#it's like a panic attack dissociation and a pots moment rolled into one!

[david-watts]

ok maybe I wouldn’t say accidentally since the vending machine essentially flipped me off when I tried to get a snack but I accidentally let my blood sugar drop too low yeehaw

[honey-dewey]

The Monster we Share

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales/Reader

Word Count: 2,812

Warnings: PTSD for military action, sexual assault, and abuse. Mentions of abuse, panic attacks and dissociation, one very bitchy ex-wife, mentions of canon-typical violence, I think that’s it. 

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Frankie would tell you he was messed up, at which point you would retaliate with the fact that you were just as messed up as he was. Both diagnosed with PTSD, life isn’t easy, but it doesn’t always suck either.

Dating someone with PTSD was difficult.

Dating someone with PTSD when you also had PTSD was nothing short of a hellscape.

You had met Francisco Morales through a friend of a friend, and after a few drinks and some chatting, you two were close friends. Fast forward six months, and you were dating and living together in Frankie’s house. It would’ve been a miracle.

Would’ve, of course, being the key word here.

Soon into your relationship, you heard about Frankie’s PTSD involving his time in the military, specifically his non-military mission down in South America from a year ago. You had opened up then, spilling about abuse from an ex and the horror show that had been your life for almost three straight years. You’d never seen Frankie look vicious, but in that moment, he looked like a killer.

Now, a year into your relationship, and you were still navigating the rocky parts.

Namely the nightmares.

You woke in a cold sweat, broken from your nightmare by a harsh scream coming from your side. Scrambling upright, you tried to rouse Frankie, who was thrashing and screaming, his eyes still closed.

“Frankie!” You yelled, putting your hands on his shoulders and doing your best to wake your boyfriend. “Frankie please!”

Frankie shot upright, eyes wide open, and immediately took a swing in your direction. You jumped back, but he was faster. Thankfully, his fist didn’t hit your face, which was where he was aiming, but with all the jostling around, he did catch your shoulder.

You yelped, falling off the bed and immediately starting to cry, curling up as small as you could. Despite the obvious differences from your previous apartment and relationship, all you could see, all you could hear, was your ex.

“Babe?” Frankie’s raw voice echoed through your mind. “Babe?” He sounded more urgent, and you realized, with detached worry, that it was because you were hyperventilating. “Babe!”

He pulled you close, something which you didn’t have the energy to object. Carefully lining your back against his chest and sitting you in his lap, Frankie leaned against the wall and held you against him as your panic died down, as you realized you were safe. No one in this house would ever hurt you, not on purpose.

When you finally stopped breathing heavy, you collapsed into Frankie’s embrace, feeling utterly boneless and totally spent. It was rare you entered a dissociative state after panic attacks, but this time must’ve just been unlucky.

“Hey,” Frankie breathed, and you heard him very faintly, as if he were speaking through a pane of glass. Not much stuck when you dissociated, but despite that, Frankie was determined to talk to you. “Can I lift you onto the bed?” He never got a response, but just him having the heart to actually ask instead of just doing it was comforting. After a beat, he lifted you up and carefully placed you on the bed, laying beside you once he was done.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, running feather light fingers across your aching shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes were open, but you couldn’t really see. All you could do was lay there, waiting for your brain to turn back on again. Frankie stayed beside you the entire time, humming ABBA songs and trying to shake away the remnants of his own nightmare.

When you finally sparked back to awareness, it was your hearing that came back first. Able to anchor onto Frankie’s humming, you pulled yourself out of the dark, blinking and twitching your fingers as your sense of feeling returned. Then your sense of smell, then your touch, then you could taste blood on your tongue. Finally, your sight unclouded.

Frankie must’ve noticed you blinking more than once in a row and immediately reached over to the bedside table and held a glass of water. With one hand, he helped guide you to sitting, and then he pressed the glass into your hands. “Drink,” he said softly, and you did, glad for the water to wash the metal taste out of your mouth.

“Are you okay?” Frankie asked, taking the glass once it was empty. You nodded, not trusting your vocal chords to work right now.

“Just wanna get some sleep?” Frankie asked, and you nodded again.

Nothing makes you want sleep more than a two AM panic attack, so you ended up sleeping until noon, only really rolling out of bed because Frankie was missing and you wanted to check on him.

You found him on the couch, eating lunch and sitting on the phone, quietly arguing with someone.

“No!” He whisper yelled. “Absolutely not, I get custody! She’s my daughter too!”

You slowly walked into the kitchen, trying not to be spotted. There was still coffee in the pot for you, and you made yourself a cup while Frankie got even more mad.

“Marisa,” he hissed. “Don’t you fucking dare. I deserve to see her too, even if it’s just weekends!” He was quiet for a minute before responding. “You leave my partner out of this!” He yelled, practically at full volume, and you jumped, splashing coffee all down your front. Frankie turned, shocked. “I’m calling you back,” he said firmly. “This is not over.”

As soon as he hung up, Frankie rushed over to you and took the nearly empty mug from you. “Hey, you okay?”

“Better,” you said softly. “How’s Emmie?”

Frankie sighed, leaning his forehead against your shoulder. “Marisa still won’t let me have custody,” he said weakly. “I miss Emmie. I want to see her.”

You sighed, wrapping Frankie in a hug. “It’ll be okay Frankie,” you promised. “It’s been a year. I’m sure if we went to court, you could get partial custody if you proved you’d been clean for the whole year, which you have.”

Frankie began to shudder, and you sunk to the ground with him still in your arms. “You’ve never been in a legal battle with Marisa,” he said shakily. “She’s determined to never let Emmie see me again.”

You ground your teeth. “I hate that woman.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” Frankie said.

Eventually, with cold coffee on your shirt and your stomach empty, you got up and urged Frankie to get dressed. “We’re going out to lunch,” you said insistently, kissing his knuckles. “Please?”

Frankie relented, and you two ended up driving to a small 24 hour diner that had the best pancakes pretty much ever. You’d only found it because of Benny, who had gotten a job as one of the waiters. You sat at your favorite table, the one in the corner where Frankie could see all the exits, and ordered pancakes.

Five minutes into your meal, you were interrupted.

“Daddy?”

Frankie’s eyes widened, looking at a small baby, barely two, standing near your table. She was a spitting image of Frankie, right down to the curve of her nose and the spark in her eyes. Her two thick pigtails bounced as she began to get excited. “Daddy!”

Frankie was frozen, face stiff. You bent down, smiling at Emmie. “Hiya Emmie. Where’s your mommy?”

Emmie shrugged, and you grew more worried. “Well, where were you sitting?”

“Over there,” Emmie said, pointing to a table.

“Okay,” you said, standing and holding out your hand. “Why don’t we sit back down over there. Your mommy is gonna be super worried when she doesn’t see you over there.”

Right as you finished, a scream echoed through the diner. “You bitch!” Marisa yelled, running over and yanking Emmie from your gentle grip. “How fucking dare you!”

You stepped back. “I’m so sorry Ma'am, she approached us. I was just trying to return her.”

Marisa’s eyes found Frankie and she seethed. “Good luck getting custody now,” she snapped loudly. “You just tried to kidnap Amelia!”

Emmie whined, tugging against her mother. “Daddy!” She yelled, pointing.

For you, everything else faded when you saw Frankie. He was sobbing, curled in a ball and shaking violently, hands gripping his hair and breathing uneven.

“Frankie!” You immediately rushed to his side, trying to dislodge his hands. “Frankie, honey, it’s me.”

“Fish?”

You looked up, seeing Benny standing there, wearing an apron and a horrified expression. “Benny!” You said gratefully. “Thank god, can you comfort Frankie? I’m gonna call the cops.”

“I already did it,” one of the other patrons said, holding up their phone. “And my girlfriend has been filming this whole thing.”

You nodded gratefully, turning your attention back to Frankie. “Hey babe, hey, that’s it,” you praised softly, hearing his breathing even out. “You’re with me, it’s safe. We’re here, in the diner, and Benny’s here. Hey, see, we’re all safe.”

Frankie nodded slowly, regaining himself. “Em?”

You pointed to Emmie, who was being held back by Marisa. “She’s still here. Still safe. See?”

Another slow nod, and then the cops were rushing in. You sat in Frankie’s lap, cradling his head and keeping him secure as they cops asked everyone what had happened. Upon reviewing the footage from the other patron, they took Marisa for questioning, at which she screeched and threw a fit and tried to assault the cop. Emmie, as soon as she was free, ran towards you. Benny scooped her up, holding her close.

“Are you this girl’s father?” The cop asked Benny.

“No,” Benny said. “I’m one of her godfathers. That’s her father, but he doesn’t have any custody.”

The cop sighed. “Write your name and number here, we’ll be in touch about the custody.”

Benny jotted down Frankie’s name and number and nodded to the cop as he left.

“Aight Fish, you ready to go home?” Benny asked, bouncing Emmie in his arms.

Frankie nodded, getting up with your help and trudging to the car.

Emmie watched as Benny sat in the back with her and you drove, holding Frankie’s hand and trying not to let yourself waver. “Is daddy borken?” She asked Benny.

Benny sighed. “No hon, he isn’t broken. His brain just doesn’t like him very much.”

“Oh. Otay.”

The rest of the ride home was near silent. Benny kept Emmie occupied as only he could do, mostly by very quietly teaching her to sing ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall. You didn’t object. It made Frankie smile when she lisps her way through the song, and you would do anything to see that smile again.

The other two boys were waiting for you at home, sitting on the porch. They jumped up when you two arrived back, both eager to see Emmie and make sure Frankie was okay.

“Hey,” Will said softly, pulling you aside as everyone trudges into the house. “Y’know how you told me to keep an ear on you-know-who?”

It’s like a ton of bricks hit your chest. “Yeah?”

Will smiled. “Gone. Completely. At least ten years behind bars for abuse, but the more they look into his past relationships, the more time he gets.”

The bricks suddenly crumbled, and you were crying, tears bubbling over.

“What the hell?” Frankie asked, coming back out and pulling you into a hug. “What’s going on?”

“He’s gone!” You said happily, beyond the tears. “Gone Frankie! He’s gone!”

Will filled in the details, and Frankie was grinning wildly when he finished. “This is amazing,” he said, still hugging you. “Amazing.”

You two headed back in, Frankie’s arm over your shoulder. None of the boys knew how bad your past relationship ran except Will, but they definitely knew something was wrong. So when you came in, teary but smiling, they immediately asked what was wrong.

“Their ex is gone for good,” Frankie said happily.

It was a cause for celebration, which was just what you did. Benny, along with Will and Emmie, went to go get a cake while you, Santi, and Frankie made dinner. Dinner wasn’t fancy, mostly just warming up whatever you could find and hoping Emmie would eat it.

“We’re home!” Benny said happily, opening the door and holding up a cake. “I got cake!”

“And I’ve got dinner for Emmie,” Will said from behind Benny.

While Emmie at chicken nuggets and honey mustard, you and the boys ate tacos and cake. It was a messy dinner, but it filled your bellies and made you happy.

“Movie?” Benny asked hopefully once you’d packed up the leftovers.

You sighed, putting the pan in the sink to be washed later. “Yeah, sure. Go turn the TV on.”

Benny eagerly hopped over to the couch and sat down, turning the TV on and flicking through channels. When he found a decent movie, he let the channel sit as he watched.

The movie was a violent one, something you didn’t want Emmie to watch. She yawned as you carried her to the guest bedroom, which wasn’t fit for a two year old, but it would have to do for now. You tucked some pillows under the sheets to protect her from rolling out of the bed and set a box at the side so she could get down in the morning. With a kiss goodnight, she was out like a light.

“We good in here boys?” You asked, poking your head back into the living room. “Oh for god's sake, change the channel.”

“Why?” Benny asked. “I like this movie!”

You pointed to Frankie, who was gripping the armrest of the couch. “You’re gonna set him off.”

Frankie nodded his thanks, eyes wide and body stiff. Benny changed the channel to some cute animated movie you’d seen the trailer for but never bothered to watch the movie.

You hummed, sitting practically on top of Frankie. He never panicked during movies with live fire and violence anymore, but they still made him jittery.

“You okay?” Frankie asked softly, running his hands over your skin.

“I should be asking you that,” you pointed out, kissing the hairless patch on Frankie’s face. “Tomorrow will be better. We’ll take Emmie shopping.”

Frankie smiled. “Lord, we really are two complete messes.”

You snuggled closer into Frankie’s arms. “Messes shmesses. We’re together. Our pasts are being amended. One day, we might even be able to look back at how we are now and laugh.”

“Yeah, when Emmie’s in college.”

Smiling, you reached up and grabbed Frankie’s face, squishing his cheeks. “Even if we aren’t, if we’re still waking up at two AM with nightmares and spending our days comforting each other through panic attacks, I’ll still love you.”

Frankie grinned. “I’ll love you more.”

“Oh no you don’t,” you argued playfully. “I’ll love you more.”

“Nah, I definitely love you more.”

You heard gagging from the other side of the couch and turned to see Benny making a face. “Get a room!”

Frankie stuck his tongue out at Benny while you laughed. Santi and Will both whistled when Frankie scooped you up and carried you to bed.

Because of your ex, you and Frankie had never slept together. Bed sharing was difficult in the first months, and then cuddling was the next hurdle. You were finally comfortable enough to snuggle in the bed together, and when you reached the bedroom, Frankie plopped you on the bed and immediately snuggled up. Clothes still on, he gently rested a hand on your waist, murmuring soft words in your ears.

“I don’t think this is what Benny meant when he said get a room,” you said happily as Frankie peppered kisses across your collarbones.

“To hell with what Benny meant,” Frankie said. “You aren’t ready.”

It almost made you cry. “Thank you Frankie,” you said, a slight wobble to your voice. “Thank you.”

“You adjust your life for me,” Frankie reminded you. “I can adjust my life for you.”

That night, as you lay down to sleep, you stared at the ceiling, listening to Frankie’s low and rhythmic breathing. He was right. You had mindlessly adjusted for him, noticing what set him off and silently making changes so he didn’t have panic attacks on the daily. But he had done the same for you, changing his words and his mannerisms so he could be the best person for you, the person you needed. It was so seamless, the way you two molded to each other.

“Love you,” you whispered softly into the air, swirling around because of the fan Frankie needed on. Frankie, dead asleep, didn’t respond, but you didn’t mind. Rolling closer to Frankie, tucking yourself up and under his arm, you breathing in his late night smell. “Thank you.”

You knew, in the morning, he’d either wake up at three in tears or slowly in the sun. But either way, he would wake up to you, ready for his worst, and no matter what, he would be there for yours when it struck. You both had each other, no matter how dark life got. The monster you shared would always connect you.

[citrinekay]

this may be a long shot and don’t do it if your uncomfortable doing it but i love the headcanon that Holden has autism so could you possibly write one where Holden gets overwhelmed and starts dissociating and bill has to help comfort him and such love ur writing ❤️❤️❤️

So I don’t have autism, and I don’t know anyone who has autism so this was definitely a challenge - but I like a good challenge! I read a couple of articles and forums online from people who do have autism, and I hope this is as accurate and respectful as possible. Thanks for the prompt ❤

It starts with an empty gallon of milk in the refrigerator. 

Holden awakes that morning at exactly 7am with the same amount of anxiety he usually does - distinct, yet tolerable. He gets up, goes to the bathroom, and washes his face. So far so good. Then he goes into the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal for breakfast, the next step in his routine. 

The gallon has a few dregs of milk left sloshing at the bottom. He doesn’t remember using the last of the milk, but his memory can be untrustworthy at times. It doesn’t matter if and when he was responsible for the lack of milk; the disruption has already unraveled the rest of his morning. 

He eats the cereal dry because it’s the only option he can think of, and gets dressed in a scattered hurry. After leaving the house and driving several miles down the road, he realizes that the milk fiasco had caused him to forget a few vital steps. Firstly, he can’t recall if he took his medications with breakfast, and second, he isn’t sure whether he locked the door behind him. 

Paralyzed by a sudden wave of anxiety, he drives the rest of the way to work on autopilot without considering turning back. As he speeds through the last intersection on the way to Quantico, the light flashes from yellow to red, and it seems like a bad omen. 

                                                              ***

When Holden was about twelve, his mother bought him a Rubik’s cube. She thought it might help with his fidgeting and restless hands. For months, he was fixated on solving it, relying on his own prowess rather than hints from online or outside sources to assist him. 

He finally cracked it four months later. After that, he could solve the cube to infinity. He played it so many times that he could memorize the pattern, and he’d learned something about himself inside of the puzzle. 

He needs a pattern, one that never varies. At this point in his life, that pattern begins with a gallon of milk, and today, the Rubik’s cube just keeps spinning out in his head. 

He’s been living with autism long enough to realize when he’s headed into input overload, and that he should probably stop stimulating himself before everything boils over like a pot of water left on a high. That was fine when he was in high school and he could lock himself in his room to get away. It was fine when he attended university, and his roommate stayed out late most nights, leaving the dorm peacefully quiet. It was even fine when he was sequestered in the basement of the BSU, content to objectively look at police reports and crime scene photographs - information that he could easily put down at a moment’s notice. 

Not anymore. He’d assured Ted that he can go out into the field now and do interviews. He can handle it. He can handle his stress. He can deal with the lights, and sounds, and smells of the outside world which had once crippled him to the point of immobility. He’s trained himself to pass as just as neurotypical as everyone else. 

He has to go to work. 

                                                           ***

The interview is local, giving Holden the opportunity to breathe and prepare himself for the inside of the correctional facility on the drive over. 

Bill is driving, letting the radio play from one muted love song to the next. He doesn’t try to pressure Holden into conversation, which is nice. 

“Mind if I smoke?” Bill asks, pulling Holden from his thoughts. 

“Roll down the window.” Holden says, reminding himself to add, “Please.”

Bill cranks down the window and lights up. He knows Holden dislikes the smell just like Holden knows Bill can’t live without the damn things. 

When they were first assigned as partners, Holden wasn’t quite sure the arrangement would work out. Bill seemed like the typical abrasive, macho g-man who wouldn’t give two shits about Holden’s autism. He looked like the kind of people who had bullied Holden in school for being “weird” and “different.” Everything Holden knew and had learned about “normal” human behavior through extensive self-training told him that the relationship would end in disharmonious friction and more than a few hurt feelings; but, he’d apparently not yet studied enough. 

The second day they worked together, Holden nearly had a meltdown over whether or not he had locked his front door, a recurring anxiety which has plagued him since he’d come home to a break-in several years back when living in D.C. Bill didn’t dismiss his worries or try to placate him with logical suggestions. He grabbed his keys, and said he would drive them back over to Holden’s apartment immediately just be certain. 

The stupid door was locked just as it always is because he’s turns the handle no less than three times just be certain every morning, but Bill hadn’t seemed concerned with the wasted trip only pleased that the positive discovery eased Holden’s panic. 

Then, a few months ago, Bill had casually referred to Holden as “his friend.” 

“Are we friends?” Holden had asked, uncertain. 

“Yes, Holden, we’re friends.” 

He supposes they could have gone another six months with him thinking they were only co-workers if Bill hadn’t made the remark. It’s nice to know he has friends, but sometimes he worries that Bill will get tired of him and his peculiar behaviors eventually. They can go days without speaking or exchanging a text, and it’s always his fault. 

As they pull up to the front of the correctional facility, Holden flinches at the sound of the gate lifting to let them through. 

Bill parks, and turns to Holden. “You good?” 

“Good.” Holden echoes. “Yeah, sure.”

Bill frowns, softly, but nods for Holden to follow him inside. “All right then, let’s go.” 

                                                            ***

The inside of a correctional facility is the very definition of sensory overload - bright lights, loud buzzers, and prisoners shouting. Holden counts to ten in his head while they make their way down the dank, narrow corridors to the private room reserved for the interview. 

Their subject, Hank Graham, is waiting for them just beyond a heavy, steel door. The man killed three women, and cut off various body parts. This information doesn’t bother Holden. He’s been studying psychology and murder for many years, and it’s what fascinates him. 

The part that bothers him about Hank Graham is how willing the man is to lean into his personal space and try to touch him. Holden doesn’t know what all that is about. He’s good at looking at crimes from a three-dimensional perspective, picking apart it’s pieces, and coming to a natural conclusion of what occurred. He’s still in the learning curve of the “why” part. 

Bill usually takes over once Holden gets past the questions about the process of the murders. He asks the men what they were thinking and feeling during the crimes, a perspective Holden isn’t good at relating to. 

He tries to stick to his portion of the questions as strictly as possible, but Graham continues leaning closer. He slaps Holden on the arm when he starts laughing about how he cut the breasts off one of his victims. 

Holden leaps up out of his chair, his whole body revolting against the contact. There it goes - the boiling water overflowing. 

Bill gets him out of the correctional facility as quickly as possible. They emerge into the muggy summer air, and he stands back while Holden paces, shaking his hands in a desperate attempt to work through the panicked scream in the back of his mind. 

When he calms down, Bill’s brow is set in a scowl. Holden has seen this mood on him enough times to understand that it’s more grave concern rather than anger. He’d spent months trying to figure out the difference on Bill, but now he wishes he could go back to thinking Bill was simply upset with him for his failure. 

“Stop worrying about me.” Holden says, “I have enough anxiety for the both of us.” 

Bill scoffs, and tosses the last of his cigarette to the ground. “I do worry, Holden. With good cause.” 

“I had it under control.”

“Fine, if you say so.” Bill scowls, and motions for Holden to follow him to the car. Let’s go home.”

                                                            ***

Holden wakes up the following day with what he mentally refers to as a “sensory hangover.” After pushing himself too hard yesterday, he’s all but maxed himself out on new input. And there still isn’t milk in the damn fridge because he’d forgotten about the oversight after his mini-panic attack at the correctional facility. 

Everything feels numb and flat as he gets ready for work, trying to focus on his pattern. He puts on mismatched socks, but doesn’t feel like digging his dresser drawer for a complete set. He remembers to take his medication, and assure himself that the door is locked. 

He’s still functioning as well as he can, but by the time he gets to work, the distance between his brain and reality is starting to grow dangerously long. 

Sitting down at his desk, he tries to focus on the tasks at hand. He barely notices when Bill comes out of his office to get a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning.” Bill says. 

Holden doesn’t look up as he boots up his laptop, and opens a new document to start typing up his notes from the Graham meeting yesterday. The task is going reasonably well when Gregg’s telephone starts ringing. 

Gregg isn’t at his desk. The phone just keeps ringing. 

Holden presses his eyes shut, trying to block out the disruptive noise. His tenuous grip on his senses loosens with every shrill ring of the phone, but he’s motionless in his seat, unable to enact a plan to make it stop. 

The phone stops ringing for the space of what feels like seconds before it starts up again. 

Finally, Holden stands abruptly from his chair. “Where the fuck is Gregg?”

Bill gazes at him from across the bullpen. He has that look again. The worried one. 

Suddenly, Holden realizes that everything has gone blank, a mass of sensation and sound that he can no longer differentiate from one thing to the next. It’s as if someone turned on ten radios at once inside his brain, and tuned every single one to a different channel. 

He feels himself walking away from his desk and toward the door of the basement. He opens the door, walks out into the hall. He knows where he’s standing, but the hallway feels incredibly long and it could have gone on forever for all he knew. It doesn’t feel real as if it’s just an image projecting to infinity inside his brain. 

He doesn’t move until Bill’s hand on his elbow pulls him around. He focuses hazily on Bill’s mouth, forming the syllables of his name and a deliberate, “Are you okay?”

“Are you … are you … are you here?” Holden says, the words struggling languidly from his throat. 

Bill says, “Yes, Holden, I’m right here.”

Holden looks down, and Bill is holding his hand, only it doesn’t feel real. It’s just a dream. But that can’t be right because he’d come into work today, and he saw Bill in the office. Bill followed him into the empty hallway.  Bill isn’t dissociating the way Holden is. 

“Stay.” Holden whispers, his voice sounding far away and detached from the static inside his brain. “Stay. Stay.”

“It’s okay, I’m staying.” Bill says. 

He must be squeezing Holden’s hand, rubbing his arm. Bill is tactile and warm like that, and Holden wishes he could feel it right this second. But everything is a blur, a dark room where the light used to be, a fog of noise and sensation that just won’t lift. 

                                                              ***

Holden comes back to reality after what feels like five seconds. He opens his eyes, and he and Bill are sitting on the floor in the hallway just outside the BSU door. 

“You’re back.” Bill whispers. 

Holden blinks at him, bewildered by the faint smile on Bill’s mouth and the misty gleam in his eyes. Happy or upset? Why do normal people cry over so many different things? Wait, is Bill crying?

“How long was it?” 

Bill checks his watch. “Ten minutes. You’ve never done it for that long before.”

“Not at work.” Holden says, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologize.” 

Bill frowns as Holden gets his feet under himself, and stands with a grunt. His backside hurts from sitting on the tile floor. He wonders how far into the episode Bill made him sit down, but he can’t remember anything beyond the telephone ringing and running out of the office. 

“We should get back to work.” Holden says, abruptly. 

He marches toward the door, but Bill clambers to his feet with a quiet protest. “Wait, Holden. Are you okay? Do you need a minute?”

“I’m fine.” Holden says, briskly, yanking the door open. 

He pauses just across the threshold. His brain is still fuzzy, but he has to at least remember his manners. Besides, Bill had been so kind to sit with him. Maybe they really are friends. 

He turns slowly to see Bill gazing at him with a strange look in his eyes. Holden has never seen this look before. He quietly tries to catalogue it in the back of his mind for further inspection later. 

“Thank you.” He says. 

Bill nods. “Yeah, of course.”

Holden goes back to his desk, and sits down in front of his laptop. The last few sentences he’d written are riddled with grammatical errors and misspellings. He draws in a deep breath, and begins again. 

[janyolski]

Fic: The One With The Dog Mom And Hot Vet

Link to the whole story on FFN | AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Read on for Part 10

Summary: AU. Cosima is a crazy loving dog mom and Delphine is a crazy hot veterinarian. Cosima is also super gay.

In this chapter, some of Delphine's own personal issues surface after the kiss. Cosima is just as upset. Mrs. S., Sarah, Kira, and Felix are having breakfast when they hear about what happened. Kira dislikes Marmite very much. TW: Panic Attacks

Chapter 10: The One Where Kira Hates Marmite

Delphine tries not to floor her gas pedal to zoom right to her apartment but she finds it difficult. She keeps reminding herself that she doesn’t want to get into any kind of accident in the middle of a quiet and sleeping neighborhood because she can’t control this ongoing panic attack. She starts feeling nauseous, like she needs to vomit, but she wills herself to stay awake, alert, and to keep driving under the neighborhood speed limit. Her heart and mind are racing a mile a minute and her breathing comes out quick ragged.

 Cosima had kissed her.

 She had kissed back… but only for a moment, only before she realized what was happening.

 It was simply because of all the wine, right?

Yes. The wine. And maybe the dim lighting in Siobhan’s house. And maybe all the teasing and jokes.

 Teasing?

Then the realization dawns upon her; the blushing, the shyness, Sarah and Felix constantly looking her way then giving Cosima a look. Sarah said someone was excited to see her beside Kira and it was her, but she was referring to Cosima wasn’t she?

 Cosima was the one excited to see her.

Wait, maybe she’s just overthinking. It’s just the panic.

But, if it were true…

 Frankly, she was excited to see Cosima, too.

Another wave of nausea hits her at that thought. In the midst of the onslaught of emotions, part of the doctor’s brain dissociates and starts wondering where all of this was coming from. That part of her starts to detachedly go through every single possibility.

Shock? Hmm. But why the intensity of this reaction?

First time to kiss a woman? Sure. But, she’s French and this was nothing shocking, even after growing up in a conservative household. She did go to University after all.

Homophobia? Oh hell, no. No, no, no. She was not at all disgusted by the pass Cosima made at her. If anything, she even welcomed--

Delphine’s expression contorts to deer-caught-in-headlights to absolute horror to a shell-shocked eureka look. She went through this in her mind earlier but it only really sunk in now.

 She welcomed the kiss. She enjoyed the kiss. She even reciprocated that kiss.

And that’s what really has her sweating cold and breathing hard in her car; the possibility that she was almost 30 years old and has lived all her life clueless that she was attracted to women also. Something inside of her snaps and it all makes sense - the way her heart broke at 5 years old when the girl she considered her best friend brushed her off, the way she looked at her peers at 12 years old, the way she kept looking at her roommate’s body at 19 in Uni, the way she made love to men yet still feel unsatisfied somehow afterwards, and the way she’d been so drawn to Cosima the whole night.

Almost 30 years old - 28, to be exact - and the possibility that Delphine Cormier might at least be bisexual never dawned on her despite the signs until a girl she likes actually kissed her.

 Likes.

 Yikes.

Delphine realizes she’s gone past two houses from her apartment and puts her car in reverse. She parks in her driveway, pulls up her car’s handbrake and shuts off her engine. She stays in her car, however, hands still on the steering wheel and eyes staring blankly ahead of her.

 She likes Cosima.

Well, not like-like, but attracted to her?

 Undeniably so.

The doctor tries to even out her breathing, a trick she’s learned to do as a pre-teen, whenever her father gave her panic attacks from whatever emotionally-scarring statement he’d say at the dinner tale that night. She breathes in as much air as she can through her nose and rolls the movement to her stomach, making it feel like she’s filling her midsection with air, too and not just her lungs, the exhales slowly through her mouth. Her breath comes out a chilly puff. The weather has started to get colder, Delphine notes. She’s been to busy to notice it.

 Like she’s been too blind to notice an important part about herself; her sexuality.

The doctor has had many friends of different dispositions on the spectrum of sexuality, and she thinks they’ll probably laugh at her and how she’s only figured out now and how she’s dealing with a panic attack from the discovery. But she thinks her father wasn’t her father and she wasn’t them - she grew up in a conservative household with a father who wanted her to be nothing more than a housewife because he believes it’s the best life for her. She grew up watching only men and women fall in love for each other and wasn’t even aware that women loving other women and men loving other men existed until she ran away. She has formative years and her father’s shadow to shake off and it seems like in some part of her she hasn’t.

 Maybe she never will.

So, Delphine finally gets out of her car. Her keys jangle in her hand as it trembles. She struggles to open the door and when she finally gets into her apartment, she locks it, and begins shedding off every piece of clothing on her as she makes her way to the bed. First, her scarf, then her coat, then her button-up blouse and the tank top underneath to keep her warm, then she bends down to push off her jeans only to realize she still had her shoes on; so, she pulls off each shoe, lets them drop on the floor, and proceeds to push down her jeans again. She reaches the side of her bed in nothing but her underwear and crawls under her sheets. She buries herself under the layers of blankets and the thick comforter and curls up in a fetal position on her side. Her mind goes to Cosima and she realizes that in all of her panic and her mid-life identity crisis, she forgot how she left Cosima at her front door, probably bewildered and feeling so rejected by her reaction.

 Oh no.

She considers calling the pet owner and reaches for her phone, only to realize she doesn’t have the woman’s number, yet.

 Ugh. Stupid.

She thinks of driving back to Cosima’s house but her body feels heavy - she’s not in a condition to drive.

So what else is there to do?

 Nothing. Sleep, maybe.

Delphine closes her eyes but an hour passes and sleep doesn’t come. Her thoughts are on loop; Cosima, the kiss, their conversations on the couch, how much fun she had, how she’s attracted to Cosima, how she was attracted to all those girls before but just didn’t realize it, her conservative father, her abusive aunt, her quiet mother, the brothers and sisters who were strangers to her, her childhood.

Delphine turns around and feels around her bed for the remote to the tv across her bed. Her hand then goes to her nightstand and finds it there. A blue light illuminates her surroundings as she turns on the television. She flips through all the channels and stops at National Geographic. A herd of lions are lazing in the African Savannah. The doctor settles in, pushing her blankets up to her chin.

Maybe in the morning she’ll make things right.

But for now, there’s a long sleepless night ahead.

Pancho looks out of the window and at the bright shining light in the sky. He looks at his human sprawled on her bed, still snoozing. He tilts his head. This isn’t right, he thinks. Cosima always wakes up early even after a late night to feed her pup and check if he needs to do his business outside. He has his litter box but still, Macho Pancho likes marking his territory outside too, you know.

So, Pancho decides to take matters into his own paws. The puppy walks over to the side of his playpen nearest Cosima’s bed. He stands on his hind legs and holds himself up against his pen with his front paws. He wags his tail and gets ready to give this his best shot. Pancho barks out at his human, telling her to get the hell out of bed and get started with her day. The barks get louder and louder until Cosima jolts up with a snort, awoken by her pup’s valiant efforts. Pancho sees his human move and wags his tail in excitement, probably also as a pat to himself on the back for a job well done.

Cosima rolls over to lie down on her stomach. Rolling papers were scattered on her bed along with the ziplocks of different strains of cannabis and an ashtray. She’d smoked herself up to sleep last night, upset from what happened between her and Delphine.

Pancho’s tail stops wagging as he sees his human lay still on the bed again. The puppy feels frustrated and starts a round of barking once again. The noise gets louder and louder til Cosima’s ears start to feel assaulted. The pet owner stirs awake, realizes it’s Pancho’s impatient barking, and struggles to pry her eyelids open. The bright early morning sunshine blinds her and she holds her hand out in front of her eyes to shield them. She opens her mouth to let Pancho know that she’s awake and she’s coming, but her throat is dry from the joints last night and she lets out a cough instead.

Pancho thankfully quiets down at the sound, anyway.

For a minute Cosima thinks it’s awesome one can never get hangovers from pot because this morning would definitely be a hundred times worse with a hangover. She crawls out of bed like a zombie and her ashtray topples over from the rustling of her sheets and all the cannabis  ash spills onto her sheets. Cosima face palms and growls out curse words. Her puppy just tilts his head, now waiting patiently for his owner.

Cosima manages out a few scratchy words as she finally gets up.

“Okay, baby boy.... Coming… Water first.”

She decides she’ll clean the ash and change her sheets later. She groggedly heads to her kitchen, gets a glass and fills it with water. She doesn’t realize how thirsty she is until her first gulp, so she drinks another glass. It’s then that last night’s events catch up with her brain again and she puts the glass down in the sink with a heavy clack. She then moves to grab an over-sized and cozy sweater and put it on over her sleep shirt and doesn’t bother putting on a bra. She also doesn’t even check to see if she broke the glass or anything.

Cosima grabs Pancho’s leash and the puppy jumps in excitement. But, he sees his owner’s demeanor and recognizes that she’s not having a good day, so being the best boy that he is, he tones down his excitement to tail-wagging. His owner smiles at him.

“Okay, baby boy. Let’s go get your pee on.”

Cosima attaches the leash to his collar and opens the playpen to let Pancho out. She sniffs her sweater and realizes it smells like weed, probably from her solo sesh last night.

 Well, what’s new?

She shrugs and grabs her phone. She’s going to call Sarah or Felix because she knows they’re dying for an update. She also needs someone to talk to really bad, and for all their crazy, Sarah and Felix were good listeners when Cosima needs them to be. Or, well… they try. But that’s good enough for the pet owner.

Cosima follows Pancho to the door and opens it for the both of them.

“What do you want for breakfast, huh, Monkey?”

Sarah slowly makes her way down the stairs, carrying her daughter who was wrapped snug around her mother. Kira sleepily nuzzles Sarah’s neck and whispers “waffles… maple syrup” so quietly, her mother almost missed it. Sarah chuckles.

“Waffles, eh? Don’t want any Marmite and toast?”

The suggestion almost seemed to zap the child awake. She leans back and scrunches her face in disgust, tongue sticking out.

“Ew, mum.”

Sarah laughs. She knew full well that her daughter hated Marmite. Yep, Kira definitely grew up in Canada and not Brixton.

“Okay. Waffles with maple syrup it is, love.”

Kira nods and feels assured enough to rest her little head on mummy’s shoulder again. Sarah places a kiss on the side of her daughter’s head then just loving buries her face in the soft curly hair. She has absolutely no idea but Kira still smells like a newly-bathed baby even at 9 years old.

The mother and daughter get to the kitchen and they find Siobhan sipping her tea with toast, waffles, bacon, eggs, milk, and orange juice ready with plates, utensils, and glasses, perfectly laid out on the table, waiting for the residents of the house to enjoy them. It was a truly beautiful sight. S doesn’t usually go all out like this unless they’re having a family meal. Sarah raises both eyebrows and nods in appreciation.

“Wow, mum.”

Kira takes a peep and immediately lightens up with a grin, all traces of sleepiness vanishing away.

Siobhan simply raises an eyebrow and tilts her head, as if to say, do you expect any less from me? The matriarch gestures to the food and the seats. Sarah sets Kira into a chair and plops herself down beside

“Dig in. Felix is coming down in a few minutes. He made a coffee run since he’s the only one in this house who drinks that for breakfast.”

And right on cue, their favorite male comes in the front door carrying a venti-sized cup of coffee and wearing sunglasses.

“Well, hello, women of my life. Ooh, that smells delish.”

He takes his coat off and hangs it on one of the hooks beside the stairs. He strides to the dining table and immediately sits himself beside his mother.

“Dig in, love.”

Felix sets his coffee and removes his sunglasses. He grabs a piece of toast and takes a big crunchy bite. His sister finishes dousing Kira’s waffles in syrup to the extreme delight of his niece.

He turns to his mother, but pretends to sneak a look at his niece who definitely catches it.

“Mum, where’s the Marmite?”

Kira immediately reacts and goes “blech.”

The adults laugh at their favorite monkey. Kira’s repulsion to Marmite was no secret and they frequently tease her about it.

Just then, Felix’s phone rings and vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out with a little struggle because of how tight his pants are. He specifically wore them because he knew the hot barista at the coffee shop works mornings and he wanted to work the pants’ charm. He sees Cosima’s name as the caller ID and immediately waves it in Sarah’s face.

“It’s Cos!”

Sarah’s eyes widen in excitement. Siobhan leans forward, a little bit, also definitely interested to hear what Cosima has to say.

“Answer it, dumdum!”

Felix swipes at the green phone icon and the call duration starts counting the seconds. He puts it on speaker phone so the other can hear it, too. Cosima’s voice comes through the speaker.

 “Hello…?”

Sarah leans forward and speaks.

“Cos, you’re on speaker phone. We’re all here. Kira, too. What’s up?”

 “Hey, monkey.”

Kira giggles from behind the huge chunk of waffles she’s currently holding up to her mouth with a fork.

“Hey, Aunt Cosima.”

Cosima addresses Sarah this time.

 “Sarah, I called your phone two times. You weren’t picking up.”

“Oh, shite, sorry, Cos. I must’ve left it in the room when I picked Kira up.”

 “It’s fine.”

Felix decides he can’t wait any longer. Besides, it’s his phone, too, so he goes and asks the question they all have in their minds directly.

“So, you headed home with the willowy French blonde… How’d it go?”

Cosima sighed.

 “We kissed-”

Felix stretched her hand out to his sister in lightning speed with his palms facing upward, mouthing “five dollars”. Sarah scrunched her face up and threw her hands in the air at her brother.

 “- then she jerked away from me and said ‘sorry’ and basically ran to her car in disgust and fast and furious’ed away from my apartment.”

Felix deflated like a helium balloon. Sarah immediately turned to the phone with looks of worry. Mrs. S. eyebrows knit together, deep concern evident on her face. Even Kira’s waffle froze in mid-air and she had to let the fork down.

Cosima sounded hurt and insecure. Felix looked at Sarah as if to day, keep your $5 because this isn’t worth celebrating. Mrs. S. leaned forward to make sure the woman on the other end of the line hears what she has to say.

“I’m sorry that happened, love. I thought it was going so well. We all did. We saw the signs and she definitely seemed to like you, too.”

 “I thought she was into it, too… I guess I was wrong.”

“Do you want to come over for breakfast? Felix can make a coffee run for you.”

Felix nods at his mom and cuts in.

“I wouldn’t mind. The barista is cute.”

They hear Cosima sigh. Any other day she would have laughed at Felix’s thing for baristas and bartenders.

 “Maybe another day. I have a paper to work on.”

Sarah cuts in.

“Okay, Cos. Call me any time. I’ll keep my phone close this time.”

 “Yeah. Okay.”

Cosima hangs up and they hear the beep signalling the line is cut.

Sarah looks at Siobhan then Felix.

“Okay, am I the only one who thinks blondie led her on?”

Felix tilts his head.

“It’s possible....”

Siobhan, knowing her kids well, is certain that Sarah is going to inevitably bring herself to hate Delphine. Sarah may be a pain in the ass but, like her, gets very protective of her family. In Sarah’s mind, Delphine can turn into a sick sadistic bitch or twisted into that straight girl who played with her sister’s feelings, even if it was just one night and an outright rejection right after the first kiss. How it escalates to that in Sarah’s mind is a mystery to her, but definitely something she may have been guilty of, too, so Siobhan understands her daughter still. However, the matriarch has seen her daughter’s protective streak when this happened with Cosima’s ex. Emi broke Cosima’ heart so badly and made Sarah hellbent on revenge. It got ugly, to say the least.

Siobhan decides to nip it in the bud, before it escalates.

“I think there’s more to it than that, Sarah. Let’s not jump to conclusions. Delphine was clearly into her. For all we know, it could've been personal and not at all about Cosima.”

Sarah looks down and clenches her jaw. Her mom was right.

Kira suddenly pipes up, surprising the three adults.

“I think Dr. Delphine likes Auntie Cosima very much.”

Felix smiles at his niece. A very smart and insightful kid, this one, he thinks.

“Yeah, monkey?”

Kira nods.

“I think she just doesn’t know she likes girls. But, that’s okay. Auntie Cosima’s nice. It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

The three adults look at each other then to Kira. Somehow, the child’s words felt true and it put them all at ease.

“Mum, can I have another waffle?”

The three adults laughed. Sarah nodded, forking a waffle and setting it on Kira’s plate.

“Here you go. You’re smart, monkey, you know that?”

Sarah kisses the top of her daughter’s head and Kira giggles. Mrs. S. and Felix smile at the two.

“I know I am!”