pushed the ket, watching him carefully. There were men clustered around Harrison’s head, and Fao snapped at them to move, which they did. Happy with his sedation, he pushed his roc, bagged until he was happy with it, and snatched up his tube and laryngoscope. He was rusty with his intubations, of course, so what better time to practice than in a dark, moving van covered in blood? But Harrison, for all he made Fao’s life difficult, apparently wasn’t a difficult airway, and Fao got it first time. He shouted triumphantly, checked his placement, and then secured it.

“Tube’s in, airway’s secure.”

Steve let out a shaky breath. "Good. Well done."

Fao couldn’t breathe for Harrison forever, not if he was going to continue to manage the bleeding. “Which one of you lot is the most competent here? Who’s not a complete idiot?” He asked.

They were all quiet, slightly afraid of Harrison and definitely afraid of Fao. After a moment, one of them stepped forward.

"I can help. What do you need?"

Fao looked up. “Are you capable of breathing?”

"For him?"

Fao huffed. “Essentially, yes. Every time you take a breath, I want you to squeeze this to breathe for him, too. Can you do that?” He asked, demonstrating. “I can’t sit here and do it, I’ve got other stuff to do.”

Panic flashed across his face. "Okay. Yeah." He swallowed, taking a moment. It was Harrison. He'd got him out of shit so many times before, it was only fair to return the favour. "I can do that."

“Just whenever you breathe, breathe for him too. Just got to think about breathing. Okay?”

"Okay." He moved to take Fao's place. "I can do that."

“Shout if you get stuck.” Fao murmured, and moved away, to carefully take yet another set of obs, praying they were better than before.

Steve hated being so far away, so unable to do anything. "Fao, talk to me."

“I’m taking obs.” Fao shot back. “I’ll tell you stuff when I know it.”

"You just went silent. I need to know what's happening."

“I’m trying to concentrate!”

"Fine, hurry up."

“Going as fast as I can.” He muttered. For once, Harrison’s obs had trended slightly upwards, and Fao was glad of it. “A bit better. SpO2 has come up, as has his BP.”

"Good. The tube will be helping with his sats."

“Yeah, that’s why I did it.” Fao said flatly.

"I just mean that he's not going to be resping at fifty or some shite."

“Yeah.”

"How's the bleeding doing?"

“Still fucking bleeding.”

"I've put a call out for more blood, you just need to get back."

“I’ll need the whole trauma setup.” Fao muttered, doing his best to manage the bleeding. “Can you go up and wake Ely? I’m going to need her."

"Everyone's up. They're just sorting the basement out."

“Good.” Fao was relieved he had a team waiting for him.

"If the second lot of fluids helped, you can give him another 500 bolus."

“It’s helped, but I don’t know for how much longer. I’ve got no pressors, and limited fluids.”

"You just need to get him back. If he's still got pressure, give it."

“Giving it now.” He muttered, trying to push his hair out of his face.

"Give me a run down of his obs once you've done that."

He finally got it connected and running, discarding the spent bag. His ‘assistant’ was doing well ventilating, surprisingly, and so he quickly started on obs. He hated having to do this in such an old fashioned manner, he missed his hospital conveniences and continuous monitoring.

But as he started, he just knew it was wrong, and when he didn’t find a pulse, his stomach twisted. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

[ombrathefurry]

does it

[wearealive]

parameddic asked: "Sometimes I wish... you didn't have to keep dealing with my shit."

❝ stop it. it's not your fault. and i don't mind. seriously, i don't. ❞ an anxious leg bounces next to the hospital cot. the bullet wound was non-fatal — it was in his right shoulder, away from major organs and arteries. he was lucky. not only with the placement, but the timing.

eli had been right there. the moment he saw the escapee's hand reach into that bag, eli got his own gun out. the two shot at almost exactly the same time. TK stumbled backward upon impact, the other man collapsed fully. eli hadn't shot with the intention of killing, but he didn't have time to aim. he called for back-up, of course, but he was more focused on getting TK out of there than trying to save the man who'd just shot him.

❝ your... carlos is coming. ❞ boyfriend? fiance? husband? he couldn't remember right now. ❝ i called him when you were out for a little bit. i knew you'd probably want to be the one to tell him, but— i don't know. ❞ it was a 20-hour car ride. only a 3-hour flight, but finding a nonstop flight this time of year was almost impossible. he had no intention of leaving TK's side until carlos got there. ❝ um. how are you feeling? �� he's too far inside his own head to realize he's got ahold of his hand, fidgeting with the pulse ox device on his finger. eli didn't mean anything by it. they were both partnered, and he knew that.

[familylightfox]

Bullets hurt. They always did, but Volt would rather be the one feeling them impacting on his body than one of his partners, or his daughter. And it was for the exact reason he was still standing after it was all said and done.

The only thing he hated, and it was no less true now, was having to remove the bullet when it didn’t exit.

While the sparks were still dancing along his fur, he used his organic claws to dig just under the healed wound, keeping his breathing as even as he could as his fingertips felt the round. Thank Chaos it was in one piece. The spent round joined the spat blood with a flick of his fingers, the last bit of electricity around his body moving to concentrate on the self-made hole.

The best he could offer when his partners looked at him was an apologetic smile, wiping his bloody claws with a cloth from a pouch. “Sorry ‘bout that… it was… caught on my spine.”

How he could so easily handle such a feat was a testament to his statement earlier.

It wasn’t easy to take him out, and what sought to kill him, would only piss him off.

Now Harmony was willing to close the gap, checking over the short patch of fur that was already covering where the injuries had just been. Emerald eyes looked up and met her father’s, the tears stinging at the corners until she wrapped her arms around his middle and buried her face.

One hand came to rest on her head while the other was offered to his partners.

“Told ya both… I’m a bitch t’ kill. I’m not goin’ anywhere anytime soon.” He brushed the back of his fingers against each of their cheeks as if to prove that he was still there. Safe, sound, and whole. Then his eyes turned to the young fox. “That’s us. Wish I could say the same, but it’s nice t’ meet you regardless, Inari. Call me Volt.”

“And I’m Harmony,” the teen added as she lifted her head. She just needed that extra moment to reassure herself before she offered a hand in greeting. A firm handshake that gave nothing away of the strength she had just displayed. One arm was still secure in a half hug with her father though as he looked from Inari to his partners.

“So far I think our plan was to get info from Meteo-Tech since those were their bots, right?” He waited for a confirmation. “After that, I think we’re playin’ it by ear… But since it looks like you’re in the same predicament as they are…” A thumb was used to gesture to Bless and Node. “Might be a good idea if ya come with. Answer all our questions at once.”

Not to mention give them better odds against their enemies.

Bless had slightly raised a hand, for that brief moment before the team could leap into action. He knew petting Fafo was fine...but he wasn't totally certain on Blep. Especially given what little he knew about the snake... Which wasn't exactly a lot. Still- there were other issues at the moment, more pressing than his playful stipulations.

"You got it!" He wasn't about to question it- a minute to catch his breath was far better than a few seconds, but Inari still let his goggles press against the edges of his eyes- just in case. "Holy Gaia..." There were few in the world with power like that of Bless and his friends- but Inari had only heard stories from Bless and Node about Harmony and Volt... So it was any wonder her jaw had dropped, seeing Harmony punch a hole straight through a robot- and apparently sent it careening at an angle- but not before it managed to level the barrel of its gun.

Everything had been going in slow motion. Node was nearly at the ground, their skates beeping in warning- low on air- when a yell had filled their ears.

"LOOK OUT!"

The fox spun, hazel eyes wide- just in time to feel the surge of energy in the air, to see Volt's back and hear the sickening BANG of a singular bullet. Bless had been about to jump down, but he stopped- emerald hues pinpricks at the sight.

"VOLT-!" Bless and Node's voices had been less than a second off from one another, each stuck on the sight before them.

His breath caught in his throat, seeing the blood beginning to drip from the injury. For a moment, raw panic flooded Bless. No, not Volt, no--- Node wasn't doing much better- but at least there were no injuries or exit wounds on the other side. Panic- always the others, always the others. It was always everyone around them- their jaw worked wordlessly, rage quickly flooding over fear....

But the duo froze, as did Inari, when they felt the energy in the air shift. Their fur began to rise with the sudden electrical charge. Node didn't need to so much as raise a hand for Tails to follow their lead- taking a step back as their boyfriend began to glow, electricity crackling.

All ears in the vicinity flattened with the sudden clap of thunder, the last of the robots sparking, circuits overloading and flat-out burning from the raw energy they were being forced to handle...before, with a dying 'reinnnfffffzzzz', it crashed to the ground- smoke rising from a semi-burnt chassis.

"Thank Chaos you're alright..." Bless had managed to get to the ground- his ride (read: a cannibalized 'bot) now its own smoking heap.

Node was quiet, their hands shaking ever-so-slightly from barely contained rage. Something in them had officially flipped, from fear to raw, unadulterated wrath. They silently stepped around, eyes flicking to the blood Volt had spat. Maybe in other circumstances, they'd have cracked wise-- but not tonight. Not tonight... The scent of iron in the air made them that hint more angry.

I'm not losing anyone.

"....glad you're alright..." It had taken them a few seconds. The emotion was so raw, the override so much.. Node wished there was still a 'bot left, just so they could beat it shitless for the act its brethren enacted. They tried not to let their vision linger on the injury.

Bless, for his part, was more in the realm of relief.

"I forgot you could teleport..." He really should've remembered- but that was on him. Eyes slid over the now-closed bullet hole, dead center in Volt's chest... For Node or himself- a killing shot. "...thank you..." He breathed out. If that had actually landed---no. He wasn't-- he wasn't going to think about it, not right now.

He'd just be glad that Volt had his accelerated healing to make the injury far less severe... But the scent of iron in the air, the blood spat on the ground- it stoked a strange ember within him... Something that whispered and growled, at the back of his thoughts.

"Are you-?" Inari had gone to ask, but as she rounded towards Volt's front, his words trailed off. "-...woah..." He tried to shake his head, to get his thoughts sorted. "...I take it you're Volt, and Harmony?" And then, her vision landed on the two glowing rings- much like the one in his own chest, save for the colors. It only took one look for Inari to realize what was happening. "...wish we could've met during something less crazy...I'm Inari- but you might know me as Tails. Have you guys got a plan, yet?"

[l4ndojpg]

Whumptober 2023, Day 13: "I don't feel so good."

fandom: criminal minds | characters: spencer reid (centric), aaron hotchner, david rossi, jennifer jaraeu, emily prentiss, derek morgan | ship: none | trigger warnings: gunshot wound recovery, vomiting | content: spencer recovers from an injury sustained on a case, team as a family, dad!hotch | word count: 724.

Everyone breathes soundly for the first time in days when Spencer finally falls asleep on the couch of the jet. Hotch watches the kid carefully from where he and Rossi sit, debriefing the case. It’s been a rough 48 hours; Spencer did an incredible job cracking the case and taking down the unsub, but managed to be shot in the abdomen in the process. There were EMTs on sight, thank God, but it was still touch and go for a minute there. They all stuck around in the hospital, tagging each other in and out like a relay team to go shower and sleep after the case was finally over, unable to bring themselves to leave Spencer alone, even though he’s spent the majority of the last couple of days sleeping. 

They’re finally on their way home now, and it’s like they can all breathe for the first time. JJ, Morgan and Emily, satisfied their friend is safe, are playing a quiet but competitive game of cards nearby. Rossi hands Hotch a glass of scotch and settles in beside him. He sips it gratefully, still not taking his eyes off of the sleeping young doctor for more than a few minutes. 

“He’s alright, Aaron,” Rossi says softly when he notices Hotch’s attention wavering from their conversation for the fifth or sixth time in the last fifteen minutes. Hotch sighs. 

“I know, I know,” he wipes a hand tiredly across his face. “It’s too easy to worry about him.” 

Rossi grins. “Paternal instincts, huh?” 

Hotch glares at him. “I’m sorry, who was the one yelling at doctors?” 

“That was Morgan.” 

“That’s odd. I definitely recall the yelling being in Italian.” 

“Very funny.” 

They quip back and forth for a while, eventually falling into their case debrief with the nearby low hum of Morgan, JJ and Emily quietly accusing each other of cheating in their card game so as not to wake Spencer.

Unfortunately, the peace doesn’t last. Not ten minutes later, Spencer jerks awake with a gasp, eyes wide, skin chalk white. They all turn immediately at the noise. 

“I don’t feel so good,” Spencer chokes out. Hotch and JJ are the first to their feet, the two parents in the team recognising the look on Spencer’s face immediately. Hotch is first to him with a sick bag, which he holds in front of Spencer’s face as Spencer throws up heavily into it. JJ strokes gentle circles on Spencer’s back. 

Spencer gasps and heaves and whimpers, the bile burning his throat and the effort causing hot tears to stream down his cheeks. 

“H-hate it,” he mumbles between heaves. “Hate it, hate it, hate it-,” 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” JJ says, knowing full well this sensation is more uncomfortable for Spencer with his OCD than most. “You’re doing good, just get it out.” 

“Is that normal?” Morgan asks nervously, watching Spencer heave into the bag. “Do we need to get him to a hospital when we land?” 

“Actually,” Spencer chokes out, “nausea and vomiting are quite common after a gunshot wound to the abdomen. Research shows-,” he cuts himself off, retching again, and the others all wince. 

“Save the statistics for later,” Hotch advises after a moment, when Spencer collapses back down with exhaustion, grimacing at the pain from his abdomen and the residual anxiety he feels from throwing up. Spencer nods, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, his whole body rigid with discomfort. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Emily says, taking the bag off JJ to dispose of. “It’s okay.” 

She returns after a moment with a bottle of water for him, and Hotch unscrews the cap, handing it to Spencer. “Small sips,” he says, and Spencer nods. 

Satisfied Spencer’s alright, the others go back to their seats, throwing the occasional worried glance at their friend, but reassure themselves to see Hotch still sitting with him. 

“I don’t know if I said it before,” Hotch says quietly as Spencer washes his mouth out with water. “But you did a fantastic job on this case. We wouldn’t have solved it if it weren’t for you.” Spencer gives him a wan smile. 

“Thanks,” he says hoarsely. His eyes begin to droop closed again after a moment, and Hotch helps him get comfortable. “Stay?” he’s already half asleep again, but the request is clear. 

“Of course,” Hotch says.

[sincerelybubbles]

Here's a dialogue prompt for Emily please! Try this out pls. Love you Kam sm sm. "So why are you here?" "To make a fool of myself." ok ty lysm

even though i watched u type this, the wording makes me giggle every time i look at it.

emily prentiss x tech analyst!reader <3

warnings: fem!reader, cannon typical violence, very brief allusions to sexual assault (nothing happens!), angst and fluff! mutual pining.

word count: 5.4k

Emily is the loveliest thing you've ever seen and you can't imagine how she could ever possibly like you back. She enjoys the game, though, and teasing you is her favorite hobby.

-

It’s a sunny day. Warmth trickles down with the scattered light through the leaves. Patterns trace your arms, throwing your skin into a collage of different shapes and shades. Leaning back on your elbows, you watch people mill about the park. You look back down at your arm after a few more minutes, this time focused on the small watch resting there. With a sigh, you stand up and dust off your pants before picking up the small blanket you laid out and tucking it into your bag. 

You walk back to work, enjoying the sounds of the people around you. You lingered too long at the park during your break and are hoping that nobody notices your slightly late return. Maybe the team will be in a meeting, gruesome pictures you never quite learned to stomach plastered on the board, entirely oblivious to your tardiness. 

Unlikely, but a welcome thought soothing your anxiety as you push the door open and scan your badge at the security desk. 

“Welcome back,” the security guard says, smiling at you over his paperback. He’s an old greying man and you vaguely recognize him. You think he’s new and send him a warm smile in return. 

“Thanks,” you glance at his name badge, “Martin!”

You walk past him and step into the elevator. “Wait!” A voice calls and you reach forward to hit the hold button instinctively before you register the voice as Emily’s. 

She jogs into the elevator with you, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, I’m already running a little behind.” She lifts a container and shakes it a little. The label is from the Italian bistro across the street, about a ten-minute walk away and always nearly triple that in wait time. 

“Brave of you to go there during your lunch,” you joke, returning her smile and pressing the button for your floor. 

You hope she can’t see how your hands shake as you reach forward.

“I know, I just love their Pasta Brado. Have you tried it?”

“Can’t say I have. I’m boring, I usually go for the parm.”

“You’re not boring,” she says so earnestly that you can’t help but blush. You cough as an excuse to raise your hand to your face and hopefully hide it some. “You do have to try it, though. Here,” she offers you the plastic box. 

“Oh, I couldn’t. And I already ate.” You ignore the way your chest hurts a little at how enthusiastic she is. The worst part? She doesn’t even know how endearing her simple kindness, her casual enthusiasm, is to you. 

“Tomorrow, then. We can go together.” The elevator doors open as she says it and she steps out with an affirmative nod to solidify it. “Don’t try to bail out on me either, I know where to find you.”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you say, feeling lame as you step out behind her. “I would love to.” She’s too far to hear you, though, already heading to Spencer’s desk and jumping right into his conversation with Morgan. 

Someone says your last name and you turn on your heel to see Hotch and cringe slightly. “I was trying to find you.” It’s a kinder way of him reminding you that you’re nearly ten minutes late back from your lunch. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine. Do you have the reports finished from last week's trip to Huston?”

“Yes, sir, they’re at my desk. One moment.”

-

You and Emily don’t go to the bistro the next day because she and the team are sent to a small town in Kansas that night. 

“I’ll owe you lunch,” she says, hand on the back of your desk chair and brushing your shoulder as the team rushes to the jet. 

“Don’t worry about it!” You reassure her.

“I’m taking you to lunch,” she calls over her shoulder, pretend-glaring, “you will try that Brado!”

And then she’s gone, leaving you giddy and breathless. 

You know she’s just being friendly – she treats Spencer, Morgan, and JJ all the same as you – but her efforts to spend one-on-one time with you outside of work still have you feeling like a schoolgirl passed a note from her crush in class. 

You try to remind your heart to stop singing because Emily probably isn’t even gay and definitely isn’t interested. Instead, Garcia scares the shit out of you when she interrupts your inner monologue. 

“Lunch with Emily? Things are getting serious in your work marriage.” You hadn’t seen her walk into the room and jump at her voice, hand jumping to your mouth to suppress a yelp. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“It’s okay, didn’t see you.”

“Your loss, I look fantastic today.”

“As always,” you smile up at her, nose wrinkling and genuine fondness filling your senses. 

“Careful, wouldn’t want a workplace affair,” she jokes, leaning against your desk and picking up the stress ball you keep handy. 

“Stop,” you moan in good nature. “Nobody else calls us work wives.”

“That’s just because they don’t have my brilliance and excellent observational skills.”

“Nor do they have the same privy to my more personal thoughts,” you say, glancing up at her before returning to your paperwork. With the team leaving so quickly to tend to a missing child's case, you’re not getting home in time to cook dinner but are hoping to leave early enough to grab food instead of resorting to your freezer stash. 

“I would hope not. You know I can’t be replaced, baby.”

“Does Morgan know you talk to all your work besties like this?”

“I most certainly do not. You’re a regular bestie, not a work bestie.” A wink and then her expression sobers. “I do have an actual reason for visiting your humble cubical, though.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to need extra hands for this case. It’s time-sensitive, as usual, and seems like it will be particularly tricky.”

“Yes ma’am,” you say, dropping your pen and standing to follow her. 

Your position at the bureau is kind of a catch-all. Most of your time is spent logging data, building reports, and doing general research for the team. Occasionally, though, you jump in to help Garcia with real-time research. Nothing as high-stakes as her direct assignments, more background work. Calling offices to talk to managers, combing through more meticulous data, generic census material to rule out obvious dead ends. 

It’s stressful work that technically isn’t what you’re paid for but you never complain. Your team saves lives, consistently putting themselves in the line of danger. If you have to spend a few hours a month helping Garcia call a suspect's manager at McDonald's to see if he still works there, it’s literally the least you can do. 

“Yes, so, it looks like our unsub…”

You drown out Garcia’s brief about information you already have sitting in front of you and begin vetting possible suspects from the large pool her system created.

It’s going to be a long night. You think about future Brado to cheer you up. 

-

“Reid, Prentiss take the back,” Hotch’s voice fills your ears. You imagine the pair nodding and splitting off from the group. 

This is your least favorite part of helping the team with active investigations – listening in on the calls. It’s rare that you and Garcia join the line when they’re approaching the unsub but, with you helping her, it isn’t a risk to distract Garcia and a much quicker method of getting any new information the team needs. It’s a new system you’ve only tried thrice, unsure how having microphones on 24/7 will work, and it grants you and the team more fluid communication.

Still, adrenaline floods your veins as you listen to their coms, the sounds of Garcia typing a constant behind their voices, imagining every way this could go wrong. 

You suspect the girl is still alive, the uncle doesn’t seem to have any reason to kill her just yet, but your fear for her grows with every minute. 

“Clear!”

Your eyes fall to the receipts flooding your screen. Ammo. A new rifle and pistol. The team knows but the evidence of this unsubs ability to hurt any of your friends, your family, isn’t helping your nerves. 

“I think he’s going to the roof!” Morgan’s voice, clear in the comms. 

You click out of the documents. Two swift motions on the screen. The firm press of the button. 

“Morgan, you’re on foot. Prentiss, follow him. Everyone else in vans, go!”

“Garcia, map out possible escape routes from the roof,” you instruct. 

She nods, screens shifting immediately. She puts on her own headset with one hand and clicks on the call and starts to bark information to Hotch. 

“Got her!” Reid’s voice sounds and you deflate a little. He mutes as he begins to console the small girl. 

You know you can take off your headset now, leave the call, and go to your paperwork. There isn’t much more you can do to help – you’re sure that’s what you’re supposed to do – but you stay on anyway, listening. 

“Right on Elmore!” Morgan calls. You find the street on Garcia’s screen, eyes tracing the path you think they’re taking. 

“We’ll try to cut him off,” Rossi says and you can hear tires in the background of the call. The click of a steering wheel cutting to the side too quickly. Someone’s labored breathing – probably Morgan’s as he dead sprints. 

“Stop! Put your hands up!” Emily shouts. The firmness in her voice makes you sit up straighter in your chair. 

You hear something that sounds vaguely like, “bitch,” before a loud pop drowns anything else out. 

“Emily!” Morgan’s voice, more pops. 

Gunfire. That’s gunfire, your brain recognizes. 

Your blood has gone cold.

“We need a medic!” Morgan shouts. Hotch’s line blinks red, going dead as he calls the ambulance. “Emily, Emily.”

Rustling. Cars. Sirens. Morgan’s line goes dead after you hear a car door slam shut. Then Reid’s and Rossi’s. Emily’s is the last to stay green, blinking.

You and Garcia stare at each other as you listen to Emily be loaded into an ambulance. Listen to Morgan tell the team, voice far away and barely tangible, that the unsub only managed to fire out one shot before he downed him. 

Neither of you can hear where she was shot or how badly injured she is before Emily’s line goes red as well.

-

“Emily?” You call softly, rapping your knuckles softly on the frame of the cracked hospital door. 

Your name, faint, answers you and you take that as permission to nudge the door open. The room looked dark from the hallway but Emily has the small lamp embedded on the wall switched on, throwing her face into harsh shadow. 

“Hey, you,” you say, walking in, arms full. “I brought things.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, trying to sit herself up further and wincing as the motion pulls on her stitches in her abdomen. 

“Wait, let me help you,” you say, setting your things down and reaching out a hand. 

You wait for her nod before touching her, letting her grasp your arm and looping your other arm around the back of her waist to take most of her weight yourself. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. You can tell she hates feeling useless, hates needing help for something as simple as sitting up, so you drop the subject with a nod and kind smile. 

You turn around to the small rolling tray where you put your things down, pulling two black containers out from a plastic bag. You feel silly and very awkward as you turn around to show them to her. 

“I know it’s probably not quite what you meant but,” you set the containers down on her bed and pop one open. 

“The Pasta Brado! Oh man, I was going to treat you.” She’s pouting through a smile, attempting to put on an upset facade and failing miserably. 

It’s so cute that you struggle with what to say next. 

“Thank you, really. You can pull up that chair, if you’re hungry now.”

You grab the chair she’s motioned to and drag it to sit next to her. “I’m hungry if you are. It might be a little cold, though, it’s kind of a far walk.”

“You walked here?” Emily asks, tone appalled and face comically shocked. 

“Yeah, my car broke down last week. I’ve been walking to work – it’s actually really nice out right now – and I couldn’t find a cab from the bistro.” You busy yourself with the food while you talk, opening the second container, setting it on her legs, and unwrapping the plastic cutlery for her. 

“Jesus! You didn’t need to come and see me if you don’t have a car. You didn’t need to come at all, actually. I really appreciate it,” she amends, seeing how your bashful smile freezes on your face, reaching forward as if to touch your face and brushing your shoulder instead. “It’s really sweet of you but you didn’t need to walk all that way. Isn’t it like a twenty-minute walk from here?”

Over thirty, but you nod anyway, knowing it won’t help your case to correct her. “It’s not a big deal. You were shot in the stomach, of course I wanted to see you.”

“Ah, so you wouldn't want to see me otherwise,” she teases, nodding and pushing her pasta around with her fork. She doesn’t even try to conceal her grin. 

“Ha ha, very funny,” you mumble. You take a bite of your food and your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

“I knew you would love it,” she beams, watching your expression as you taste the food. You you she meant to say it in a gloating way but you swear you can hear a sort of fondness behind the words. Something in you warms at her ability to know you so well. 

You tell yourself you’re overreacting about both thoughts. 

“You were right – Emily this is unfairly good.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, taking her own bite and letting out an exaggerated moan, complete with an eye roll. You giggle and she smiles at you. “Thank you, this is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, holding her eye contact. 

She's been in the hospital for three days, transferred back to Virginia last night; her hair is unwashed and unbrushed, and she’s wearing no makeup and a hospital gown. 

She’s still the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. 

-

Your car is fixed by the time Emily is released from the hospital two days later and you offer to take her home. 

“Hi Sergio,” you greet the cat brushing against your legs as Emily disengages the alarm. 

You set her things down by the door before turning to offer her your arm. Emily doesn’t pretend that she doesn’t need the help when it’s just you two, something you’re grateful for after watching her struggle with the team around, and lets you guide her to her bedroom. 

You set about making her comfortable, turning down her sheets and propping the pillows up so she can sit. 

“I’ve got it,” she laughs, playfully pushing away your hands. 

You laugh along with her, raising your hands and backing away. “I’m going to go put the rest of your stuff away and get you a drink.”

“Perfect, I’ll take an old-fashioned. Don’t forget the cherry.”

You roll your eyes at her, scoffing and leaving her room. 

You throw her clothes and go-bag in her laundry room before making her a glass of water and another glass of juice. Once you’re sure she’s settled in her bed with her book, you return to the kitchen to make her a few dinners, ignoring her protests. 

-

Emily is back in the field much sooner than you would have liked. 

“I was cleared by the doctors,” she tells you, coat slung over her arm as she digs through her bag for her badge. 

You smile at Martin, sending him a mock exasperated look, before she finds her ID and shows it to him. 

“It still seems too soon, Em,” you persist, reaching forward to push the elevator button and turning so you can lean back to watch her face. 

“Em?” Emily asks, the hint of a smile pulling up the left corner of her mouth. 

You sort of feel like you could die in that moment, just from the heat that simple gesture surges through you. 

“It just sort of slipped out, sorry,” you say, thoroughly embarrassed. 

The elevator dings and the doors open, throwing you off balance for a second. This doesn’t help your already flared nerves as you stumble back and drop your bag. You reach down to gather it and the files scattered across the floor. 

You’re kneeling to stuff everything in your bag when Emily crosses your line of sight again, wide smile on her face – teeth fully on display and nose scrunched, you are in desperate need of help – holding out your notepad.

“I think the nickname’s sweet. I kind of like the idea of having a name only one person, only you, calls me.”

All of the air has left this godforsaken elevator, the heat must be on, you stare dumbly at her as she reaches forward to grab your bag and put the rest of your papers inside of it for you. 

And then, realizing you look like an absolute idiot, you snap back into your body and cough slightly. The doors ding and open again, you grab your bag from her and stand slowly. Smiling at her, still crouched on the floor and looking, amused, up at you through her eyelashes, you say, “Okay. Thanks, then, Emmy.”

You walk away after that brief flash of confidence, telling yourself you’re just imagining how you swear her face flushed bright at your comment. 

And if Morgan mentions a few minutes that Emily seems flusters, well, who can blame you for floating on that high for a few days?

Except she doesn’t let it go. 

She corners you on your break in the kitchenette. Literally. She catches you when you’re examining the coffee pot that has been making concerning gurgles for the past few days and leans on the counter behind you, effectively blocking your exit. 

Not that you really want to leave. 

She’s wearing a red tank top and dark jeans, her hair is loose around her shoulders, eyes steadily trained on your face as you work. 

“Hello,” you say, quiet in a way you’re not normally. 

“Hi.”

“What’re you doing?” You ask after a few more moments of her silently staring at you while you pretend to know what you’re doing with a screwdriver. 

“Enjoying the view.”

You drop your screwdriver and relish in the sound of her laugh. 

-

You’d love to say that you had some suave answer to return her charm but you think you spent it all that morning with your boldness. 

You’re not shy but confidence doesn’t run in your blood either. You’d say you’re pretty normal – average. You don’t find much wrong with that, you know you have other qualities that build you up into an interesting person. You love your friends and coworkers deeply, for one. And have an intense trust in them and their abilities. 

That trust is always tested in your day-to-day at work but never more than now as you feel the car around you make turns at highway speeds. You think you’re on some sort of back road but it’s hard to tell from the trunk given the obvious lack of windows. 

You’re calmer than you thought you would be if kidnapped. 

Groaning after one particularly rough turn that has you jostling against the sides of the trunk, you allow your head to thump back and stare at the inside of the dark car. Light breaks through the cracks of the hinges of the trunk and you wonder if water trickles through when it rains. 

You’ve been in here too long to consider if you’re focused on the wrong things. You’re scared shitless, of course, but the adrenaline faded about an hour into your drive and now you’re just bored. 

Imagine that – bored as fuck in the trunk of a stranger's car, wrists burning from the rope and jaw sore from where it’s been forced open too long by the fabric tied around the back of your head. 

You’re just allowing yourself to reimagine your morning with Emily when the car stops and the engine cuts. 

You snap back into the present, energy flooding your system again as your brain flicks into overdrive. You might spend your days paper-pushing behind a desk, but you passed your physical. You’re smart, you’ve heard the stories of how these victims survive captivity. 

When the trunk pops open, you squeeze your eyes shut to prevent pain from the sudden lack of light. You don’t want to be blinded and the action has the added benefit of pleasing your captor. He put a hood over your hood when he grabbed you, muttering in your ear in tense tones that you would do best to not even try to see him. 

Say what you will, you usually do a pretty good job at following directions. This one is easy and happens to be number one on your list right now – keep him happy so he keeps you alive. 

“Good girl,” a gruff voice says before a calloused hand gropes the back of your neck to yank you forward. Scratchy fabric envelops your head and your hot breath bounces back against you, trapped against the fabric of the hood. 

You stand when his hands start to grab your waist, pulling yourself to your knees and allowing yourself to be lifted from the trunk.

You want to run but know now’s not the time. 

“Look at how well-behaved you are!” His breath is wet against your neck. He stands too close, hands clawing under the hem of your shirt to cling to your skin. 

He walks you forward like that, chest pressed against your back and breath slithering down the collar of your shirt to hang uncomfortably over your collarbones. 

It’s becoming increasingly more obvious what this sicko wants from you and your stomach is twisting at the thought. You urge the team to hurry up, knowing your absence would have been missed ages ago. They have to be looking for you by now. And, with how sloppy this dude seems to be, he must have left a plethora of clues waiting to be found. 

You have to repeat this to yourself as you hear a door lock click. 

“Took you long enough. This is the girl? She’s kind of … well,” the second man kisses his teeth with a sharp sound. You’re pushed forward again. “Whatever floats your boat man.” The door shuts and locks behind you. The second man's voice fades as he talks, disinterested. 

You wonder if it’s wrong to feel slightly insulted right now. 

“This way, doll.”

You listen. It’s saving your life to be complicit in his directions, so you listen. Still, you’re shoved harshly to the floor once you get to where he wants you, knees striking what feels like cement. Before you can recover, your cheek stings and your head is whipping to the side from a sudden slap. 

Then, there’s a kick to your ribs. You fall onto your side, too winded to even cry out, lips falling open in a silent scream. A boot in your belly. Your ribs again, your hip and back. 

“Why?” You manage to sob out. “Why, why?”

You don’t get an answer.

-

You’re not overly religious but you thank whatever heavens or universe exists that he leaves you alone once he’s done kicking the shit out of you. Your ribs are bruised but the worst you expected hasn’t happened. 

The boredom returns as you lay with throbbing ribs. At least one is broken and every breath hurts. You can’t imagine sitting up and, luckily, with your hands tied behind your back, it’s not really an option anyway. 

It must be near an hour later when you’re fading out of consciousness – a purposeful choice on your part to save your energy – when you hear the front door burst down. 

“FBI! Hands where I can see them!” Morgan. You nearly weep but think better when your stuttered gasp makes your side throb. “What the fuck?” You hear shouted in reply. “Robb, what the fuck man.”

There isn’t much of a resistance from the living room. The second man is shouting at what you can only assume is the first – your initial kidnapper – but there’s nothing else other than that. 

“Clear!” You hear Hotch call. Spencer replies and then you hear the door nearest you open. 

His voice calls out your name. You deflate against the floor. A second, you know he’s scanning the room with his gun before holstering it. “Clear! I need a medic!”

Hands, gentle, against your face, removing the hood. Swifter after that, removing your gag, and then hand binds. 

“Hey, Spence,” you say, trying to smile up at him. 

“Shh, you’re okay. We’ve got you.” He starts to support your weight behind your shoulders and the pain that brings is too intense to prevent your yelp. 

“Oh my god, is she okay?” You hear Emily ask seconds before you see her. She looks concerned, hair now in a tight ponytail and FBI vest strapped over her chest. She whispers your name once and then a second time, reaching forward to gently brush your hair out of your eyes. 

“Hey, pretty,” you say, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can catch them.

“Hi beautiful,” she answers, reply just as soft as your own. Earnest. 

It makes your heart ache and, for the first time since being yanked off the road walking to grab lunch, you start to cry. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, beautiful, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She repeats this as you’re lifted by the paramedics and cry harder. 

She repeats it when they stitch up where kicks burst the skin over your cheekbone open, repeats it as she trails a hand down your arm in gentle patterns while they examine your ribs and confirm that you’ve broken two, maybe three. 

She tries with you in the ambulance. 

You can’t help but think about being on the phone when you heard Emily be shot weeks earlier. You squeeze your eye shut as they insert the IV, beyond grateful that she’s there to hold your hand while they do it. The tear that falls down your cheek has nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the thought that you couldn’t have been there for her in the same way. 

An odd thought, you realize, but it’s the one you’re stuck with as you drift away when the pain medicine enters your system. 

-

You’re sent home three days later. You insist on spending the night alone, afraid to admit you’re scared because, honestly, nothing much happened to you. 

Oh, of course, everyone tries to convince you otherwise but you know they’ve all had it worse. You were gone from the bureau for about eight hours and spent most of it bored. 

So you force yourself to spend the night alone. You don’t need help moving around or doing things for yourself so you convince yourself you don’t need help. 

You’re cooking dinner when the doorbell rings. You wipe your hands with a dish towel and take your time walking to the door to look through the peephole. You don’t know who took you yet, you haven’t asked and nobody has said, but you can imagine seeing him through the door. Waiting for you, waiting to kill you this time. 

Okay, yeah, maybe Spencer was right when he talked about PTSD and usual levels of anxiety, but you’re so tired of him being so right all of the time that you really want to prove him right.

There is no man standing on the other side of the door, though. Instead, you see Emily, holding a plate wrapped in tin foil and looking serene in your apartment hallway. 

You open the door quickly, unlatching it and turning off your alarm with a few clicks. “Emily?”

“Ah, man, I was getting used to Emmy,” she jokes, stepping inside with a smile in your direction and kicking off her shoes. 

You can’t think of an answer so you just smile at her, hoping she’ll take the lead. You’re tired and she must see it because she offers the plate in her hands to you once the door is closed and the alarm is reengaged. 

“Rossi sent me with it with explicit instructions to not let you share it.”

You giggle and take the plate. “I’ll have to tell him thank you. It’s kind of out of your way to come all this way, though, isn’t it?”

“Not out of my way at all,” she says, words dripping with meaning as she holds your eyes. “I would have come even if Rossi didn’t have food for you.”

“So why are you here?”

“To make a fool of myself,” she says, casually, like that’s something people say every day, “probably. You’ve just gotten back from the hospital and I know you said you wanted to be alone, but,” she swallows and her words are becoming more rushed as she speaks, “I said the same thing and you still stayed.”

“Emily?” You ask, setting the plate down on your hallway table and clearing your throat. “Ah, Emmy?” You amend when she cuts you a look. Your attempt to diffuse the tension doesn’t work and she steps closer so you’re toe to toe.

“That doesn’t really answer your question, though. You’re sweet enough that you would let it go, but,” she shrugs, reaching forward to gently loop her fingers around your wrists. “Stop me if this is awful timing. Please,” she says, leaning forward and staring into your eyes. 

You feel like you’re suffocating, but if this is death, you’ll greet it gladly in the irises of Emily Prentiss. You’re caught in the trap of the moment, heart hardly breathing, all aches and sores forgotten because Emily is leaning closer, breath fanning across your face. You feel intoxicated, ensnared. 

Everything that has ever been exists here, now, in this moment. Every breath used to blow out birthday candles and blow away eyelashes – breaths with purpose, with wishes, with intent – exists between the two of you as she leans closer and closer. Closer, still, and how can so much distance exist between you two when you’ve been standing so closely?

“Just, stop me, if you want,” she whispers against your lips, eyes falling shut. 

Time yawns again, freezing. Your eyes open, hers closed, beats of seconds pausing. Hesitating for you to hold this moment in your hands. You’re grateful to appreciate it because she really is so lovely. Her bangs are pushed back from her face with a headband – imagine that! Emily owns headbands! – and you can see every detail of her face. Her elegant nose, her slim eyebrows, her narrow, prominent, lips.

And then your heart finally catches up, beats loudly, cracks whatever fragile plane of glass holding the moment so perfectly still, and her lips are meeting yours. 

You gasp into her mouth, hands breaking out of her hold to grab her face. You’re afraid that she’s going to pull away before this kiss can be fully real. Before you can actually taste her – lemon cake and rain and warmth. Before you can memorize the feel of her lips pressed against your own before you can drag her closer and slip your hands into her hair. 

But she doesn’t pull away. She meets your enthusiasm with a sigh and then enthusiasm tenfold. You can feel relief in the kiss, feel how she relaxes into you. She takes a step forward and you take one back half the amount to account for it. 

A tilt of your head and it’s better, impossibly. She’s firm, sturdy, beautiful. Confident. Lovely, lovely, lovely. 

And then she reaches forward to hold you to her, hands brushing your ribs to wrap around your back and you can’t hold in the gasp of pain that causes you to stiffen. You want to take it back, want to ignore the pain, want to keep her near, but she won’t allow it.

“Oh, I’m so so sorry. Are you okay? I’m sorry.” You smush the apologies against her lips, removing one hand from her hand to guide her arms around your shoulders where they won’t hurt. “Okay! Okay,” she giggles, leaning back with several short kisses that do nothing to satiate you. “I need to know you’re okay.”

She can obviously tell she hasn’t hurt you too bad by your reaction, but the sweet caution in her voice has you melting further. 

“I’m perfect.”

[mj-thrush-gxn]

-and what would you say to a bad guy who’s not there?

Sell, sell, sell.- barenaked ladies

[feychek]

Uh yeah. So I actually finished all episodes available (help) and decided to return to my sketched ideas to finish some of them.

Most of them is Arthur traumatised in different ways, sorry Arthur. Really want to try draw John how I see him.

[laurrelise]

old man is injured once again, shocking no one

yep i did another little drawing of five (it’s not little) (it took me several hours)

i hope you enjoy :)

[serickswrites]

Not Qualified

Warnings: blood, wounds, gunshot wound, bleeding, hospital reference

The pounding on the door had Villain jumping. They had been fully prepared to settle in for a quiet night alone. They needed it. It had been a rough week at work and they wanted time to process and blow off steam. The door pounded again. Who could possibly be beating on their door?

Villain opened the door and frowned. Hero leaned on their door frame, one hand draped across a bleeding gunshot wound in their gut, the other braced against the door for support. "H-Hey, V-Villain."

"What do you want?" Villain felt like this could be a trap. It had to be a trap. Why else would Hero be here if not to hurt them?

"I.....I need some help."

"And I'm the person you come to? That's rich," Villain said coldly. This was definitely a trap.

Hero's face fell. They blinked heavily. "I.....I h-h-had n-n-no onnnnnnee el-el-else."

"That's not good." Villain still didn't move to admit Hero into their home. This could still be a trap. But as Hero leaned more and more on the threshold without lashing out, Villain began to suspect that Hero was telling the truth.

"Y-Yeah," Hero said weakly.

Villain could see Hero's legs wobble as they tried to support themself. "Well, fuck. I am absolutely not qualified for this shit," they gestured at Hero's bloody wound. "But I know a place where they are very discreet and can help."

"TH-Th-Thanks," Hero mumbled.

Villain pulled Hero's arm over their shoulder. "Come on. Let's go get you patched up and you can tell me all about how you ended up on my doorstep bleeding from a gunshot wound in your guts."

"Th-Th-Thanks," Hero repeated as they stumbled along with Villain.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

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