#i had a super shitty day yesterday so this was incredibly nice to wake up to

[violettea]

really appreciate freaky creature

[plaidbooks]

Everyone Deserves Love chapter 5

A/N: They have met! And now they are stuck together! Will Barba be able to not be an asshole to Devon? Will he stop rolling his eyes? Tune in to find out!

Just kidding; this chapter starts off on the next day. About halfway through, it jumps, so watch out! I do put the dates, so they are kinda important. But in case you miss them, I think I also generally put in a sentence explaining the jump. I also totally head cannon both Barba and Fin as super not-morning people. Also also, I spent...too much time looking up knife wounds for this to be as accurate as it is. Triple also, obligatory straddling/pinning down scene while training >.>

Shoutout to my friend Adrian in Colombia, who translated Spanish phrases for me. They are in English in parenthesis next to the Spanish.

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Tags: blood, stab wounds, knives, fighting

Words: 11k+

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Friday, January 28th. 4:00am

Devon was the first awake—not something new to her. Actually, it was incredibly rare that she wasn’t the first up; ever since taking the UC in California, she had trouble sleeping, exasperated by the time difference. There was just too much going on in her mind, especially now, having to protect someone for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Plus, the root of the problem (that she refused to admit, even to herself) was that she was always on alert, always afraid of resting, even for a few hours at night. She never felt safe, even when she wasn’t working a job. Her place in the FBI was one that she loved, but it also put her in harm’s way often. She knew that she had enemies out there: cartels, mobs, gangs. But she never had anyone come after her directly. She had buddies in high ranking FBI positions, and even in the CIA, that would routinely check if they had heard about a hit on her, but it has only happened a couple times in the past, and always a one-person vendetta. Not a whole gang, like what Barba now faced. Even so, Devon was always on alert, even when simply walking down the street.

So, when she woke up at 4am to a quiet loft on this Friday morning, it was no surprise. She got up, stretched, then got on the floor. She did pushups, sit-ups, stretches, lunges, and every other exercise she could think to do when in the living room of a loft—no chance for a run, and even less of a chance to hit the gym. Barba didn’t look like the “gym” type. Devon chuckled at the thought as she worked. Once finished, she snuck into the bathroom in the hallway, praying that Barba was a heavy sleeper; waking him up early was probably not a great start to the day. She stripped quickly and hopped in the shower. She had shampoo, conditioner, and soap in her grip, plus deodorant, toothbrush and paste, and a variety of perfume.

She prided herself in being prepared for anything that fate threw at her; she collected perfumes and outfits for her job as a chameleon. She was damn good at blending in, and she planned on doing that today. She knew that Barba was…less than ideal as a victim; he was abrasive, spiteful, and seemed to dislike having her around—last night seemed like fatigue took out some of his bite. But she could play into that; she planned on wearing neutral colors, wearing natural-colored makeup, and donning a soft perfume. She wanted to look as plain as possible, wanted no one to notice her. Wanted to just be another face in the courthouse. The only thing that gave her away was the badge and gun on her waistband—though her jacket hid them unless at the right angle—and a knife strapped to her upper thigh. The sheath, straps, and hilt of the knife was black, which blended in with her black slacks. Ever since the UC in California, Devon kept the knife on her at all times—well, maybe not while sleeping.

Dressed and feeling refreshed, Devon tiptoed out of the bathroom. There was no sound from Barba’s room, so she assumed he was still asleep. She opened her laptop and wrote up her report from the day before; she’d have to have a report for every day for Olivia, plus a report for her boss, Jenkins. Even though she wasn’t technically working for the FBI for this, she knew that he’d want a debriefing at the end of this. Soon enough, she heard Barba’s muffled alarm go off, heard him haphazardly slap it until it turned off. He let out a groan and the bed creaked as he stood. A couple moments passed, and then the tale tell sound of a shower starting up filled the loft. Devon finished Olivia’s report at the same time Barba opened his bedroom door, walking quickly to the living room. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, bright blue tie bringing out the green of his eyes. He wore a strong cologne, his hair slicked back; he looked handsome, but his face showed that he was not quite awake yet.

He looked at his watch; he was running a little late today. He sighed, then jumped when he saw Devon sitting on the loveseat, fully awake and dressed. He had forgotten in his rush that she had stayed the night, had thought it might have been a dream.

“Good morning~!” she sang out, closing her laptop. She packed it into a small computer bag, then went to disable the screaming doorstop. Once disabled, she placed it on the coffee table.

“Morning,” he replied, groggily. He grabbed his briefcase and went to open the front door. Devon cut him off, opening it and poking her head out, checking the corridor. Barba caught himself rolling his eyes; he remembered that he resolved to be a “good victim” for her, no matter how ridiculous her safety precautions seemed. Once determined clear, they both made their way to the elevator. His phone went off and he looked to see who was texting him this early. Oh, Olivia. Of course.

Fin and Rollins are outside your loft, ready to take you to work

Barba couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes this time as he responded. I agreed to having one babysitter, not three

Liv wrote back almost immediately. Just get in the car, Barba

The elevator doors opened, and Devon took the lead again. Barba informed her that they had an escort this morning and who to look for.

Devon let out a giddy laugh at some unknown joke, and Barba wondered how someone could be so perky in the morning. “How Liv got Fin out of bed this early, I will never know.” Barba smiled at the fact that someone was as grumpy as he was and followed her over to the detective’s car. They greeted each other, and Barba saw Devon struggling to hide a smile as Fin was downright nasty. He said nothing as he waited for them to get in, Rollins not nearly as successful as Devon in hiding her smile at Fin’s expense.

1 Hogan Place

Friday, January 28th. 7:30am

Fin dropped them off in front of the DA’s building and barely waited for Barba and Devon to get out of the car before he peeled away.

“I know that some people aren’t morning people, but jeez,” Devon chuckled.

“And I thought that I was moody in the morning,” Barba replied. Devon turned to the doors but stopped when she saw Barba turn the opposite direction.

“Trying to ditch me already?” Devon admonished, whipping around to face the same direction.

“Of course not; I just want some good coffee before I have to deal with shitty office coffee,” Barba said. He looked both ways, then did a little jog across the street. Devon, seeing the only coffee stand across the street, kept up with the ADA easily. She looked around on high alert, looking at everyone who even glanced their way. She had her gun on her hip, like normal, but realized two things; 1) it would be too slow to reach for it if someone came at Barba with a gun already drawn, and 2) it probably wouldn’t look good to the public if she did have it drawn. Instead, she opted for the knife she kept strapped to her outer left thigh. It was over her clothes, but it had a button release so that it couldn’t be drawn without hitting the button. She hit that button now and kept the short throwing dagger in her left hand. She was ambidextrous when it came to hand-to-hand combat, including with knives; they were her specialty. She actually felt more competent with a knife than with a gun, but until recently, she hadn’t been given the OK to use them in the streets.

“Did you want something?” Barba asked, pulling Devon’s attention to him. She realized that they were standing at the window, Barba having already ordered. The barista was looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, sure, sorry. I’ll have a large mocha, please.” She looked at the menu really quick, realizing that she hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, and added, “and a poppyseed muffin, please and thank you.” The barista nodded and went to grab the muffin. “Thank you,” she said to Barba as he pulled some bills out of his wallet.

“No problem,” he gave her a puzzled look. “Where were you just now?”

Devon gave another quick glance around their surroundings before answering, “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t die right now.” She said it as a joke, but the realness of it settled on Barba.

“Well, I’m glad you’re the one staying on top of it. I’m not even awake enough to consider throwing a punch right now,” he smirked, grabbing their coffees, and thanking the barista—Jordan, if memory served. Barba tried to hand Devon hers before realizing that her hands were taken up. He knew that she had a muffin, but he was shocked to see a knife glinting in her left hand. Devon hesitated a moment before sheathing the knife at her side—he didn’t even notice the holster strapped to her leg, it blended in well—and took the coffee.

“Thanks again,” she said before taking a sip. Barba opened his mouth to warn her; Jordan may run the best coffee stand in town, but his coffee was also notorious for being incredibly hot. But Devon was able to take a sip, not even flinching. She lowered the cup from her mouth, clicked her tongue a couple times, tasting the coffee, before swallowing and saying, “this coffee is hot as hell.”

Barba laughed at that; a nice sound, Devon noticed. She was glad that he seemed a little looser today than yesterday. Maybe it was just nerves that made him that crabby the day before. She couldn’t blame him; the flood of adrenaline and emotions that come from narrowly avoiding death can sour anyone’s mood, especially twice in as many days. At least this smoldering coffee would make for a good weapon, since she didn’t have the hands for a knife right now.

They quickly made their way back across the street, into the DA’s building. Barba was shocked when Devon didn’t insist on leading him; instead, they walked side by side. It was only once inside that he figured out why; the building was bustling, even this early. Attorneys, police officers, and other general people moved in and out of hallways, ducking into their offices. Barba and Devon weaved their way through the throng, quickly making it to his office. Once there, Devon ripped into the muffin while Barba prepared his first court case for the day. Devon offered him some of her muffin—“you should really eat something before going and standing all day”—but he declined; he had a stash of snacks in his desk. He pulled out a small package of nuts and ate them while he made sure his case was solid, or as solid as it was going to be, going over every little detail that he could think of. Once it was 8:30, Barba gathered his things, mentally aligning himself with his work self; he was in no way a saint outside the court, but he was downright devilish in the courtroom, and he knew it, prided himself on it.

Devon had since finished her muffin and mocha and stood when she saw Barba gathering his things. She made a last-minute decision, leaving her laptop behind; she wouldn’t be able to work in the gallery anyways. She muted her phone and followed Barba out of his office. What had always seemed like a short, easy walk from his office to the courthouse now seemed to take forever. Devon’s head was constantly on a swivel, watching the crowded street, marking every person who looked a little too long, who gave a weird look. One man reached into his pocket and Devon’s heart leapt into her throat until she saw him simply pull out his phone and start typing. This is going to be a very, very long job, she thought.

It was a relief when they made it to the stairs leading into the courthouse. If Barba felt any of the anxiousness that Devon did, he showed no sign of it. Instead, he seemed calm, collected. He took the lead up the stairs, and Devon let him. He knew the courthouse better than she did, so she let him lead her through the winding hallways, keeping an eye open to the people around. They made it to the courtroom, and Barba went up to his normal table, while Devon sat directly behind him, turning to look at everyone who opened the door behind her, just in case. She still didn’t particularly enjoy being in a courtroom, but her fear was much more manageable, thanks to the time she spent with ADA Casey Novak. This quickly became their routine for the whole day; they walked together to whichever courtroom Barba was assigned,  He went to the table while she sat and watched from the gallery as he destroyed the defense’s case over and over again. Devon was impressed with how well he conducted himself in court, glad to see he was just as capable, even more so, than the past ADAs she dealt with. Then they would leave, sometimes going back to his office, but more likely, heading to another courtroom. They broke at around 2pm; they hid in Barba’s office and ordered takeout while he worked on some papers and she trolled the FBI database for information on the Aces. They barely got their food by the time Barba was called into the DA’s office to ask about the attempt on his life the day before. Devon was honestly shocked it took that long for his boss to mention anything. She strong-armed her way into the DA’s office with Barba, much to his chagrin. The DA—Jack McCoy—wasn’t too pleased about it, but she knew how to deal with his type. She let Barba relay in brief detail what had happened, and then explained that she was there to protect him. Seemingly satisfied with that, McCoy kicked them both out of his office. Afterwards, they hurried back to Barba’s office, and got a couple of bites in before it was time to go back to the courtroom.

“I’m sorry about this,” Barba said, indicating the food. “Don’t get much time to eat in this profession.”

“Don’t be, it’s fine. Work is work,” Devon smiled. She knew what it was like to not have a moment to yourself, let alone to eat. And the last thing Devon was, was a complainer. So, they went back to the courtrooms, the cases, the defense vs. the prosecution. It wasn’t until 6pm that they made it back to his office. Only two of the cases had ended in convictions today, but they were in Barba’s favor. Devon marveled at how well-spoken he was in court; she may be a negotiator, but she wanted to learn some of his tricks. Maybe she’d pick them up if she watched him work enough.

Barba put the takeout container down, sighing contently. “I promise that most days aren’t this intense. Maybe a week or two every other month. I’m not normally in court this often. I’m usually in here, prepping,” he gestured at his office.

“Why the big case load?” Devon asked. She was genuinely interested; she had never worked closely with a lawyer before, especially an ADA. She didn’t know the ins and outs, but if she learned, maybe she could add that profession to her repertoire of fake jobs she took while undercover.

Barba sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Besides the one case that got moved to today from yesterday, there was a huge sex trafficking bust a couple months ago. A lot of the people involved took a plea, but the ones who didn’t are finally getting processed. Those two cases from today will be continued tomorrow, but after that, it should slow down.”

Devon nodded. “I forget how long the courts take, sometimes. I’m actually surprised that their being processed only a couple of months after the fact.”

“Through some legal maneuvers, and with urges from the mayor, the DA was able to speed up their trials.”

Devon gave Barba a knowing look; she knew how the Big Bosses pushed around things that they wished to. Liv complained about 1PP all the time, and she had experienced it every now and again with the Feds.

“Well, I don’t mind; running around so much means time goes by much quicker.”

Barba smiled at that, “sometimes, too quick. Speaking of,” he looked at the time, “I think that’s it for tonight.”

Devon looked at the clock on the wall. 7:05pm. “Wow, calling it early, eh?”

“I try and not spend my whole life trapped here, as much as it appears otherwise,” he replied. Devon grinned, standing up. Barba stood as well, grabbing his things. Devon swung her laptop bag over her shoulder, unsheathed her knife—she wanted less conspicuous tonight, and her gun still felt heavy in her hand--and made her way to the door. Barba waited behind her, without prompting today, as she cracked open the door and made sure the coast was clear. It wasn’t until after the elevator doors opened, letting them off, that they noticed how many people were still around. Devon kept the knife by her side, though she kept her arm loose, flexible, ready to defend. But they met no obstacles as they made their way outside. Devon was shocked to see that Fin and Rollins were once again parked outside, readying to escort the two back to Barba’s place.

“Liv said she texted you,” Rollins said as an explanation. Taken aback, Devon took out her phone and noticed that there were a couple missed texts from Olivia. Then it dawned on her; her phone was still muted from earlier. She’d have to remember to keep it on vibrate from now on. She sent a quick apology text, promising to call once they were secured at Barba’s place.

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Friday, January 28th. 7:30pm

“Today wasn’t so bad,” Devon commented after hanging up her call with Liv.

Barba had been working on the coffee table again and looked up. “No, it really wasn’t. I hope I’m not being lulled into a false sense of security, what with no attempt on my life today.”

Devon was going to joke about how the night was still young but thought better of it. She realized that she still didn’t really know this man; she didn’t know his humor, and she didn’t want to worry him. Besides, today really had been pretty good; she didn’t notice anyone tailing them, or anyone threatening. But that just seemed to add to her anxiety; they went from back-to-back attacks to nothing. They could be taking this time to plan. She was going to have to be more alert the next day.

After a couple hours of work, they both said goodnight, and made their separate ways to bed. And with a full day together done, this became their framework for every day afterwards, never really deviating from the norm.

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Monday, March 16th. 9:36pm

“When did you join the FBI?” Barba asked. They were eating pizza for dinner in Barba’s loft. It had been almost 2 months since he was shot at, and Devon took on the job of bodyguard. There hadn’t been an attempt since, which only made Devon more nervous; her head was on a swivel, eyes never settling on anything for too long. Sleep had been becoming harder and harder for her, eyes snapping open at every creak. If Barba was feeling nervous, he didn’t show it; he just went about his day as if nothing were different. At least Liv had called the day before to tell them that 11 Aces were now in jail; the only good news they had gotten. But none of them were talking to the SVU detectives about the hit.

Devon thought about how much she wanted to say. She chose a simple answer. “I was recruited when I was 20.”

“Recruited? How do you get recruited to the FBI?”

Whoops, wrong use of words. “Carefully,” she said, smirking.

Barba knew her enough to know that he’d get nowhere if he pushed the subject. There were only a couple subjects that Devon avoided, mostly her childhood and family. Barba couldn’t tell yet if she locked her past away because of her training in the FBI, or because it was painful to revisit. To be completely fair, he dodged the question about his parents, too, when she retaliated after he asked her first.

After a pause, Devon asked, “why ADA?”

This was how almost every night went when they weren’t absorbed in their own work. One of them would break the silence with a question, and then they’d get sucked into hours-long discussions. They were slowly getting more comfortable with each other—easy to do when they were stuck with each other all day, every day. Devon had even followed Barba into the men’s restroom at the courthouse, to his embarrassment. It took some arguing, but she eventually checked every stall and left, not allowing anyone else in until Barba had finished and come back out, still red in the face.

“To be honest, it wasn’t my first choice…or a path I even considered until my last years in high school.” Barba thought back to his high school years, to his past career choices. He never had a “dream job;” he actually felt like he was living it now, even if it wasn’t something that had crossed his mind as a child. “I had no idea what I wanted to do as a kid. I played around with some stupid hobbies, but they didn’t pan out. So, in high school, I just started taking classes that sounded interesting. I ended up taking a criminology course and fell in love, as cliché as that sounds.” Barba smiled at the memory. “I did well enough that I got a full ride scholarship to Harvard.”

Devon nodded; she liked hearing stories of people finding themselves, finding their passions. She was glad that Barba seemed motivated; he actually loved his job, instead of being forced into it by his parents. Though, she was curious what his idea of “stupid hobbies” was.

Barba thought a moment, then asked, “you said you joined the FBI at age 20. Does that mean you skipped college?”

Devon grimaced. “Uh, yeah, I never even applied.” She tried to shut out the memories from that part of her life, but the familiar knot formed in her stomach.

“Say you quit the FBI; you’ve had enough, and you’re done with all of it. What profession would you go into?”

Devon thought for a long time. It had been so long since she even considered doing a different job. “I’m not sure, actually. I’ve been in the FBI for nearly two decades. They don’t exactly teach job skills outside of my profession.”

Barba scoffed, “come on, you must have had a dream job when you were a child, right? What would you have done if you never joined the FBI?”

Devon knew the answer to the latter, but she knew she couldn’t tell him. I’d be in jail. Instead, she answered, “I didn’t really have a dream job lined up. When I was in high school, I only ever thought about college as just a way to get away from my parents; I had no long-term goals. I honestly didn’t even see myself as attending college, not that I could’ve afforded it, anyways.”

Barba was at a loss for words. He tucked the small nugget of information about her family into his mind, which answered an earlier question; she didn’t talk about her family because it was painful. He could certainly understand that.

Both of them seemed to be content with letting the conversation die there. It was getting late anyways, and Barba had yet another early morning the next day, though not as early as that first day. They went through their nightly routines before saying their goodnights and heading to bed. They both had a little trouble sleeping that night, stuck in memories of past lives, both good and bad.

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Tuesday, March 17th. 4:00am

The next morning, their routine hadn’t changed. Devon was up first, showered, and ready for the day. She had a weird feeling in her gut, so she made sure she packed some gauze and an extra shirt in her laptop bag. She didn’t believe in superstitions, but she did know to listen to her gut; it’s saved her ass before. By the time she was ready, Barba was up and showering.

“Morning,” he grumbled when he came out, voice thick with sleep.

To the untrained eye, he didn’t look any different than normal; sharp suit, sharp hair, sharp cologne. But Devon could see the exhaustion in his expression, in his slightly stooped shoulders. “Couldn’t sleep?” A tired huff was his only reply. “Why don’t I make us some coffee? Carmen won’t care if you’re a little late today. ‘Sides, you don’t have an arraignment until 9:30—we got time.”

Barba was too tired to argue. He sat heavily in the armchair while Devon flitted about the kitchen, scooping coffee into Barba’s French press—something she had teased him about the first time he showed her how to use it (“how can some kid from the Bronx be such a coffee snob?”). While the water heated up, Devon examined Barba’s resting form; his eyes were closed, his breaths were soft. It was almost as if he had fallen back asleep. But he opened his eyes when he heard Devon move to pour the water into the pot. After a couple more minutes, letting the water seep into the coffee the perfect amount, Devon poured them both a healthy amount in to-go cups, pouring in the small amount of sugar she knew Barba liked, and the copious amounts she liked herself.

“Thanks,” Barba said with a small smile, standing and taking the cup from her. She smiled back, then headed for the door, checking the corridor like normal before leading him down to the street.

“What took so long?” Amaro said by way of greeting, though there was no real anger in his voice. Rollins made eye contact with Devon and raised her eyebrows. Devon, oblivious, shrugged and got in the back with Barba.

“Made some coffee this morning. We were up late working,” Devon replied. Rollins’s smile grew, and even Amaro made eye contact with Devon in the rearview mirror.

“Oh yeah? Working on what?” Amaro asked accusingly.

“Get your minds out of the gutter, detectives,” Barba spat before taking a long sip of coffee. If Devon didn’t know any better, she’d swear she saw a blush on his cheeks. But why is he blush—oh, Devon thought, feeling her own face turn red. Is that what they thought they were doing last night? She took her own sip of coffee, attempting to hide her face. They sat in silence for the rest of the car ride, trying to ignore the tension in the backseat.

1 Hogan Place

Tuesday, March 17th. 8:30am

All of the detectives have learned to drop Devon and Barba off across the street from the DA’s building at this point, so that they could get their morning coffee. Even though they both had a cup in their hands, the habit was hard to break, and Amaro dropped them off in the normal spot.

“Idiots,” Barba mumbled as they drove off, and Devon didn’t think it had anything to do with where they were dropped off. Her face was still red, and she couldn’t look at Barba directly. Glad to see SVU is still a gossip ring, she thought.

“Let’s at least grab some breakfast,” she suggested, walking towards Jordan’s coffee stand. Those muffins really were delicious. She heard Barba sigh and follow her.

The tension in the air was still tight, and Devon desperately wanted to say something to change the subject, but nothing came to mind. She looked down at the coffee in her hand, coming up with a weak topic.

“Hey, feeling more awake now?” she asked sheepishly. When Barba didn’t answer, she chanced a glance at him. His mouth was slightly ajar, eyes wide in shock and fear, locked on something over Devon’s right shoulder. Instinct took over, and she threw herself in front of him, coffee flying out of her hand. She had her forearm pushed across his chest, shoving him against the coffee cart, her face inches from his. She felt a pressure that turned to pain in her right shoulder, but adrenaline had taken over, and the pain was soon forgotten. Without missing a beat, Devon whipped around and saw one of the men from the night in the alley—Rogelio Olivera—looking shocked and backing away slowly. His arm was raised, but nothing was in his hand, which seemed odd to her. But she had no time to think about it as she used her momentum, turning towards him to punch him in the face with her left fist. Rogelio went sprawling onto the ground.

Movement in the corner of Devon’s eye caught her attention. Jose, the younger brother and the other man from the alley, was trying to use the diversion his brother set up to attack Devon, knife gripped in his hand. He swung it towards her gut, but she blocked, throwing her right forearm haphazardly into his hard enough that he dropped his weapon. She pushed down on him, letting his momentum carry him downwards, and she punched him hard on the spine with her left, dropping him to the ground. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out one of her pairs of handcuffs and cuffed him before he could regain his composure. She couldn’t get a grip on his wrists with her right hand, though—there was so much blood on her hand, it made everything slippery. In the rush, Devon didn’t think about where the blood came from, nor the fact that the muscles in her right hand weren’t working correctly. Instead, she pushed a knee between his shoulders, forced his hands together with her left, and somehow cuffed him with the right.

“Stop resisting,” she said. Shockingly, he laid still, turning his attention to the right. Devon saw the movement and followed his line of sight to his brother.

Rogelio, who was just getting to his feet, gave his brother a guilty look. He was just out of reach of Devon, so she instead reached for her knife on her thigh. Rogelio saw his chance and took it; he turned and ran. He only made it a couple steps by the time Devon had cocked back her left arm and threw her knife. It twirled through the air perfectly, blade over handle, before embedding itself into his left calf. He stumbled to the ground, yelping in pain.

Devon looked to Barba, who’s mouth was agape in shock and awe, and commanded, “call 911 now. Tell them we need a bus and an officer.” With that, she sat Jose up, telling him not to move, and then made her way to Rogelio. He was clutching his calf, which was bleeding but not gushing, and looked like he was going for the knife. “Leave that there; you’ll bleed out if you don’t,” she advised. She felt like handcuffs were kind of unnecessary at this point, so she half helped, half dragged him to where his brother was sitting quietly, possibly in shock as he stared at the knife protruding from his brother’s leg.

She looked up as Barba hung up his phone, his hands shaking, eyes still wide. “Are you okay?” she asked. In the madness, she never looked to see if he was injured or not. Mentally, she berated herself for even letting this two get close enough to attack, getting distracted by some idiotic rumors. Stupid….

“I’m fine; are you okay?” His voice was full of concern. When Devon squinted in confusion, he continued, “there’s a knife in your shoulder.”

As if he had spoken it into existence, pain shot through her right shoulder. She looked and was able to make out the hilt sticking out of her back. That…explains a lot, she thought, remembering the pain she felt earlier after shielding Barba, the blood, and not being able to use her hand while cuffing Jose. She looked at her right hand, now covered in red, flexing and closing her fingers. At least those still worked, albeit weakly, but she was unwilling to test the full motion of her arm, at least until the knife was removed.

“Never better,” she tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. Sirens were going off in the distance; the ambulance was coming. Devon looked around at the gathering crowd, noticing that most of them had phones out, filming everything. Great; if the Aces didn’t know Barba had protection, they did now. With any luck, they wouldn’t hire anyone outside the gang to take him out; hopefully, it was a personal enough hit that they wouldn’t outsource. Either way, Devon was going to have to make some calls, keep an eye on known hitmen. She ignored the people murmuring about police brutality, and just tried to focus on the next steps. No one looked like they were about to take a shot at Barba, but she still hovered near his side, just in case. The pain in her shoulder hurt, but it wasn’t extreme; she’d had worse before. Though, the blood starting to pool at her feet, dripping off her fingers, wasn’t a great sign. At least she had extra gauze and an extra shirt. Always follow those gut instincts.

The ambulance arrived a few moments later, three cop cars right behind it. One set of cops took Jose into custody while another set took Rogelio to the back of the ambulance. Devon followed, handing the EMT her card and asking for her knife to be returned to her after it was taken out. The EMT looked a little disgusted with her priorities but took the card anyways.

“That was a little tactless,” Barba said.

“That was a really good knife,” Devon replied.

The last two cops came to check on Devon and Barba, get their statements. Once they saw the handle sticking out of Devon’s shoulder, though, they called an EMT over. Devon had lost enough blood to feel woozy, but not enough that the EMT could convince her to go to the hospital. Being a torso wound, the EMT could dislodge it right there, after discerning that no major arteries were hit, though he did so begrudgingly, saying that she should really go to the hospital. After the knife was removed, and Devon received 8 stitches, she went through the whole range of motions that she could; it seemed like the knife had missed the important stuff, though she couldn’t raise her right arm above her head. The EMT gave her a look before forcing her to sit still and wrapping her in gauze. Statements given, and all patched up, Devon led Barba into the courthouse and away from the growing crowd. With the time wasted, they were now running late for Barba’s first arraignment of the day.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You should go to the hospital,” Barba said once away from the peering faces.

Devon focused on walking straight, one foot in front of the other, trying to block out the pain, the wooziness. “I’m fine, really. This isn’t the first time I’ve been stabbed.” Barba whipped to look at her, trying to find out if she was joking or not. “Besides, how are you feeling? You’re due in court”—she looked at her phone—“2 minutes from now. Are you feeling up to it? Should I convince the judge to give you a continuous?”

After the attack, Barba’s hands had been shaking. From fear, adrenaline, or worry, he didn’t know; maybe it was a mix of all the above. But with how long it took to give statements to the officers, to remove the knife and get Devon patched up, and then her fighting with the EMTs to not go to the hospital, Barba’s nerves had calmed down. At least a little bit; better than nothing.

“I’m fine; it’s only arraignments,” he replied. She shot him a skeptical look; they didn’t have time to eat their breakfast and they didn’t have time to make any coffee in his office. He was going to say more to try and reassure her, but they had arrived at the courtroom he needed to go preach law into anyways. Barba had a sudden thought, looking at Devon, or more importantly, the state of her clothes; her shirt, though black, was sticky and turning hard from dried blood. Sitting behind her, one could even see the stab hole in the fabric, the white of the gauze peeking through. In the craziness of the attack, Devon had dropped her laptop bag, and had completely forgotten to change clothes. Barba took the overcoat he had been carrying and held it up for Devon to put on.

“Here, wear this,” he prompted.

Ever sharp, even with her woozy mind, Devon understood immediately, slipping her arms into the sleeves and shrugging the heavy coat on. The winter jacket was way too hot to be worn in the courtroom, but it was better than having a bloodied Federal Agent in the front row of the gallery. Plus, it was only arraignments; they didn’t take long. It also smells like his cologne…she thought, wistfully, mind drifting.

“You’re late, Mr. Barba,” Judge Barth admonished when they both finally walked into the courtroom. He had some snappy comment that Devon missed; she spent all her attention on making it to the bench on wobbly legs.

Devon dutifully sat in the front row of the gallery, right behind Barba. He gave her one more once-over, noticing how her eyelids drooped and how pained she looked, sweat on her brow, before switching his mind into ADA-mode. He could worry about her injury later.

Luckily, it was only a couple arraignments, so after 2 hours, they were headed back to Barba’s office. Devon seemed alert, but not like normal; it was almost as if she was relying more on instincts than on thoughts. Her eyelids were still drooping, her footsteps seemed heavier, and she wasn’t looking around as much as she usually did. But she still hung close to his side protectively, uninjured hand resting on her gun hidden under Barba’s jacket that she was still wearing. They made it quickly to his office, Devon making it through the door first, to make sure no one unexpected was occupying his office. Once cleared, she all but collapsed onto the short couch against the wall, letting out a grunt of pain.

“No calls or visits, please,” Barba said to Carmen. She nodded, and he closed the door, throwing the lock. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call an ambulance for you?”

Devon turned to shoot him a glare, but in this state, it fell flat. “If you ask me that one more time, you’re going to be the one who needs the ambulance.”

Barba would have laughed at that, but he was too worried about her to manage it. He went over to the little water cooler he had put in—sometimes he needed something besides coffee, only sometimes—and filled a cup. He forced it into Devon’s hand, the left one, the uninjured one. She drank the whole thing gratefully, and he went to refill it.

While he did, she shrugged out of his coat, grimacing at the motion. “Thank god I brought an extra shirt. Though, I don’t think I can put it on,” she chuckled softly, then winced as her mirth cause her body to shake her shoulder painfully. Oh, this was going to suck.

Barba handed her the second glass of water then said, voice barely above a whisper, “I can help…if you want, of course.” She sipped at the water this time rather than chugging it, shocked that he’d offer. Normally, she wouldn’t care if someone she counted as a friend helped her put on a shirt while she was injured. And she did count Barba as a friend. But the conversation with Amaro and Rollins came flooding back, making her hesitate. Did he think of her as a friend?

“Go for it,” she replied drily, trying to play it off as nothing. As if it were just another work thing. As if she didn’t care. Barba nodded, going to where her bag was on one of the chairs, digging through it until her found the extra shirt she had packed that morning. Grabbing it, he came back over to her. Devon moved to sit on the arm of the couch, feet on the cushions. He sucked in a breath as he stood behind her, preparing himself for what he was about to do; he’d never helped dress someone before…well, besides maybe shoving discarded clothes into someone’s arms after a night together. He was glad that her back was to him, that she couldn’t see the blush on his face. Devon grabbed the hem of her shirt and raised it as high as her hurt arm allowed. Gently, he unstuck her shirt from her shoulder—it was still caked in dried blood—and pulled it off of her, left arm first, then over her head, then off her right arm.

He found himself caught staring at the patch of gauze, stark white against Devon’s otherwise tan skin. There was a little bit of red, only a little, to show that some blood had seeped into the material but had since stopped. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to check; he knew that the EMTs already did, but deep down, he had to know for himself, what he had narrowly avoided. And how much she was now hurt because of him. This was all his fault, he knew; if he had warned her, if he made them go to his office instead of out in the wide open, if he didn’t have a target on himself, then Devon would be fine. She would be enjoying her time off after three years of whatever hell she had endured in California.

His gaze wandered from the patch on her shoulder to the rest of her broad back, starting with her other shoulder, than travelling down her spine, then resting on where the waistband of her slacks rested on her hips. She was littered with scars, most of them thin lines of white, but others that were longer, thicker, some that were straight, some curved. One of them even looked like a bullet hole down by her hip. Barba fought the urge to trace the markings along her back, wondering how she had gotten them all.

Devon had winced as Barba removed the ruined shirt from her—a part of her was shocked with how gentle he could be. But she resolved not to make a noise; she didn’t want to seem weak to him, to seem too injured. Besides, sitting and drinking water was already helping her wooziness and nausea, though she knew that she needed food. After what seemed like forever of him being silent behind her, she cleared her throat.

“Sorry,” Barba murmured, shaking himself, ripping his eyes away from a particularly long, thin scar across her spine. He moved to scrunch the shirt up to the right sleeve, slipping that over her injured arm, before helping it over her head and other arm. She fixed the hem while he checked her glass of water, which was still half-full, before sitting at his desk. He pulled out his phone and called in an order from his favorite Chinese place—he already knew Devon’s order after spending this much time together. While he was doing that, Devon felt like she should warn Olivia about the encounter. Devon knew it would get back to her eventually, better to get in front of it.

Just so you know, I was able to subdue and arrest two Aces in front of the DA’s Building

Olivia wrote back immediately. Good work. Is Barba okay?

All business with her, like usual. He’s fine, no injuries. I’m sure it’s already viral

There was silence for a couple minutes before her phone lit up. YOU WERE STABBED? Are you alright? Are you at the hospital? Is Barba with you? Devon laughed, knowing Liv must have seen one of the many, shitty phone videos of the attack.

I’m fine; Barba and I are safe in his office, ordering lunch. An EMT stitched me up; no worries. I’ll call you tonight with more details.

Devon put her phone away before she could see Liv’s reply; she didn’t have the strength to fight off both Barba and Olivia worrying about her health. Barba hung up shortly afterwards.

“Thank you, by the way. That’s twice now that you’ve saved my life,” Barba said.

Devon waved him off. “All in a day’s work,” she smiled, then grimaced in pain.

It looked like he was going to ask if she was alright again but thought better of it when he saw the glare she shot him. He instead changed the subject. “How did you throw your knife so accurately?”

She grinned at some inside joke, then answered almost sheepishly, “many, many years of practice. I’m still practicing.”

Barba looked impressed. “It was pretty amazing to watch. It was like something in a James Bond movie; I never thought I’d see something like that in real life, with my own eyes.”

Devon smirked to herself; the fact that Barba even watched James Bond was weirdly funny to her. “Wanna know something stupid?” Barba perked up. “I started teaching myself to throw knives when I was 13, because I thought it would make me look cool. Then, when I joined the Bureau, I thought that it was a great skill to master. So, I could be a cool, super-agent like some shitty action movie.”

“You’re right; that is stupid,” Barba replied. A beat of silence, then they were both laughing, at least until Devon’s laugh turned into a groan and she grabbed her shoulder. Barba went straight into worried again, launching out of his chair. He made it halfway around the desk before Devon waved him off.

Once the pain subsided, Devon said, “well, it may be stupid, but it has come in handy plenty of times. I think that it’s the element of surprise; no one actually predicts someone to throw a knife at them. Not in real life, and not accurately.”

At that moment, food had arrived. Devon still didn’t know how Barba got lunch delivered so quickly, and he refused to give away his secret. They both hungrily scarfed down most of their food before a thought occurred to Devon, something that she should have asked the day she took this job.

“Do you know how to defend yourself? In anyway besides that mouth of yours?”

Barba finished chewing and swallowed. “I think the last fight I was in was when I was 15. And it wasn’t really a fight. It was more a kid beating me up until my friend chased them off.”

“So, no. Awesome. We’re going to fix that, starting tonight.”

“Tonight? Did you forget that you were stabbed today? You are going to take it easy tonight.”

Devon shot an annoyed look at him. “Is Mr. Never-been-in-a-real-fight trying to boss me around?”

Barba shot a glare right back. If looks could kill, then Barba would at least have some sort of self-defense training. “Damn straight I am. Early night tonight, and you’re going to sleep in a bed. That couch cannot be comfortable.”

“Oh-ho, really? You’re not the only one who relies on spite, Barbs. Besides, injured shoulder or not, I could still kick your ass. And the couch is fine.”

Barba was taken aback by that; not so much the threat, but what she had called him. Barbs. As far as he knew, she didn’t call anyone by a nickname, except for Fin and Liv. And anyone who called Fin by his full name was either not a friend or would not be around long.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. But I’d feel better if you were at 100% before hurting yourself on me,” he looked at her over his takeout box, “and yes, the bed. This isn’t a negotiation.”

“And I’d feel better if you knew at least basic self-defense,” she countered, “and you’re right; this isn’t a negotiation. I will sleep where I want.” Stalemate, how most of their arguments ended. She knew he was done talking about it as he rolled his eyes and stabbed what remained of his lunch.

The rest of the day went normally, or as normally as it could; Barba only had the arraignments in the morning, so they hadn’t left his office until 5pm on the dot. Early night indeed. Devon still went through the motions of checking the hallways as they left, keeping Barba behind her, even though he was pretty sure she couldn’t do much in way of protection, though Devon disagreed (“I only need one working arm to use a gun, Barbs”). They met no resistance and made it to the street. They hailed a cab—the detectives were in a flurry after the attack today--and made it to the loft promptly.

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Tuesday, March 17th. 5:42pm

Devon still insisted on Barba placing his hand on her back as she cleared each room. He tried to touch her gently, keeping to her left. Devon thought it was sweet, but she was getting a little annoyed by the kid-gloves he was treating her with.

Once the nightly routine was done, Devon said, “you know I’m still teaching you some self-defense tonight, right?” Barba started to argue, but she overrode him, “nothing too physical. More positions and motions tonight. We can practice them in full when the stitches come out. Deal?”

He huffed; there really was no way to win an argument with her, was there? He may be a successful lawyer, but he could not outtalk the agent when she had her mind set. Stubborn, like him. “Deal,” he replied begrudgingly. They moved the furniture to the walls, giving them enough room to move comfortably. Barba discarded his suit jacket and tie, rolling up his shirtsleeves to the elbow. Devon shed his winter jacket—he let her wear it again for the ride home—and gun, placing them on the table. She then went through the most basic ways to break someone’s hold, whether they were grabbing an arm, a wrist, or the torso from behind. Surprisingly, Barba picked it up quickly. He had some muscle despite being an attorney.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” he said when she commented on it.

“That’s a good thing, promise,” she laughed. Her shoulder was hurting, but it was more of a dull thrum in the back of her mind. Plus, she knew if she mentioned it, or winced at all, that he would call the exercise to and end, and she didn’t want to stop this night yet. She was enjoying teaching him something, his eyes bright with focus, and then watching him recreate the steps. Maybe she’d retire and teach self-defense classes one day, if she was lucky enough to have the chance to retire. “Last one for the night, then we can stop.” Barba nodded and she taught him how to flip a person that grabs him from behind over his shoulder, then mount them, ready to attack the face and chest of his attacker. Simple.

“We’re not going to actually flip each other,” Devon said when Barba started to protest.

“Better not,” he replied. “Now show me the steps again.”

At this point, Devon had almost completely forgotten about the pain in her shoulder; it was a constant throb, but it blended into the background as she focused on the steps. She grabbed Barba by the arm gently as she demonstrated, without actually throwing him, what to do slowly. Barba found that he enjoyed having her teach him things, especially if it meant that she could ease up on her vigilance. It was also a plus that she was touching him, not in a sexual way, but her strong hands on his sweaty skin was enough to make his heart beat faster. He could feel the strength in her powerful form; her hands, arms, back, legs. Every bit of her was muscle.

“May I flip you over my uninjured shoulder? I’ll put the sofa cushions down first. You’ll be safe, I promise,” Devon asked. “But it’s important to teach you how to go from leaning over a prone attacker to on top of them.”

Barba sighed and reluctantly agreed. She always got what she wanted. “But only if you use your left.” Devon nodded and they both stripped the couch of cushions. Barba felt nervous as he stepped up behind her. The thought of flying through the air was exhilarating, but not something that Barba ever thought he’d be doing on a weekday evening in his loft with an FBI agent. He forced himself to breath, to keep his eyes open so that he could pay attention, as he wrapped his arms around Devon’s torso. She pretended to elbow him in the gut, like she showed him, and he let go. She then grabbed him by the arm and threw him over her left shoulder. His world spun until he landed flat on his back, Devon didn’t move, waiting for him to lock eyes with her.

“You okay?” she asked.

He grinned back up at her, feeling oddly alive. “Never better,” he parroted her words from earlier back to her. She smiled back, then went through the next steps slowly, narrating as she went, until she was straddling his hips, knees pinning his hands into the cushions by his sides, hands raised as if she were going to punch him in the face. He fought to keep the blush from creeping up his neck, hoping that Devon would attribute his red face to how hot he was from the workout.

“Got it?”

“I think so.”

She got off him, held out her hand. He took it and she helped him up.

“Now it’s your turn,” she announced. The thought of him straddling her was enough to get the blush to fully infiltrate his face. He turned away, nodding as he did, hoping that she would miss the redness creeping around his ears and neck. Instead, he stood at the cushions, facing away from her.

Devon came up behind Barba and wrapped her arms around his torso. She smelled his cologne, mixing with his sweat, and felt his rapid breathing against her body through his back, matching her own breathing. She hoped he couldn’t feel her heart fluttering in her chest. They’d been doing this for a couple hours and were both slightly out of breath. Bracing herself, she tightened her arms, signaling the start of the exercise. Barba positioned his feet the way she showed him, fake hit her, and bent forward. Devon felt weightless as she was thrown over his shoulder, then slammed into the cushions. Pain shot through her shoulder and she whimpered in pain. Barba, though, was already following the motions that she had shown him, straddling her hips, fist raised above her head in mock-fight. It took him a moment to recognize the pain in her face, to realize what he had done.

“Ah mierda, estas bien? (Holy shit, are you okay?) Did I hurt you?” he asked, dropping his hand from fist to cupping her cheek, searching her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she breathed, heart fluttering and not entirely from pain. Barba leaned down closer, scanning her face for any sign of a lie. “Good form.”

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Both of them whipped their heads to look at the door. “You expecting company?” Devon asked. Barba shook his head, then scrambled off of her. Devon pushed herself off the floor with her left arm—her right buckled in pain when she put pressure on it--grabbed her discarded gun and aimed it at the door. She moved slowly, carefully, towards the door. Another round of knocking rang out.

“Dev? Barba? It’s Olivia,” Liv’s voice called through the door. Breathing a sigh of relief, Devon made it to the door and looked out the eyehole; it was indeed Liv. Not taking any chances, Devon kept the gun aimed as she unlocked the door. She motioned for Barba to stay put, well away and out of line of sight of the door. Devon opened the door, pushed past the shocked Olivia—she did have a gun in her face when the door opened—and checked the hallways.

“Clear,” she called out, beckoning Liv inside.

Once the door was closed and relocked, Liv took in the pushed aside furniture and cushions on the ground, before asking, “what happened today? Are you alright?”

Devon spent the next couple minutes going over the ordeal from that morning, Barba interjecting a couple of times with his point of view, but otherwise staying silent. Devon then spent the next half hour convincing Liv that: yes she was okay, no she didn’t need to go to the hospital, yes she could still protect Barba, no she didn’t need backup. Barba had surprisingly backed her up, saying that she seemed completely capable. Devon was slightly touched at the gesture, her heart clenching with his support.

Olivia sighed. “Well, the other reason I wanted to stop by was to give you an update on our side. The NYPD have collectively caught another 8 Aces, putting the total at 21 incarcerated. If that number of 65 gang members is accurate, then there’s only 44 left.”

“Only 44?” Barba commented, incredulous.

“Better than 65, yeah?” Devon shot back. Barba rolled his eyes but didn’t answer. She did have a point; 44 was less than 65. But 44 people with the potential to kill him left a twisting feeling in his gut that he fought to ignore.

Liv nodded. “We have patrols working around the clock to pick up members. But they know we’re on them; a lot of them have gone into hiding. And those videos of you taking down two of them in front of the DA Building isn’t doing us any favors.

Devon shrugged. “As Munch would say, good ol’ Big Brother looking out for the gang members in that sense.” They talked for a few more minutes about a couple of known hideouts before Olivia excused herself. Devon locked the door after she had left and stretched. Once her right arm was level with her head, she grimaced and dropped it.

Barba was instantly by her side. “Let me see it; I may have pulled the stitches when I flipped you.” Devon didn’t object as he pulled back her shirt, being even more gentle than when he examined her in his office. “Can I take the gauze off? The EMT said that we should change it out tonight.”

“Let’s get the replacement ready, first,” Devon replied. As Barba went to grab gauze from her grip, she struggled to get out of her shirt.

Gauze in hand, Barba looked up to see her struggling to get her shirt over her head. They locked eyes for the briefest moment before Barba quickly adverted his eyes, cheeks turning red.

“Oh, stop playing choir boy and come help me,” Devon huffed, hiding her own face in the fabric of the shirt she was tangled in. Barba made his way over, his ears turning bright red. He grasped the cloth and gently pulled it up and over her head. He discarded it on the back of the armchair, moving to stand behind her once more. He didn’t know why he was so embarrassed by this—he helped her change earlier today. And while he was struggling with his emotions then, too, this seemed more…intimate. Maybe it was because Devon was essentially stripping in his living room rather than his office. Either way, he needed to get his mind out of his pants. Though, his eyes still got pulled from the white patch of gauze to the scars painting her back. Unlike in his office, Barba wasn’t able to stop himself from touching the longest scar on her back, his fingertip ghosting over the white line that stretched from just under her left shoulder blade and leading to under the gauze. Goosebumps sprung up under his finger, and Devon’s breathing hitched.

“What caused this?” Barba breathed, voice barely a whisper. He wasn’t actually expecting an answer, so he was shocked when Devon cleared her throat.

“I believe that one was a leather belt,” Devon muttered. They sat in silence, Devon unwilling to continue, and Barba unwilling to ask for more. Instead, he set about changing the gauze, questions swirling in his mind…though, he was pretty sure he was starting to get an answer.

He slowly pulled off the old gauze on her shoulder. The stitches were still intact, and there was no new blood on or around the wound. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. How could he be so stupid? He knew she was injured, fought against training tonight. But still, he lost focus, he let her call the shots, and it got her hurt. He chastised himself for hurting her; she saves his life, takes a goddamn knife for him, and he slams her onto the ground. If he hadn’t distracted her this morning, if he hadn’t relaxed his guard, then maybe—

“You alright back there?” she asked, pulling him out of his self-hating spiral. He gently placed the new gauze over the wound, pushing it down against her warm skin. Devon sucked in a breath through her teeth, straightening her back at the pain.

“Let me get you an ice pack,” he said over his shoulder as he walked to the kitchen. He needed a moment to collect himself, to get away from the heat in the room, and to also let her get dressed...if she could on her own. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the blood rushing through him, and grabbed the ice pack from the freezer before coming back out to her. She had, thankfully, got into her oversized, pajama shirt by herself.

“Sit,” he ordered. Devon obeyed, sitting in the armchair. Barba had her lean forward, then placed the ice pack between the chair and her shoulder—she jumped at the coolness seeping through her new shirt and gauze--and ordered her to lean back into the chair, holding it in place. She relaxed into the chair, eyes closed at the comfort she felt almost immediately; she hadn’t noticed how hot her skin was in that area...compared to the rest of her that was on fire from his touch. Barba sat on the arm of the loveseat and watched her face. All the tension left her features, making her look younger. He never noticed how much stress she had around her eyes until this moment, something that he noticed with others in this line of work. He was shocked he hadn’t noticed until now, when she was relaxed; her attitude, her…liveliness often exuded off her, making her seem much more jovial than the stress on her face showed. He suddenly wondered how much hardship she had gone through in her life, as an agent and otherwise.

Devon sat like that for a couple moments, and Barba felt like he could stare at her in comfort forever. Memories came flooding back to him; that first night when they sat so close to each other on the armchair, her smile and perky “good morning~!” every day, her eyes and body language when she was alert—dangerous, protective—Amaro and Rollins having their fantasies about why they were late, him straddling her in his living room, hand cupping her face as he made sure she was alright. The scars covering her back like a living tattoo proving that she had lived a full, hard life, yet still found a way to smile.

Oh…he thought before he mentally shook himself; he would not allow those feelings to manifest. He’d learned long ago that that path wasn’t a viable option, that it was his lot in life to be alone, and he’d be damned if his resolve would break after only a couple months with this woman. So, he locked away those memories and feelings, shoving them in a tight little metal box in his heart and throwing away the key.

“I’m fine, really,” Devon finally said, opening her eyes. She looked at Barba, found him staring at her, eyes boring into hers. “That was just a stupid mistake; I got carried away in our training. I’m sorry to put you in that situation.”

“It’s my fault; I knew that you were hurt, and I still went along with it.”

Devon chuckled. “We’re going to get nowhere in a conversation if we keep hogging the blame and self-deprecation. Let’s just say that mistakes were made and leave it at that.”

Barba agreed verbally, but he didn’t really believe it. He knew better, needed to be better. After waiting the allotted 30 minutes that the EMT advised, Barba stood, taking the icepack from her and returning it to the freezer. “We should both go to bed,” he said.

Devon nodded, moving to the loveseat. She knew that she’d be up for a couple more hours doing work, but she couldn’t tell him that. She learned early on that he’d get annoyed if she stayed up half the night working—whether it was a worry about her not being alert the next day, or just a concern for her sleeping habits, she didn’t know--but she just couldn’t force herself to go to sleep. She couldn’t turn her mind off. It was hard enough to sleep at night as it was, and with the attack that happened earlier, tonight was going to be even harder.

“You’re sleeping in the bed tonight, remember? I’ll take the couch,” Barba reminded her.

Devon chuckled and made a big show of stretching out on the couch. “It’s so funny when you think you can order me around.”

Barba gave her a look. “You order me around all the time.”

“And you obey, like, 60% of the time. I appreciate that. Now, off to bed with you,” she gave him a little wave towards the hallway, dismissing him.

He shook his head in disbelief. This woman really knew how to push his buttons. “I’m serious; this couch isn’t good for you. You’re injured.”

Devon pretended to be deep in thought, finger on her chin, before saying, “nah, I like the couch. Goodnight, Barbs.”

This was getting him nowhere; if she wanted to sleep here, then fine. He tried to be polite, gentlemanly, but if chivalry really was dead, then she’s the one who killed it. As he started making his way down the hallway, he stopped, looking over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. “Barbs?”

“It’s quicker than saying Barba; only one syllable. Does it bother you?”

He could tell by her tone that she did actually care if it bothered him; if he said yes, then he knew she’d never use it again. But, if truth be told, he rather liked it; a name for him that only she used. It was kind of…cute, in a way. “It’s fine,” he replied, turning back to his bedroom door, a small smile on his lips.

Once he was closed off in his room, Devon pulled out her laptop. She started in on her daily report for Liv, but soon enough, her mind started to wander. She learned something new tonight, something that she didn’t want to admit to herself. But she knew that now, while alone, was the best time to go through it; she had to take the thought out, examine it, understand it, and then lock it away.

She couldn’t deny the feelings and thoughts that she had when Barba had straddled her, or when he touched her back, feelings that had appeared briefly that morning in his office, while he helped her change shirts. The heat that had flooded her face, among other places. And sure, pain was one of those feelings as well, but even that went away when he had cupped her face, had looked at her with such concern in his bright green eyes. It was as if time had stopped; she didn’t even hear what he said to her, though his mouth was moving. That was the moment she had noticed; she had feelings for him. How the hell that had happened, she wasn’t quite sure. Now sitting and thinking about it, she realized that she liked quite a bit about him. She liked how he dressed, his smell, his vocabulary, how he worked, his mannerisms and little quirks. She liked that he tapped his pen when deep in thought. She liked that he mumbled to himself while doing paperwork. She liked how his eyes lit up when he was focused, or when he thought of the perfect argument for a case. She liked the brief, accidental touches, just a brush of a hand, when they were both working on his desk. And the longer, less accidental touches, like when she grabbed his hand and dragged him to the coffee stand, or when they smushed too close in the crowded elevator, his cologne strong in her nose. Maybe it was because she had never spent this long living with someone before. Maybe it was because the past three years have left her emotionally drained, vulnerable. In any case, there was no chance of…whatever they could be from happening. 1) She had a strict no-dating rule with victims, whether he played a victim or not. And 2) she didn’t “do” relationships. She didn’t have the time, energy, or patience to dedicate herself to someone else. Sure, she had taken out some stress in someone’s bed before, but she never had repeats—one and done was her motto. She refused to let someone have that part of her; she kept her heart locked in a stronghold. So, how in the hell did Rafael Barba make his way through the drawbridge when she had thought it was up?

[regular-lord-reckoner]

had just...a real shitty day yesterday 

real shitty 

i guess it really started sunday? 

my mood pretty much just tanked and i was really stressed out and irritable 

part of that had to do with me trying to get everything prepared for my classes monday, but i think it’s also just...bad brain in general 

my mom helped me put together almost 200 goodie bags for my students since i had my last class with them yesterday and i like to try to give my kids something on the last day 

on top of that i had to make sure i had all my paperwork and stuff i needed because we were only going to be doing surveys, no official lesson or anything so that whole ordeal was just kind of...a lot 

and in general like...going to those groups is tough. it’s two schools that are like 10 minutes apart from one another and i go to one school at 8 am to do three classes back to back and then i drive over to the other to do my last four over the course of a few hours with just two short breaks crammed in there and even tho it goes by pretty fast that way, it’s still just...a lot (the recurring thought i’ve had on sundays now is “boy, i’d really rather get kicked in the teeth than have to go to work tomorrow!!”) 

like i said, that’s nearly 200 kids to see in one day, so that means i have to be On for that many people, including all the teachers and other staff i interact with 

and just...right fucking away, class one, i was like, “So guys, this is going to be our last lesson together” and some kids...cheered. 

like...okay. ouch. it’s not the first time i’ve ever gotten that reaction in my history of doing lessons and some kids have straight up H A T E D my ass, but it never feels good to basically be told to your face, “Yay, can’t wait until you’re finally gone!” but i just kinda shook it off and kept going. 

the next two classes after that were better, but i kept having to ask for kids to please stop talking while i was talking and to not work ahead of me on the survey and it’s just...frustrating to have to repeat yourself over and over and over and over and over and ask please guys, please we’re almost done. please just bear with me. over and over and over and over again. but they’re kids, so i stay patient and just bear with it

by the time i got to the second school, however...christ

there’s this one class in particular that just the entire fucking time has been an absolute nightmare and it sucks, because i could tell there were kids in there who wanted to participate and liked the lessons and stuff, but just...constant talking. constant. 

and not just a kid or two, like almost the entire fucking class the entire time and i’m almost having to yell over them just to be heard which, of course, means that i have to end up repeating myself and instructions over and over and over and over again. 

eventually i got the point where i was like, “guys, i’m going to be honest with you, i’ve brought goodie bags for everyone, but i’ve had to ask you multiple times now to please be quiet, so if we can’t do that i’m not going to give them out” (something the teacher in the room backed me up on) 

and i even said, “i hate to do that, but i don’t think it’s fair to give you guys a reward when we can’t follow the rules”. 

this led to a few of the kids being just...ridiculously disrespectful to my face and telling me to just leave, get out, that they don’t care, etc. 

and like...listen. i get it. 

i get part of why i’m doing this is that these kids have behavioral issues and likely it’s for some type of reason and i try as best as i can to be empathetic and not take it personally 

but at the same time it also just makes me feel like a massive failure that i wasn’t able to help like...at all. 

that this was our last lesson and i’ve got kids acting like that and saying that shit to my face. it sucks. it really, really sucks. 

and again, i know it’s not likely personal. there’s nothing i’ve done in the entire time i’ve been there that’s warranted that kind of disrespect. 

but it’s already hard enough for me to put myself in front of a classroom of like 20 some odd kids and to be treated like shit when all i’m trying to do is help 

it’s already shitty enough knowing that some of the ones who “like” me only do so because i sometimes bring candy and that’s all they really care about. 

and i get it, like...school’s school and lessons on empathy and anger management aren’t the most exciting things in the world (especially because i feel like i just wasn’t able to find any super interesting activities to go along with my lesson that wouldn’t have been incredibly disruptive and distracting from the point). 

but again it just...takes the wind out of your sails a little bit. 

that said, i still left goodie bags for that class, i just left them with the teacher and let her decide who should get one and who shouldn’t because i didn’t want to punish the entire class for some shit just a couple of kids did, but at the same time i also didn’t want to cause any more problems. 

and on any other day i probably wouldn’t have taken it so hard and would have been able to shake it off a little easier, but because of where my mental state was already at it was just...tough 

on top of that, i’m trying to get in touch with someone from my old work to see about doing some part time helping out over the summer because the other reason i want to find a new job is that this position i’m in is only a 10 month position which means i don’t get to work in june and july and thus...won’t be getting paid 

and with all the medical shit i’ve had going on that’s just...not gonna happen, i’m afraid 

the only reason i’m not just quitting right now and finding a new job is because i’ve already committed to a trip out of the country in july and i just don’t know where on earth i could get hired and already have a week’s worth of pto in order to do that 

still, i am......less than enthused about having to go back to somewhere i really thought i’d never have to be again 

y’know, the place where towards the end there i was having to lock myself in the bathroom and sob my eyes out for a few minutes before washing my face in the sink and going back out to sit at the front desk so i could check some more patients in while also trying to do 3 other people’s jobs at the same fucking time. 

not to mention i...hate a lot of people who work there and have already had to talk to one i ESPECIALLY can’t stand on the phone when i was trying to get in touch with one of my old managers so...y’know. that’s gonna be a lot of fun for me. love that for me. because by the sound of it, i’ll be having to work with her again and i just...hate. 

it’s also frustrating because i’m just waiting now for someone to give me a call to tell me what i need to do to get put into basically a pool of people that the company will call on whenever they need someone to fill in wherever and if there’s one thing i really fucking hate it’s waiting around for someone to call me when i have absolutely no idea when that’ll be 

especially because when i talked to my manager on monday and she passed the info off to whoever’s supposed to be calling me she said i’d probably hear from her that same day so knowing that i’d be out most of the day i gave her my cell phone number, but whenever i’m at home i don’t have cell service so i’m like...shit, i hope she hasn’t tried to call me when i’ve been here at home

i texted my manager and let her know about the cell service thing and gave her my home number to pass along to said person who’s supposed to be calling me since i should be home all day tomorrow but still i’m just like...can i go ahead and get something set up or figure out what i’m supposed to do? because i hate feeling like i have to wait by the phone 

but....yeah. needless to say, too, when i’m in sort of the worst of my mental shit i tend to be very, very mean to myself and about the only thing typically i’ve been able to hold onto is like, “well, i may be useless and suck at absolutely everything and ugly and boring and and and but at least i’m a good worker bee...” (which I KNOW isn’t something i should hang my hat on, I KNOW but it’s...all i feel like i have sometimes) 

and so naturally whenever i feel like i’ve dropped the ball or done a bad job or i just...suck at what i’m doing i take it really, really, really hard and it puts me in an even worse place 

but i tried as best as i could to hold myself together and rationalize with myself to calm down. mostly i just distracted myself and zoned out and i did end up crying real big at like 4 am (because of COURSE i had trouble sleeping) and that kinda helped i guess? idk 

i did have a dream where i saw my sister again and i’ve had dreams like this before where she’s just...back? and it’s like i know she shouldn’t be, i know what’s happened and it doesn’t make sense, but that part of my brain that’s been waiting to find out this has all been a horrible, horrible prank i guess holds out hope for something like this and she’ll just magically reappear and everything will be okay again 

and she’s always really happy and doesn’t seem to want to talk about why she did what she did, she just wants to hang out and i’m fine with that too, but in this dream she was like “we can watch some movies and i’ll answer all your questions” and i just started sobbing and hugging her saying that’s all i ever wanted and so...needless to say waking up from that dream and realizing it was just that wasn’t great either, but in a way it’s also just kinda...nice to see her again, i guess 

i’d like to think that’s actually her visiting me in my dreams, but i’m not sure. i think i just had her on my mind. 

when i was driving home yesterday and already trying not to cry a song came on shuffle that reminds me of her so much and i did end up crying by that point, but i was pretty much at home, so i wasn’t in any danger or anything 

i dunno what’s going on with like...the planets or the universe in general, but i feel like basically everyone i saw on social media yesterday was just having a real rough one, so i dunno what’s up with that but today’s been better, at least 

i had my rowdy boys group for the last time today even though i normally see them on thursdays i was afraid my doctor’s appointment would run over into our usual time so the guidance counselor was nice enough to let me come today instead so if nothing else like...i’m done teaching for the year !!! (and hopefully for like...ever if i play my cards right) 

on top of that i’m also a little anxious about said doctor’s appointment because i should be finding out what our next plan of action is since the last surgery was a failure 

i’m hoping for lithotripsy because i think my other alternative is them doing surgery via going through my back and i...............hate how that sounds, but i guess we’ll see. hopefully. i know they’re going to do another x-ray (yay, ANOTHER bill !!) but i’m hoping i can get scheduled for...whatever they’re gonna do that day 

this whole situation has just been....obnoxious as fuck and i’m ready for it to be over and done with. it’s been like...two months of this shit if you count the weeks i kept running a high fever and nobody could figure out why. 

i’m pretty sure i went to the ER on april 5th i wanna say? i’ve had a stent in me ever since then. i can count on one hand the number of times since then i’ve been able to pee without some kind of pain afterwards. i hate that i’m gonna have to pay for a surgery that was useless!! and that i have so many bills period!! and we’re still.not.done!

and no, it’s not like i’m in absolute agony all day long, but i still just want to go back to normal. it’s bad enough i’ve had constant allergy bullshit happening for about a month as well, like...this too, huh? 

idk. i feel at this point like i’m just whining and whining and whining, but there’s just a lot of bad shit happening now all at once and it’s just a lot to deal with and i know rationally i’ll get through it and things will settle down and fall into place but getting to that point is tough at the moment 

because while allllllll of this is happening there’s also some really stupid drama going on with my mom’s side of the family (specifically with her sisters) and we’ve somehow gotten dragged into it and the whole thing’s just a giant goddamn mess and is so fucking needless but there’s nothing we can really do because it’s not our issue, all we tried to do was help. 

but because everyone is fucking incapable of being an adult and just saying what they really mean or communicating period it has to be this giant ugly thing right now where everyone else is allowed to beat up on people who aren’t directly involved and you can’t call anyone out on it or it’ll just make shit worse, but in a few months probably everyone will just act like nothing happened and everything’s supposed to go back to normal 

but...whatever. 

at this point i’m just telling myself an amended version of Justin’s tweet post election like... I’m just going to wake up and keep trying to do good in this world and nobody gets to vote on that. Nobody gets to have a say on that, not even me. 

My mental health has been pretty abysmal over the past few months, maybe even longer by this point, and i’m fighting as best as i can and pulling myself out of every rut i fall into but some days it’s just really hard

i know the best thing i could do for myself right now is to start seeing a therapist, but here again...with everything else going on i’m really not sure taking on an expense like that is something i want to get into right now and for once this isn’t an excuse

i know i find a million and one reasons to not to do this, but right now i just have too much shit going on and too many balls up in the air i just...need to put a pin in that (and i know mental health should come first, but i do need to give myself a little credit here like...i’ve been dealing with this since i was at least 8. i’ve managed for 20 years, postponing this a few months isn’t going to kill me. especially because, not to be too morbid or anything, but.... even when i do really, really want to die i can’t do that to my parents. i just can’t. losing one kid to that was bad enough, i’d absolutely destroy them if i did it, too so before anyone encourages me to just make an appointment anyway trust me, i know myself, i can carry this weight a little bit longer) 

i already have a list of other doctor’s appointments i need to go to after i get all this other shit sorted out as well so again, the timing just...could not be fucking worse, but i am finally at that point where i know i need to and i want to 

i want to get better. i really do. 

despite how miserable i’ve been and how bad things have been i guess if nothing else it’s pushed me up against the wall to where i’ve realized i can’t keep doing this and since i’ve already established dying isn’t an option i need to figure out how to be okay with being here 

and the shitty part is...that’s on me. it’s not up to someone else, it’s not up to some time in my life where i’ll wake up and suddenly be okay, i have to do the hard work and there’s still a big part of me that doesn’t want to because that’s going to involve going through my trauma and BOY DO I NOT WANNA DO THAT but like...i need to

i’m almost 30 and i’m not saying “ohmygod, that’s so old!!” but like... i already didn’t plan on living this long anyway, but now that i’ve committed to it i’d really like to meet that milestone with at least a little bit more of a grip on myself (especially because i hear your 30s can actually be a pretty cool time if you let them, idk) 

i also just want to maybe enjoy life? like truly?? 

it’s not that i haven’t had good experiences or made wonderful memories, don’t get me wrong, but...in a lot of ways i just haven’t participated in my own life and i’ve actively held myself back and kept myself down 

i don’t let myself pursue anything that could possibly make me feel good about myself and like i’ve accomplished something because i bully myself into quitting or second guessing myself to the point where i’m an absolute mess and can’t enjoy myself 

i don’t...like that. i don’t want to do that anymore. i want to be able to try things, to pick up a hobby or two, to find out i’m good at something or at least work at something until i’m good at it. 

i want to meet more people and build new relationships and not even necessarily at this point looking for something romantic (because i need to get myself in a better place before i could even seriously consider pursuing that) but overall i just...i want to live my life for a change. i’m so tired of feeling like i don’t deserve it or i’m not worthy of it. i’m so tired of holding myself back and constantly tearing myself apart over every little thing and for no fucking reason. i’m tired of hating myself. 

so...yeah. 

this turned out to be a much longer rant than i intended but like i said there’s...a lot going on with me right now and i feel like i just need to get all of that out. 

i think things are eventually going to be okay and i keep telling myself that maybe this is all just one of those times when things are really, really awful right before they get really, really good. 

oftentimes with big change, especially positive change, you’ll find yourself going through a period of just...absolute garbage and shit and i’m hoping this is just one of those times and that pretty soon things will turn around. 

for now i’m just trying my best to focus on all that i have to be grateful for because i know not every aspect of my life is complete shit so i’m trying to surround myself with that for now and keep my focus there until things settle down and i can get my footing again. 

if you’ve read this far thank you, really. i know i’ve done a lot of bitching and complaining and i know it’s not just doing so for the sake of it, but like i said before, i know a lot of people are going through rough times right now as well so if you’re one of those people i just want you to know that you’re not alone and that things will get better for you, too. i don’t know when specifically, but i promise that they will even if it feels hopeless right now. try not to give up. try to hang in there. focus on the good things and the things you have to look forward to. and most of all, try to be kind to yourself as best as you can. i know better than anyone that that’s easier said than done, but still try. <3 

[kipaia]

Long Post Full of Suck and Also Awesomeness

So I’ve been a bit overwhelmed the last few weeks because of Life and also The Suck and things have been incredibly Not Great. I’ve had like a solid week of level 9 on my scale for mental health (where 10 is that someone needs to call 911 for me) so it’s been pretty scary.

When I get this bad, I struggle a lot with feeling like the feelings I have are all in my head, are all my own fault, that I’m a burden on literally anyone and that no one in their right mind (platonically or otherwise) could possibly care about me in any real way. Rationally, I know that’s not true, but it’s really hard to fight constantly against your own brain when physically you’re exhausted and mentally you’re exhausted and you’re constantly in contact with the thing that started your Suck in the first place. So I have been losing my internal battle against The Suck.

Here’s where things stood as of last week; I was waking up at 3:15am and getting ready for work so that I could be out the door by 3:45am so I’d be on time to work, since work is a 45 minute drive from my house. My road kills my bike’s tires, so no bike, and I haven’t had a car since November. It’s cold. Right now, it’s also very wet and often below freezing and I’ve been doing this for four months, ever since my mother took back the car I’ve been driving for five years to give it to my sister for her 16th birthday. I would work from 4:30 to noon-ish, walk an hour to school, have my classes, walk an hour to an hour-fifteen to the high school to coach swim practice, and then usually I’d be able to get a ride home from there. It has been Exhausting.

Over winter break, I also experienced a mental health crash. This is not unusual for me at this time of year, since I have prolonged forced exposure to my abuser and this year was especially bad since I was a fucking idiot who decided I wanted to try to repair things with them. Thought it was going ok until Christmas; turns out they were playing hook/line/sinker, and I sunk like a rock. Self-loathing for putting myself in that position on top of anger that they are still shitty on top of much general brokenness because they went full-tilt back into mental/emotional abuse once I was beginning to feel safe again. 

It’s been almost two months since then, and I still haven’t been able to climb out of this stupid hole I ended up in and it’s really frustrating on so many levels to want to be happy and to want to be ok and to want to be a functional person and to just . . . not be any of those things. And knowing all the ways I suck at being a person makes me feel like less of a person and it’s just not a very good cycle to be stuck in, especially when you know you’re in the cycle, you can see it, you just can’t seem to get out of it. 

So I don’t feel like much of a person, and I don’t feel like anyone can possibly care for me.

Fast forward to this week; one of my best friends in the world is getting ready to move to LA for a two year school program. As weird as this might sound, I’m not really bothered that he’s left because he’s one of those friends where we’ve known each other for twelve years, and he knows me probably better than almost anyone on this planet, and we’ve gone years without really seeing each other before and when we do finally see each other again we’re still just there and we get each other and it’s just amazing and I love him dearly.

Anyway. So Monday night we got the chance to hang out for the first time in a few years, and up until this time I hadn’t really had the chance to tell him all of the stuff that went on with my abuser or what’s going on in my head, but because he knows me so well he pried and managed to get me to basically word vomit everything that’s gone on and the whole time I’m terrified that him finally knowing what a train wreck I am will make him never talk to me again, that he’ll go to LA and think “wow glad I’m away from that Mess,” so I’m scared shitless while having this conversation and I end up telling him about my name change which not a lot of people around here know about still and he just-

First off, he listened to absolutely everything I said and (me being me) I cried, and while I cried he didn’t try to touch me or hold me cause that makes me overwhelmed and I tend to shut down when that happens so I was able to calm myself down so I could keep talking and he just sat and listened patiently until I was done. Once I was done, he asked if he could hug me and since I was done I was ok with it, and so he held me and I cried like a baby and he just held me and it was So Nice and then he asked if I wanted him to call me Alyx instead of my other name, and I said he didn’t have to since he knew me by my other name and it was ok if using that name was easier but he just gave me A Look and asked again if I wanted him to call me Alyx and I started crying again and was like “I’d actually really love it if you called me Alyx” and he was like “Ok Alyx!” and was like totally cool with it and also didn’t let me get away with hiding behind what he wanted or what someone else would prefer cause that’s literally always been a problem of mine, I don’t know how to and am not generally comfortable with telling people what I want because I feel that that’s really selfish but he was having none of my shit and it was Amazing.

So after I calmed down he drove me home and then Wednesday is the day he leaves. Now, I work for his mother who runs a daycare and since the whole family was going with him to drop him off in LA, I’m taking over the daycare for the afternoon so they can fly out. So I get there, he’s there, he comes over and we have our whole goodbye hug and I’m just like “don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry” cause there’s kids everywhere and they’ll all wanna know what’s wrong and I don’t want to deal with that and so I somehow manage to keep it together when all the sudden he’s like “Crap I forgot something!” and goes running back to his room while I’m laughing cause they’re supposed to leave in like ten minutes and he was supposed to have all his stuff packed like three days ago when he comes back and he looks at me very serious and I’m like “Shit somethings wrong what’s happening” and he just stops.

Keep in mind this is someone who can basically be qualified to say he knows me better than I know me sometimes, and he just looks at me super serious and holds out a fucking set of car keys.

So I’m floored, because he can’t actually be doing what I think he’s doing, and he’s like “So this is for you to borrow for the weekend -” and I’m like ok that makes way more sense until he finishes and is all “-and then when mom and dad get back on Monday they’ll talk to you about the title transfer and everything.” 

Cue complete bawling. Complete, can’t-hold-it-in-because-shit-like-this-doesn’t-happen-to-people-like-me bawling. And so he’s hugging me again, I’m crying so hard I can’t breathe, the kids are all asking why I’m crying which kinda makes me cry more until I’m like “Cause my friend’s an idiot” which his mom hears and so she cracks up and meanwhile I’m holding the car keys and shaking and crying and my friend is holding me and he’s telling me how he just wanted me to know how loved I am and that there’s people in the world who cherish me and that he knows I haven’t really felt that way and so he’s basically not giving me the option to let my head get in the way of what is fact. And I’m like he just gave me his car and people don’t fucking do that for other people, like maybe for family but I’m not family and he knows exactly how much of a Mess I am and he still did it????? 

I can’t even handle this. It’s been like four days and I’m still completely overwhelmed. I keep feeling like people as amazing as him don’t just do stuff like that for people as shitty as me, but then I look outside and there sits the damn car and I’ve got the keys on my lanyard and then I start crying again and so like, physically, I won’t be as tired, because not only will I not be walking everywhere, but swim season also ended yesterday, and mentally I’m short-circuiting a bit because there is Evidence that for some reason there are people who must still like me even though I’m A Mess, and not even just “like” me cause this is not just a “like” kind of thing, this is like a “love” kinda thing and me and him are and always have been and most likely always will be a completely platonic love, but this is totally still a “love” thing cause HE JUST GAVE ME HIS CAR. THE FUCKING SHIT, BRO.

I don’t even know how this is going to affect my current mental health things because my brain still hasn’t figured out how to function since this bombshell happened, but I have actually laughed out loud to things I’ve seen online the last day or so, which I haven’t done in months. I have a car. Now that I have a car, I can move out of the house I’ve been living in which has not been helping my mental state at all. I can get a new job if I want, I can go to fucking Chipotle if I want (cause it’s in the next town over T.T ) and I don’t have to worry about rain of freezing temperatures or the fact that I rolled my ankle like three weeks ago and it wasn’t getting better cause I was walking so much.

I don’t want to get too excited past how overwhelmed I already am, but I’m pretty certain this is one of those things that that literally changed my life in such a way that I will probably tell this story to anyone who’ll listen for the rest of my life as a time where things got Better. And, it’ll be super funny if my friend gets famous someday (his thing in LA? Crazy big acting/singing/dancing thing that feeds Juilliard and spits out famous peeps all the damn time and he’s ridiculously talented and works hard and has a heart of literal gold) cause then I can point at super famous person and tell this story and people might think I’m Cool ^.^