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my-mummy-dust · 2 years ago

Text

Promise?

Warnings: mild language, angry hotch, blood, guns, criminal minds stuff.

word count: 3,852.

This is loosely based off of season 5 episode 1 where Hotch is back from a case after being stabbed by the reaper and stuff.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

This was Hotch’s first case back from being stabbed repeatedly by the reaper. You were glad to have him back, but you really wished he would stay home for just one more week. But you know how awful it felt, being forced to stay home, not being allowed to come to work for weeks on end. You know how he felt closed in, like a caged animal. Without the other socializations of work, your world gets so small. So you understood why he was so eager to come back to work. He passed his psych evaluations with flying colors, but as Morgan mentioned; he was the one who made the questions, and knows exactly how to answer the them correctly, without regard if they’re true or not. You know he’d do just about anything to get back to work, but you also knew he was a sucker for staying on protocol, so you were conflicted if he should really be coming back so early or not.

The case you were on now was frustrating. The unsub was rapidly devolving and to add insult to injury, the sheriff was incompetent, and awfully rude. Hotch had gotten snappy. He yelled at garcia when she hadn’t had the chance to get the unsubs full medical history, Rossi when he was trying to talk some since into Aaron, and now you.

You hadn’t done anything wrong, you were just giving him some files; the files he asked you for.

‘Hey, I have the maps you asked me for.”

“Thanks, you can set them on my desk”

You set them on the empty space next him him then hesitated, chewing on you lip in thought before speaking again.

“Hotch?”

“Hmm?”

He looked up from the papers he was holding, but you could tell you didnt have his full attention- hell, you didnt have any of it. He was just..staring at you.

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine. Get back to work.’

He commanded, his voice getting stern again.

“No, Hotch, please, talk to me.”

“As I said, Im prefectly fine. I wouldn’t agree to work a case if I wasn’t fine, would I agent?”

“Yes, I know that, but you’re acting different. You’re-“

“Agent! Im fine. Get back to work, unless you want to be dismissed from the case?”

The authority in his voice was almost jarring. The frown lines on his forehead deepened, and new wrinkles you didnt even know he had formed. He didnt look completely different, but there was still a difference. You noticed one of his hands balling up into a fist; and his other hand tightened its grip on the papers he was holding. All of that left as quickly as it came, his anger when it did, always coming in short bursts; at least in the time you knew him. He looked back at his papers, dismissing you from the room.

‘Fine. Sorry.”

You said mumbled quietly, a sharp pang of sass in your voice. You quickly walked out the door and straight to your desk, feeling a plethora of emotions swelling in your mind; but guilt and sadness being the most prominent, as well as a some anger.

—————————-

The next thing you knew, you and the team were pilling into the black SUVs, on the way to an old warehouse where the unsub was with his current victim. Your job was to make sure the victims title changed to survivor. It was a dangerous situation. The unsub was armed, but you wernt sure with what, so everyone had to approach with much more caution than normal.

Once the fleet of black cars had pulled up to the warehouse you sighed.

“The place is huge…how are we going to get him and the victim out safely?”

You asked whoever would answer. Rossi was first to speak.

‘No one enters or leaves without checking in with me or hotch, this isnt going to be easy but we’ll find a way. We always do.”

You nodded, unbuckling your seatbelt and stepping out of the car the moment it came to a halt. The team drew their guns and Emily started talking to the unsub through a large speaker on one of the cars, trying to convince him to come out with his hands up. Of course, he didnt.

Then it all went to hell.

The officer, who so far was known for not listening to damn thing that he was told to do, grabbed the speaker from Emily’s hands and yelled loud and clear;

‘You better come out with your damn hands up or we’ll shoot the place down. You dont have the power, we do. Come out with your hands up”

Now normally saying something like that would be fine, but the unsub has a narcissistic personality disorder and a severe power complex. As hotch had made very clear in the minin briefing before everyone go into the cars, no one was to say or do anything that would threaten his complex or make him feel inferior. And that’s exactly what this officer just did.

Before anyone knew it, there was a gunshot, a scream and silence. Then the sight of Hotch running into the building. Alone.

‘Hotch! Wait! You cant go in there alone!”

Rossi called out to him, but he didnt listen, he kept running Untill he had disappeared into the warehouse and a haunting silence took over the space between the bau and all the officers. Then, another gunshot. And another. And another. A total of 5 gunshots had rung out and you lost it.

‘That’s it. Im done.”

You mumbled before you took off into the warehouse. You ignored the team calling after you as you ran. The response was automatic. You didnt know you were running to wherever hotch was Untill your legs were sore and your lungs burned. You had to find him. You just lost him, and you’d be damned if you lost him again.

The scene that unfolded infront of you was sickening. The victim was the first thing you laid your eyes on. She was completely still. Then you saw the unsub on the ground, covered in bullet wounds and blood. But only 2. There was another on the victim, that made 3, but you herd 5 gunshots. Hotch was nowhere to be found.

Rossi ran in behind you, out of breath from trying to catch up.

“What the hell happened?! Where’s hotch?”

“I-i dont know. Get the paramedics, I dont know if the victims still alive, I haven’t check yet.”

Three more deafening shots rang out.

You were the first to speak. Panic was slowly starting to rise in your voice.

‘Stay with the victim im going after hotch!”

You yelled as you turned around and started running again. A swarm of incohearent thoughts were going through your mind, but the only one you could make since of was the fact that you couldn’t lose hotch again. That you wernt. Your lungs burned and your vision was starting to get fuzzy but you kept running and calling for hotch.

“Hotch?! Hotchner?!”

You screamed as you kept running, trying to find him. You were desperate, and scared. Scared of what you might find when you would find him. Scared if he would be alive or not. Scared of what condition he would be in. Scared of how mad Rossi will be when you get back. Just, scared.

You saw blood again. So, much, blood. You felt sick as you ran around it, following the trail of dark red Untill you found a body. Your whole world went sideways. You stopped dead in your tracks. Everything just stopped. Time came to a hault. You stopped breathing, stopped thinking. The only thing you could hear was your heartbeat thumping wildly against your rib cage in your ear. Scared your heart was going to tear out of your body if it beat any harder.

The body was face fown, blood pooling from the forehead and what looked to be the abdomen.

‘No….no no no no no, no”

You frantically whispered, lowering your gun. You felt as if your legs were about to give out from underneath you. A wave of nausea washing over you. You felt like you were going to vomit, cry and pass out all at the same time.

Than you herd footsteps. You raised your gun on instinct at the footsteps then herd a voice that washed over you like a wave of a million of different emotions you didnt even know a person could feel at once.

“Hey- woah, put the gun down agent. What’s wrong?”

You looked up from the ground. It was Hotch. You were so blinded by the fear that hotch was the one lying dead infront of you, that you didnt even realize it wasnt him. You were blinded by fear.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

You yelled, your voice bouncing off the walls, causing hotch to take a small step back. Something in you broke. Maybe it was the stress of the whole situation crashing down on you, and the realization all a once. It’s not like you knew.

“Excuse me?”

He retorted, a hint of offense in his voice.

“You herd me, Aaron. What the hell were you thinking?! Running in here by yourself, leaving me to find the victim AND the unsub both lying still in pools of their own blood but not a sign of you-“

‘Y/n calm down you dont have to yell-“

“NO, YOU BE CALM. I WAS SCARED OUT OF MY WITTS END BECAUSE YOU GOT TO FULL OF YOURSELF AND RAN IN ALONE, LEAVING TWO POEPLE POSSIBLY DEAD. THEN LEAVING ME TO FIND A TRAIL OF BLOOD, THEN ANOTHER UNSUB LYING DEAD.”

You were full on yelling at this point. You’ve never yelled at anyone like this before. It just wasnt in your nature. But here you were, in some abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere, screaming your mind out to the head of your unit, with a dead body between the two of you.

“ITS NOT MY FAULT THE OFFICER SAID THAT AFTER I MADE IT CLEAR NOT TO. IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH IT YOU TAKE IT UP WITH HIM NOT ME, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

He was full on yelling too. You had only seen him yell at someone like this once. And that was an interrogation. He was stiff, rigid. Obviously shaken up from the events that took place just seconds before you were yelling at him. Before you knew it your tears were blurring your vision and you didnt try to stop or hide them. You sniffled and finally wiped your red burning eyes with your sleeve and put your gun back in its holster.

His demeanor softened the moment he realized you were crying. He made you cry. His shoulders dropped and his muscles relaxed, over half of the creases in his face dissapearing when he did so. He also put his gun away and took a step forward to get to you, to comfort you, to tell ou he was fine, and in fact alive and well, to hug you and tell you how much he loved you and how sorry he was. The second he moved twards you your head snapped up and he saw as your eyes scanned over every visible inch of his body. He knew you were making sure he was ok. He too looked down, now aware of the fact that he was covered in blood.

“Are you ok?”

A small voice asked. It was yours. You felt so small, so helpless, so broken and confused. And panicked.

“Im fine- the blood isnt mine.”

When he saw the questioning look in your eyes he continued.

“There was a second unsub, we were wrong about the profile. The first one, the one we were right about had the victim. He shot her the moment i walked in, and was about to shoot me. He missed the shot and i shot him. The second unsub was planning an ambush, hiding behind the corner i-“

“Aaron. Answer my question.”

Your voice was still so small, but assertive. Your throat hurt from yelling and you still felt dizzy, as if you were going to pass out but you were determined to make it though this conversation without passing out on the floor, as much as you wanted to.

“Yes. Im fine. The blood on my vest is the unsubs, not mine. And it’s just a small cut on my cheek. He had a knife. I took him down.’

“Good”

You nodded and started to turn aroun and walk away. To find the others and tell them what happened. To go back to your hotel and pack your things to leave tomorrow, to go cry in your room and regret choosing line of work.

“So you’re just going to scream at me, then walk away with zero explanation?”

“I told you why I’m mad.”

You didnt turn around, but you stopped walking.

“Im a profiler too, y/n there obviously something you’re not telling m-“

You turned around, a new fit of rage welling inside of you. Your voice couldn’t afford to scream again, so you made your voice as steady and stern as you possibly could.

“Because I was scared.-“

You swallowed down a large lump in your throat and felt the tears again, freely falling down your face this time. Your voice had gotten small again. This time it was barley a whisper that came out, but somehow it was crystal clear.

“-and because I love you, god damnit.”

With that you finally turned around again and left. Without turning back. Leaving a shocked Aaron just stranding there, not knowing what to say or do next.

—————————-

The flight home was painful. You were seated across from Aaron and refused to stare at him or interact with him and all. You stared out the window the whole time, or down at the book you wernt really reading, just staring lifeless my at the pages. you couldn’t think. You felt numb. Everything that happened yesterday played through your mind in an endless loop. Even the good news that the victim was in the ER, with a steady heartbeat didn’t help.

Once the team had safley landed in Quantico, you made your way to the bullpen, going straight to your desk and started cramming your personal belnongings into your bag, trying to get out of there before anyone could ask you anything at all about what had happened in the warehouse.

You had caught hotch at the door to exit the building and he stepped infront of you, stopping you dead in your tracks. You recognized him by his shoes and sighed, bracing yourself for whatever hellfire he was going to bring down you. When you looked up and met his eyes you were met with something you’d never seen before. His brown eyes were so soft, so warm, in contrast to the cold, harsh ones you saw every day. You swore you could get lost in them if you stared long enough so you looked away, back down at the floor.

“About what you said earlier,”

His voice was just as soft as his expression was. It was quiet and calm. Comforting and so, so warm.

“I meant what i said.”

You couldn’t bare to talk to him any longer; for fear of completely breaking down. You managed to keep your wits about you on the jet, but now, you were worn down, and so much more for fragile. So you left. You stepped to the side and walked away. Ignoring the word of protest that was followed by a frustrated sigh form Hotch.

You made it out the building and made your way to your car, the cold night air filling your lungs; providing a sense of calm. You got in your car and drove to your apartment and threw your things down, tossing your keys on the table and kicking your shoes off, wiping your eyes. A pitiful sob escaping your lips. You hadn’t changed it of your work clothes yet. You just curled up on the couch, laying your head on the armrest.

———————————————————

You wernt aware of the fact that you fell asleep Untill you woke up to the sound of knocking. You were disoriented for a moment, your eyes burning like hell. You rubbed them but your vision came back blurry. You had a peircing headache and the knocking didnt help at all. You stumbled to the door, looking at the time the blinked on the oven.

12:05 a.m

You had only been asleep for 20 minutes. When you got the the door you looked through the peephole.

“Hotch?”

You mumbled under your breath as you quickly fumbled with the locks on your door. Eager to see what he was at your door for, but also scared. Once you opened it you saw Hotch. His eyes guilt ridden and tired.

“Can I come in?”

He asked softly. You nodded and stepped to the side, closing the door after him once he entered.

“Sorry for the mess.”

You mumbled, looking down at your feet. When hotch looked at you his world shattered. He saw how much of a wreck you were, and he knew it was him who made you like this. Your eyes were red and puffy, tears still on your cheeks. Every now and then when you blinked, a new one would fall. He was plagued with guilt. That was the whole reason why he was standing in your appartment at twelve o’ clock at night.

“Don’t apologize, it’s fine. You should see my appaartment”

He laughed dryly at the joke and you sniffled, a new tear falling down your face.

“Look, I came to apologize. For what I said…and did”

You nodded again. Taking in a shaky breath, and exhaling slowly.

“It’s fine. I cant expect you to not be stressed, after everything that… you know, with..”

Your voice trailed off, and you sniffled again, that being the only thing that took up the heavy silence that sat between the two of you.

“I know, but I also wanted to know,’

He paused and took a step towards you. When he notced you didnt move or step back he lifted a calloused hand and cupped your cheek, wiping away your tears. You finally met his eyes. Then he continued.

“If you really meant what you said’

‘What part?’

You were joking, but also curious, you said a lot and you were too tired to figure out what he could be talking about.

“When you said you loved me”

You looked down a little, your face resting more in his hand. You turned your head a little and softly kissed the inside of his palm, the meaty part just below this thumb; then turned your head back to where it was before. His other hand came up and cupped your other cheek, now holding your face completely. His hands were so big, so warm. You felt the rough callouses rubbing on your soft cheek whenever you moved a little but it didnt hurt.

You both stood like that for a second. Peering into each others eyes. Then he finally broke the silence.

‘May I kiss you?”

You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. You just nodded and he leaned in closing his eyes and you closed yours, tilting your head to the side a little. His lips were so soft. The little stubble that he built up over the few days you were on the case, poked and tickled your skin. The kiss was so soft, so gentle. Almost as if he was scared to kiss you too hard in fear you would shatter and blow away.

When he pulled away he looked back into your eyes and moved one oh his hands to the back of your head, resting itself in your hair and the other hand went around your shoulder blades as be brought you into his chest, into one of the best hugs you’ve ever gotten. The two of you stayed like that for a while. Standing in your living room. Your arms eventually wrapped around his neck and you rested your face into the little crook where his neck met his torso. It all felt too perfect, so surreal. The kiss, the hug, everything.

Finally, he pulled away and brushed a little strand of hair behind your ear, then motioned to the couch.

‘Wanna go sit?”

You nodded, having completely given up on talking for now. He carefully led you to the couch and sat down, you sat next to him, but turning yourself twards him resting your face back in the crook of his neck. He gently pulled you onto his lap, exhaling sharply when he was met with the dull reminder of his healing wounds. He felt you tense up in his arms and he held you tighter, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

“shh, its ok, im ok. Im right here,”

You sniffled again, the tears threatening to come back.

‘It’s ok to cry, y/n’

He whispered into your hair, gently kissing the top of your head.

‘Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong. Im here to listen”

You took a deep breath in and exhaled, fidgeting with his tie.

“I was so cared…when I got to the warehouse and saw all the blood, I - I thought you died. I couldn’t lose you again. I cant lose you again Aaron.’

You voice went out at the mention of his name. A small sob escaped your lips as you held onto his tie a little tighter, your body going rigid. Aaron started tracing small circles and shapes on your back. Resting his chin on the top of your head.

“I know, I’m so, so sorry for scaring you like that. But I promise I’m not going anywhere. It’s gonna take a lot more than a couple stab wounds to kill me”

You felt him laugh a little and you did too, before sniffling again.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Just close your eyes ok? I’ll be right here the whole time. Im not going anywhere, dont worry.”

His voice was so soft and caring. So gentle and knowing. It was hard to believe it was the same man holding you who was yelling at you just hours ago.

“Aaron?”

“Hmm?”

He smiled at the use of his first time.

“I love you”

The jet lag and exhaustion hit you all at once, your voice coming out to barley a whisper. You could feel it tugging at your eyelids. You closed them and as you were drifting off you felt him kiss your forehead.

“I love you too”

After that you drifted off into a dreamless sleep. Aaron played with your hair for a little and kept rubbing your back for a while, Untill the exhaustion from the days events wore home down too. And he fell asleep holding you close in his arms.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A/n: I spent all day writing this! Sorry if the spacing is weird. I write these on my notes app, then copy and paste it over to tumblr and sometimes the spacing get all messed up. I hoped you liked it! I loved writing this one!

Tag list! (If you wanna be added lmk!)

@hearthotchner

#criminal minds fanfiction #my wrtitng #aaron hotch hotchner #criminal minds #super sexy agent hotchner

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batsimsposts · 4 months ago

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This sure is an interesting take! And I would understand it better if you were talking about their relationship in another media form, but you chose Wayne Family Adventures.

Now before I begin, i wanna make it clear that this take is fine, and I'm simply expressing my own opinion, if you have anything to add/discuss with me, please be cordial and polite.

I personally don't agree with this analysis of this media. First off, WFA is not canon, it's barely even based on canon, so there's no reason to believe that any canon (comic) storylines have happened in WFA unless it's confirmed on screen.

Secondly, because WFA is not canon, and doesn't follow a canon storyline, we can think of it as an alternative universe. In this alternative universe, Bruce is a significantly better father/person than he is in many comics, so again, there's no reason to believe their dynamic is the same as comics.

In this alternative universe, Bruce has never once given us any reason to think he treats Tim like this, and Tim hasn't given any reason either. So, there is no prior evidence of Bruce mistreating Tim in an emotional capacity on purpose

Now, onto the actual episode and my analysis/thoughts on this opinion you've stated! Spoilers for Batman: Wayne Family Adventures up to episode 121.

Part 1: context

In the episodes leading up to 121, we know the plotline is that Joker has escaped arkham and is currently on the loose, he has already kidnapped Duke. Duke did manage to escape, and is now safe in the manor. Once it is revealed to the batfam, that Joker was the one to kidnap Duke, Bruce calls in for his family to get home and to turn in their masks until Joker is caught and back in Arkham.

Because the kids are notorious for not listening, and because they believe that Bruce is making a mistake, they all band together at Tim's apartment to make a plan of action. Jason has a panic attack and goes out to find Joker, Dick finds him and calms him down, Jason decides to leave the city for a while.

The other batkids all go to several locations to gather evidence/ find clues. During this, Bruce also decides to go out and find clues/evidence.

Part 2: the fights

Tim is not the only person Bruce lashes out to! In many of the episodes regarding this plotline, Bruce is seen lashing out to Alfred, and his other kids as well.

these are the bigger examples, but even when he is not actively yelling at/fighting someone, we see that he is tense and angry and worried.

Part 3: Tim Drake

Now, in episode 121, Bruce has already talked to his children, prohibited them from their masks, and has already had a run in with one of the batkid teams and told them to go home.

What i want to take into account is that Bruce is feeling out of control. Its very clear in the way he is acting/ the way he is drawn, that he is stressed and likely very worried his kids are going to get into trouble and he wont be able to save them (trauma response anyone?)

So by the time he gets INTO ARKHAM (keep in mind that Tim and Steph aren't just anywhere, they are in a "psych ward" that currently houses dangerous unstable criminals capable of murder). Bruce is already at the end of his rope! In his mind, he is constantly trying to keep his family safe and away from the danger, and at every turn he is being disobeyed. In his mind, he's trying to make sure nothing happens to his kids, and they're literally running into the fire headfirst.

So when he sees Tim AND Steph at Arkham, he blows up. I personally don't believe this has anything special to do with Tim. If you were in Bruce's shoes, there's only so much you can take until you fall apart. If it were any other batkid, Bruce would have done the exact same thing because it wasn't about which batkid was there, it was the fact they were there at all.

Part 4: more analysis

Ok, now that I think i've made my point, I'm going to address some stuff before anyone comes at me.

1. Bruce was NOT in the right for blowing up at Steph and Tim. At all. In part 3 when i explain his mental state, its not me giving him an excuse to be an asshole to his kids, its just me pointing out that there is no bias in his mind over Tim.

2. Bruce should not have blown up at his kids at all. He should let them help, and trust in them more, which is the lesson i think hes going to learn at the end of this plotline, i just urge you to keep in mind that Bruce has trust issues! Of course hes not going to easily trust his kids to be safe, not because he doesnt think they're capable, but because of the criminals and the horrible things hes seen.

3. Of course Steph and Tim didn't deserve to get yelled at, i want to make it clear that this was an Asshole move TM, and that it never should've happened. But it did happen, it doesn't take away from the fact Bruce in WFA loves all his kids equally, and that he DOES see Tim as his kid, and that he sees Steph as family (not as a kid tho)

_____________________

Ok, sorry for the super long post, and if i missed any points or if you want me to explain anything better please let me know! If you think i was rude or mean at all in my explanation, let me know! My idea wasn't to be mean or to hate on your opinion, just to have a discussion on different interpretation. If theres anything you think i should change to make my point more clear or to be more polite, let me know

Even Wayne Family Adventures’ “what if Bruce Wayne went to therapy” version of Batman treats Tim Drake like shit.

It’s such an essential part of their dynamic that Bruce expects way too much from Tim, and has no concept of Tim as a CHILD, that even fluffy WFA can’t escape it.

Tim’s always the one who Bruce feels entitled about / safe in lashing out and being emotionally reactionary to.

Tim gets the brunt of Bruce’s unhealed childhood trauma, his juvenile temper impulses, his self-pity and his anger at himself. That’s the dynamic they established when Tim was 13 and it’s never course corrected.

Bruce has no ability to see Tim as a child, to hold him to normal standards, to hold himself back. Tim’s his safe space and that means Bruce acts like an overstimulated toddler exploding at their parent after a long day of keeping it together at daycare.

Tim, my angel. You deserve so much more than these damaged adults around you.

#batman #red Robin #Tim Drake #wayne family adventures #batman wayne family adventures #batfamily #Bruce Wayne

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marvelcriminalhoe · 3 years ago

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Stumbling West

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

The Village Might Burn Down

Chapter 2 is out

Chapter summery: the time is November 2009, and someone just came back from the dead, while another makes it back to the states, and the whole team may loose their jobs. i.e. Season 7 Episode 1 word count: 3,541 TW: Talks of blood, dead bodies, Typical criminal minds talk.

Series master list

You’ve been with the team for 8 weeks now, with a total of 13 cases so far. It’s truly exhausting. Rewarding, yes, but still exhausting.

Morgan is a great leader, and you’ve grown close due to all the late nights you spend stuck in his office helping him with paperwork. It’s definitely the part of the job he’s drowning in the most, and the part of the job you, ironically, enjoy the most.

Pakistan is hot, really hot, so when you didn’t have to be holed up in the dingy interrogation rooms with zero air flow, hot or cold, and could at least be in your make shift tent office with a fan blowing on you, you’d take it.

You didn’t mind desk work, writing and filling out forms. Most people would be bored, but it helped you take your mind off of everything, of all the darkness that surround your job. It’s the whole reason you decided to get your doctorates, clerical work was not an issue for you,it was a welcome distraction.

Rossi is slowly becoming your best friend. Your conversations range from sarcastic comments over case work to heart to hearts over morning coffee. You’ve learned a lot from him, and look up to him quite a lot, though you would never admit that to him out loud. His ego is big enough without your help.

You met Reid your first official day on the job, in the elevator. The young boy looked even more worn out than the two previous men, and you immediately felt like a big sister wanting to take care of your little brother, even if Reid is older than you.

You spend most of your time with Reid, losing to him in chess, listening to him ramble about whatever is on his mind, or being a shoulder to cry on when he is having a hard night being alone. He seems to be taking the new team dynamic the hardest, and you spend most of your free time on cases making sure he is taken care of.

The last person you met was Penelope Garcia. It was a few hours after you first met Reid, both of you sitting at your respected desks reading over some possible case files, when a very colorful and very loud woman made her way over to you the moment she stepped off the elevator.

If you hadn’t been trained to listen so properly you wouldn’t have been able to keep up with her fast talking. She introduced herself, before going into a huge explanation about how she already knew everything about you, then having to back track and explain she didn’t do anything, extremely, illegal, she just wanted to make sure you would be a good fit for the team, and that she wanted to make sure you were nice, and how she knew you were simply based by your ID photos.

To put everything simply, you had to listen to Jack Garrett tell you “I told you so” over and over. Plus you had to pay for a date night for him and his wife, though you didn’t mind that much, they deserve it.

Honestly, though the team is still struggling to find their footing completely, you are very fortunate to have found a spot here.

“It’s him, it’s him! I mean I’m pretty sure it’s him because you said he would come and it’s been awhile but I’m pretty sure it’s him and” Penelope comes bursting into Morgans office in full panic mode.

Currently the 2 of you were in here, trying to find anything and everything you can about Ian Doyle.

Morgan pulled you aside about 2 weeks ago, asking you for help on an unofficial case. He warned you about the possible consequences, the fall back it would have if something went wrong or someone that shouldn’t find out, found out. But all it took was one look at his face and you agreed. Screw the consequences, you know what it’s like to want justice for your loved one, and if you could help your new friends get, that you would.

“Garcia hey, take a breath,” You remind her, she doesn’t need to be worked up anymore than she already is, “let’s go take a look, yeah.”

The moment you got to Garcia’s screen Derek confirmed what Garcia had saw. He came back, and we had him.

You watch as Derek pulls his phone out and makes contact with Aaron Hotchner, the official unit chief of the team.

You can tell Morgan isn’t happy about being ordered to wait, and can also tell that his adrenaline is already pumping with how harsh his voice is while on the phone, but you don’t blame him.

The hours following feel like days. You and Garcia basically set up camp in her office while Morgan fills the rest of the team in on what’s going on. Currently you are forcing Garcia to take a break on trying to find Doyle’s contacts and eat some food before she passes out. You swear this team would starve to death if not for you.

Reid calls you and informs you Declan isn’t at school, and asks you to meet him and Rossi at the house. You show up just as they do.

“Where are the agents?” You ask Rossi, something doesn’t feel right.

Unintentionally Ignoring your question, he pulls out his gun, “The lights are off.”

You and Reid follow suit, pulling out your gun and flashlight as Reid hangs up on JJ doing the same.

You all three walk through the unlocked front door making your way into the house.

Something is definitely not right. You think?

Rossi goes to the left towards what you assume is the kitchen, while you got right towards the living room, as Reid goes upstairs.

Walking through the dark house quietly, making sure it’s clear, you find your way into the kitchen where Rossi is leaning over an FBI agent checking her pulse. You see blood coming from her head, and by the look he gives you, you know she didn’t make it passed whoever attacked her.

Rossi tells you to take the hallway while he goes upstairs to Reid, before checking the back. As you walk down the narrow hallway, you see the closest door at the end slightly ajar. Opening it slowly, you move out of the way as another body falls out onto the floor.

Checking the older lady’s pulse, before looking up at Spencer and Rossi, who have made their way back to you, “Must be the nanny.”

Rossi is the one to say what you all came to the conclusion of, “3 bodies and no kid. Doyle’s got him.”

Crap.

You watch behind the mirror as Derek interrogates Doyle about Declan’s whereabouts. JJ and Chief Strauss are both in the room with you.

After finding the bodies at the house you called to inform Derek of the situation as he and JJ moved to detain Doyle. Rossi sent you back to headquarters to wait for them as they finish up at the house.

You can see when it hits him that Derek is telling the truth about his sons abduction, the real panic in his eyes when he knows his sons actually gone.

He didn’t do this.

JJ voices your thoughts, “He seems genuine.”

Strauss on the other hand isn’t buying it, “Of course he does. He’s a master manipulator.”

“See his corroded,” you point out to her on the small screen in the corner, “His heart started racing the moment Morgan told him about Declan.”

JJ nods, agreeing with you, as Strauss turns back to the interrogation room, “Well if he didn’t take his son, who did?”

You and JJ share a look at that, you have no idea.

Walking into the conference room a few hours later, you expect to find Morgan in there, “Hey Garcia found-“

You’re stopped in your tracks, that is NOT Derek.

Instead you find a tall man standing at the case bored studying it. He turns around and you find that he isn’t just tall, but extremely attractive as well. You hope you don’t look too stupid to the very attractive man in front of you, with a very attractive beard covering his face, but by the way he’s studying you, you know you probably look like a deer caught in headlights.

Thankfully Garcia, that precious soul, saves you from making a complete fool of yourself, as she makes her way into the conference room, “Welcome back Sir.”

And that’s when it clicks. Oh. Sir. … Fuck.

He tears his eyes from you, moving them to Garcia, “Thank you. What do you got?”

“A top 10 list of Doyle’s Enemies.”

“Anybody recently in the states?”

“Richard Gerace’s been here a few week.” Finding your voice again, “He’s a low level gunner who angrily crossed paths with Doyle.”

He looks up from the file Garcia had handed him and makes eye contact with you.

I can’t work here anymore.

Garcia finishes where you left off, taking his eyes from yours so you can finally breathe again, “I caught an image of him on the surveillance camera at Declan’s house, confirmed it was him through a scar on his neck.”

“All right, give me everything you can on Gerace.”

Garcia peaks at you before saying what she really doesn’t want to, “Yeah, that’s everything I’ve got.” And you watch as your new boss leaves the room.

Aaron leaves the conference room to make his way to the interrogation watch room where Rossi is.

Rossi smirks as he walks in, “Well that’s a nice look.”

It almost gets him a laugh from the stoic man as he pulls out his phone.

Rossi watches him, “How was the desert?”

Looking up at his friend, Aaron gives a deadpan answer, “Hot.” Before moving his gaze to where Doyle sits.

“You see Jack yet.”

“No. Jessica took him to Hershey Park for the weekend.”

“Well he’ll love that beard.” Rossi makes another joke.

“Yeah we skyped everyday,” Aaron can’t keep the amusement off his face, “He’s not a fan.”

They both sit in silence just watching Doyle, before Aaron asks a question of his own, “Who’s the new agent?”

Rossi quirks an eyebrow at him. He knows Aaron was informed they hired someone on, and it might have been awhile since he’s last seen Aaron, but he would say the man seems more intrigued than confused, about the new face he has inevitably ran into already.

Rossi tells him your name, scanning his features closely for any clues on how he feels about having someone new on the team, before adding a little more, “She’s great. Garrett was right about recommending her. She fits in well.”

Aaron just hums a response, not saying anymore to the matter.

If he was being honest, he completely forgot that Rossi brought someone new on. He didn’t know how to feel when he was informed overseas about the possible hire. But he also knew his team needed the extra hand, and if Jack Garrett was willing to recommend you, he knew you would be good.

So he agreed with Rossi’s judgment and then payed no mind ever sense. He had his own problems going on in Pakistan to worry about. But seeing you for the first time in the conference room, Aaron couldn’t help but wonder if he made a mistake.

Young.

That was the first thing he thought when he turned around to you walking in. You’re young, a lot younger than anyone had mentioned to him. Which didn’t help his next thought that popped into his head.

Attractive.

He didn’t expect that one either if he was being honest. He immediately dismissed the thought as soon as it floated in. It was just an observation. That’s it.

He feels sort of bad for leaving the room without having a proper introduction with you, but figures they are on a bit of a time crunch, and introductions can come later.

Much later. Once the surprise of how young and attractive you are wares off.

He’s drawn from his thoughts of you by Doyle’s and Derek’s next words, “She won’t help.”

“Why?”

“Because I killed her.”

Yeah, introductions will have to wait.

The team is called into the conference room, and once your boss makes his way into the room, and tells you all to have a seat, you get an odd feeling about what’s going to come next.

I don’t think I’m going to like this conversation.

“Why?” Derek asks, not sitting down, “everything alright?”

Ah so he feels it to.

JJ makes her way to stand by your boss as he starts to speak, “7 months ago I made a decision that affected this team.”

Reid and Garcia fix their eyebrows into a permanent frown on their face staring up at the man as he continues, “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. The doctors were able to stabilize her.”

Garcia gasps and grabs your hand, as you look over to watch Derek.

This is really not going to be good.”

“She was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a cover exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need to know.”

You felt the tension in the room start to grow as Derek looks down at Rossi, a silent conversation passing,

Did you know? No.

“She’s alive?” Garcia asks, tears running down her cheeks, “But we buried her.” Reid respones.

You can see the guilt on your bosses face, as he looks down at the round table before looking up and making eye contact with Derek, “As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me.”

You hold your breath and will for yourself not to wince at what’s about to come next.

“Any issues?” Derek’s voice hits your ear harshly, “Yeah, I got issues.”

Garcia gasps looking towards the doorway, where a brunette woman now stands, “Oh my god.”

Reid and Garcia are the first to move towards her, as the woman starts to tell them how sorry she is.

You watch as Derek seems to be stood in place, moving his gaze from your boss to the woman in almost a daze, before shaking his head and storming out of the room without saying another word.

You watch as JJ moves to go after him, calling his name, only to be stopped by Rossi, “Might be best if you didn’t.” He tells her gently, before he nods at you to go.

You feel everyone’s eyes on you as you stand from your chair and make your way out of the room. It doesn’t take you long to track him down, you know where he’s going.

You move down the stairs, to the bullpen, before going to the hallway, walking passed the elevators, until you make it to the fire escape door, the one Derek had Garcia turn the alarm off for so if it opens it wouldn’t go off, before slowly opening it yourself and finding him leaning against the railing.

He turns to look at who it was that followed him before turning back around, “Don’t tell me to go back in there.”

“Wasn’t going to.” You reply softly, going to stand next to him in the very small landing.

He side eyes you but doesn’t say anything, so you explains yourself, “You’re allowed to be angry. You’ve spent the last 7 months in pain, and grieving, over someone that was alive the whole time. You’re allowed to feel betrayed.”

He gives a heavy sigh, but doesn’t say anything so you continue, “So I’ll give you a minute, before I drag you back in there.”

“What?” He finally looks at you properly, “You expect me to go back I there?”

“Yes. Because we have a job to do. You’re allowed to feel what you are feeling but people still died, there’s a child in danger, and we need your help to finish this.” You place your hand on his shoulder, “Derek, you just found out someone you care for is still here, that’s better than the alternative. You’ve spent the past 7 months wishing you could’ve helped her, and now you get that chance. 1 minute.”

With that you turn and go back into the building, leaning against the wall by the door. 30 seconds later Derek comes back in, “You still have 30 seconds.” You remind him.

He just nods back down the hallway towards the bullpen, “We got a job to do.”

When you make it back into the conference room Derek goes and hugs Emily Prentiss, as you make your way back to your seat at the table. You feel eyes on you, looking around you nod at Rossi, letting him know everything’s good now, relatively, before your eyes land on your bosses. He doesn’t say anything, but he holds your stare until Emily Prentiss asks what is going on with Declan.

The speaker for the bored addresses you as he asks another question he already knows the answer to, “Did you or anyone on the team, suggest to inform the Baltimore police department?”

“No.”

“And why not? The last I checked it takes an hour to drive from headquarters to Baltimore. And I see your phones were working.”

You stare at the man, refusing to answer his non question of a question, waiting till he gives you a real one.

He does, “Is it in your professional judgment, that decisions were made, that were not only personal but reckless? And that the ones that made these decisions not only put innocent lives at risk, but the entire teams as well?”

“No, I don’t believe that to be the case.”

He did not like that answer.

“Care to elaborate, agent?” He harshly asks you.

If he didn’t like that last answer, he’s really not going to like this one.

“The risks made during the case were risks that had to be made. No one on the team would willingly put lives in danger. You are only upset, and questioning them, because you weren’t the ones to make the decisions.”

You can see he’s trying not to loose all control, and has to take, what you assume is supposed to be a calming breath, before speaking again, “You had only been on the team for 12 weeks before the suspension, is it not safe to say you maybe don’t have a clear judgment on how the team is run?”

You lean in towards the mic, making sure to not break eye contact, “Anyone that spends 1 hour with this team can see they are the best at what they do and are being run by the best person for the job. This team wouldn’t function properly without all of its members, that’s why I was asked to join it to begin with. It’s my, professional judgment, that you couldn’t ask for a better group of people, that are not only the top of their field, but are all still willing to work with you after you treated them the way you have.”

The room is silent for a few moments, before you are dismissed.

Your watching from the side as the team gathers around Rossi, who is removing Emily’s picture from the wall. You’ve gotten to know her better over the last few weeks of suspension, as Garcia has all but forced girls nights together every few days. You don’t mind all that much, it’s nice to have something to do besides sit around at home bored.

You see Hotch and Morgan talking over on the other side of the hallway, and know from your talks with Morgan, he’s still not over what happened. Though, you’ve also come to suspect him and Hotch had issues about trust, long before this incident.

Aaron Hotchner is a complete mystery to you. After the last case, right before you were all suspended, he introduced himself in a very short and stoic way. Not necessarily rudely, but definitely closed off. Then, the team was suspended and you didn’t see him again, till today.

From what everyone else has told you, it might take awhile for him to warm up to you. Emily and Garcia have practically told you everything you need to know about his life, and you can’t help but to feel connected with him on a level, only those who have lost a spouse, know.

Though, their gossip doesn’t actually mean you know the man, and you vow not to bring anything up that he doesn’t. You know what it’s like to what privacy, valuing your own.

Erin Strauss walks through the elevator doors, gathering you all to follow her into the bullpen, “The committee made it clear they will not support a rouge team,” She mentions you and Agent Prentiss, making eye contact with you both before continuing, “Both of you convinced them you are not that. They will be watching you closely.”

You see Emily release a shuddering breath from beside you as everyone looks at you both. The tension in the room evaporates, and as you make eye contact with the tall, now beardless man, across the room, you release a breathe of your own, before looking away to celebrate the victory with your new team.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #bau fanfiction

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falcqns · 4 years ago

Text

Mute

Pairing: Chris Evans x Mute!Reader

Summary: You meet Chris for the first time and he doesn’t know you’re mute. All hell breaks loose.

Warnings: angst, chris being an accidental asshole, fluff, sebastian stan being protective

A/N: I based this on a dream I had, as well as my experience with being a selective mute from 2017-2020, and how I communicated and who I spoke verbally to. Hope you enjoy!

Sebastian was shocked when he met you in pre-production for the first post-endgame Marvel movie, and you didn’t speak, instead nodding and using hand gestures that he later deciphered to be sign language. He knew that you were fairly new to the industry, and so approached Joe Russo.

“Hey, Joe. I just had a question about the new girl, Y/N?” He asked, while watching you walk of with your PA next to you. “Sure, what’s up?” Joe responded.

Sebastian cleared his throat before continuing. “I tried talking to her a little bit, but she didn’t speak, instead she used sign language, and I just was wondering if you knew why? Just so I can be better prepared and know how to help her,”

Joe smiled at Sebastian’s request. Being the insanely caring person that Seb was, his question didn’t surprise him. “She’s a selective mute. She does talk, but it is only when she is acting, and she’s an amazing actor. She mentioned to me that she doesn’t speak verbally unless she is very close to the person and trusts them wholeheartedly, such as her family and best friends. Her PA is her best friend, and can help you communicate with her. But, other than that, just get to know her. She’ll probably open up to you.” Joe finished, before patting Seb on the back, and walking off to talk to some production people.

Sebastian looked in the direction that you had gone, and decided to talk to you. You may not communicate verbally with him, but he wanted to get to know you.

Over the next few weeks of pre-production, both Sebastian and Anthony got to know you, and both were insanely shocked when you performed your first scene with them. You delivered your lines like you had been talking all your life, and with the gravity of an experienced actor. They both congratulated you, and you signed “thank you” in response. If any one had any doubts about your skills as an actor before, they had fully dissipated.

When it had been announced that production would be moving to the UK, Seb approached you and Mackie with the idea of renting a place together. You had agreed instantly, glad that you wouldn’t be living on your own in a foreign country all alone, especially since Y/B/F/N couldn’t come along. Living with both boys was chaotic to say the least, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. They gave you the biggest bedroom in the house, and began learning sign language so you wouldn’t have to carry your ipad everywhere for your text-to-speech app.

A few weeks in, you began to speak verbally to both boys. They were shocked when you spoke to them for the first time, but were insanely happy. Seb was almost in tears, recalling that you only spoke to those who you trusted whole heartedly. He had become insanely protective of you, and treated you like a sister, which you absolutely loved.

Everything was going great. That was, until Chris Evans showed up.

He had just finished filming his latest project, and decided to come and visit his two closest friends that he hadn’t seen in a few months. Mackie had mentioned that he was coming, and would be staying in the spare bedroom, and you foolishly assumed that he would tell Chris about your mutism.

But Mackie being Mackie, he didn’t. And neither did Seb, who also thought Mackie had told him.

You hid in your room when Chris arrived, not ready to face him at that point. You ventured out just after dinner time, and grabbed a plate of food before retreating back into your safe haven with the cover of working on an assignment that you had told to Seb. They bought it, and you and Chris made eye contact and shared a wave before you disappeared from sight.

A few days later is when all hell broke loose.

Chris seemed to have a habit of searching you and Seb out. It started off with him walking into our bedroom while Seb was talking to you, and admiring how you’d decorated the place. Yo gave him a small shy smile, which he returned, although there was a hint of confusion written all over his face. Then, you were asking Sebastian for clarification on the Romanian lines that you were supposed to speak the next day, when Chris wandered in to the kitchen. He noticed how you instantly fell silent, and whispered a thank you to Sebastian before you scurried past him. How watched your back retreat, and sighed, but grabbed his the beer he came for before walking into the living room.

It was later that night that you had decided that you wanted to talk to Chris. You hadn’t known him very long, but you felt very safe around him, and everyone had told you how trustworthy he was. You had spent the last 30 minutes hyping yourself up in the mirror before walking out on a journey to find him. You heard his voice floating from the kitchen, and as you got closer, your heart instantly broke.

“I just don’t get what her problem is with me.” You heard Chris say. Another voice, Seb, responded.

“Chris, I don’t think she has a problem with you,”

Chris scoffed. “Yes she does. Why else would she not talk to me, and rush out of a room quicker than she entered when I walk in? She has a huge problem with me. I don’t know why she thinks that just because she got a part in a movie that she can walk around all high and mighty, but I’ve done nothing to her. She’s being a bitch,”

You heard Seb exclaim and start to defend you, but you didn’t stay to listen to what he said, instead running back to your room in tears, your confidence shattered. You grabbed your iPad and apple pencil, and began to draw, an activity that let you communicate your feelings. You wanted to show Chris that you didn’t hate him, and that you didn’t think more of yourself just because you got a part in a movie.

You finished it right before dinner, and kept it in your grip tightly when Mackie called you down for dinner. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you made your way down the stairs, but your face fell, and eyes welled up with tears when you saw Chris wasn’t there.

“Is Chris coming to dinner?” You asked Seb, and he shook his head no sadly.

“No. He’s not in the best mood, but dont worry, he’ll be fine.” He said, as he grabbed his plate.

“Oh, okay.” You said, your voice coming out shaky. You looked down at the ipad in your hands, before walking out the kitchen. Seb followed behind you. Just before you reached the stairs, he gripped your arm, causing you to turn around.

“What’s wrong?” He asked sincerely, and you couldn’t hold back the tears.

“I-I heard h-him talking about m-me earlier,” You whispered, and Seb cursed before pulling you into a hug.

“You heard him,” He said. You nodded before speaking again.

“I drew him a picture and I wanted to give it to him to show that what h-he said wasn’t t-true, and that I’m actually a huge fan of his,” You sobbed into his chest. Seb didn’t move, but waited for your tears to subside, before walking with you upstairs.

“He’ll come around. He had a rough night, although that doesn’t excuse his behaviour. I’ll talk to him, okay?”

You nodded, and curled up in bed. “Do you want me to bring you up some dinner?” Seb asked, and you nodded again, before telling him what you wanted.

He left the room, and came down the stairs. he plated the food that you wanted, and grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge.

“What happened?” Anthony asked from the dining room as Seb passed.

“She heard what Evans said, and she’s heartbroken. I’m bringing her dinner, and then I’m gonna talk some sense into that motherfucker.”

“Good, he needs it.” Anthony agreed, watching as Seb walked away.

Seb dropped the food off to you, before walking across the hall to Chris’s room. He answered after the first knock.

“What’s up?”

“First of all, you’re a grade A asshole, and second of all, you need to go apologize to Y/N.” Seb said, anger bubbling in his voice.

“Why? She hates me, I’ve done nothing to her to-“ Chris began before Seb interrupted him.

“SHE DOESN’T HATE YOU!” He exclaimed. “She’s selectively mute, that’s why she doesn’t speak to you! She’s a huge fan of you. She’s in her bedroom, right now, heartbroken, because she heard you talking about her.” Seb finished, his hand pointing at your bedroom door.

Chris felt his heart sink. “Why does she talk to you, but not me?”

Seb sighed. “She only talks to people she trusts a lot, and you met her yesterday. Of course she’s not gonna talk to you right away, and now I’m afraid she never will because you talked bad about her. She drew you a picture in hopes that you would understand that she didn’t hate you, but you broke her heart even more by not showing up at dinner. Now, go and fix it or will not hesitate to call your mother.” Seb finished, before walking away.

Chris sat back down on his bed in disbelief. He’d fucked up, and he didn’t know how to fix it. He thought back to Seb’s threat, before picking up his phone and calling his mom.

You had just finished another episode of Criminal Minds, when a knock came to your bedroom door. You dragged yourself out of bed, and opened the door to reveal Chris. You felt tears welling up in your eyes, and kept them locked on the floor, in fear that he was going to yell at you, and repeat his earlier statements to your face.

“I’m sorry,” Chris breathed out. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You slowly moved your eyes up to meet his, and he sucked in a breath when he saw your puffy eyes. “It’s ok.” You signed, and Chris shook his head no, before enveloping you into his arms.

He moved the two of your further into your bedroom, and shut the door behind him.

“It is NOT okay. In any way. I broke your fucking heart, Y/N. I have no excuse for what I said, and I want to make it up to you. Will you let me do that?” He asked, his face buried into the hair atop your head. You nodded and he pulled away from you. You grabbed your ipad, opened up your text to speech app, and typed in a sentence.

“Do you want to watch a movie with me?”

Chris nodded, and smiled, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Of course. You pick.”

You led him over to the bed, and got in, and he climbed in the opposite side. You picked up the remote, and chose the movie “Swat: Under Siege”. Chris wrapped an arm around your shoulders, and pulled you close to him. You cuddled into his chest as the movies opening scene began to play.

About halfway through the movie, Chris tilted your chin up to look at him.

“I really am sorry. I hate that I said what I did. I just- Seb had told me all about you, and I had seen some of the leaked pictures from set, and all I wanted to do was impress you. When I thought you hated me, I couldn’t handle it, and I lashed out. I’m so so sorry about that.” He said, his thumb teaching over your cheekbone once more. “Also, Seb told me that you drew me a picture? Can I see it?” And you nodded.

You unlocked your ipad and opened the drawing app, clicking on the most recent one, before handing the device over to Chris.

His breath caught in his throat while he looked down at the picture you had drawn of him.

“T-that is amazing,” He said, tears coming to his eyes at the picture that you worked so hard to make of him. “You’re even more amazing than I thought.” He finished. “Thank you,” You signed, before thinking of a question.

You grabbed your iPad once more, and typed into your app.

“Why did you want to impress me?” Chris smiled at the sound of the robotic voice coming from the device.

“I was drawn to you. I dont know what is was, but I couldn’t get you off my mind. I had searched and searched to find another tv or movie you had been in, but nothing came up, and I was so shocked that you got such a big part right off the bat. But I was also insanely excited to see you perform. And when Seb and Mackie told me I could come and stay for a while, I was ecstatic to be able to get to know you, and that’s when I realized that I liked you.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. Did Chris Evans really just admit to having a crush on you?

“Now, I understand if you dont like me back, but I had to get that off my chest, especially since I just broke your heart.” Chris said, his eyes focused on the tv to not meet your gaze. You gave him a small smile, but grasped his chin into your hand, and drew his lips into a soft and tender kiss.

He let out a breathy moan, and pulled you closer. His lips travelled from your lips, and all over your face, amking you let out a giggle. He started laughing too, and pulled away. “I’m guessing this means that you like me too?” He asked, and you nodded immediately.

He smiled, and grasped your hand in his. “Well then, can I take you on a date?”

You took a deep breath, and opened your mouth. “Yes.”

Chris��s eyes immediately welled up with tears and he pulled you in for another kiss.

“You spoke to me,” He whispered when he pulled apart, a few tears rolling down his face.

You shrugged and gave him a smile.

“I trust you wholeheartedly.”

#chris evans fluff #chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans angst #chris evans x reader fluff #sebastian stan #anthony mackie

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something-fanfiction-ie · 5 years ago

Text

24 Hours

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: You get buried alive and uhm... I think a curse word or two?

A/N: So, before you notice, yes this is largely based on season two episode nine of Bones, Aliens in the Spaceship. Also, yes this is a criminal minds imagine and yes I’ve hopelessly and irrevocably fallen in love with Matthew Gray Gubler. Please like, comment, reblog, and send me asks, I love that shit. Also, if you’ve never seen criminal minds, you should watch it. Even if only for Dr. Spencer Reid aka Matthew Gray Gubler. You’re welcome in advance.

___

“Hey Spenny, I’m going out to get some coffee. Do you want anything?” Your voice echoed around in Spencer’s head, the image of you waving at him from the door as you walked away imprinted into his mind. Would it be the last time he would ever see you?

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N) has been buried alive,” Hotchner stood in the front of the room with Spencer’s phone on speaker. The whole team sat around the table with varying degrees of horror displayed on their faces as the realization dawned on them, “Wire transfer five million dollars to the following Grand Cayman account.” Spencer buried his head in his hands, his fingers tangling into his hair.

Your eyes were on him as you waved over your shoulder, stepping through the door with just a glance and a smile. He kept playing it through his mind in slow motion. Now you were underground, running out of air and running out of time.

“Upon receipt of the wire transfer, I will provide you with Agent (Y/L/N)’s GPS coordinates. You have 24 hours. This will be my last communication.” The BAU jumped into action, people pulling the files from the previous abductions and swapping theories.

“Where in the hell are we going to get five million dollars? The FBI has a strict policy about not paying ransoms.” Morgan slammed a fist on the table, gritting his teeth as his mind raced.

“Her parents.” Spencer looked up, pulling himself out of his head. He needed to be actively helping. They had twenty four hours and sitting at the table with his head in his hands wouldn’t help anything.

Pushing away from the table, the young doctor stood up to look at Agent Hotchner.

“When her parents died they left everything to her. She’s never touched it, said it felt too much like blood money.” Hotchner nodded, looking across the room to Garcia who looked as shell shocked as Spencer felt. Not only had her dear friend been abducted and buried alive, but she had been telling secrets about her parents to Reid and not her?!

“Garcia I need you to find out who she banks with, JJ get them on the phone and see what you can do. If we can pay the ransom we will. If not, we’ll have to figure where she is.” Both women nodded, rushing back to Garcia’s office. The remaining agents started to map the location of every burial site.

“Well, at least we know she’s in Virginia.”

...

When you woke up, rolling into the leather backseat in you car, your brain felt like it was exploding. Your entire body ached, and for a minute, too focused on the pain, you didn’t realize where you were.

It hurt to sit up, to breathe, to look around, and when your brain connected every dot it hurt to think.

“I’ve been buried alive.” You said it aloud, staring at the rocks and dirt that pressed against every window. Thinking felt like walking through sludge, but why?

You’d been working on a case. Four victims in four months, all buried alive, all coming from wealthy backgrounds. Every victim varied in age, race, and sex. It appeared you were number five. There would be a call, maybe two hours after you’d been buried. It would be the only means of communication, there would be a high ransom.

None of this information could help you though. You were underground, what is around you, (Y/N)?

In your glove compartment was a small digital camera, a pen, and some napkins. In your center console was a bottle of water, a small tube of sunscreen, and some loose change. Your phone was on the floor but the battery had been taken out, and sitting in the backseat was a box with a book delicately placed inside.

A first edition copy of Sonnets from the Portuguese, the pages yellowed with age. To just anyone, it was an old book with some poems inside, but you knew that Spencer would understand the moment he opened the box. Elizabeth Barrett Browning had written the series of sonnets to her husband as they were courting. Inside was a poem you had confessed to Spencer was your absolute favorite.

“I’m kind of a cliche hopeless romantic,” you laughed, afraid to look at him for the fear that he would think you were just a silly girl. “But my favorite poem is How Do I Love Thee?”

“By Elizabeth Barrett Browning?” When you looked at him, his expression hadn’t changed from that of a simple curiosity. You relaxed a little, glad to reveal the intimate detail about yourself without backlash.

You had spent such a long time trying to bury the persona of a teenage hopeless romantic underneath the facade that you were only concerned for logic, knowledge, and psychology. You’d never understood why wanting to love and be loved made you any less intelligent.

“I’ve dedicated that poem to the man I hope to marry one day.” A small smile twitched at the edges of his lips as you looked down at your nails, picking at the dirt underneath them. Your face felt like it was on fire. Why had you told him that?

In an uncharacteristic display of affection, Spencer reached across the divide between your desks and put his hand over yours. He squeezed, his expression gentle when you met his gaze.

“He will be a lucky man.”

Tears pricked at the back of your eyes at the thought of Spencer. Would you ever see him again? Would you even be alive in twenty-four hours?

Panic seemed to take control, propelling forward. You screamed, crying hysterically as you pounded against the windows.

“Help me! I’m in here! Please!” You didn’t stop until your hands were bruised, not caring about the amount of oxygen it had taken from your already limited supply. After the panic came a numbness that spread through your body and mind. You weren’t sure how long you stayed staring into your hands, sitting cross-legged in the front seat, but when you finally came back to yourself you knew you had to truly fight.

Gathering everything you’d found in your car, you started to think of what you could do. A camera, a phone, a pen, a napkin, some change, a book, sunscreen, a bottle of water.

Think, (Y/N), think. What is around you?

“Dirt.” Then you gasped, scrambling back to the front of the car. Using the window crank, you let bits of the dirt fall inside before rolling the window back up and grabbing a handful.

Just by looking you could tell there was ash, a couple of sniffs told you there was nitrogen and sulfur. You spit into the dirt. Coal rich soil. But that was all of Virginia, that didn’t tell you anything.

Think, (Y/N), think.

A camera, a phone, a pen, a napkin, some change, a book, sunscreen, a bottle of water. A camera, a phone, a pen, a napkin, some change, a book, sunscreen, a bottle of water.

“That’s it!” Carefully, you shifted the dirt to the top of the center console. Mixing a dab of sunscreen into the dirt, you powered on the camera and grabbed the pen which, conveniently, had a laser on the end.

Just like that you knew where you were. You just had to find a way to tell the others.

...

“We can’t get the money from the bank, she has it completely closed off from anyone touching any of that money. They won’t even tell us how much she has.” JJ ran her fingers through her hair, turned in her chair to face the team that had gathered into Garcia’s office.

“It was a long shot anyways, you typically have to have your name on the bank account to be able to withdraw any money.” Hotchner looks to the rest of the agents clustered next to him, hoping that one of them would have something.

“Did we get anything from the geographic profile?” He made direct eye contact with Reid, watching as he stepped forward and nodded for Garcia to pull up a map. Red lines popped up at each of the four crime scenes, connecting to the location the victim lived. Salem to Lovingston. Stuart to Winchester. Boydton to Marion. Louisa to Yorktown.

��Each of the burial sites is two to four hours away from where the victims lived which would put (Y/N) in this general vicinity.” Using his finger, Reid circles an area on the map around Quantico. No one mentions the shaking of his hand.

“There’s nothing else to narrow down the search.” His voice cracks at the end and no one can meet his eyes. JJ flinches at the sound, tightening her hand around the edge of the desk. It isn’t until Hotch goes to send the team back to work that a chime breaks the silence in the room.

Reid scrambles for his phone, fishing it out of his pocket and flipping it open.

“Who is it from? The Gravedigger? What did he say?” Everyone crowds around him, trying to get a peak at the message.

“It’s from (Y/N).”

6 7 16 M1.4

“What the hell does that mean?” Penelope says.

...

You’re not sure how long its been, but you can feel the oxygen getting low. Your eyes feel heavy, like you’re tired, and if you move just a little too fast the world shifts and sways like you’re on a boat.

After hot wiring the phone to the car, you’d leaned against the horn and typed the shortest message you could as fast as possible. When the phone sparked and died, you weren’t even sure if the messsge had gone through. You could only hope.

For now, you’ve crawled into the back, opening the book to read through it. If you’re going to die, at least you can read your favorite poems one more time. With every sonnet comes a memory of Spencer.

“Actually,” Spencer begins, stepping forward to point out something no one had even thought of, gesturing between pictures and referencing something only he could see in his mind. You’d worked a couple of cases with the team at this point, getting to know each individual who sat at this table with you.

Spencer turned back to the group and there it was, for just a fraction of a second he looked at all the older people at the table like a little boy looking for acceptance and recognition. Looking for approval. Your heart flipped over itself and your crossed your arms, hoping this wasn’t the start of a silly crush.

You flip to the next sonnet, reading it in a whisper as another memory hits you.

“I’m scared, Spencer.” You met his eyes, heart hammering in your chest as JJ strapped a mic to your bra strap. You were going undercover in an attempt to lure out the unsub, and although you knew every single one of your team members would be ready to have your back at a moments notice, you couldn’t shake the fear.

“Why?” It wasn’t harsh the way he said it, looking at you from the desk he was sitting on as JJ stepped away and out of the room to give the two of you some privacy. You started to button up your shirt, trying to breathe away the shaking of your hands.

“I’m afraid something is going to go wrong. That I’ll say or do something that will tip him off and he’ll kill me.” Spencer stepped forward, not touching you but looking into your eyes as you smoothed your hands down your sides.

“I’ll be there before he has the chance. I’ll take that shot. But I don’t believe I’ll have to do that because I know you have the ability to do this without a hitch. You’ve got this.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to be okay. He wouldn’t let them send you in if you didn’t give him the okay. You could see that in the way he positioned himself between you and the door, ready to take the brunt of any frustration in order for you to feel safe.

“Okay. I trust you.”

And you did trust him. That’s why you were saving your last trick, waiting for him to put together the last of the puzzle piece he needed in order to save you. Spencer was going to find you, you had no doubt.

You just weren’t sure if you would survive the trick or not.

...

“Six, seven, sixteen, M, one point four.” Spencer stood staring at the board where they had copied the text, going over every possible meaning he could think of.

A book? No.

A math problem? No.

Coordinates? No.

Theories were being thrown across the room at rapid fire, everyone trying to think of the meaning to the cryptic message. They were all still huddled into Garcia’s office, so the voices echoed and bounced around the room.

“She’s been down there for fourteen hours, we’ve got nothing! She’s already running out of oxygen, I’m honestly starting to doubt it means anything.” Derek passed a hand over his face, patting at his cheeks as his eyes grew heavy.

“No. She’s highly intelligent and extremely resourceful, the message means something but wh-” Reid froze. In his mind he could see the periodic table.

“What is it, Reid?” Gideon looked at him, watching as his brain started to fly.

“Garcia pull up a map of Virginia.” She did as she was told, pulling up the map with one point in Quantico.

“Six on the periodic table is carbon, seven is nitrogen, sulfur is sixteen. She’s telling us the dirt she’s in.” Quick to catch on, Garcia zoomed the map onto coal rich soil in Virginia. It wasn’t enough.

“Coal can’t be distinguished by mineral composition, it’s all the same. However, macerals are unique in that they flouresce at different levels. In this case, 1.4, which is rare. It only occurs when there are high concentrations of inertinite.” The map zoomed, Penelope’s fingers flying across the keys as Spencer spoke.

“Got her.”

...

Settling your napkin letter atop the book, you nestled the lid to the gift box back on top. You tied the bow tight before tucking the whole thing into the waistband of your jeans. There was no guarantee it would make it, there was no guarantee you would make it, but you had waited long enough.

Grabbing both ends of the wires you’d stripped, you climbed into the back, hands shaking at the thought of what you were about to do.

“I’m scared.” You said. You heard Spencer, saw him leaning against a window seal in your mind. He looked at you from behind those glasses that always reminded you of a 60’s NASA engineer. His hair was pushed back, the ends curling around his ears in a way that made you itch to loop them around a finger.

Why?

“What if I never see you again?” Tears you hadn’t even known were in your eyes spilled over onto your cheeks, dripping onto the thighs of your pants. He changed now, taking on various Spencer’s from your past.

Spencer looking up from paperwork to listen to a question, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. His lips parted ever so slightly while a piece of his hair dangled out of place on his forehead.

Spencer leaned against the bar, waving down the bartender mid laugh. His tie is loose and his shirt is untucked, his hair is adorably disheveled and his eyes are crinkled around the edges.

Spencer asleep on the jet home, his cheek cradled in one hand, his elbow propped on the armrest. His long legs are stretched out, his other hand splayed on top of his chest which rose and fell with each breath.

Spencer standing in the elevator, the surprise of someone calling his name turning into a small smile when he recognizes you racing to the doors. He reaches out to press a button before using both hands to grab onto the strap of his bag. He looks down at you as you enter with a look in his eyes you’ve never been able to identify.

And the Spencer you’ve only ever dreamed about.

His eyes fluttering open after a long night spent proving his love, the sun filtering through the window and reflecting on him in such a way that it makes you wish you could paint. The sheets are bunched around his waist, his chest is bare, and his smile is so sleepy that it swells your heart to ten times it’s normal size.

We’ll see each other soon. You’ve got this.

“Okay,” you say it with conviction, forcing your hands to stop shaking, “I trust you.” And then without a moments hesitation, tears still running down your face, you touch the wires together.

The world explodes.

“There!” Spencer races for the place he saw the puff of dirt, nearly tripping over himself as he runs faster than he’s ever run before. Everyone follows, dropping to there knees with Spencer as he starts to push at the stone and sand at his feet.

“Please be here. Please be here.” He keeps saying, his heart climbing into his throat with every passing second he doesn’t find you. That is, until his fingers brush across an arm. He shoves down into the dirt, ignoring every instinct that tells him to stay clean. It’s you, it’s your arm. Then it’s your head, your shoulders and chest, your stomach, your legs, and then it’s you.

He pulls you on top of him, laying in the dirt with you pulled so close that you could meld into one person. You groan into his ear, pushing up just a little to get a better look at the man under you.

“I forgot your coffee.” He laughs, tears spilling onto the sides of his face as he wraps his arms back around you.

...

It’s late by the time you’ve been seen by what feels like every doctor and psychologist in the state. There’s bruises on your wrists and ankles you hadn’t noticed during your time underground and a cut on the back of your head where you’d been hit in order to be knocked unconscious. Not to mention the tiny cuts all over your arms and face from crawling through a shattered windshield and up through rocks and dirt.

You stood in the conference room, arms crossed as you leaned against the table and stared. Staring back at you was your own face, tacked to the evidence board with four other victims.

“I tried going to your apartment, but nobody answered the door.” Spencer is standing in the doorway of the conference room, holding a box in his hands. You look down at it before looking back at him. Try as you might, you can’t tell if he’s opened it or not, either you aren’t a good profiler or you were just really tired.

“You left this at the hospital. I figured it was important if you brought it up with you from the car.” Moving into the room, he holds the box out for you to take from him. The ribbon you tied around it is still tightly knotted, the ends shredded from being dragged above ground. There’s specks of dirt that you reach out to brush to the floor before looking back at Spencer.

“It’s yours.” You reply, scooting back to sit on the table, watching curiously as he looks back down. Pulling the box back to his chest, he slips the ribbon off in one fluid motion. The lid is next and you watch as he reaches in to pull out what you had believed to be your last words.

It isn’t much, and there’s a possibility you don’t feel the same way, but I’ve realized that I’m hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you. I trust you with my life and my heart. I’m only scared now of losing you. -(Y/I)

He doesn’t look up at you and he doesn’t set the napkin aside, only moves his hand so the note is out of his line of sight as he sees the book inside.

“‘I love thee with all the breath, smiles, tears of all my life.’” He says it almost in a whisper before setting the note back in the box, and the box on the table.

“How long have you been waiting to give this to me?” When he looks at you, finally, there is wonder in his eyes, amazement.

“I bought the book last month, but I’ve known how I felt about you for six months.” You pick at the edge of the table, swinging your legs ever so slightly. Spencer moves in front of you, blocking your view of the evidence board.

“I don’t believe in love at first sight. Robert Sternberg developed the theory that love is made of three components; intimacy, passion, and commitment. None of which can be present during a first meeting. But I think I knew that I would love you. I knew from the very first time you walked in those doors and you bumped into me.” He reaches his hand out, only hesitating for just a moment before he takes you cheek in his hand.

“Can I kiss you?” He leaned so close that if he were just a hair closer, you lips would brush together as he spoke. You’ve already closed your eyes, every nerve lit up like the Fourth of July in anticipation.

“Yes.” You barely get it out before his lips collide with yours, you can feel every emotion from the last twenty four hours being poured into this kiss; fear, anxiety, sadness, confusion, anger, relief, love, safety.

You reach out to loop your arms around his neck, the kiss deepening as he grabs your hips to slide you closer. When he finally breaks the kiss, his chest heaving and his cheeks flushed, it takes him a minute to open his eyes.

“Why aren’t you at home?”

“I’m scared.”

“Why?” You loop the hair that curls against his neck around your index finger, licking your lips before responding.

“Because I’m afraid this will all be a dream and I’ll wake up back in that car.” Your breath hitches in your throat, the panic grabbing at your heart and lungs and barely leaving you anytime to process the plethora of things that have happened to you in the last thirty minutes.

“Come sleep at my place, that way you wake up with me by your side.” He steps away from the table, reaching out a hand for you to take. It takes you no time at all to make your decision, grabbing his hand and sliding off the table.

“Okay, I trust you.”

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khantoelessar · 4 years ago

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Hogan’s Background

This is only my personal headcanon but here’s my take on what Hogan’s background and childhood was like.

Based on what we are shown about him, I think Hogan comes from what is now called a broken home. I don’t know if his parents were actually divorced (the 1920s did see a spike in the divorce rates in America although it still carried a heavy stigma and the burden was on the woman) but I suspect his father probably cheated frequently on his mother. This is where he got his attitude about women and marriage and where he learned to lie to them to get what he wanted. Children learn by example.

I’m basing this headcanon on several things. The first is the contrast between the way Hogan talks about women and the way he treats them, at least the women on his side.

To hear Hogan talk, he is incredibly misogynistic, especially by today’s standards. To site just a few examples he tells Klink in Cupid comes to Stalag 13 to lie to a woman to get her into bed and that

“I can take [women] or leave them alone. To be honest with you, I’ve taken more than I’ve left alone.”

When Schultz gets into trouble with the Gestapo spy in Schultz meets Mata Hari he tells Schultz

“That’s what I’ve always said Schultz, you can’t trust women in war time.” When Schultz replies “In peace time either.”, Hogan says “I also said that.”

In Request Permission to Escape when Carter gets that Dear John letter he tells him

“Come on, forget it. Write her off”

I won’t even go into Gertrude Linkmeyer because everyone slags off against her, even her own brother calls her ugly.

But when it comes to how he actually treats women, at least the ones on his side, it’s another story. Oh he’s definitely a player to put it politely (or a tom cat if you want to be more brutally honest about it) but he’s also honest with all those women he sleeps with, despite what he tells Klink. We never see him lie to them to get them into bed. He makes it very clear that sex is all he’s offering. When Hilda hints that she wants more in Top Secret Top Coat by saying “How about an engagement ring?” Hogan’s response is pretty clear.

Hogan also does not have a problem taking orders from women either. In Hogan and the Lady Doctor and Lady Chitterley’s Lover both Suzanne LeChey and Lady Valerie Chitterley take command and Hogan follows their lead (even if he disagrees with them as in the case with Dr. LeChey) with no mansplaining or insults or telling them as women they can’t do this. He has no objections to women in combat as we see on the multiple occasions when he’s fighting along side them in the Underground. He shows respect for their strength and courage as being the equal of any man and refuses to leave them behind when they get captured any more then he would any of his men. When Maria is captured by the Gestapo in Unfair Exchange, he is the one who is the first to say she’ll be rescued despite the dangers.

Hogan: “More important, she blew her chances to get away so that we could make it. Now it’s her turn.”

Even when London orders him he will never give up on or abandon the women who fight along side him. In Operation Tiger he went against orders to rescue her, was even willing to go it alone when his men objected, and it wasn’t because he had sex with her. It’s because as he puts it;

“Less than a month ago she saved my life, she saved us. She’s organized half the underground between here and Berlin”.

These are only a few examples of all the women he’s fought along side with, and he and his team continually express admiration for their courage and their skill.

It’s not just because they are women either. As we see in It Takes a Thief . . . Sometimes and The Ultimate Weapon Hogan will kill women when necessary, even those he’s slept with.

This brings me back to my original point of Hogan being from a broken family. We’ve got Hogan verbally slagging off against women, pretty much saying they’re only good for one thing and one’s as good as the next. But when it comes down to how he actually treats them, it’s as complete equals, fully capable of anything a man can do, including being soldiers and leaders. This sort of dichotomy, verbal misogyny but respectful treatment of women, is in my (completely amateurish) opinion pretty indicative of someone whose childhood consisted of both types of parents, a father who cheated and mother who couldn’t leave him. Another indication of this is in the episode Paint the Luftwaffe Red. In the hofbrau when Schultz lifts a toast and says:

“To our wives and sweethearts”, Hogan replies, “May they never meet.”

Which brings me back to Hogan’s mother. Hogan mentions his mother in a number of episodes, either writing to her or receiving letters from her. But he never once mentions his father. Now, granted we don’t know much about any of the families of the core team. Newkirk apparently has a sister Mavis and (in one episode) eight more siblings. We know absolutely nothing about Kinch’s family, we’re not even sure what his first name is, James or Ivan. Carter mentions an uncle once and that’s about it. Yet I do find it interesting that for all of Hogan’s misogynistic talk about women he never once accuses women of being cheaters or “loose women” (I’m being polite here; most true misogynists would be using words far more graphic and uglier) and the parent he seems to have the most connection with is his mother.

The third reason that I think Hogan came from a broken family is his criminal record. In the episode, The Empty Parachute we learn that he was vandal, defacing billboards as a child and in Praise the Fuhrer and Pass the Ammunition he says that

“In school I was voted most likely to be a troublemaker”.

Now, Hogan is not like Newkirk. He didn’t grow up scrapping for a living, his brushes with the law resulting from his struggle to survive. Hogan, in my opinion, has not just that sense of self-confidence but also . . . I almost want to say sense of self-entitlement that really only comes from growing up with money. He’s upper middle-class at the very least if not higher. Add to this is that he’s an officer and while I couldn’t find what the requirements for West Point were in the 1930s when Hogan would have joined (the US Air Force Academy wasn’t established until 1957), today you need not only grades through the stratosphere but also a congressional nomination. Given that the United States was much more class conscious back then, in my mind this argues for Hogan’s family having both money and connections, especially if we factor in Hogan’s previous record which by today’s standards might be described as juvenile deliquency.

Which brings me back to my headcanon on Hogan coming from a broken family. It is very common (in my extremely limited and entirely unprofessional opinion) for children whose parents are separating or fighting constantly to act out as a way of venting their pain and frustration.

Let’s put all this together. We have a character who repeatedly disparages the whole idea of marriage and love, who plays fast and loose with women to get what he wants and is such a commitment-phobe that he practically breaks out in hives at the very idea of a serious relationship with a woman. Yet outside of sex he treats women as complete equals, in intelligence, skill, bravery, in every respect. He appears to have a good relationship with his mother but never mentions his father and he appears to have a troubled childhood despite coming from what might be described as a privileged background.

My headcanon of Hogan coming from a broken family is about the only explanation I can come up with to make sense of Hogan’s seemingly conflicting attitude and actions towards women.

#Colonel Robert Hogan #Hogan's Heroes #Colonel Klink #Sargent Schultz #my meta #Hogan's Heroes meta #headcanon

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 4 years ago

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Things I'm thinking about this morning: facts about CM's casting choices/writers room thoughts.

(This got longer than I thought it would, and I devolved into cussing out the writers, so everything is under the cut)

- in a season 1 DVD interview the casting directors admitted they cast the part for Derek Morgan purely based on looks, and literally said "I don't think any of us realized just how _good_ of an actor Shemar was" and that makes me so proud and so sad at the same time

- they had to have literally plucked Thomas Gibson off of the set of Dharma & Greg and shoved him right into season 1 of Criminal Minds, which is SUCH a genre shift and I don't think anyone gives him enough credit for that. I think it also explains Hotch's looseness/layering in earlier seasons, and why Thomas Gibson is responsible for half of the blooper reel clips.

- they cast MGG, a complete unknown and never before seen on a TV series before that, with a slew of modeling experience, as their conventionally "weird, unsexy braniac". A model. They cast a model for their unsexy role. They either KNEW what they were doing, or they were morons. I'm leaning towards the later.

- Garcia was only supposed to be in the first episode, a throw away character. Most know this. She was also supposed to be a heavy set, middle aged, Hispanic man. Idk how that got changed. But Kirsten was so inspiring she made it 15 whole seasons as a central fan-favorite character when she was only supposed to get 1 solitary episode. Serious props. Also Garcia and Morgan's dynamic was never plotted by the original writers, that was ALL Shemar and Kirsten and that's how they legit acted around each other from day one.

- JJ was written off because the writers didn't know what to do with her character anymore, and that fills me with r a g e. How shitty of a writers room do you have to have to not think of one viable story arc for this woman? They eventually did, but under duress from the fans AND the cast. Reid's headache storyline was supposed to be a brain tumor because MGG threatened to leave if they didn't bring back A.J. and they almost LET HIM. Petty fucking writers.

- I don't know the deets, but I've heard rumors that Paget kept getting written off because of something to do with the main writers. I want to know. Because she is so cool and talented and gorgeous and AGAIN with the unprofessionalism from the writers I mean what the HELL? How do you let personal bias reflect a narrative you've been hired to write for? That will always be my equivalent of road rage: incompetent writers rooms.

Bonus:

- if any of those rumors are true about the writers openly being disrespectful/sexist/racist, and they contributed to why TG got into the physical altercation with that writer in season 12, I just have to say I would have kicked him too.

#my kids woke me up at 5:30am and this is what i did with my time.#some of those quotes are paraphrasing I'm sorry #i almost spiraled into my absolute fucking anger about how Hotch's exit was handled but we all be knowing about that already #and it would have gotten nasty #i fucking hate writers rooms #they always fail me #my cm hot takes sorry not sorry #cm hot takes

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lils-writes-stuff · 5 years ago

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Divining Rod

spencer reid x reader

Summary: The death of a serial killer rises another and the team must stop it.

warnings: normal criminal minds things,

A/N: based on season 7 episode 21

“A row house in Demount Circle wow,” Penelope said, astonished at the news Emily just gave.

“I can’t believe I’m doing it.” Emily shook her head in disbelief at the news also. “I mean, it’s probably not gonna work out anyway, right?”

“That’s what I said before I found out I got my apartment so, you probably will,” Y/N said, laughing at the end of her sentence.

“Well, there are five other sealed bids, and I offered way below what the owners are asking,” Emily spoke, standing up from her chair and began walking. JJ, Y/N, Penelope, and Spencer stood up and followed her.

“Uh-huh, sounds to me like someone’s hoping they don’t get it.” JJ’s voice was filled with sass as she side-eyed Emily.

“Orthophobia, fear of owning personal property,” Spencer said from in front of the four women. He was intently looking over the case file in his hands as they walked to the round table room.

“No- I don’t have a fear of owning stuff, turn me loose in a shoe store, I’ll prove that,” Emily defended herself. “My fear is owning personal property that weighs three hundred tons.”

“Actually, depending on materials used, square footage, and horizontal versus vertical construction, the average house only weighs sixty tons,” Spencer retorted, spewing off his knowledge without even a second thought.

“Well, thanks for that Reid, I feel light as a bird,” Emily said sarcastically.

“It’s okay Em, it took me months before I could even settle into my apartment because I couldn’t feel at home, it just takes time.” Truly Y/N felt uncomfortable because the last place she lived in by herself all her friends were tormented in, but Emily didn’t need to know or worry about that.

“What‘ve we got, baby girl?” Derek asked, breaking up the conversation to bring it to the case at hand.

“We have a killing in Enid, Oklahoma, and not the capital punishment one you are thinking of right now.” Penelope walked over to her chair and took a seat before she continued. “I’m talking about a woman named Cara Smith, who was murdered in her apartment minutes after the execution of Rodney Garret.”

“Neighbors saw her front door open and discovered the body,” Hotch added.

“Look Familiar?” Rossi asked directing everyone’s attention to the victim on the screen. Her appearance is the same as all of Garret’s victims.

“Young, pretty, short blonde hair,” JJ said, examining the photo.

“And stabbed directly through the heart.” Y/N brought her pen up in the air, showing that she realized what Rossi was saying.

“That’s exactly the way Garret killed his victims,” Spencer said as he remembered back to the Garret murders.

“So are we looking at a copycat?” Derek asked looking at those around the table.

“Or someone creating doubt the right person was executed,” JJ countered, looking at Derek next to her.

“In Garret’s case there was no doubt,” Rossi corrected. “His guilt was the slam dunk of all slam dunks. Prints, DNA, a confession…”

“He even led the police to where he buried two of his victims,” Spencer added to the list Rossi was creating.

“Garret killed 25 women before he was caught. If this new unsub is a copycat, the body count’s just getting started,” Emily said.

“Which is why we can’t waste time, wheels up in thirty.”

----------

“Firing squad? That’s new,” Y/N said after hearing Garret’s choice of execution.

“It’s definitely not something you see every day,” JJ agreed.

“Well, Garret had the option of lethal injection, but he chose this instead,” Derek responded.

“Flair for the dramatic,” Rossi stated.

“No kidding.” Y/N let out a breathy laugh with her words.

“Initial reports indicate no forensic evidence at the crime scene,” Hotch said looking at the file in his hand.

“What about the ice pick?” JJ asked.

“It was generic, no serial number or unique metallurgy,” Derek answered looking at the paper that gave more detail on the pick.

“Well, now, it says here-” Emily pointed to a page in her file- “that there were water droplets and a half-filled flower vase on top of the chest drawers, but no flowers. Not in the vase, not in the garbage, nowhere.”

“Maybe the unsub took them,” Y/N posed, looking up from her folder.

A pinging sound came from the laptop as Penelope popped up on the screen.

“Hey, say it like you mean it, baby,” Derek greeted her.

“You know I’m gonna,” she replied before giving what she found. “So if you look in the dictionary, the word ‘normal’-” she held her hands up to show quotation marks- “you will see Cara Smith. College student, well-liked, straight A’s, English lit major- oh speaking of which I just got a transcript of Rodney Garret’s last words, hot off the press and a gold star to the first person who can identify the source of this: ‘She comes like fullest moon on a happy night, taper of waist-”

“‘With shape of magic might,’ it’s from the Thousand and One Nights, not the exact translation I would have used, but it’s got its own merits,” Spencer finished the last of the poem.

“And in a shocking non-upset, we have a winner,” Emily said, hopefully stopping Spencer before he would go on a spew of insight of the story.

“Garret was a sixth-grade dropout, an unlikely guy to be quoting from a Harvard classic,” Rossi said.

“The choice of material does make sense though,” Spencer began. “The book is all about how a Scheherazade forestalled her own death at the hands of the king by regaling him night after night with stories.”

“In the end, he won him over right?” JJ asked.

“Yes, the king found a love for her and decided not to execute her,” Y/N answered, looking at JJ. “Although I wouldn’t say that would be a strategy that would work with the Oklahoma Department of corrections.”

“Another body’s been found half a mile from the first victim, same M.O.” Hotch had stepped away to answer the phone and was now relaying the information he was just given to the team.

“That's six hours later, this guy’s not wasting a lot of time,” Derek said.

“We land in twenty minutes, Reid, you and Y/N go to the latest crime scene, Rossi, you JJ and Prentiss go talk to Garret’s widow. Morgan and I will go to the prison.” Y/N saluted Hotch at his order. “If Garret’s got a disciple, we need to find out who he is and fast.”

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

“Such a beautiful day for such a terrible thing to happen.” Y/N’s eyes looked up to the sky, observing the blue of it and the bright sun. She wasn’t really thinking about the case until she walked up the steps, always trying to fit the last of the good in before she saw the bad.

“I don’t think serial killers stop because of the weather, sweets,” Spencer said, raising an eyebrow at the thought.

“Hey, what did I say about nicknames at crime scenes,” Y/N said turning to Spencer who was slightly behind her.

He laughed lightly. “Not to use them, because you’re afraid they’ll be ruined,” he answered her remark.

“Exactly.” She pulled her credentials out of her back pocket to show the officer at the door. Walking into the house, a tall man turned around to greet the two.

“Hey, I’m detective Childers,” the tall man said walking up to Y/N to shake her hand. “You must be with the FBI.”

“Yes, I’m Agent Y/L/N, and this is Dr.Reid.” Y/N pointed to her right to the lanky brunette.

“Hi,” Childers said, holding his hand out for Spencer to shake. Spencer offered the man a small wave, as usual, opting out of the handshake.

Y/N offered a smile to the detective in hopes of trying to make the awkward moment go away. “How about you show us the scene.” Y/N changed the subject.

“Yeah, why don’t y’all follow me back here,” Childers said as he led the two over to the bedroom. “It’s unbelievable this is happening all over again.”

“Who is she?” Spencer asked as they entered the bedroom.

“Jodie Armstrong, single, works a cosmetic counter at a department store downtown,” Childers answered.

The body laid in the exact position it was found. Duct tape still on the mouth and wrists, and the ice pick stabbed into her heart.

“Young, pretty, short blond hair,” Y/N said as she looked at the victim’s appearance. “That’s the same victimology as the others.” She turned her head to look at Spencer, who’s eyes had been wandering the room around them.

“Who discovered the body?” Spencer asked.

“Apartment manager. A neighbor called to complain that a teapot in the kitchen kept on whistling,” Childers explained.

“So he surprised her.” Y/N said, turning as she watched the struggle play out around her. She pictured the unsub pushing her down and tying her onto the bed.

The three separated as Childers went to go handle something out front and Spencer and Y/N stayed to look around the scene more. Y/N gloved her hands and squatted down next to the bed, looking closely at the victim’s head. Pushing her head to the side, she moved her hair to and fro as she examined the hair cut. She noticed it’s unevenness and well, basically, it was a shitty hair cut for such a pretty young girl to have.

“Hey, Spence, come look at this.” Spencer looked over at Y/N who was across the room from him.

“What is it?” He asked, setting down the CD he had been looking at to walk over.

“This girl is young and she obviously cares about her appearance, she’s fit, her nails are done,” she said, laying one finger on top of the other as the listed off the things she’s noticed. “But her hair, look at it, it’s uneven.” She picked up the phone that had headphones plugged into the jack and turned it on.

“Could it maybe be a fashion statement, you know, look bad on purpose?” Spencer asked looking next to him at Y/N.

She shook her head, looking through the phone in her hand. She began to look through some things in her photos before she found a selfie of Jodie and some of her friends. “Look at this,” she leaned over to show Spencer the photo.

With two of her fingers on the screen, she zoomed in on Jodie, who in the photo had very long blonde hair. “It was taken last night,” she said after pointing to the timestamp at the bottom corner of the photo. “The unsub cut her hair.”

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

In the station, the mood was serious. Two bulletin boards stood side by side with large maps placed on the. Spencer, Hotch, Y/N, and Derek sat in swivel chairs from desks in the area they were in. Behind them sat JJ, Emily, and Rossi, who were looking through letters that were sent to Rodney Garret’s home.

“This new guy’s hunting in a different neighborhood,” Childer’s spoke after looking at the map.

“He must be comfortable in the area, he knew the victims’ routines,” Derek stated.

“His method of ingress and egress is quiet and unnoticeable,” JJ said, leaning back in her chair.

“Get a load of this one,” Emily began as she turned in her chair with a letter. “Dear Mr. Garret: It took a lot of courage to do what you did. Most people are cowards and don’t do what they feel inside them. You are an inspiration, and I applaud you.”

When Emily had finished the letter, Y/N barked out a laugh. “I’m sorry for laughing but ‘I applaud you’?” She just shook her head, the letter being very funny to her in a weird way.

“These are supposed to be the non-wacko letters,” Rossi said.

Everyone raised their brows in question. A computer beeping signaling the arrival of Penelope’s on a screen got everyone’s attention.

“Hey guess what, Y/N’s genius has struck again,” Penelope began as she popped up on the screen. “The hunch about the hair was right, I’m sending you an ATM image of Cara Smith. She’s the first victim, this was taken ten hours before her murder check it out.”

At that, everyone’s attention was brought to a screen. The video showing Cara walking up to the machine with very long hair compared to what was left on her body.

“The unsub cut her hair too,” Childers said as he looked at the video.

“You know, there could be a sexual element involved. Trichophilia is a fetish where one becomes aroused by the removal of hair,” Spencer said.

“Yeah, but, either way, this is starting to look less like a copycat,” Y/N said looking next to her at Spencer.

“The unsub’s deviating too much from Garret’s M.O., Garret never took trophies,” Derek said in agreement.

“He’s also choosing low-risk victims, Garret’s stayed with high-risk target- prostitutes, runaways--” Spencer said but was cut off by JJ.

“Garret also got sloppy and left clues that eventually nailed him, this guy’s careful and meticulous,” JJ said.

“He’s not that careful,” Childers corrected. “He leaves doors open, teapots boiling.”

“I think it’s intentional. He wants the bodies found so we know when and where he’s killing,” Hotch said.

The room fell silent again, everyone getting back to their work. Little conversation was made, Emily or Rossi reading off an obscure letter or Y/N saying something about the geographical profile to Spencer. All conversation halted due to Childers getting a call that there was another body.

“Reid and Y/N, come with me to the scene.” Hotch stood up, Y/N and Spencer following his request out of the room and to the scene.

Walking into the house, Y/N took note of how it was kept and lived in by the victim. She did so in hopes of gathering something for victimology. After noticing she fell behind Hotch and Spencer, she quickly caught up to them as they entered the bedroom.

The blonde woman laid on her back, her arms duct-taped to the foot of the bed. Her eyes were closed, and she almost looked peaceful, but the ice pick in her heart told them otherwise.

Hotch squatted down to the bedside and examined the side of her head that was exposed.

“He shaved her head,” Hotch commented. Y/N and Spencer stood on either side of him, looking over the body from behind their unit chief.

“That’s even more humiliation and disrespect,” Y/N said. She turned her head sideways as she looked at the poor and almost frantic shaved spot.

“He didn’t do it to the other victims.” Hotch stood up as he spoke, looking at Childers who was on the other side of the bed.

“Detective when was the body discovered?” Y/N asked.

“Half hour ago, the killer left the front and back doors open,” Childers responded. “And there’s no indication of any contact on the wine glasses swabbed for DNA.” He gestured to the CSI unit that was brushing the wine glass behind him.

“Not even the victims?” Spencer asked. His face doing its normal twist as he thought.

“The unsub probably wiped it clean,” Y/N said. The upper half of her body turned to her left to look at Hotch and Spencer.

“Has anyone found an open or empty wine bottle in the house?” Hotch asked, turning back to the detective after looking at Y/N.

“We haven’t found one yet.” Childers shook his head.

“He probably took it with him, like the flowers of his first victim,” Spencer commented.

“He’s killed at six A.M., noon, and now six P.M.,” Hotch said, looking between Y/N and Spencer.

“That’s not a long cooling-off period.” Y/N spook with a sigh as she stuffed her hands in her pockets.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not feeling so good about the stroke of midnight.” Spencer’s eyes bounced between the three in front of him. All of them nodding their heads in agreement at the comment.

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

“We believe we’re looking for a white male between the ages of thirty and forty who is strong enough to subdue physically fit young women with minimum resistance,” Hotch said. The team stood in front of a crowd of local officers as they told the profile. Rossi and Emily had found out that the same man that wrote the letter Emily had read to them were some of Garret’s favorites. Taking that, they presumed that the man who wrote the letters was more than likely the unsub.

“He’s forensically sophisticated and evidence-conscious,” Derek added.

“He targets his victims in advance and leaves no trail.” Y/N stepped forward as she spoke, coming into line with Derek.

“This person is also confident.” Emily paused, then continued. “He’s been taunting us by revealing his crime scene quickly.”

“Because of his ability to plan and flawlessly execute his crimes, we’re looking for someone capable of holding down a job. Even though it’s probably menial and unfulfilling,” Rossi said. His hands stuffed into his pockets as his shoulder shrugged when he spoke.

“The victims have all been young, blonde, and pretty. As such, they reflect a certain societal standard of perfection that may actually represent the type of women that are unattainable to this unsub,” Spencer explained.

“He cuts his victims’ hair, and then he takes it with him, this could be another way for him to possess a part of them,” Y/N said, bouncing off of Spencer’s statement.

“Or to degrade these unattainable women, make them uglier,” JJ added on to Y/N’s words.

“The killer has been murdering in six-hour increments. He is, in effect, time-stamping his victims, there’s no reason to believe he will deviate from that now,” Rossi said.

“Which means the next kill will be at midnight.” Y/N emphasized her words as she spoke.

“The public needs to be alerted to stay off the streets for all non-essential activities,” JJ said. “Single women should not be in their homes alone,” she continued, her warning to the people relaying its importance.

“Every available officer will be out in full force tonight, we need to blanket this city,” Emily commanded. The officer’s around the room nodding that they understood.

“We do have one advantage,” Hotch began. “A killer who uses this kind of precise timing and specificity is easy to disrupt. We can use his own M.O. against him,” he explained. The officer’s around the room were then dismissed and went to get ready for the night out.

As the sunset fell over the city of Enid, the officers suited up and began to canvas the town. Emily and Derek joined them while the others stayed back and helped run point. While they waited, they had Penelope do some more digging into Garret to find out who the unsub might be.

“What you got, Garcia?” JJ asked as she answered the call from Penelope.

“I have found a thing of interest regarding these shanking attempts made on Garret in prison,” Penelope began.

“What is it?” Hotch asked, curious as to what she found.

“The timing, see, the first time Garret was attacked was May 25, 2008, the day before that, May 24, for those of you keeping score, Garret’s imminent execution date was postponed, right?” Penelope’s question was rhetorical so everyone stayed quiet as she continued.

“So then if you flash forward to the second shanking attempt of stabby-ness, that would be November 15, 2010. The day before that, his next execution date, also postponed.” When Penelope had finished her explanation everyone was basically one the same page of what was happening.

“Okay, so I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say someone decided to take matters into their own hands,” Y/N said. She crossed her arms across her chest and popped her hip to the side, the resting position she stood in when she thought.

“Thanks, Garcia,” JJ said, her finger hovering over the hang-up button on the computer.

“Ever welcome, my comrades.” JJ hung up the call and turned back to those behind her.

“Well, that sounds like what you would think of somebody on the outside wanting a little revenge,” Childers said, his head turning to Rossi and Hotch beside him.

“They wouldn’t wait five years, give it two tires, and then toss in the towel,” Rossi stated, his head shaking as he didn’t believe that theory.

“It sounds to me like someone just needed Rod Garret out of the way,” JJ said, adding in her own theory.

“But Garret was on death row, confined to his cell 23 hours a day. How was he in anybody’s way?” Hotch questioned, both theories not making sense now.

“Since we’re on the subject of things that don’t make sense, the unsub left the doors open after the murders,” Y/N said, bringing in a new topic in hopes of coming up with something new.

“Okay, that’s directed at law enforcement-- catch me if you can,” Rossi responded to Y/N’s thought.

“But the cutting of the hair,” Y/N said her voice trailing off in question.

“That’s for Garret,” Hotch finished, knowing what Y/N was thinking now.

Rossi nodded agreeing with Y/N.

“Well, what makes you think that?” Childers asked her.

“Well, Garret chose victims who were easy prey-- drug addicts and prostitutes. But this unsub has chosen more difficult targets but gone to the trouble of making them look like Garret’s victims,” Hotch answered, turning to Childers.

“That’s his way of telling Garret, ‘I can do better than you’,” Rossi elaborated.

“Okay, but why wait until after the execution to start killing? If the unsub really wanted to thumb his nose at Garret, wouldn’t he want him to be alive to see it?” JJ asked, not fully understanding this theory.

“Exactly, that’s the part that doesn’t make sense.” Y/N pointed as she spoke.

“Them we’re missing something,” Hotch said.

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

When the sun rose, the team had been at the station all night. In the early morning hours, another victim was found with a different M.O., stab wounds. Since the unsub could not kill his victim properly, this led them to believe that the killer could go on a spree. The unsub also removed her scalp this time, taking away most of her hair.

The clock on the table flipped to 9:44 A.M., and Y/N’s eyes were heavy. She laid on a bench, her head resting on Spencer’s thigh. His hand rested on his arm that was propped on the railing of the bench. The two sat peacefully, Y/N was not totally asleep, but her mind was in and out of full consciousness from the long night. She wasn’t totally sure if Spencer was asleep either, his body not moving which she was grateful for. His warmth was what kept her so at peace, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to stay like that for long.

“I never could do that,” Rossi stated as he looked at Y/N and Spencer who had their eyes closed.

“Do what?” Emily asked, her eyes following Rossi’s over to the sleepy couple. She let out a small ‘awe’ as she noticed the two.

“Take a nap, it never felt natural,” Rossi answered, not appreciating the cute moment.

“I’m actually wide awake,” Spencer said, sitting up from his position. His movement stirred Y/N as she moved to get comfortable again, but never opening her eyes.

“But for future reference, polyphasic sleep is completely natural. Quite common in the animal world, and highly beneficial.” His eyes panned to Y/N who was still, he believed, asleep on his lap. “However, I believe Y/N is very much taking a real nap.”

“Shhhh.” Y/N reached one of her hands to her lips sleepily, placing her index finger on her lips. She sighed after a second and sat up, realizing she was now fully awake and there was no going back to whatever state of sleep she was in before. “Okay, I give I’m awake.”

“All right, six o’clock’s way come and gone, if our guys killed again, he’s not leaving the front door open,” JJ said after looking at the clock.

“Or he could just be taking a breather,” Derek posed the counter. “I mean, even the unsub has to realize he can’t keep up this pace indefinitely.”

“Maybe the last murder completed some sort of cycle,” Rossi said, saying his thoughts aloud.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked, leaning her forearms on her thighs.

“A day and a night have passed, the sun rises for the first time in a world without Rod Garret,” Rossi answered, his hands moving as he spoke.

“There could also be a more mundane reason, our guys got a job, and yesterday was his day off,” Emily said.

“He killed his first three victims in their homes-” Hotch pointed to the markers on the map where the homes were- “But the last victims, Emily Sisk, he tried to but he couldn’t. SO he abducted her, took her somewhere else, and then brought her all the way back to dump her body in front of her apartment building.” Hotch’s voice got slightly aggressive as he spoke, irritated as to why he didn’t know how that happened.

“That’s incredibly risky considering all the increased police presence,” Y/N said, agreeing with Hotch.

“There’s gotta be a geographic component to the unsub’s design,” Hotch said turning back to the map on the board.

“Let’s connect the dots, literally.” Spencer stood up from his seat next to Y/N and walked to the board. He pulled a red marker out of his pocket and drew lines to connect all four homes.

The lines formed an upside-down arrow almost.

“A tip of a spear,” Emily guessed, turning this into a game of Pictionary.

Y/N walked up to the board to get a closer look at the design. Her head cocked to the side as she thought.

“Maybe it’s an arrow pointing south? Could he be steering us to his next victim?” Derek asked as he pointed to the bottom of the arrow.

“It’s a quadrilateral, but there’s nothing particularly symbolic about a four-sided concave polygon,” Spencer said, pointing out the math of the shape.

“Spence, can I?” Y/N said reaching for the marker in his hand. Spencer nodded, handing her the red marker. “Look what happens when you curve the lines.” She drew curves over the lines the Spencer drew, forming something in the shape of a heart.

“A heart,” Emily said, eyes trained on the drawing.

“Well, Garret and the unsub both killed their victims using stab wounds through the heart,” Derek said.

“And Garret was executed by a shot through the heart,” Rossi continued the theory.

Hotch then moved the clear map of all the roads and homes over the heart drawing on the board. In the center of the heart sat the home of Rod Garret’s wife, Helen Garret.

“Helen Garret,” Emily realized as Hotch put the map on top of the other.

“It’s all about her,” Hotch said, confirming the speculation Emily made.

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

After JJ, Rossi, and Hotch established that Helen was probably at the prison since she was not home, the rest of the team made their way there. When the others met up with them, all of them in their kevlar’s ready to take action, they met outside the gates of the prison to talk.

“So nobody saw what happened, but Helen’s car is still in the parking lot,” JJ said walking up to the group with Rossi and the warden.

“He’s got her,” Hotch said.

“The driver’s name is Dylan Kohler, he lives at 4488 Harmony Court,” the Warden said identifying the unsub.

“Did he work yesterday, Warden?” Y/N asked.

“No, he arranged for someone else to take his shift,” the Warden answered.

“I’ll have Garcia check into Kohler, but now that he’s tipped his hand, I doubt if he’s going back home,” Rossi stated, pulling out his phone to call Penelope.

“All right, Morgan, take Reid, Y/N, and Prentiss to the house of Kohler, see if they’re there just in case.” Derek nodded, then gestured for the three to follow him to a car to go to the home.

When they arrived at the home of Dylan Kohler, there was no sign of him or Helen. They headed out of the house to go back to the prison.

“Yeah, Hotch, they’re not here,” Derek said to Hotch when he answered the phone.

“Where the hell could they be?” Y/N asked looking to Spencer next to her as she holstered her gun. He shrugged his shoulders, opening the door for Y/N. She climbed in hoping to the seat on the left and Spencer sitting on the one on the right.

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

After finding Garret’s secret hideout, the team wrapped up the case, saving Helen Garret and were now on their way home. Y/N sat in the seat across from Spencer, eyes glancing at him every once and a while as he read. His finger trailing down the page, his steady breathing, and the curve of his nose entranced her as she looked at him.

She was sleepy, there was no doubt about it. Yet, her eyes couldn’t close as she looked at him, too caught up in his domestic feel to let it be intruded on by sleep that she desperately needed.

Tell him, the voice in her head whispered. Tell him how much you love him.

She couldn’t, at least not yet. Not until she knew that Caroline was out of sight, or if he said it first. But something in her told her that he knew she loved him. Simple acts like saying you need sleep or hold my hand was ways she was able to say she loved and cared for him without having to voice it.

Y/N’s thoughts were interrupted though by the beeping of a computer from behind her in.

“Oh, hey, guys, hey,” Penelope said with a sleepy voice. Y/N turned in her chair to listen to the conversation. “I just wanted to see what was going on.”

“This better be important, Garcia,” Emily said irritated as she was woken from her slumber.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Penelope was playing it off, the excitement in her voice giving it away. “It’s just that a messenger came by the office today with some papers from Escrow!” Her voice was sing-song at the end.

Emily’s face became very surprised. “No!” She said, astonished and not believing the blonde on the screen.

“Oh, yes, the house in Dupont Circle-- you got it! Whoo!” Penelope was throwing confetti at the screen in excitement.

“Oh my God, Em, that’s so exciting!” Y/N said happily as she sat on her knees in her chair to face Emily.

“Congratulations,” Hotch said with a smile.

Then, Emily’s face fell and she looked like she was going to be sick. Y/N and Spencer stood up to sit on the couch so they could be closer to the conversation.

“Six seconds, fastest case of buyers remorse ever,” Rossi said, looking down at his watch then at Emily.

“Well, I say the moment we land, we all head over to Ziggy’s and clear out the champaign inventory,” Derek said sitting next to JJ.

“And talk Prentiss down off the ledge,” JJ chuckled as she looked at Emily’s horrified face.

“Oh, my stomach doesn’t feel so hot.” Emily clutched her stomach.

They all let out a small laugh at Emily’s reaction.

“I was in the middle of the best dream,” JJ said changing the topic. “I dreamt that I was at this exclusive salon getting my hair done.”

The toll from the event of the last two days pressing themselves on her dreams. The thought of having a wig made of human scalp and hair placed on her head made Y/N shudder at the thought when she was told.

“Ah, the psychotherapeutic benefits of dreams-- purging unpleasant images and replacing them with good ones,” Spencer said, giving insight on to why we dream things like that.

“Yeah, ‘unpleasant’ is putting it mildly, bub,” Y/N said looking at Spencer next to her.

“If someone put a bloody wig on my head, I would have ripped that thing off and kept it off.” JJ thought back to how Helen let the wig sit on her head when they found her.

“Well, you’d think instinct would take over,” Derek said agreeing with JJ.

“Oh, hey, Rossi, I meant to ask you, what did Helen mean at the end when she said ‘daddy was right’?” JJ asked turning to look at Rossi across from her.

Rossi let out an annoyed sigh. “He once told her that she was a divining rod for the evil in men. That she could sniff it out when nobody else could.”

“There was definitely something a little strange about her,” Emily said as she recalled the time she and Rossi had to speak with her.

“It’s curious, one woman at the center of two serial killers.” Hotch’s voice was low as he voiced his thought.

“Yeah, what are the odds of that?” Y/N said, her question being rhetorical but she knew Spencer would answer.

“Astronomical.”

Ah, there’s the answer, Y/N thought.

“Removing from the calculations serial killer groupies--” Spencer was cut off by Hotch lightly hitting her arm to have him stop.

“Y/N, why’d you ask?” JJ laughed. Y/N just shrugged, knowing she’d get the answer she kinda wanted to hear later.

“You know, whether she knew it or not, maybe Helen Garret did give Dylan something,” Derek said as he thought more into it. “I mean someone once said that every seed, even malignant ones, they won’t grow unless they get water from someplace.”

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

That night, after going out to celebrate Emily’s new house, Y/N walked into her home. Stumbling as her lips were connected to Spencer's. The impromptu makeout session starting at the door when Spencer started to say goodnight, but Y/N had a little too much champaign and really wanted a good ‘ole fashion junior-high makeout session.

She pushed him back to her couch, the two giggling like thirteen-year-olds as they kissed. She straddled his lap as they continued to kiss. It was childish and full of smiles and teeth as they giggled. Still, the kiss was full of love and tenderness as Spencer would caress the side of her face with his large hands. Or when she would grab the front of his sweater to pull him closer to her.

“I really need to go home,” Spencer said. His lips brushing against Y/N’s as he spoke.

She didn’t listen and kept placing pecks on his lips before she let their lips mold together in bliss.

“No,” she protested quietly as she pulled away, then went back to his lips.

He chuckled, trying to pull back again to speak, but her lips chased his. “I’m not taking advantage of you, sweets,” he said gentlemanly.

She sighed, knowing that she was slightly drunk and he wasn’t going to keep going since she was. “Fine, but you owe me.” She poked his chest with every word. “Always a gentleman, even when I’m horny, but it’s fine.” Her words were a slur of mutters under her breath, but he heard her and laughed.

“Always.” He pecked her lips one more time as she stood up and led him to the door.

Once Spencer had given her one more kiss goodnight, promising her a coffee in the morning at work, she closed the door and turned to the inside of her apartment. A sigh of relief leaving her as she stepped further into her safe environment. She took her boots off and placed them by the door and moved her keys she dropped on the floor in the bowl on the table. She began to walk to her kitchen but stopped when her eyes caught glimpse of a letter.

She hastily pulled the wax seal back to open it, but became confused as she looked at the note.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

She laughed, it was a pathetic line to spook her that wouldn’t work. She put the note back in the envelope and placed it with others.

She thought nothing of it. She didn’t think she would need too, but everything Caroline did had meaning. This too would show it’s meaning soon.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!!):

@throughparisallthroughrome @word-scribbless @nintendumbfuck @confused-and-really-hungry @justine-en @andiebeaword @itsarayofsunshine @baby-i-am-fireproof @abitofeverythinggg @nanocoool @marceline-is-my-spirit-animal @fancyfaucet @im-a-raging-gay @atletino @mo-whore @peterparkersdestiny @bandsandjill @mbowles23-blog @sarcasm-n-insomnia @citrussirus @nerual222 @april-14-blog @reidloversisforever @heavenlyholland

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid series #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds meme #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #derek morgan #derek morgan imagine #Matthew Gray Gubler #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal mids fic #Penelope Garcia #emily prentiss #jj #jennifer jareau

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luna-eclipse2000 · 4 years ago

Text

How I met your mother Armin x reader, modern AU

*Based off an episode of Criminal Minds where Spencer Reid has to have a normal conversation with someone, causing him to meet a girl in a park

——————————————————————————

Armin POV

“Daddy!” I hear my children call out to me as they run into my office. I put my pen down and swivel in my seat onto have two blond heads of hair jump up, and sit on my lap. “Ok, ok!” I say with a laugh. “Did you make mommy mad?”

“No.” (s/n) says with a shake of his head, causing his hair to move across his forehead. He looks exactly like me from when I was a child, and (s/n) has her mother’s (e/c) eyes. “But we wanna know how you met her!” (d/n) tells me. “You want to know how we met?” I ask surprised. “You won’t find it yucky?”

“Nuh-uh!” They respond in unison. “Alright, but I’m holding your word to it.” I tells them.

~~~

“Armin,” My best friend, Eren, says my name from my doorway. “Do you want to come to the lakeshore with Mikasa and I?

“I have to study for my European geography test.” I answer him from my desk, slumped over my review sheets. “Yeesh, dude. There’s so many mugs in this room, we might get a weather network coming to take a reading soon.” Eren says as he looks around my room.

I have sticky notes of various colours and sizes absolutely everywhere, text books piled high, and over five mugs of coffee- some hot, some cold, and some finished. Mikasa, Eren and I are roommates for college, deciding that renting an apartment would be better for us than on-campus residence.

“Alright, buddy.” Eren says as I hear him enter my room. “C’mon, let’s go.” I feel him start to wheel my chair out of my room. “You need to get out of this room for more than coffee and a piss.”

“Eren! This test is important!” I inform him as we head down the hall. “If I fail, I could lose my chance at being a geography professor!”

“You’ll ace this test just like every other one you’ve ever had in your life. Don’t stress yourself out.” Eren tells me as we stop in the living room. I sigh in defeat, knowing that that fact is correct. “Armin, get changed.” Mikasa orders. “You look horrible.”

“Fine. I’ll be right back.” I say and head back to my room. “If you’re not out in five minutes, I’m coming to get you!” Eren calls after me. I get out my blue sweater, jeans, white button up and socks. I then head into the washroom and cringe at my unhygienic look. “When was the last time I brushed my hair? My teeth?” I ask myself as I apply toothpaste to my toothbrush and start to scrub.

I then brush out my messy hair, and clean my glasses. I then head back to the living room to put my shoes on so we can leave.

~~~

We’ve been out for about an hour and I’m already itching to get back home. “Are we almost ready to go?” I ask my friends. “For the last time, Armin, no.” Mikasa deadpans. “You need to let loose, man.” Eren says. “Maybe you need to... you know...”

He moves his hands to try and emphasize what he’s saying but I don’t understand at all. “Become a mime?” I ask slowly. “No! A girlfriend!” Eren finally spits it out. “Eren, no way!” I disagree. “I’m way too socially awkward to even talk to a girl! Besides, must I remind you about my last date? Grade 11, Marley’s Diner, Annie Leonhart?”

“Oh, right, she threw that milkshake on you and called you a mop-headed idiot.” Eren remembers. “But that was four years ago, Armin.” Mikasa reminds me. “You don’t have any friends outside of me and Eren, so you stay inside and study to deal with your crippling loneliness.”

“I would’ve probably gone softer but, yeah.” Eren agrees and I pout. “So, here’s what’s gonna happen.” Eren starts. “You’re going to stay outside for six hours, I’ll have a timer going, and you’re going to try and have a conversation with a stranger. Have it in the Starbucks line as you wait for your drink, go to a bookstore and talk to someone about how good the one they picked up is, I don’t really care. Just have a conversation.”

“And if you don’t, I’m going to beat your ass.” Mikasa promises. I nod in acceptance because I know she’ll drop me like a hot potato. You don’t become a self-defence instructor for nothing. “Great! See you at 5!” Eren says and walks away with Mikasa as he puts his phone in his back pocket after setting the timer. I just stand there awkwardly for a few seconds before walking towards the street.

“There’s a good bookstore down the street. I’ll just go hang out there for a bit.” I say to myself as I start to walk towards it. “Oh, damnit all!” I hear someone shout. The tone of the voice causes me to search it out and I see a young woman with (h/l) (h/c) hair walk into the sidewalk. “Of course it decided to break down. Can’t have one nice day, can I?”

I feel bad for her so I decide to see if I can help. “Uh... is everything alright?”

She looks at me with the brightest (e/c) eyes and prettiest face I’ve ever seen. “Oh, no.” She dismisses kindly with frustration lacing her voice. “My car decided to break down and I don’t live signing walking distance. Thank you, though.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I apologize. “It’s not your fault, this old fucker was about ready to expire for the past year or so. I just don’t want to pay the towing fee.” She says. “I’m absolutely drowning in student loans.”

I see hear start to tear up a bit as she starts to get a bit overwhelmed. “Hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” I tell the girl softly and she does. “Take some deep breaths, just like me. Watch me.”

I take a deep breath in and then slowly release it. She copies what I do. “There we go. How about you go do something relaxing to get your mind off this for a while?” I suggest. She nods. “Did you want to join me?” She asks me in such a cute voice that I can’t respond. “If you’re not doing anything, of course! You just... seemed to be by yourself, too.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. My friends ditched me because they want me to get out and meet people because I’ve got crippling loneliness’.” I say the last part dramatically. She giggles at me. “Then let’s be lonely together! I’m (y/n).”

“Armin. It’s nice to meet you.” I say and then we start to walk away from the car. “So, where did you want to go?”

“Well, I’m a bit hungry. There’s a nice bistro down the street next to a cute little bookstore. Wanna have some lunch?” (Y/n) asks me. I nod my head, so we head towards the bistro in a comfortable silence. Once we get a table, I decide to ask her something. “You mentioned student loans, so you’re in college, right? What for?”

“Oh, I’m in for (dream job). I go to Paradis College.” She informs me. “No way! That’s where I go to school! (“Really? That’s so cool! What for?”) Geography. I want to be a professor for it at a private school my parents taught at. I was going to go into history, since I love it, but then I decided on geography because I love it more. I originally wanted to be a history director at a museum on the Titan Era.” I tell her. “Oh, wow! I could never pay attention to that unit I’m high school, I was too scared.” She admits with an embarrassed blush. “Cute.”

“At first, I was the same. It was such a nerve wracking time for humanity. But then I remembered that there were people who swallowed their fear and actually faced the titans.” I say. “True, yeah. Isn’t it funny?” (F/n) asks me rhetorically. “We’ve only known each other an hour at this point, yet we’re talking like old friends.”

I give an airy laugh and nod at her true statement.

~~~

We end up hanging out for the whole six hours that I was bound to the outside world. But I didn’t want to let her go yet, not meaning to sound creepy. “Guess I better call for a tow truck now.” She says as we make it back to her car. I nod and watch her pull out her phone. “Alright, Armin, think! Use that high IQ of yours and think of a way to see her again!... Just ask for her number, idiot!” I come up with my plan as she hangs up her phone. “Goddamnit. (“What’s wrong?”) They say that I can’t ride with them to the auto shop.” She tells me as she runs a hand through her hair. “Well, I can drive you home once they get here.” I offer. “You’re so sweet, Armin. Thank you.” She thanks me. “It’s no problem. I like hanging out with you.” I admit shyly. “So, uh, can I have your number? So we can talk more?”

“Of course! Here.” She hands over her phone to me. “You put yours in mine and I’ll put mine in yours.”

I take her phone and then unlock mine before handing it over to her. “There we go.” I say to myself as I save it and hand hers back. Right as we finish, the truck comes and tows (y/n) car away. “Thank you!” She calls after them. It’s then that I remember that I don’t have a car. “Oh, shit. I, uh... I just remembered that I don’t have a car with me...”

(Y/n) starts to laugh at the situation, and I find myself doing the same. “I’ll call us a cab.” I say through fits of laughter. She nods and wipes tears away from her eyes.

~~~

We get into the cab and make it to her house rather quickly. “Well, I’ll see you some other time, Armin.” (Y/n) says. “Let me get the door for you.” I offer as I leave my side and open her door. “You’re such a gentleman.” (Y/n) says as she exits the car. I take a breath as I come up with a last second effort to get to stay with her longer. “Then would you consider joining me for dinner tonight? I’ll have my car so there won’t be won’t be a cab pulling up.” I ask. She gives me that beautiful smile of here that I’ve melted over every time she’s done it. “What time will you be here and what should I wear?”

On the outside, I’m slightly giddy with excitement, but on the inside I’m celebrating the hell out of this moment. “Does 6:30 work? (“Mhm.”) Want to go to Braus’ Kitchen? The owner’s an old friend of mine, but my roommates see her fairly often.” I suggest. “Then I’ll see you at 6:30, Armin.” (Y/n) tells me and then kisses my cheek before heading into her apartment building.

~~~

“And that’s how I met your mother.” I finish telling them the story. They look in awe at it which causes me to giggle. “Armin! Baby!” I hear (y/n) call from the living room. “Yes, sweetie?” I respond. “No! The baby!” (Y/n) restates. “The baby?” I ask quietly before realizing. “THE BABY! OOOOH KAY! Ok!”

I take the kids off my lap. “I’m gonna call Uncle Mikasa and Aunt Eren- I mean, Uncle Eren and Aunt Mikasa to watch you as I take mommy to go have your new baby sister, ok?” I tell them and then bolt out of my office to get the hospital bag from the master bathroom while calling Eren to watch the kids.

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angelmichelangelo · 4 years ago

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i’m about five years too late and nobody asked for this except me and i need to just get this out of my brain because it’s 2am so here’s a list of things i wish happened on glee that didn’t HERE WE GO:

- new directions being actual teenagers. just them hanging out. going to group sleepovers. giant study sessions (because school exists in this universe?) like remember in tpp when they were eating lunch together ? that’s what i wanted MORE of. just them being actual friends. a sleepover episode is all i wanted imagine all the abba songs we could have gained from that episode

- a halloween themed episode. the closest to this that we got was the ‘thriller/heads will roll’ mashup which YES was iconic but im greedy and it’s not enough. my idea for a halloween episode is that the gang gets trapped inside the school after staying behind to idk rehearse? or something? and then things get progressively worse as they start to go a little mad, thinking the school is haunted and they split up into pairs trying to find an escape and they think they’re seeing ghosts/someone lurking around the school and they’re getting real spooked but it turns out it’s just sue fucking with them lmao

- kurt and finn being brothers. THE POTENTIAL WAS THERE and sadly after furt we are left with crumbs. why ?? WHY?? little moments like finn saying that he’s driving back home with kurt or them saying they can’t do something because they have a family thing would have been good enough. more scenes of them hanging out in their home with their parents would have been *chefs kiss* but alas. it never happened because glee writers are bastards

- based off my last point: sam actually living at the hudson-hummel house because he actually did live there? but nothing is ever said like what’s the dynamic there why weren’t kurt and sam and finn close if they all lived together for what? like a year? was sam living in the mf shed? did he ever get close to carole and burt?? where tf did he live when everyone went off to college did he just stay in their house lol who knows not me LMAO

- blaine dealing with his trauma ? mental health was never dealt with very well on this show. emma’s ocd was just ignored after she got married or whatever and blaine mentioned his trauma once and then it was ignored until it was mentioned in passing a few seasons later and even he just brushed it off and it was never brought up again like wtf. i have no idea how they wrote a whole episode about hate crime in bash and they never once thought to have blaine and kurt have a single conversation together, let alone a conversation about how they’d both been victims of a hate crime. AND THE ONLY TIME BLAINE DOES MENTION IT IS IN TESTED WHERE ITS JUST USED AS A REASON FOR THEM TO FIGHT AAAAAAAA no wait im calm it’s okay. i just would have liked to have seen kurt and blaine have an emotional moment together in that episode that didn’t include blaine singing and kurt being knocked tf out. just sayin.

- kurt dealing with HIS trauma !! again, glee gets bad points for talking about mental health and it just is crazy that they had so much potential with kurt, ie: depression, anxiety, ocd (kinda?) his bullying, being literally assaulted (i see u ryan murphy taking that whole plot line so loosely mmhm) and then shoehorning in the fact that he was suicidal AT THE SECOND TO LAST EPISODE when they had a whole episode about suicide and they could have mentioned it at any time but ofc they didn’t because the writers just wanted to shove in as much as they could in the flashback episode AYE AYE AYE the potential!!!! oof.

- literally just more tina. jenna ushkowitz is a fantastic actor/singer/preformer and she was criminally underused. i like the episode props because of two reasons: one. everyone switching characters was amazing. and two. some actual tina scenes. even if she.. technically was rachel but also herself or something? either way. i digress

- this is just in general but MORE ABBA AND ALSO THE CARPENTERS and also some sound of music songs would have worked GREAT but they already had like a million songs and as the show progressed they veered away from old songs and more towards popular songs at the time to help chart numbers blah blah blah whatever it’s cool. but also how did they only do a few abba songs that is criminal

- a more fleshed out ending that wasn’t so rushed. like rachel won a tony and everyone else is just? there? why is sam at mr shue’s house ??? how did artie get up the stairs? did quinn graduate from yale? and where tf was kurt and blaine’s child during ‘i lived’ because burt and carole are vibing in the audience and rachel isn’t pregnant so like? is the baby just?? alone somewhere in the wings?! lmao where are u bby girl!! but once again i know they didn’t have the time to do it so idk it’s fine what they did it just sucks we didn’t get more! but again. fanfic exists so yah im all good

- more of blaine’s mum. or mom, in this case i guess. why cast gina gershon and then give her ONE line like ? ik there was a whole deleted script that explained why she was there but i love that up until that point blaine seemed like he genuinely murdered his parents, lived in their big house all alone and when people got suspicious he just told them that they were “out of town” :) either way pam is great i love her and i wish she had more to do in the one episode she was ever in. not even a moment with blaine?? wasted.

- more of cooper anderson, matt boomer is so fucking funny everytime i think of the emotion tornado i bust a lung laughing like it’s so fucking stupid but oh my good i love it. (and if you haven’t watched the special feature of cooper’s transformers audition tape please please watch it because it’s just so funny.) ik he was just a special guest but i wish they got him back for at least the wedding ep but guess my mans was just busy. boo ;(

- going back a couple of points, i wish they’d done a whole episode like props. every actor here just shines when they’re impersonating each other. finn and puck as kurt and blaine is beautiful and quinn and sugar is incredible. also idk why they refused kevin the right to wear the cheerios skirt; they could have put a little more effort into some characters but that’s glee for ya lmao but yeah. a whole episode like that would have been so much fun

- they should have let chris colfer write more episodes. purely for the fact that he wrote with his own bare hands the whole scene where lea michelle’s character gets dragged down a road by dogs. this guy. it’s a shame he only got to write one since he actually did a really good job! i would have loved to have seen what other episode ideas he had :)

- glee in the summer! obviously it only was centred around the school year but after season 3 who honestly gave a shit about the glee club and mckinley lmao i wanna see them in SHORT SHORTS and POOL PARTIES but nope we just got september - june so like rip all my hopes and dreams

- WHAT HAPPENED TO DALTON? bitch just burst into flames ?? and for WHAT?? oh yeah plot convenience smh this is so sad i wish they’d either written something better than “we need the warblers to team up with new directions so uhhh the school burnt down” like. it’s a private school. if the school is gone and they’re just staying at mckinley what are the parents paying for? they’re just cool with sending their kids off to public school now? every adult in this universe has been murdered by these kids, haven’t they? they’re just doing whatever they want jfc

- a wedding was a good episode. ish. and yknow, huge kudos to them because gay marriage wasn’t legal in the us at the time so im less harsh on the fact that they definitely threw up the rainbow flags and made it less about the characters getting married and more so “we have gay characters and look they’re getting married what a concept” but i do wish we could have gotten some more married!klaine since they don’t really have much to do after this understandably but a little moment alone together after the wedding would have been nice :) IT WOULD HAVE BEEN NICE IM TELLING YOU

- get rid of the hummelberry friendship and send mercedes to new york instead. i have nothing else to add to this other than the fact that i mourn the fact that kurt and mercedes went from bffs to just. school mates. this is tragic this is traaaaagic !! and all for more of the rachel berry show smh

- every day i wonder what was going through carmen tibideaux mind when she watched the kurt hummel preform not the boy next door and was like :) and then watched rachel berry have a breakdown on stage and then proceeded to give rachel the spot at nyada and kurt gets payed literal dust. and THEN she had the nerve to tell him it was because his performance had no heart. AND HOW DID ADAM GET IN THIS BABY GOT BACK MOTHERFUCKER?! nyada is a circus school oh my god !!!!! kurt deserved better im telling yall he deserved so much better

there’s so much more i could rant about but im going insane im so tired and i need psychological help after watching glee so im gonna leave it here and say peace out homies it’s been fun but i need to sleep so bad

#this is insanity #how did this happen #glee #tw hate crime mention #tw suicide mention #tw mental health mention #this was from my drafts lmao

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imagineaworlds · 4 years ago

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I Love You (Part Thirty) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing, murder-- everything Criminal Minds. Mentions of Dom/sub relationship.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 14765

Timeline: Season 4 Episode 18. A month after part twenty-nine.

Hotch’s hand was slowly running up and down my arm as I slept. After a few moments, he started whispering my name and I subconsciously realized that he was trying to wake me up. I groaned and rolled over onto my other side so that I was facing him. His thumb caressed my cheek lightly and I smiled against his touch. It was so early, way too early for anything but a case, but he didn’t seem to rush me awake, so I just continued to enjoy his touch and nothing else. While his hand drifted down to my arm to start gently squeezing and massaging, I leaned over and kissed his shoulder.

“I have to go out,” he whispered, still massaging my arm. I pouted and looked around his shoulder to see the clock on his nightstand. It was still the middle of the night. What the hell was he doing going out so late? I figured that if he was waking me up and seemed in a rush, it was likely due to another case, so I started to move like I was going to get ready for the day. Hotch grabbed my arm gently. “It’s not a case,” he said as though he had read my mind. “An old friend of mine called… He needs to see me; says that it’s important.”

I squinted and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “Why does he need to meet with you right now?”

Hotch shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ll tell you when I get back.” I nodded and laid back down. He kissed my forehead and tried to lean back up, but I caught the back of his head with my hand and brought him in for a kiss on the lips. “I love you. Try to fall back asleep.”

“I love you. Be safe.”

He pecked my lips before crawling off the edge of the bed to sneak out of the bedroom. I rolled back over onto my side of the bed, trying to find the darkness and peace behind my eyelids to fall asleep again, but I was already awake and worried about Hotch leaving. Of course, there was no doubt in my mind that he had a real, legitimate reason for leaving. I wasn’t the kind of person to just assume that he was cheating on me or something, because: one, he wouldn’t; two, he wouldn’t have woken me up to tell me he was leaving if he wanted to keep it a secret. But meeting an old friend so late at night and without warning seemed odd, to say the least. The fact that Hotch didn't know what it was about either put me on edge. What if he was in danger? What if he was going to get hurt and I had no idea where he was or who he was with? How was I supposed to sleep as that raced through my head?

I sat up as I heard his car backing out of the driveway, the headlights still off so that he wouldn’t disturb mine or Jack’s rooms. I brought my knees to my chest and hid my face in my palms. There was no reason to be worried about Hotch. None. Right? I was just nervous for nothing. New York still had me shaken up, still six months later. Every time he was out of my sight, I got worried that it would be the last time I would ever see him. I hated that feeling. I wanted it to end soon. I wanted to trust that Hotch was capable of just going to a friend’s house and that I didn’t need to constantly worry about every little thing he did. He was a grown man; he was going to be fine. But I still loved him, and I still worried about him. That would never change.

When the sun started to rise and my alarm went off, I checked my phone again. Hotch still hadn’t reached out. I tried not to think about it as I pushed the covers off my body and went to get dressed before waking up Jack. He was sure to have questions about where his dad was, and I honestly didn’t have any answers for him. I wished that I could look at him and tell him what was going on, but I really didn’t know. I wasn’t even sure how to lie about where his dad was, that was how out of the loop I felt. So, all I did was tell him that his dad needed to leave early for work and that we’d see him at dinner. Thankfully, Jack bought it, and he started getting ready for school.

By the time I dropped Jack off at school and made it to the office, Hotch still hadn’t called or texted. I was really starting to worry. If he wasn’t in his office, then I was going to storm into Garcia’s office and demand that she track his phone, because I wasn’t about to lose him. Not now. Not when I wasn’t there to help him.

Thankfully, though, after I passed Anderson on my way into the bullpen, I could see Hotch up in his office, finishing up a phone call. I let my shoulders fall in relief. Morgan turned in his seat to wish me a good morning, and I responded with a smile as I dropped my things off at my desk. As I walked towards Hotch’s office, I flicked the back of Morgan’s neck playfully, earning the snap of a rubber band against my elbow.

I scoffed. “I’m telling on you,” I teased, making my way up the ramp.

“Snitches get stitches!” he yelled out to me.

“Only if I get caught!” I winked. “Hey,” I walked into Hotch’s office. He looked up from his work on his desk, quickly hiding away whatever it was he had been reviewing and smiled at me. “You didn’t come home last night. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’m sorry if I worried you. I was going to call, but I didn’t want to wake you up.” He pushed himself out of his chair, walked about around his desk, and caught me by the waist using his arms. “Are you okay?”

“You had me worried.” I propped myself up on my tiptoes and leaned in for a quick kiss. “I didn’t end up falling back asleep because I thought you would come back or call.”

“I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head understandingly. “I get it. Did you talk to your friend?” I asked while pushing his hair back since he hadn’t run a brush through it yet. He nodded and kissed my forehead. “Care to share with the class?”

He smirked against my skin before pulling back. “Close the door,” he ordered. I nodded, sliding out of his arms to do as I was told. Hotch closed the blinds then met me on the couch. “I went to go see my old unit chief. He’s dying, and his last wish was to speak with me.”

My eyes softened and I ran my fingers on my left hand through his hair. “You’re a good man and friend for getting up in the middle of the night like that to go see him,” I complimented with a small smile. “But why didn’t he send for you sooner?”

Hotch looked over at the door and the blinds again to make sure that no one could walk in or see us talking. Whatever he had to say, it needed to stay between the two of us, and I was alright with that. “Back when I first started working at the BAU, I worked for a man named Tom Shaunessy. He taught me everything I know about profiling and being a good unit chief. In ‘98, we got a case where the Unsub was killing random couples on the highway, and I was the lead profiler for the very first time. We tried to build a loose profile based on what we had, but his M.O. was scattered, his victimology was unpredictable, and there was never any evidence. He got himself involved with the media, though, and they titled him The Reaper. And you know how it goes after the media names them, they usually get cocky and big headed. The Reaper, he started leaving symbols or messages at his scenes in order to taunt us. He killed well over a dozen people, and we never caught him. One day, Shaunessy came in and he sent us all home. He told us that the case was over, the trail had run cold, and we needed to move onto more prevalent cases. He was my boss, so I didn’t question it, and I haven’t even thought about it once in… years…” He looked over at the door again. “Shaunessy called me last night to tell me that he made a deal with The Reaper ten years ago to make the killings stop. We would stop looking for him and he would stop killing. That was the deal between Shaunessy and The Reaper, but now the Shaunessy’s dead, the contract will become null and void once The Reaper finds out.”

“Meaning that The Reaper will start killing again,” it dawned on me as I said it.

Hotch nodded. “He passed the case onto me.”

“Aaron—” I hesitated.

If Shaunessy was half as good as Hotch cracked him up to be, then it meant that he was the best of the best— more so than Rossi or Gideon ever were. The fact that Shaunessy and the BAU couldn’t catch The Reaper ten years ago was enough cause for concern. Would Hotch have to make the same deal? Or would we be able to catch him? Either way, it wasn’t fair of Shaunessy to dump this on Hotch’s lap. I didn’t like that this had him so shaken up. Cases like this hardly ever made Hotch blink twice, but now he was sitting across from me, scared to even tell me the truth.

“I know, I know,” he insisted. “But what choice do I have?”

“To not put yourself in the middle of this mess!”

“So, do what? Turn a blind eye and let him start killing again? Or do I get ahead of this guy and I finally catch him?”

“Yes, turn a blind eye. If it’s unsafe, then… yeah…”

“Why are you saying that?” he cocked a brow of curiosity, though his tone was more accusing. “You’d never turn down a case, especially if you knew that it was bad and important.”

I pulled my touch away from him entirely. It was a valid question, I supposed. In his shoes, I would have asked the same thing because it was so out of character for either of us to dodge or turn down a case—especially after I had basically just sent him down to Dallas on his own for a bit, even though he didn’t want to go. I had to tell him the truth. That was our deal. We didn’t keep secrets from each other because communication was of the utmost importance in our relationship. But it was starting to get tiresome to keep explaining to him that I was worried about him. That conversation always ended the same way every time. I’d start by telling him that I was still worried about him since New York, he’d counter by arguing that he was fine, and then I’d tell him that didn’t matter because I loved him and I was worried about him, and then it would end with him holding me and telling me he loved me. I’d forget about my worries for a bit, but then it would all come crashing back, and the cycle would continue. But he asked. His question was valid, and now I had to tell him the truth, unfortunately.

“If this guy got the best of Shaunessy, what’s to stop him from doing the same to you?” I asked, rather than answering first.

“I won’t take any deal, Y/N. You know that. I’m going to find this guy, and I’m going to put him away for good.”

“See how you’re saying ‘I’? Hotch, this isn’t just your case. We’re all here, and if you do this— which I don’t think you should— we’ll all help you. You can’t do this alone.”

“I have to.”

I raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“When I turn down his deal, because I know that he will make one, I can’t drag any of you into the mess. Shaunessy and I started this ten years ago; I can finish it.”

“Aaron. No.” I shook my head and stood from the couch. “I’m putting my foot down on this one. I can’t let you do this. If you think that it’s dangerous for us, then it’s dangerous for you. You’re not fucking doing it.”

“Y/N, stop it—”

“No!” I shouted a little too loud. Both of our gazes turned to the door and windows to make sure no one would come in to disrupt us. I took a moment to breathe. “Shaunessy was scared of this guy. You seem scared of this guy. I’m not doing this with you, Hotch. I’m not going to stay up every night for who knows how long while you’re off in Boston, chasing some guy who has had years to build up his thirst for blood. I’m not doing that to myself or Jack— or even the team. I can hardly sleep as it is. I worry about you constantly. If you’re going to do this, you need to have the team helping you. That’s my final offer, I swear, Aaron. So help me—”

“Fine!” he also shouted a little too loud, jumping out of his seat. “Just stop!” He walked over to me and put his hands on my face, “Stop…”

I let my eyes fall shut and I pressed my face against his chest. “I’ll always fight for you, Aaron. I made that promise to you a while ago. I’ll never stop fighting for you, but I can’t always be worried about you. Does that make sense?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry.” He hugged my shoulders, holding me close to his chest. “But I worry about you, too. And I don’t want you to get mixed up in a mess that I made.”

“Your messes are my messes, Aaron Hotchner. They always have been and always will be. That’s a part of loving you.”

I could feel him smiling as he kissed the top of my head. “Okay,” he gave in. “I love you.”

Since Hotch and I argued about The Reaper case, it had been a few days. JJ still didn’t have any new cases for us, but that didn’t stop Hotch from sitting in his office late at night and getting there early. He was coming home around midnight every night now, and he was leaving around five or six. Honestly, I don’t even think he was going to sleep. He was probably coming home just to make sure that Jack and I were safe, and to make sure that I was sleeping alright, and then he was leaving. I was worried, and I wasn’t really sleeping, but I feigned it all for Hotch. I was hoping that he’d get some sleep soon, or maybe he’d just spend some more time at home. Jack missed him. He was staying up as late as he could, procrastinating on his homework so that his dad could help him. Even if I tried to sit down and help him, he wouldn’t heed my advice. It was hard for him to know that his dad was in town, but he still didn’t get to see him.

On Wednesday, things still weren’t better. Our ten o’clock meeting came and went with no new cases, and all of my reports were done. Now it was a waiting game for something interesting to happen. Emily and I set up a trash can at the end of the bullpen, and what started as a paper airplane race quickly devolved into just crumpling up pieces of paper and seeing how many we could throw into the trash can from different distances. Once Morgan finished his work, he joined in, too.

“Y/N,” Hotch called calmly from his office. I looked up from my work to see what he needed, yet all he did was nod sideways towards his desk, gesturing that he needed to speak with me privately.

“Ooh, someone’s in trouble,” Morgan teased.

“Bite me,” I flicked the back of his neck again, just like I had the other day, while passing by his desk. This time, though, he didn’t have a rubber band ready to retaliate, so I made a slight run for it before he could shoot one at me. When I was at Hotch’s office, I closed the door behind me, and made my way over to his desk. He was standing, so I stayed on my feet, too. “What’s up?”

He threw a case file towards me onto his desk. “He struck last night.”

I carefully eyed him through my lashes as I grabbed the file and started looking through the first page. The Reaper. Hotch knew that this was coming, he had anticipated it ever since Shaunessy’s death a couple of days ago, but I didn’t think it would come this fast. It had to be The Reaper considering everything Hotch told me about him. He killed couples on the highway, always overkill with the female, and he left a drawing of an eye on the side of the car using the victims’ blood. This was The Reaper’s work. No one else’s. And, honestly, it terrified me. It meant that Hotch was finally being roped into something that was dangerous. We always knew that Unsubs could get to us one way or another, but this guy, whoever he was, clearly knew how to get to the BAU. He did it with Shaunessy, and now he was doing it with Hotch. I didn’t want us to become targets. But maybe that was the incentive to find him faster.

“I wanted to tell you first because I want to know if you’re still convinced that we need to do this together.”

“I am.”

“No, Y/N. I need you to look at everything in there, and then I need you to look me in the eye and tell me that this is our best move.”

I flipped through every page, taking in every detail of the case almost as fast as Reid would have. This guy wasn’t any worse than half of the cases I had worked while with the BAU, but what was terrifying about him was the control he clearly had over the feds and the media. Hotch was a stubborn man, and he wasn’t going to let The Reaper roll over him like he did with Shaunessy, but the fact that The Reaper managed to do it in the first place… that made him more dangerous than any Unsub I had ever come across. That might sound ridiculous but think about it. Most of the time, the Unsubs we went after were scared of us because they didn’t want to get caught. Even if they were dominant, cocky assholes, they were still playing a game or a dance around us to ensure that they wouldn’t get caught. But they always did. That was why we were good at our jobs. But then this guy came along, and he told Shaunessy: I’ll stop killing if you stop hunting me. And that deal sounded sweet because Shaunessy felt like he was saving lives. The Reaper had ten years to himself after making that deal. Ten years of letting his urge to kill eat him alive. Now that Shaunessy was gone, Boston was going to turn into a bloodbath, and when Hotch was inevitably going to turn down any deal thrown his way, it was surely going to make The Reaper spiral. This was only going to get worse. That was why we were scared. That was why we were terrified.

I looked up at Hotch. “We do this together.”

He stared at me for a moment, getting a read on my face while searching my eyes. I held true, showing no fear, despite the fact that it was bubbling in my stomach. I didn’t want him to become a target. I was petrified by the idea of losing him to this maniac while having just survived New York. But I couldn’t let Hotch know that. Ever. If he saw any sign of weakness, he’d pull the case from the BAU, and he’d go down to Boston to do it himself.

“Okay,” he finally gave in. “We’ll go to Boston, then.”

I silently thanked him for trusting me enough to listen to my advice. The other day, when we argued about it, I thought that he wasn’t listening, and that the first chance he’d get, he’d be gone to solve this on his own. But he got the case file, and he immediately confided in me. I was grateful for that. It went hand-in-hand with not keeping secrets from each other, another thing I was appreciating. We had grown so much as individuals, but even more as a couple over the past year and a half or so. It was a relief that he could trust me and talk to me like this. After everything we had been through, it was honestly a relief that he still kept me around.

“I’ll tell the team to meet in the boardroom,” I offered.

“There’s no time. We need to go straight to the jet.”

I nodded and turned on my heels to gather the team. “Grab your gear,” I told the bullpen as I hurried down the ramp.

“Finally!” Morgan cheered, spinning around in his chair.

“Two people are dead, Morgan. Maybe you shouldn’t cheer?”

Morgan grabbed his go-bag, threw it over his shoulder, and stood up. “Finally,” he said less enthusiastically before winking playfully.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re incorrigible.” I grabbed my go-bag. I maneuvered around Emily and Reid as we all started making our way towards the doors.

On the plane, Hotch immediately dove into what he knew about The Reaper. Everyone thought that we’d have a few minutes to settle down first, but Hotch collected everyone around the four seat table, handed out the case files Garcia had sent to the jet, and started reviewing what he knew from the initial investigation back in the 90’s. The entire time, I watched him closely. I kept up with what was saying, but I was more concerned about the fact that he looked more driven and tunnel visioned into a case than I had ever seen before. It was worrying. Hotch was a hard working man by nature, and he took each and every case as seriously as possible, leaving room for us to still be us outside of work, but he had never looked like this. As I stared at him, he didn’t glance once at me. The human body instinctually recognizes when it’s being watched, so there’s a natural, automatic need to check your surroundings when you get that feeling on the back of your neck. But Hotch didn’t look at me. He didn’t even look at the team. He was just flipping through the pages again and again. It reminded me of the time when Elle was taken hostage in Texas, and all I could focus on was rereading the case file over and over again until Hotch finally stopped me.

So, I did something unexpected.

When everyone was looking down, I reached up and put a hand over Hotch’s. He froze. After a short moment, he looked at me. For the first time on that flight, he stared into my eyes, and he smiled. I squeezed his hand gently before retreating entirely to look back down at the case. Everyone got back to work, too. They obviously saw what I did, even though I hadn’t intended for them to, so they tried to pretend like they weren’t watching.

The Reaper, according to Hotch, was all of the following: Dominant, proud, overconfident, highly intelligent, and news obsessed. Honestly, he sounded like every other Unsub. Issues arose, however, when he started losing the thrill of each kill, so he had to get more creative. He went to the police—specifically Shaunessy—and made that deal to have them stand down in exchange for his “retirement”, which gave him more power. He won back in the 90’s because he had the upper hand. Now that Shaunessy, the only man who truly knew that The Reaper had won, just died, he needed to start killing again in order to gain attention, and probably just to keep himself busy. A hiatus as long as his likely had him itching at his own skin. He was a wild psychopath on the loose with a thirst for blood, which meant that this would only get worse until we could capture him.

“There isn’t much here,” Morgan said after a few minutes. “How did you guys build this profile?”

Hotch sighed. “Technically, we didn’t. This is everything I’ve worked on over time. Back in ’98, this was my first case as lead profiler, but Shaunessy sent us home before we could get much work done. So, now we have to do it.” He closed the file in his hands. “To start, I want Y/N and Reid to come to the recent crime scene with me. Prentiss, Rossi, and Morgan, start building the profile at the precinct. JJ, we need to contain this in the media before it gets him off—”

“I’ll shut it down faster than you can say ‘Boston’,” she said with a smile.

Hotch nodded a “thank you” to her before sighing and resting his head against the side of the plane. He had been rushing to discuss the profile, but now that we had done everything we could, I could tell that he was mentally and emotionally drained. That was what he got for pushing himself too hard. Imagine what would’ve happened if he did all of this on his own.

Over the span of five years, The Reaper managed to kill twenty-one people. By the time Hotch got involved, eighteen people were already dead, and under his watch, three people died. Now that the Reaper was back, two people were already dead. This wasn’t going to end anytime soon. Hotch was already exhausted, and The Reaper had only just begun. Since Hotch knew the truth about Shaunessy’s deal, he had to be vigilant on this case, making sure that it didn’t get personal. If The Reaper found a way to get in contact with us, there was no doubt he would try to offer up a similar deal. Hotch didn’t like letting the bad guys get away. He didn’t like when they died, and he didn’t like when they got away. Therefore, there was no chance in hell Hotch was going to give into any deal. He told me that himself. What terrified me most was that Hotch’s defiance would end with The Reaper going after him… What was I supposed to do then?

When we landed in Boston, Hotch, Reid, and I took a separate vehicle from everyone else. We headed straight to the latest crime scene, as planned, while the others headed to the precinct to get settled. Technically, we weren’t on this case yet. Hotch had gotten wind of this recent crime scene, and he knew that it had to do with The Reaper, so he leapt at the chance. However, this still wasn’t our case. Rules were rules. Hotch was always a rule follower, especially when it came to jurisdiction. If we weren’t invited onto the case, then we had no right to be there. But Hotch hoped that by asking in person, there was a chance that the lead detective on the case, O’Mara, would bring us on to help.

Hotch and I were in the front seat during the drive. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught how white his knuckles were turning as he kept squeezing the life out of the steering wheel. I had never seen him so tense before. I was really worried. If this got personal for him, it was my duty to tell Rossi to pull him off the case. Right? I mean, when cases got too personal for me, Hotch immediately benched me—or at least tried. Especially since New York, there was no way in hell I was going to let Hotch cloud his judgement by making this a personal thing. If he didn’t ease up soon, I was going to talk to Rossi… Or, if it came to it, I’d call Strauss. That wouldn’t exactly make Hotch too happy, but I would do what was necessary in order to protect him. I understood suddenly how he felt about me. Fuck.

He parked the car outside of the yellow tape. “Wait here. I’ll talk to the lead detective about asking us to join the case. We know each other from the first wave of cases. If he talks to just me, he might be more inclined to invite us in.” Hotch got out of the car, leaving me and Reid in silence.

As we waited and watched Hotch head over to O’Mara, I took note of what I could see at the crime scene from a distance. The victims’ car was taped off up ahead. The media was standing around the tape, trying to get a better look at the bodies inside the car and the blood painted on the driver’s side door. There was a trail of blood on the pavement. It had been washed away somewhat by the rain, but the general outline of the blood was clear enough to indicate that one of the bodies had been dragged from the street to the car. Probably the driver.

That was all I could see from where we were, though. Without getting a closer look, I wouldn’t be able to deduce much. I couldn’t even see what the blood spatter on the car’s exterior looked like, I just knew that it was there. And like he could read my mind, Hotch looked over to the car, then waved us over. Reid and I got out, ducked under the yellow tape, then strided over to Hotch and the detective.

“Detective O’Mara, this is Dr. Spencer Reid and Agent Greenaway. The rest of my team is setting up at the precinct.” Hotch gestured to each of us respectively. I shook the detective’s hand, then watched as he tried to shake Reid’s, only to be met with a polite wave. I snorted lightly. Hotch and Reid both glared at me. “Do you mind if we take a look around?”

O’Mara shook his head. With his thick Boston accent, he responded, “Take as long as you need, do whatever you need to do. I trust you, Aaron.”

“Thanks, Mike.”

The three of us turned to look at the car and the bodies still inside it while O’Mara ordered his men out of the way. Reid started reviewing the victims’ information aloud, but I stepped away to think on my own while canvassing the car. As I had seen before from a distance, there was blood trailing from crime scene markers 3 and 7 all the way to the car door. Drawn onto the silver paint was The Reaper’s symbol in blood. I recognized it from the files Hotch showed me when we initially discussed The Reaper. I didn’t know what the symbol was, though. It was an eye with lines coming out of it—almost like eyelashes… or like the protruding lines Jack would draw on a sun doodle to represent the sunrays. Maybe it meant we were being watched? I wasn’t sure.

I looked into the car, leaning in through the window to get a look at the bodies. Hotch came up behind me and handed me a pair of blue rubber gloves. I silently thanked him. While sliding the gloves on, I took note of the male victim’s rolled up left sleeve, revealing that he had a tan line where a watch used to be. According to Reid’s narration, this victim’s name was Evan Harvey. He was a twenty-three year old recent college graduate, traveling to visit his parents with his girlfriend, Nina Hale, nineteen. For a man who was bludgeoned repeatedly, then shot execution style, Evan’s body seemed pretty… intact. I mean, he was hardly recognizable behind all of the blood, but everything else about him looked put together. He was a poster child for a low-risk victim. What stuck out to me the most were the glasses on his face. If The Reaper had beat him with a tool of some kind, Evan’s glasses would’ve been completely shattered, bent, and ruined. They wouldn’t be sitting perfectly on his broken face. So, The Reaper posed him that way. The question was, why?

I stepped out of the way so that Hotch could get a look at Evan while I went around the car to look at Nina in the passenger’s seat. She was in much worse shape than Evan was. His face was the only thing that had been destroyed by The Reaper, but when it came to Nina, every part of her was destroyed. He had started by stabbing her forty-six times. Everywhere from her shoulders, breasts, stomach, even her thighs, were completely torn up from the overkill. And then he slashed her throat to finally end the torture.

“Reid, look at this,” Hotch said as he leaned out of the car. I looked up shortly to see what they were talking about. Hotch had grabbed Evan’s wallet from his pocket to inspect something. “The glasses.”

Reid ducked down to look at Evan, Nina, me, then he stood and looked at Evan’s wallet again. “His eyesight’s perfect. He doesn’t need to wear glasses.”

Hotch sighed. “The Reaper always took something from each of his victims so that he could leave it on the next, that way we knew he was responsible. It was another way of claiming dominance and power. He took Evan’s watch and left George Foyet’s glasses.”

“George Foyet?” Reid inquired.

“The Reaper’s last victim.”

I stood and circled the car again. Crime scene markers 1 and 6 represented the two flat tires on the car. I bent down to get a good look. I glanced around and asked one of the uniforms if they had a carjack. He nodded and raced off to grab one from the trunk of his police car, then returned to hand it to me. I knelt down and started jacking up the car so that I could get a quick look at the tires before Hotch could yell at me for doing so. I didn’t need it to go very far. The second I could see under the tire, I realized what had happened, so I set the car back down and handed the jack back to the cop.

“Nails,” I said, standing up. Hotch and Reid looked at me with curious faces. “There are about seven different five-inch drywall nails embedded in the tire back here.”

Telling by the fact that there were so many nails, and they all seemed to strike both back tires, I was inclined to assume that this was on purpose. The Reaper probably planted the nails in the road, then waited for a random car to pass in order to let fate choose his victims.

“Reid, do you know what the drawing on the car means, if anything?” I asked.

He stepped back to get a better look at it. “The Eye of Providence.”

“Explain.”

He perked up at the opportunity to explain something—since the chance hardly ever arose. “The U.S. Government adopted the symbol in order to incorporate it into the Great Seal in 1782 with the words, ‘Annuit Coeptis’ inscribed underneath. You can still see it on the one-dollar bill today.”

“What does Annuit Coeptis mean?” Hotch asked.

“It’s Latin for fate.”

“The word ‘FATE’ was written on the wall in blood at the Foyet crime scene back in ’98.”

“My best bet, then, is that The Reaper sees himself as the personification of fate.”

“Maybe. But, then, why would he make a mistake like leaving Foyet alive?”

“He survived?’ I asked in shock. After seeing the brutality of this crime scene, I couldn’t understand how anyone could possibly survive anything like this…

“Yeah,” Hotch nodded. “Him and his girlfriend, Amanda, were attacked in their car when driving home from a date night. Foyet told police that The Reaper stopped them by pretending to be a lost tourist in need of directions. He stabbed Amanda and stabbed Foyet thirty-two times each.”

“Thirty-two? And he lived?” Reid seemed just as shocked as I was. The likelihood that Foyet could have survived that was next to impossible. He was incredibly lucky. “How did they save him in time before he bled out?”

“The Reaper called the police from the crime scene. There was an off-duty ambulance nearby, so they raced to resuscitate him.”

“He called during each crime?” I interrogated.

Hotch nodded.

“But he didn’t make a call this time.”

“He must’ve learned his lesson last time,” Reid said.

“Hotch,” O’Mara called, hurrying over, “there’s a reporter over there that wants to talk to you. It’s Roy Colson.”

Hotch sighed and silently left to go handle it. I didn’t understand. Hotch didn’t handle the media because that was JJ’s job. Why would some reporter ask specifically for Hotch, especially when we were busy like this, and Hotch was taking all the pressure?

A few minutes later, when Hotch was done talking with the reporter, he walked back in our direction, yet he didn’t stop until he got to the car. Reid and I took the hint. We headed to the car, too, getting back into our seats that we had been in when we arrived, and Hotch started driving off. The ride was silent since Hotch was lost in thought, and Spencer and I were busy with adding our crime scene notes to our files so that we could catch the team up when we would get to the precinct.

When we parked in front of the local police station, Hotch said, “Y/N, when we get inside, I want you to meet up with Morgan and find Foyet for questioning. Last I heard, he went off the grid. You might have to work with Garcia to find him.”

I nodded and headed inside. The team, as expected, was already set up in a boardroom. They had case files and boxes littered around, a fresh, hot coffee pot nearby, and a bulletin board filled with pictures, names, and notes. I sat down next to Morgan. Taking a few minutes to finish up my own notes, I gave Morgan some time to finish what he was working on. After a bit, I asked him if I could borrow his help. He closed his file and looked at me. I explained everything Hotch told me about George Foyet, then said that he wanted us to find Foyet and question him. The issue was, we were going to have to dig to find Foyet, since he went underground.

Morgan immediately called Garcia. I thought it would’ve been fun to figure it out ourselves, but he was being a little lazy, so he wanted to cut corners. Garcia would be able to find Foyet without breaking a sweat.

“Mmm…” she hummed out of curiosity. “I’m gonna have to do some more digging. I’ll call you back when I have something.”

“Thanks, baby girl,” Morgan said.

A few minutes later, after we told Hotch that it would take some time to find Foyet, he insisted that we should give the profile to the local P.D. in the meantime.

I hadn’t actually heard the term “omnivore” used in regards to a profile before. I mean, I knew of it while studying to be a profiler, but I had never heard anyone on the team use it during a case before. We dealt with plenty of omnivores before, sure. But this was different. Since Hotch had been building this profile over the span of years, he was pulling out all the stops. He wanted to sound impressive. He wanted to be impressive. He didn’t want to make it seem like he had just been sitting on his ass since 1998, not doing a damn thing about The Reaper.

The term “omnivore”, in our line of work, referred to a very specific type of psychopath. An omnivore was someone who didn’t choose a specific victim type. They were opportunistic people. If the situation arose for the perfect crime, they would take it. Like The Reaper, for instance. What we saw with Evan Harvey and Nina Hale was due to unfortunate circumstances. He left out nails on the road, then waited around for someone to appear. It didn’t matter who, it just mattered that it happened. It needed to happen because of the fame, not the thirst for blood. Yes, that was always a factor when it came to psychopathic serial killers, but with omnivores, the media and the fame was just as important as quenching that thirst. Because of that narcissistic mindset, it was damn near impossible for omnivores to maintain any kind of close relationship. As always, there were outliers. The Reaper, however, did not pose as an outlier to us. It seemed that his main focus was on the fame and dominating the police. No one would be able to befriend or fall in love with someone like that.

Hotch made it clear that although we were also profiling The Reaper as a Hebephile—someone attracted to younger people, specifically teenagers—that didn’t mean he could get it up. One of the first things any potential profiler would learn was the serial killers who used knives did it because they were impotent. They couldn’t get it up, so they used the penetration of a blade to make up for that. The Reaper loved using knives. We saw the overkill with Nina Hale, and with Amanda, Foyet’s girlfriend. He couldn’t rape them, so he took the next best option. It was important to note that in the profile we gave to the police because we were therefore looking for someone who worked with young girls. A teacher, a coach, a tutor, even a pediatrician. We were especially looking for anyone with a record within the last ten years. There was no way a guy like this hadn’t been arrested previously.

My phone started ringing just as we started wrapping up the profile, I looked to see that it was Garcia. I excused myself from the team. As I stepped away into a private room, I answered the call, not finding enough energy to respond to her sassy pickup line. Maybe I should’ve been snippy enough with her to make her bad news blow over better. She told me the worst thing imaginable: Penelope Garcia couldn’t find George Foyet. There weren’t many times when Garcia couldn’t pull through for us, yet somehow this was one of those times. I didn’t understand. She explained that he had gone completely off the grid, getting rid of his entire past and turning into a ghost. Probably on purpose. I didn’t blame him. If I knew that there was a serial killer out to get me, I’d go underground, too.

“Okay. Thank you, Garcia.”

“You’re welcome.” She hung up without her usual, peppy self.

I sighed and buried my phone in my pocket. I was sorry that I couldn’t match her upbeat personality that afternoon, but trying to keep up with Hotch’s intensity was… well, I was just as exhausted as Hotch was, I was sure.

“What’s wrong?” Hotch asked, stepping into the room and taking note of my worry and confusion.

“Garcia can’t find Foyet,” I admitted. “He’s disappeared entirely in order to hide from The Reaper.”

Hotch shook his head and fished out his phone. “I don’t know how I didn’t think of this sooner…”

“What?”

“I might know someone who knows where Foyet is.”

I perked up slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah. Give me a second to make a call.”

I nodded and stepped out of the room to give him privacy. I leaned against the wall just beside the door frame while biting my nails nervously, watching the team as they talked with some of the uniforms that had questions about the profile they just finished presenting. It only took another minute or so before Hotch knocked on the window on the door. I jumped slightly. As I caught my breath and calmed my nerves, I pushed into the room again.

“So?” I asked.

“I got the address.”

“You want to go?”

He nodded. “You’ll come with me?”

“Always.”

He smiled at me. As I smiled back at him, he stepped forward and kissed my forehead. It was a silent thank you for bearing with him through all of this, but he had to know that I didn’t need a thank you. I loved my job, and I loved him. If something meant a lot to him, I was going to go out of my way to make it mean a lot to me, too. Whatever he needed, whenever.

It was already getting late by the time we arrived at Foyet’s address. When we first spotted him, he was walking home from the grocery store, his arms full of grocery bags. We gave it a moment to make sure the coast was clear. We didn’t want to accidentally lead The Reaper straight to George Foyet. That wouldn’t have been fair to him. But once we were sure that no one was watching us or him, we got out and met him on the sidewalk.

“George Foyet?” I inquired. He looked up at us with worry. “It’s alright. We’re with the FBI.” He relaxed, but only slightly. I showed him my credentials to make him feel better, and Hotch followed my lead. “I’m Agent Greenaway. This is SSA Hotchner.”

“We’ve met once before,” Hotch said. “Do you remember me?”

Foyet nodded. “Of course. You helped save my life.” He glanced over his shoulder, searching up and down the street to make sure no one was watching us. “Would you mind if we got off the street, please?”

Hotch and I nodded. Foyet pushed past us with a limp, leading us up to a house just down the block. He coughed as he struggled to get his keys out of his pocket while juggling his groceries. I offered to take something for him, and he thanked me before handing me one of the brown paper bags. He coughed again as he opened the door. His coughing was deep, with a painful wheeze that told me this wasn’t just a cough from the cold or because he had a cold. This was a serious, dangerous cough.

As we walked into his small home, he guided us to the kitchen where I set the bag down on the counter for him. He quietly thanked me. I nodded as he coughed again. He sat down at the kitchen table, trying to catch his breath while adjusting his glasses on his nose. At least he got a new pair since his attack all those years ago. That was a plus… Right? Honestly, I couldn’t imagine being in his shoes. I pitied the guy. Getting stabbed as meant times as he did probably affected his health more than we could ever know. And there was no one there to help him. He was all alone, navigating this without any friends, families, or loved ones. I could only hope that if something like that ever happened to me, Hotch and the team could be by my side to support me

“How did you guys find me?” he asked.

“Roy Colson,” Hotch answered.

Foyet’s face fell at the realization. He had been so careful attempting to cover his tracks, but the one person he trusted to keep his identity a secret just betrayed him. “Oh.” He pointed to the medicine on the counter beside me as he started to cough loudly once more. I caught the hint, handing him the orange bottle as quickly as I could. After he popped a pill and swallowed hard, he asked, “Is this going to take long? I don’t want to be late for work.”

“What do you do?” Hotch inquired.

“I’m a freelance computer specialist for the city. I could get fired if I’m late.”

“This won’t take long, I swear,” I said. “We just want you to tell us what you can remember from the night The Reaper attacked you.”

“So, the recent attacks aren’t copycats?”

I shook my head.

“I knew it…” he said woefully. “I was going to propose to Amanda that night… I was going to do it at the restaurant, but I cowered out of it at the last second. We were heading home, and my plan was to do it there. But when we got in the car, he approached our window, pretending to be a lost tourist. I rolled down my window and tried to give him directions… That was when he dropped the map and stabbed me.” He started to cry. “I couldn’t do anything… I just sat there, bleeding out, listening to her scream and cry my name… I wanted to help her—I wanted to save her, but I couldn’t.” He shivered and sobbed. “Do you know how long it takes to stab someone thirty-two times? It felt like years… It felt like I was stuck in that seat every second for years, and there was nothing I could do to make time speed up.” He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. “I never found the ring. He took it. I thought that he was going to put it on the next victim, but the next one never came…” He looked at me. “What did he put on them?”

“Who?” I asked.

“The most recent victims. You wouldn’t be here unless it was about those murders last night.”

I shuffled on the balls of my feet. “He left your glasses.”

“So, that son of a bitch still has Mandy’s ring?!” He broke down again. “No… You can’t let him put it on another victim. You can’t let him ruin that for me.”

“Mr. Foyet, have you received any odd calls recently?” Hotch interrogated.

He shook his head. “I have multiple residences that I move between randomly so that no one can get ahold of me.”

“What about your work?”

“If they want to talk to me, they have to wait to see me in person.” He grabbed a napkin from the table to use as a tissue. “He likes to kill people in their cars, so I’ve been taking the bus. I’ve done everything in my power to make sure no one can get to me. Especially him.”

“We’ll need your other identities and residences so that we can get ahold of you,” I said.

He nodded. “Okay.”

Hotch pulled out a notepad and pen from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “We can put you under protection to keep you safe.”

“You can’t protect me,” he scoffed. “No one can.” He started scribbling all of his information down. “You have to be careful with this, Agent Greenaway. Please. I’m entrusting you with my life.”

“I understand.” My eyes pouted in pity. I took the notepad from him. “We can check on you tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“No. The more you come around, the more likely he is to find me.”

Fair enough, I thought. The longer we were with him, the more danger he was in, too. So, Hotch and I thanked him for meeting with us, then left to drive back to the precinct. When we arrived, Hotch paused and sighed before getting out of the car. I eyed him warily. As we crossed the street, Hotch approached a man standing just in front of the entrance to the precinct. When he spotted us, he jumped onto his toes.

“Y/N, this is Roy Colson. He and I met in the 90’s. He wrote the biography on The Reaper.” Hotch sighed. “What are you doing here?”

“This arrived at my office this morning,” Roy said while handing a letter preserved in a laminated cover to Hotch. “I didn’t know what else to do, since you asked me to hold the story and whatnot.”

“It’s just a copy of what he sent to the police during the original case,” Hotch said.

“I know. But the only people who have it are the police and The Reaper. So, if the cops didn’t send it to me, we know who did.”

“We’ll run this in the lab for DNA. Thanks, Roy.”

“No problem.”

“We’ll be in touch again, if we need.”

“Got it.”

Hotch and I nodded politely in his direction before continuing on into the precinct. Inside, Hotch gave the letter to Reid, who was supposed to take it with him to the lab to get it tested for DNA while also inspecting its authenticity. As for the rest of us, however, it had already been a long day. We had done so much already. It was imperative that we take a break, get some rest, refresh ourselves so that we could come back the next day to be as good as new. So, Hotch sent everyone to the hotel for the night.

When we got to the hotel, Hotch immediately sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked so tired. He seemed worn out and worried, which was only worrying me, which would only worry him, and the cycle would continue. It wasn’t healthy. The best way to sort this all out was to get him to just talk to me. He would be reluctant to do so, but I’d force it out of him eventually. Aaron Hotchner sucked at keeping secrets from me. He tried multiple times, and each time I found out, I got pissed. Now, this wasn’t necessarily a secret, but he was certainly bottling something up, and I just needed him to get it off his chest.

So, I strolled over to him and brushed my fingers through his hair. He sighed away his worries. I smiled lightly and kissed his head as I moved to straddle his lap, my knees squeezing his thighs. Hotch grabbed onto my ass to keep me steady. We took a moment to just sit calmly and in silence, giving him a chance to sort his thoughts out because we both knew that I would eventually ask him to tell me everything. I could spare some time to let him breathe. I could spare all the time in the world for him. If just holding me in his arms for a few minutes was all it took to let him catch his breath, then I was fine with that. I would always be fine with that.

I wiped my palms over his face, clearing away any stubborn wrinkles he had from thinking too hard. “You okay?”

“I’m really worried about this one, baby,” Hotch said as I kissed his forehead. “This case has always stuck with me. Why?”

“Because you don’t like letting the monsters roam free.”

He shook his head. “There’s something more than that. There’s something… off. It’s just under my nose, and I can’t figure out what it is. I wish I could. But I can’t. I’m worried that my inability to comprehend what’s wrong here is inevitably going to come back to bite me in the ass.”

“You can’t give into all of that fate bullshit, Aaron.” I tucked my hair behind my ears and went to the bathroom to start getting ready for the night.

“I’m just worried…” he muttered under his breath.

The phone started ringing while I was brushing my hair out. “Babe?!” I called out to him, almost like a plea for him to answer it because I couldn’t. I heard him stand from the bed and walk to the phone. It stopped ringing as he answered.

“Hotchner.”

I stepped to lean against the doorframe. Hotch’s side profile was facing me, giving me enough of him to look over in both a lustful and profiling way. I was admiring him and his tight muscles under his shirt. He looked so good like that. His biceps were flexing while holding the phone up to his ear, and it made me want him. But then I saw his pale face. He looked as if he had seen a ghost, and my desire was quickly replaced by worry.

Hotch turned to face me. “You think I’d take that deal?” he asked into the phone. Deal? Deal as in the deal that The Reaper made with Shaunessy? Was that why Hotch looked pale? Did The Reaper call our hotel room? “I don’t care if it’s a good deal.” He was silent again for a bit. “I’ve misjudged you,” he said as his demeanor changed. He was using the profile we built on The Reaper to take the upper hand in this case. Good. “I thought you were smarter than this.” Silence again. “Then you’ve misjudged me.” Hotch’s eyes shot wide and he looked at me suddenly. I pushed off the doorframe and cautiously approached him. His eyes seemed to flutter shut in peace when I put my hands on his shoulders to calm him down. “I don’t make deals. You can threaten me and them all you want, but I’m not going to stop. I’m the guy who hunts guys like you. Threatening them only makes my urge to track you down stronger.” Hotch turned out of my touch so that he could slam the phone down to hang up.

“Was that The Reaper?” I inquired, even though I already knew the answer. Hotch grabbed my hips and pulled me close. He nodded shortly. “He threatened you?”

“And you.”

“Of course, he did,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “But you didn’t take his deal?”

“I told you I wouldn’t.” He draped his arms over my shoulders, keeping me close in a tight hug. “You still believe that my messes are your messes?”

“They always are and always will be.”

The phone started ringing again, making Hotch and I both jump. As we settled, we both chuckled lightly. It was just a phone call. It couldn’t hurt us. So, Hotch leaned over to answer the phone again, and I held onto his elbows, refusing to let go, especially after what just happened. Hotch was protective, everyone knew that, but when someone threatened him, I felt the need to protect him, too. It came with the territory of loving someone like him in our field of work. After the call The Reaper just made to our hotel room, there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to let anything happen to Hotch. I didn’t care about what could happen to me. I only cared about protecting him.

“Hotchner.” He turned back to face me while talking on the phone, so I buried my face in his chest, running my fingers over his abs through his shirt. He tensed. “Thanks for letting me know.” His tension wasn’t in response to my light, tickling touch, but to whatever happened on that call. He hung up just as quickly as he had answered. “There’s a new crime scene.”

“It’s only been a few minutes—”

“He knew I was going to turn him down. He was waiting.”

“Aaron, before we go, you need to know that it’s not your fault. If he was really waiting on you, then he was just looking for an excuse to kill someone—”

He pushed me off his chest and went to grab his suit jacket. I watched him silently. When he went to the bathroom to gel his hair back, I sucked in a deep breath, trying to collect my security. He pushed me off because he was upset at the case, not at me. I had to remember that.

“It’s not your fault,” I insisted again as he hurried for the hotel room door. He didn’t listen to me. He started walking down the hallway, knocking on the team’s doors when he passed them. “Aaron, please!” I skipped a few steps to catch up to him. “We knew this would happen!”

Hotch stopped and turned on his heels abruptly, making me crash into him. “He killed seven people on a bus, Y/N!”

I stumbled back. I stared at him in shock for a moment before letting him go on his own. The doors behind me opened. After a moment, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned to see that it was Reid who had come to check on me. My eyes softened.

“We have a new crime scene. Tell the others.” I shrugged out of his touch gently before walking off, too.

At the crime scene, Hotch was already on the bus, looking around at the chaos The Reaper created. The team, since we had only just arrived, filed onto the bus to get a look, too. As I stepped on, Hotch immediately pushed past me. I scoffed. Then, I tried to make a move to follow him.

“Stay here, kiddo,” Rossi warned, holding up a hand. My shoulders fell in defeat. I stepped out of the way so that Rossi could chase after Hotch instead of me. “It’ll be okay,” he said while passing me.

I sighed and shuffled through the rows of seats, counting the bodies. Yep. There were seven people. The driver up front… He was wearing Amanda’s engagement ring. That was the first thing I noticed. George Foyet begged us to not let The Reaper ruin that good memory for him, and we broke that promise— I broke that promise. How was I supposed to tell him the truth? How were we supposed to give notifications of death to seven different families?

A tear slid down my cheek.

We knew that this would happen. Hotch had been saying since the very beginning that The Reaper would inevitably attempt to make a deal with him, and he would turn it down. But we hadn’t anticipated that the repercussions would happen so fast. There was no time to warn the team, the Boston Police, or even the city. We could’ve saved lives if the deal had come at any other time. That was why Hotch blamed himself. He felt like these seven deaths were on his hands because he wouldn’t make a deal with the Devil. And, honestly, he had every reason to believe that, especially with the note drawn in blood on the window that read: “NO DEAL”.

Besides the “NO DEAL” message, there were three sets of numbers painted onto the windows, too. “1439”, “201”, and “1488”. I cocked a brow. Those numbers… They looked so familiar. I had no idea why, but they were ringing some bell in my head that I couldn’t understand. So, I asked Reid if he recognized them. He shrugged and shook his head. Well, if boy genius couldn’t put it together, then we were fucked.

And then it dawned on me.

“Holy shit…” I raced out of the bus, pushing past Emily inconsiderably, then hurrying onto the road. I stopped for a moment to look around for Hotch. When I spotted him and Rossi talking to O’Mara, I ran over. “Hotch!” He turned to me with panicked eyes. “The numbers—” I pointed to the bus, “They’re Foyet’s address numbers. He knows where Foyet lives!”

“This bus is the 7 line,” O’Mara said, “it runs right by that first address, 1439 Yarbrough.” He was already running to jump into his car.

“Foyet’s in trouble,” I said to Hotch.

Hotch scratched his five o’clock shadow. “We’ll split up and cover each of the addresses. Y/N, go with Morgan to 1439, Emily and Reid will go to 201, and Rossi and I will head to 1488.”

“Morgan!” I called out as I turned around. He looked up at me through the bloody windows of the bus. When I gestured to one of the cars, he nodded, then raced out to meet me there. “Drive,” I told him, tossing the keys in his direction.

As he started the car up, I opened the trunk just wide enough to get ahold of two of the blue bullet proof vests, then slammed it shut and hurried to jump into the passenger’s seat. Morgan started up the lights and sirens. We were off before anyone else. I started putting on my vest while we drove, just to save time. When we would get there, we would have to wait a moment for Morgan to strap his on, but this way we were a little bit ahead of schedule.

The second we were parked in front of the house that Hotch and I met George Foyet at, I tossed him his vest, then got out of the car. I unholstered my weapon. As I glanced around the street, I saw O’Mara’s car parked just a few houses down. When Morgan was ready, he unholstered his gun, too, and turned on the flashlight he had attached to his. Fucking hell, I needed to upgrade mine like that. Maybe I could beg him to do it for me for my birthday or something.

We ran up to the front door, but I held him back when I saw that it was open. O’Mara must’ve already gone inside without back up. Idiot. That being said, we still had to clear the house ourselves, just in case. The best way to do that was to take a floor each. Morgan and I agreed that he would check the ground floor, meanwhile I’d race upstairs to clear the upper floor.

“Don’t shoot O’Mara,” I whispered.

Morgan rolled his eyes, then pushed the door open. As he ran into the pitch-dark living room, I skipped up the twelve steps of the stairwell. At the top, I took notice of how many rooms there were to clear. Three. A bedroom, a bathroom, and a spare room. I held my breath as I turned into the spare room. There was absolutely nothing in there. Foyet probably didn’t choose that as his bedroom considering how close it was to the front door. I didn’t blame him. So, I moved onto the bathroom. Nothing and no one.

I froze as I turned into the bedroom. Detective O’Mara’s body was on the floor, his shirt drenched in his own blood from being stabbed dozens of times in the back. His gun was nowhere to be found. My breath quivered as I quickly stepped into the room, clearing the corners before someone could jump me, then checking the closet and the bathroom to make sure no one could get me like they did with O’Mara. There was no one there, though. I was all alone. Well, alone with O’Mara’s dead body, but still. The concern was that there was no sign of Foyet, no sign of The Reaper, and there was a dead cop on the floor.

Suddenly, the sound of a window breaking echoed throughout the house. “Morgan!” I cried out. I jumped onto my toes and started racing back downstairs. “Morgan!” I called again when he wasn’t responding. I ran into the living room to see the front window completely smashed open like someone had been thrown through it. I heard painful groaning coming from the front yard. “Morgan!” I peeked out the open window frame with my gun raised. “Morgan, no—” I saw him lying on his back in the grass. He was half awake, barely writhing around, still groaning in agony. I jumped out the window and fell to my knees beside him. I grabbed his face long enough to see that his eyes were fluttering open. “Morgan, where is he?” He didn’t respond. “Is he still here?”

“No…” he croaked weakly.

“Where did he go?”

Morgan didn’t respond again. I figured that he only had enough strength to warn me that The Reaper was gone, and that was all. He did good, though. It meant that I could call in for help while staying with him instead of going back into the house to keep searching for an Unsub who was long gone.

I pressed the comm on my shoulder. “Morgan’s down! We need back up. O’Mara’s dead, Foyet’s gone, and The Reaper left after attacking Morgan!” I put my hands back on Morgan. “Look at me, Derek. Keep your eyes open.”

He groaned and tried to hand something to me. “Take—” He couldn’t finish what he wanted to say, but I caught the hint, quickly taking what it was that he was holding onto.

My face fell. “Morgan…” I turned the bullet over in my palm. “I…” A tear slid down my cheek. He always took something from his victims and gave something from the last one. What I didn’t understand was why he didn’t leave something from one of the last victims. Why this bullet?

“Cred—” He groaned and patted his pocket. “My… Creds…”

I frantically looked into his pocket, ignoring how weird it would’ve been if it were anyone but my partner. I was shocked to find that his credentials weren’t in his pocket, though, which was probably what he was trying to tell me in the first place. The Reaper left a bullet, but took Morgan’s FBI credentials—the thing that identified him as an agent. The thing that represented how far he had come since Buford. How did The Reaper know to take that one thing?

I pressed my palms against his cheeks. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Foyet…”

I shook my head. “I don’t know where he is.”

“No—” He gasped for air. “The kitchen… Blood…”

“Is Foyet dead?”

“I don’t know.”

He gasped again, this time more deeply as he caught his breath. He was already sounding better, but he wasn’t looking better, which was a concern. I knew that he was going to shrug this off. The minute he could sit up, he was going to insist that he was alright, and he would want to get right back into the case and the field. Over my dead body… For a lack of a better term.

Sirens started approaching from the distance. I sighed with relief, but I never stopped holding him. I shouldn’t have split up from him. We learned this lesson years ago when Hankle took Reid because he split apart from JJ. Every time we split up, something bad happened, and I should’ve known that this time would be no different. We could’ve cleared the house together. It wouldn’t have been that hard. Sure, it would have taken longer, but at least he wouldn’t have been attacked by The Reaper.

The lights of the ambulances started flashing through the street. I waved one of my arms in the air, signaling that we were still on the lawn outside Foyet’s house. They pulled up in front of the house and the paramedics jumped out. I stepped back. As they started attending to Morgan, I saw one of the team’s cars pull up, too. I prayed it was Hotch. When I saw that it was a worried Emily and Rossi getting out of the car, I felt my heart sink a bit.

Emily ran straight over to me while Rossi went inside to start dealing with the crime scene. “What happened?” she asked me.

I looked back at Morgan, who was now sitting upright. “We split up to clear the house. I found O’Mara’s body in the bedroom upstairs when I heard a fight break out in the living room. By the time I got downstairs, The Reaper was gone and Morgan was barely conscious.”

“Where’s Foyet?”

“I don’t know. Morgan checked downstairs, and he started to tell me that there was a lot of blood in the kitchen, but no sign of Foyet.”

“The Reaper could have taken him.”

“Maybe? But, then, why wait around for us to show up?”

“For the thrill kill? He thought that he could kill Morgan, which would up his game from civilians, but then you came downstairs, so he had to run.”

I watched as Morgan was lifted off the ground by the paramedics and taken inside so that they could start giving him stitches. Emily and I followed them, but I stayed out on the porch to catch my breath. I could have lost Morgan. I left him, and I could have lost him. How was I supposed to live with that? I should’ve been there. This wouldn’t have happened if we didn’t split ourselves up.

“Y/N—” Hotch called desperately, running up the front yard to meet me on the steps. I turned away from the doorway just in time to catch Hotch in a tight embrace. I hadn’t anticipated that he would do such a thing while we were at work and the team was around, but, honestly, I was glad that he did because after what happened, I really needed it. “Are you alright?” he whispered into my ear while squeezing me until I practically couldn’t breathe.”

“Yeah,” I answered through a strangled breath.

Hotch released me entirely. I caught my breath slightly before looking up to see that he was pale with worry again, but this time his eyes were red. “I shouldn’t have split us all up.”

“Hotch, you didn’t know—”

“He threatened you, Y/N. I shouldn’t have let you—”

“We’re doing our jobs. This isn’t the first time an Unsub has made it personal, and it won’t be the last. I need you to calm down for me, Aaron. Please.”

“Is Morgan alright?” he croaked.

I stopped. He was… He was trying not to cry. Aaron Hotchner— SSA Aaron Christopher Hotchner… was trying not to cry during a case. He never showed emotion while we were on the job. Ever. Yeah, okay, maybe he would get annoyed or upset by something, but he tried to hide it until we were at least alone or something. I didn’t understand why this was really getting to him. There were hundreds of other cases where something went wrong, something didn’t go according to his plan— and, of course, he was upset, but never like this. He didn’t break down in front of people like this. Why? Why now? Why this case?

Brushing his hair off his face always seemed to calm him down, so I started with that. As the paramedics that had been attending to Morgan’s wounds exited the house, I cupped Hotch’s cheek, letting him press tenderly into my palm. “He’s okay. We’re okay.”

“I shouldn’t have let you guys come here on your own.”

I ran my fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp smoothly. “Please, don’t blame yourself. He needs you to hold it together just for a little longer—we all need it.” I didn’t want to tell him to hide his emotions. I knew that it wasn’t healthy to keep it all bottled up. But if Morgan saw how worried Hotch was about him, Morgan would fly off the rails. “The Reaper took Morgan’s credentials.”

Hotch’s eyes widened. “What did he leave?”

“A bullet.”

“To tell Morgan that he could have killed him… He owes his life to The Reaper.” He turned and punched the wood column standing at the edge of the porch. He whimpered quietly at the pain. “Fuck.”

I grabbed his hand, immediately tending to his bloody knuckles. “I’ll get you some ice. Go inside.”

Hotch kissed my temple as he passed by me. When he was out of sight, I hid my face in my palms, trying to choke back the sob that was building in my chest. How did all of this go so wrong? From the deal, to the bus, to Morgan getting attacked by The Reaper? It was wearing me down. I was exhausted physically and mentally. If I didn’t get to rest soon, I feared I was actually going to tear my own hair out.

As I suspected, Morgan insisted on not being benched once we got back to the precinct. Hell, he didn’t even let the paramedics take him to the hospital. The worst part, however, was that I was too tired to fight him on it, and he knew that. He knew that I couldn’t make him sit out of this, and he used that against me. I was pissed for a bit. I’d be the first to admit that I was glaring at Morgan as we got coffee together in the break room, then went to sit down with the team in the boardroom to revisit our profile. But then I realized something. I was only mad because I was worried about him. I was frustrated that he wasn’t taking care of himself and that I couldn’t do anything to help him. That was when my focus changed to Hotch. He had taken his anger out on me earlier, after the deal was made, because he was just worried about me. I couldn’t blame him for that now that I felt the same way about Morgan.

Hotch held the new ice pack I got him from the freezer in the breakroom against his swollen fist as he asked the team, “Why is he so focused on Foyet? What’s so special about him?”

There was an obvious answer, but I was going to let it slide considering how tired we all were. The truth was, The Reaper was obsessed with Foyet because he was the only one that got away. He was his last victim before making the deal with Shaunessy. But those answers weren’t good enough for Hotch. Something was still bugging him, therefore, he wanted us to dig deeper.

“What about Amanda Bertrand?” JJ asked. “Foyet’s girlfriend.”

“He told us that she was the love of his life, that he was going to propose the night she was murdered. He looked… distraught… It seemed real,” I answered, staring at Hotch. I wouldn’t know how to react either if I lost Hotch. Even years later, I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to move on from something like that.

Morgan furrowed his brows and looked into his notes. “But, she just got here from Michigan.”

“What?”

“How long had she been here?” Hotch inquired.

“Four weeks,” Prentiss answered.

My jaw fell agape. To be fair, I supposed I couldn’t blame them. Hotch and I started going out about a month into my promotion at the BAU. It was possible that George Foyet and Amanda Bertrand fell in love at first sight. Who was I to judge? JJ…

“Wait, didn’t our profile say that he’s a Hebephile?” JJ asked. “He was a teacher’s assistant back then. He worked with Amanda’s class— That’s how they met.”

“Oh, my…” I trailed off when the realization hit me like a train.

We trusted him. We were invited into his home, and we were convinced by the tears he shed for Amanda. I was blinded by his illness and the love it seemed he still had for her. I—I should’ve… I should’ve seen it sooner. If I had, O’Mara would still be alive, and Morgan wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Even the suspicious things he said, like, “Do you know how long it takes to stab someone thirty-two times?” He played me with the empathy card. He made me pity him. Somehow, he knew that it would get under my skin by pressing the love button over and over again. I felt so fucking stupid.

“Colson went to see Foyet,” Hotch said after a moment of shock. “George Foyet is The Reaper—Someone call Garcia and tell her to get a trace on Roy Colson’s phone.” He leapt out of his seat, throwing the ice pack to the side, and hurried to get his vest back on. The rest of the team followed suit while JJ called Garcia.

By the time we had our vests on, Garcia had already sent us the location of Colson, and likely Foyet, too. On our way to the car, I apologized to Hotch for not seeing it sooner. He told me that it wasn’t my fault, the same way the bus massacre wasn’t his fault. I shook my head in denial. We got into the car with Morgan and Rossi.

“My thing has always been profiling people and scenes with a glance. I’ve always done that. I should’ve done better. I shouldn’t have let my guard down because—”

“Y/N,” Hotch interrupted while speeding out of the parking lot, “no one ever saw it. Since ’98, no one put the pieces together. He stabbed his girlfriend, called the police a mile down the road, drove back, then stabbed himself thirty-two times. Of course, no one was going to suspect him. He played the victim and love card on us both, and we fell for it. This isn’t your fault. You have to believe me.”

I slumped in my seat. Defeat coursed through me. I didn’t know what else to do but sit in silence.

At the location Garcia gave us, Hotch and Emily turned off the sirens and lights on the cars so that we could approach quietly. As we silently stepped onto the pavement, Hotch gestured with two fingers that Rossi, Emily, and Reid should go around back, then I would go with him and Morgan to the front door. We needed to close off all possible exits. So, we waited for the other half of the team to canvass the backyards for possible escapes, but when we had the go ahead, we stormed up to the front door.

“We’re inside,” Rossi whispered into his comm.

“Go,” Hotch told Morgan.

Morgan nodded, then winced as he kicked the door open. We hurried into the living room to find Roy Colson sitting at a table with George Foyet, the latter holding a gun to Colson’s head. They both noticed us immediately. Colson’s relief was countered by Foyet’s furiousness that we had interrupted his plans.

“It’s over,” Hotch said, stepping in front of me and Morgan.

Foyet stood. “Stop there or I’ll kill him.” He cocked his gun.

“No, you won’t. You need him to write your story,” I said after noticing the computer open in front of Colson.

“Then, I’ll take him with me. I’ll let him go as soon as I’m safe.”

“No, you won’t,” Hotch said. “You’re going to kill him, regardless. But, here’s the secret, Foyet: you kill him, I kill you. Got it?”

Foyet snorted. “You think I’m afraid to die?” He gestured to his chest, referencing how he had stabbed himself for the sake of throwing us off his trail.

“I think you’re narcissistic and greedy. You’re only afraid to die if it means no one will remember you. If you do this now, no one will remember you. You’ll disappear. If you keep him alive, however, he’s going to write another book about you—this time naming you, making you more famous than you’ve ever been before. People will make movies and documentaries about you if you’re still around to tell your story. But if I kill you here and now, they might make one documentary about The Reaper, who was never found or heard from again, and then they’ll forget all about you. Is that what you want? Because I can make that happen.”

Foyet’s attention turned to Morgan. A slow grin grew on his face. “Well, hello there, again, Derek.”

“Don’t talk to him,” I snapped.

Foyet smiled at me before putting his gun down. “Fair enough, princess.”

Morgan immediately holstered his weapon, switching it out for his handcuffs. He hurried to pull Foyet’s arms behind his back, then cuffs his wrists together as tightly as he could, earning a groan and an ear to ear grin from Foyet.

“Where’s my badge, you son of a bitch?” Morgan asked angrily.

Foyet’s eyes were trained on me, though. He was staring straight into my soul, as if he could somehow see under my clothes, into my heart and brain, like he was drowning in the color of my eyes. It ran a chill down my spine. I tried looking away to ease my perturbation about it, but what he said next made me look back up at him.

“See, I get it now, Aaron,” Foyet snickered. “She’s gorgeous.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Morgan hissed before pushing Foyet forward.

“I’m going to be more famous than you even realize, Aaron Hotchner! Watch me!”

Roy and I let out shaky sighs at the same time once Morgan shoved Foyet out of the house. I turned to Hotch. He was fuming, I could tell. So much had happened, and he felt like all of it was his fault. It wasn’t of course. I was the one who pushed him to take the case, to bring the team along, to keep me close so that I could keep an eye on him. We just hadn’t anticipated this mess. We didn’t expect that Morgan would get hurt and that Foyet would creep me out on purpose. It was so odd to see him go from that shy, sick, broken hearted man to that confident, angry, sociopathic man that had just stared into my soul moments ago.

Hotch stared at me from across the room. His eyes searched mine, trying to replace the disgusting feel of Foyet’s stare with his loving, calming, dark chocolate gaze. I relaxed a bit. He pouted his eyes at me in a way that said: “I love you”, and I returned the favor.

On the jet, I sat with Hotch in the back where the two seats away from everyone else were. He had me sit next to the window so that he could hold my hand under the table. Morgan and Emily were talking on the couch, and Reid had his hand on JJ’s stomach, feeling the way her baby kicked. It creeped him out. Of course, Spencer Reid, Knower of All Things, would be creeped out by a baby kicking and hiccupping inside a mother’s stomach. He was so funny when he was naïve. But it was good that they were all distracted. The fact that they had their own things going on meant that they weren’t focused on us. That gave Hotch a chance to hold me.

At some point, after Rossi left the bathroom and took a seat across from JJ and Reid, I even rested my cheek against Hotch’s shoulder. We hadn’t slept in so long. We were so fucking tired. While we were obviously eager to get back to Jack, I figured that it wouldn’t hurt to have one night to ourselves where we could rest, then tomorrow, to distract Hotch, we could play with the black box before picking up Jack. It was a good plan. It sounded like a nice plan, honestly.

When JJ’s phone started ringing, it woke me up slightly. I lifted my head long enough to look up at Hotch to see that he had just woken up, too. I chuckled at him before poking his dimple. He was cute when he was sleeping. He was even cuter when his eyes were barely open, but he could still see me smiling, so he instinctively smiled back at me. We were going to be okay.

We looked over as JJ got off the phone. She swallowed hard and looked at each of us in silence. I felt my smile fall. She didn’t look well— not that something was wrong with her or the baby, but because whatever happened on that call made her heart sink. Everyone sat in silence, waiting for her to give them answers. If it were just another case, she would’ve told us, or if it were something wrong with reports, she would’ve told us. This was different. She looked petrified with fear.

“George Foyet escaped custody.”

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

criminal minds family: @gorgeousdarkangel @peggy1999 @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine

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anonniemousefics · 4 years ago

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Make This Weird

Fandom: Carry On/Wayward Son | Simon Snow + Baz Pitch

Word Count: 2,111

Rating: Teen and Up

Synopsis: Set in the unwritten in between of books 1 and 2 - Simon and Baz have the flat to themselves while Penny's studying at the library.

(It’s been barely a week since I finished Wayward Son, and I literally could not. I cannot recommend these books enough.)

BAZ

Ugh. Aleister Crowley. This fucking rain.

I pull the hood of my navy blue macintosh up over my head, hunching my shoulders like that’s going to do any good. I’m going to be proper drenched by the time I get to Simon and Bunce’s flat, there’s no way around it now.

The deluge dumps in sheets by the time I make a huddled dash for the front door of their building. Maybe I should have stashed our curry takeaway under my jacket. I hope it’s not wet and ruined, because Simon definitely needs to eat (he always needs to eat) and I’m definitely not going back out in this.

I ring the buzzer for their flat, and Simon (I’m assuming) buzzes me in.

“Holy shit,” Simon says when he sees me dripping onto their welcome mat. I probably look like a cat that’s just been drug out of a stream. But it’s cute when he swears like a Normal, so I grin back and hold our takeaway bags aloft in victory. Because the thing is, I’d do a whole lot more than stand out in the rain for him. I’d battle a fucking hurricane if it came right down to it.

Not that he knows that. I think I’d probably really freak him out if I said it. Affection can be a tricky thing with Simon Snow. Sometimes he’s like a starving man, desperate and devouring and all-consuming. Other times he’s like one of those scared animal shelter rescue puppies you have to coax out of the corner with a spoonful of peanut butter. (Sometimes literally. I’ve literally watched him eat peanut butter right from the jar with a spoon.) (And once without a spoon at all. I know. My boyfriend’s gross.) (Boyfriend. Simon Snow is my boyfriend.)

And it’s hard to know what you’re going to get on any given day.

I set the bags of takeaway containers on the kitchen counter while Simon fishes out forks from the drawer that tends to stick. It’s a small kitchen, and he has to curl in his massive red wings for us both to maneuver it safely. He’s in loose grey trackies and a dark green hoodie that makes his curly hair look more reddish – it’s been a minute since he’s had it cut, and the thick curls fall in his eyes sometimes. Like now. I want to push it back, see his eyes, probably kiss him until he’s not that scared rescue puppy anymore. But I know now that’s not how this works – not yet.

“Where’s Bunce?” I ask instead, and shrug off my macintosh to drape over a kitchen chair.

“She has a paper due Monday,” Simon says. “She’s went to the library to write.” He’s already eating straight out of a takeaway container, over the fucking sink. Honestly, it’s like he was raised in a barn.

“So I have you all to myself,” I smirk at him as I rake the rain-damp hair off my face. There’s an unmistakable spark of something in Simon’s eye when he shoots me a look up from his food, and it’s not rescue puppy-ish.

“I suppose you do,” he grins, and he leaves a quick peck on my lips as he shuffles out of the kitchen with his takeaway container.

Well, then.

I can’t help the stupid grin on my face he leaves in his wake. I’m such a hopeless case where Simon Snow is concerned. But at least I’m not fighting it anymore.

I plate my rice and my chicken tikka masala – like any decent human being should – and follow Simon into the little living room where he’s eating on their beat-up old sofa, stocking feet up on the coffee table. His red dragon wings are spread out wide over the rest of the cushions, his red devil tail draped over his lap. He’s watching some old episodes of Top Gear, and I think this is really all we need. Good food, fast cars, a little snogging. Nothing trying to kill us.

I really am living a charmed life.

“Push over,” I tell him, so I can sit in front of him on the floor, plate on the coffee table. This is the arrangement. He’s made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t mind when my fangs pop, maybe even thinks it’s cool, but I just can’t. I literally want to set myself on fire when he stares at my teeth. (Well, maybe not literally anymore.) (But I still hate it.)

So, we eat in front of the TV so there’s no awkward silence to fill. (I hate talking around my fangs. I sound like I have dentures.) I sit in front of him on the floor, and then I don’t feel compelled to cover my mouth with every bite.

It’s normal. Sort of. It’s normal enough, for now.

Today, when I sit cross-legged in front of the coffee table, he shifts behind me so that his legs are on either side of me. It’s cozy there. Like he’s a tree, and I’m sheltering under his limbs.

But it’s a different sort of feeling entirely when I feel him run his fingertip through the ends of my hair. My rain-damp, probably insanely matted hair. I’m seized with insecurity and run my own hand back through it again. Merlin. Should’ve checked a mirror. He’s probably going to laugh at it any second.

“Christ, Baz,” he swears instead. “It ought to be criminal for hair to look that good after it’s been rained on.”

Really? I raise my eyebrows. Now I definitely want to check a mirror. This must be my lucky day.

“Thanks,” I mutter around my fangs, mouth full of chicken tikka.

And fuck he does it again. His fingers lace through the ends of my hair, brushing against the back of my neck. It’s impossible to suppress the shiver that follows, and it makes Simon chuckle.

“Sorry.” He’s apologetic even in his amusement.

“Don’t be,” I say, and I cover my mouth so I can turn to look at him. So he can see my sincerity. “It’s nice,” I insist.

Which is a bit of an understatement. Because he’s Simon Snow, and he’s my boyfriend who thinks my hair looks so criminally good, he must touch it. It isn’t nice. It’s fucking incredible. It’s making my dead heart beat erratically.

That’s only the beginning. I turn back to my plate of food, and then, unexpectedly, Simon leans forward and rakes his fingers against my scalp. It catches the breath in my throat. And my eyes stutter shut. My neck feels like its going to go limp. He pushes his hand through one way, watching as the strands slip through his fingers slowly. Then he does the same thing the other direction.

I have to be going red in the face. (I did just drain a rabbit a half hour ago.) No one’s ever touched me this way before. Ever. I mean, maybe a barber now and then, strictly professionally. But no one’s ever just enjoyed my hair. (Well, I do, if I’m being honest.) (Why else does one grow out their hair?) (But I thought I’d be the only one.)

Simon’s definitely noticing the effect he’s having on me. I haven’t opened my eyes yet, but I can feel the way he’s craning his neck to get a look at me, can feel his warmth behind me, so I shield my mouth with my hand again. I mean, Merlin and Morgana, I’m right in the middle of eating. He has the worst mealtime manners of any person alive.

Although, at the moment, I really, really don’t care.

“Feels nice, does it?” Simon asks, and I can hear the impish smile on his face. He does so enjoy undoing me. (I do so enjoy being undone, so it works out.)

“Mhmm,” is all I can mumble behind my hand.

And then he shoves his hands up the base of my scalp, gathering up all of my hair in his fist. Oh, Crowley, I will not moan. I will not make this weird.

SIMON

Am I making this weird?

I just –

Baz has, objectively, perfect hair. Ask anyone. (I’m pretty sure Penny would agree.) It’s dark and thick and shiny, and it falls around his face just so. I’ve definitely thought it for ages, even when I was sure we’d end up killing each other. (I’d just resigned myself to the fact that he was going to die with much better looking hair than me.)

Now I don’t just have to look at it. I can inspect it. I can marvel at it. And it’s full of his scent – all cedar and bergamot – when I hold it off his neck.

He seems to be enjoying it immensely, how my hands feel in his hair, so I don’t think I’m making it weird. And the scent of him hits me with a kick in the gut, full of memories and longing, and I’m drawn closer to him.

He draws in a deep breath – I can see how it darkens the hollow at the base of his throat. I don’t feel particularly hungry anymore. (Which ordinarily is cause for concern.)

With his hair gathered in my fist near his scalp, I tug him gently to the right. Baring the side of his neck to me. His lips slightly part just in time for me to spot the tips of his fangs retracting sharply, and he’s quick to pull his lips closed over them.

Eh. I bet I can make him gasp again.

And I do when I press my mouth against the bared curve of his neck. He’s so cold against my lips. (I used to burn hot enough for the both of us.) He draws in a quick breath when I do it again. And raises a hand to lightly cup the side of my head, holding me close. Slowly, he cards his cold fingers into my curls, and I trail my lips up to his jaw. Up to the lobe of his ear. Every inch smells like forest and rain.

“Simon…” he breathes.

I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he can hear how my heart is pounding.

BAZ

Aleister fucking Crowley.

I will sell whatever is left of my soul if it means Simon Snow will keep kissing me like this.

SIMON

I keep kissing him.

It’s really hard to stop once you start. (Especially when he’s sort of melting against me.) (Seriously, oh my God, could he be any more delicious?)

So, I just keep kissing him. The sharp edge of his jaw. The sandy stubble over his cheek. (He has to shave regularly now, and I’m really trying hard not to be jealous.)

But Baz catches himself as he starts to turn his face to meet my lips. He holds his damn hand over his mouth again.

This again? When will he get it? The fangs are wicked cool. I’m just going to kiss him until he gets it. I’m sliding off the cushions, turning him so I can crawl on top of him between the couch and the coffee table.

“Simon,” he says again, though, annoyingly, not in the same starved gasp I’m after. He’s saying it like he has something he wants to say. (It’s probably about his fangs.) (It’s always his about his fangs.) (Enough about the fangs already.)

“Shut up,” I insist. I’m straddling him, and Baz’s still got his hand over his mouth, the prat.

“My breath’s going to smell like curry!” he exclaims, looking a little wild-eyed as I’m hunched over him.

I can’t help it: I burst out laughing. It's just so unexpected - the absurdity of Baz Pitch worrying about what I'll think of him! The corners of his grey eyes crinkle up as the laugh becomes contagious. It means he’ll let me wrap my fingers around his wrist. Pull his hand away from his mouth.

“I love curry,” I reassure him, bending toward him. (And I really do.) And I cup his face in my hand and kiss him. I’ll kiss him until he sighs against my mouth and pulls at my shoulders. I’ll kiss him til he stops thinking about his fangs and his curry breath.

(Because curry isn’t the only thing I love.) (I’m gonna figure out how to tell him someday.) (I just don’t want to freak him out.)

BAZ

I’m going to pretend that, when he said “I love curry,” it was code for something else.

(Because it really seems – unless I’m delusional and I might be – that he meant me.)

(I hope he means me.)

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

Tagging a few people who’ve requested to be tagged in all my things/I think would be down for some Snowbaz content (if I’m wrong and you’re like, “Shannon - I don’t know what this fandom is, what am I even reading?” then just let me know): @loveyatopluto, @raging-bisexual-alert, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @annejulianneh111, @whosanxiety, @raeisgaeandahalf, @bookish-mind

#carry on #wayward son #fluff #fanfic #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #simon snow x baz pitch #simon x baz #boys in love #snowbaz fluff #rainbow rowell #fanfiction #one shot

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talesofphantombandits · 4 years ago

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Tech Whiz ~ Matt Devlin - Part 1.

Hey guys, so I recently watched all the episodes of Law and Order: UK that Matt was in and came up with this idea for a story. Hope you all enjoy and let me know if you want to be tagged in future parts. Edits will be made later on.

Pairing: Matt Devlin X OC. Summary: Saylor Clarke gets a new job working on the tech aspects of solving the crimes that Ronnie and Matt investigate. She swears to herself that she will not get into any office romances but the more time she spends with Matt the harder it gets not to fall for him. Someone on the sidelines however are always watching their every interacting, when things go to the next level Saylors mystery admirer will make themselves known in the worst way possible.

Tagging those who showed interest in my post about this story, if you don’t want to be tagged in further parts let me know and i’ll untag it immediately. Thank you for showing support though <3 @dreamingundone , @fyeahmeninroyalnavy , @alittlepronetopanic

Saylor Clarke visuals.

As it is for anyone, the first day of walking into a new workplace was a nerve wracking experience. It was only made more daunting as Saylor took in all the bodies dressed in various formal suits and ties, pencil skirts and blazers.

Of course, Saylor was also dressed presentably, but the big difference between her and her new colleagues was the dip dyed shoulder length emerald hair she sported, the numerous piercings in her ears - which were mainly covered by her hair - and a small green ring through her nostril.

She was grateful her sleeve tattoo in progress was covered under her blazer or she would have felt even more uneasy than she already did. Her only body art on show was five thin lines encircling four of her fingers. They were dainty and usually most people didn’t even notice them unless they were in close proximity to her. Even so, she loosely clasped her hands into fists in case anyone decided to peer too closely.

Still, alternative styles evidently were not a popular sight in the The Crown office, because as Saylor walked down the aisles of cubicles, eyes zoned in on her. She tried to remind herself that this was not the first time she’d faced stares over her appearance and that it no way detracted from her professionalism or ability to do her job. That’s all that mattered, and she would remind them all of that in due course.

Arriving at a standard looking office that overlooked the city, she met DI Natalie Chandler who went over all the necessary debriefing and documentation with her. The woman’s kind nature lifted some of the nerves rattling through her and she hoped she would get to work with Ms Chandler in the future.

Natalie then led her over to the middle of the bustling office to a set of desks where two men had their backs to her.

“Guys! This is our new tech master, Saylor Clarke.”

Both of them swung around in their chairs, the older gentleman who sat to the right and she shared a warm smile with him, but what caught Saylor’s was the young man on the left. “I’d like you to meet DS Ronnie Brooks and DS Matthew Devlin.” She smiled, meeting both their gazes in greeting.

“She’ll be taking over from Angela from today.” Before Natalie walked away she gave both of them a pointed stare. “Be nice! Look after her.”

“We’re always nice!” Matt called after her playfully then turned on Saylor and she forgot her own name for a breath. “Hey, Mathew Devlin but you can call me Matt.” He held out his hand for her to shake. Worried her hand would be sweaty due to the first day nerves and her body’s response to meeting someone as striking as Matt before, Saylor hesitated, but suddenly she realised how rude that would look and slipped her hand into his. It enveloped hers and she hoped he didn’t hear the way her breathing jittered at the contact and noticed the electricity that skated up her skin leaving goosebumps in its wake, and she truly hoped he didn’t feel the slight moist covering on her hand. If he clocked onto anything at all, he never let it show as he gave her a friendly grin and returned to his desk.

With ocean eyes that shamed the carribean shores, sunkissed skin that enhanced every muscular valley in his bare forearms and bone structure that rivaled the godly marbled statues she’d seen at the A&E, it was fair to say Matt might have been the most mesmerizing man she’d ever laid her eyes upon.

One word came to her mind. Shit.

How was she going to stop herself from crushing on Mr Devlin?

“Ronnie Brooks,” The older man stated, waving a hand. “don’t worry you’ll settle in right away. If you need anything though don’t be afraid to ask us. Me and Matty will be happy to help.” They both offered her bright and reassuring smiles and she felt instantly welcome in their company.

“Thank you, guys. It’s nice to meet you both. I guess I better go log into my computer, and get it all set up.” Ronnie pointed out her desk which was a little way across the room from theirs, she thanked him and made her way over, cursing herself on the way for being so awkward.

Her first day seemed to flash by, and before she knew it, it was dark outside and people started leaving the office in drips and drabs. Nothing too exciting had happened through the duration of the day. It wasn’t as though she had expected to be thrown straight into the middle of the chaos on day one, but admittedly, lack of productivity had her itching in her seat.

However, her day was pleasant nonetheless; she had managed to set up her computer almost exactly the way she liked it, she’d gone and spoke to some of her other new colleagues around the office to get to know who she would be working with and had been pleasantly surprised at the warmth she was met with. She shouldn’t have assumed they would judge her based on her looks, she needed to squash that insecurity.

But mostly, she had chatted with Matt and Ronnie. Apparently, not much was happening in the way of cases, so they had time to tell her about some of their most interesting cases and how tech had helped them catch their criminal in the end. She looked forward to being able to be a part of that team and process in the future.

Both men were incredibly charming and sweet. She counted herself lucky that she’d been put in an office with such lovely company. Ronnie was instantly like a father figure to her, he seemed gentle and caring and she was in no doubt that he’d be the first to her aid if she needed it. Matt on the other hand spoke to her in a more flirtatious manner, which of course she could never honestly say she minded. It was actually an honour to have such a beautiful man trade playful banter with her, but she had to remind herself that this was her work place now and no matter how she may want to, nothing past friendship was to be permitted between the two of them.

There was only one person she met in that office that first day that made her uncomfortable; Mike had walked up to her desk, and she could tell right off the bat that this man was typically shy. Knowing this feeling all too well she greeted him warmly, but as soon as he started speaking she got an unsettling feeling from the interaction. She couldn’t, however, put her finger on what exactly it was that was making her so uneasy about the man who had only said one word to her.

After the single interaction though, she didn’t see him for the rest of the day so she brushed it off and buried herself in customising her systems to her personal preference.

At the end of the day, she was at her desk switching everything off when she felt someone approach her from behind. She sent a silent prayer that whoever it was, it wasn’t Mike. Regardless, of the lack of action she’d seen through the day, she still felt drained from all the information she’d had to retain and had no energy left to try to understand him.

“How are you getting home?”

Turning, a jolt of excitement spiked through her fatigue when she saw Matt standing a few feet from her wrapping his scarf around his neck. “Not to sound creepy or anything, I just thought It would be decent of me to offer you a lift seen as it’s pitch black outside and you said earlier that you live on the other side of London.”

She smiled not only at how genuinely adorable this man was with his slight pout, but also at the fact he remembered when she’d idly said where she lived. Then she quickly reminded herself not to overthink his basic capacity to listen to information. She couldn’t let her head run amok. “Thank you Matt, that’s really nice that you thought of me. But I have my bike.”

“Bike? As in a peddle bike? I mean I could probably fit it in the back of my car. London traffic in the dark isn’t the nicest to people on bikes.”

“Erm, no, my motorbike.” Matt looked taken aback at this. Saylor simply laughed at his surprised expression.

They both started for the door. “Okay this I have to see!” She looked at him confused but she couldn’t hide the amusement on her face. “Oh no I didn’t mean you riding a motorbike I meant the actual bike.”

“Sure! You can come meet Alvin.”

Matt stopped in his tracks in the middle of the foyer, Saylor stopping a step in front of him, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“You named your bike after a chipmunk?”

She burst out laughing at the remark, envisioning the small rodent in question. “No.” she shook her head. “I named my bike after the Glam Rock star Alvin Stardust, a childhood favourite.” Sniggering to herself as she walked out of the revolving doors.

Matt was close on her heels as she walked to where her bike was parked on the side of the street. Stopping in front of it, she reached inside of her jacket to grab the key for the little storage box on the back of the bike.

“Matt meet Alvin, Alvin meet Matt.”

“Wow, such a beautiful bike.” Matt slowly walked around observing every detail of the vehicle.

“Thanks. I try to keep him in tip top shape.” Matt paused again looking over the bike to Saylor who had finally freed her helmet from the box.

“You do maintenance on the bike yourself?”

She looked up to find Matt staring at her in something akin to awe. “Yeah, I won't let anyone else touch him.”

She got up on the bike and started up the engine. Itroared to life.

Putting on the helmet, she turned to Matt one last time. “If you’re lucky one day I might let you ride him, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She winked at him, closed the visor and as Matt walked back to the pavement, he watched as she safely pulled out and sped off.

The last look on his face said it all; maybe she wasn’t the only one that was going to struggle toeing the line between friendship and something more.

...............

The next morning was uneventful, but Saylor didn’t mind too much. It gave her additional time to settle in and socialise some more. Which included Matt.

When she got home the previous night she couldn’t shake the smile from her face. Her interactions with him the previous day had left her feeling like a campfire had ignited in her stomach and set a flock of butterflies into a frenzy above.

“Hey, a few of us are heading out for something to eat tonight if you would care to join us?” She turned in her chair to find Matt and Ronnie stood behind her with hopeful smiles on their faces.

“Sure, why not.” She leaned back in her chair and grinned at them both.

“I hope I’m invited too.”

As if out of nowhere, Mike appeared beside Saylor, that uneasy feeling came back to her. She shifted in her chair then glanced at Matt who seemed to sense her unease. He moved to perch himself on the corner of Saylor’s desk, putting himself between them. She looked up at him and gave him a silent ‘Thank you!’

“Sure. Everyone's invited.” Ronnie chimed in.

Saylor and Matt both snapped their heads to Ronnie. Obviously, he hadn’t read the room, but it was too late. Mike said he would meet them at the pizza place later and had walked off.

Unable to pinpoint exactly what it was about Mike that gave her the creeps, she felt a little bad, but every time he was near her, the hair on the back of her neck would stand up and she had the greatest desire to be as far away from him as possible.

“Jeez, Ronnie, why’d you invite him? Can’t you see that he makes Saylor uncomfortable?”

Ronnie looked at Saylor, confused.

“Does he make you uncomfortable? I can go over and uninvite him?” Ronnie started walking to Mike's desk but Saylor reached out an arm and stopped him.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’m probably just overreacting, he’s probably a really nice person, I have to give him a chance. Besides this is only my second day, he barely said two words to me. Can’t be making enemies straightaway, can I?” She smiled at them both, trying to be as lighthearted as she could. Ronnie said a simple okay as he walked back to his desk.

“Did you bring the bike today?” Matt said still perched on her desk, she swung back round to face her computer.

“I got a cab today actually, I never ride when it’s raining.” She chuckled to herself. “One of my mum's rules, actually. I understand though. Plus, I’d rather not turn up to work drenched.”

“So, you’ll be getting a cab home?”

She just nodded as she typed away on the keypad. If someone would have asked her what she was working on she wouldn’t have been able to answer. It was hard to concentrate when she had such a handsome man distracting her.

“Or I could give you a lift after the pizza place, I mean I’m the designated driver so....”

She stopped typing and looked up, catching his eye. “Sure, I guess it saves me some money. Unless you want gas money which I will happily provide.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just buy me a coke at the pub.” He snapped his finger and pointed at her with a wide grin.

“You got it.” She tilted her head as she looked at him, matching his grin.

“Great, I guess I’ll meet you back here when it’s time to leave.” Nodding again, she watched as he got up from the desk and walked away with the biggest smile on his lips.

Sighing, she knew she’d spend the rest of the day trying not to overanalyse said smile and tame the butterflies wreaking havoc inside her.

By the end of her second morning she’d already made some amazing friends. She just hoped that it would stay like that, that she wouldn’t ruin this job for herself like she did the last one.

No way would she let that happen again.

Time ticked by ever so slowly. Every time she looked at the clock, only mere minutes had passed. Now and then, she’d peer over to Matt’s desk. Most of the time he’d have his back to her, but sometimes he’d be talking to Ronnie and would catch her eye, a dazzling smile appearing on his face.

She didn’t have the adequate vocabulary to describe how adorable Matt Devlin truly was.

After her lunch, she’d been given some work to do which she became immersed in, completely forgetting about the time and what was happening around her. She only became aware of her surroundings again when Ronnie placed a warm hand on her shoulder.

“You ready?”

She looked up to him smiling down at her, she saved her work and switched off the computer. “More than ready.” Grabbing her bag and jacket, she met Ronnie by the door.

“Matt just had to go drop off some paperwork, he said he’d meet us by the car.” Nodding, she followed Ronnie out to the back parking lot.

Less than a minute later, Matt came strolling over to them smiling, swinging his keys around his finger.

Ronnie let Saylor ride shotgun, even though she insisted she would be fine in the back seat. “It’s the most gentlemanly thing to do.” He smiled as he got into the back. She looked at Matt over the roof of the car rolling her eyes but got in the font anyway.

When they reached the little pizza place, they found a booth near the back and settled in. Once Matt had taken his coat and scarf off, he got the drink orders and went to the bar.

Ronnie and Saylor were having a full blown conversation when the bell above the door chimed, indicating that someone had entered the restaurant.

Both looking up at the noise, they could see four people entering and looking around. Saylor only recognised one of the people. Mike.

“Oh god.”

She shook her head and looked to Ronnie.

“What is it?” She enquired.

“That women behind Mike, she’s from the evidence team. Completely obsessed with Matt, finds any excuse to come up to the office to see him.” He sniggered, evidently amused.

“Honestly, can’t say I blame her.” Saylor laughed at the surprise on Ronnie’s face.

“I’ll remember that remark!” He jokingly threatened her, but before Saylor could reply, the group had reached their table, and the women who Ronnie had pointed out sat down next to Saylor.

“I’ll go help Matt with the drinks now we have more people.” Ronnie got up and headed to where Matt still stood at the bar.

Saylor just stared after him in complete disbelief that he had left her with a bunch of strangers.

Not even a second after Ronnie had left his seat, Mike slid in the booth next to her. She tried her damn hardest not to shift away from him when he shuffled in closer to her.

Finally, the two men came back from the bar, hands full of drinks and distributed them out to everyone. She caught Matt's eye when he handed her, her drink then his eyes shifted to both sides of her. His eyes showed concern but he mouthed a ‘sorry’ to her. Replying with a gentle smile, she let him know she was okay. For now.

“Hey, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. My name is Alice! and this is Chase, we work in the evidence lab.” Alice held out her hand which Saylor shook, then proceeded to shake Chase’s hand as well, of which he held onto her hand a second longer but then just smiled at her and sat back into the booth.

“Saylor, I’m the new tech wiz in the office.” She changed her attention back to Alice who was now sizing her up.

“Oh, lucky you. You get to be in the office all the time and be around Matt.” Saylor looked to Matt who was conversing with Ronnie and tried to think innocent and professional thoughts.

“He’s an amazing person. I mean I’ve only known him for two days and he’s been nothing but kind to me.”

“He’s more than amazing. Have you seen him? He’s so yummy. If only he could see how amazing I am, I’d take him straight home and do nasty things with him.” Saylor was taken aback by the way Alice was talking about one of her coworkers.

All she could do was laugh uncomfortably and turn away hoping to end the conversation but she forgot that the person on the other side of her was Mike. She was trapped.

“Don’t take no notice of her, she has no filter and has been completely obsessed over Matt for years.” Chase reached over and moved Alice out of his way so he could sit next to Saylor. “I’ve heard way worse come from her mouth about that man.” Saylor gave the man a ‘oh god’ look but smiled at him anyway, glad that finally she was sitting next to someone she could converse with normally.

The rest of the meal was relatively normal. Although she missed the time with Ronnie and Matt, she found that Chase was also someone she could see herself calling a friend in the future. He’d also saved her when Mike shifted unbearably close to her so again, but then Chase switched seats meaning she was back next to Alice, and she’d take that over sitting next to Mike any day.

When they were getting ready to leave, Chase also offered her a lift home but she had to decline, looking up to see Matt waiting for her by the door, his sparkling eyes dancing in the candlelight. “Thank you, that’s really kind, but Matt already promised me a lift home. Thank you for saving me tonight, twice!” She laughed.

“No problem. Anytime.” Then he did something unexpected. He grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. She didn’t know how to react so she just smiled and waved her goodbyes.

“You ready?” Matt smiled at her, opening the door.

“Yes.” She walked out into the rain, Ronnie trailing behind her and the three made their way to the car parked just outside.

They dropped Ronnie off first and bid their goodnights to him, and then for the first time that night, it was just the two of them.

Saylor gave him the directions to her flat before any conversations started.

“Seems you have many admirers already!”

Saylor chuckled and turned to look at Matt, the streetlights highlighting his sharp features as they drove. “That's funny because I hear you have admirers too!”

“Urg, if you’re talking about Alice, I don’t want to hear about it. She’s a nice person and I respect her but agreeing to go on a date with her was one of the worst decisions I've ever made.” He glanced at Saylor in the passenger seat to see her beaming at him.

“You went on a date with her? I bet that was eventful!.”

“Oh! it was, but I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of hearing about it.” Saylor huffed out a ‘spoil sport’ and went back to facing the front of the car.

“Did you enjoy tonight?”

“I did, everyone’s so nice. Shame I didn’t get to speak to you and Ronnie much. I was kind of trapped between Alice and Mike, who, for some reason I can’t put my finger on why, but he gives me the creeps.” She shivered in her seat.

“Yeah, I could see how uncomfortable you were with him earlier.”

“Luckily Chase was there to put a barrier between us.” She didn’t look but she could tell he was glancing at her.

“Ah Chase! think he has a thing for you.” They both looked at each other when Saylor laughed out loud.

“Yeah well nothing will come of it. For one, he’s a nice guy, but I don’t feel any attraction towards him. And secondly, I promised myself long ago not to date coworkers.” Matt's face fell, and for a moment she thought she saw disappointment in his eyes, but it was only a flash.

She couldn’t say anymore though as he pulled up to her apartment.

Looking up at her door, she sighed. She’d told Matt that about coworker relationships, but every time they were close, all she wanted to do was be in his arms and just feel his arms wrapped around her.

She opened the door but turned back to Matt. “Thank you for being so kind to me in my first few days and for dropping me off home.”

He smiled in reply and she wondered if she’d ever get tired of that smile. She doubted it.

Without time to think it through, she reached over the centre console and kissed him on the cheek. Once she realised what she had done, she moved back a bit to read his reaction, but all she saw was shock and happiness all mixed together, and gods, she really wanted to kiss him. She could see he wanted the same as his eyes travelled down to her lips.

But she couldn’t let it happen.

So, she pulled back further and finally got out of the car.

“Goodnight Matt.”

#matt devlin #law and order uk #matt devlin x oc #matt devlin x reader #matt devlin fanfic #matt devlin story #law and order: Uk #jamie bamber

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck: The Master of the Mississippi! or “How Much Satisfaction Can There Be?”

Hello everybody. I’m back to the life of scrooge mcduck.. it’s been an eternity hasn’t it and that’s for a simple reason: I had other reviews to do, especially comissions, I kept pushing this back further and further as while I love this series i put my paid work ahead of any other projects, until Kev, i.e. the guy paying for most comissions out and out asked that this be done before I got to the rest of The Ride of the Three Caballeros. It’s also why I finally put a loose schedule in place, to keep projects from slipping so the MANY retrosectives and what not I have going can move along at a steady pace and I can slot in comissions easier, 5 bucks an issue or episode if your curious. So now things are a bit tider, i’ll try to have an installment of scrooge’s storied past up a week from now on, so keep an eye out for that, minus christmas week as I have something else planned Duck Comics wise. So with all that out of the way and any exposition able to be baked into the plot proper, we can FINALLY get back to the life and times of scrooge mcduck

PREVIOUSLY ON THE LIFE AND TIMES OF SCROOGE MCDUCK:

A Young Scrooge got his inspiration, his start and also scared the crap out of some asshole scooby do style. Also his sister Hortense was adorable. SO there’s that. But eventually with some inspriation from what he didn’t realize was a ghost, Scrooge decided to head to america to find his Uncle Pothole. So that’s where we left off, with Scrooge heading to

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Since then as the scrapbook page explains, Scrooge has worked his way up the Missippi to Louieville, Kentucky... which is where Rosa lives, and it is not a concidence it’s set here as a result. But much like how the Marvel staff being in new york in the 60′s lead to that universe having it’s unique and vibrant New York setting that’s lasted to this day, sometimes a creator using where they live as the basis can lead to really great and intresting stuff and here he had a valid reason as Louieville was one of the main hubs on the Mississippi river and thus a massive boomtown.

Not the kind of boom town I meant but I can never say no to boomtown. But yeah it’s not only a bustling hub usually anyway, but things are extra amped up given it’s Derby time. I mean the Kentucky Derby’s no steel ball run but what could be? So naturally the crowds are booming and scroogie is impressed. I mean he’s a 13 year old boy from a poor community in Scotland. This is huge to him. But he has no time to dawdle and asks the closest random gentleman where he could find his Uncle Angus, who was mentioned last time and is the one needed for this. The guy is genuinely helpful and points him to his uncle... but as I only noticed on this read through also uses a knife to swipe his bag by cutting the handle off. It’s part of why I admire this series so much: rosa snuck so many small background gags into the margins you can always find something new reading it or always get something fresh out of it. We also meet Gyro’s grandpa Ratchet.

I mean there’s no might about it. David Byrne is rich and he’s the delightful weirdo we all deserve and the autistic icon I needed.

I have no context for this, I just figured searching David Byrne in Tumblr’s Gif Search would find something delightfully batshit in that way only hec an do and I was right.

So as the tweenager enters the gambling establishment, we find Uncle Pothole, whose playing poker with local asshole and tophat enthusiast Porker Hogg...whose name keeps tripping me up as I write this as he’s not the only pig named porker I know of but is far less memorable than this one

He and Pothole are playing cards, and while Porker can go on for days he can’t go on for eight weeks.. or even two days really and prepares to finish it. He puts up his boat the Dilly Dollar, which Angus takes offence to since Porker sank his. Angus offers up the location of the Dreenan White, a legendary, and real legend at that, riverboat that sank. Since Angus was a Cabin Boy on the boat, he knows where it is. So the final hand is dealt and Angus wins with five aces, mostly because Porker’s ace ejector jammed. When Scrooge questions if this is dishonest, Angus explains their under riverboat captain rules which basically means you can cheat your ass off and it’s not only expected it’s an insult NOT to. So Angus takes Scrooge with him, seeing the boy as a good luck charm and finding out to his shock Scrooge is his nephew, but gladly takes his newly found relation under his wing as he relates to his coming to america to find his fortune, having done the same.

Angus is the first of Scrooge’s many mentors and easily the best part of this chapter. He’s lively, intresting but a contrast to scrooge, someone whose not AFRAID to work but wouldn’t mind an easy victory or giving up the adventure game, as he ends up doing. He’s a lively, clever guy and very charming. I”ll get back to the mentor part of it in a bit, but needless to say in a chapter that i’ll admit, and get more into the why as we go, is not one of life and time’s better chapters, he’s a highlight. So the two get to the Dilly Dollar while Hogg decides to follow to find where the Dreeynan Whyte is. As for why he hasn’t drudged it up Angus simply can’t as the Mighty Missisippi’ s too muddy for that, making another mark twain quoted joke about it. But Scrooge mentions the clarity pills from Ratchet, meaning he has a way to do so, and Angus is now elated and decides to head there to get his fortune, specifically near Monkey’s Elbow kentucky, which while relocated slightly to fit the story, is a very real town and an objectively great name for a town, much like Forty Fort, which is also a very real town name. Hogg overhears and after being literally booted out of the boat, as we’ll see literal asskicking is a McDuck family staple, goes to recruit some hired goons.

Yes hired goons, as every good villian needs some hired goons. And these specific goons.. are a bit.. familiar. And you’ll find out who they are under the cut!

Yup it’s the Secret Origin of the Beagle Boys. And if your wondering “Wait are they immortal too?” well. their not these are their grandpas. Also Hogg’s whole complaint about “wearing them if there yellow” just.. bugs me. They .. they aren’t cowards.. Grandpappy’s just being smart and knows his sons are excessively dumb, as is family tradition. They have no issue with committing crimes, they just don’t want to be arrested by the first Navy boat that finds them. That’s just.. common logic. This is one of Life and Time’s weaker atrributes: Due to being built around barks stories, that means most of his foes here are the random greedy asshats of the week Scrooge faced who had some loophole to his fortune or the grandparents of said assholes. With the exception of hte Beagles, who show up a few times, Glomgold and Soapy Slick who wihle a minor vilian is at the center of one of the best chapters of the story, most of these guys are just forgettable hooligans. Not terrible, and the stories around them are good enough to make it enjoyable but nothing really distinct from what Scrooge normally faced outside of his origin story. Really Barks was simply stronger at STORIES than he was at creating villians: As Magica, The Beagle Boys, Gladstone, Rockerduck and Glomgold all show he wasn’t untalented at it, it’s just more often than not he fell back on some random asshole.

Instead of using a dedicated Rogue’s Gallery of intresting baddies, most writers of most comics just used villians of the week and maybe ONE OR TWO designated hitters. Batman’s Rogue’s gallery wasn’t big enough to form their own country at this point is what i’m saying, it just meant Rosa had to build more vilians of teh week. It dosen’t drag the story down entirely, as the story is about SCROOGE and his growth: sometimes the villians are just a secondary ingrident in a good story. But it’s still something very noticable and one of the weaker parts of the story, it’s just like I said, with the story being more on Scrooge and where a lot of his personality came from, it’s something I really didn’t notice before and really dosen’t bother me now I have. The villians are weak btu the hero is so intresting and grows so much it just dosen’t matter. Their there to provide Scrooge with opportunites to evolve, and the really good ones are saved for the best moments of that and for when a villian IS needed to change scooge as a person. So it all evens out.

So naturally the next day when the McDucks head to get the pills, Hogg’s beat them to it, and when Ratchet refused to cut cards for his stock had them beat Ratchet while they were at it. Though oddly Angus assumes he’s just passed out while Scrooge is the one to recognize someone knocked him out. You’d think a well experienced guy like Angus would know that eh whatever. Point is Hogg is ahead and Angus dosen’t have a crew... though Scrooge and Ratchet naturally volunteer since both have skin in the game: Scrooge wanted a job with Pothole anyway and Ratchet is out a job and out his pills. Angus gladly takes them on.. but accidently sets the Dominos in place for one of Comics!Scrooge’s worst behaviors down the line.

Yeahhh.... Pothole is partially responsible for Scrooge criminally underpaying his staff and family. That gag.. is easily one of , if not my least faviorite part about Rosa’s work. It’s a holdover from Carl Barks work naturally, and one that makes some sense: Rosa set his work shortly after barks, so some time in the 1950s, having barks works take place around when they were written. There isn’t a strict timeline of what happened which year outside of life and times, but Rosa’s works are delieberate period pieces. That’s not a bad thing and if he’s going to base most of his stuff around stuff Barks did, then it’s a good call to make. The issue is the execution: While with Barks it was in part because there was less income inequality, it was also clearly a bit of satire, as Donald was the every man and companies could be unfair, cheap douchebags then as they are now. IT feels more like a joke on Scrooge. Donald still puts up with a lot of stuff, but he’s more liable to complain. In the Rosa stories.. it feels more like he just makes Donald the butt monkey and it dosen’t play well as.. Donald dosen’t want to be there. He has every RIGHT not to want to be there as he’s not being paid a decent wage, not being compensated in any other ways, and could be searching for a boss who actually pays him a living wage. Donald is more the victim in Rosa’s stories but he simply doesn’t realize this, or the fact it’s even worse since Donald is you know RAISING THREE CHILDREN AND SCROOGE KNOWS THIS BUT DOES NOT PITCH IN ONE EXTRA CENT. So already without even adding the decades on, it hasn’t aged well.. but add in the modern day business where it’s a STRUGGLE to get states to raise minimum wages, the job market was hit horribly even BEFORE Corona came and made things worse, and companies horribly abuse their employees to ludcirous extremes such as time crunch in the video game industry, black friday in retail and of course the house of nightmares that is the amazon warehouse, and I say that being a frequent use of amazon.. just because I rely on a company dosen’t mean I have to LIKE doing so in any way shape or form.

What i’m saying is Scrooge’s actions were already bad, making this joke fall flat, but it comes off as downright unfunny after all of that. Even given the times Scrooge was raised in it’s just not a funny gag that “oh ha ha a 70+ year old man ever learned right from wrong when it came to paying his family or workers”. It just paints scrooge in the worst light possible as man who never grew, in at least one aspect, from being a goddamn tweenager and is easily one of the weaker moments of an otherwise epic and well crafted saga, and as i’ve said of Rosa’s exemplary work as a whole.

Anyways the race is on and with the DIlly Dollar gaining on Hogg’s Cotton reiver witch, Hogg has them ram into the boat and flip it over. And no i’m not descrbing a sex act. In a show of competence while Blackheart Beagle’s actions send them close to the falls too he just uses the dilly dollar as a ramp. We also get a really cool flipped over panel as our heroes are waterlogged. A snag boat shows up, I assume it removes snags and dangerous objects and complains about rescuing them. .even though CLEARLY they had some kind of accident. It’s.. never a good look to complain about having to save someone’s life or livelyhood unless that someone is Tucker Carlson. Then it’s ABSOLUTLEY okay to grumble a bit about having to do the right thing.

So after a quick gag we’re introduced to a chekovs gun as a massive tree sprouts out of the river and spooks Scroogey.. and Angus who explains it’s a “sawyer”, something that happens when a dead tree falls in a river.. sinks in.. and then can rise right back up suddenly, violently and boat destroyingly.

So our heroes head on and find the location and Angus dumbly assumes that Hogg, who had a clear start is just lost.. and not you know lurking in the bushes watiting to strike. And strike he does as he once again rams hard and long into the Dilly Dollar, leaving it on a sandy shore. Schwing. Our heroes are landlocked but Hogg, just to earn himself a dare to be stupid award, gives the Beagles their deed, and tells them theirs diving equipment. You can take a wild guess what happenes next.

Angus understandably laughs at his misfortune because it’s funny.. and Hogg responds by dropping him down a well. Before Scrooge can raise a benefit concert to send his love down a well, Angus asks Scrooge to join him instead.. and soon we find out why as the Beagles only find a wrecked town. Turns out thats where Monkey’s Elbow WAS, and they build the new town near it.. with the farm Angus ended up at being where the wreck is now.

Our heroes explore the wreck which honestly, looks really damn impressive, a muddy destroyed riverboat hauntingly beautifully lit by candle light, which Scrooge is holding naturally. I may of had my criticisms for Rosa this chapter, and I will again, but it’s moments like this that reinforce that the man is still one of the best comic book artists i’ve ever seen and knows how to beautifully meld his art with storytelling.

Speaking of which our heroes find the safe with the money. Angus is ritch but Scrooge.. dosen’t get how he can be happy. Scroogie questions “How much satisfaction can there be in having your life’s fortune handed to you? “ It’s easily the best moment of the chapter.. while it’s only two panels before we get to Angus moving things right along... it really speaks to Scrooge’s character. Even as still a naive boy from Glasgow... his whole life has been hard work, effort working your way up. To just.. LUCK into fortune like this baffles him. To be satisfied with that and not seem to have any amibation to use it to go further, to make more of yourself. To be more. While he hasn’t quite got his love for adventure yet, we’ll get there next time, even now there’s a hunger inside him, a desire to not just get rich, that’s all fine and good.. btu to have EARNED IT. To truly feel like he made his way.

And it perfeclty makes sense with his background: Scrooge was raised with nothing, and found out at the start of the story his family had lost everything, a once glorious clan reduced to a poor starving family on the edge of Glasgow. To him it can’t just be about getting Money.. he wants to bring his clan back. To make his family happy and proud. To make sure his father’s faith as the last of their line wasn’t misplaced. He has a lot of expectation on him and that’s bred his character. Angus.. just sorta left at a young age and has been incommuincado. He dosen’t really care about family or legacy.. not that I don’t think he would’ve sent some money back to buy the castle, I just think he was never that concerned with his family’s legacy like Scrooge despite coming from a similar cloth. He wanted the money, but Scrooge cares about the money.. and his family. It’s what anchors him. What keeps him from his worst impulses and keeps him grounded.. for now anyways but that’s a ways off. Point is it really speaks to Scrooge’s character.

But soon the beagles find our heroes, and a fight breaks out.. and naturally even without years of experince yet, Scrooge is still a McDuck and while previously his fighting was based on ingunity.. this time the little runt’s just out for blood and suprises the beagles with a clump of mud and then beating the shit out of them. When one of them tries to respond by wacking him with a piece of wood... he instead breaks a collumn and with the dreenan unable to handle the mud without it... the place starts to collapse. However our heroes don’t make it out unschathed as the Beagles capture them and the gold... for some reason. Seriously Scrooge dosen’t fight back or anything nor does angus they just.. let hte beagles overpower them. WHen Scrooge fully fought the grown ass men just a few mintues ago. What the actual hell.

But we do get another Badass Scrooge Moment, as once hteir on the ship, Scrooge mentions another treasure.. which baffles Angus despite you know.. the boy clearly playing at something. Yeah whlie I do like Angus.. he can be grating in parts and here he just comes off REALLY stupid. But after being tortured by running on a boat, with the beagles mistaking Angus’ genuine confusion for being a bastard man, which naturally their impressed by, Scrooge fessses up.. and you can see exactly’s coming.. the sawyer raises the boat into the air and harpoons it. The beagles try to play off the port authority but scrooge unmaks those “infamous beagle boys”.. and thus names one of his greatest threats. Blackheart vows revenge while our heroes go for a sasparillia..though Scrooge keeps the money.. as he says the memory of that adventure is worth more than anything. As for the Gold, the goverment took it back, but did give them a reward, and Angus only dosen’t give Scrooge a share because he’d have to refloat it, but offers him a job and the dollar in two years at a bargin price. Alls well that ends well. A truly poetic way to end the chapter and prepare scrogoe for the next... TO BE CONTINUED...

FINAL TH...

Yeah.. as you probably know this is NOT the end of the chapter. Instead we go on for a bit more. And a few more pages would’ve been fine, to help bridge the gap.. we see scrooge get the Dollar at a bargin price as his uncle promised, though the deal turns out to be a bit of a lemon as the riverboat industry has dried up. But then.. we get a couple page adventure with the beagle boys, where the beagles try to steal the goverment gold scrooge is transporting, Ratchet helps him escape, and we DO get the utterly badass image of scrooge driving the boat onto land and it exploding and causing a massive flood> While that is awesome.. the pacing just takes a huge hit and it’s easily why this chapter is one of my least faviorite. It probably would’ve been better if they just had a passage of time montage of events at the start of the next chapter and ended on that bit before.. but instead it just goes on a bit and really tries my patience every time as instead of moving on to a bold new adventure.. we just get some filler to help pad things out so Rosa can get it to the right page length. I don’t blame him, sometimes shit happens, but it dosen’t make it any more fun to read. So the Dollar is scrapped and Scrooge is back at the bottom with barely a cent to his name. But he’s resolute: since the river boating days were winding down anyway he’s going west to become a cowboy, and heads off on the Wabash Cannonball as a fireman, i.e. the guy who stokes the engines, to make his way there. So we end our story for now and again.. this would’ve been much better condensed but whatever. We’re finally done.

Final Thougts

As you could probably tell but I saved for here, and I outright even said this is one of my least faviorite chapters and one of the weakest if not the weakest. Part of it is the structure issue I mentioned, but the other part is it just.. isn’t as intresting at least to me personally. The rest of life and times have pretty unique stories that while not removed from genres Scrooge stories have covered, use the story of his rise to make them really pop as we slowly see how the iconic Scrooge we know became the legend and what shaped him that way. Here while we get bits of that, it’s mostly just a standard uncle scrooge story but with him as a kid. It’s not a BAD one, it dosen’t drag the whole of life and times down and it’s servicable but it just feels a bit more standard for Rosa’s work. Still enjoyable, but nothing really spectacular like the next two chapters. On it’s own or as one of the side stories it would’ve been fine but as part of this huge sprawling masterpiece, it’s just a bit underwhelming and just makes me eager to get to the next part every time rather than really suck me in as much as the others. Again the pacing dosen’t help with that and only makes it drag further. It just dosen’t have the weight the other ones do character wise and as such just makes me want to get to part 3 already, which naturally that story within a story dosen’t help with. Overall while not a bad comic, I don’t think any part of life and times is truly bad, it’s still not a GREAT comic like what’s to come or what came just before.

NEXT TIME ON LIFE AND TIMES: Scrooge heads out to the wild wild west.. though instead of a giant mechanical spider he fights some cattle rustlers and meets Teddy Roosevelt HELL. YES.

Until then, happy holidays and later days!

#the life and times of scrooge mcduck #scrooge mcduck #life and times #ratchet gearloose #angus mcduck #the beagle boys #the master of the missippi #don rosa #duck comics

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