#i managed to stay awake long enough to watch three episodes of step by step and talk to mayme between it all but i could sleep more

[chinko-kun]

i just want to live somewhere where no one can hear your screams and i can make little pottery.

[creativeashproductions]

Proceed With Caution // Evan Buckley

IN WHICH: The reader doesn’t expect to become involved in a hostage situation with her fiance’s older sister, the older sister’s best friend and the best friend’s date from hell. With the addition of a SWAT member, how will the taking of dispatch change?

Warnings: Swearing, blood, threats, angst, guns, hostage/kidnapping

Words: 5.9k

A/N: Recently got into the tv show 9-1-1 and completely fell in love with Buck so here I am writing for him as well. This takes place during the season three episode ‘The Taking of Dispatch 9-1-1’. Reader and Buck are already in an established relationship.

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Masterlist

The apartment was quiet as the sound of your keys clattered in the bowl on the countertop. It was pretty early in the morning, so you had no doubts that Buck would be just waking up. On his days off, he would use the first day to catch up on sleep; based on prior times, he would be up in half an hour.

“Buck?” You called out from the kitchen. You heard a groan from the loft where Buck was in the process of waking up, “I forgot to drop off that book Maddie wants to borrow. When I get back, do you want to get breakfast?”

A grumble you somehow translated to approval was what you received in response. You jogged up the stairs to the loft to grab the book from your bookshelf. Buck’s bare leg stretched out from underneath the comforter on your side. The soft sighs Buck made in his sleepy state tugged at your heart; the sighs grew louder when you bent to kiss his head.

“See you in a bit.” You whispered to the sleepy soft male. He sleepily grinned in response before curling into your pillow.

The sound of your footsteps softened on the steps back to the main level of the apartment. Your keys snagged from the bowl before you gently closed the door behind you. The sun was gorgeous to be awake to see and had Buck not worked a long shift, you’d have adored watching it with him.

Your car pulled out of the parking spot in the Los Angeles Service Center’s direction that Maddie worked at. Your lips quirked as the radio spewed out the station that Christopher listened to in the car. You could even pick up the book in the backseat where he called his spot. The book could be found in Buck’s Jeep as well.

It had maybe three days since you’d seen the young Diaz, and damn did you miss the kid. Christopher has his enigmatic quality that demanded you love him for all that made him simply Christopher. The second you’d met him, you knew he would mean a lot to you.

You hummed in time with the song that was currently Christopher’s absolute favourite. Slowly you went from humming to singing along when the light turned green. A handful of songs came and went on the admittedly long drive due to traffic.

It was about forty minutes after leaving your apartment that you parked next to Maddie’s car in the parking lot. Lucy was sitting at the front office with a grin you matched. The woman buzzed you before she clocked out with her reprieve Jake.

“Hey, Sue!” You grinned at the older redhead. Sue had absolutely no problem seeing you, given that you were welcome in the building.

Sue’s first interaction was when you came to the centre to pick up Maddie when she came to work sick. Maddie had managed to keep it under wraps for an hour before Sue caught on. Ever since, Sue was fond of asking Maddie about her brother and you.

“Maddie’s not in just yet.” Sue spoke with a kind smile, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to meet with one of our sit alongs.”

You nodded towards her while beelining for the woman’s bathroom, hoping to catch Maddie after using it. You’d drank too much water on your run earlier this morning. Whether it was fortunate or unfortunate in the time you’d entered the bathroom, several things happened. Lucy ended her shift, Jake started his shift, and a group of strangers entered the building.

Your hand went to push open the door when through the crack, you saw two men you’d never seen before. Years of your job gave you enough feeling to know that something wasn’t right. That being said, you eased the door closed and attempted to find a hiding spot.

The garbage was too narrow and had no lid. The few seconds you had left, you glanced up. The ceiling hadn’t been renovated in many years. Rectangular sheets could be raised. Thankful of the rock climbing lessons you’d done with Maddie, you managed to crawl into the ceiling just as the two men entered.

“Nobody’s here.” The one-man with his head as pale and shiny as a cue ball. He gave off the most creepy vibe; the shorter Hispanic man wasn’t as violent looking, “Kinda hoping someone tries something. I’ve wanted to try out this.”

The man waved the large gun in his hand with a sick smile that twisted your stomach. That was the moment you’d realized something was very wrong. The second they left, you gently dropped back on the ground. Your first instinct was to send a message to Athena, but there was a fatal flaw. You’d expected to be in and out of the building quickly, so you’d left your phone in the car.

“Fuck.” You swore. One hand roughly running over your forehead as you contemplated figuring out a plan.

The building had many cameras throughout that you knew the blindspots for. The year after high school and during the summers, you’d worked in the building. Despite having worked here when you were younger, it was never during Sue’s shift. Over the years, you’d come to know the blind spots and a few cameras that were decoys. You even remembered Maddie and her friend Josh complaining about three cameras not fixed yet.

“Think.” You breathed, making a pattern of pacing, “They’ll need a lookout. They’ll take out the security guard first. The front doors are out. It’s a team, so they’ll also need eyes on the building. Terry is definitely a hostage.”

Of course, you’d end up in a volatile situation during the first half of your day before your shift started. The only comforting thing about the situation was the holstered gun on your hip and the badge on your belt. Maybe you should backtrack to why you had a gun and badge; you were an LAPD member, specifically SWAT.

“The changeroom.” You breathed, recalling it was down the hall with no camera. All you needed to do was pretend to be a dispatcher. The changeroom, now mostly a file room, had a few extra maroon and blue uniform shirts.

You timed it. The man holding Sue’s tablet was in the process of talking with his cohort, so you dashed to the room. You took no time in changing into a loose maroon shirt with your thick sweater overtop to hide the gun in the small of your back.

Your holster, badge and personal shirt tucked in the bottom of a box for safekeeping. As soon as you saw your entry, you sat with the group of hostages a hall over. A few looked surprised but let it go when you raised one finger to your lips.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Maddie hissed from the other side of a startled Josh. Both of them were surprised at seeing you here, “Oh my god. Buck is going to kill me.”

“I was dropping off your book before I get breakfast with Buck, but it appears my small bladder saved my life.” You snarked with your eyes scanning the room, “What’s going on?”

“That is my date from hell, Greg.” Josh inconspicuously pointed towards the man, clearly giving orders. The anger flared inside you, “You need to get out.”

“Josh, no offence, but I’m an officer with the LAPD. I work with SWAT. I’m your best bet of making it out alive.” You informed the dispatch duo, who went still as Cue Ball patrolled the hallway with a sadistic glint in his eyes.

“They took control of the building for a reason we don’t know about. We’re still working but under strict monitoring. They said it will be an hour, but we’ve seen their faces.”

“No witnesses.” You finished for Maddie with a deep sigh, “Unfortunately I left my phone in the car. Did they take yours-”

“They took Linda’s EpiPen. Of course, we don’t have phones.” Maddie sighed, leaning back to rest her head against the wall. Not even having a SWAT member by her side was comforting; your badge put a more significant target on you.

“We have to warn someone.” Josh mumbled to both Maddie and you, “You’re on shift Y/N?”

“Not for a few hours. I was supposed to drop off the book and get breakfast with Buck before my shift. This was supposed to be five minutes tops, so I left my phone in my car.”

“I already did.” Maddie spoke with a sad look on her face that overtook the fear, “I just hope he gets the message.”

Your hand reached out to squeeze the woman you’d had a hand in raising Buck more than their parents. Maddie had become family when you first started dating Buck. The in-law part of her familial relationship to you never crossed your minds; you were simply sisters to each other.

“Who?”

“Chim. I told him I loved him.” Maddie finished with a teary gaze. It made you sick seeing that look again after Doug.

You remembered seeing that haunted look when she stumbled out of the thicker woods covered in blood. You’d stayed by Athena’s side when Buck clutched her so tight and sobbed with her. It had been before you’d become serious with the man, but it was that frightening day that Buck fell for you. You’d just finished a taxing shift with your team when you heard about Maddie was missing, and Chim was in the hospital. You’d ignored the exhaustion to search high and low through your work contacts before narrowing the search area.

“Good thing Chimney obsesses over the little things.” You spoke, slouching down against the wall, “We’ll get throu-”

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Maddie warned you with her brows furrowed together, and you saw what she was doing. Despite your years of experience and the gun you had, she pushed her fear down behind the concern that a big sister shows her young siblings.

“I won’t.”

At 8am, Buck was just entering the apartment building from grabbing the mail addressed to both you and him when Chim had called.

“Yup, go for Buck.” Buck spoke, opening the door to the apartment he’d only temporarily left. His morning had been late after his long shift the night before. The most productive thing was dressing for his breakfast date with you and grabbing the mail.

“How come 9-1-1 doesn’t respond when I call?” Chimney questioned the younger, now confused male.

“Uh, is that some kind of riddle? Like who watches the watchmen?” Buck asked, closing the door behind him. His eyes scanned around for any indication you’d returned home, but the bowl was vacant of your keys.

“Neither of those things are riddles. Okay, I just tried calling 9-1-1, and I got the high call volume message. Did I miss an earthquake or something?”

“Nope, pretty chill morning.” Buck responded as he closed the fridge door with a bottle of water in hand. The entire conversation wasn’t concerning to him, given that Chimney was often like this.

“Where’s Y/N? She’s the police she’ll know-”

“She’s not home right now. Wait, why are you calling 9-1-1? Is everything okay?” Buck slowly asked with his brows coming together. The sigh of frustration from Chimney was answer enough.

“Your sister said that she loved me.”

“Yeah. Wasn’t that uh, the whole point in that big date you had last night?” Buck inquired on his way to the table. He had a feeling this was going to be a long conversation that would hopefully pass the time until you got home.

“You declare your love, and she declares hers? That’s how it went with Y/N and me.”

“Yeah, I know, okay, but she didn’t, all right? At least not last night. Look, she made this big deal saying that she couldn’t say those words, and then this morning, she blurts them out and hangs up on me.” Chimney speaks, pacing in his own apartment. The side by the side of Chimney and Buck’s separate apartments told different tales of their states.

“It’s still not quite sounding like an emergency.”

“’Cause I sound insane.” Chimney spoke, staring up at the ceiling with a battle in his mind. He wants Buck to talk him out of this, but he also wants Buck to agree with him, “She’s at the call centre. What could happen there? You know what, forget it, I’ll try Y/N again.”

“Again?” Buck questioned just as his co-worker ended the call. Buck tugged his phone away from his ear to stare at it confused.

You always answered the phone if you weren’t working at the moment, but given you still had hours, he found it unsettling. After seeing the news report with the ladder truck on top of him, calls weren’t ignored between you two. That feeling of concern grew when you didn’t answer his call either. Nor the second one.

“Nah, she’s probably talking with Maddie.” Buck spoke, but that second-guessing feeling didn’t dissipate. 

In the call centre, you’d been marched to one of the stations with a deep hope that you’d remember everything. It had been years by then since you’d worked as a dispatcher. It didn’t help with the gunmen patrolling the room.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” You calmly questioned the caller.

“Hi, my cat is up the tree by my house. Could you send someone?”

“Can I get your name?” You went through the motions of getting her name and address before you informed the woman, “Okay, the LAFD and LAPD no longer respond to calls of cats in trees. The cat will make its way down on its own. If the tree is in your backyard, I’d use the time to garden or read a book on this beautiful day.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

“It’s no problem. Having a wonderful day Susan.”

In no time at all, you’d been rotated into the board room away from Josh and Maddie. It gave you time to inspect everyone you hadn’t made contact with yet. No one appeared harmed other than in distress with the situation.

“Downtown. They don’t want anyone downtown.” Linda whispered as Maddie was guided onto the floor by the elbow. You’d only gathered her name from her near-silent introduction to you when the hired guns had been far from your area.

“Let’s go.” Greg snapped, roughly pushing you towards the conference room. Something deep in your gut already predicted that someone was going to be stupid.

It was your sharp eyesight catching the minuscule agitation in Greg’s interactions with the Cue Ball guy. The slight tightening of his grip on the gun, the tension in the room growing stifling. And everyone knows that when emotions run high stupid things happen.

“Why do they keep moving us around like this?” The man beside Maddie questioned. He was definitely the most shaken of the group. He was basically shaking like a chihuahua.

“To disorient us.” Maddie spoke, staring at the group monitoring the dispatchers currently in play. Her eyes refused to leave them.

“So, we can’t make a plan.” You finished for your sister-in-law. Objectively out of everyone, Maddie, Sue and you were the most collected individuals for various reasons.

Maddie had lived in a volatile house with a man that could be unpredictable if a situation called for it in his mind. Sue had been working in the centre for years to navigate the emergency while you walked into dangerous situations.

“Jamal.” The shaking man spoke, holding his hand out towards you, “Are you new?”

“No.” You spoke as you shook his hand, “I’m Y/N. Maddie’s sister-in-law. I’m filling in as a favour for Sue.”

The lie slipped off your lips a little too quickly. You decided to come to this hostage situation as if you were undercover. It meant having to ignore that Maddie was in the situation with you.  

“Worst day for a favour.” Jamal snorted with his eyes pinned on one of the armed men holding all your lives in their hands. You’d have spoken, but Jamal checked out mentally from the conversation waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The shoe dropped when the IT Specialist announced numbly, “Jake’s dead. They shot him.”

It didn’t matter how long you’d been working for the LAPD, any death, whether it was a civilian or a criminal, it was still was startling. Jake, the security guard that alternated shifts with Lucy, wasn’t someone you spoke with. He was on shift when you weren’t here or just missed the shift change.

“We need to get a message out.” Jamal spoke, glancing at the only people in the right state of mind, and those were Maddie, Josh and you. Terry had seen the violence these men had no issues with.

“I did.” Josh breathed, thinking of the arguably cute security guard he sometimes liked to stare at, “A woman called about onions in an omelette. I dispatched an officer.”

“To the restaurant?” Maddie inquired with her pinkie connected with yours for comfort. Both of you would prefer your SO’s hand instead.

“Not exactly.” Josh replied, staring at his best friend with a glimpse of hope in his brown eyes.

Hope may be the only way you could get out of this without hurting anyone in your admittedly surface level plan.

“Buck will think something is up.” You added 

Buck had begun pacing the kitchen of the apartment with Chim adamantly telling his friend his plan to go to the centre. Buck had joined Chimney in the concerned department when you had failed to return to the apartment, return calls and to make matters worse, so was Maddie. His texts had gone unanswered as well, not even having the read receipt on.

“She’s not picking up either. I tried Y/N and Josh, but neither replied. When I tried Maddie and Josh, it went straight to voicemail.”

“Now, I’m definitely going.” Chimney announced, shoving his wallet into his pocket just as someone began knocking on his door.

“What if something is wrong? I know Y/N is a member of SWAT but radio silence? No text to let me know she was called in early?” Buck thought aloud with his finger dragging along his thigh, “Maybe we should call the police.”

“I...think someone already did.” Chimney informed Buck as he stared at the sudden appearance of Sergeant Athena Grant at his door.

“What? What do you mean?” Buck hastily questioned, leaning against the kitchen island. He could just faintly hear Athena speaking on Chimney’s end of the phone, “Chimney? What’s going on?”

“Athena was sent to my apartment. Hang on, Buck, I’m just gonna tell Athena what’s going on.”

Buck stepped away from the island to settle on the stairs to the loft, impatiently waiting for Chimney to finish speaking. That fear of losing pieces of his life expanded deep in his gut, just like the times Maddie left in his childhood. That fear of being left behind.

“What’s she’s saying now?”

“She’s making her case.” Chim whispered as he continued to eavesdrop on Athena’s call with her higher-ups, “Now she’s folding like a cheap suit.”

“All right, let me talk to Athena.” Buck demanded antsy to figure out the situation that clearly had something wrong. That fear he’d thought of early flared catching the tail end of Athena’s conversation, “No! No, no. We can’t just send in SWAT. If there is someone inside the call centre doing something, they’ll know we’re onto them.”

Unfortunately, Buck was correct in this thought process, all thanks to living with a SWAT member. He knew these things after the years he’d been with you.

“Maddie? I think I can sneak up to Terry’s computer. Maybe get eyes on the place-”

“No!” Terry nearly shouted, stiffening when Cue Ball hesitated in the doorway at his sudden shouts. You all held your breath for his reaction, but thankfully he was called away by one of the men, “They have-”

“Terry, I need you to calm down. I’m familiar with these types of situations. I’m SWAT. I need to get on top of this. Don’t be a hero.”

Maddie’s head began to shake when your arm was roughly grabbed by Greg, “Your turn.”

You were separated from Josh and Maddie, but instead of being pushed into one of the dispatcher seats, you were pulled to the original hallway.

“I don’t like how friendly you are with them.” Greg spat, shoving you to rest against the wall, “Don’t move.” 

You catch the eyes of Maddie with an apologetic expression before you used the pacing routine to sneak away. You didn’t release your breath until you were attaching your holder to your hip in the change room. By now, your team would be aware that something was wrong, Hondo would be hell-bent on finding you.

Until you had help, you were on your own.

You used each blindspot of the cameras in the halls to the stairwell, and you used a broom to adjust the cameras. The cameras not kept you from view but not appearing suspicious. Once at the floor where Terry was practically always at you softly closed the door. 

You’d only started to sit down when you heard the ding of the elevator, “Shit.”

You slipped into the closest containing extra parts if anything broke. Through the crack, you saw Terry being held at gunpoint. The gunman that had been holding the tablet on the floor, Ellis as you’d heard.

“You’re telling me every cop in the city has just disappeared?” Ellis demanded as Terry, and he disappeared around one of the corners. The tapping of a screen indicating Ellis was searching for something with Terry’s involuntary help.

“I’m telling you, I don’t know!” Terry snapped back, creating even more tension in the room, but Ellis didn’t move to grab his gun.

Ellis appeared to the only one reluctant to discharge your weapon, unlike Cue Ball, who just happened to join the party.

“Figure it out!” Ellis spat, turning on his heel at the sound of approaching footsteps. You could see him roll his eyes at his team member walking into the room.

“What’s going on here?” Cue ball questioned the duo in different kinds of distress, and you swore Cue Ball enjoyed the intimidation from his teammate and the IT specialist.

“That police car’s not the only one that’s gone dark.” Ellis nervously spoke, stiffening for the volatile reaction that one could expect from Foster.

“You think they know we’re here?” 

“Foster, it could be a system glitch.” Ellis offered keeping one eye on Cue Ball while monitoring Terry’s work as well.

Cue Ball spoke a sentence that sent chills up your spine, “Time to cut our losses.”

As Foster and Ellis began going over their personal plans made out of Greg’s knowledge, you noticed Terry glance over. His eyes widened slightly before quickly looking away when you raised a finger across your lips.

“We can go down the back stairs. I have a car waiting around the corner, we split the art up between the five of us, and we go our separate ways.” Foster spoke, revealing his plan to double-cross Greg, which in all honesty made sense. Greg was ill-fitting to be in charge of their operation, unable to control his lackeys.

“I like that part of the deal.” Ellis breathed, skirting around the trigger happy criminal only to halt in his steps, “Wait, you’ve got a car parked down the street? You were always gonna double-cross Greg.”

“You weren’t?”

“If we’re gonna do this, you can’t just sell famous works of art on eBay.”

“You can’t sell them from prison either.”

At that moment, something almost shifted in the area, something that made you pull your gun from your holster. Your body telling you something was about to happen. It happened in a split second. Foster fled the room leaving only Ellis just outside. With Terry frantically shaking his head, you tiptoed to the unsuspecting criminal.

“LAPD!” You shouted, pointing your gun towards the shocked man, “Put the gun down and put your hands up.”

“Aren’t you a dispatcher?” Ellis questioned, blinking in surprise.

“Aren’t you supposed to be intelligent? Next time check the schedule I haven’t worked here in years.” You spat, keeping your gun pointed on him, “Do I say-”

The sound of two guns going off made Terry flinch and scream as he instinctively dropped to the ground. IT was supposed to be safe, but Terry had now heard three gunshots in under two hours. He really didn’t want to see the outcome of the shots.

A moan coaxed Terry to peek out through the privacy glass. Ellis was on the ground while you kept your gun on him. He didn’t see anything else when the power went out. He didn’t see you drop to your knees, but he heard you.

“Terry...get down. Lay on your stomach with your hands insight, and don’t move.” You informed the terrified IT just as the floor was swarmed.

“Put the gun down!” The sound of Tan’s voice was welcoming as you slowly placed the gun on the ground. “25-David I have Y/L/N. The suspect is down, need medical.”

You got back to your feet when Tan nodded his head, “Thank god. There’s a possible body in the IT room along with the It Specialist Terry.”

“You got your badge on you?” Tan questioned as he cuffed the moaning Ellis up, “Street can you escort her down?”

Street nodded from his position, watching Tan’s back before guiding you to the stairs with hawk eyes. Even off duty, you kept your head on a swivel.

“You caused quite the commotion.” Street spoke halfway down the stairs when you barely mumbled. He caught you as you went down like a sack of potatoes, “Y/N!”

“Adrenaline is crashing.” You moaned, looking at your shoulder where the maroon had grown darker, “I think he shot me.”

“26-David I’m in the stairway. Prepare a medic.” Street spoke into his radio before he strapped the gun away and swept you into his arms, “Think you can have my back?”

“When don’t I?” You wheezed, with the sweat starting to bead on your forehead. As you crashed from adrenaline, you barely noticed being placed on the ground at the main entrance.

A paramedic cutting your borrowed shirt to reveal the bullet hole in your shoulder courtesy of Ellis, the only member who’d thought wouldn’t shoot his gun. You could vaguely hear Maddie calling out your name as you were loaded onto a gurney.

“M-Maddie?” You spoke, tilting your head to see Chris holding Maddie back from, “Chris! That’s my sister in law.”

Chris only let Maddie go when Hondo gave the all-clear, and you were so thankful when Maddie’s hand encased yours.

“Don’t close your eyes.” Maddie pleaded sick with the amount of blood on your skin and soaking through the gauze, “Who’s gonna help me put up with my little brother?”

“Buck.” You breathed sluggishly, blinking as the artificial lights changed to natural with the gun shining through the glass front doors.

“You didn’t let me close mine in that ambulance, so I need you to do the same. Don’t close them. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” Maddie cried as an officer pulled her aside as you were stopped. You wouldn’t remember it, but Maddie had to watch as you coded right in front of her.

Maddie had to watch them perform CPR on you and fight for a pulse. She had to think of how’d she’d tell her little brother she’d killed his fiance. The counting of the paramedics sounded as if underwater, and as they did, the world went quiet. Her mind checked out as the trauma settled in.

Maddie stumbled out of the building into a zoo of officers, medics, and news reporters almost robotically. She barely felt Chimney hug her, but she wrapped her arms around him and sobbed.

“It’s all my fault.” Maddie gasped, collapsing against him, “If I had-”

“Maddie?”

Chimney felt Maddie stiffen at the sound of Buck’s voice amidst the multiple voices milling around. Maddie raised her gaze to meet Buck’s blue eyes dripping in relief and question.

“Buck.”

“Maddie, where’s Y/N? Her car…” Buck trailed off, catching the utter heartbreak in his big sister’s eyes. A look he’d come to know in his line of work as a firefighter. The utter devastation that came with watching someone you love die, “No. No.”

“I got a pulse!” Came from the nearest ambulance, and Buck skirted around his sister and Chimney, “Ready to transport!” 

Your eyes slowly blinked at the white ceiling of the ambulance with pain in your midsection courtesy of chest compressions. Breathing came painful, and the bullet wound throbbed, but it all faded when you saw blue eyes above you.

“Buck.” You sobbed, more like groaned, as he was urged to sit on the bench holding your hand, “Maddie?”

“She’s okay. Chim’s got her. Can you keep your eyes on me? I need to see those big beautiful e/c eyes.” Buck soothed, bringing your hand to his lips, “Did I ever tell you my favourite colour?”

Despite Buck’s best attempts, you continued fading in and out of consciousness but continued to be stable. He spoke about the funny video Eddie had shown him of Christopher at the end of their shift last night. He talked about everything and anything under the sun during the short ride to the hospital.

The last thing you saw was Buck being held back as the paramedics pushed the gurney into the ER. Everything turned black.

The beeping was the first thing you heard before your eyes fluttered open to a stark white room and that unmistakable hospital scent. You noticed the second thing as Buck holding your hand in both of his with his forehead pressed against them.

“Buck?” You moaned to the one person you had wished to see. The man whose eyes were bloodshot from crying, “What’s wrong?”

“Your heart stopped beating twice. I thought I was gonna lose you.” Buck cried with his lips pressed against your hand, “I was so worried.”

“Hey. I’m fine. I’m here.” You cooed, tugging one hand away to run through his messy hair with a soft smile. His blue eyes brighten at the familiar feeling of your digits in his hair, “I’m not going anywhere. This isn’t here for decoration.”

His eyes found the ring he’d gently placed back on your finger from when the nurses had removed it. It only left your finger when you were on duty, in which it was slung on a necklace hidden under your uniform.

“Better not be.”

“Does the hospital have a chapel?” You questioned out of the blue leading to Buck snorting as you giggled, “I’m serious. When I was bleeding in that building, all I could think about was you. If Maddie is anything like you, she’s waiting in the waiting room with Chimney.”

“You aren’t wrong. All the chairs are taken. Our family was waiting for you to wake up.” Buck breathed, leaning closer to press a sweet kiss to your lips, “Are you sure?”

“About marrying you?” You softly questioned the man who couldn’t help but believe this was a dream. How he’d somehow got the girl of his dreams to agree to marry his ass, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. All I want to share is your last name for the rest of my life. You are it for me, Evan Buckley. All the flaws you see are beautiful to me.”

“Only you would want to get married after being shot mere hours ago.” Buck chuckled with a sigh pulled from his pink lips, “I’ll get the doctor for you and find out if we can be married here.”

While you were checked out, Buck left the room to go back to the waiting room where the 118 and your co-workers waited. Everyone perked up at his appearance, Christopher asleep on Eddie’s lap.

“Is she okay?” Bobby questioned as the tension in the room grew more and more. It shattered into relief when Buck grinned.

“She’s sore as expected. She’s gonna catch some sleep, but she’d like to see Maddie.” Buck replied, pinning his gaze on his big sister with her curled into Chimney’s body. Her cheeks flooded with tears of absolute relief, “C’mon.”

The waiting room started emptying with Buck’s promise to keep everyone updated, but before Bobby could step away, Buck asked for him.

“Do you need a few days off?” Bobby questioned just as Buck came closer to the seasoned firefighter.

“No. But could you spare an hour?” The expression on Buck’s face was enough for Bobby not to ask any further questions. He simply followed Buck back towards your hospital room, where Maddie and Chim waited.

“What’s going on?” Bobby inquired, with the addition of the hospital assigned Priest holding the standard bible. Chimney could only shrug in response to whatever was going on.

“I know there have been times we haven’t seen eye to eye, but Bobby, you’re like a father to me. You gave me chance after chance when anyone else would have given up. You guided me on how to be a man. Y/N and I would like it if you’d be here for this.”

“Wait, are you getting married? What about the wedding?” Maddie spluttered, flicking her gaze between her brother and you. Her question surprised her boyfriend and Bobby.

“We’ll still have it. But I want to marry her without the pressure of our parents. Just a private ceremony with some of the people that mean the most to us.” Buck answered for the two of you, “Would you stay?”

“Of course.” Maddie softly spoke with a slideshow of memories playing in her mind of watching Buck grow up.

Watching Evan go through all kinds of injuries, all in the name of attention but never getting it the way he deserved it. She remembered giving him advice for asking out Donna and holding him when he was rejected. The little toddler with the impish grin somehow turned into an idiot in the hospital.

Maddie saw the man her little brother had turned into with the help of the 118 and you.

Buck’s fingers made quick work of buttoning his short-sleeve uniform with the sudden appearance of his friend.

“That’s new.” Eddie spoke from his opened locker holding his uniform and a picture of his family on the door. It was a picture of Christopher, Buck, you and Eddie from the zoo a couple months back.

Buck looked over at his best friend, “Hm?”

“The ring.” Eddie snorted dramatically, looking at the ring that had been living on his finger since he married you five days ago, “Did my invite get lost in the mail?”

“Nah, we just got married in the hospital. We’re still planning the wedding to appease both sides of our family. And I promised Christopher he could be in the wedding. With Y/N on medical leave, the planning will be faster. She’s going stir crazy after five days.” Buck finished tucking in the shirt into his work-issued pants. Lastly, he slid his ring onto the metal chain he had bought recently.

Like you did, he would wear it around his neck when working for safety reasons.

“I’m happy for you, man.” Eddie told his friend just as the bell rang, “You’ll have to tell me how you’re liking the married life.”

“But first, we have a job to do.” Buck supplied all the while jogging to suit up in his turnout gear with Hen and Chimney.

[alovesongshewrote]

If you’re taking requests, maybe something about Doux finding the reader absolutely delirious from lack of sleep? I may or may not have gotten literally any sleep last night and although I managed to get through my morning routine pretty efficiently I FEEL my body just wiping out. I will be comatose within the hour.

Sleep, Darling | Hisirdoux Casperan x Reader

Plot:  you’ve been awake for too long and it is not doing you any favours.  Thank god for punk wizards who care about your wellbeing, amirite lads?  (Also, the pure Irony that this is getting posted at like, 2:40 am where i am, rip me i guess)

Word Count: 2,292

Warnings:  A bit of blood is mentioned in passing, the reader isn’t human and probably has adhd or smthn.  Also, Friends is mentioned, like, the tv show, so that’s a thing!

A/N:   if you look closely, you can actually see me projecting onto this one.  I hope you got some sleep anon.

Tags:   @furblrwurblr @einahpetsyarcip @sorrels-scribbling @anxious-stitcher @alive-and-afraid @animedweeb333 @douxiesdamsel @saroski05

Time isn’t real.  It’s a social construct made to bring order to the general chaos that is human existence.  That was why you were up at 5 a.m for the second, maybe third, night in a row.  Was it healthy?  Probably not, but you didn’t need sleep, you needed answers.  Answers to what?  Who knows at this point, honestly.

You couldn’t say you were surprised when you finally noticed the late, or early hour.  You just shrugged it off and went “fuck it, all-nighter,” which was fine for the moment.  But time’s a bitch, and that moment was over pretty fast.  By noon, you were ready to collapse.  The three cups of coffee did not help.  Instead, they made you vibrate at a frequency that could quite possibly break glass.  As much as this sucked for you, it was worse for your lovely friend and co-worker, Hisirdoux Casperan.

Now, our boi Douxie was and is madly in love with you, but shhh, it’s a secret.  You also love him, and that’s a secret too.  Neither of these secrets are well kept, and the only reason you aren’t together is general stupidity.  Literally, anyone else who watches the two of you interacting can tell that you're in love.  Hell, half the town assumes you’re together already.  The other half keeps trying to get you together.  It is not working very well.  But that’s all a digression.  What you really need to know is that Douxie loves you and watching you suffer from a lack of sleep was Not A Pleasant Experience.  You were delirious, shaky, and constantly off-balance.  You could work well enough, but it was clear that your health was not in the same zone.

The final straw came when you cut your hand on broken glass.  You’d dropped a cup, and instead of using magic, you’d tried to fix the mess by hand.  That plan did not work, and you received a bloody slash across your palm for your troubles.

“Ah.  Fuck,” you said, thinking you were whispering but instead speaking at a normal volume.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“‘S nothing, I’ve got it,” you did not got it, especially not in this state, and Douxie had the good sense to figure that out.  The blood was a pretty good hint though.

“Oh, fuzzbuckets.”

“I told you, I’m toooootally fine, there is nothing to worry about.”

“Here, (Y/N), let me help you-”

“No, no, this is, this is-” it was then that your sleep-deprived brain decided to cut off your train of thought and replace it with another, more chaotic train.  You stopped talking and just stared at Douxie for a solid minute.  Or at least it felt like a solid minute.  Time isn’t real, remember that.

“(Y-Y/N)?  You alright there, darling?”

“You’re really cute, did you know that?  Like… really cute.  Steve was right, you could be a model.”

“I-”

“Also, just gonna put it out there, I freakin’ love it when you call me darling.  Like, I know you call most people darling, but it makes me feel special.  Don’t ask why, it just does.”

Douxie wasn’t planning on asking why.  He wasn’t really planning on anything.  Your sleep-deprived half-confession had turned him from a capable individual into a blushing mess in less than a second.  You always had that effect on him, but it looked like your exhausted state was giving you a bit of an edge.

“Oh, sorry, I made it weird.  Anyway, do you think if I brewed my next coffee with Monster instead of water it would wake me up?   Because I’m still tired, and it isn’t fun.”

“I- you- I’m-”

“I think I might try it, honestly.”

“Ok, how about you don’t do that,”  Archie said, swooping in, literally and figuratively, to save the day, “Douxie, can you please get (Y/N)’s hand patched up?  It looks quite painful and they’re dripping blood onto the carpet.”

You were, in fact, dripping blood onto the carpet.  That wasn’t good, “Oh, that’s- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t fret, just go do something about that hand,” with that, Archie smacked Douxie upside the head in an attempt to snap him out of his flustered state.  It was super effective!

“Ahh, yeah.   C’mon, (Y/N), let’s,,, go,,, fix,,, that.”

“Ok,”  you stood, too tired to protest, and followed Douxie into the back of the bookstore, which was literally just his apartment.  

It was a nice place.  Very cozy, very him.  It made you want to curl up and take a nap, but to be fair, literally everything made you want to curl up and take a nap at the moment.  Regardless, his home made you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside and you never wanted to leave it.  Maybe it was the interior decorating, but you knew it was because your favourite person lived there.  What you didn’t know, or didn’t realize, was that you’d just spoken your entire thought process out loud and Douxie heard every word of it.  Once again, the boy was a blushing mess.  If you were awake enough to process things, you would have found it cute.  Or you’d be dead from embarrassment, that one is a bit of a toss-up.

Fighting through his flustered state, Douxie pulled you into the bathroom and collected a first aid kit from under the counter.  While he focused on getting things done, you curled into a ball in his bathtub.  For some reason, your exhausted brain decided that sitting on the edge of the bathtub simply did not Vibe™ but sitting inside the tub was better than nothing, and so you just,,, curled up there.  Douxie was only a little surprised to see you there.

“(Y/N)?”

“D’you remember that time on Friends when Winona Ryder played a closeted lesbian?  That was a fuckin’ trip, man.”

“(Y/N), darling-”

“That whole episode is just- it’s just strange.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Hehe, Stranger Things.”

“(Y/N), love, I need to see your hand.”

“Oh, fuck, yeah, I forgot.  Here,” you sat up, extending your hand out to the wizard.  He took it, sitting on the edge of the bathtub which was fine for him to do, I guess.  Not you though, you were stuck in bathtub jail for sleep deprivation crimes.

You squinted up at his face as he tended to the nasty scratch you’d given yourself.  You didn’t have the capacity to focus on what he was doing, so instead you focused on him.  He was pretty, as you’d said before, but that was always true.  At that exact moment, his brows were furrowed in concentration, his eyes concerned and his jaw set.  His hands were steadier than yours could ever hope to be, especially since you hadn’t been sleeping.  Overall, he looked kind of mad, so you sunk down into your bath-prison, silent and waiting for him to finish so you could get back to work.

Douxie was not mad at you.  He was upset that you hadn’t been sleeping, but he wasn’t mad.  He was just worried for your health.  Your wizard did not appreciate seeing you shaking and sleep-deprived.  He didn’t appreciate it when your current state led you to injure yourself, either.

He wrapped up your hand and gave it a small pat, “Done.  Now, come on, you’re taking a nap.”

His voice surprised you.  It was gentle, calm, not at all angry like you’d suspected.  You found yourself so lost in it that you didn’t realize what he’d said until he said your name, trying to snap you out of whatever haze you were in.

“Oh, wait, what?  No, shit, I have to get back to work-”

“No, you need sleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak, I need to go-” you stood and almost fell over.  You probably would have broken something if Douxie didn’t catch you.  You hadn’t exactly expected to end up in his arms today, and despite the heat rising in your face and neck, you were not complaining.

“(Y/N)-”

“I’m sorry, Douxie, I-”

“You need to sleep.  Please, (Y/N), don’t make me use a spell on you.”

You froze for a second before a smirk crept onto your face, “You wouldn’t.”

“I-”

“You wouldn’t use a spell on meeeeee-” the smirk grew into a full smile as you let yourself go limp, forcing him to move his hands to support you better and pull you closer to him.  Was that your plan?  Maybe.  Was it part of a second, bigger plan?  Also yes.

“You wanna bet?”

“Sure.”

“I-” and then he went silent.  There was a moment of tension where you just stared into each other’s eyes, holding your breath to see what the other person would do.  Your gaze fell to his lips as his fell to yours.  For that moment, your thoughts began to wander far out of your control.  Douxie’s mind was also running rampant but in a different direction.  You were right, he thought.  He couldn't use magic on you.  As far as he knew, you were a human.  Just a mortal being who crawled their way into his life and stayed there, improving the quality of it greatly.  If there was even the slightest chance that a spell may have negative side effects, which most sleep spells did, he wouldn’t dare risk it, especially not on you.  He sighed, tightening his grip on your waist, “You’re right.”

“What?”  Oop, plan going sideways, PLAN GOING SIDEWAYS!

“I’m- not going to use magic on you,” he helped you to stand, and moved to take a step back before you grabbed his hoodie and pulled him back to you, ignoring the sharp sting in your hand.

“Ok, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, hang on there wizard boy-” you took a moment to pull yourself out of the bathtub entirely, “You can’t give up that easily.”

“Wha-”

“Come onnnnnn, make it fun, make it exciting.  Put a spell on me or whatever, just-” you went quiet for a second, but for once you weren’t distracted.  Just quiet.  You had to face facts.  Your plan had failed, and now you had nothing but the truth.

“(Y/N)?”

“Just make my brain stop.  For just two seconds.”

“What?”

“Please.  I’m running on a motor and I can’t stop myself.  I haven’t slept and I have no choice in the matter.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Look, just, take away my free-will if you have to.  Knock me out, magic or otherwise, I just want five seconds where I’m not on hyperdrive,” you were standing on your own now, though Douxie’s arms were still wrapped around you and you hadn’t let go of his hoodie, “Please.”

The bathroom was silent for a minute.  It took that long for Douxie to process what you’d just said.  You feared, for that moment, that you’d said too much.  You hadn't.  Not to him, anyway.

“Come on.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he said, picking you up, effortlessly sweeping you off your feet.

“Wait, what!?” your voice was slightly more frantic, surprise lacing through your words.

“There’s more than one way to get a person to sleep.”

“Oh-?”

He didn’t respond to your question, instead, he carried you out the door and into what you could only assume was his room.  You had no choice but to wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him for dear life until he set you down on the bed.

“Stay here, okay?  I’m going to make you some tea-”

“Wait!” you stopped him, grabbing his wrist as he turned to leave, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, my darling,” he sat in front of you on the bed, “You just need to get some sleep, okay?”

“But what about-”

“I’ll cover your shift, you don’t need to worry.”

“I-”

“Just rest, for now, love.  Please.”

“Ok,” your words were a whisper, something that Douxie could only just hear.  The next thing though, he didn’t have to strain to hear at all, “Yeah.  I meant what I said earlier, by the way.  You’re so pretty, it isn’t fair.”

He laughed at this, at you, finally seeing some humour in your shenanigans.  He relaxed now knowing that you may actually get some much-needed rest.  He stood, kissing your forehead and tracing the side of your face with a hand, rough from guitar strings and 900 years of sweeping.

“Worry not, love, you’re pretty too.”

“Hey, wait-”

“Don’t ‘hey, wait,’ me.  You are.  Now lie down, I’ll be back in a second.”

A smile crept onto your face as you followed orders.  Your emo wizard man thought you were pretty.  And he cared enough about you to let you sleep during work hours, in his home, no less.  You let yourself relax into the bed, grinning once again.  It smelled like him, like thyme and peppermint, lemongrass and sleep.  It was nice, comforting.  You could only vaguely think of Douxie as your brain finally took a fuckin breather.  It was everything you needed, honestly.

By the time Douxie came back, you were long gone, lost to your dreams and finally asleep.  He sighed a smile that matched yours on his face.  He placed the cup of tea on the bedside table before grabbing a blanket out of his closet and draping it over you.  You looked so peaceful.  Good.  You deserved some peace every now and then.

He took the cup and left you, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes as he did.  After making his exit, he placed the still-hot tea on the counter, disregarding it for now before returning to the bookshop.

“How are they?”  his familiar asked, tail twisting in concern.

He gave a final fond look at the door before returning to business, “They’re just resting.”  And for once, you were.

[marueonmain]

Sun Would Be Good ~ ImAllexx (1/2)

Summary: Y/N tries to help Alex out during a difficult time. 

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Language. Themes of Self-Deprecation. Depression Talk.

Word Count: 1.5k

Y/N unlocked the front door to her boyfriend’s apartment using the one copy of the key Alex was ever given. He said he would not need it for himself as George was always in.

“Hello? Alex?” Y/N called out. She looked to the undisturbed sofa and glanced into the empty kitchen as she walked through the familiar space. Closing in on Alex’s bedroom, she thought she would have heard something like his presentation voice as he spoke to a camera or the electronic fanfare of a video game or dialogue from a Harry Potter film like he had her watch with him a hundred times before.

There was no such sound – none at all.

KNOCK. KNOCK. Y/N opened the door to Alex’s bedroom. It was about the same as it always was: trashed: wrinkled clothes sat in heaps on the floor and on his desk were plastic cups half-full with flat drinks and frappuccinos with just a few centimeters of whipped topping left at the bottom. His bed bore crumpled sheets and a balled-up duvet hiding every part of the young man save a socked foot dangling off the edge and his button nose poking out for fresh air.

Yes. It was about the same as it always was; still, there was one small yet stark difference. It was dark. Alex was never one to rise in the morning, and yank open his curtains to the bright sun outside. But he did usually have his ceiling light on during the day – however dim and horribly yellow-tinted it was.

Y/N crossed to Alex’s bed. On the low and narrow table near his headboard was his phone plugged into a short charger. Y/N turned it over in her hand. It read: 15:20. And under the time were all the notifications of her messages to him – unnoticed and unread. He had switched his phone to silent.

Y/N considered that maybe Alex had slept in that long because he needed to; he stayed up so late, so consistently. She debated the idea for another minute until she found she simply could not convince herself that it was just a normal lie in. Alex was not even asleep – or he was not anymore – as he retracted his foot, tucking it back under the duvet, and released a not-so-quiet groan of discontent.

Besides the rustling of sheets and their collective breathing, there was another sound – running water. Y/N put the phone back face-down on the table and left for the ensuite. It, too, was trashed. Y/N flicked on the light. All the stuff Alex kept out of sight – toothbrush, nail cutter, polish, unopened tin of hair balm – were strewn about. A thin line of water fell from the tap. Y/N turned it off, and when she did, she noticed a razor without its disposable blade lying in the sink. She took a step back. Looking around, her eyes landed first on the empty towel rail, then the disposable blade sat on the floor in a splat of shaving foam.

Y/N picked up the blade, ran it under water, reattached it, and left the razor on the counter round the sink. She returned to the bedroom and to Alex, who was still hiding under his duvet in the middle of an unkempt bed in a dark room.  

Y/N spoke for the first time since seeing him. “Alex, love. Are you awake?” She knew the answer already.

The lump in the middle of the bed did not move; a voice came from within it. It was faint as if carried on a breath rather than pushed out with intent, “Yeah.”

“What’s happened in there?” She tipped her head in the direction of the ensuite despite knowing Alex could not see the gesture before sitting gingerly on the end of his bed.

“All I wanted, yeah?” Alex interrupted himself with an exasperated sigh then started again, this time sounding like he was speaking through clenched teeth, “All I wanted was to shave. I couldn’t— I thought I could shave, but no. I didn’t leave the shaving foam where I always leave it, and it took me forever to find it. Then the razor breaks the second it touches my skin. And I couldn’t find the blade to put it back together. And then it’s like, who cares at that point? I’m not going out anyway, nobody cares if I shave, nobody cares to see me. And now I’m saying it all out loud, and I sound so stupid, but I just wanted to be able to do one thing – that’s it – one fucking thing!”

Y/N made a closed fist and tapped it against where she figured her boyfriend’s legs were hidden under the duvet. She cleared her throat. “How about you get up, huh? We can go out for breakfast.”

“I can’t go out right now.”

“You don’t even have to brush your hair or anything,” she said as her eyes scanned the floor; she spotted his black TikTok bucket hat. “You can just throw on a hat. I look a mess anyway.”

Alex waited, then whispered a gentle plea, “Go away, Y/N.”

“I know, ok? I know it’s difficult.” Y/N’s throat tightened. “It’s difficult, but it isn’t helping you to sit in the dark with whatever is going on in your head right now.”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe breakfast is a lot to ask. I don’t mean to be pushy; I just—”

Underneath the lump, Alex shifted from lying on his side to his stomach, as evident when his voice became muffled like it was being filtered through a pillow. “Leave me alone.”

“I want to be able to help. Could you help me to understand what I can do?”

“I want to sleep.”

“Do you think you could sit up? Nothing else, no going anywhere, just sitting up.”

Alex ripped the duvet off himself, throwing his arm out with a hard and quick movement like he was trying to rid himself of the appendage; it was a wonder he did not dislocate his elbow. Y/N got her first good look at his face: messy hair weighed down with grease and eyes so bloodshot that she subconsciously scratched at her own to relieve some phantom irritation.  

“Fuck off! Alright, Y/N? Is that clear enough for you?” As the last accusatory word left his mouth, the regret was already plain on his face. His features softened, and he pulled into himself.

“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t mean that.” Y/N tried to keep her composure because she still understood despite how blindsided she was at the outburst. She understood the potholes in the road to recovery and management; she understood a depressive episode. And how Alex might not have recognized he was in one.

It must have been just as difficult for him as it was for her to realize when she had slipped. Her descent was always slow, gradual enough that she could normalize everything. Instead of thinking it odd she had not brushed her hair in three days, she would simply wake up on the fourth and ask herself: Why do it today? I haven’t the last three. Instead of reflecting on the unreasonableness of how one small thing going wrong caused her to scream out in unjust anger or caused tears to spring to her eyes, she reasoned with herself: I’m just sensitive, I know that.

Y/N empathized with how Alex’s episode was causing him to be disproportionately irritable and to respond inappropriately to not being able to shave, a little annoyance that he would otherwise brush off easily or not care about at all.

“Sorry.” Alex untangled himself from his sheets. It was slow going as he moved like it was not him controlling his body, like he was on strings. He dragged himself up into a seated position and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Not meeting Y/N’s gaze, he said, with hesitation, “Sun would be good. I think. Would you want to go for a walk with me?”

Y/N smiled genuinely for the first time that afternoon. “Absolutely.”

“I need to change; would you mind grabbing my shoes? I kicked ‘em off last night near the sofa.”

Y/N nodded. She crossed the room and took two steps out of his bedroom – SLAM – she jumped at the sound of Alex throwing his door closed behind her. Y/N turned around and tried the handle – locked.

“You’re not serious,” Y/N muttered. She pulled harder on the handle as if her strength were the issue; she raised her voice, “Are you serious?! Alex!”

Surely not. Y/N let her hand drop limp from the door handle. Not Alex. Not my sweet boyfriend, the clingiest and softest man I’ve ever met. He hadn’t slammed a door in my face. No. Surely not. And if he had…? She stood there – at the door – not because she was waiting for Alex to open it. To laugh and call it a joke even though it was far from funny. No. She stood there because she just did not think to go anywhere else. Y/N was consumed in all her worst thoughts. It was just what she had tried to stop Alex from doing. And now I’ve failed twice.

[leftonraed]

The Night We Met - Episode 6

pairing : Taehyung x OC   genre : bodyguard!au, singleparent!au, idol!au   word count : 4.1k summary — It doesn’t look good for Taehyung and his niece when his brother’s in-laws come visit them. Prologue | ep.1 | ep.2 | ep.3 | ep.4 | ep.5 | ep.6 | ep.7 

“I told you you didn’t have to stay home today,” you hear Taehyung tell you when he comes out of the bathroom. “I don’t want to ruin your week when I don’t have to go anywhere.”

He pauses in the entrance corridor where you’re standing almost at attention. You look up at him and can feel some uneasiness on his behalf when you don’t move an inch.

You speak calmly. “You’re not ruining anything.”

He frowns,powerless and opens his mouth without really knowing what to say back. He slowly walks away in the kitchen.

“Want me to make you something?”

You shake your head. Seeing him confused and trying to find some meaning behind your attitude is somewhat amusing.  

He pauses again.

“Come sit with me… I’m barely awake but you’re stressing me out.” You indulge him. He frowns to himself, “don’t make me order you.”

You sit at the end of the couch. “Thought you’d like it...”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

You both hear Hina toddling out of her room. Her usual toothy grin is absent this morning and it immediately thought-provokes you both.

She doesn’t look up at you but stops a short moment to hug your knees as a compensation. You watch her shuffle her way between Taehyung’s legs with a pouty face.

“Morning sweetheart. You okay?” He cranes his neck down to get a look at her face pulled back downward. “What’s wrong? Feeling sick?”

Your eyes show little worry.

“You tummy hurt?” He asks again when she rubs her stomach. She nods a little, turns around and lifts her arms to have him hug her. He traps his slice of bread in his mouth, rubs his hand and picks her up on his lap. “Want this banana? It’ll make you feel better.”

She accepts to be fed with little zeal but eats anyway.

******

Taehyung has noticed your unusual quiet behavior which has now endured the whole past week but he doesn’t comment on it. He senses you alert but isn’t sure about the reason behind it. His attention is fully directed to his niece, taking special care of her as she thankfully seems to get better quickly.

You’ve been left alone in the living-room for a while. You look at the door when the doorbell rings and stride towards it confidently.

You swing the door open with too much force, taking by surprise Hwiin who’s standing on the other side. You frown a little at her when she smiles at you eerily. You shift to let her in.

You walk past her and sit down again while she remains standing, looking around to localize anyone else.

Luckily, you both don’t have to keep up with an awkward silence when Taehyung shows himself a couple of minutes later. You don’t pay attention to them as they start conversing about whatever brought her here.

You find yourself looking at her two or three times before you eventually decide to walk away and check on Hina.

“This seems like a lot, to be honest,” Taehyung admits looking at the screen right in front of him. “I’m barely keeping up with Hina and her school schedule.”

Hwiin’s smile doesn’t falter. She leans in and gently puts her hand on his arm. “Trust me, those interviews and shows overseas are much needed after your successful comeback.”

“I thought they’d be enough, you know, given my previous absence.”

He meets her fairly subtle gaze, sensing its pleading. It used to work much more easily before. He runs his finger in his hair, breaking touch with her but gets her all the more captivated with his casual demeanor and bare face.  

“You cannot just rely on local activities, it’s an opportunity not to miss. And I’m sure your foreign fans will be so grateful. It’s been so long.”

He leans back in the chair, grazing his bottom lip with his teeth. He can’t say he doesn’t miss them just as much.

“We’ll take care of…” She looks down, frowning as she looks for her words, “adjustments later. Please give your green light.” They lock eyes. She grins an innocent smile, “trust me.”

The dilemma is very clear but his hesitation also emphasizes his excitement about touring abroad again.

He lets out a deep sigh, covering his face with both hands, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but… okay. I’m down.”

He hears the excited squeal that escapes her.

“You won’t regret it.” She says delighted as she nimbly taps an answer to an email on her tablet computer and puts some order in the several open documents. “Okay,” she brings the device back in front of him and quickly resumes as her way not to lose momentum. “I also needed you to take a look at the new merchandise…”

Sitting with your back against the wall with Hina’s head on your lap, you’re gently combing your fingers through her silky dark hair. You’re starting the reading of the second book when the bell rings again.

Taehyung frowns at the door.

“Are you expecting someone?” His manager inquires as he carefully stands up.

“No…” He trails unsure. She watches him take a look at the intercom to identify the visitors. His frowning deepens. “Yes?”

“Hello, mister Kim?” A female voice says.

“Yes?”

“I am Seohyung Choi from the Seoul Council.” She continues, “our agency received a call from someone concerned about- I believe if I understood correctly your niece, Kim Hina. I would like to discuss it with you.”

Hwiin doesn’t say anything and can feel alarm overwhelming Taehyung.

“Uhm-...” His pulse picks up in speed and his mouth feels dry. “I don’t understand, I-”

“There is nothing to be worried about,” Seohyung reassures him. “I simply would like to ask you a couple of questions about you and your niece, if that is possible.”

“But I- we don’t have any issue here. I me-”

“Let her in.”

Taehyung looks over his shoulder when he suddenly hears your voice.

“I’m not-” He stutters, wondering if you knew about this. “I don’t know-”

He’s panicked and your heart squeezes at the sight but you don’t dither.

“Let her in. Go change quickly. Don’t worry.”

He takes a deep breath and looks back at the intercom. “Uh.. Come in.”

“Thank you.”

He dashes to his bedroom and starts looking for clean clothes with shaking hands. He barely gives himself the time to look at his reflection to ruffle his hair. He thinks of checking on Hina who’s quietly looking at the pictures in the book you were about to read and decides not to bother her.

You watch Taehyung giving quick looks around the penthouse to make sure it is not too messy before he joins you back in the corridor leading to the entrance.  

“It’s going to be okay,” you say softly only for him to hear.

His eyes are glued to the door. “I don’t know why… I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know. You’ll just be answering some questions. Don’t worry.”

He doesn't know how you’re doing it but the calmness in your voice manages to sooth his nerves a little and he remembers to breathe somewhat normally.

“Should I come later?” Hwiin interjects standing up, making you and him turn your heads in her direction.

“Y-you can stay. It’s fine.” Taehyung trails while staring back again at the door. He mutters to himself, “everything’s fine.”

You step back behind and wait.

He pauses right before opening the door. A woman around her mid-thirties walks in with a warm smile and you let out a relieved sigh at her seemingly likeable air, thinking it’ll help him feel less stressed.

She takes off her shoes, smiling at you and Hwiin when she sees you two.

“Please, come in. This is ______, our bodyguard and here, Hwiin my manager.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she grins and you both return the gesture. “You’re home is so lovely inside.”

“Ha, thank you.” He smiles shyly. “Uhm- w-would you like something to drink?”

“Oh don’t bother yourself. I’m good, thank you.”

A very brief instant passes by with everyone being quiet. You look at Taehyung.

“Maybe we should sit down.” Seohyung suggests, smiling to herself while Taehyung leads the way to the dining table with an embarrassed look, shaking his head as a way to get a grip.

“Is Hina here?”

“She’s playing in her room. Should I bring her?”

“Oh don’t. It’s good this way since I’d like to discuss with you first.”

You let him on his own not to cause any kind of extra stress and decide to keep Hina company. Taehyung notices and feels relieved you’re taking a weight off his mind. Hwiin has moved her belongings to the couch where she feigns focusing on her work.

********

“Where are you going?” you ask Hina.

“With daddy…” She pouts at you because of your sudden serious tone.

You stand up from her bed to peek outside her bedroom. Taehyung and Seohyung have left their seats and he is now showing her around.

“Okay, you can go.”

Hina walks away on her tippy toes. You see her hesitating on her tracks at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. She freezes when Seohyung crosses her path.

“Hello, you.” She crouches at her height, slightly shaking her hands. “Your name Hina’s right? Can you show me room?” She lets out a chuckle when the little girl forces her way between Taehyung’s legs to hide herself behind.

“It’s down the corridor.” He informs her when she stands up.

You walk out to let her in and lock eyes with him. He seems a lot more comfortable but gives you an interrogative look. You settle for a small supportive smile and leave them alone.

Hwiin naturally looks up at you when she feels your presence. Her mood seems to have changed.

Seohyung smiles your way when they come back. She and Taehyung sit down with Hina perched on his lap. She finishes writing down notes on her report.

“Alright, I didn’t see anything worth being raised about your household. Beside that one outlet and the window in the bathroom like I pointed it out earlier.”

Hina whines when she drops her soft toy, signaling Taehyung to get it back.

“Otherwise, it seems very secure for little Hina.” She smiles at her while Hina baby talks to her plushy. Taehyung keeps all his attention on the woman. “I’ll send you an email with all the documents needed so I can complete your dossier.”

“Alright.”

“Do you have any specific questions? Something I can shed light on?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Very good. Here, my contact information if something comes back to you.”

“Thank you.”

She bids her goodbye to everyone before Taehyung shows her out. You take one last glance at Hwiin whose face has turned expressionless.

*******************

You’re waiting outside the dressing room with Hina half-asleep in your arms.

Taehyung just finished performing for a show and is now discussing alone with Hwiin as she’s requested. The chair you’re sitting on has been positioned not too far from the door so you can hear it immediately when their conversation becomes heated although you can’t decipher their exact words.

The door opens a short while later. When you look up, Taehyung seems to try his best to keep himself calm. You don’t see Hwiin follow closely.

“Give her to me,” he says quietly with his arms stretched towards you. You stand up and let him hold Hina. He’s wearing the clothes he first came with so you grasp he’s ready to leave the building.

The ride back home is quiet.

He puts Hina to bed and goes shower after telling you to order dinner from his phone. You take it where he left it on the counter on his way in, unlocking it without difficulty since he didn’t set a password.

When Taehyung walks out, dressed in a simple black shirt and grey sweatpants, freshly cleaned but visibly exhausted, you are unpacking the few last dishes.

You start eating, letting the TV fill in the silence between you. You don’t mind being quiet, it just feels off when Taehyung seems elsewhere and it indirectly has you looking for ways to bring him back.

“Hey, you’re not eating that?”

He blinks and automatically hands the chicken wings left in his box.

“I’m not eating if you want it,” you smile faintly.

“I’m full you can have it.” He trails with a small pout and you take his box.

“Don’t look so dejected or I’ll lose my appetite too.”

He lifts his chin to look pensively at the small frown on your face as you bite on the food. “Sorry.”

“You want to talk about it?” You cock your head towards him, attacking a second wing.

He remains quiet a moment and you think you should’ve as well when you see his face gets darker.

“I feel abandoned.” He begins quietly. “It’s like everyone wants me to give up on the idea I could be good for Hina and it’s putting me off.”

Your lips part but you’re not sure if you mean to talk. You wipe the grease off your hands with one of the wipes given by the restaurant.

“I keep asking myself why no one’s seeing the efforts I’m making for this to work. It’s not fair... Just because I’m not practising the kind of job they think is more suited for a family life? It’s not fair...”

It really isn’t, you think. You never thought you out of all the people in his life would be among the few supporting him. You wish you had a say but you’re only left with encouraging words to repeat yet again.

You naturally reach for his knee, squeezing it a little. “I think they know you’re doing a great job. For some reason, they refuse to accept it.”

“They think Hina’s maternal grandparents would provide a more stable environment. I don’t want her to be taken away, ______.” He groans with a weak voice.

You feel a pang of sorrow when he blinks his teary eyes at you. You detest when you can’t find anything to do that could help. You reach for the second wipe, tear it open and unfold it.

“Even if they do,” you inch yourself closer to clean the stains of the dipping sauce off his mouth and explain with a soft voice. “You won’t give up on her. Because you know, it’s the right thing to do. And if you don’t, you’d prove them right.”

Taehyung quietly fixes his gaze on you with tired eyes, replaying your words in his mind. You remain silent as well, squeezing the dirty wipe in your fist, and find yourself glancing down at his lips irregularly.

Before you can feel drawn to each other even closer, you back up until reaching an appropriate distance from him and begin cleaning the table, looking away. “You should go to sleep.”

************************

Taehyung tried his best not to look too dispirited the following weeks until the day he received a mail stipulating Hina’s maternal grandparents showing themselves as the better option for her at this moment in the eyes of the court.

You couldn’t help but think it had to do with the sudden change in social workers.

You close your hands around the cup of hot tea you just made herself, eyes riveted on the grey winter sky.

You get snapped out of your reverie when you hear one of the stools being dragged as Hina tries to climb on it. Your eyes soften at her when she gives you a victorious smile and settles on her seat to eat her snack prepared by you. It’s almost dinner time but Taehyung doesn’t care.

He dressed her in a beautiful dress, you wouldn’t dare to guess the price of it.  

Taehyung joins a little after with a matching hair band in his hand. You don’t look at each other. He carefully combs her hair and places the accessory. He sits down between you and watches her eat in silence.

He props his hand on the table to rest his head on. You don’t mind him hiding from you.

“We going to the zoo again? Let’s go to the zoo.” She blinks her big eyes at him.

He combs her bangs away from her eyes and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Wanna go see the animals?”

She hums positively and nods at the same time bringing her eyes back on her brownie. “They don’t bite, daddy. They nice.”

Hina stretches her tiny hand to feed him some of her snacks and lingers her gaze on him for a second, thoughtful.

“We going with ______ too.”

You look away from her and lower your head.

He cleans her mouth with his thumb and jumps a little when the doorbell rings.

“I going! I going,” she chirps, jumping down from her seat with his help.

A shaky sigh that escapes him. You gently grab his forearm, addressing him with a supportive look before you both walk towards the door.

You stay behind. Hina’s now able to graze the doorknob when she stretches on her tiptoes. You wonder if this is how she looked right before you first saw her. Your face darkens.

When he opens the door, you recognize the new social worker joined by her grandparents. Everyone’s eyes on the little girl who seeks comfort behind Taehyung as she peeks up curiously.

“Hina,” calls softly her grandmother with her open arms. “Come say hi.”

She doesn’t move, tightening her grip on his pants. He pats her head while her grandmother keeps beckoning her.

“Go say hi to grandma.”

After a couple of seconds, Hina walks slowly towards the elderly couple to let them kiss her as they exchange a couple of words. Taehyung walks away to get a bag with all of Hina’s belongings.

You don’t know where to look. You try not to stare as he crouches down at the doorstep. Her grandmother tries not to look too affected when Hina hops back in his arms.

“Hina you’ll go to grandma and grandpa’s house, today.” He trails softly while putting her coat and small beanie on for her. “You’ll go with them for some time and then I’ll come see you, all right. Here, don’t forget your gloves… It’s snowing outside.”

“You coming with Hina?” She asks after fetching his black knit cap from the sideboard for him.

He takes it from her, ignoring the tightness in his chest. “No, baby. You go with them. I will come after.”

Her frown deepens as she shakes her head unsatisfied. “No, no. I stay with daddy…”

“Hina,” her grandpa’s voice earns their attention. “There are a lot of toys back home. Don’t you want to go play with them? There’s a big princess castle built an-”

She turns away to hug Taehyung’s neck, shaking her head again.

“Hina, we should go now. Come.”

He can’t help but tense at the authoritative tone the old woman uses. She goes to grab one of Hina’s arm and forces her back up on her feet.

She starts whimpering and her eyes get teary.

“Let’s try not to linger.” The social worker interjects suddenly, backing away to prompt their quick departure and get settled with it rapidly.

You look their way. Hina brings a clothed hand to her face and rubs it when a tear slides down, naturally recalling what Taehyung always told her when she’d fuss. He stands up with his head hanging and she cranes up hers to pout at him and her grandmother, baring her grief.

“Let’s go,” her grandfather prompts after taking the bag from Taehyung.

Hina drags her feet, looking back as she’s taken further and further away from him. You join Taehyung rooted in the corridor. He sniffles at the gut-wrenching sight.

“Don’t break down in front of her.” You say quietly, seeing her one last time before they turn around the corner.

He looks down at the black beanie and closes his hand tightly around it. Her crying is weaker now and Taehyung can't hold it back anymore.

You walk him back in and barely have the time to close the door before he slowly grabs onto your body, hugging you to him, seeking comfort.

You freeze in surprise a quick second and slowly lower your hands on his back, listening to him sobbing in your neck.

“Please, hold me.”

You squeeze him hard, clenching away the tears blurring your vision.

***********************

You indulge him when he asks you to spend the night in his bed, allowing him to curl in your embrace as he cries himself to sleep.

The following day, he hopes to see you still by his side but finds the other side of the bed, cold and empty.

He didn’t rest that night and the note you left on his bedside table had only awakened a headache he would’ve done without. What he reads doesn’t surprise him, Hina had been taken away from him and so did your professional duties with you.

Hwiin cannot hold back the delight of having him to herself again, steering him towards whatever she thought advantageous for him and mostly for her.

She didn’t take in account the other side of the coin. As pliable as she got him to be, his demeanor was left out of her reach.

Taehyung does the bare minimum expected from him on tv shows and interviews, he still gives his all during performances but they’re lacking and soon, Hwiin is brought to deal with unhappy and worried fans who do their utmost to discover the reason behind his dull self.

Taehyung becomes withdrawn not only around strangers but also when he’s with his parents, friends and even when he’s left alone with her  and she doesn’t stand it. She hates to witness him become the ghost of himself and this would only lead them to their downfall. Her feelings for him make it all uncomfortable.

****************

As for Hina, she isn’t doing any better.

Her grandparents have a hard time getting along with her. She’s not lacking anything but they fail filling in his absence. She struggles to get familiar with her new surroundings and their strictness does nothing but nurture her fear of them.

Her change of mood doesn’t go unnoticed by her school teacher but even her doesn’t manage to make her talk.

“This can’t go on,” her grandfather grunts sitting down on their bed, facing the window. His wife remains quiet on her side. “This isn’t benefiting any of us.”

“If she goes back with him, we’ll never be part of her life.” She places the comb back on the bedside table. “She’s everything we’ve got left of our precious Yuri.”

“Let’s not put a wall between us and him.” He reaches back when he feels her slipping beneath the sheets. “We’ve got to admit he did a good job raising her all this time despite his lack of experience… We’re not this patient anymore... It pains me to see Hina like this. We should think about it.”

She doesn’t answer and he turns back to look up at the night sky.

I hope you forgive us, Yuri.

***********************

It takes a month to Hwiin before she decides to visit mr and mrs Hiroshi. The wind is harsh on her skin as she climbs up the slope leading to their house. She tries to block the cold as much as possible, tilting her head down in the collar of her coat and ends up bumping into someone coming in the opposite direction.

“Sorry,” she apologizes instantly but the person doesn’t acknowledge her, hidden under a large hood. She stops a second wondering if they come from their house since the path doesn’t lead anywhere else but hurriedly picks up her walk again.

She pushes the intercom button but notices from afar mister Hiroshi outside sweeping the pathway from the outside door to their house.

“Hwiin, isn’t that right?” He recalls after walking up to her and greeting her. “What brings you here in this awful weather? You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she trails embarrassingly as she tries to think of ways to formulate her next words. “I’m sorry to bother you but I’ve come to talk to you because of Taehyung a-”

“You here to convince my wife to have Hina go back to him, aren’t you?”

“Uhm- y-yes, yes.” She blinks a little taken aback. “I- I”

“Well, you’re running a little bit late.”

She stares back, confused.

“A young woman around your age- very charming and polite by the way- just came by with the same motive. You probably saw her, she left a couple of minutes ago.”

Hwiin looks behind her, pensive. “Did she?”  

/////////////////!\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Feedback is much appreciated Reblog if you wish to read more

[electrictoes]

Light the Dark

For @dailysvu‘s Sonny Carisi Appreciation Week

Prompt: Day 6: Nightmare

When Sonny is eight he starts getting a recurring nightmare. It’s an awful, twisted memory of the summer just gone by. 

The dream starts just like his memory. They’re at the beach. Mama left Teresa in charge while she went back to their rented beach house to start cooking dinner; Daddy - Dad, Sonny corrects himself in his memory, he’s not a baby anymore - has gone into town to get their fourth of July fireworks; Sonny had asked to go with him but Dad said he had to look after your sisters, Junior.

Teresa isn’t doing a very good job of being in charge; she’s sunbathing with one eye open so she can check if the lifeguard is watching her. The lifeguard isn’t watching Teresa because he’s watching two older girls sunbathing up the beach, but since Teresa’s about to start high school she doesn’t much listen to anything Sonny has to say. She calls him Dominick like Sonny is a baby name and tells him to go away.

Gina’s made friends with some other kids. She does that everywhere they go; she's playing volleyball and ignoring her brother and sisters. And so it’s just Sonny and Bella.

The problem is Bella can’t swim. She thinks she can but she’s no good at it. Dad says she’s gonna have to learn because they live on an island, but Mama says it doesn’t really count. In Sonny’s real memory when Bella runs into the sea and gets caught in a wave he’s quick - he swims right out after her because the lifeguard is still not watching the ocean, and he swallows so much water he’s still coughing it up hours later, but he manages to grab hold of Bella before she goes under the water - and the bigger kids Gina's been playing with see them, and they swim out to help them back to shore. Teresa yells at Sonny and Bella, and then Mama yells at Teresa, and then Dad yells at everyone.

In his real memory he wakes up in the middle of the night and his chest still feels tight from all the coughing, but when he opens his eyes and looks across the little room he’s sharing with Bella, she’s fast asleep with her bunny rabbit tucked up under her head and he knows she’s okay.

That’s not what happens in the nightmare.

In the nightmare when the wave gets Bella he’s not quick enough. There aren’t any bigger kids nearby and he sees Bella slip under the water before he can reach her. In the nightmare he tries to get to her but everything goes black, and cold, and he can feel hands on his legs dragging him down, down, down into the water.

When he wakes up he screams. Screams loud enough to wake the whole house up and the first time it happens Dad comes running in with a baseball bat like he’s going to beat Sonny’s nightmare with it. Mama’s right behind him, and when Dad drops the bat she pushes past him, sitting on Sonny’s bed and brushing his sweat soaked hair back from his forehead. She kisses him and asks him what happened while Dad sends the girls back to bed.

He doesn’t stop getting the nightmare for almost a full year - a year of his parents whispering things like therapy when they think he’s not listening, of Mama soothing his tears and kissing his hair, of Dad telling him it’s time to grow up a little, and Gina saying he’s too old to be this dumb. Dad only lets him get in their bed the first couple of times - after that he says Sonny’s got to learn to manage. Sometimes when he wakes up from the nightmare he sneaks across the hall to remind himself that Bella’s okay, and if she spies him she’ll creep past Gina’s bed to give him a hug. She tells him he’s the best big brother in the world and he swells with pride every time, even though Bella only has one big brother so she wouldn’t know any different.

He gets the nightmare occasionally for the next couple of years, but as the memory of that day at the beach fades, so do the dreams; by the time he’s in middle school he’s stopped getting nightmares altogether. At least until Bobby Bianchi decides to use his head as a wrecking ball.

The cuts and bruises heal much faster than the rest of him. He has nightmares about Bobby Bianchi for far longer than he ever had nightmares about that day at the beach. Sometimes the two nightmares combine and the hands that are dragging Sonny down to the ocean floor belong to Bobby; the cruel way he’d laughed as Sonny fell to the ground echoing in his ears.

His father had been so disappointed in the aftermath of the window incident that Sonny doesn’t dare tell him about the nightmares. He doesn’t tell his mom either, because she was already so worried about him, had struggled to hold back tears as she helped clean his blood away. He doesn’t tell anyone - not even Bella - because the first time he’s ripped from sleep by the nightmare he can hear his parents talking quietly downstairs - he tiptoes down carefully, just wanting the comfort of seeing his mom even though he’s too old to ask for a hug, for her to tuck him back into bed.

He stops three steps from the bottom of the stairs when he hears his name, and he listens with his fists clenched, his bottom lip between his teeth. “He’s too sensitive,” Dad is saying, “That’s why these kids pick on him.”

“Dominick, that’s not fair,” Mom says back in a hushed whisper, “We raised him to be a good kid, a sweet, kind child. That doesn’t mean that-” he hears his mother choke on her words, can tell that she’s crying, and he takes a guilty step back up the stairs, shuffling away but staying in earshot as his father comforts her.

“He’s gonna be just fine,” his dad says, “But we’ve gotta toughen him up a bit. It’s my fault, three sisters, I should’ve seen this coming. I’ll speak with him.”

Sonny slips back into his own bed and holds his anxieties in, keeps his nightmares to himself.

Two days later his dad sits him down - man to man - and talks to him about toughening up a little, growing a thicker skin. He asks again who pushed Sonny through the window and Sonny knows he’s disappointed when he doesn’t get an answer. He swallows down his fear, his discomfort, and tells his father he’ll handle it. It’s years before they’re back on the same page again.

When the nightmares come he holds back screams, buries his tears in his pillow as he cries himself to sleep. His mother frets - thinks he’s not sleeping enough, staying up too late - he’s not eating properly, she says, shuffling him into the kitchen, making him stand by her side as she prepares spaghetti sauce and meatballs and a dozen other recipes he commits to memory watching her hands move, waiting for her to shove a plate in front of him to reassure herself she’s doing something to help.

After a time, much like before, the nightmares trickle away. Never entirely, though. It’s long after middle school that he stops dreaming about Bobby Bianchi - though the nightmares don’t bite at his adult self in the same way, he’s still thrown awake well into his college years, that laughter ringing in his ears.

Becoming a police officer, then a detective, he sees things. Sometimes he sees the worst of humanity and it can leave him fraught, on edge. He’s worked hard at setting his emotions aside at the end of the day, but there are some sights you can’t unsee, and some images that won’t leave his head. When he closes his eyes at night there are cases that haunt him, that have him waking up in a cold sweat and struggling to catch his breath.

Early on he gets a domestic disturbance call that he’ll remember for the rest of his life - Ellen Carter’s face lingers in his mind, the way he had tried to persuade her to get out of that house, leave her husband. The way she looked, blooded and beaten, her skull smashed in and her body slumped over by the wall. He wakes up every night for a week with the image of her eyes in his head and he has to shake himself, roll over and try and get back to sleep. His sergeant tells him he looks like hell, that whatever’s going on in his personal life he can’t bring it to work with him. It’s like he’s desensitised, and Sonny will take the dark nights over that any day.

He makes detective and he works homicide. It’s worse. There’s not just one Ellen Carter, there’s dozens. It gets harder and harder and though he doesn’t have any one recurring nightmare, he never goes long between episodes of waking up and remembering their faces.

So he moves to SVU - he wants to make a difference before it’s too late. But SVU brings its own dark cases, it’s own haunting images. It’s at SVU that he starts to pick up real nightmares again, not just flickering images. The cases and the heartbreak, they still get him, but it’s his own experiences that follow him into his dreams.

He takes Mike Dodds’ death hard and it’s the first time in years that he’s had the kind of nightmares that dig deep into his consciousness. He replays his imagined memory of the scene in his head - the way Mike got shot, how he faded from life; and some nights it isn’t Mike - some nights Sonny’s the one who got shot and he’s lying bleeding on the ground and plunged into darkness, unseen hands grasping at him. Those nightmares are hard - but the kind that leave him biting back a scream are the nightmares where Mike is replaced with someone else - with Fin, or Olivia, or Amanda, and those dreams having him clawing at his bedsheets, grabbing at his phone on the nightstand, his thumb inches away from calling to check in - to reassure himself that they’re okay.

He only make a call once, and only because he has a text from Amanda sent thirty minutes before - Jesse’s cutting a new tooth and it’s keeping both her and Amanda awake. He’s breathless when he greets her, enough that she catches it even over the phone.

“Carisi? Where are you?”

“In bed,” he says, sitting upright, a hand in his damp hair, heart still hammering in his chest.

Amanda’s suspicious, and he’d laugh if he wasn’t already so off-kilter, “Why are you calling me from your bed?”

“I- I can’t sleep,” he admits.

“Are you okay?”

There’s something about the way her tone shifts - something about Amanda Rollins in general - that makes it easy for him to tell her. Maybe in person he would hold back a little more, but she can’t see his face and he’s still shaking, “I- not really. I’ve been havin’-”

“Nightmares?” she finishes, her voice soft down the line. It’s the first time since he was nine years old that he’s let someone else into this part of his life. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Nah,” he says, and he means it - just knowing he’s told her is soothing in itself, “I just- wanted to know you an’ Jesse were okay.”

She hums down the phone, offers to distract him, and he falls asleep sometime later to the sound of Amanda settling Jesse. He sleeps through the rest of the night. The dreams don’t go away altogether, but they fade with time.

When Tom Cole puts a gun to Sonny’s head it ends with him dead on the floor, Sonny spattered with his blood, and he keeps it together. In the dark of his bedroom hours later he awakes choking with fear. He had thought his number was up, and that feeling doesn’t go away, not for months.

There are other incidents, too - when Tom Williams falls to his death before Sonny can pull him back over the railings, when Jules Hunter is killed in a deliberate car crash - case after case, victim after victim. Things that happen to his friends and colleagues too - when Barba gets death threats, when Noah is kidnapped, when Liv is held hostage, and when Bucci takes Amanda. He puts so much energy into moving on, focusing on other things, that it’s only natural the thoughts he doesn’t process creep into his dreams.

He handles it though - the dreams never become what they were when he was a child, never take over his sleep every night. He doesn’t need to be comforted, has learned to shrug them off and go back to sleep. He almost always only gets those kind of dreams when he is alone, and on the rare occasions there is another body beside him in his bed when he sits bolt upright, shaking with terror, he always downplays it - a bad dream, something that happened on a case once. Nothing to worry about.

It’s almost cruel that his old dream comes back to haunt him just as his waking life becomes everything he’s wanted it to be for so long. The first time he startles awake in Amanda’s bed he hopes it’s a fluke - just one of those days something in his subconscious has triggered this old memory. When Amanda blinks up at him, he tells her he’s fine - says he woke up with heartburn though he knows she doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t want to tell her what happened in his dream - the way it wasn’t Bella being swept under the waves, but Jesse. The way it wasn’t him being dragged down but Amanda.

After the third night in a row of the old nightmare twisting - this time it’s Billie being caught in the waves, Sonny unable to catch her in time - the third night of Amanda catching him awake, a new excuse on his tongue each time - a distraction in the form of his mouth on hers, his hands sliding beneath the blankets; losing himself in her at the same time he steers her away from what had woken him - Sonny decides to sleep alone, to go back to his own apartment and hope this string of nightmares run their course.

It doesn’t help. Two nights without Amanda and he’s had even less sleep than the three previous.

She frowns at him over his office desk as she hands him a coffee, and she takes the seat opposite without him offering. “Alright, Counsellor, what’s going on?”

“What? Nothing.”

“Are you gonna come home with me tonight?” she asks, leading him into the conversation.

He shrugs, “I don’t know, I- I got a lot to catch up on.”

“I’d say you were avoiding me,” she says, leaning forward on his desk, “But I don’t think that’s it.”

He shakes his head, “Never.”

“So if it’s not me, then what? The girls?”

“No,” he insists, surprised she’d even suggest it, “I thought you might want some space.”

“And instead of asking me you go home alone and what - lie awake all night? Because you look like you haven’t slept in a minute,” she reaches across the table, curling her fingers around his, “Carisi, what is it?”

“I’ve just been- I didn’t wanna keep wakin’ you up.”

“You know,” she says, her thumb rubbing back and forth across his hand, “I get nightmares too.”

He sighs, hesitating before telling her the whole story, starting with his original nightmare and talking her through his recent dreams - the conversation takes far longer than either of their lunch breaks should have, but once he starts talking he can’t seem to stop, after holding all of this in for as long as he has.

The nightmares don’t just stop. Being in love with Amanda Rollins makes almost all of Sonny’s life a little brighter, brings a little more light into his days and his nights, but love isn’t a cure all and childhood night terrors don’t go away just because your days are filled with happiness - with sleepy morning kisses, children giggling over breakfast, and sneaking coffee breaks together - with Amanda’s head against his chest on the couch, the way Jesse has started to copy the things he says while they cook, and the times Billie falls asleep on his knee before he’s even halfway through her bedtime story - the nights still grow dark.

The difference now - the difference from every nightmare he’s had since he was nine years old - is that when he wakes gasping into the night, unwanted images assaulting his dreams and corrupting his memories, there’s a soft voice in his ear, and arms curled around him; there are reassurances and promises and hands holding his.

His nightmares slip away after a few weeks - not gone forever, but they become less frequent, less draining. Amanda gets nightmares too - he soothes her through them just as tenderly as she does for him. They’ve both seen things. They both have memories they wish they didn’t. But they have each other.

[whump-town]

The Slow Crawl Back to Normal

This is the really long fic I wrote to connect the episodes in season five following Foyet’s attack. As there is a whole month between the episode 5x01 “Nameless, Faceless” and 5x02 “Haunted”. So, naturally, I can’t stand to let all the possible whump go unwritten. However, I am not amused with the material I have produced. I did write is so it is to your own discretion that you read it. Good luck

Word Count:  7870

Getting into all of this, there had been a level of expected conflict. Seven people, six of which are heavily conflicted with a broad spectrum of emotions about one of the others. Luckily, Reid’s managed to procure a little of that attention (mercilessly, really).

That doesn’t stop them, entirely.

Emily Prentiss blinks once, twice at the bulging supply bag in Penelope Garcia’s hands. The two stare at each other from where they stand. A distinct air of mischief in the room, the lightest thing to ghost through all day. And Emily lets herself immerse fully into that hope. Into its ease. “I thought I said only the important things,” she chides softly.

Garcia looks down at the bag in her hands and frowns. Setting it down beside Hotch’s leg, Garcia opens it with a distinctly sassy motion. “It is only the important things,” she defends. She opens the bag to allow Emily to look in and as she pulls it open Emily can smell Hotch. His soap and detergent soaked into the old beige sweater sitting at the top of the bag. Even in the thick cabin socks tucked into the spare spaces. “I had to pack his winter clothes,” Garcia explains. “He gets cold easily, you know that.”

Hotch does stay relatively cold most of the time. Which is how it’s so effortless for him to stay tucked under all the layers of his suits. Emily is glad someone thought of that in the face of all this madness. The paper-thin, rough blankets the nurses are allowing him now aren’t going to be very much help. They’ve all shared a room with him before. He requires several layers of blankets to sleep.

Something green catches her eye and without thinking, Emily reaches in. “What’s--” Emily moves the sweater aside and Garcia swiftly shuts the sides of the bag around Emily’s hand.

Garcia glances at Hotch and then back to Emily, whispering loudly, “that is his underwear. You can’t look at them.”

Emily tries to hide her amused smile. It’s cute, alright? Big bad Aaron Hotchner having his modesty protected by Garcia. “Alright,” Emily backs down, pulling her hand back away from the bag. “Did you bring me anything?” she asks.

Garcia nods, smiling once again bright in place. “I come with…” Garcia turns to the shoulder bag she has, pulling it around to her front. “Books!” She spreads out the pickings and Emily realizes these are Hotch’s books. Because one, even the books that are essentially just decoration they’ve been sitting on her shelves for so long, she still knows their titles. And two, the books are old classic romance novels. Pride & Prejudice, Wuthering Heights, and Jane Eyre. She would never seek out these sorts of books on her own.

There’s also the additional proof that she’s seen them in his boxes. He’s been in his current apartment for months and he’s still hardly put away a thing that doesn’t get immediate, daily use. She’d been there to help him move and had refrained from commenting on the fact that he buckled the coffee maker into the front seat so it wouldn’t fall over. Which had forced her to sit in the back seat (which might have been punishment for making fun of his “dad” jeans). So, she’d also opened his other boxes to help along the unboxing process and quickly sidetracked so she could bully him for his library.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Emily says, taking them with a grateful smile and presses a quick kiss to Garcia’s cheek. “What would we do without you?” Emily thumbs through the old novels distractedly and wonders what she’s going to learn from these books. Never mind, she already knows: that H0tch is an old boring romantic.

Which is also cute but she refuses to acknowledge that for too long.

“How is he?” Garcia asks.

Her tone is so hopeful that it makes Emily’s throat tight. The truth is grim. And her duty is to the truth but Garcia is all of the light of this job. Her hope and smile is always what greets them when they come home. In the times in which she falls, they’ve found themselves bathed in the darkest nights. Not a star in sight. Clouds hovering overhead. There is so much to consider and no time to dwell.

Emily never has to answer her.

“Sir!”

His head turns sluggishly to them, eyes moving around the rest of him as he takes in everything. Slowly, they slide back to them but he doesn’t ask where he is or what happened. He looks them both over. Typical Hotch behavior to take stock of a situation and then do little visual check-ins to comb them over for injuries. Even though he’s the one laid up in the hospital. “Hello,” he hoarsely greets. His pale lips curl up, a soft smile he has afforded only her. He can always do that one little thing for Penelope Garcia. But he can’t hold it for long and with a tired sigh, his lips fall to his more natural grimace. His blinks are slowing in rate, his eyelids already dropping again.

Although, yesterday, the doctor had been sympathetic to his situation today she is not. She’d allowed him to forgo from taking stronger doses of morphine and sedatives so that he might fight his body and stay awake long enough to say goodbye to Haley and Jack. The three different states of panic he’d worked himself into were enough not to allow her to make that mistake again.

Today, as drowsy and inactive as he has been, he has remained calm. Only waking once in a state of panic early this morning, writhing in pain and crying out softly for Haley.

“Garcia was just dropping some stuff off,” Emily informs him. “Some clean clothes so you can change out of this gown.” But she’s Emily Prentiss and she can’t stop there. “Not that I’m sure the nurses don’t love seeing your ass every time you go to the bathroom.” She looks far too pleased as she remembers-- “Oh and she was totally bragging about being able to go through your underwear drawer. She was just showing me a pair of your boxers when you woke up-- Ow!” Emily is taken by complete surprise when Garcia hits her.

Garcia red in the face vehemently denies this false claim. “I would never do that, sir! I did have to look inside the drawer but I promise I tried to keep my eyes closed so I wouldn’t see everything! I hardly saw anything at all! Just--”

“Garcia. Garcia?”

She comes to a stuttering halt, face still very flushed.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Hotch clarifies with a tired sigh. “Prentiss just has a flair for tall tales.” He says this under his breath, his eyes falling shut. It takes him a long moment but he manages to blink them back open. A few rapid shallow blinks as he forces himself to stay awake just a little longer.

Emily scowls down at him but she can’t really be mad. Not him, not when he’s like this. “I do not have a flair for tall tales,” her voice turns to a childish taunt near the end. Finishing it off with an eye roll and softly knocking the back of her hand against his.

It earns her a sleepy little huff and just the faintest smirk.

Garcia feels a little better having seen this demonstration. As the one left searching hospitals for news on him, half expecting someone to eventually break the news of his death to her, she’s relieved. No one has given her good news in two days. She hadn’t been able to leave the office yesterday in time to make visitor’s hours. All she knew is what Morgan had told her from yesterday: that he was agitated and weak.

Weak. Her boss? No. Her Aaron Hotchner is strong and brave and maybe a little sad but he doesn’t deserve this.

“Garcia?”

She looks up, taken aback by how softly her name comes out of his mouth. “Yes, sir?”

“Thank you for finding me.”

Tears gather in her eyes and she steps around Emily to squeeze his hand. “Of course, sir.” Then leaning down to kiss his temple, she adds. “Just in case though, I’m going to put a tracker in your underwear. I can’t have you all running off on me, okay?”

He makes one of those signature Hotch grunts, a soft noise that comes from the back of his throat.

“I love you, sir.”

If he finds anything in his boxers, he’ll consider that a lie.

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

Aaron Hotchner may be sedated and spending roughly 75% of the last three days hazing in and out of sleep but he’s not stupid. He’s been a profiler for the better part of a decade, longer really, and he didn’t just bat his eyelashes to work his way up to Unit Chief. “You’re angry,” he says.

Dave and Emily have been shouldering the majority of his visiting hours. Everyone has stopped by (even Reid, though it was two in the morning and that was an unapproved meeting) and continues to stop by but seemingly out of duty rather than because they want to see him. Not that Hotch can really blame them. He’s seen himself in the mirror, he’s not looking too hot.

Today is Dave’s day and he’s been with Hotch since seven-thirty this morning. Long enough to watch Hotch sip at some apple juice and neglect the chicken broth he was supposed to have for lunch. His lack of appetite is starting to become a problem and that is what Hotch assumes Dave is frustrated with. Reasonably, Hotch does know he needs to try a little harder but apple juice got boring two days ago and he’s not really a fan of room temperature soup.

Looking up from his Sudoku, Dave sighs. An obvious tell. He straightens the spine of his book. “I’m not.”

Hotch grunts, so he is mad. They’ve had this conversation enough over the years for Hotch to be able to tell.  If Dave weren’t mad he would have spent more time clarifying he’s not mad at Hotch, not denying it. Rightfully, Dave always assumes first and foremost that Hotch thinks he’s mad with him. Which is fair because, right now, Hotch is fairly certain Dave is mad at him.

The sound of his grunt makes Dave look up and Dave finds himself looking at the side of Hotch’s head. The younger man avoiding his gaze. Fuck. Sighing, Dave places his pen in the middle of the pages and puts the book down. Way to go, Dave chides himself. Now he’s going to have to backpedal. Might as well call Emily now and tell her to come in and sit here with him. But that would only make matters worse. Then Hotch would have damning proof Dave is mad at him.

“I’ll-- I’ll try harder,” Hotch whispers, scratching dully at one of the bandages wrapped around his forearm. “I will.”

Dave leans forward in his chair, head hitting the palms of his hands with a groan. Does this nonsense ever get easy? “I”m not mad at you, Aaron.” He rubs at his face, around his eyes until he can sit back up. He’s not mad at Aaron, really. He’s fucking livid with George Foyet. With Hotch’s landlord who Derek has been on the phone with for the last two days arguing about nothing and everything. He annoyed with this hospital and the stupid rules but he’s not mad at Hotch.

Dave can tell Hotch doesn’t believe him. “Aaron,” Dave calls softly. He reaches out and puts his hand on Hotch’s thigh, pushing a little to get his attention. “I promise I am not mad at you, alright? You’re doing great.” That’s not really proof. In all honesty, now Dave’s thinking about how all this could have been avoided. If he’d just left Hotch in Seattle all those years ago. Someone would have taken him, surely, he was too good for that office but if Dave had left him for someone else they wouldn’t be here.

Haley and Aaron might still be married.

“If I was mad at you,” Dave asks, “would I have asked Derek to bring you better soup and popsicles?” He forces himself not to react when Hotch glances over after hearing popsicles. “Those little plastic ones that you like--” Dave knows the name but he’s baiting him.

“The colorful ones?”

Dave nods, “yes, those.” He’s not sure what kind of soup Derek’s bringing, likely just whatever is offered at whatever takeout place he stops at. But they are getting the popsicles. They had been the only thing in Hotch’s fridge. Garica had been appalled by this when she told him.

“It was empty, Rossi! Old coffee creamer, a half-gallon of oat milk, and popsicles. That’s it.”

Hotch hums under his breath, turning his head into the pillows. The only positive side to being sedated is that he doesn’t think about Foyet. There are nightmares but he can’t remember them. By the time he wakes someone’s already at his side, walking him through the steps of calming down. He can’t even remember what upset him-- or even if it was Foyet. The attack is fuzzy, lacking the hard edges of memory, but he does know this is temporary.

Soon, two days from now, if not tomorrow, they’ll lift him off the hard drugs. Rest will come second to recovery and he’ll remember.

But for now, he sinks into the thoughtless, dreamless slumber.

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

Technically, this is day two in recovery and he should be up on his feet being forced to walk the long empty halls every hour or so. Core strength isn’t built overnight but as Hotch is learning, it can be killed that quickly. For now, they let him rest as his first twelve hours here on the unit were full of rapid downs. He’d nearly pulled stitches having a nightmare and saying goodbye to Haley and Jack did a number.

Sitting by his side, JJ finds herself thinking about the hours she wasted. Where was her conviction? That gut instinct everyone else seems to run on? She’s known him for years, longer than Emily, and yet she hadn’t thought anything of his phone going to voicemail. Nearly a decade of working by his side and she knows, she knows he always answers. No matter the time, no matter what he’s doing-- grocery shopping, trying to shower, or feeding Jack.

If she calls, he answers.

Her guilt means nothing. It’s just some cruel tactic she’s deployed to distract her from what’s really bothering her. He’s alone. JJ had made those calls to the marshalls. She’d packed Jack’s bag, throat tight as she stacked his little shirts into his even tinier suitcase. And now they’re gone. Already ghosts that Foyet will not be able to find.

That Hotch won’t be able to find.

Her voice is small and trampled but she can’t stand the silence. “Sometimes I forget how he used to be.” It surprises her to hear her voice just as much as it does Emily, who sits on Hotch’s other side, a book loosely held in her lap. She knows Emily’s silence is shock and not just her ignoring JJ. Emily is just one of those people whose silence is often more telling their words-- the same is true for Dave and Hotch.

It’s under that attention that JJ now finds herself a little shy if not stubbornly selfish. Suddenly, her desire to speak is gone. The memory she bathes herself in is her own. To share it makes it lose its depth and the warm familiarity of Aaron. But on Emily presses. She waits silently for JJ to find her voice once again. And JJ decides that she’s being silly. Wistful if not a bit melancholy, which there is no need to be. Aaron Hotchner is alive. Steadily he breathes, he aches, and he lives right between them.

She looks down at the thin white blanket lazily dragged up over Hotch’s hips. Conjuring the image of that Aaron Hotchner from so long ago. Young and smiling with suits that didn’t really fit his long legs. “He was one of those fairytale romancers,” JJ says. She smiles at the look of horror and shock on Emily’s face. This, for that face, is why JJ had begun. They each have this version of him, totally unique to them, that they get to have in these moments. He is not the same man to JJ as he is to Emily. “You could tell he believed in love. He was so--”

Emily is sitting forward in her chair. The book she’d brought lays face down on the bed, inches from Hotch’s limply curled fingers. On he breathes with his trembling crescendo exhales and raspily choked inhales. Oblivious to them.

“He was so enraptured by Haley,” JJ confesses softly, looking to him now. Attempting to manifest one of his smiles from his thin, pale lips. “But mostly,” she finally confesses, “he was so… boyish.” Emily makes a surprised sound, flinching back a little as she considers this information. JJ finds herself watching Emily’s every expression. She wonders who it is that Emily knows as Aaron Hotchner.

JJ smiles as she continues, humored. She’s thrilled by this idea that there might be more to him. That if she tells Emily about her Hotch, Emily will tell her own version. And now, in her hands, she’ll have a larger idea of him. More. She wants more of him so that maybe less might be stolen.

“Once,” she admits, “I told him about the girls from my liaison classes.” It was years ago. So long she needs a moment to really remember the whole thing. Specifically for those little moments and flashes in his eyes. The blush on his cheeks when he laughed and looked away. How he’d shaken his head. “The girls down there are just… they were in awe of him.” She smiles, “and how could you not be? He is handsome and has great manners.”

Emily smirks, rolling her eyes. “Just having manners makes him better than the apes down the hall.” True. Half of the men that work in the building with them are creeps. It seems as if the only half-decent men in Quantico work on their team. Everyone else is more than questionable.

JJ nods in agreeance.

“...Em’ly?” Hotch groans. His eyes are pinched shut in pain. “ ‘m gonna be sick,” he mumbles. He swallows thickly, loud enough for JJ to hear.

Emily gets up in a flash, nearly tripping over her own legs. “JJ raise the head of the bed up,” she instructs.

JJ freezes for only a moment. She hasn’t spoken to Hotch since yesterday when he woke up and they figured out Foyet was targeting Haley and Jack. He’s been asleep every time since. Now, there’s panic in his eyes. As she raises the bed, he grabs her hand. His fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist. Enough to make her stop.

“Wait, wait!” He pants softly, breathing hitching as he writhes uselessly. His chest is on fire, only making his stomach churn more. A few seconds pass and he realizes that he’s going to vomit regardless. “Okay,” he says tightly.

JJ glances at Emily but continues on.

Hotch makes a pained sound, moving his hand from JJ’s wrist. He doesn’t open his eyes, just presses his hand into his stomach. The cramp of his churning stomach more severe than the agitated stitched across his abdomen. “I need the--” his hand wraps around the bucket but Emily keeps holding on.

It’s just water, JJ notes. Being a mother has numbed her to bodily fluids so she doesn’t mind vomit.

Emily doesn’t flinch either. The first time she had. It had taken them both by surprise. Now, for about the fourth time, she just shakes her head. Offering the comfort she can think to-- rubbing his back as tears stream down his cheeks. She already knows they’re going to threaten an NG tube, a longer stay, or something. They always have something to say nothing to help. He’s maxed out on pain meds and still in pain.

They want him to drink something other than water to get his blood sugar back up but hasn’t managed to keep anything down since they started giving him the juices.

Breathlessly, Hotch falls back against the pillows. A light sweat had broken out over his face. “Sorry,” he groans, twisting slowly. His hips are stiff and chest tight but he needs to ease the ache in his stomach. Everything hurts and he can’t get comfortable.

“He can’t keep the apple juice down,” Emily mumbles as she passes JJ with the bucket. JJ follows her to the bathroom to the side of the room. Out of the corner of her eye she glances back at Hotch, watching him. Whether he simply doesn’t care if he’s being watched or hasn’t the presence of mind to consider it, she knows what she sees is a direct reflection of how he feels. No guards. No shields. Just his pale face and weak body leaning heavily into the pillows around him. Lips drawn in a grimace. Pained.

JJ tears her eyes away from the scene. She can’t stand it. Emily must be so strong, JJ thinks, to sit in here with him. To do what she does without blinking. If she weren’t so lost in thought-- stuck circling this stupid idea of all the ways she just keeps failing Hotch-- she would have come up with the idea earlier. However, it takes the sight of Hotch paling even more and grimacing to spur it.

Emily guides the apple juice back into his palm, despite the fact that he turns his head from her.

“Why don’t you water it down?”

Emily frowns, “what do you mean?”

JJ extends her hand and Emily hesitantly gives her the bottle. “Toddlers,” JJ says, “can have juice, right? But it can be a bit much. You have to dilute the juice with water. It can ruin their little teeth but mostly it can spike their blood sugar.” JJ takes the little pink cup Hotch has been sipping water out of and pours a significant bit of the apple juice out. Then she takes the bottle and fills the rest with water. Taking a sip… it’s about the same ratio she’d give a toddler. “You’re still drinking the apple juice, you’re just not going to upset your stomach.”

Hotch hasn’t been throwing up the water so it’s obviously an apple juice problem.

And, sure enough, he keeps the diluted apple juice down. It provides the extra benefit of forcing him to drink more water too as he has to finish at least, one bottle of apple juice a day.

JJ needn’t worry too much about the self-imposed diagnosis of her relationship with Hotch because he, sincerely, considers her a hero for that idea.

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

Hotch wakes from a nap he can’t remember falling asleep to take. His fingers are loosely wrapped around a popsicle. It’s long since melted into an overly sugared blue slush but there is only about a third of it left or what he guesses is about a third. As the palm of his hand is protected by a paper towel that was, at some point, wrapped around the popsicle but now just hinders his ability to see what’s left.

“What times is it?”

“Five thirty.”

Hotch flinches, looking over to his left and finding Morgan and Reid. When he’d asked the question he’d meant it for JJ or Dave. Both of whom are sitting on his right side, his currently favored side. He finds himself self-conscious of this blindness. How weak, stupid even, he must be to miss either of them. Reid is sitting in a bulky wheelchair. Each of either man’s movements measured out by the soft, plastic thunk of round game pieces being moved along the bored.

They’re playing checkers and he hadn’t even noticed them.

“Why does he always do that?” JJ asks no one in particular. She glances at Hotch with an eye roll of exasperation before adding, “always rounds up the time like a little old man. It’s 5:16. That’s hardly 5:30.”

Hotch swallows thickly around his confusion. It takes a whole minute for him to understand but, graciously, JJ has already moved on to another topic. Speaking to Dave now as she searches for something in the bags sitting at the table by his side. She’d meant Reid and his, admittedly, strange habit of significantly rounding up the passage of time.

She pulls out a little bowl, it’s lid fogged with steam, and sets it down. Even though it’s small enough for her to hold in one hand, Hotch’s stomach churns at the thought of having to eat it. Next comes another bowl. “Derek brought you soup,” she says to him. “Rice too but that’s just more so you have options.”

Vaguely, he can remember receiving his popsicle. JJ’s words filling in a memory. Derek had arrived in a flurry of white take-out bags. Emily and Garcia had been around at the time and he’d been only slightly up for small talk. Which they had been strangely understanding about. To the point, Emily hadn’t overwhelmed him with the options. She’d simply wrapped a napkin around the base and given it to him. Already open.

“Do you know which you’d like?”

He can feel himself working into a cold sweat. Overwhelmed with just a simple question. He looks at JJ and then at the rice and then the soup. He’s not sure what the right answer is. Over the last three days, that’s mostly what he’s learned. Though his body craves nothing, not food, and rarely even the need to use the bathroom, he knows it’s supposed to. His eating habits are now watched and, never once in his life, being the type of person to yearn strongly for foods he’s floored. He never knows what they want to hear.

Sure, he’s craved things. An oreo in passing or a specific brand go chips. Preferred a dipping sauce for fries but…

“The soup,” Dave says. He sees that look in Hotch’s eyes, the cast-off-- no one’s home-- look. “It’s your favorite,” Dave takes the soup from JJ’s hand, watching closely as Hotch comes back. He blinks slowly, taking in what’s happening, and nods. Hotch doesn't have a favorite soup but they don’t need to know that.

Hotch looks down, blankly, as Dave gently takes the melted popsicle from his hands. He feels… a strange attachment to that popsicle. Though melted he almost wants it still.

“Eat your soup,” Dave encourages replacing the popsicle with a spoon.

Hotch’s fingers curl slowly around the thin metal. He’s officially at a stage in his life where fine motor movements like this require heavy thought. Pure devotion. He can not think, breathe, or speak while doing these sorts of things. So, eating his soup is going to be far more difficult than he’d like it to be. Neverminded how humiliating his lack of coordination is.

And they’re all here.

His mouth opens, the words I’m not hungry forming but come with no sound. He shuts his mouth and swallows thickly. Again, his stomach twists with a strange vengeance. It’s just clear, brothy soup. Soup. So, why does it feel like his entire chest is pulsing with anxiety?

He flinches when a hand wraps around his own. Obscuring the view of the spoon, of his hand and he knows he can only fight off the tremble for so long. He drags his eyes up, forces himself to keep that hand steady. JJ is touching him but she’s not looking. “Would the rice be easier?” she asks.

White, tasteless rice. Unseasoned. Just rice.

He can’t make words pass across his lips but there must be something that his face betrays because without a word JJ puts the lid back on the soup and puts the rice in his lap. It’s closer than the soup had been. When he looks up, no one’s watching. Morgan and Reid are turned so he’ll see them if they turn to watch. JJ and Dave are settling down to their own respective tasks. JJ snacking on a piece of garlic bread and Dave kicking his feet up on the edge of his bed. No one's watching.

Swallowing thickly, he moves slowly. All of his attention goes to this task. The spoon grazes the top of the lid but no one looks at the sudden clink of the metal hitting the container. He glances up once more time before forcing the spoon into his mouth. He nearly misses but no one sees. A single grain falls back onto his lap. The white rice nearly lost in the sea of the other white blankets.

Though, none of them aware, tomorrow is going to be hard on them all. For today, he remains pliable. Succumbing easily to sleep and to their request. He flinches but he lacks the strength to get too far away. So he remains in his bed, watching them from behind hooded eyes and deep, sedated breaths. Tomorrow he will find the strength for defiance.

“Not too much,” JJ says, after a few minutes. He manages only about five bites and the spoon never has more than a pinch of rice but it’s setting heavily on his stomach and he’s done. “Done?”

Heavy and warm, he nods. He feels her take the spoon from his hands and lift the rice away.

“Hotch?”

It feels like only a second has passed but when he pulls his heavy eyes back open there’s only JJ. Reid and Morgan having left and Dave too, apparently. He hums, mouth too dry to form words.

“Can you finish this juice off for me?” She doesn’t wait for a reply, just places the nearly empty bottle into his palm. He’s tired and so he doesn’t fight the tender way she pushes his hair back from his face and places a kiss on his temple. She knows there are only a few more hours left before his guard slips back into place and he fights her every move. But, for now, she can appreciate that he doesn’t fight her help so long as it’s minimal.

There’s a straw in the juice so he only has to lift his arm a little to get access to the juice.

“Hello,” Emily steps into the room, smiling the whole way.

JJ glances at Hotch but he’s glaring down at the apple juice.

“JJ,” Emily greets, “you’re relieved of your duties. Hotch is safe with me.” Emily tosses her bag on the end of Hotch’s bed, right beside where his feet are. “Don’t worry about us Jayje, we're gonna watch movies.”

JJ glances once more to Hotch, satisfied he’s back to taking tentative sips from his apple juice. Okay. She needs to sleep and catch up on laundry. She’s leaving him in good hands. Nothing to worry about. Reaching out she touches his leg, getting his attention. “Behave.”

He nods and returns back to his own head, looking down at his lap.

It goes without saying that Emily is the one who needs to be doing the behaving.

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

He goes home far too early.

If the nightmares leave him paralyzed, the wounds ooze-- Surely, he is not healthy enough to go off on his own.

He’s a body caught in the loop. Just a capsule for time, each second measured out on his paling skin. Every minute, each hour-- the blood trickling down over his ribs. Slipping into the grooves of skin and staining his once white t-shirt. He breathes but he is not living. With no thoughts, no feelings is he even a thing at all? Just a body that remains where he was left five days before to watch the sunrise from his window and set on the other side of his house. Every day. For five days.

On the sixth day, as the sun sets over the top of the house-- noon-- there’s a knock at his door. The calendar on his fridge wrestles softly with the breeze coming in from the window Derek Morgan left open in the kitchen. Their names with their own smiling stickers and color-coded which had meant to be for Aaron alone wave pathetically with each coming breeze. It was meant to be a way to keep track of passing days and who would be coming to terrorize him every day. Garcia had hung it up and wrapped his fingers around a black sharpie, smiling when she added he could even use it to mark off the days until his hopeful return to the BAU.

The knocking on the door grows silent and breathily, Hotch whimpers out in relief. He can’t think, doesn’t want to, and is glad that today, not unlike the last five days, whoever it is has wisened up and chosen to leave him alone. All he wants is silence and pain. The only things he knows for sure are real.

As the nurse had watched them go, she spoke those same words over and over. Monitor. He’s meant to be monitored and watched.

Unless the shadows that warp into George Foyet-- and not just him but Hotch’s father, long and tall, and Carl Arnold and his cackling, taunting observations, and beasts and ghosts from his nightmares. Unless those monsters count, he’s been alone.

Outside his apartment door, David Rossi and Emily Prentiss argue loudly. Enough to stir the rest of the apartment complex’s occupants but none dare stick their heads out to inquire on the trespassing. They all know of the agent nearly killed and none want to get mixed up in that (that is, the few that remain).

“There.”

Emily looks up from her side bag and Dave from where he’s leaning, unhelpfully, looking in as well. For a moment, all Emily can do is stare down at the slightly ajar door. Slowly, her eyes lift to Garica and then back to the door. “You scare me,” Emily says as her face is split by a wide, proud grin. “That, though, was the sexist thing I have ever seen in my life! What are you hiding from us, Penelope Garcia?”

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear Garcia shrugs modestly. Honestly, she’d learned a lot about picking locks from her brothers but, most of what stuck came from Reid and a phase he went through two years ago where he decided to learn how to pick every lock he could get his hands on. She’d picked up a thing or two, as well.

All the cheer dissipates quickly.

“Stay here.”

Emily glances at Garcia but neither disobey Dave’s order. Fearful of what they might find, really.

Dave pushes his way into the room, hit with the thick scent of heavy settling. Distinctly dusty scent. “Aaron?” He steps around a pair of discarded sweatpants, a puddle of dark grey fabric on the carpet. “Shit--” Dave winces as the sight of blood seeped into the fabric of Hotch’s shirt. “Aaron,” he cups Hotch’s cheek, shaking him.

Hotch groans, peeling his eyes open. Despite the deep panic settling in over his chest, his heart beating so hard that he can’t tell the difference between the rate at which his chest aches from the stab wounds and the pace of his heart. He shoves blindly at the arms grabbing at him. His mind chanting-- Foyet, Foyet, Foyet, Foyet--

“It’s me, Aaron!” Dave pins Hotch’s arms to the bed, startled by the ease at which it takes. “It’s okay, it’s okay!”

It’s not. It’s not okay. Hotch can see him, right now. George Foyet looms just behind Dave, knife poised in hand to kill. It’s not okay and nothing ever will be again. But… they can try, can’t they?

“We’re so sorry, sir.”

Hotch leaning heavily into Emily as Rossi crouches on the bedroom floor, making the best of the little light Hotch can take. He can’t sit up by himself, his head spinning and eyes burning, but with Emily’s right arm wrapped around his hips and Dave’s hand bracing his chest he manages to stay put. Mostly, numb to movement and their voices. He just… exists without thought.

Garcia is full of anxious movement and her constant shifting and rocking is hypnotic. It draws his shaky awareness to her. He’s nearly unaware of the cold air blowing against his bare chest. “Garcia,” he croaks. He feels himself wilting, shaking in Emily’s grip. She shifts their bodies and he remains upright, despite how far he’s pulling them down.

She perks up, “yes sir?”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.”

That doesn’t feel true. Not at all, not even a little.

They left him. For once in all the years that they have known him, they listened to him, and what made them think that was okay? They’d disregarded his orders in the field and pushed his buttons just to get a rise out of him. All for that disobedience to be thrown to the side the moment that he got home. He’d wanted to be alone and they fucking listened. Why did they listen?

There is a certain distortion that spoken word carries, impervious though is the thought. A fact only discovered through effect, is that there will never be the right word to express a thought. As it passes through the lips, it warps as all soft, loved things do. The teeth gnarl and grind and the face betrays meaning and the thought, as gentle as a butterfly's wing, with churn to dust right before the eye. Until nothing but the ash is left behind and there is only the fragment of an idea.

“I--I need help.” His words, the rocks on the boldface of a mountain, come crashing into the way of oncoming traffic. He means them feverishly, without reasons and no hesitation. No brakes, no way to stop. He’s nothing more than the stampede of tragedy as smoke fills the air, tires screeching as smoke plumes above. He, the rock, and them, the cars he collides so blindly with. “I’m, I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I’m alone.”

They are there in every moment, every breath. Overstimulated, he needs the breath of silence that passes between his own thoughts. A whirlwind of the fiber of his being lit on fire. He hadn’t known the loud thrum of the world in so long and he needs them to overpower it. He needs them to speak over the electric hum of the light bulb that hangs a fraction too low and swings with its loose wires. As the seconds tick by and the sounds kill him, he needs them gone. He needs nothing more than his thoughts and the hum and he doesn’t have the words anymore. No way to tell them that it’s all too much and entirely not enough.

That he hates how JJ touches his elbow when she’s near him. He’s certain that if she doesn’t touch him, if Garcia doesn’t ghost smiles his way, or Dave fondly knocks gently into him that he will find he doesn't exist. Nothing more than the air that he pulls lazily into lungs that no longer wish to function. Aaron Hotchner will simply cease to be and he’s no longer capable of deciding if that is what he wants. Still, his bones crave for the gentle stroke of a hand against his own. For someone to grab him by the sides of the head and kiss him until that dark pool of warmth settles once again in his stomach. To feel, in its full, love and hatred.

Please, someone, break down his so firmly built walls. Impose themselves. Force their love into the cracks Foyet’s knife has left. Anything.

It’s clear the line they walk with him. Waves lapping at his nerves. Left to perpetually guess at when they need to override his wishes and when they need to step back. It’s Hotch so it’s not easy work.

“You look good like this.” Dave smiles at the sleepy, inquiring glare Hotch sends his way but it’s hard to look intimidating while exhausted and with a head full of messy hair. Which is ink-like on the pillow, spread out in every direction. It makes Dave wish he were the type of writer that dabbles in the art of another world and, more than that, he wishes to create a character like Aaron Hotchner. So that he might force at least one version of this stubborn man to trust the love his team so willingly provides.

But men are often far more complex than what David Rossi is patient enough to put to paper so he is stuck in this world. With the grumpy asshole that he calls a close friend glaring up at him from underneath a hand-knit several toned green blanket, pulled all the way up to his chin and balled there in his fist. A gift from Garcia.

“I bought you a heating blanket,” Dave says, spreading the thick, soft material over Hotch’s long body. “Mmm,” he notes in disappointment when he finds the blanket just a little too small to cover all of his friend's long body. Which isn’t entirely surprising, nothing is ever simple with Aaron Hotchner. However, heated blankets? That’s rather simple.

Dave smiles, contently, as he cranks the blanket up. Turning the heat to the max and watching its immediate effect-- Hotch’s dark eyes drooping and his mouth falling limply from its scowl.

Garcia made him the green blanket he loves so dearly. She’s recently gotten really into knitting. Though, she’s not very good. The blanket she made Hotch is her best yet even if it’s somehow crooked. It’s a dark, dark green and Hotch has used it every night since Garcia gifted it to him in the hospital. He’s very partial to it.

Content (already falling asleep) Dave feels alright leaving Hotch in the living room while he makes some dinner. Of course, as soon as Dave has rolled up his sleeves and is trying to get some vegetables chopped up Emily has to go bothering him. Dave may not have raised children but he swears to deal with the two of them, is exactly like it. He’s seen the way children do one another. Going to brother the peaceful one to entertain themselves.

“Emily,” Dave fuses, placing a hand on his hip. He quickly drops it when he realizes he must look exactly like his mother had when fussing with him. “Leave him alone,” he finishes.

Emily acts offended, throwing her arms in defense. “I wasn't doing anything!” But they all know damn well she’s still going to go bother Hotch.

She’s stuck in this apartment and hasn't brought anything to entertain herself. Besides, he’s her friend. The whole point of him is to entertain her. That’s what friends are for. “Scoot,” she orders, glancing over her shoulder at Dave. He’s chopping vegetables, probably choosing to ignore them.

Obediently, Hotch pulls himself up. Scowling at her, not heated but just because that’s his face at this point, as he does as she requests. “I’m not sharing my blanket,” he mumbles assuredly. Mostly because he knows she doesn’t want the blanket anyhow, he just needs something to say.

Emily sits down beside him, hip-to-hip, it’s a snug fit. “Here,” she reaches around him and places a pillow in her lap, motioning for him to lay back down.

He’s already moving to obey when he grumbles, “why can’t you sit somewhere else?”

She rolls her eyes and Garcia grins at them. “I want to sit with my friend,” she answers. “Is that a crime?”

He hums, “no but it’s annoying.”

There had been a time when Dave had been jealous of the natural relationship between Hotch and Emly. Despite having known Hotch the longest, Dave can see that his friend is just easily comfortable with Emily. The oddness of that companionship is undeniable but he craves for the proximity they allow one another. So guarded except for when it comes to one another. But Dave has, also, come to terms with the fact that Hotch is just… odd.

Emily may be able to command Hotch to do things. As she had just moments ago when she’d gone into the living room and pulled his head into her lap. Dave wishes he could have that comfort. The sleepy way that Hotch had only minimally fought her until he’d settled down and caved to her. But Dave has what even Emily doesn't. Though he may allow Emily into his personal space he only wants Dave when he wakes up screaming from nightmares. When he needs help.

The same way that only Garcia can tuck blankets snugly around him. JJ can argue about how much food he’s eating and get him to eat more. Only Morgan can offer him help when he’s too tired to walk. Reid is the only person allowed to hold his hand. They take what they can get and pride themselves on what little that yields.

“What if I was bitten by a zombie?” Emily asks. “Would you handcuff yourself to me so we could be together?”

Dave quirks an eyebrow at that, shaking his head but continuing with his current task in the kitchen.

Hotch’s low response is inaudible but he hears Emily’s huff of indignance. “That’s not ridiculous, Hotch! I would handcuff myself to you! That’s love, you ass. Garcia would do it.”

Dave looks up, watching Garcia nod from the chair on the other side of the room. She’d been knitting silently, the clack of the plastic needles hypnotically drawing in comfort into the somber apartment. She doesn’t even stop knitting to look and conform with a serious nod that she would, in fact, handcuff herself to them if they were zombies.

Emily doesn’t seem to have learned her lesson with the zombie question. “What about if I was a worm? Would you let me live in your suit pocket?”

Dave hears Hotch’s zero hesitation reply-- “No.” He smirks but says nothing. Hotch adds, “I’d leave you on a pear tree.”

Emily frowns, “I don’t like pears.”

“I know.”

Garcia huffs a laugh but clamps her hand over her mouth when Emily shoots her a glare.

“Dave,” Emily calls. “He’s being mean to me.”

Dave shrugs, “I told you to leave him alone.” And as frustrated as he could let himself be he can’t. Lowly, he can hear Hotch replying to everything asked of him. The soft chuckle he lets out when Garcia says something to him and he can see the little grin in his voice when he speaks to the two of them.

Just give it some time, Dave assures himself. Before he knows it, they’ll have Hotch back. All of him and things will go back to the way they always are. They just need to decide if they’re really ready for that.

[detectivecarlosreyes]

Only the pure in heart can make a good soup

Ao3

Day 1: “Are you warm enough?” + fluff -  Athena asks Buck to check on May when she stops answering her phone after staying home from school with the stomach flu that had been going around.

@evanbuckleyweek

One thing Buck didn’t expect on his day off was getting a call from Athena. He’d just finished a load of washing and had the now clean pile tipped it out on his bed to be folded when the call came through.

He wedges the phone between his ear and shoulder as he goes about folding each item and stacking them in their specific piles to be put away in the right drawer. “Athena! This is a surprise, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

“Hey there Buckaroo. I was actually wondering if you could do me a favour, if you’re not busy.” He surveys what was left of his clothes.

“Nope not busy at all, what do you need?” Buck moves the phone to his hand as he settles on the end of his bed, giving Athena his undivided attention.

“May stayed home sick from school today and I was going to swing by at lunchtime to check on her, but I’ve been held up with an incident on the other side of town. Would you mind checking on her, she hasn’t answered her phone in the last few hours.”

“Yeah, of course, I can do that.”

“Normally I wouldn’t ask but Bobby has gone to the station to sort out a backlog of paperwork that he missed while he was sick, and Michael has gone on a 3-day weekend away with his new beau and as you know everyone else is out of commission with the flu.”

Yeah, he did know, it was something that was going around at the moment, a 24- hour stomach bug. It started with one of the guys at the station who passed it onto Bobby who then passed it onto most of the team, except him and Athena, who went down all at once. It wouldn’t surprise him if May was struck down with the same thing.

Hearing the concern in her voice, Buck gets up and plan of action already forming in his head, “Don’t worry about it ‘Thena, I’ll drop by now and I’ll let you know how she is.”

“Thank you Buck, I’ve got to go but I’ll talk to you later,” she was gone after that and Buck was on the move, collecting his shoes from his room before heading to the kitchen.

Pulling open the fridge, he gathers what was left of the chicken soup batch he’d made the night Bobby had fallen ill and thanked his foresight to make a large enough batch to deliver to the rest of the team the morning when they went down too.

It was a patented recipe that his grandmother swore by that was both nourishing and easy on the stomach lest it be unsettled, and in all his years of using it, it hadn’t steered him wrong yet.

Throwing on his shoes, Buck gathers everything, grabbing one last thing from the fridge as an afterthought, and heads out for the nice, short drive that it takes to get to the Grant-Nash household. He easily finds the spare key that he knew was carefully hidden in the front garden.

Stepping inside, Buck heads to the kitchen to drop everything off before seeking out May who he assumed was probably in her bedroom, trying to sleep off the sickness. Finding the bedroom door closed, he knocks gently and announces his presence out of deference to her privacy.

Hearing what he thinks is the sound of her stirring, Buck opens the door a crack, “May? You awake?”

“…Buck? What are you doing here?” Swinging the door wider, he finds her lying on her side buried under her blanket and looking half-awake, squinting at the door in confusion.

“Your mom asked me to check on you when you weren’t answering your phone.”

Seeing a slight flush of her cheeks Buck steps inside and crouches at her bedside, touching the back of his hand to her forehead and frowns when he feels what he thinks might be a low-grade fever radiating from it.

“I’m guessing you probably have what Bobby had the other day, how are you feeling?” He asks as he looks down at the thankfully empty bucket sitting beside the head of the bed. He sits back on his heels, giving her some room as she props herself up on her pillows considering the question.

“I can’t tell if I feel hungry or still feel like my stomach is still upset. Breakfast didn’t stay down for long, it came back up not long after mom left.” She ends up answering with a grimace, wrapping an arm around her belly.

“I brought some soup. How about I just warm up a little bit and we see how we go.” He offers and gets a considering nod in response. Buck gives her a pleased smile and heads back down to the kitchen to warm the soup in a small saucepan.

He puts a slice of bread in the toaster before turning his attention to his phone, letting Athena know how things were. He moves easily around the kitchen, finding what he needs and plates everything up on a tray to take up to May. Before he has the chance to bring to food to her, he’s surprised, however, to hear her coming down the stairs.

“Is that the same soup you made for Bobby? It smells good.” She says, appearing around the corner, looking more alert and dressed snugly in a thick looking hoodie and track pants.

“Yep, grandma’s secret recipe. Why don’t you take a seat on the couch and I’ll bring it over to you,” Buck answers over his shoulder as he picks up the tray.  

He brings it over to the living area and set it down on the coffee table before passing the bowl to May. “Want to watch something together?”

“You’re staying?” she asked, confused.

Buck shrugs and takes a seat next to her on the couch, picking up the remote, “Yeah, I have nowhere else to be today and I don’t see a better way to spend my day than keeping you company.”

He pauses realising that he might be overstepping, “…If you don’t mind that is.”

May smiles at him, “I wouldn’t mind some company.”

Buck grins back at her before turning his attention back to the tv, “So, what would you like to watch.”

They end up settling on The Great British Bake-off which neither of them had watched. While they watch, Buck tries to subtly pay attention to how much May ends up eating, hoping that she gets at least some nutrition after losing her breakfast, and finds himself pleased to find that she managed at least half the bowl and a few bites of toast.

Almost an hour had passed, and they had just started on the next episode when May got up abruptly, rushing out of the room in the direction of the bathroom. He follows in concern and finds her kneeling by the toilet bowl, throwing up what she’d just eaten.

He goes to fetch a glass of water before returning and joining her in the bathroom. He squats beside her and rubs her back comfortingly until the heaving subsides before offering the glass. She takes it gratefully and washes out her mouth before getting up and moving gingerly back to the couch.

Buck diverts to the kitchen, getting the sports drink he remembered last minute to bring before re-joining her on the couch and offers the bottle, gently reminding her to keep up the fluids.

“Thanks,” May says with a small smile before resting her head on his shoulder with a frustrated sigh, “Guess my stomach wasn’t ready for food yet.”

Buck gives her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, “We can always try again later.”

Feeling her shiver against him, Buck pulls the throw from the back of the couch and May tucks her feet up.

“Are you warm enough?” He asks and May nods into his shoulder.

They both fall quiet after that, tuning back into the show even though they’d already missed half the episode but neither really minding. They slowly get back into it by the end of the episode, commenting on what they think the judges will say about the dishes.

And that how the rest of their afternoon went, building up their own running commentary on the show, throwing in their own opinions and laughing at each other’s criticisms. At some point Harry joins them, having been dropped off from school from the neighbouring carpool.

That’s what Athena walks in to find when she gets home from work, the three of them looking at home with each other as her children quietly bickered with Buck as if they were siblings, over who they thought were the better bakers, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of fondness over it.

Buck sticks around a little longer after Athena’s return, letting her know how the day went and confirming what she assumed May was sick with; And then he heads home, leaving behind the soup that he’d brought over and promising May that he’d try not to watch any more of the show without her.

The next day, however, he wakes to find himself flushed with a fever and with an intense need to throw up. It doesn’t take him much to put two and two together to know how he caught the bug. It doesn’t him bother though, feeling it was worth hanging out with May because it meant that he got to know her better and learned pretty quickly how easily they got along.

May must have found out from Bobby that he had called in sick because she sent him a number of British Bake-off memes which he saw after his second round of vomiting, making his day feel less awful. She explained that she was having another day from school to be sure that the virus had passed. 

The memes ended up sparking a day-long event with the two of them live blogging to each other what was left of the first season from the comfort of their own homes.

It was one of the best sick days he’s had in quite some time probably since he was a kid.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Grilled Cheese & Cereal Deaths

Dean unlocks the door to his apartment, his forehead resting against the wood and eyes closed in a calculative fashion as he turns his key in the lock.

He’s opened this door thousands of times before, and has collected enough data to reach the conclusion that he does it better when he’s not looking at it. His fingers know exactly what to do, relying on muscle memory and the grooves of the key; but when he’s looking, it takes him a minute to figure out which key is for which, since he’s got every key he owns attached to his purple-pink, rubber ‘I want to break free’ keychain.

Having to not pay attention as he’s unlocking the door allows him to start thinking about Cas again, as if he hasn’t been doing it all four hours of his drive back from Kansas. Cas should be awake right now, it’s only ten, but then he knows this is Cas, infamous for sleeping the weirdest hours known to man. One day, he’s snoring by five pm without a trace of dinner in him, and the next, he’s nudging Dean awake at three am for pancakes.

The lock clicks, and Dean straightens.

It’s only been three days since he’s seen Cas, but he misses him. He considers surprising him, because their door has a silent lock, which Cas wouldn’t have heard unless he’s in the living room - which he never is, unless Dean barters cuddles on the couch in exchange for a Dr Sexy watching partner. Cas is more of a bedroom person. Occasionally, a balcony person. Or, weirdly, sometimes, a hallway person.

Dude just settles cross-legged on the floor, in the middle of the hallway, with his book on his thighs and elbows on his knees, and doesn’t move until Dean almost trips over him, hence finding him, and nagging at him to at least sit on something with a mattress.

Fuck, he misses him.

Dean swings open the door, deciding not to think anymore, and just get to his boyfriend and kiss him and - he steps in. 

“I’m back!” He sings exaggeratedly, hands on his hips, giant grin pulling the corners of his lips up.

“Dean!” Cas yelps, his voice the kind of heavy only sleep deprivation can cause. Dean takes a moment to scan his face, the bags under his eyes and his slightly unfocused eyes. 

Cas’s eyes blink wide and lips completely pursed, like the child who was caught with his hand in the candy jar. But here, the proverbial jar is a stack of books so high - they come all the way up to Cas’s hip, beginning from a two-feet-high table, and the proverbial child is a panicky IT major who knows exactly how long ago he should’ve taken a nap.

Dean sets down his bag next to the door.

“Come here.” Dean lifts his arms, beckoning with a soft voice.

“It isn’t as bad as it looks,” Cas starts to argue, from five feet away. The idiot is in the living room, after all. How could Dean forget? He can also be found at the living room when he’s having one of his truly bad, must-do-everything-at-once episodes. “I swear, I just took out all of these books an hour ago, there’s just this thing which came up -”

“Come here.” Dean says, his mouth a straight line.

“You’re wrong if you think I haven’t slept in 24 hours, Dean.” Cas whines, his resolve lessening. “But I just had so much to do, and there’s this deadline, and there’s not even -”

“Come here.” Dean repeats.

Cas yields, giving up with a little huff, and dragging his socked feet across their living room.

He tucks his head under Dean’s chin, once he’s wrapped his arms around his middle, and Dean’s arms automatically move up to hold him close.

Most times, Dean doesn’t think it’s fair that Cas gets to alternate between being the larger in the two of them, with his wide-ass shoulders and his frigging arms; and the next instant, the adorable little snuggler who’s burying his face in Dean’s shirt.

But at the moment, Dean doesn’t mind it at all. In fact, he doesn’t mind it so much, that he stops thinking about everything else and spontaneously decides he wouldn’t mind if Cas never pulled away.

He squeezes, exhaling happily.

Cas lets out a content little sigh, melting into him, and Dean stops smiling for a moment when he realizes Cas is leaning all of his weight on Dean. And it’s not the fact that Cas is six feet tall, and built completely of concentrated snark and runner’s muscles, and that he’s heavy - but that Dean suddenly remembers that Cas hasn’t slept in 24 hours.

As he conveniently just confessed to.

“You need to sleep.”

Cas makes a disgruntled sound, possibly scrunching up his nose.

“I need to shower.”

Dean sniffs the air dramatically, and shrugs. It’s nothing he can’t handle. He doesn’t really think Cas has been up to jogging lately, and staying holed up in your second floor room with two semester worth of books for a project doesn’t exactly make you sweat, it’s not too unpleasant. Sure, stale clothes have a smell, but this one’s mostly just Cas.

“You need to eat.” Dean counters, and it’s probably a strong point he makes, since Cas doesn’t have a retort to throw back at him within the first second.

“That reminds me. We’re out of coffee,” Cas mumbles, in a little voice. “Didn’t know how I could text you to buy Nescafe when you were driving home two hundred and fifty miles.”

“What about the emergency stack you keep in the bedroom?”

Cas shakes his head. “I forgot to replenish that after the Great Scare of Preponed Papers, in September.”

“You’re every inch the college boy my mama warned me to look out for.” Dean teases, wriggling out of the hug, so that he can stare at Cas.

“And yet you’ve been living with me for years.” Cas returns, turning around and walking towards the kitchen. He plops down on a dining table chair, facing Dean.

“What can I say? You make me a rebel.” Dean scoffs, following Cas’s tracks to the kitchen, after he’s taken off his jacket and deposited it on the couch.

“Ooh, I’m even worse than I thought.” Cas deadpans, crossing his arms. And that ends it. Because there’s more important things to do, right now.

Dean opens the fridge, and starts to rummage through it.

“We’re out of honey, too.” Cas tells him, his chin propped in his hands, as he stares at a busy Dean.

“I can see that.” Dean rolls his eyes, and the almost empty milk carton is the only thing which sympathizes with him. “What kind of meals did you even have since friday, Cas? Honey and coffee? Or maybe, coffee and honey?”

Cas nods. “And ramen.”

“Fucking dumbass, with a 3.9 GPA to show for it.” Dean rolls his eyes again, done with going through the fridge, and closing the door with his elbow as he holds bread and cheese in his hands. “Well, doesn’t matter. Point is, I’m back. What do you want now?”

And before Cas could answer, Dean went on in a typical five star restaurant voice. “We have grilled formaggio. And grilled queso. And the chef’s recommendation, the grilled cheese.”

“Could I have grilled syr?” Cas asks, innocent.

“Lemme guess, Russian for cheese?” Dean confirms, in a dramatic stage whisper.

Cas’s eyebrows dance. “I missed you.” He mockwhispers back.

“You know what, I’ll have to pull some strings, but I think the chef will be able to manage that.” Dean returns to his grand waiter voice. And starts to unwrap the bread and pick out plates from the drawers, while Cas surprises him by beginning to talk.

“It’s a group project.” He begins, not sounding a tenth of the pumped up and clever from before. “For Professor Naomi Novak.” He groans, his head falling on his arms folded on the table.

“Okay?” Dean urges him to go on.

“And Balthazar bailed on me.”

***

Dean listens, as Cas eats. He occasionally offers words of sympathy, or those of righteous annoyance. He stares at Cas, wolfing down the sandwiches like they’re the best thing on the planet, and looking more and more okay as he finishes what’s on his plate.

Dean had had his dinner during what was supposed to be a fuel stop, at a motel who advertised their pies on unmissable banners hannging on every surface of the gas station. He couldn’t resist the temptation.

Thinking about that reminds him that just about an hour ago, he’d been in the last quarter of his drive, tired, but excited to get home. To Cas, to his shower and of course, to his mattress. Now, he doesn’t feel exhausted at all. Or perhaps, there’s just more important things around him. All in all, he knows he isn’t going to bed himself until Cas is going with him.

“Dean.” Cas interrupts his reverie, and Dean looks up to see him pushing away his plate, completely clean.

“Yeah?”

“Everything in the world except you and this grilled cheese sucks.” Cas declares, solemnly.

Dean grins, refocusing all his attention on Cas. “Oh?”

“Definitely.” Cas nods. He licks his lips, and rests back in his chair. “I mean, I know this’ll come as a surprise, but I think I was hungry or something.” He adds, feigning innocence, and Dean snorts. “I don’t know. Must’ve been the stress of the project I’ll never be able to complete in time, that made me overlook it.”

“Cas, listen to me.” Dean begins, reassuring. “The project will be done, Novak will not freak out, and you’ll ace through her class too. Everything’s going to work out.”

“How?” Cas asks, not as much ridiculous as it is desperate.

“You see,” Dean answers, his tone smooth. Well, sarcasm’s always been their language. “I have a brother.”

“Congratulations?” Cas squints, in a confused monotone.

“Nah, he’s not a pleasure to have or anything,” Dean shrugs, a grin on his hips. “But he’s dating someone.”

“Congratulations to him?” Cas offers.

“You don’t get it, smartass. The guy my brother’s dating, is Balthazar’s flatmate.” Dean waits for Cas to catch up. “So, all I have to do is talk to a few people, and I’ll know where to go find this weird-name guy.”

“Fuck.” Cas exclaims, stunned.

“No, Balthazar.” Dean smirks, and Cas is starting to smile much wider. “So, I’m going to get this jackass do his part of the job. And I’m sure as hell going to make him call you.”

“Oh!” Cas squeaks, eyes wide again. His face lights up with a smile, and it’s one of those genuinely gummy ones which make his eyes shine. Sonuvabitch, Dean loves him so much.

“So, yeah. I’m going to go call Sam, and get Baby out.” Cas practically radiates relief at this point, and happiness, and Dean has never been prouder of himself. “But,” He adds, before he forgets. “I have a condition.”

“What?” Cas cuts him off, abruptly. “And please don’t say you want me to go sleep, because I won’t be able to sleep until this is done, I’m too restless, and -”

“Fine.” Dean folded his arms. “Then eat.”

“I just did?” Cas motioned to his empty plate.

“Those were two sandwiches, Cas.” Dean huffs. “I need you to promise me you’ll eat the entire time till I’m back.”

“I don’t want to cook right now, I have to revise -” Cas starts to whine, and on another day, this may have been the moment Dean shut him up with a kiss, because he was being too annoying about not doing things for himself, but right now? This is a different Cas - a sleep deprived, fretty Cas, who needs to be handled in a different manner.

“I’m not asking you to cook.” Dean stands up.

Cas follows. “Huh?”

“I was just in the kitchen. We have cereal.”

“No.”

“Come on, Cas.” Dean argues, indignant. This is where they always end up. Debating on cereal. Dean’s got his facts clear. “Cereal’s a snack.”

“No, Dean. You’re a snack. I’m a snack. Arguably, Dr Sexy is a snack. Cereal is not a snack.” Cas throws back.

Dean glares at Cas. “You’ll eat your goddamn cereal until I’m home, Cas, or I swear on your coffee-freaky, sleep-deprived ass -”

“Okay.” Cas gives up. He takes a step back, puts his hands in the air, and lets out a breath.

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll eat it while I reread my notes.” Cas says, his eyebrows curved. There’s still a smile on his lips, though a more annoyed one.

Dean hums, unsatisfied.

“What?”

“Cereal needs your attention.” Dean postulates, tongue in cheek. “I really can’t have you choking on Honey Nut Cheerios.”

Cas levels him with a look, which would’ve been more effective if it wasn’t leveled at him through dark-circled eyes.

“That’s the opposite of an honorable death.” Dean goes on, sweet.

“Then in the obituary, let it be said that it was Cap'n Crunch.” Cas scowls, and Dean breaks into a laugh without meaning to. “And eating cereal isn’t a singleminded task, believe it or not.”

“Fine.” Dean lets it go, knowing it’s the best deal he’s going to get.

“Fine?” Cas says, like Dean had before.

“Fine. One for me, one for you.” And with that Dean throws his jacket on again, and starts to walk out, with a pleased smile. He’s going to make this work. And as he deals with Balthazar, Cas will keep eating. Two birds with one stone.

“Though,” Cas starts speaking, and Dean looks back, surprised at how soft his voice is. Cas is looking down at his feet. “This is more like, all for me, none for you.”

“Cas.” Dean shakes his head, returning to the dining table, and putting his hand on Cas’s.

“I mean,” Cas goes on, his voice shaky. “You literally came home after three days. And instead of talking about your trip, and your family, and taking a shower and getting in bed and resting after your four hour drive - you’re already completely immersed in solving my problems for me. I’m - I’m sorry.”

Dean purses his lips. He has not thought about it like this at all, and doesn’t want Cas to, either. “Cas, no -”

“No. I’m selfish and horrible, and I didn’t even stop you when you offered to cook for me and go get Balthazar to get in touch with me, or any of it - I’m just -”

“Cas.” Dean repeats, sterner. “That is not the case. I’m fine, okay? I’m absolutely fine. And you needed to eat, and you need this now, and I want to do it for you. You aren’t making me do this! And what the hell am I here for if not to be there for you, when you need it, Cas?”

“But -”

“And do you really think you telling me to not go would’ve stopped me from wanting to help you out?” Dean cocks his head, challenging Cas to agree.

Cas shakes his head.

“Exactly. In fact, you’re showing that you trust me enough to let you know when I’m tired and pushing my limits. You’re showing that our relationship has come to that kind of level, where though we mean the gratitude, concern and appreciation entirely, we aren’t always required to keep repeating it, and that’s growth, Cas, and I’m -”

Cas waits, his eyes starting to haze.

“I’m proud of us.” Dean finishes, swallowing. He feels his own throat start to clog up. Must be from watching Cas get teary, because they don’t usually end up crying every time one of them does something nice for the other.

“You’re everything I’ve ever needed.” Cas tells him, matter-of-factly, like it doesn’t pierce Dean through the heart in the best way to hear it.

“You’re pretty perfect, too.” Dean says, trying to avoid getting as sappy as Cas has already gotten. Cas gets to blame the lack of sleep later, what does Dean do then? “And please, please don’t feel guilty about me trying to be a good boyfriend, next time?”

“I’ll try?”

“We’ve come a long way.” Dean teases. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ll try to stop feeling guilty about it too, whenever you help me out with, I dunno, professors, college papers, buying durable things online, choosing gifts for friends, ice cream flavours I don’t like -”

“That’s enough.” Cas grins. “And, thank you.”

Dean slid his arm down from Cas’s forearm, to rest on his hip. His other hand snaked around Cas’s waist.

“Thank you for everything.” Cas says, like he’s tried to soak the meaning out of all the words into his voice, and it works.

“Yeah, yeah.” They just had a chick-flick moment, and Dean isn’t prepared for another one, so soon. So he does what he does best, and deflects, rolling his eyes dramatically. “People don’t call me the awesomest-roomate-ever-slash-ideal-bestfriend-slash-your-knight-in-shining-armor for nothing.”

“Nobody calls you that.” Cas snickers, putting his arms loosely around Dean’s neck. He’s doing that thing again, like the flipping of a switch, and now it’s Dean who’s probably going to end up with his face in Cas’s neck. Kissing him, though, this time.

“Hey!” He pouts, pulling Cas in closer from the waist. “I call myself that.”

“Yeah, I have no idea why you do that.”

Remember how before it wasn’t the moment to shut him up with a kiss? Dean repeals that statement now. It’s no longer valid, because Cas is being a little shit again. Plus, he’s being a little shit who doesn’t kiss Dean yet, just teases around it, and that’s not fair, right after they’ve had such a romantic moment, is it?

So Dean takes matters into his own hands.

“Shuddup, you overworked little asshole.” And leans in to capture Cas’s lips with his, and straightens with Cas following him, planting breathy kisses on every inch of Dean’s lips, while Dean tries to return the equivalent of the favor by running his hands over Cas, under his shirt.

Cas tastes like grilled, uh, keso - ignore them, that’s a game they’ve been playing for years - and love, though knowing Cas, that’s probably just honey - and in that moment, everything is exactly as it should be.

In that moment, Dean thinks to himself, kissing Cas with every fibre of his being; everything is perfect.

[thiswasinevitableid]

16 for indruck or 33 for sternclay? Please and thank you love

I did 16 first, SFW. I’ll be doing 33 soon!

#16: we’re on the longest flight ever and I’m a bad flier to begin with but you’ve fallen asleep on my shoulder and are snoring SO LOUD

Indrid grips his armrest tighter, tries to focus on the game on his phone.  Maybe if he arranges his yard just right, he can get that rare, rainbow bird to come. 

The plane jolts again and he hisses, wishes the flight would be over, that his feet were on the ground, that if nothing else they would stop hitting so much turbulence so he could forget he’s stuck in a metal tube hurtling through the sky in the dark above the unfeeling earth. 

If only he could relax, maybe even sleep, something his seatmate is having no trouble with. The man greeted him politely when he slipped in next to him (at least they’re only two to a row, in case he has to get up), drawl pronounced and smile genuine. He fell asleep shortly after take off, and has stayed so for the last three hours of this fifteen hour journey. Indrid would be less inclined to hold this against him were he not snoring loudly every five seconds. It jars Indrid from whatever he’s concentrating on and then he’s right back to the whole sky->metal tube->surely going to die mindset.

More turbulence and he gasps, his nerves not helped by his seatmate tipping to the side and resting his head on his shoulder. While he’s certainly daydreamed about a cute bear falling asleep on him (is there a name for a short bear? Teddy bear? Oh god why is the plane making that noise?)

The next bump is bad and he jumps with a squeak. The man wakes up, jostled by his sudden movement. 

“Guhwha? Or, sorry man, didn’t mean to zonk out on you.” Up close and soft, the drawl is painfully charming. Indrid wishes he was calm enough to enjoy it. 

“It’s, it’s alright, I, I didn’t mean to Nahnnn!” Another bump and he grips his arm rests.

“Not a fan of flyin?’”

“Obviously” he manages through grit teeth.

The man shakes his head, blinking fully awake, “I, uh, got some more of those little melatonin things in my bag. You want one?”

“No, thank you.”

“You sure? Flight might be a lot more bearable if you were asleep for most of it.”

“I, I can’t. You will think I’m a lunatic if I tell you why.”

“Hey, I fell asleep on a random dude’s shoulder, everyone gets a little weird on planes.”

“I worry that if I fall asleep, I will not be ready to respond if something disastrous happens.”

The man stares at him a moment and he wishes he could hide under his meager blanket. 

“Yeah, I get that. Whoah, easy now.” He rests his hand on Indrid’s shoulder as a series of large bumps makes him shudder and curl in on himself, breathing rapidly. 

“I hate flaying. Hate it, hate it hate it.”

The man is rubbing his arm soothingly, “my sister ain’t a fan of it either. Somethin’ that helped her is thinkin about a plane in the air like a boat on the sea. Turbulence is just like goin’ over a wave; going’ over a wave don’t sink a boat.”

“But a wave going over a boat can. What if there are tidal waves in the sky? Or, not wave waves, but, but you know what I mean.”

“Strike me as about as likely as a great white shark in the sky.”

Indrid laughs, a tad hysterical, “goodness, imagine looking out that window and seeing a shark.”

“Feel like it’d be more confused than us. Ain’t no seals in the sky. That’d be kind cute though, seein’ ‘em sittin in trees like birds.”

Indrid’s knuckles are no longer white, and he can finally move his hands with enough control to pull his fidget cube from his pocket. 

“Is Brazil your last stop?” The man is no longer touching him, but he stays turned towards him, green eyes filled with polite curiosity. 

“Yes. I, ah, I am a photographer, I’m going down to document the reforestation efforts.”

“No shit! I’m goin’ down to help with them.” A crooked, excited grin, “I’m with the forest service, and we’re doin’ a kind of good neighbor program where some of our folks go down to do what we can to help with the recovery from the fires.”

“That is very impressive.” The cube combined with the conversation is soothing him. 

“Thanks. Know it’s silly, thinkin one fella can make a difference, but I wanna do what I can.”

“I do not think it’s silly. Do you specialize in anything?”

“Trees, mainly, other plants too. Spent the last three months crammin’ from books like this” he taps the botany book in his seatback pocket, “to make sure I don’t make too much of a fool of myself in a new ecosystem. You do much nature photography?”

“Yes. I specialize in nature and fashion, hence my being sent on this assignment. I, ah, do you follow National Geographic at all?”

“‘Course.”

“I won their photography award last year.”

“Shit, was that the hawk one?”

“Yes.” 

“Damn man, that photo was heavy stuff. I heard it helped convince a few places to introduce more protections for raptors.”

“I heard so as well. That made hiding in the blind and nearly getting shot by a disgruntled hunter worthwhile. That is why I love photography; I suppose it’s cliche, but a picture can indeed be worth a thousand words.”

“Guess that’s true….wait, fuck, did you say someone almost shot you?” 

Indrid summarizes his encounter with the hunter who insisted it was right to hunt, and how he had not argued that point, and that he was merely documenting what was happening in the forest that morning.

“Yeah, had a few run ins with hunters. Poachers too.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“I had better days, that’s for damn sure. You ever come up against a bear when you’re out?”

“I was on assignment in Denali once and documented a mother Grizzly and her cubs. From the river, in a little boat. That let me keep my distance. You?”

“Few times, not super close. They get into campsites sometimes, usually when folks ain’t followin directions on storin food. Once had a family come back to find all their food had been eaten by a bear. Except the jar of honey.”

Indrid laughs, “clearly he wished to avoid playing to stereotype.”

A massive bump and Indrid whimpers in surprise. 

“C’mon, you got this, pretend you’re facin’ down the hunter.”

“I can reason with a hunter, I cannot reason with a plane.”

“Here” the man rifles through his bag, “I got some good BBC nature stuff downloaded. You wanna watch with me ? Might distract you.”

“Alright. Ah, thank you…?”

“Duck. It’s a nickname.”

They make it through two episodes before a bad bit of turbulence has his hand shooting out to grab onto something. That something happens to be Duck’s hand. He’s about to pull away, apologize, when Duck simply twines their fingers together, occasionally brushing his thumb along Indrid’s hand whenever he squeezes down in fear.  

By the time the rest of the plane is waking for breakfast, Duck’s head is once again on Indrid’s shoulder as he shows him some photos from previous assignments that have yet to be published. They talk over their breakfast and well into lunch about their homes, about what they’re each looking forward to and dreading about being out in the field, and learn they’ll actually be working from the same base camp. When they practice their Portuguese on each other, Duck mispronounces something so egregious they both end up doubled over in their cramped seats with laughter. 

Sometime past hour twelve, Duck asks, “You got anyone back home who’s missin you?”

“No. I travel often for work, so do not have much time to devote to swimming about the dating pool. Yourself?”

“Got outta a relationship a few months ago, not really sure when I’ll get into another one.” 

By hour thirteen, Indrid’s eyelids are heavy, his head continually listing to one side as he nearly falls asleep. Duck lifts up the armrest between them, and Indrid nestles against his shoulder, too tired to marvel at how safe he feels in the arms of such a new acquaintance. 

When his eyes open again, he’s in Brazil. 

Duck deplanes with him, and they stumble through the airport, land legs not quite back online. Indrid waits for their bags while Duck retrieves coffee, teasingly calling Indrid “hummingbird” when he explains just how much sweetener needs to be in his.  They stay side by side near the baggage carousel for as long as they can, planning out their respective routes. The magazine has given him the choice to stay in Sao Paulo for a night before moving on to the rain forest, and for a moment he contemplates it. Duck, meanwhile, has returned from the bathroom where he changed into his outdoor wear. 

“I got a half hour before my ride gets here, then some more travelin until we hit camp. You stayin here tonight?”

It would be restful, a break from travel, a last evening in an urban area before leaving for the wild. And it’s not like he won’t see Duck again, they’ll have plenty of chances to talk while he’s on his assignment. 

“If it’s quite alright, I’d like to come with you.”

Duck gives him that smile again and Indrid feels like he could travel for another two days solid. And when their transport arrives, they step onto it hand in hand. 

[whatdidimissjm]

Jamilton Month Day 6 - Video Game

This is a sequel to this fic :)

--

It has been a week since their last date night and Thomas has been slowly getting better, while Alex had started to feel worse with every passing day. Now, on Saturday, Alex wakes up with a headache pounding behind his forehead, feeling overall like he might die every second. For a moment he just lays in bed, confused why he woke up, when he doesn´t feel rested at all, until he notices the doorbell ringing. Far too loud for his liking.

Alex groans and sits up, staying in this position for a bit, because suddenly everything is spinning around him. When he finally manages to get up, he instantly starts shivering. He looks around the room, but doesn´t see his morning gown, so he just picks up his blanket and wraps it around himself, before he starts to slowly walk towards the front door.

His whole body is aching, the clothes rubbing on his skin as he moves almost too much to bear. He opens the door without checking who is in front of it, blinking confused up at Thomas.

“What are you doing here?”, he asks, and is strangely reminded of last week´s situation, just with their roles switched.

“Date night, remember? You look like I´ve just woken you up.”

Alex shakes his head, taking a step back into his flat to let Thomas in.

“Date night only starts at three.”, he says, even though he doesn´t know how late it is.

“Darling, it´s almost four. I called Laf when you didn´t answer your phone and he said that you are probably sick, so I got some meds for you.”, a smirk appears on Thomas´ face. “And because I´m a great boyfriend, I got a sexy nurse outfit too.”

Alex groans.

“Oh my god you didn´t.”

“I did.”, Thomas answers proudly.

Alex flops down on the couch, completely hiding in the blanket, so that only his nose and eyes look out from under it. Thomas watches him with barely hidden worry.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like death.”, Alex answers, his voice muffled by the blanket. “And wait, did I sleep like seventeen hours?”

Thomas shrugs.

“Seems like it, I´ll heat up your soup again, I´m pretty sure you are hungry.”

Alex hums, only now noticing it.

“Starving.”

He watches Thomas go into the kitchen, curling even more into a ball. He must have fallen asleep, because he doesn´t notice Thomas returning and joining him on the couch. Alex´ stomach lets out a loud growl, which makes him blush. He grabs the box with the soup from Thomas and starts eating, almost moaning at how good it tastes.

“I told you it´s not a good idea to visit me and that you´d get sick, but you had to be stubborn and do exactly the opposite.”

Alex stops eating for a moment to grin at Thomas.

“You´re welcome.”

Thomas rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. Alex goes back to eating his soup, while Thomas gets the tv-remote.

“Movie or tv-show?”, he asks, and Alex shrugs.

“Something where I don´t need to think too much.”

Thomas laughs.

“Reality tv it is then.”

After a bit of debating, they settle on a house renovation show. Alex manages to stay awake for almost two episodes, before he nods off, his head dropping against Thomas´ shoulder.

He feels a bit better when he wakes up again, his head far clearer than before.

“How long was I gone?”, he asks Thomas, who looks over at the clock on the wall.

“Half an hour, forty minutes max.”

Alex nods.

“Felt like hours.”

Thomas hums and presses his hand against Alex´ forehead, before gently brushing his hair out of his face.

“How are you feeling?”

Alex shrugs.

“A bit better. I can think again.”

Thomas gives him a smile.

“That´s good. Wanna watch tv again or do you want to do something else?”

Alex considers this for a moment, before he shakes his head.

“I´ve got a better idea. Let´s play Wii.”

“Wii?”, Thomas chuckles. “What are you, twelve?”

“Hey! Wii is fun.”, he answers indignantly.

Thomas rolls his eyes.

“Fine, let´s play Wii. But will make it a competition; whoever loses has to wear the sexy nurse outfit. I bought two, one for you and one for me.”

Alex groans.

“That´s unfair. You know I can´t say no to a competition.”

Thomas smirks.

“Then let the games begin.”

“May the odds not be in your favour, because I won´t wear that thing.”

Thomas presses a kiss to Alex´ cheek.

“Oh, you will, darling.”

Alex shoves his head away.

“Fuck off. And because I´m a nice boyfriend, I´ll even let you decide what we´re playing.”

“Oh, yeah, you are so nice.”, Thomas says sarcastically. “I choose Mario Kart.”

Alex can´t hide his smile at that.

“Big mistake.”

True to his word, Alex is amazing at it, even though Thomas is still good. After he has won the third race, Thomas starts to press kisses to Alex´ neck, whenever he can, successfully distracting him.

“Fuck off, you cheater.”, Alex says, pushing Thomas away.

The movement causes Alex´ car to fall down a cliff and he swears loudly.

“I will end you, you cheating little rat.”, he say, glaring at Thomas.

Thomas just laughs, as he passes Alex´ car and crosses the finishing line.

“All is far in love and Mario Kart.”

Alex just huffs, still glaring.

“That is not how this line goes. But you wanna play dirty? Fine by me. Choose the next course.”

Thomas just gives him a cocky grin and chooses the Rainbow Road. Alex shakes his head at him, but doesn´t say anything. He just concentrates on the game for the first round, making sure that he has enough margin, before placing a hand high on Thomas´ thigh. He hears him taking in a sharp breath, and can´t help but smirk.

“You little shit.”, Thomas hisses, and his car´s path gets a bit wobbly, but remains on the road.

“Don´t like what I´m doing?”, Alex asks innocently, moving his hand up further.

Thomas takes in another shuddering breath and drives his car over the edge of the road, which makes Alex chuckle. When he moves his hand again, this time dangerously close to Thomas´ dick, his boyfriend grabs his hand, stopping him.

“Alright, you win, you little bastard. As much as I´m enjoying this, I won´t let you give me a hand job while having a fever.”

Alex pouts for a second, before he starts grinning.

“Oh, this is amazing! I win and that means you will have to wear the sexy nurse outfit!”

Thomas frowns

“I forgot about that part, shit. I was so sure I was gonna win.”

“Nurse Jefferson, you have the floor, sir.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but gets up and grabs his backpack, heading to the bedroom. He comes back a few minutes later, wearing a short and very tight white dress with a red cross on it and white stockings, as well as a nurse cap in his hair. He looks ridiculous, but also kind of hot at the same time.

“Will you be a good patient for me?”, Thomas asks with a smirk, doing his best to make his seductive.

Alex just chuckles and shakes his head.

“You look kind of- oh my god, are you not wearing any underpants?!”

Alex stares at him with wide eyes, shaking his head.

“Go and change again. Right now. I´m really not up for sex at the moment, and that will happen otherwise.”

Thomas smirks.

“So we´ll keep them?”, he asks, while walking backwards out of the room.

“Whatever.”, Alex gets back.

There is no need for Thomas to know how much he looks forward to seeing him in it again.

[wrightiverse]

Chrysanthemums

When he was drunk and maudlin, Bill Close had a phrase he used to explain why he’d never become a star: timing is everything. If he hadn’t done a certain audition right before lunch, when people were hungry and distracted. If he’d been playing the night the agent was in the bar, instead of at home babysitting. If he’d been five minutes earlier here, two hours later there, a few seconds in either direction, he’d have the life he was actually supposed to have. Bad timing. Good timing. Didn’t quite pull off the timing. Timing is everything. Glenn buys all that as a kid, but he eventually realizes that Bill only had it half right. It’s not just the bad stuff that comes down to being in the right place at the right moment. Sometimes, everything aligns to give you much more than you deserve. (Posted this on AO3 originally but we’re all in sad Close boys hours this week anyway so I may as well bring it over here. Full version below cut has references to a car accident, pregnancy, and a certain canonical death that I’m sure you can guess. It was also written before we realized that Wrightiverse Nick was trans but fuck it, why go back and have Glenn and Morgan misgender baby Nick when I don’t have to. Nick is much younger when Morgan passes in this than in the show’s canon now but canon is optional, free your mind.) 

When he was drunk and maudlin, Bill Close had a phrase he used to explain why he’d never become a star: timing is everything. If he hadn’t done a certain audition right before lunch, when people were hungry and distracted. If he’d been playing the night the agent was in the bar, instead of at home babysitting. If he’d been five minutes earlier here, two hours later there, a few seconds in either direction, he’d have the life he was actually supposed to have. Bad timing. Good timing. Didn’t quite pull off the timing. Timing is everything. Glenn buys all that as a kid, but he eventually realizes that Bill only had it half right. It’s not just the bad stuff that comes down to being in the right place at the right moment. Sometimes, everything aligns to give you much more than you deserve. *** It’s not exactly a fairytale love story. They literally meet in a dumpster.

It’s been most of a year since he told his parents to go shove their advice and their money up their respective asses, three months since the semester ended and he lost access to the dorm room and meal plan, a week since he ran out of cash, and at least 24 hours since he ate anything. Couch-surfing is keeping a roof over his head, and his friends are generous with food and booze and weed when they have any to spare, but that only goes so far. One year of college courses under his belt, no idea how to make a resume, no work history even if he did, no permanent address. The job offers aren’t exactly flooding in.

But to hell with it, Glenn Close isn’t gonna just lay down and die. He’s already cased a bakery a few blocks away and he knows they usually throw out the stuff too stale to sell around 11 p.m. He’d hoped not to have to use that info, but whatever. Someday this will make a great anecdote for his episode of Behind The Music.

Glenn hovers across the street until he sees a silhouetted figure toss a bag into the dumpster in the alley, then casually strolls over once the figure goes back inside. The sides of the dumpster are taller and have fewer handholds than he’d pictured, but he drags over some pallets and manages to climb in. It’s half empty and the bag has landed right on top, safe from the nasty trash juices that are soaking the cuffs of his jeans.

The first thing he sees when he tears the bag open is a plain bagel, and the first bite he takes is so good that he almost passes out. He’s so busy wolfing it down that he doesn’t notice the approaching steps from outside until another bag of trash flies over the top of the dumpster and bounces off his head.  

“Watch it,” he says reflexively. Then he freezes, not even chewing as he strains to listen for movement outside. Nothing. Maybe they just tossed the bag and walked back inside. He might get away with this.

“Yo, Templeton,” a voice says from outside the dumpster. “You gonna quit pretending you’re not in there, or should I close the lid?”

Glenn considers his options for a moment, but now that he comes to think of it… “Yeah, I’m realizing I don’t have anything to stand on in here. Little help?”

That’s the first time he hears her laugh. Even knowing he was the butt of the joke, he wants to hear it again. He gets his chance seconds later, when her head pops above the wall of the dumpster.

“Would you look at that? Somebody threw away a perfectly good dumbass.” Then that laugh rings out for the second time

Even his innate panache can’t overcome being hungry, chest-high in trash bags, and covered with flour. He’s humbled, and she’s amused, and that somehow turns into a connection that surprises both of them with how deep it gets and how fast.

If Glenn meets her at any other moment than that, he blows it by trying to be cool and charming. He lucked out. It’s perfect timing.

Morgan’s too good for him on any level you can name. Too cool for him, too smart, too tough, too beautiful. A better musician than him, both with the actual music and the business side. She’s the one who teaches him how to scrounge and hustle, how to read a contract’s fine print and argue with a booking agent who doesn’t want to pay up. Sometimes it feels like every other living soul on earth is elbow-to-elbow with them, fighting for the same scraps that they are, but it’s clear that Morgan’s the one in a million who’s going to make it. And he’s along for the ride, feeling like the luckiest son of a bitch alive every single damn day.    ***

***

Seven years hearing her laugh every day. Seven years getting to be the one who makes her laugh, sometimes even on purpose.

“I think we should get married,” he says one day, and she laughs in his face.

“You still think it’s more legit if the government knows about it, huh?” But she softens, because she knows what he’s actually trying to say, because of course she does. “I get it, baby. This is the real deal. In sickness and health, for better or for worse, and so forth. I’m not signing any paperwork, but you know we throw a good party. Let’s just do the fun parts. You down?”

It’s a very good party, and afterward she calls him “my husband” and they make plans to get rings. Later, if she’s tipsy and feels like teasing him, she calls him “my first husband,” and she laughs. Then she squeezes his face in her hands and gives him a kiss to make sure he understands that she’s only joking. He always knows she’s joking. He always lets her kiss him anyway.

***

Morgan spends a few days thinking she’s got food poisoning before realizing a stowaway has outwitted their precautions. Glenn’s always counted that as very good timing by Nicholas -  if that tricky little bastard shows up any earlier than he does, there’s no way Glenn even considers becoming a parent. But once they decide to go for it, it’s more fun than they’d have ever imagined. They build a lot of castles in the air together while they’re waiting to meet Nick. Glenn says he wants enough kids for a Partridge Family style band, and Morgan agrees as long as nobody plays the tambourine.

They discuss it endlessly, but finally decide a percussionist is the first priority. The closer the due date gets, the more it seems like their new bandmate agrees. Morgan grabs Glenn’s hand and puts it on her belly so he can feel the urgent kicks. “Check out this sick drum solo.”

Nick inherits his parents’ knack for knowing how to make an entrance. He’s so fashionably late that Morgan decides they should just party without him. It’s like ditching the friend who’s taking too long to get ready, except for the part where they can’t actually leave him behind. She and Glenn hit up their favorite venue that very night. The music thumps through their bodies like a pulse. The energy of the crowd makes them forget how long they’ve been waiting. And if anybody has any concerns about seeing a ridiculously pregnant woman dancing her heart out until her hair sticks to her face with sweat, they’re smart enough to keep their mouths shut.

Fear of missing out is apparently hardwired, and Nick graciously deigns to join them a few days later. Everything changes. Three a.m. feels a lot different when you know you’ll be awake again at 4:30, and 5, and probably 7, and maybe 8 for good measure, and…

“This new guy can’t hang,” Morgan mutters. She’s standing beside the bed, Nick tucked against her shoulder, patting his back and swaying. Glenn’s sitting up in bed, trying to stay awake out of solidarity, losing the battle.

“New guy is a lightweight,” he says. “And he’s pretty nasty. That dude does not know what a toilet is for.”

“Come on, man, get it together,” Morgan says softly to the fussing figure in her arms. “We can’t take you anywhere.” Baby Nick finally burps and spits up a little onto Morgan’s shirt. A few additional angry hiccups are all he can manage before he falls asleep.

“Did you hear that?” Morgan murmurs as she lowers him into the crib. “He said he was gonna fight me. Slow your roll, new guy, you aren’t ready for this heat.”

She collapses back onto the bed next to Glenn. “I’m bluffing. He’s kicking my ass.”

“Me too,” Glenn says, “but at least we outnumber him.” ***

***

Not long after Nick’s second birthday, Morgan notices that she’s a couple of days late. It’s not a big deal, it usually doesn’t mean anything. Glenn makes a joke about the Close Family Quartet, and Morgan says she’ll grab a test when she gets groceries that weekend. But whether their lead guitarist was about to debut or still waiting in the wings, she made an amateur mistake and left things a little too late. The band broke up first. That’s show business for you.

People always want to know what happened. Glenn never gets into details. They must make up their own pictures in their head: a rain-slick curve taken too fast, a semi truck jack-knifing across the highway. It makes more sense for something like that to happen when you already know you’re in danger.

It’s the middle of the day. He’s going maybe five over the speed limit, keeping pace with traffic. He’s not high or drunk or tired or even distracted. They’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A dog runs into the road, someone swerves to miss it, someone else tries to get out of their way. Barely a fender-bender, except that their car gets just enough of a push to end up in the intersection.

Early on, he thinks a lot about how a few seconds here and there could change things.

The dog runs into the street a little later, and then the oncoming traffic isn't trying to beat a yellow light.

The dog runs into the street a little earlier, and they drive home with a scraped bumper.

But that’s Bill’s half-assed way of thinking about it, and Glenn knows better. It’s true, it could have been different. It could have been much worse.

He drives a split second slower, and the other car meets theirs with a direct hit, crumpling the back seat as well as the front with far more force than Nick’s booster seat can deflect.

He drives a split second faster, and the clipped bumper spins them into the next lane, and he never makes it to the hospital at all, and Nick doesn’t have anybody left.

Glenn knows now what his dad was talking about in those grumbling laments. It’s like trying to put together two tracks that are just slightly out of sync. Where do you snip out a piece to make things fit right again? What if you’re already balanced on that tipping point with the fewest misfortunes and the most lucky breaks? What happens if you start messing with that?

He can’t second-guess. It happened the way it happened, and he’s still here, and Nick’s still here, so he still has a job to do. He’s going to be there for Nick the whole way, along for the ride, feeling like the luckiest son of a bitch alive because he gets to be here at all. It could have gone another way. Timing is everything.

[sign-from-god-complex]

cuddles and catnaps

Summary: Logan was absolutely exhausted. Thankfully, Roman’s there to help.

Pairing: Platonic logince 

Warnings: Brief description of emotional numbness, very non-serious mention of hypothetical murder and lots of sleep-deprivation/insomnia-related things.

A/N: I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to write the logince conversation I wish they’d have in canon. Just let my boys get along!!! It’s what they deserve.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a quiet night, and Logan was awake.

This wasn't uncommon necessarily—rest did not always come easily to the logical side and it had been a particularly busy week—but it was frustrating nonetheless. He'd tried to relax, tried breathing techniques and distractions and anything else he could think of but it was no use; Logan simply couldn't sleep.

It had been a problem for the past few nights, in fact. Logan's mind wouldn't stop whirring with all the potential outcomes or solutions to the most recent dilemma Thomas was having and he was unable to untangle his thoughts from it.

He thought that he managed to get an hour or so of sleep last night but honestly he couldn't say for sure; things were beginning to blend together slightly.

As the clock hit 3 am, Logan decided to give up trying. He recalled hearing about how merely pretending to sleep makes you feel more rested than if you were to get up and stay awake but, quite honestly, if Logan had to lay here one more minute he felt he may figuratively explode.

Slipping out from under the sheets, he walked over to open the door and head down to the commons, hoping that if he generated a change in scenery it might prompt his body to allow him at least a nap. Best-case scenario, he would manage to fall asleep on the couch while watching a documentary.

He crept down the hallway as quietly as possible, noting the absence of light from under the doors of his fellow sides. It was common for them to be in bed at this time—provided Thomas was as well—but it also wasn't unheard of for them to be a little too worked up to get to sleep, much as Logan was right now. It seemed, however, that the others were asleep, which simultaneously comforted and distressed him.

It was obviously beneficial for the other three to be getting optimal sleep and rest. Not only was it better for them but it was better for Thomas as well—things tended to go awry when any one side was particularly sleep-deprived. 

Roman's reaction to lack of sleep was actually quite typical. You could tell Roman hadn't been sleeping well simply because he seemed tired. Not sleepy, that was vastly different. No, Roman tended to look exhausted, trailing around and reacting sluggishly to any input from the other sides. His usual vigour and bounce were missing, replaced with mostly blank looks and absent stares.

It was actually the easiest of the four's behaviours to recognise and the other sides always rushed to get him to bed when they picked up on it. They could always afford a day off for Roman's health.

Plus, of course, Thomas's productivity greatly suffered when Roman wasn't at his best. Without Thomas's creativity, videos were extremely difficult if not impossible to complete, with any attempted acting being subpar and any attempted writing being worse than that. That's not even to mention the kind of slump Thomas fell into when Roman became particularly exhausted; it was upsetting to witness their host look so dejected and quiet. Truly, taking a day off was always the best course of action.

Virgil's response to sleep deprivation was mostly avoidance. He tended to put as much distance between himself and the other three as was possible, and luckily enough, the three of them had quickly learnt to spot it.

Getting Virgil to sleep was actually vastly more difficult than Roman. Roman generally whined slightly but was really too exhausted to protest all that much; Virgil, however, got angry when he was tired. His jabs were never taken personally past the first time it occurred—the others understood that Virgil's lashing out was not out of malice but more out of frustration and a feeling of being overwhelmed—though it was still jarring. Virgil was usually angry for them more so than at them nowadays but with exhaustion he became terse, snapping at anyone who dared to lend a helping hand.

Though it took slightly more effort, they usually got through the facade pretty quickly, watching Virgil just entirely deflate and forcibly cuddling him to sleep.

And when Virgil was tired and angry and distant, Thomas was a wreck. Thomas dealt with his emotions far better than Virgil did but that didn't mean he didn't feel them. When Virgil was like this, all the little things that Thomas could normally deal with managed to get to him—sharp noises and abrupt motions causing him to flinch and glare and any small inconvenience suddenly becoming the indicator of a horrible day. Thomas's optimism tended to fly right out the window when Virgil hadn't slept and it was troublesome, to say the least.

Patton became considerably stressed when he was tired. It was something that seemed to tie in quite closely to his general need to bottle up his feelings. Instead of dealing with his insomnia, Patton would stress clean, would obsess over every tiny detail and was just not capable of turning off for even a second. It wasn't uncommon on days like that to see Patton puttering around the mindscape, fixing things that didn't need fixing and straightening things that didn't need straightening—picking at every perceived flaw he came across.

Getting Patton to bed was potentially the hardest. He was always so worked up, so tense and so fixated that it was like dragging Logan away in the middle of hyperfocusing. Patton wouldn't fight them the way Virgil did but he just wouldn't take a single breath and it would take several hours of calming distractions and soft blankets to get him to drift away.

Thomas did not tend to be productive on those days. When Patton was as consumed by his thoughts as he was, Thomas couldn't concentrate in the slightest, instead, he tended to opt for rewatching old episodes of his favourite TV shows and steadily ignoring his growing piles of responsibilities with some form of detached concern. He knows he should be worried but quite honestly, he couldn't bring himself to feel much at all besides numb.

Patton would always apologise over and over in the wake of the incident but Thomas was always very kind in his responses, citing that it was probably time he took a rest day anyway.

Logan wasn't exactly sure what his own reaction was to being sleep deprived, not the way he was aware of the other sides. It wasn't something he'd had to pay all that much attention to, considering with the others he was always needed to help resolve the situation, however, with himself he clearly was not. There was one thing Logan was sure of, though.

Lack of sleep made Logan stupid.

It wasn't necessarily the nicest way to put it but he would be lying if he said he didn't think it was accurate. 

When Logan was tired, he made mistakes—stupid mistakes, mistakes he couldn't really afford to make. They didn't always have real-world consequences, such as accidentally spreading Crofters onto his cell phone instead of his toast, but sometimes they did. Sometimes Logan calculated the risks incorrectly or gave Thomas faulty information and the guilt ate him up inside every single time. It wasn't as if he was doing it maliciously but that wasn't the point, the point was that Logan should be more careful. Exhaustion just made it harder for him to do that.

And one of the kinds of frivolous mistakes Logan tended to make in his fatigue was with his emotions.

Logan kept his emotions largely under lock and key, however, when he becomes tired they tend to get the best of him, generally presenting itself in some unwarranted and entirely uncalled for tears. His crying could be due to anything—it could be due to a change in schedule or a misplaced document or even a lack of milk—or it could be due to absolutely nothing at all. Logan hated it. He hated feeling out of control and he hated the pitying looks he received from the other sides as they tried to comfort him and make him sleep.

Because another mistake Logan made with his emotions when he was tired was his want for physical affection.

Logan was willing to indulge in physical contact for the sake of the other sides—for example, if Patton was sad and required a hug or to help Virgil stay calm and relaxed as he tried to get some sleep—but Logan did not need those things himself. He found them to be largely unnecessary and marginally uncomfortable—though he wouldn't tell the others that because he's still willing to suffer through it for their sakes.

Sleep-deprived Logan, however, never seemed to get the memo.

When Logan reached a certain point of exhaustion, he found himself craving the warmth of the other sides. Wanting soft hands threading through his hair and limbs tangled in with his, wanting to feel limitless and infinite in the darkness and yet so small in relation to the vast expanse of the universe. He wanted to go somewhere in the imagination where they could see the stars, to feel the wind brushing past his skin but feeling secure in the knowledge that he was safe and warm and loved wrapped up in the others’ arms.

Fatigue also made him maudlin, though he would not for the life of him admit it.

Logan descended the stairs, wincing somewhat as one of the steps creaked under his foot and pausing for a moment, waiting to receive confirmation that he hadn't awoken any of the other sides. Hearing nothing, Logan continued his journey, settling onto the living room floor with a quiet exhale. He glanced in the direction of the couches and hesitated as he noticed a glow coming from the television. Though the brightness was turned down quite considerably, the TV was unmistakably on.

Knowing that he was the last person to leave the commons that evening lead Logan to the conclusion that he was incorrect in his assumption that the other sides were all asleep in their rooms. All he could see on the couch, however, was a pile of blankets and cushions.

Possibly he had just forgotten to turn the TV off after he left. Or, maybe, one of the others had come down at some point during the evening before once again retiring to their rooms, and they had forgotten to turn it off. He had to admit that it didn't seem likely that he had left the TV on, though given his current state it may not be entirely out of the realm of possibility.

Logan took a seat next to the pile of blankets on the couch and after grabbing the remote from in between the couch cushions, changed the channel over to the Discovery Channel and turned the volume down low. It seemed to be some documentary on symbiotic animal relationships or something to that extent, and while Logan would normally be interested he was quite honestly too tired to really follow along.

There were a few minutes of Logan attempting to parse the images on the screen before he decided that a blanket would likely be conducive to falling asleep. He went to grab one off of the top of the pile—the red knitted one Roman tended to prefer. In this action, however, he uncovered a body.

And Logan, still too tired to process anything useful, fell off the couch.

His immediate assumption was that Virgil had murdered someone and tried to hide the body under every blanket and cushion he could find in the house. He quickly—though not as quickly as he would have liked—dismissed this as a nonsensical thought. Virgil was far too anxious to kill anyone. He entertained the idea of Roman having killed someone for a slightly longer moment before also rejecting the idea. Roman had morals, or something to that extent anyway, even if he was far more likely to think that hiding a body under a mound of blankets was a good strategy.

Finally, Logan realised that he’d been sitting on the floor for approximately 3 whole minutes and getting up to take a look at the body on the couch may be the most reasonable course of action. He shook his head with a sigh. He really was off today.

Rising to his feet, Logan peered at the figure on the couch. Though the person was primarily obscured by the mountain of blankets, he could see a glimpse of red and gold pyjama pants. They looked startlingly similar to Roman’s pair—a Christmas present from Patton that had since become his go-to—thus, Logan concluded either this person was dressed up in Roman’s clothes or it was Roman and he was inclined to believe the latter.

Logan removed a few more blankets from the pile in an attempt to validate his assumption and was greeted by brown hair, closed eyes and a soft expression. It was, indeed, Roman.

Now, Logan had a decision to make. Either he could turn the TV off, leave Roman to sleep and head back to his room where he would remain alone until the other sides woke up for breakfast…

Or he could wake Roman up.

He knew the desire was selfish but with Roman looking as peaceful as he was he couldn’t help but wish to join him in his cocoon. It looked so warm and Logan was so, so tired. 

He only really considered it for a moment before giving in. With enough sacrificed Crofter’s and endured teasing, Roman would forgive him, and he was too exhausted to have any sense of self-control.

Logan placed his hand on Roman’s shoulder, rocking him back and forth in an attempt to wake him up without jarring him too much. As he was pulled from sleep, Roman made a sound similar to those "startup noises" that cats make when you first touch them, blinking open his eyes. Something about it was strangely endearing and Logan tried to ignore the way he felt his chest warm at the sight.

“Lo?” Roman mumbled, rubbing at his eyes sleepily, “What’re you doin’ up?”

“I was… unable to sleep.”

Logan shuffled his feet awkwardly, feeling a sense of embarrassment rush through him. Dear lord, this was utterly pathetic. What was he thinking? He had absolutely no need to awaken Roman, just because his skin felt so cold and he was so, so tired and he only wanted to be held and warm and loved- 

Ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. Roman, at most, tolerated his presence and Logan was firmly overstepping his boundaries here.

Roman stared blankly for a few seconds. “Oh…”

“I apologise for waking you, Roman,” Logan said, attempting to rectify his obvious mistake, “I should go back to my room now.”

He made a motion to turn back towards the stairs, trying to fight the disappointment in his chest and the craving for warmth that was still gnawing at him but was interrupted by Roman putting out a hand to stop him. Roman shook his head a few times, blinking quickly as he tried to wake himself up a little bit more. 

“No, no, wait. What is it?”

“I was just…” Logan cleared his throat, trying to steel himself for Roman’s possible reaction. “I was wondering if I could…”

He trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the mountain of blankets Roman was still encompassed in. Roman’s face broke into a small smile and he reached out to grab Logan’s hand, tugging it gently, just enough to prompt him to take a step forward.

“C’mere, nerd.” Roman’s voice was incredibly fond and Logan was slightly worried that he may start crying just from the sound of it.

Ducking his head, Logan climbed onto the couch near Roman, trying not to startle as Roman grabbed his arm and pulled him into the blankets beside him.

The blanket pile was incredibly warm and soft. Almost the second Logan landed, he could feel his heart rate decreasing—already infinitely calmer than he had been upstairs. He closed his eyes as he felt Roman wrap his arms around him, tears leaking out the corners of them without his permission.

Gods, this was so much better than being alone.

He could feel Roman pressed against him, warmth sinking to his core and melting away all of the stress and tension his body had been holding onto. A hand had sunk into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and giving him a pleasant sensation to focus on to calm his thoughts. He pressed in closer to Roman, burying his head in the crook of his neck as his body betrayed him and he just started to sob.

He hated this—he hated it because it was never his choice, just a constant build-up of emotions that expanded in his chest until it burst—but Roman felt safe. So maybe, just once, it was okay.

There was gentle shushing, whispered affirmations as Roman held Logan’s shaking frame as tight as he could and ran his hands lightly along his skin. He didn’t know how long they remained there—whether it was 5 minutes or an hour—but once Logan was able to catch his breath he choked out an apology. An apology that was quickly brushed off.

“You have nothing to apologise for, Lo,” Roman insisted, carding his hand through Logan’s hair and watching the other lean into it, “I want to help you. I know I haven’t always been… the best, when it comes to dealing with you but… I just need you to know that though I may argue with Logic, that doesn’t mean I’m arguing with Logan.”

Logan untucked his head from Roman’s shoulder, bringing his gaze up to give him a confused look.

“We are the same person, Roman.”

Roman screwed up his face for a moment. “No, no, I mean… just because we argue doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you, you know? We, by definition, are always going to have differing opinions but even though I'm bad at admitting it, I do recognise your things are important too. I’m just stubborn. And despite our disagreements, I do enjoy having you around, Logan.”

“Oh.” 

Logan blinked, processing that for a moment.

It wasn’t as if he’d thought Roman hated him; he didn’t believe any of the sides truly hated each other (except potentially Virgil and Deceit, though even that, he theorised, was born from a place of caring too much). Simply, Logan had felt as if Roman put up with him mostly out of necessity. As Roman had stated, Logic was crucial—despite how little he liked to admit it—and, of course, it would be unwise to disregard Logan completely. Roman’s admission was certainly… unexpected.

“Well… you too, Roman,” Logan replied softly.

Roman’s eyebrows shot up, face vulnerable and uncertain. “Really?”

“Of course.”

There was something about being here—enclosed in Roman’s arms so late in the night, the only illumination of their forms coming from the TV behind him, the air almost silent—that made Logan feel as if the consequences of being open may not be as bad as he feared.

So, instead of ending his statement there, Logan pushed on.

“I don’t… understand a lot of the things you consider to be important. I don’t understand fantasy or metaphors or how to please people. If I was left in sole control of writing the scripts for Thomas’s content, though the final product would be educational and factually accurate, it would be… boring. I am boring, I know this. I just… I don’t appreciate having to rely on other people—and I don’t like not understanding things—and more often than not, I take that frustration out on you. That is unfair of me.”

Roman chuckled, low and quiet, and it felt like an acknowledgement of all the mistakes they’d made and all of the mistakes they would no doubt continue to make. “I suppose we both have things to work on, then.”

In response, Logan simply hummed. He felt drowsy and content, reassured that despite what he may have thought, everything between them was okay. They lay there for a while more, Logan teetering on the edge of unconsciousness before Roman spoke again, breaking the silence between them.

“You aren’t boring though, you know that, right?”

Logan made a questioning sound, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“I mean, you get so excited about space that you wave your hands around as you explain things and you have such strong opinions about the smallest of things and you’re stubborn and quick-tempered and absolutely brilliant.” At that declaration, Logan did open his eyes, seeing Roman looking down at him with a shy smile on his face. “You could never be boring, Logan. Not really.”

“Thank you.” It was a whispered response, tired and grateful, but Roman heard it nonetheless.

Logan moved a hand up in front of his face to stifle a yawn and he saw Roman grin, drawing Logan closer into his chest. “Sleep now, nerd. You can talk about how much you love and adore me in the morning.”

“You are incorrigible,” Logan replied but his tone was teasing rather than cruel.

In response, Roman gave a breathy laugh. Evidently, he decided it wasn’t worth it to argue, instead, reaching to grab one of the blankets and tugging it over their bodies. He clicked off the TV, tossing the remote onto the couch away from them.

“Goodnight, Lo,” Roman said, voice barely more than an exhale. 

Logan mumbled a vague response, feeling himself relax completely once again, his eyes falling shut and breathing steadying out. Rather than circling, planning and plotting a hundred different scenarios for tomorrow or solutions to problems that don’t even exist yet, Logan’s thoughts were quiet. All of his focus was on the heat of Roman’s body and the darkness covering them both like a blanket.

And, after just a few short moments���Logan feeling safe and warm, wrapped up in Roman’s arms—Logan finally fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @mctaetae613 @autism-goblin @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @rainboots-are-for-snobs @sanders-and-sides @spirits-in-my-thoughts @kee-and-co @autistic-virgil @stop-it-anxiety @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @poisonedapples @sanders-screams 

[dxrksong]

Chapter 5 part 2

Warning: headaches??

-----------

You ended up falling asleep somehow. You jolted awake to the sound of something falling against the ground somewhere. 

Someone must've tripped somewhere. You looked around your room to find the Jims and the Red Google Android were still in your room, The Jims passed out on the floor and Cherry was up against the wall in rest mode. 

You smiled and looked down to find the book of the supernatural you had gotten the Jims was open and many different talismans were on the floor.  Some were half finished but that didn't stop you from going over to pick up one

Only for it to shock you. It was small like the kind you'd get from rubbing your feet on a carpet while wearing socks. But it was enough to warn you to wear some gloves or something before you touch those again. 

You recoiled your hand from the talismans, going to get up so you could wake up the others. You went over to the Jims first, shaking them awake like you've done before

Y/N: how long were you up?

CameraJim: *yawns* not much longer than MirrorJim? Maybe an hour?

Mic nodded along

Y/N: good, so uh. Think you can clean up the mess you to made?

Mic: huh? Oh-right! Sorry MirrorJim! 

Y/N: it's fine. So uh-I hope you're not going to try to exorcise someone in here. We have several undead here, you know that right?

Camera: wait

Mic: we do??

Y/N: ……...YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT???!

Camera: W-Well we knew StaticJim is a demon but that's about it!!

Y/N: ……….I'm one of those, I hope you realize that. 

Mic: well yeah, MirrorJim came from a mirror after all, not even the Jims can do that. 

You nodded

Y/N: just…...be careful? I'd hate for you guys to do something you'd regret later. 

The Jims nodded

CameraJim: don't worry MirrorJim! We'll be careful!

Y/N: good! How about after we wake Cherry, we figure out just what I am?

You didn't think the Jim's eyes could get any bigger. 

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

Unfortunately the four of you didn't really find anything. It was mainly difficult since you had a solid form and besides the mirror thing and your little episode a few nights ago, there wasn't much evidence that separated you from the normal vengeful ghost to a straight up demon! 

Needless to say you were all quite disappointed, You of all people wanting to know just what you could do.

You completely neglected to mention the time manipulation but you doubt that'd help in your search. 

You sighed, leaning back

Y/N: well that was a bust. Want to go see just how badly those morons tore up the house?

Cherry: my calculations suggest at least a few broken windows and torn up furniture!

Camera: I bet they broke the TV!

Mic: alright fine then, I bet they dyed someone's hair blue and wrote on the first one that passed out with sharpie, what about you?

You hummed

Y/N: I think they all drunk themselves into a stuper and it was Captian Magnum that tripped earlier and is currently face first on the stairwell!

Camera: Onwards!!!! 

The Jims led the charge out your room and you giggled, getting up and running out as the Googleplier opted to walk calmly. 

Turns out all of you were right! Well except for the blue hair dye. But literally everything else had happened. Captian Magnum face first on the stairs and everything! 

Y/N: we weren't betting money right?

Mic: no. 

Y/N: good. Oh!! I just got a brilliant idea!! Can I trust you three to start breakfast as I go do something??

Camera and Mic shared a look

Camera: uhhh sure?

Y/N: Great!! Thanks!!

You dashed back to your room, going back to the bags on your floor and scooping them all up. You had gotten each of the ego's something while you were at the mall. So you went into each of the ego's rooms and left their gift there

Like a little secret Santa hehehe! 

You returned to the kitchen, looking over to see that some of the smarter ego's who decided to just sit and watch the chaos earlier were sitting at the table. 

Meanwhile Cherry and the Jims were struggling to prepare breakfast, Cherry three seconds away from dragging the Jims away from the stove. 

You rolled your eyes, going over and shooing the Jims away, telling them to get some more ingredients before taking over breakfast. 

You've hadn't made food for this many people as far as you're aware but with Cherry's help, you managed to get it done. 

Dark yawned as he entered the kitchen, seeming to do a double take when he saw you cooking happily with a hum. 

You were in such a bad mood yesterday you're almost surprised yourself. Luckily you have friends to cheer you up for moments like that!

Y/N: good morning, you party animal. 

Dark: good morning…..good to see you're in a good mood today. 

You shrugged

Y/N: turns out I was just tired! 

Cherry: correct. Emotional and mental health are tied to energy levels. Y/N displayed high levels of emotional distress last night with the avoidance and the lack of response. 

You just slowly turned to the Android, giving him a look that basically said everything for you. 

That was a little bit of too much info. Now everyone is gonna treat you like a snowflake. 

Dark: Y/N, I know things are difficult for you. But if you need to talk to someone-

Y/N: who the hell could I talk to that could COMPREHEND, much less keep quiet about the bullcrap I'm going through?? 

The two of you stared at each other for a good three minutes before it clicked. 

He was offering to be your Therapist because he knew that Wil would probably slip up eventually and Mark probably wouldn't know anything about Identity crisis's.

Y/N: ……….o h. Uhhhhm

Do you trust him now or is he still on thin ice???? You can't remember with the whole everything going on lately. 

You were more or less pretending to be angry after all, you don't personally know Dark besides the videos you saw on the internet…..

Cherry: Y/N, the pancakes.

You squeaked before turning back to the food, managing to save the pancakes before they burned. You sighed in relief as the others walked into the room.

Chef: O-OY!! I thought I'M the cook here! 

You stopped what you were doing before turning your head slowly to you, your neck creaking slightly as you stared at the chef. Several minutes went past as the room went silent. 

Chef:

Y/N: sit down

Chef: ok. 

Chefiplier went to sit down with the rest of the ego's. 

Dark: if I may Y/N, that was absolutely terrifying. 

Y/N: oh please, it's just the tired mom glare 

Cherry: you seem to be well practiced in it. 

Y/N: yeah….

You started setting food on the table, not really saying anything else on the topic

Yancy: wow y/ns, didn't think you were such a good cook! 

You smiled

Y/N: thanks Yancy! 

Dark: so, Y/N. I was thinking and how about you and me-

Y/N: no. 

Dark: …...what?

Y/N: no. 

You were unruly calm despite the upset little frown on Dark's face.

Y/N: no I don't think I'm going to be doing anything today. I'm just gonna take some pain killers for my headache and stay in my room all day, how about that? Unless I need your permission to go to my room to Mister Social Manipulator? 

The entire room had more or less fell silent at that, fearing Dark's reaction and for your safety. 

Cherry: y/n-

Dark: no…..no, you don't need my permission. If you needed a break, you should've told us instead of bottling it up. Seems you've picked up how to do that as well during your little coma. 

You chuckled 

Y/N: you have no idea….

You turned to leave the room, not bothering to eat something. Your headache needs more attention than your stomach. You stepped into Dr.Iplier's office and raided the medicine cabinet. 

You could've taken all the medication but you were better than that as you grabbed some pain killers and took a few pills. 

You sighed, hopefully they set in soon. You started walking to your room when you found Magnum in the halls nearby

Mag: oh-um! Ahoy dere first mate! Ye feelin' alright….?

Y/N: yeah….hopefully the medicine will kick in sooner or later. I'm gonna go lay down, you have a good day Captian.

You patted Mag's arm before walking away

Mag: a-alright. Be sure ta tell us if somet'in is bother'n ye alright?

Y/N: I'll try! 

You went to your room, falling face first onto your bed and passing out

---------

(Ok so maybe not a three parter.)

[cal-puddies]

33, 60, and 72 with Ashton please? 😊

33. “Don’t cry.” 

60. “You look like you could use a hug.”

72. “You need sleep.”

Ash lets himself into your place. You’d been radio silent for days and he didn’t like, he also had no idea what was wrong. 

It was late too, you hadn’t responded to anyone and that was so unlike you. 

He sees your phone, on the counter in the kitchen when he does a quick walk through, he hits it, watches the screen light up, and from what he can tell, it’s probably been since at least the night before since you last checked it. He quickly plugs it in and makes his way to your room.

He gently knocks on the half closed door, “hey giggs.” He calls, “it’s me.” You don’t respond, so he pushes the door all the way open. He sees you curled around a pillow in the middle of your bed, and his heart kind of breaks as he watches your shoulders shake. He moves to sit on the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong, giggs?” He asks, reaching to lightly touch your back. 

You look over your shoulder and wipe your face on the sleeve of the hoodie you’re wearing and then look back to him. “Nothing. Everything.” You shrug. 

“What’re the tears for? And the radio silence?” He asks, truly just curious, not even accusatory. 

“It’s just too overwhelming Irwin, there’s too much.” You groan, shoving your face back in the pillow. 

“Don’t cry… let's talk about this Giggs. I’m gonna go make you something to eat. I’ll turn off your phone and you just come out when you’re ready.” He murmurs, rubbing your back. 

You can hear him make a racket in the kitchen while you compose yourself. When you finally walk out 20 minutes later, he looks over at you. You mumble a “hey” and manage a small wave. 

“You look like you could use a hug.” He murmurs, pulling you in. “Made your favorite.” He whispers, rocking you side to side in an exaggerated hug. 

“Sounded like you were trying to blow up the kitchen.” You mumble against his chest. 

“Sorry about that… didn’t know where everything was.” He gestures to your shit show of a kitchen and you realize you’d moved everything during a bit of a manic episode. You didn’t also happen to put things back in any sort of real manner. He pulls back and holds your face between his hands, “you ok? Haven’t seen you like this in a while.” 

You nod and gently push away from him. He knows enough to be worried and also not push it. He dishes up the Mac and cheese sprinkles on the extra cheese and bacon he made to go with it. 

“How long ya been awake?” He asks quietly, leaning across your counter with his own bowl to eat with you. 

“You don’t have to eat with me. I know it’s not friendly to your diet.” You mumble. 

“I’m gonna eat with you because this looks fuckin delicious, if I do say so myself… Stop avoiding the question.” 

You get up and grab a beer, Ashton eyes it, but he doesn’t say anything. You sit back on the stool and take a drink. “Maybe like… 3 days.” You shrug.

“Ok… so for sure three. You need sleep, giggs.” He looks at you, moves a little hair off your face and tucks it back in the ponytail. “Think you should come stay with me a few days.” He mentions. 

“I don’t need you to babysit me.” You bite. 

“I don’t wanna babysit you, I wanna look out for you, want you to not be alone if you don’t wanna be.” He sighs, “that’s it.” He watches you roll your eyes. “Please giggs, just a couple days. I’m worried.” He admits. 

“I wish you wouldn’t… Like stop pretending Ash.” You look him straight in the eye. You know this will hurt him, Ash loves and cares for all the genuine people in his life deeply, and you’d somehow become one of them. You knew that’d hurt him. 

He frowns, “I’m not pretending. You know I care. Why else would I be here?” 

“Because no one could get ahold of me for three days so you thought you’d be the martyr and come over and offer your fake sympathy and pretend you care.” You shrug. 

Ash winces. “I do care giggs, and I’m not sure why you are pushing me away.” He whispers. 

“I don’t understand why you keep wasting your time on me.” You whisper back, trying the blink back the tears. 

“I’m gonna go… but if you change your mind, you’re welcome, and you know where to find me.” He murmurs, putting his bowl in your sink, he walks behind you and kisses the back of your head, “I’m not wasting my time, by the way.” He says and then sees himself out. 

You sit in the silence, and then head back to your room. You manage to put together a bag and then head out. You knock on Ashton’s door. 

He opens it and looks at you, stepping aside to let you in. “I’m sorry Ash, just not myself lately.” You admit. 

masterlist || ashton || calum || luke || michael

wanna be tagged? go here

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #10

This is the entire epilogue I wrote for that multi-chapter fic I keep talking about. A bit of a different take on what the DiNozzo family might have gotten up to after Tony eventually turned in his badge.

“Is he sleeping?” 

Tony looked down at his daughter as she tugged lightly on his jeans, “Not yet.” 

“Can I hold him?” 

He looked at the sleeping baby in his arms. His little eyes were fluttering open every few seconds, as if trying to keep himself awake out of fear of missing any of the action. His fists clenched every time they closed like he was angry at his own exhaustion. 

Tony knew he wanted his mother. He wanted her to hum a sweet song to him as he drifted off to sleep pressed against her chest, surrounded by her warmth and scent.

The kid sure was head over heels for his mother. 

Definitely my son, He thought to himself. What he wouldn’t give to fall asleep against Ziva’s chest right about now. 

He looked back down at Tali, her hands clasped behind her back as she swung her hips back and forth and hit him with some intense puppy dog eyes. She was laying it on a little thick in his opinion, but who was he to deny his little girl. 

Besides, Tali was a mini Ziva in every conceivable way. Maybe she would pass as a reasonable substitute in her mother’s absence. 

“Okay, Booger. But you have to be careful. He’s very sleepy.” 

She nodded quickly, her curls flying into her face. 

“Okay, go sit on the naptime chair and I’ll give him to you.” 

She ran across the room and climbed onto the cushy chair, named for Ziva’s tendency to fall asleep in it while she was nursing her youngest child. He slowly walked over to it, adjusting the blanket wrapped around his son as he leaned over to place him gently in his sisters arms. 

He let out a cranky cry, not appreciating being passed about, but quickly settled down when he felt the tiny kiss Tali placed right between his eyes. 

“It okay, Eban. I’m here.” 

Tony smiled. She sure loved her little brother.

“I’m going to check on Sarah and your mom. I’m taking the monitor with me, so if you need anything, just yell, okay?” 

“Okay, Abba.” 

Tony nodded as he grabbed the parent unit of the baby monitor and turned up the volume before hooking it into his front pocket. He walked out of the nursery and made his way down their narrow hallway and toward what had been the guest bedroom until quite recently. He gently opened the door, peeking inside to make sure he wasn’t interrupting anything. 

His wife was laying in the tiny twin bed with her back to the door. He didn’t have to see her to know that Sarah was curled up beside her. The two had barely spent more than a moment apart in the two months they’ve lived together. 

He was starting to find his empty bed every night to be a little depressing, but it was worth it.

He had to admit, he wasn’t completely on board with the whole adoption thing at first. He had barely settled into his new job and she hadn’t even finished nursing Zach. Then there was Tali, still not three years old. They had enough on their plate. Were they really in a position to be taking in another child? Not to mention one who was struggling with so much.

“She has PTSD, Ziva. It’s not like we’re talking about taking in a normal 6 year old.” 

Her eyes lit up with burning rage so quickly he almost took a step back.

“A normal 6 year old? She’s just a child, Tony.” 

“You know what I meant.” 

“Do I? Because, I seem to remember you being much more understanding when I was just starting to get treatment for my own PTSD.” 

“That was different.” 

“How? Because you loved me?” 

“Well, yeah.” 

“I love her.” 

“You just met her, Zi.” 

“But I love her, Tony. I understand her. I can’t explain it, but I just… get her.”

He groaned in frustration, partly at how unreasonable she was being, and partly because he knew she was right. He had seen them interact. Ziva loved that little girl. And he was pretty sure the little girl loved her back. 

“Look, Ziva. I know you care about her. I know you care about what happens to her. I care, too. But she is a witness in an ongoing investigation. Hell, she’s the victim. She needs to be in protective custody until her father goes on trial.”

“Don’t call him that. The man doesn’t deserve the title.” 

The fire was back again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he gave her a reason to bring out those Krav Maga moves she had just started practicing again since her second birth. 

“Okay. I’m sorry. But she has to be kept in the system if we want them to put that bastard in prison. She can give them answers that they need.” 

“And what about after the trial? Where will the system put her then?” 

“I’m sure they will try to find her a good home. A happy family.” 

“We have a good home. We are a happy family. Look at us, Tony. We’ve made a life for ourselves that we never would have even dreamed of having 5 years ago. We’ve fought tooth and foot for our family. We’ve managed to capture so much joy between these walls. We have so much love in our lives. And we have so much more to give.” 

He had to swallow back the bubble of emotion threatening to pour out as she talked about the life they had built together. She was right, of course. They could have never have had this while they still worked at NCIS. They never could have even imagined that they would purchase a little house in Virginia with a huge yard and trees made perfectly for climbing. They never would have seen themselves with not one child but two. They wouldn’t have been able to see themselves married and settled and happy. So incredibly happy. 

“It’s tooth and nail, babe.” 

Her eyes softened at his tone, the clear resignation in it as he found it so hard to fight with her anymore. She had been right, after all. And she knew he was a good man. He would do the right thing. 

“So we’re going to do it?” 

He sighed, “We’re going to… look into it. They’re not just going to hand her over to us. We’ll have to do things the right way. They’ll have to make sure we’re a good fit.” 

“We are.” 

“I know that, Ziva, but they have to make sure. And I’m sure they’re going to spend a lot of time looking into me specifically. They will have to make sure that I will not hurt her the way her fa-” he stopped himself when he saw her shoulders rising in anger, “The way that bastard hurt her.” 

“You would never do that. You’re a good man.” 

“And they’ll see that. But it will probably take time. Not to mention how long it might take for her to be comfortable around me.” 

Ziva nodded sadly at that. The poor girl had been so terrified to be in the same house as a man she didn’t know that he had been staying at a hotel while Ziva took care of the girl for the bossman. He had claimed that they shouldn’t watch the girl if she was so uncomfortable, since he should really be around to help Ziva with the baby, but she had insisted she would be fine. And it turned out that Tali was getting to be a great little helper, and an even better big sister. 

Sarah had fit into their little family perfectly while she stayed with them. Well, perfectly aside from her aversion to him. But he knew he could earn the girl’s trust. 

“But we are going to do this, right? We are going to adopt her?” 

Her eyes were screaming with so many emotions as she looked at him, waiting for a final answer. There was fear and hesitancy, but there was also hope and excitement. And love. And pride. 

And he wanted to make her proud of him. Proud to call him her husband. He wanted her to look at him like that forever. 

“Yes. We are going to do everything in our power to make sure that little girl comes home with us. As soon as possible.” 

Tears threatened to fall as she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed so tight he almost yelped. 

“Thank you, Tony. This means so much to me.” 

“I know it does, Ziva. I know it does.” 

It hadn’t taken nearly as long as he had thought, seeing as the government already had extensive background records on both of them and they wanted to get Sarah settled into a home before she was set to start school in the fall. Kindergarten. They had a kindergartner now. 

And Sarah had even come around to liking him a lot faster than he expected. Or at least tolerating him. Once she heard that he wanted to be her father and that he was willing to open his home to her, she had decided to give him a chance. Then once Ziva explained to her that Tony was willing to continue living at the hotel down the street for as long as she wanted him to, she had insisted he move home immediately. 

“I don’t want to break the family just because I’m broken.” 

Tony had held Ziva while she cried over such heartbreaking words coming out of such a small child. 

In the past few weeks since all the paperwork was signed and Sarah moved into their home officially, the little girl had made many brave steps towards building a relationship with the man who was now her father, but she still was not able to sleep in their house without Ziva laying in bed beside her. 

And then there were the fits. At first he had thought that they were flashbacks like Ziva still got every once and a while, but Ducky had insisted that they were different. 

“She experiences these dreams, or she had these memories playing through her mind, and all of these emotions well up inside her. It is like filling a balloon with water. She starts swelling with all these feelings that she can’t process and doesn’t know how to deal with, and she feels like she’s going to burst. So she lashes out in the one way she knows will get her the attention she needs: with anger. And frustration. She screams and she cries and she kicks because she doesn’t know what else to do.” 

“How do we help her, Ducky?” Ziva was squeezing Tony’s hand as they listened to what their lives were about to turn in to.

“You can stay with her. Wait it out. Listen to her when she decides to speak. Distract her if you can, but always make sure that you give her an opportunity to explain what she is feeling before you consider the episode to be over and you walk away. She might not always have the words to explain it, but allowing her to practice expressing herself to you guys will greatly help her when she goes to therapy.” 

Ziva had taken her new responsibility as Sarah’s mother very seriously, always being the first to recognize the start of a fit and finding the best ways to corral the young girl into her new bedroom as quickly as possible in order to protect her other two children from the wrath. At first, Tony found bruises along Ziva’s arms, and he tried to take over as the official fit-squasher. But that had made things much worse, as he should have expected, and soon he resigned himself to letting his wife take a few punches for the sake of Sarah’s healing. But he hadn’t noticed any bruises since Sarah moved in officially, and the screaming was starting to die down much faster than it had before. He oftentimes opened the door after one of the fits to find the two curled in bed together, much like they were now, sleeping off the frustration and sadness from their tense encounters. 

Tony took a step inside the room, and Ziva stirred. She moved slightly to look over her shoulder at him and held up a finger to tell him to wait. He paused. She slowly slid her body out from around their daughter, being careful to completely untangle their limbs so as to not wake the child. Once she was free, she stood carefully and crossed the room, grabbing him by the arm and tugging him out the door. She closed it gently behind her and seemed to let out a deep breath. 

“Everything okay?” he whispered.

She nodded, “She needs to learn to sleep without me at some point. This shall be our first trial. We will see what she does when she wakes up and I am not there.” 

He nodded and pointed down the hall toward the nursery, “Tali is holding Evan, but he really wants you.”

She nodded again and turned to join the two in the nursery.

“Ima! Eban is sleeping!” Tali yelled when she saw her mother. 

Whether the baby had actually been asleep or not, the burst of excitement from his sister had been more than enough to wake him up. Steady cries filled the room and Tali’s face fell immediately. 

“I’m sorry, Ima. I didn’t mean to…” 

“It is fine, Yakiri. You did nothing wrong. Let me take him.” 

She slowly lifted her 9 month old out of her 2 year old’s arms and hugged him to her chest. 

“Shhhh, Matok. It’s okay. I’m right here.” 

She started bouncing him gently against her shoulder as she looked down at her daughter, “Thank you for helping Abba take care of your brother.” 

“Is Sarah feeling better?” 

Ziva nodded, “She is sleeping right now, but you should ask her when she wakes up. She’ll be happy to know you care..” 

Tali nodded. Tony was always amazed that Ziva seemed to know exactly what to do to integrate Sarah into the family. While the two little girls had gotten along great at the start, there had been a bit of tension lately as Tali felt that this new girl was taking her mother away from her. They hadn’t gotten into any arguments or anything, but the disconnect was pretty obvious. Ziva had been working on getting both of them to talk it out and build a better relationship now so that there would be no lingering resentment later. Tony couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing all these things out of experience, since she did have a half brother who had been thrown into their home when she was really young. Either way, he was so thankful that she seemed to know what she was doing, because he would have been completely lost. 

Tali slid off the naptime chair and looked up at her father. 

“Can we watch Moana?”

Tony smiled, “Sure thing, booger. But only if I get to wear the grass skirt this time.” 

Ziva smiled at them. Tony had certainly been successful in getting his first daughter to share his love of movies. He came home almost every week with a new DVD to share with her, and some form of silly outfit for each of them to wear while they watched. Moana involved a grass skirt and large green stone attached to a hemp string meant to look like the stone from the movie. Frozen had required a blue princess dress for her and reindeer antlers for him. He had made a point to go back and purchase additional pieces to add to their collection in case Sarah ever wanted to watch with them, but she had yet to take him up on the offer. 

Tony was doing his best with Sarah. They both knew it. But that didn’t stop the flash of hurt in his eyes every time the blonde girl turned down his offer to spend more time with her. 

If only he knew that she called him her father for the first time today. 

It had been during their post-fit talk. She had been going on and on about something coming up at school called career day.

“Markus said his dad had the coolest job because he gets to work with tools. I told him that was nothing, because my dad works with guns.” 

To say that Tony worked with guns was a bit of an overstatement, but she hadn’t bothered to correct her. Technically his job was to design training simulations for agents and cops to work on their weapons proficiency. But not all the courses were designed for target practice, and none of the weapons used in their facility were real or even dangerous. Still, the first time Sarah had met Tony, he had one of the training guns strapped to his waist, and it was hard to override that first impression. 

She watched as her three year old took off running for the living room and her husband leaned over to give Ziva a quick kiss before following. 

Ziva smiled down at her son, who was sucking happily on his thumb. Her second pregnancy had not been nearly as smooth as her first, leaving her on bed rest for almost 2 months only to go into labor too early anyway and have an emergency c-section in order to save the life of their child. The surgery had been every bit as risky as it would have been the first time, and as a result they had been told that she could not have any more biological children. 

Tony had taken the news admittedly well. He told her time and time again that he didn’t need any more children. That their little family was perfect just the way it was. 

But she had wanted more. Being pregnant had its ups and downs, but at the end of the day it was an indescribably beautiful experience. Not to mention how much she loved being a mother, and with her continued career as an independent personal trainer giving her the freedom to pick her own hours and even bring her children along with her if she needed to, she thought that the more kids the merrier. Three was her ultimate goal. And it devastated her to think she would never get there. 

But then she met Sarah. Abby had asked her to stop by NCIS one day to translate some emails linked to a cold case she was reworking (and to bring by her ‘two little babies’ as she always called the DiNozzo kids). When she walked into the lab, one kid in the stroller and the other walking alongside it with her fingers gripping the side tightly, she was met with a small blonde girl, not too much older than Tali, sitting on Abby’s lab table with her hands tucked underneath her bottom. 

Abby had been swabbing the girl’s clothes and cataloging her injuries. Ziva hadn’t asked what had happened - she could tell by the tunneled look in the girl’s eyes that her father had hurt her somehow (it was a look she was very familiar with given she had a sister who also had to live with a disappointing parent) and by the bruises that it was horrible. When Abby pushed Evan into the back part of the lab and Tali followed, Ziva stepped up to the girl and tried to get her to talk. It was a very one-sided conversation, but by the end of it Ziva was reaching into her back pocket and calling her husband, telling him to get his ass over there now and take their kids home. She wasn’t about to leave this girl’s side. 

The girl had been made to be a part of their family, even if it didn’t always seem like it. Sure, she had pale skin and straight blonde hair, but she pronounced Tali’s name perfectly on the first try, which was something Tony still failed to do at times. And she may not have spent the first 5 years of her life living in a half Jewish home where they spoke a fluid mixture of a couple of different languages, but she was picking up on the different words so quickly. And sure, her eyes were starkly grey, like the sky before a lightning storm, which were certainly not mimicked by any of her adopted siblings, but she was so clearly as strong willed as Ziva and had a sense of humor that mirrored Tony’s. 

She was always meant to be their daughter. She was meant to be the fifth DiNozzo. And now she was. 

Tali Elizabeth DiNozzo. Evan Shai DiNozzo. And Sarah Mailyn DiNozzo. 

Their little family. 

She couldn’t imagine her life without any of them. To think she had tried to run away from everything that DC and Tony offered after her hunt for Bodnar. To think she had once sat alone in a small farmhouse, stewing in her own self hatred, convinced the world was so much worse for her being in it. 

A tear slid down her cheek and her fussy baby was not happy to see his mother sad. He stuck his arms out as if to reach for her, and she lifted him up above her head so she should blow a raspberry into his stomach while he tugged on her hair. 

She heard footsteps in the hallway and looked over to see a sleepy Sarah standing there, rubbing her still red eyes. 

“You weren’t there,” She whispered, but she didn’t seem too shaken by the memory. 

“I knew you would be okay if I left you to sleep alone,” Ziva responded, resting her son back against her chest. 

Sarah nodded a little bit, “I was okay. I thought I wasn’t at first but… I was okay.” 

“That is good. I believe Dr. Mallard would call that progress.” 

Sarah smiled a little. Loud laughter, mostly from Tali, came from the living room. She looked down the hall toward it longingly.

“They are watching Moana. Would you like to join them?” 

The little girl shrugged, but she hadn’t said no like she usually would. 

Seeing an opportunity, Ziva reached over for a burping cloth and slid the blanket off of her son as she adjusted him in her arms. 

Sarah considered this for a moment before finally nodding just as Ziva stepped out into the hallway. The girls walked quietly toward the commotion, stopping by the kitchen for just a moment to warm up a bottle of formula (breastfeeding hadn’t gone as well the second time) and then settling themselves on the couch. 

Tony was in fact wearing the grass skirt as he lay on the floor next to his daughter. A few minutes into the movie, Tali got up and walked up to Sarah on the couch. 

She held out the green stone necklace, “You can wear this if you want. Or Abba can give you the other grass skirt.” 

The blonde girl reached out and wrapped her fingers around the stone, “Thank you, Tali.” 

The brunette smiled wide before jumping on her father, “We can match, Abba! Where is the other skirt?”

Tony got up slowly and ducked into the kitchen. He returned seconds later with a matching grass skirt. 

Sarah watched as he helped Tali get it on and they both went back to laying on the floor. 

Tali looked over her shoulder again and started patting the empty space beside her, “Lay with us, Akhot.” 

Sarah glanced sideways at their mother, who mouthed the word sister as a translation. 

A slow smile spread across the girl's face as she slid off the couch and onto the floor, tugging the stone necklace over her head as she went. 

Tony leaned back, looking up at his wife who was gently feeding their son. She looked down at him, and they both smiled. This was family. This was peace. 

And the only way I got it was by coming back after Israel. 

Thank god I did that.