#we got so much free beer and there are SO many cops

[cookinguptales]

GUESS WHO WAS EATING DINNER IN DOTONBORI WHEN THE HANSHIN TIGERS WON

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Do the baby rats ever return to the bilges? And by that do they spend much time with the old man? Are they free to drop in and make themselves at home?

I think it varies between them and over time.

Alfred drops in a lot. God knows there's hardly a spot in the world he hasn't made himself known but I still couldn't quite believe how many statues and memorials. The eagle squadron, the Eisenhower statue, the Reagan statue, the 9/11 memorial garden. Mark Twain, James McNeil Whistler, Harry Selfridge, FDR, Abraham Lincoln. Like goddamn I'm not sure why I was surprised but whoo. So many statues of Yanks paid for by the British.

Anyway: In the 19th century he'd actually spent time in England indulging his need for the latest technology and satiating whatever advances François or Gilbert wouldn't keep him abreast of. Nowadays, especially since the age of flight, he travels a lot and has no shame in rolling up, insulting the food but savoring the whiskey, crashing wherever he likes and drunkenly asking his father's advice. He's very free in how much space he takes up and how much time he feels entitled too. If he's jet lagged he'll just conk out on the old man's spare room and complain it smells like sheep but very much appreciate a night's sleep in a place he once called home.

Matt... He should be very comfortable in that space but he's a dipshit so imposing feels illegal. He kind of knows he can but he's also not willing to test his luck the vast majority of the time. If he's invited he'll show up on time, clean up after himself and promptly leave without causing a fuss. At least the cat's happy he's back to visit lmao. He got permission to pay for a wee fountain in the green park memorial. There was a gate we bought when Victoria locked it and we were still first dominion (Australia was still in the process of confederating.) But yeah he's welcome? Arthur doesn't mind him around if he's not underfoot. But it really was kind of a sign Jan had no idea what Matt's life was like anymore when he asked him to go stay at his dad's in the aftermath of their break up.

Jack lmao he's shameless when he wants some of the old man's attention. I don't think it's all the time, but there are a lot of links there. I swear to God I met so many Australians in England. I tumbled out of a test pit off a corner off a Hadrian's wall fortlet and there were like 6 Australians in every pub in fricken Yorkshire. He will just kind of show up with a very casual but somehow kind of prickly invitation to go to a cultural event of his artists or bands in England and the old fart isn't objecting. It took Arthur a minute to figure out that "Accadacca" meant they were going to go see AC/DC but he wasn't mad about it! Two manic fucks can have a lot of fun. They party quite hard sometimes. Jack was also very responsible for the old man's cooking improving by a metric and imperial fuck tonne. The espresso machine under the cabinet is his baby.

Zee I think is the easiest. She's as independent as Jack but that not quite dead idea that daughters are kind of allowed to be more in and out of the house makes it slightly easier for them. She rolls up and flops on the sofa demanding to be fed and watered. A full fifth of the NZ population lives overseas with Australia and the UK topping the list and if there's things she can't really do in New Zealand or she just doesn't want to live alone she'll just hop over. I feel like she goes in cycles of how independent and revolutionary she's feeling and will just kind of make herself at home if she wants another degree or something similar. She spent time in London without the old man too especially during the peak punk years and they ran into each other at a sex pistols concert. She had a full set of tattoos, an undercut and half a blunt in her system, Arthur had green hair and absolutely ripped on god knows what. She's never seen him so panicked. They stumbled home together having a hoot and throwing beer bottles at cops. Grade a hooligans, those two.

[girlinlotsoffandoms]

day seventeen - friendly fire

notes: this took longer than I intended lol

read on AO3 or below

The Battle of the Badges event between the CFD and the CPD had evolved a lot throughout the years, as had the friendly rivalry between the two groups of first responders. The boxing matches changed to hockey games and for the past few years, it’d been baseball. 

Both groups took it seriously too; they held tryouts and scheduled practices, they even traded playful smack talk when players came across one another at scenes. It was all in good fun and tickets to the game were sold to raise money for charity but the stakes were high. This year’s game was the tiebreaker as both the PD and FD had won two of the last 4 games.

Fifty-one was captaining the CFD team this year, resulting from Herrmann’s competitive nature and some smack talk at Molly’s one night. That’s why, whenever second shift had downtime at the firehouse, Herrmann was making them practice. Most of the time, it was just throwing and catching out on the apron. Every once in a while, though, Boden would let them take the trucks to a field down the street where they could practice batting and on the bases when calls were slow. 

Herrmann had gotten a little intense and by the time the game rolled around, the CFD team didn’t even care about bragging rights anymore. They just wanted the game to be over. In fact, so many people had gotten annoyed and dropped out that Herrmann had to bribe Kelly with free beer to fill the last spot.

Stella helped convince him as well, as she was much more persuasive.

That was how he ended up sitting on the bench for the game. It’s not like he didn’t like the Battle of the Badges ; he was a willing participant when they played hockey. Baseball just wasn’t his thing.

“Severide! You’re up!” Herrmann yelled from the gate. “Everyone’s gotta bat.”

“Since when?”

Herrmann groaned. “Ahh, some knuckleheads on the CPD’s team changed the rules to keep it fair.”

Kelly rolled his eyes but grabbed a bat and headed onto the field. He stepped up to the plate and got into position. The first pitch went a little wide and Kelly adjusted his position. He hit the second pitch but it was a foul ball. 

The third pitch was when everything changed. Kelly adjusted his stance just as the PD pitcher threw the ball. No one knew whether it was the slight change in Kelly’s position or the difference in the throw, but the pitch went wide.

The ball hit Kelly’s head with a sickening crack and Kelly dropped to his knees, one hand coming to his head.

Both benches cleared and the members of the CFD team ran to check on their injured teammate and friend. Stella was the first to reach him, Brett and Violet and the rest of 51 behind her. 

They carefully moved Kelly so he was sitting instead of kneeling. Kelly was alert and conscious, thankfully, but it was clear he was in pain. Blood was steadily streaming down his face from where the skin had split from the impact of the ball.

Brett opened the first aid kit she’d brought, having volunteered to be on paramedic duty for the game, and pulled out some gauze. She handed it to Stella who immediately pressed it to Kelly’s wound.

“Hey, how’re we feeling?” Stella asked.

“Like I should’ve never agreed to this game,” Kelly grumbled. 

Kelly sat through Brett’s ministrations, not so patiently waiting for her to finish her concussion check. As Brett used her pen light to check Kelly’s pupillary response, the pitcher from the police’s team approached the group. “Lieutenant Severide? I’m so sorry.”

Kelly looked at the kid. He had to be a rookie or just a few years out of the academy at most. The guilt on his face was clear.

“You’ve got a hell of an arm, kid,” Kelly mumbled, seemingly impressed. “You play in college or something?”

The rookie, who Kelly would later learn was named Crosby, rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah actually. Two years at Chicago College and a year in the minor leagues.”

Kelly hummed. “Well, if the cop thing doesn’t work out you have a solid backup plan."

Crosby nodded but the guilt was still clear on his face. “Again, I am so sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it, we’re good.”

… … …

The game effectively ended after Kelly’s injury. Brett told him it seemed he lucked out with just a concussion but Stella was insistent he go to the hospital for scans just to be sure. Kelly agreed but only if they forewent the ambulance ride. 

Three hours, 7 stitches, and a CT scan later, it was confirmed that Kelly had lucked out with just a concussion. He was going to be okay and that took some of the sting out of the game officially being ruled in PD’s favor.

Herrmann immediately took to ranting in the group chat and the constant buzzing of Stella’s phone made Kelly thankful for the no-screen rule the doctor gave him. Concussions had their benefits after all.

[thenightlymirror]

Friday night. I had pizza and beer with Andrew after work. Andrew asked me what we are supposed to do with the gang bangers under socialism. “You know what I mean?”

I don’t. I don’t know. I guess I’ve been pilled for a long time. I’m not sure I relate to people’s fears about equality anymore. There’s reasonable steps you can make towards a more democratic and participatory world, that’s less cruel. Social democracy. And with a new portion of dignity, you’re capable of more things.

He just doesn’t see how you can make all the different kinds of greedy and self-interested people work together. Period? I think you buy into all this, a little. (He scoffs at this.) That this is peaceful, working, better than the alternatives. That you have any chance of success, and that you’d enjoy it if you had it.

He tried to explain that he wasn’t all for capitalism. No, I understand that. Liberalism is critical of capitalism, thinks there should be some safety net. He mentioned “welfare with a ten year lifetime limit.” Which disgusts me, deeply.

He asked how I could go to a movie, with all that it costs. I said I’m eating at a restaurant too. Will there be restaurants after the revolution? I hope not? I don’t care? I think the point is that less of life should be centered around buying things. Some things will be free, other things just more fair. But, ultimately it’s about imagining a world where everything is free, and meeting it there.

It wasn’t a hopeful conversation. It was sort of dark and lonely, mostly because I never launched into any soaring rhetoric or made it personal, about what he expects out of life, all that. For me, we’re just immersed in this bad thing. It’s defeated us. I’d like to beat it. How are you going to make rich people do what they don’t want to do? By gunpoint. Through political coercion. Whatever people are willing to do. It no longer bothers me. Maybe one day it will. But terror is better than this. Personally, I’m not very useful for that kind of thing, and I understand that’s a bit of a cop-out. But still. I want this system to end. I refuse to pretend I’m saving face and that this is just how things are and it’s okay. I’m participating in a crime, under duress, and I’d like to be delivered.

He sees me as a friend, and wants to see how I tick, is what he says. I feel like it’s the first time anyone has argued with me about ideas in many, many years. So, I wasn’t heroic or anything. Sometimes I wasn’t sure what I thought. I think maybe sometimes an educated liberal wants to hear a smart rebuttal. A good case. That smacks of vanity to me. This world is so thoroughly unjustifiable. It isn’t smart. It won’t last. It isn’t fair. It could be better. It’s actively violent, with evil motives. Any version of socialism is better than this. Maybe socialisms devolve into capitalism when there’s still work credits, industrial production, clocks. You just figure it out. But always toward the communist horizon, and never taking any satisfaction in this morass of bullshit we’re in.

He walked to his bus stop after getting a bit drunk by himself mostly. I just finished my beer. You can tell things make him sad and then he has to temper it with some happy thought, or another drink. I feel like I just can’t relate to this most relatable human reflex. We both agree that we needed a new friend, it’s good we can hang out.

When I got home to Winnetka, the square behind my apartment building was filled with dining tables as usual, with a cabaret duo playing smooth jazz to—and I mean this much more literally than it is usually applied—the bourgeoisie. The actual bourgeoisie. My neighbors. A man playing cello across the street took a break to speak to a waitress, who handed him some kind of invoice.

One of the grounds guys texted me while I was walking through. He was shyly trying to convince me to see a bar he goes to. He must have heard that Andrew, Buck, and I went out on the town. He kept telling me stories about famous people he’s partied with. DB Sweeney. The singer of Disturbed. Keanu Reeves. Dog Star’s tour bus stopped and it was full of women and drugs, and Keanu invited him in. What happened? “Take a guess.”

I tend to let people lie. I mean it’s entirely possible. Some rich guy abducted him into his Sadness Van and they trafficked some girls together. That’s believable. Why not?

It’s such a delicate balance of not being impressed, but not letting anyone know so you don’t break their lonely hearts.

[thewestern]

Chapter 19:2

Whereas in many respects the Phish business plan — or lack thereof — was built to spec on the Grateful Dead’s blueprint, there is one major exception wherein the student became the master. That is Music Festivals, a space in which Phish was a trailblazer. Their jam-flow elders, meanwhile, never quite found their footing with the festival format. But how can this be? After all, the Grateful Dead played the granddaddy of them all — we’re talking about Woodstock here. Well, their by-all-accounts-forgettable set opened with one of the band members electrocuting himself with his guitar. What had happend was, Bear Stanley thought the festival PA system was some amateurish bullshit, so he spent Soundcheck doing some on-the-fly fiddling with the wiring on the amplifiers. And then it started raining. Playing the first few bars of the opening song — a rare Saint Stephen, and perhaps now we know why — Bobby recalled feeling a distinct tingling sensation, right before his rig blew him ten feet back across the fucking stage. 

So Woodstock could have gone better, but the boys remained steadfast. Beside, everybody knows the Grateful Dead are a California band. Which is to say these East Coast cats weren’t yet hip to their jive. Naturally, then the question became: what if there were a Woodstock West? Enter: Altamont. 

Not much to relitigate, really. Hippie speed freak charges the stage, brandishing a .38 Special. Beer-drunk biker fascist dude stabs him three times in the back. Party’s over. 

(It was always Jerry who had the hard-on for those wannabe outlaw assholes. Nobody else in the family wanted them around, picking fights with the men, and copping feels from the women. Not to mention the work they could do on a backstage buffet. But, hey, Garcia insisted, and this was his rodeo. To him, the whole wave they were riding at that time was about Freedom, with a capital fucking f. And they, The Angels, were Freedom Personified, he said. Whatever the hell that means.)

The licensing agreement between Saints Sixtus and Bernardus expired in the early nineties. Both parties would probably have been pleased to extend their symbiotic business arrangement, were it not for those tight asses at the Brotherhood of Holy Brewers. Around that time they were creating an unofficially official industry standard for designating authentic Trappist breweries, as opposed to plain old abbey breweries. It heretofore mandated that all monastic brewing take place in an accredited monastery, to be performed by gen-u-ine monks. So the free ride to total consciousness was over for the everly pious brothers of Saint Sixtus, just as the gravy train had reached its final destination for the contract brewers at Saint Bernardus. Though there were no hard feelings between them. For a fact, Saint Bernardus was allowed to keep the recipes and the famous Sixtus yeast strain, just so long as they gave back the Westvleteren Brewery brand name. They were even allowed to keep the picture of the monk on the bottle. Although they had to take off his little yarmulke and his special tunic. Still looked like any other monk you ever did see. Brown-robed, donut-headed, Friar Tuck-looking mother fucker. On the Christmas Ale label he’s got a little Santa hat to cover up his bald spot. 

Mayor Mockingbird (cat) didn’t show much enthusiasm for anything apart from licking himself and torture killing the odd rodent. Brewing, certainly, the kitten did not much care for it. Whenever the hoses turned on, he took off. But, for some reason, that cycloptic little feline loved the forklift. He’d hear it beeping and coming running. Hop on Grace’s lap and lean his little paws up on the steering wheel — Seven and Five. The way Wilhelm II would let Hildy drive on his lap around the dirt roads down on the ranch. Her kid brother Ernie rode shotgun. He was still too small to see over the dash, but he cherished the memory always, as if someday it was still going to be his turn. Hildegard hadn’t thought about it in years. For a fact, she had almost no memory of her father. Not as he lived. Grace, never the sentimentalist herself, nonetheless thought this to be the cutest possible violation of occupational health and safety protocol. She even wanted to get Larry Cat his own little yellow hard hat.  

Here’s a thesis: from Amy’s Farm to Big Cypress, Phish pioneered the modern music festival. 

But … somewhere in between, was the beginning of the end. He was called Clifford Ball. 

Pleased to meet you  

Hope you guessed my name

It all started out with the best of intentions, like these things so often do. They were going to Build Something, (Gestures) Out There. Plattsburgh, New York, specifically, would be the place. A short hop and a skip across Lake Champlain from Burlington, their beloved Vermont home. The venue, such as it was: a decommissioned Air Force base. Back in its heyday, about eighteen months before the Altamont Free Festival, a B-52 bomber had took off from right there, on a Hard Head mission, part of Operation Chrome Dome. (Again, what pervert is naming all this stuff?) Before it could reach the edge of Soviet airspace, where it would maintain a perimeter of first-strike capability, a cabin fire sent this Stratofortress into a tailspin, corkscrewing into the icy depths off the coast of Greenland and dumping its ruptured payload of four thermonuclear bombs into the North Star Bay. Anyway, that was thirty fucking years ago. There hasn’t been a Broken Arrow incident since, not counting that shit sandwich in Damascus. (Arkansas, not Syria.) By now the Cold War was ancient history. We were ramping down our strategic defenses. And did anybody think about what effect that would have on the fine people of Plattsburgh? No they did not. Because it would take another thirty years to recover the economic loss wrought by the base closure, per the official estimate of the Clinton County comptroller. But then along comes these four hippie goofballs from across the lake. And damn if they don’t make up the deficit fivefold in a fucking weekend. Seventy thousand concertgoers descend, sextupling the local population. They build their own popup city, complete with campgrounds, food vendors, a town square, provocative art installations, free parking as far as the eye could see and two thousand port-a-toilets. There’s a Clifford Ball Chapel, where two wooks have a tie-dye wedding. No amount of Internet research can confirm whether they’re still married, but you can still watch the ceremony online. The first comment reads: My first Son was conceived at the Clifford Ball. Good times. Quite. Come to think of it, everybody knows how four kids died at Altamont Speedway. (The aforementioned fatal stabbing, plus two victims of a hit-and-run, as well as an LSD-induced drowning in an irrigation ditch, makes four.) However, according to the American Red Cross there were also four babies born that day at the festival. So in terms of net life lost, it was a wash.   

The Mick was doing paperwork — POs on the HIHA. He didn’t get to ride the forklift so much anymore, what with all this desk job bullshit, come fallen into his lap. Managing the accounts as they fluttered away like leaves with the changing of the seasons. Considerable fewer stops for Skip, the Newfy’s longtime delivery driver. He was getting up there, though. Probably for the best. Topher SKIP Engel had used to be Hank’s mailman, as well as he was his weed dealer. How about that for convenience? Door-to-door service, before that was the expectation. Nowadays you can get blood or semen — whatever your pleasure — delivered same-day. Anyhow Skip would have held out for that sweet postal service pension were it not for President Pudding-For-Brains implementing mandatory drug screening for all federal employees. Clean piss was much harder to come by back then in the late eighties, so urinalyses were a non-starter. (By the mid-nineties, pee was everywhere. Yellow piss, clear piss, pregnant piss. All kinds.) To hell with it. He had his pastoral ideal of the postman — Charlie Utter, Cliff Calvin, Karl Malone. The old Pony Express. Whatever he was now, it wasn’t that. Not even in the same zip code. By then hardly all they were delivering by the U.S. mail was out-and-out junk. Scams for cash sweepstakes you didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in heck of winning. Catalogs for crap you couldn’t afford unless by some miracle you did. He didn’t want to be a party to the demise of such a storied public institution anyhow.

Well, so it goes how one door closes. Because it just so happened that the Newfy were outgrowing Mary Ellen Moffett’s station wagon, what with the exponential growth of the Distribution Co-op. So Hank made the capital expenditure investment of a new delivery vehicle. And dammit if he didn’t buy a Grumman LLV — a mother fucking mail truck for all you laymen. Not Skip’s old rig, per say, but one just like it. Naturally Hank offered his old buddy the gig driving it, on the condition that he continue to sell to him on the side from his private stash; in addition to being a distributor and retailer of cannabis products, Skip was himself a manufacturer. This in his capacity as a pharmaceutical botanist, which was the term he preferred. After some terse negotiation, Skip accepted. He’d been zig-zagging the state in that POS ever since. (It was a POS, but Hank had his reasons for buying it. Two of them. First: it should come as no surprise that they’re fucking indestructible as a Sherman tank, which is how come they so rarely appear on the auction block. Therefore, if they do go up for sale, you basically have no choice but to buy it. Also, of all commercial vehicles, the mail truck bears the closest passing resemblance to the Space Shuttle, with the sort of snub nose. Hank’d since come around on the whole astronaut thing. The Mick hand painted their ripoff of the NASA insignia with the letters NEWFY swapped in that outer-spacey, red font.)  Though he wasn’t a prideful sort, Skip would go on to take immense personal satisfaction in crossing the CDL million-miler rubicon. Even though he would’ve never said so to his colleagues, they all knew how much it meant to him, so there was a little ceremony for him at the bar. Hank hand-made him a medal (a gold medal), and hung it around his neck like Chewbacca. Skip affixed it onto the rearview mirror. The Mick even brewed a commemorative beer to mark the occasion. Two Trips to the Moon and Back. A Belgian-style dubbel. (For those of you wondering, should a prolific grower and smoker of Marijuana have a job driving six thousand pounds of sin up and down the highway … grow up. Skip had the reflexes and the hands-free hygiene routine of a cat. That’s why they called him Whiskers.) Per the American beer writer Jeff Alworth in his reference tome, The Beer Bible (Workman, 2015), the Westvleteren beers brewed at Saint Sixtus remain undoubtedly the most coveted in the world. This is because they refuse to scale their operation to meet demand. There are only two places to get Westvleteren beer — by the glass at the lovely monastery cafe, or by the crate on the loading dock. (Limit one per customer for the latter. No telling if you’ll see a monk driving a forklift. Flowing robes and open-toed shoes would constitute an OSHA double whammy.) Saint Bernardus beers are also quite well renowned in their own right, but they’re distributed all over the world. Not that they’re necessarily easy to find. If you’re curious, best bet for copping is if your town has one of them wine and spirits warehouse superstores, where you get a full-on shopping cart, like you’re doing the supermarket sweep with plastic handles of hard liquor. They might could have Christmas Ale or Abt 12 stocked in the Imports aisle. That, or if there’s a fancy liquor store in the rich neighborhood with the good schools, where the guy behind the register has a goatee and knows about what natural wines pair best with which gamey meats. Just ask him. Never mind. He’ll come out an tell you. Unsolicited. There he is behind you. 

Those bougie-ass Bottle Shops, as they’re so called, were always Hank’s bread and butter. Bar accounts were always the harder nut to crack. (First rule of beer distribution: there’s a lot more shelf space than there are bar taps. Allocate your time accordingly.) He’d ride all over with a handheld cooler that he rigged up with a miniature tap, pouring little sampler glasses in tiny red plastic cups abot the size of shot glasses. If they liked the merchandise and the price was right, Skip would step in to fulfill the order. Used to be when the limited edition SKUs would come out, such as Home Invasion Holiday Ale, the most hopeless of the beer dorks — we’re talking the real sickos here — would call ahead to those fancy liquor stores to see who was getting what and when. Then word would get out on the message boards or however else those life forms communicate. Fucking, nerd telepathy. Then they’d all set up camp there, in a strip mall out front of some mom-and-pop wine and spirits store in the middle of the damn afternoon on a workday. Could be dead of winter. Didn’t matter. Was it a bit like a scavenger hunt for grown-ups? (Pokemon Go … to the polls!) Skip would see them sitting there on the curb, Indian style, and think well isn’t that the damnedest thing. They would gawk at him as he rolled the dolly by, mouths even more agape than usual. Did it make him proud to be delivering something so coveted after? No, not really. To reiterate, he wasn’t a prideful man, apart for when he was awarded that gold medal for driving that millionth mile. Fucking a, that was something. Otherwise, he’d deliver horse shit and do it happily. Just so long as it was honest work, as in the shit came direct from the horse’s ass. That, the check cleared and the truck had an AM/FM radio. 

[bmodiwrites]

So I have a little silly prompt 👉🏻👈🏻

Hopper catching Steve and Eddie smoking weed and making out at Lover’s Lake while he’s on patrol. Just think it would be so funny how embarrassed both Steve and Hopper would be and Eddie is smug but kinda nervous because weed and cops don’t mix

Yo, yes - I love this! Thanks for sending it in, I'm excited to see where this goes -

It starts like any other Saturday afternoon.

Steve made a deal with Robin a few weeks ago agreeing to take the Sunday shift in exchange for the whole day off on Saturday. They both get to spend a weekend day with their significant others and all is well, it's truly a great thing for everyone. Steve waits for the entire week to pass him by just to snag those 36 uninterrupted hours with Eddie when school lets out for the week and they're both free. The sight of Eddie driving his van towards the outskirts of Hawkins makes the five day wait absolutely worth it.

No matter what they ended up doing, their time always starts at Lover's Lake. Steve's not sure how that became their place but it is and there's nothing like the quiet privacy of the woods to jump start whatever they decide to do with each other. Eddie's easy with the weed he's supposed to be selling, providing them with a plethora of joints to work through while they make plans to go to a party or simply crack open beers and stay right where they are. Steve's found that it's fun to get stoned in the middle of the afternoon - time seems to slow down a little bit in the drug induced haze.

That particular day, Eddie opened up the back to flop down onto the blanket masterpiece Steve put together weeks ago. One too many nights on the hard seat backs made even his young back ache something fierce. It's been a marvelous addition - Steve thinks sex in the van is quickly becoming his favorite.

As Eddie settles in, Steve knows his boyfriend enough to recognize that they won't be moving from that spot for the rest of the night. Which is more than okay because the week's been hard and Steve's ready to unwind with Eddie in whatever way possible. He's hoping that tongues and naked skin will be involved - but they've got more than enough time for that.

Steve's content to pass the joint back and forth while they listen to Eddie's mixed tape when the day takes an odd turn. They're sharing the smoke in the guise of a shotgun that quickly turns into neither boy pulling away. It's so fucking intoxicating to lick into Eddie's mouth to find the lingering taste of smoke and beer that Steve's come to love very much. Never mind the fact that Eddie is a great kisser - his lips are plump and warm, enveloping Steve's so deliciously. Eddie's single minded focus when kissing is more than enough to distract Steve from everything around him - even the crackle of tires on the dry grass they're parked in.

As Steve is shifting his weight to straddle Eddie's lap, the all too familiar "whoop whoop" of a police siren stops him dead in his tracks. He looks at Eddie with wide eyes; the joint they were smoking is still lit in Eddie's grasp. Putting it out would be of no use - the entire van smelt like sweet stinky weed, not to mention Steve and Eddie themselves reeked of it. Steve tries to be quick and crawl out of Eddie's lap but there's no use - Sheriff Jim Hopper is standing menacingly in the space of the van's open doors, catching them in the act. A couple of them.

"Afternoon fellas," Jim says, looking awkwardly between Steve and Eddie. He's got gum in his mouth or something and the smacking is loud in the heavy silence. "Public indecency is a crime, you know." His disapproving look is one upped by the piece of Big Red in his mouth undermining each word. Steve's just high enough to have to hold a laugh back - the whole situation is surreal.

That's taken to the next level when Eddie shoots Hop a smirk and says "we close the doors" like they aren't in the worst situation possible. Steve's usually a fan of Eddie's humor but it's ill timed now. Except maybe it isn't because Hopper laughs sharply - the sound ricochets in the van, hurting Steve's ears.

Shaking his head, Steve tries to back track, to make up for Eddie's blunder. "Hop, we weren't looking for trouble." Steve's voice is scratchy from the hits he took before the sheriff decided to ruin their fun. He clears his throat, unsuccessfully being cool about it. It's obvious that Eddie is the only one enjoying the situation - his shit eating grin is infuriating (and devastatingly sexy).

"We got a noise complaint - when I heard the description of Munson's van, I thought I'd come investigate myself." Hopper looks regretful of that decision now that he's staring down boys he has dinner with at least once a week on top of each other. It's difficult for Steve to see the authoritarian when he's shared drunken nights with the town's protector.

Nonetheless, he appropriately hangs his head in shame, averting his eyes from Hop's gaze. If things weren't weird already, Steve climbing off of Eddie's thighs to turn the radio down kicks it up a notch. Eddie is casual about the way he stares at Steve's ass and Hop's throat clear is pointed. "Put that damn thing out," Hopper says, pointing at Eddie. "I outta take you boys in."

It's Eddie that's spluttering out "Hop no," in a pleading voice that's so deceptively sad that Steve wants to move the world to make it go away immediately. Luckily, Hopper is of a similar mind. At least, he's smart enough to know that Joyce will never let him hear the end of it if Steve and Eddie end up in jail.

"Find somewhere else to do this," he waves his hand between Steve and Eddie, wrinkling his nose, "at least for a while." Hopper pauses for a second, his demeanor changing. "And don't be late for dinner Monday - Joyce is finally letting me barbecue." His gaze on them is heavy for another moment before he shakes his head and walks back the same way he came.

Steve keeps his shit together just long enough to hear Hopper's door shut before laughter spills from him. It doesn't take Eddie long to join in, his face reddening as the hilarity of the situation settles in. They cackle like fiends for longer than either is willing to admit - despite taking on Vecna and monsters from beyond, it feels more satisfying to walk away scotch free now. Maybe it's the way Hopper just caved without a fight that's so funny. He's a big ball of goo when the hard shell is broken and they're lucky enough to be people who took part in hacking the damn thing to pieces.

As they pull themselves together and leave, Steve thinks about the grief Monday night's dinner is going to bring. It's exciting to know that Hopper's going to be on the receiving end of most of it. Their little family loves to poke the bear who's roar is loud as a distraction for its soft underbelly.

He suddenly can't wait to tell everyone the story.

Send a Prompt.

[skiesofthesketchy]

36, 60, and 71, if you can combine prompts for one request! was thinking like an accident happens, and jj’s freaking out, but there’s a happy ending obviously. If you only want 1 prompt, let’s go with 60 :)

congrats on 1k lovely!! you deserve it, and keep up all your amazing work ❤️

thanks for the request!! i kinda went in a different direction but i hope you like this! :)

masterlist

1k celebration blurbs

60. So I accidentally told her that I loved her. What do I do?

71. I didn't know how to tell you [before].

***

“Shit, shit, shit,” JJ murmured under his breath. His thoughts were running wild but he couldn’t process a single one of them. The confident and easy-going pogue had turned into a nervous mess, and he had nobody to blame but himself.

“JB, you better fucking answer,” he panted into his cellphone that was pressed to his face. He waited impatiently as he heard the ringing in his ear, all while basically running in the direction of the Chateau.

Right as JJ was about to hang up and try again, his best friend John B. finally picked up.

“Hey, what’s up, man? Are you coming by later? Pope and Kie are already here and we got the beer--”

“JB, I fucked up. I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up.”

“Woah, JJ, relax. What happened?” John B. immediately had a thousand different ideas of the trouble his friend could be in and ultimately assumed the worst. He had stopped everything to listen intently to JJ on the phone.

JJ sighed, still feeling like he wasn’t in complete control of his body. “JJ. What is it?” John B. asked again. He was getting more scared by the second about what could possibly be wrong. Did JJ do something to his dad? Is he running from the cops again?

“I accidentally told her that I love her. What the fuck do I do?” His tone was desperate, eyebrows creased in worry. He needed his best friend to tell him what to do.

JJ was a quick thinker, always able to escape trouble when he needed to. But this was different. Years of friendship out the window. He was convinced he had just ruined everything and that you would never want to see him again.

John B., of course, knew exactly who JJ was referring to. JJ only ever had feelings for you. Even with the string of random girls coming and leaving JJ’s bedroom, nobody compared to you.

Much to JJ’s dismay, he could hear his friend’s booming laughter through the phone. “Hey man, that’s great! Good for you,” John B. laughed. He was relieved that it wasn’t something actually bad, and was thankful JJ’s situation was amusing instead.

“It’s not great, and it’s definitely not funny,” JJ grumbled. “Can you be serious for a second? My life just blew up in my face and it’s my own damn fault.”

“Hey, seriously, you need to relax. Did she actually reject you?” John B. asked carefully.

“She would have if I would’ve stuck around to hear it.”

“What does that mean?”

“I ran away, okay?!” JJ yelled. “I got the hell out of there before she could even say anything.” Yep, he wanted to punch himself in the face for that. But he didn’t mean to spill his feelings all over you. It was all just a huge mistake.

It was something that couldn’t be helped, though. There you were, standing on the beach looking as beautiful as always. Your hair blew softly in the breeze as the golden sun gave your figure a gracious glow. The sight of you was enough to knock the air right out of JJ’s lungs.

Your smile lit up your pretty face as you told your good friend JJ all about the guy you were going on a date with tonight. The handsome stranger had been charming, and you had to admit you were a bit smitten. Not many guys have had the courage to walk up to you to ask you out.

JJ could tell you were excited, but a burning jealousy seeped into his bones. He willed himself to keep his mouth shut, but JJ had never been the best at self-control.

“I don’t think you should go out with this guy,” he said.

You looked at him confused. “Why not?”

He sighed, already kicking himself for speaking up. “Y/N, you don’t know him. He could be a murderer. He could be an asshole just wanting to get laid.” He was prepared to go on, but you cut him off.

“JJ, I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.” You couldn’t read him. You were used to JJ being protective, but he was acting strange. You could tell something else was on his mind but you couldn’t even begin to guess what it was. He couldn’t even look at you.

You grabbed a hold of his hand so that he would look back at you, finding his bright blue eyes clouded in anger? Disappointment? “What is this about?”

“What about for me? Would you ditch this guy for me?” Oh god, he’s already said too much, but it’s too late now. His gaze was fixed on you as you furrowed your brows in confusion.

“I don’t understand...”

“What if I told you I was in love with you?” It felt like the whole world stopped as he waited for your reaction. “Would you ditch him then?”

You didn’t think you heard him right. Did he just say he’s in love with you!? No, you must have water in your ears or something.

The short silence from you was the only answer he needed. With a nod and a frown, he tore himself away from you. “Just forget it,” he grumbled, already marching away.

“JJ, wait!” you called after him. He was already running from the situation and you hardly even had two seconds to process it all. “JJ!”

He didn’t listen to you and continued fleeing as fast as possible, wondering what the hell he had done.

That brings us back to the present. JJ had finally made it to the Chateau. John B. had filled Pope, Kie, and Sarah in on the situation, making JJ’s ears and face burn in embarrassment. At the same time though, he didn’t care what any of them thought. He only cared about you.

What were you calling after him for? What would you have said if JJ hadn’t run away? Do you want him out of your life because he made things weird?? Are you about to fall madly in love with this stupid guy you’re going out with right now???

“JJ, it’s okay. Come sit down and chill,” Kie brought JJ out of his wild imagination for a brief moment. It felt as if his heart was still beating much faster than it should. He felt restless but also like there was nothing he could do to fix any of it.

He only sat down in the hammock because Kiara had dragged him there. JJ felt like he was in a daze, not really paying attention to the world outside of his mind. Pope had handed him a beer and JJ gulped half of it down without even thinking about it. Conversation started up around him but he didn’t hear anything... until someone said your name.

“Oh look, Y/N’s here,” John B. announced, shoving JJ’s shoulder. “And she looks pissed.” JJ whipped his head around quickly and sure enough, there you were, beautiful as always, but fuming and marching right toward him.

“What the fuck, JJ?!” you yelled, making it obvious that you were about to either chew him out or kick his ass.

“Good luck, bud,” John B. whispered to JJ, chuckling under his breath.

“Fuck you,” JJ replied as he watched everyone go inside, leaving him alone to face your wrath. He didn’t know what the fuck to do, how to fix the mistake he made, how to make things not weird between you guys, but holy shit, he didn’t expect that you’d be so angry.

It was like he was watching you in slow motion, feeling every one of your stomps on the ground as you approached him, eyes ablaze and lips pulled into a frown. “What was that back there?” you finally asked, now standing right in front of the boy who looked scared shitless.

“I-- I know, Y/N. I’m sorry! It was a mistake--” he tried to explain rather desperately, but you cut him off.

“You can’t just dump all of that on me and then run away!” JJ finally stood up from the hammock and now towered over you, reaching for your arms without even thinking about it, wanting to make you feel calm.

“I don’t know why I said any of that! It was an accident! I'm sorry, we can talk about this--” You interrupted him yet again, but this time by launching yourself forward and crashing your lips to his.

With hands cradling his jaw, you did your best to put all of your emotions into the kiss, the one kiss that could change everything. JJ was more than surprised, freezing as you pulled him in closer, but within two seconds had relaxed and gave in-- he'd be an idiot not to. His hands fell to your waist and pulled you flush against him as his lips finally matched your ferver.

You don’t even know why you got so angry. Perhaps it was because the man you had loved since forever had told you he shared the same feelings, but then left before you could make the same confession, freeing yourself from years of secrecy. You didn’t want to hide it anymore. You needed to be sure he felt the same, like he said he did.

It almost didn’t matter now, as you poured every bit of passion you had into someone you called your best friend. He smiled against your lips, bringing his hand to the back of your neck to deepen the mind-blowing kiss. His mind was in a daze as his senses became clouded by you. In this moment, he had no doubts of his feelings for you. He was undeniably in love with you and couldn’t do a single thing to change that.

You had allowed yourself to get lost in him, but in a split second you were pulling away, not able to pull too far with JJ’s arms wrapped around you. His eyes trapped you in his gaze as you both took a moment to catch your breaths. You didn’t want to come down from the high you were experiencing, but you had to ask...

“Did you mean it?”

His brows furrowed wondering what you meant before it clicked. “Every word,” he said, only confidence and honesty in his voice. After that kiss, he wasn’t scared anymore. In fact, he felt fucking fearless. “I didn’t know how to tell you before.”

“Well, I'm glad you did,” you replied with a smile, dragging your fingers through his locks of hair before kissing him once more. The sounds of loud cheering made you pull away much sooner than either of you would have liked.

The pogues were watching from the window, cheering and making dumb kissy faces at you guys. JJ promptly flipped them off while you laughed, then he turned so that he was shielding you from the prying eyes of your friends. He loved the sound of your joyous laugh accompanied by your radiant smile.

“Next time you just wanna kiss me, can you not come over looking like you wanna kill me?” he asked, and you laughed with heat flooding your face. “Very mixed signals. I was scared for my life!” he added with a chuckle.

“Oh, shut up. I had a right to be mad at you!”

“But not anymore, right?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes and shook your head at him before throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him again. You could definitely get used to this.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled against his lips. “You’re lucky I love you too.” He grinned, feeling higher than the clouds now that you finally said the words he was dying to hear.

He picked you up and spun you before kissing you again. “The luckiest in the world.”

***

add/remove yourself from my taglist!

forever tags: @anonymousbbbb@niya-savage @voguesir @itsmrsfuentes @caseyabel28 @rafej-cambanks @misssociopath @justme172 @beautifultragedy1313

outer banks tags: @brithedemonspawn@no-pogue-on-pogue-macking @theresonly-butterflies @niamhobrien99 @sarcasticsagittarius12 @catonthesideoftheroad @lovelogan @falling-perfectly @justanotherbooklover @hemmingsness @lannxyz @outerbnx-stiles @dontjinx-it @queenofthepouges @tovvaa @phantompogues @brown-eyedshell @dazzlingnightsincrediblesights @jenjie @5sosbands @justcallmemia-blog @brithedemonspawn @princess-east @dancingintheredroom @kitty084 @kickintheballsfantastic@imgoingtohellsofuckit @allaloneisokay-blog @iamninaannaisreading @sophieryan29

jj tags: @lemur46@huhbble @princess-of-the-fandoms @camillemonty @baibabes-blog1 @shy-1234 @unfortunatekiwitrash @bijleegiregi @cheshirecat107 @dracoswhore007 @folkloverr @kaylinfayezink @canyoubuymetoast @lovelychanel @thefandomrainbow @canyoufixsthebroken @wwjaad @king-ronnoc @yami5525

[arrowflier]

Darling Arrow, would you please write something about Mickey accidentally making friends with everyone in the building and constantly talking about his husband, and then they finally meet him and they’re like ‘hot damn no wonder you’re obsessed with him’? Thank you ❤️

It was the first time Jason had ever been to one of these things. The apartment complex threw them every so often, little get-togethers to encourage “neighborly bonding”, but he had never really felt like he belonged there.

After all, just because he lived in the basement apartment didn’t mean he lived there. He wasn’t like these people. He just got reduced board for doing shit around the place; he was an employee, not a tenant.

But Melanie has invited him personally this year, something about building a rapport with the people he helped, and he wasn’t gonna turn down free food and good beer just to avoid rubbing elbows with the more fortunate.

And most of them were, clearly, more fortunate. Nice handbags, clothes that fit, shoes that weren’t covered in dirt. Happy voices and laughter when all he could think about was how much of a pain it was gonna be to clean up after this.

Whatever.

He took up a post by the food table, determined to make the best of it. Grabbed one of those tiny little plates and filled it with enough fancy shit to make his mother cry, and a weird microbrew to wash it down with. Then he picked a spot out of the way, nice and empty, and settled in for a long evening.

Unfortunately, more than one other person had the same idea.

“I wonder if Mickey’s going to be here,” one older woman asked her partner as they crowded into Jason’s little corner, forcing him back closer to the wall. “I know he was going to try, but that boy is just so busy.”

“Don’t know why,” her partner chimed in. “He has a husband, he shouldn’t have to do everything.”

“Don’t I know it,” the woman sighed, lifting a glass of red wine to her painted lips. “I’ve tried to tell him, I have, but he’s so obsessed with that Ian fellow he just won’t hear it.”

They trailed off into silence, picking delicately at the same foods Jason had already scarfed down. Seeing his chance to escape, he tried to sneak around them to refill his plate, but his way was suddenly blocked by another newcomer.

“Are you talking about Mickey?” they asked eagerly. A young woman, dressed to the nines, carrying a plate with nothing but two deviled eggs. “Is he here yet?”

“Not yet, dear,” the first woman answered. “We were just talking about how…devoted he is to that husband of his.”

“Oh, I know!” the new arrival exclaimed. “Mickey helped me out when my son got hurt a few weeks ago, but all he could talk about was how his husband would have done it better!”

This one gestured as she spoke, and nearly upset Jason’s own plate with her flailing. Instead of being glad it was empty, he stared forlornly at it as his window of opportunity closed. He stepped back instead—at least he could get out of the way a little more—but nearly backed into another body.

“You talking about Mickey?” another person asked, and Jason nearly groaned.

“Oh, you know him too?” the young woman asked excitedly.

“Of course I do,” the new person said. Jason turned his head to look, recognizing a young man that frequented the on-site gym. “He gave me some rad pointers the other day, said I wasn’t committing enough to the workout. ‘If you ain’t runnin’ like the cops are after you, you ain’t runnin’. And he was right—I hit a new personal best after that!”

“That sounds like something Mickey would say!” yet another voice said.

Jason closed his eyes. There was no escape now. If the floor didn’t eat him alive, this sudden crowd would.

“He’s great, right?” the new woman asked. “So real, so unfiltered.”

“Sure,” gym-guy agreed, then frowned. “When I tried to thank him, though, he just said some guy named Ian could help me more.”

“Did I hear you say Ian?” a new voice came through.

How many people were even at this party? Did they all even live in the building? For fuck’s sake, Jason should have just stayed home.

“Yeah, you know him?” the first woman, the older one, asked.

“Nah,” came the answer. “Know his husband though, Mickey. Cool guy, helped me out in the garden when I was having trouble.”

A pause.

“Kept goin’ on about Ian’s tomatoes though. He was so proud of the guy, and I bet he did half the work.”

A murmur of assent ran through the group. Jason caught himself nodding along, and shook himself out of it. He didn’t even know the guy!

“Wait, is that him?” someone asked. Jason had given up keeping track of who was speaking.

“It is! Mickey’s here!” someone else confirmed, and suddenly the entire crowd was rushing away and leaving Jason finally, thankfully, alone again.

Wondering what the fuck just happened.

He should take advantage of the exodus. Get some more food, some more beer, and escape back to his room.

But after all of that, he couldn’t help himself. He had to see what all the fuss was about.

So he trailed after the others. Stood at the back of the group as they all greeted a man who seemed more alarmed than anything to see them. A man who looked—

A lot like Jason.

His shoes were dirty. His hands carried tattoos not appropriate for polite company. His clothes fit, but they were worn in, like he had made them last. His eyes were skittish, his lips pursed…

And everyone there hung off him like he was a king.

Including a tall, red-haired man with a hand on Mickey’s back. A man that took Mickey’s hand, and whispered in his ear, brushing lips against his head as he pulled away. A man that stepped between Mickey and the crowd, shielding his partner, and spoke loud enough to be heard by all.

“Hey folks,” he said with a charming, mega-watt smile. It should have looked smarmy, but somehow it felt sincere. “I’m Ian; it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

If Jason were one to speak in similes, he would say the response of the crowd was like a shockwave.

“You’re Ian?”

“Hi Ian!”

“Ian, we’ve heard such great things!”

And behind it all, Mickey stood, a small smile on his face, content to let his husband take the spotlight. He caught Jason’s eye over the crowd, and winked, then pointed questioningly at the beer bottle that hung loose from Jason’s fingers.

Jason gestured to the food table. Mickey ran a hand along his husband’s back, then took off to fill a plate even higher than Jason had dared, speaking shortly to everyone he met along the way. They all greeted him like a friend, laughed with him when he accidentally sent a tiny sandwich falling to the ground.

Jason looked at his own empty plate, then went back for seconds. Maybe this place wasn’t as uppity as it seemed.

[disturbedbydesign]

The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: This is canon-adjacent in that I just decided to pick and choose who I wanted to write for and what parts of canon I wanted to use. Best not to think too hard about where it falls on the timeline because the canon is a mess and we all kind of hate it anyway.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter One

You’ve been tracking him for days, not that it was hard. His patrol schedule is always the same, as is his after-hours routine: drinks at the Irish pub on Reade Street with the other boys in blue. It’s a cop bar but you waltz right in, looking lost even though you know the name, rank, and various misdeeds of every guy in the place. He looks at you, because of course he does—his wife assured you that he has a wandering eye, among his other sins.

You take a seat at the bar. “Double vodka rocks, please.”

The bartender pours you your drink and you take a deep pull, savoring the burn of it. Then you wait, but it doesn’t take long—it never does. Sergeant Thompson sidles up to the barstool next to you.

“Hey darlin,” he says, his breath reeking of cheap beer. “You lost?”

You turn to him with an innocent smile. “Evening, officer.”

“It’s Sergeant,” he says, tapping his badge, “but I won’t hold that against you. So, what’s a pretty young thing doing in a dive bar with a bunch of old men?”

“I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner but she bailed on me. Figured I’d grab a drink before I head home.”

“And where is home?” he asks, not that it’s any of his business, but cops think they deserve answers to any questions they feel like asking.

“Williamsburg,” you lie.

“You’re pretty far from home, then,” he replies, even though you both know that you aren’t. He takes a sip of his beer and the foam leaves a trace like a mustache before he licks it clean. “It’s late. Why don’t you let me drive you? Wouldn’t want you on the subway this time of night.”

“It’s only 8:30,” you say. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

He leans in conspiratorially. “Well, I really shouldn’t be telling you this—open investigation and all that—but we’ve been on the lookout for a guy in the area, serial rapist, real nasty piece of work.”

That’s one thing the two of you have in common at least.

“I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me take you home, darlin.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” you admit. “Can’t get much safer than the NYPD, right?”

He laughs and so do you, knowing that nothing is farther from the truth—especially when it comes to this guy.

Sergeant Thompson speeds across the Williamsburg Bridge with his flashers on, headed toward the address you gave him. Of course, that’s not actually your address—you don’t have a home anymore—it’s just one of many rundown warehouses in the neighborhood, variously used for impromptu raves and as drug dens and, in your case, a private place in which you can take care of business without fear of being interrupted.

“This is me,” you say, waiting for him to let you out of the back of the cruiser where he insisted you ride—caged in like a helpless animal, or so he thinks.

“This place?” he asks. “Looks like it’s about to collapse.”

“You’d be surprised what they can do to these places on the inside—gentrification and what have you. My rent is astronomical.”

“Still,” he says, “I’d like to walk you up. Looks a bit unsavory.”

“If you insist, Sergeant.”

The second you get up the stairs to the top floor, you inject him with the etorphine, straight into the jugular, and down he goes. It never gets old—how easy it is, when they think that they are the predator and you are the prey. You drag him into the loft where you’re already set up for a long night’s work.

When he comes to, he’s fixed to the chair with (among other things) his own handcuffs, mouth taped shut and a rag shoved in for good measure. You don’t want to hear him talk; it’s time for him to listen. His day of reckoning has come. He starts to squirm but between the cuffs and the duct tape and the sedative still coursing through his veins, he’s not going anywhere. Even if he did get free, you could take him down easy. It’s what you were trained for. It’s what you were born for.

“Welcome back, Sergeant,” you say, and he screams something unintelligible through the rag which, if you had to guess, would be some combination of “cunt” or “bitch” or any of the other choice words he likes to use on his women.

The tarps are laid meticulously around the room, placed strategically to catch any and all evidence of what you’re about to do. When he notices them, he goes still, because he knows. Part of him knows.

“So,” you say, pulling out the Thompson file, “this is quite the impressive resume you’ve got here, Sarge. Lots of civilian brutality complaints, including a few choice allegations from female prisoners. Oh, and then there’s the domestic violence and marital rape. You’re a real charmer, huh?”

There’s more muffled screaming but you ignore it—the last gasps of a dying man.

“Here’s the thing, Sarge. I know you think that you’re above the law, because you are the law, but you aren’t. Your wife is real tired of your shit, and me? Well, let’s just say that my motto is protect and serve.” You lean in close enough to smell the salty sweat on his brow. “And unlike you, I actually mean it.”

You pull your favorite knife from your thigh holster and slit him from ear to ear. “See you in hell, Sergeant.”

You sit on the edge of the table, swinging your legs and watching him bleed out. It doesn’t take long. The actual disposal is the real work. You set about chopping him into manageable pieces and you find yourself missing the days when you didn’t have to cover your tracks alone, when there was a clean-up team to take care of it for you.

But you’re freelance now. You’re not a Widow anymore. She made sure of that.

Sometimes—like right now, when you’re dripping sweat and every muscle in your body is screaming its exertion as you saw through bone after bone—you hate Natasha Romanoff. You know why she did what she did; you understand that, objectively, it was the right thing to do. But did she ever stop to consider the repercussions of her actions? She got out early and found a new family and became one of the Good Guys. But you? You entered the Red Room with nothing and you left with nothing.

They always said you were born to be a killer. It’s all you’ve ever known. So what exactly did she expect you to do? You may be free of the mind control, but you never had the chance to develop a mind of your own. Killing is all you know. At least now you get to pick your own targets.

Once you’ve got Sergeant Thompson all squared away, you pack him up in the trunk of his cruiser and drive upstate, listening to the 80s station you like. It occurs to you that most people have heard these songs a thousand times—so many times that they know the lyrics instinctively, can sing them without even having to think about it. It’s all new to you, though. You can’t decide whether it makes you sad to think about all you’ve missed or whether you’re lucky that you get to experience for the first time what everyone else is already tired of.

When you get to the farm, you dump Thompson in the holes you’ve already backhoed, then you hop on the Cat and fill them all in. You shoot a text to Mrs. Thompson from your burner—just a thumbs-up emoji—and she replies with a smiley face. It was only so long before he would have killed her; she knows it as well as you do. The only people that will grieve the dearly departed Sergeant Thompson are a bunch of assholes who are one false move from ending up in your web.

You didn’t charge Mrs. Thompson your usual rate—just what she could afford without drawing the attention and ire of the Mister. Sometimes, depending on the circumstances, you even work pro bono. After all, you only kill people for money who you would happily kill for free. You consider it a service, something for the greater good of society. You’ll take money, sure—you need it to live and to continue your work—but not from people who can’t easily spare it.

You have standards. You have a code. That’s the difference between the you that served as a mindless weapon wielded by others and the you that decides for yourself how to use the gifts you’ve been given. No women. No children. No collateral damage. Only Very Bad Men who’ve done Very Bad Things. You don’t see the harm in it, not really, and as you settle into bed you come back to the thought you often have before a fitful night of sleep: who’s the real avenger, Natasha?

*****

Natasha wipes her brow and throws the rag down on the mat, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging half of it before she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Bucky has barely broken a sweat from their morning sparring session, and he doesn’t even try to fake it. He’s in an especially grumpy mood.

“This is a bad idea, Natasha.”

“To some people, maybe,” she says, “but I want to bring her in anyway. I don’t understand how you of all people are against me on this, Bucky.”

“Uh, for starters, she’s a serial killer.”

“That’s a bit of a harsh assessment, considering the circumstances. And do I really need to remind you that the same could be said about the two of us? That a lot of people still say that about us?”

Bucky sighs, because he knows she’s right, but this is different—you are different. “It’s not the same,” he grumbles, but he’s not entirely sure it isn’t, and that’s what’s really bothering him.

“Look,” Nat says, taking a step toward Bucky, “I need to try, ok? I know what she’s going through because I went through it, except she’s completely alone out there with nothing and no one. You and I… we had people behind us, helping us.”

“And what if she says no?” Bucky asks. “Are you just gonna let her go on doing what she’s doing? She’s killed… how many is it now?”

Natasha mutters something under her breath and Bucky looks at her expectantly. “What was that, Tasha?”

“25 people in the last 6 months,” she states, her mouth set in a hard line.

“Exactly,” he says.

“I would like to point out that they were all very bad people. So...”

“Tasha,” he says, and he puts his hand up to silence her. “I can’t help you on this. I’m sorry. I want to, but I can’t.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh. “You know what, Barnes? You’re real high and mighty for a guy who–”

Natasha stops herself when she sees the ice-cold look in Bucky’s eyes. “Go on. For a guy who what?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I’m sorry. I’ll go on my own.”

“Well, good luck to you. Hope you don’t get your throat slit.”

Bucky stomps off and Natasha is left wondering if she’s about to make a huge mistake. She knows you’re volatile, that a part of you must resent her, but she needs to make it right. At the very least, she needs to try.

Natasha grabs her tablet and scrolls through the latest intel on your whereabouts. She’s just missed you in New York, but she thinks she’s got a jump on your next target: some coke dealer down in Miami with a predilection for underage girls. Just a brief glance at this guy’s file is enough to make Natasha’s blood run cold. She knows why you do what you do. If she’s honest, it doesn’t bother her one bit that you’re doing it. It’s the thought of you out there on your own, filled with hate and anger and thirsty for bloody vengeance, that frightens her. Because maybe one day—left to your own devices, lost in the chaos of your troubled mind—getting the Bad Guys won’t be enough for you. Maybe you’ll decide that some of the Good Guys aren’t so good after all. Maybe you’ll even be right.

She contemplates being honest with Steve and telling him where she’s headed but decides against it. Steve isn’t on board with her plan. Natasha doesn’t fault him for it—he doesn’t understand, he couldn’t. Bucky, though... that’s a disappointment, and it surprises her. If anyone knows what it feels like to spend your life as someone else’s weapon, it’s Bucky Barnes.

Natasha waits until nightfall to “borrow” the Quinjet, and she finds Bucky waiting for her when she gets to the hangar.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, “but only as back-up. She’s dangerous, Natasha.”

“Maybe so,” Natasha replies, “but only because she’s afraid.”

*****

You knew that she’d be coming for you sooner or later. Might as well get it over with. Your little stilt cabin on the outskirts of the Everglades isn’t quite set up for company but at least it’s tucked away and difficult to access. You’re surprised she brought him, though—that was a mistake. You and she could have a nice long conversation, but you have nothing to say to the Soldat.

You climb up the tree to your lookout platform and hoist your sniper rifle onto your shoulder, following their slow but steady progress through the knee-deep swamp water, trying to line up a decent shot as they weave in between the bald cypress trees. When you see your chance, you take it, and you put one about an inch from where the Soldat’s metal arm meets the flesh of his shoulder. It ricochets off, as intended, and he jumps forward to shield Natasha. You hear her laugh through your earpiece.

“Relax, Barnes. It was a warning shot. If she wanted to hit you, she would have.”

“She did hit me,” he snaps.

You smile as you descend from the tree to meet them.

“Well well well,” you say. “If it isn’t the Murder Twins. To what do I owe this unwanted visit?”

“You know why I’m here,” Natasha says.

“Yes,” you reply, “but why is he here?”

The man she calls Barnes looks at you with disdain and you give it right back to him. You can tell that shot in the arm really pissed him off and it pleases you to no end.

“He’s just watching my back,” she says. “That’s what happens when you’re on a team.”

“Right, The Avengers. How adorable.”

“Listen,” Natasha begins, but you stop her.

“Let me save you the trouble of whatever little speech you have prepared. I’m not coming with you. I’m not going to Widow rehab and joining your ragtag group of misfits. And I’m not going to stop doing my work just because you come here and bat your eyes and smile pretty at me.”

“Your work?” spits the Soldat. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Bucky, don’t-”

“Let him talk, Romanoff,” you say. “He obviously has some… opinions. Now that he’s got the mask off, he can finally speak for himself.” You take a step towards him, your rifle in hand but not pointed at him. “So speak, Soldat.”

He looks flustered and not a little bit angry. You can tell he doesn’t like to be called by that name. “Killing people isn’t work,” he says.

You huff out a laugh. “And what is it that the two of you do, exactly? Run a coffee shop?”

“We are not the same,” he says, and you smile because you know that he doesn’t actually believe that—how could he after everything he’s done?

“I think we are exactly the same, Soldat, with one huge exception: you’re still letting other people tell you what to do, and I’m done with all that.”

“This is pointless,” he says.

“Now that is something you and I actually agree on.” You turn to Natasha. “You should go while you still can. I have work to do.”

But Natasha just won’t let it go. “I should never have left you alone,” she says. “This is my fault. Let me fix it.”

“I don’t need to be fixed,” you snap, and you raise your rifle and point it directly at her head. “Leave, Natasha. And take your little pet with you.”

The Soldat grabs her arm gently. “Let’s go, Tasha. She’s hopeless.”

You feel a pang of something then—some indescribable form of melancholy. You try to keep it off your face but you can tell from the look in his eyes that he sees it. A minute tremble of your lip, the quick double blink—it gives you away, and now you’re really pissed off.

“Leave. Now,” you yell, and it pierces through the sweltering darkness. “I’ll make you sorry if you don’t.”

You watch Natasha and the bionic man make their way out of the swamp. You don’t turn your back on them, not that you think they’ll try to take you by force. That would be unwise and Natasha knows it. Once you’re satisfied that they’re gone, you return to the cabin. The bloodied man in the linen suit lays strapped to the bed where you left him, squirming and shouting around the gag in his mouth.

You have to stop yourself from making this a messy affair, but the anger you feel—at her, at him, at everything—is making it difficult to temper your darker urges. You’re not one for torture, even though this man absolutely deserves it for the horrible things he’s done. You almost give in, but you remind yourself that this is a job—it is work, despite what the Soldat may think—and you have to remain professional.

You grab the man’s file off the desk and pull a chair up next to the bed. “So, Mr. Garcia, where were we?”

CHAPTER TWO >>>

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Unlikely Lovers Chapter Two

It was been so much fun writing this series with @beccabarba​ . Thank you for putting up with my bad grammar and horrible spelling mistakes just to be thirsty with me over this amazing man.

Master List

Warnings: Slightly cranky Nick, Smut: Male receiving.

WC:  2713

Enjoy x

Neither of you were back at work until Monday morning, and you made the most of not working the weekend. Not much sleep was had on Saturday night, as you explored each other’s bodies, revelled in the sweet relief of finally acknowledging how you felt about each other. Nick eventually left your place on Sunday afternoon, with lingering kisses on the doorstep. Both of you were well aware that this wasn’t just a friends-with-benefits hook up, although neither of you were quite ready to admit to any deeper emotions yet. But you ended up messaging most of the evening too.

All of which made seeing him on Monday morning, in the bullpen of the 16th precinct, where you’d seen him so many times before, seem very surreal. He was already there when you arrived, getting his typical early start. He was standing at his desk, in a burgundy shirt and dark suit pants, his thumbs hooked in his belt as he teased Amanda about her taste in movies.

“I can’t help it if y’all are cowards,” Amanda was saying, as you approached. She leaned back in her chair and grinned at you. “Morning, Y/N, Nick was just telling me you couldn’t make it through the movie.” She shook her head good naturedly. “Cops who can deal with a crime scene but not a few zombies…”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Next time, I’ll pick the movie,” you retorted, looking at her but refusing to meet Nick’s eyes. You didn’t trust yourself to look at him, especially while your movie night was the topic of conversation.

“What’s it gonna be, Dirty Dancing or something?” Amanda smirked.

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet,” you retorted, going to sit at your desk. If Amanda had noticed that you’d not so much as greeted Nick, she didn’t say anything.

After you’d checked your emails, you watched Amanda get up from her desk to make a call on her personal phone, rolling her eyes as she walked towards the exit. You glanced across at Nick, but he was reading a paper file on his desk and didn’t look up. Probably just as well, since you had no idea how to talk to him in this setting, everything had changed. It was exciting, but it was unnerving too. A pang of nerves hit you in the gut: what if being around you at work made him change his mind? What if the reality of this was too much for him – or for you? What if he wasn’t sure, and just looking for comfort? He’d not dated much since his divorce, after all, and you were an unlikely pairing. Was that why he wasn’t acknowledging you now?

To calm your nerves, and take the edge off your tiredness, you got up to make a cup of coffee. There was a fresh pot ready and waiting. You were just pouring it into your cup when you felt – with your detective’s instincts – someone close behind you. Just before you turned, you felt his hands slide onto your hips, his fingers slipping just under the waistband of your pants. He was very close behind you, but not quite touching.

“Want a coffee, Detective Amaro?” you said, hearing the edge of nerves in your voice.

He leaned forwards, so his quiet words were close to your ear. “I had an amazing time on Saturday night,” he said, his voice warm. All the tension in you melted away at his words, his touch. “What’re you doing after work?”

You put your coffee down and turned on the spot, finding yourself face to face with him, his eyes meeting yours, his desire for you very apparent. “I don’t have any plans…” you told him.

“Would you like some?”

You smirked, your face growing hot. “What kind of plans?”

His mouth twitched into a cheeky smile. “I know what sort of plans you’re thinking about,” he teased. “But join me for a drink first? Maybe dinner?”

“Like a date?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, exactly like a date,” he nodded. He looked so handsome you just wanted to kiss him.

“And after the date…?” you asked.

“We can do whatever it is that’s currently going through your mind,” he winked and turned away before you could reply, heading back to his desk. He stood behind his chair, one hand on his hip, looking back at you. You shook your head, grabbed your coffee and started in his direction.

“Ah good, Y/L/N, Amaro, you’re both here. I need you to go out to Riker’s…” Liv walked through the bullpen, stopping near Nick.

You took a gulp of your coffee and put it on your desk. “Sure thing, Sergeant,” you said, glancing at Nick. “What for?”

“Barba needs you to revisit the confession you got yesterday. Make sure the details still check out. He wants to take it to a Grand Jury, but he’s worried it sounds too good to be true, like he was coached by someone on the inside.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “So Barba doesn’t trust us?”

Liv looked at him, “he just wants to make sure, Nick. It’s not about trust.” Nick nodded, though he was still frowning.

“We’ll get going now,” you said. “Come on Nick, I’ll let you drive…” You saw his face change when he realised he got to spend some time with you this morning, away from prying eyes. He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and slipped it on, following you towards the doors. You passed Amanda on her way back into the building.

“Where’s the fire?” she demanded, looking at you.

“Liv wants us at Riker’s,” you told her. “Checking the confession.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Barba’s being thorough on this one? I suppose it’s fair enough.” She paused. “Hey, are you guys free tonight? My family have finally decided to leave me be – we could catch up since we missed Saturday. Get a beer or something?”

“Oh, er…” you managed.

“Afraid I can’t. I’ve said I’ll go see my mom,” Nick said. Amanda turned to you.

“I’m really sorry,” you added, thinking quickly, “can we make plans for later in the week? I said I’d helped my cousin with his biology homework tonight, I can’t let him down.”

Amanda looked from you to Nick and shook her head. “Sure, guys, just me and my horror movies, I guess. I forget you both have families you actually want to see… See ya when you get back from Riker’s.” She turned and disappeared into the bullpen, as you and Nick hurried to the elevator.

It was usually only a half hour’s drive to Riker’s, but Nick took the Williamsburg Bridge and you hit traffic near Greenpoint that added another thirty minutes to the journey. By the time you arrived, Nick’s jaw had set impatiently. What had been flirty conversation for the first part of the journey had become professional preparations for your visit to Riker’s and then a settled silence as you reached the island. Visits to Riker’s always felt bleak; even hardened detectives weren’t immune to disgust at the conditions of the inmates there, many of them for minor crimes, or remanded awaiting trial.

As luck would have it, you were kept waiting, for reasons the corrections officers didn’t really explain. Nick, already frustrated, only got even more wound up, pacing the floor of the small room you were given to wait in. You already knew well enough that it was better to just leave him be when he was like this, so you sipped a Coke from the vending machine and just watched him walk back and forth, unable to help running your eyes up and down his form, enjoying just how well his clothes fit around that body you now knew intimately.

When you finally got to interview your suspect, he was resentful and much less in the mood for talking than he had been the day before. You let Nick take the lead; interrogation being one of his specialist skills, and one you’d had much less experience in during your time working Cold Case. Even without your attraction to him, you had a lot of admiration for Nick as a detective, one of the most intuitive and hardworking you’d ever met. His gut was usually right; today was no different and he found the holes in the supposed confession that could’ve made Barba’s whole case come tumbling down.

You were just ready to leave when deafening alarms sounded and two corrections officers hurried into the secure interview room. One grabbed your suspect and hauled him off towards the depths of the jail, the other came to talk to you and Nick, a sense of urgency in his words. “We’re going into lockdown, can I ask you both to come with me? I’m afraid you can’t leave the island until we’ve resolved the issue.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Nick protested.

“Afraid not, Detective,” the officer said, showing you into the small waiting room you’d been in before. Nick signed and slumped into a plastic chair, taking out his phone to call Liv with an update. You could see how tense his shoulders were, his brow settled into a frown as his call ended. You were frustrated too, but more because you were worried this would lessen his enthusiasm for tonight’s date. You did manage to lure him into conversation, as the time ticked by, but he would keep pacing the room, not happy with the enforced captivity.

Several hours later, it was already dusk as you finally got back in the car, heading back towards Manhattan, Nick muttering something about taking the Robert F Kennedy Bridge and the FDR as you set off. Although he was glad to be leaving, Nick was clearly still on edge. You watched him, driving, looking at his hands on the wheel, remembering what those fingers felt like on your body. Eventually he glanced over at you.

“What’re you looking at?” he said, a tiny smile curling his lips.

“You,” you replied.

“Why?” he asked “See something you like?”

“I think you know the answer to that” you purred reaching over resting your hand on his thigh.

Nick looked over at you for a moment taking his eyes off the road. He reached down grabbing your hand bringing it to his lips kissing the back of it and then moving to thread his fingers into yours, bringing both your hands down to rest on his thigh.

“I do know” he smirked. The car fell silent, the music filling the inside and you both looking out the window at the darkening sky and bright moon. Nick broke the silence first “Sorry about tonight, I was hoping we would have been back in the city way before now. I was looking forward to taking you out,” Nick sighed giving your hand a squeeze.

“It’s ok,” you squeezed his hand back. “But the night isn’t completely lost” you grinned “Around the next bend pull over.”

You saw the big grin pull to Nick’s face and he licked his lips. Nick drove around the bend and signaled to pull over on a small dirt clearing. He let go of your hand throwing the car into park, turning off the engine, and you both unclipped your seatbelts. Nick adjusted himself in his seat spreading his legs wider. You moved in your seat onto your side to face him, your hand resting back on his thigh running it up to his crotch.

Nick’s breathing hitched and he hooked his arm around your neck pulling you into him is lips landing on yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth twisting with yours. You swallowed his groans as your hand came up to cup him through his slacks, his cock instantly hardening at your touch.

Nick pulled back from your kiss and started to kiss along your jaw, down your neck in big wet open mouth kisses, nipping and sucking ever so lightly as he made quick work of undoing a couple of your shirt buttons, your red lace bra on full display. You reached up with both hands undoing Nick’s belt buckle, pants buttons and zipper sliding your hand down into his boxers and your hand wrapped around his long thick cock, pulling it out, his pre-cum covered tip glistening in the moonlight.

You turned your head, your lips ghosting his, Nick’s hot breath fanning your face and his right hand ran around to run up and down your back,

“I told you the night wasn’t completely lost,” you ran your lips against his while your hand lazily jerked him off.

“You’re such a good girl for me. You know how to make things better,” Nick said through hooded eyes, proving he’d remembered how you enjoyed his praise. You felt a hot throb of pleasure.

“Tell me why you were frustrated today Nick,” you purred into his lips as you twisted your wrist, making your way back up from his base.

“I told you,” he moaned bucking his hips up into your hand “I wanted to take you out.”

“And?”

“And-” Nick groaned loud, his head falling back into the seat, biting his bottom lip. “I have wanted you so bad all day”

“Is that so?” Nick nodded, his eyes closing and his mouth going slack. “I have wanted this amazing cock in my mouth all day.”

You pecked Nick’s lips, nipping his bottom lip before leaning down to take his tip into your mouth, your tongue flat, licking around him and taking him fully into your mouth relaxing your throat to take him as deep as you could and then making your way back up to his tip again. He reached over with one hand, pulling out your hair tie letting your hair flow down over your back and shoulders.

Nick rested his hand in the hair on the back of your head, threading his fingers into it, guiding your head up and down on him with no pressure, while his other hand worked its way down your shirt. His big warm hand running along your skin and slipping into your bra, massaging your flesh and toying with your nipple between his fingers,

“Y/N, you take my cock so well- that’s it, baby, just like that,” Nick moaned and groaned, his mouth open and eyes closed.

Nick started to roll his hips up into your mouth when he hit the back of your throat, his hand balling into a fist in your hair and he squeezed your tit, when you reached up cradling his balls, squeezing him lightly. You could feel your panties damping, your body on fire from Nick groping you and the feel of his cock on your tongue.

Nick pulled his hand out of your bra, both his hands going to the back of your head pushing you down on him, his thick curled hair tickling your nose while the car windows completely fogged up from his heavy breathing. Nick guided your head back up to his tip and then pushed you back down, your name, god and Spanish you didn’t understand spilling from his mouth, when his hot salty cum filled your mouth, running down your throat. You sucked him clean and pulled off him with a pop, using your pointer finger to wipe the corner of your mouth dry before sucking the tip of your finger.

You heard a growl rattle through Nick’s chest as he watched you and you gave him a wink. Nick’s hand went to the back of your neck pulling you down to him, pulling your lips onto his, the kiss deepening straight away and Nick groaned into your mouth when he tasted himself on your tongue. You broke the kiss and Nick tucked your hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing over your cheek,

“Let’s go back to mine so I can get a change of clothes and then I’ll take you home.”

“You’re inviting yourself for a sleep over?” you raised an eyebrow at him with a grin and he chuckled back at you.

“I don’t know how much sleeping we will be doing, but I can promise you baby, I will return the favour, hopefully more than once.”

  Tags:  @wanniiieeee​ @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo​ @randofando-spoonie​  @alwaysachorusgirl​  @amorestevens​  @harryssxnflwr​​ @teamsladsandgents​ @thatesqcrush​ @storiesofsvu​ @skittle479 @bisexual-dreamer02​ @glimmerglittergirl​ @witches-unruly-heart​​ @berniesilvas​

[imjustwritingg]

pillow talk

This was supposed to be a quick one-shot, a continuation of 8x04, but when I started writing I couldn’t stop and Upstead kinda just took over my brain. It’s a long one. Enjoy and let me know what you think. 💜

Also here: AO3 & FanFic.Net 

---

pillow talk: the intimate, authentic, unguarded conversation that occurs between two lovers

---

Hailey can tell by the look on Jay’s face that he knows she’s lying, but he doesn’t call her out on it. He doesn’t say a word, just watches her with concerned eyes as he takes a long swig from his bottle of beer.

“You staying?”

It’s a weak attempt to change the subject, but Hailey needs them to talk about anything else other than her father at the moment

“If you want me to,” he says.

“It was implied by my asking.”

Jay rolls his eyes at the way she smirks at him, but takes a step forward and braces himself against her kitchen island.

“Then I’m staying. I may or may not already have a bag down in the truck.”

Hailey raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, but he shrugs it off with a small smile.

“I figured if I was gonna spend the night again we shouldn’t have another occurrence of me wearing the same clothes two days in a row. The team is bound to notice if they haven’t already’,” he tells her.

“Well, if they noticed they aren’t talking. Go get your bag and I’ll heat up the pizza from last night.”

Hailey tosses him her keys and then he’s gone. She locks the door behind him, the cop in her being cautious, and gets to reheating the pizza as promised.

While the food is warming in the oven – because leftover Bartoli’s in the microwave just doesn’t taste the same, Hailey changes out of her jeans and sweatshirt into a pair of baggy sweats and a tee. She’s just pulled her hair out of its tie when she hears the click of her front door. She steps out of her bedroom into the main room of her apartment and meets her partner in the entryway with a duffel slung over his shoulder.

“Pizza’s in the oven. You have some time if you wanna change first,” Hailey tells him.

Jay smiles at her and makes his way towards her. He reaches his free hand up to her face, cups her cheek in his palm, and then leans down to brush his lips against her forehead. A silent thank you. His lips are gone a moment later and he just smiles at her again with soft eyes as he steps around her.

Hailey finds herself smiling as she watches him walk away and disappear into her bedroom. She knows he’s always been a man of action, rarely being able to voice his feelings so instead he shows her in other ways.

Like how his eyes always find hers in the bullpen during a tough case. An unspoken question of “are you okay?”

The way he squeezes her shoulder when no one’s looking. A gentle reminder that he’s there for her.

How he always gets her a cup of her favorite coffee when he’s getting his own before work because he knows she runs on caffeine. To show her he cares.

Hailey realizes then as she finally makes her way back to the kitchen area, a grin still plastered on her face, that her smiling has become an almost permanent fixture since the night Jay kissed her at the bar. She lets out a sigh of contentment as the memory of that night comes back to her, and she has to bite her lip from smiling even harder as she checks the oven to find their dinner is ready. She takes the pizza out and plates a couple slices each for her and Jay before calling out to him that the food is ready.  

Hailey knows he’s heard her. Her new place isn’t small by any means, big enough for her and the company she keeps, but it’s not nearly as big as her condo was in Lincoln Park. She found herself hating the large amount of space and the sheer silence she’d return to after work, especially after Vanessa was gone. So, she sold it and found a new home, enjoying the smaller space she now resided in.

Jay emerges from the bedroom in his own sweats and a t-shirt a moment later, and meets her at the island. He picks up their beers from the counter and follows her to the couch as she carries their plates. Hailey turns the television on and they eat in silence while they watch highlights of some hockey game from the night before.

Once they’ve finished eating, they abandon their dishes to the coffee table, and Hailey notices how they’ve only gotten closer on her couch. They’re drawn together almost like magnets. At some point Jay’s hand had found her leg as she stretched out next to him to rest her socked feet on the table in front of them. He’s got a gentle hold on her upper thigh and her hand moves over his arm, drawing invisible patterns with her fingertips.

They’d slept together for the first time two days ago, but somehow the awkwardness that a small part of Hailey had anticipated there being between them just doesn’t seem to exist. There is nothing, but comfortability, a sense of domesticity that surrounds them, as if they’ve been doing this dance for a lot longer than forty-eight hours.

While Hailey’s fingers continue their movement against his skin, Jay glances over at her and smiles at the look on her face. She’s still very much awake, but he can tell she’s tired by the way her eyes blink slowly. It’s been a long couple days between finding the murderer of a slain cop and dealing with the situation of her father.

“You wanna go to bed?” He asks as he gives her leg a light squeeze.

Hailey looks over her shoulder to peek at the clock on her stove before turning back towards him. It’s almost nine.

“Not yet. If I sleep now I’ll be up way too early.”

Jay understands, having been there himself many times before where he didn’t know when or if sleep would come to him, and so he just nods as he squeezes her leg again. He feels her move next to him and watches as she tucks her legs under her, and then leans into his side. He moves an arm around her to pull her closer and she rests her head against the crook of his shoulder. She’s got her hand on his leg now, still needing to touch him with her fingers. A new thing that has developed since the morning they woke up together for the first time and they found themselves unable to keep their hands off of one another.

Jay can tell she’s thinking about something, maybe too hard, as he looks down at her and notices she’s staring off and no longer paying attention to the television, but he doesn’t say anything. He just moves his hand down her arm to run his fingers over her skin, another reminder to let her know he’s there. That’s he with her. He can’t help the smug smile that creeps out on his face when he feels the tiny shiver that moves over her at the feel of his touch.

He knows not to push her though. He learned that quickly earlier in the day when he thought he was helping her with her father. He wouldn’t soon forget the look on her face and the tears in her eyes when she’d revealed a small bit to him about her past.

“You don’t know the half of it...”

Those words have been lingering in the back of his head since she’d spoken them and he didn’t see that changing anytime soon. He didn’t know. And that killed him, but he knew her well enough to know that she’d tell him eventually. That she trusted him enough to tell him everything about herself when she was ready.

Jay had always felt protective over Hailey, even before they started this new thing between them. She’s his partner, his best friend, but hearing those words from her yesterday in the hallway made him feel unrelenting anger towards her father and he suddenly feels a sense of pride for the woman beside him. He’s so proud of her for not going to see the man who abused her. He may not know the details yet, but he knows enough to be able to say that Hailey doesn’t owe anyone forgiveness, and anyone who has hurt her sure as hell doesn’t deserve it.

He feels her move against him again, turning her head deeper into his shoulder, and then she’s breathing him in and he lowers his head just a few inches to drop a kiss into her hair. He moves his other arm hanging over the back of the couch and takes hold of her hand against his leg. He squeezes her fingers in his and faintly hears her mumbling into his shirt.

“What was that?” Jay asks her, his voice low as he looks down at her.

He feels her squeeze his fingers in return and she angles her head just enough to look him in the eyes when she speaks again.

“I said I like this,” she says.

Jay knows immediately what she’s referring to and he smiles at her. “I like it too.”

“It should feel weird, but it doesn’t. It’s like nothing has changed between us,” she admits and he notices the way her eyes dart between looking at him directly and looking anywhere else.

“Some things have changed,” he says. He quirks his eyebrows at her and there’s a suggestive smirk on his face which makes her roll her eyes at his lack of subtlety, but she’s smiling now.

They haven’t talked about what this is between them yet. What it means or what they are or where they go from here, but the somewhat nervous look in her eyes and the way he can tell she’s biting the inside of her cheek through her smile makes him grin. She looks adorable and all he wants is to kiss her nerves away so that’s just what he does.

He lifts his hand and weaves his fingers through her hair, holding the back of her head as he leans down and captures her lips with his own. She’s kissing him back immediately and he doesn’t miss the throaty moan that escapes her when his tongue slips past her lips to meet her own. It’s something new they’ve only just learned with one another. The way their lips move in sync with one another’s, how to make each other shiver and moan beneath the other’s touch, but it also feels as though they’ve done it a million times before now.

When they break away, the sight of her blue eyes staring back at him and the hazy look residing in them makes his heart ache in a good way, and he smiles down at her. There’s a fleeting moment where he realizes then just how hard he’s fallen for his partner. This woman who pulled him back from his dark days and bad decisions, who was patient, but pushy. This woman who saved his life, who never stopped showing him she cared, that she was there, that she was always in his corner. This woman who he is completely in love with.

And if it wasn’t for the fact that they’d only just fully started this thing between them mere days ago, he’d be saying those words out loud to her right there as they were pressed against each another on her couch. He holds the words in though, not wanting to make this moment between them any heavier, not wanting to freak her out even though he’s certain that she feels it too.

He’s quickly pulled out of his thoughts when he feels her hand against his cheek, thumb brushing over his stubble and a smile spread across her face. He realizes then he’s been staring at her the whole time he’s been lost in his realization of just how deep his feelings go for her.

“Let’s go to bed,” she tells him.

“Thought you said you couldn’t sleep yet.”

Hailey shakes her head at him, not breaking their eye contact, and he gets it then. There is a look of something in her eyes that tells him she is nowhere near wanting to sleep anytime soon.

“I didn’t say I wanted to sleep,” she nearly purrs at him as she voices his assumption out loud.

Hailey pulls herself away from him and stands from the couch, ignoring the plates and bottles on her coffee table, and reaches for his hands. He stands and follows her as she walks backward towards the bedroom, pulling him with her. Her hands let go of his as they near the side of her bed, eyes never leaving his, and she reaches for the bottom of his shirt. He lets her pull it up and over him before she tosses it to the floor, and then her hands are on him. She glides them across his stomach and up his chest, before settling around the back of his neck so she can pull him down closer to her level and kiss him some more.

There’s a guttural moan that escapes her again as Jay deepens the kiss and his hands find their way below her own shirt, his fingers ghosting over her warm skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their place. His hands grip her sides, fingers slipping below the band of her sweatpants for a mere second before he pushes them down and they pool to the floor at their feet. Her underwear follows a second later and Hailey kicks them off as Jay moves closer to her. His proximity forces her to take a step back, but she goes willingly.

When Hailey feels the bed behind her, she turns and pushes Jay down to it and he pulls her with him. She falls on top of him as gracefully as she can in the heat of the moment, but Jay holds her over him easily with his hands on her hips. Hailey leans over him and then he’s squeezing the tops of her thighs, then her backside before dragging his hands up her back beneath her shirt.

He sits up with her in his lap then, her legs on either side of him, and pulls her shirt over her head before moving his attention to her neck, needing to taste her somehow. He nips and sucks as he explores the new, but familiar skin while Hailey’s hands fumble down his chest and back up his torso to move through his short hair. She’s deliriously distracted by the feel of Jay’s lips on her, letting out a gasp when he grips her hips again, tightly, and rolls them so he’s on top now.

Hailey nearly growls at him as he’s already taken control in the bedroom, but it’s fleeting when she realizes she still has a slight upper hand on him. She is able to push and pull at the waistbands of both his sweatpants and boxers now until they fall over his hips and he kicks them off at the foot of the bed.

Jay presses his lips to hers as he pulls the duvet up over them. He’s leaning over, trying to keep most of his weight on one arm so he doesn’t crush her, but Hailey just pulls him flush against her. They’re pressed so close together, skin against skin. There’s no sure way to determine where either of them end or begin as legs tangle, hands roam through hair, tongues explore, and fingers travel over skin. It’s electrifying, but that familiarity they’ve come to know hangs over them.

The last coherent thing Hailey remembers is the way Jay feels moving on top of her, how his eyes somehow find hers through the dimly lit room and is able to say so many things to her without uttering a single word. How she’s left thinking about how she is undeniably and so incredibly deep in love with this man as he takes her over the edge with him.

---

They’re still pressed against one another, both their bodies left in a residual state of ecstasy, as they lie under the covers. Hailey’s never really been the cuddling after sex type of woman. She doesn’t like showing her vulnerable side, but as she lies in her bed with her partner beside her, she thinks it’s something she wouldn’t mind doing every day for the rest of her life as long as it’s with him.

Jay props himself up on one elbow while she lies on her side facing him. His free hand rests over her backside above the covers, holding her close, while her fingers have gone back to drawing nonsense on his skin. All he can do is smile at her, completely amused by her, as she starts some rendition of connect the dots with the freckles splayed across his chest.

“You enjoying yourself?” He asks.

His soft smile turns into a teasing grin as she glances up at him and rolls her eyes at him, but her fingers don’t stop moving.

“I am actually. So many freckles.”

“I’m glad someone appreciates them. I was teased so bad in elementary school because of ‘em,” he tells her.

“You were probably so cute as a kid though,” she says absentmindedly, fingers still moving over his skin.

“I like to think I’m still cute,” he counters.

“Eh,” she says, pulling a hand back for a moment to give a back and forth gesture for good measure.

“You’re funny,” he says, sneaking his hand up behind her under the covers to run the tips of his fingers across her rib cage. She wiggles against him, trying to hold back a laugh.

“You’re not ticklish are ya, Hails?”

She shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“Not at all, hmmm?” He asks as he runs his fingers over her skin again and she wiggles once more before a loud laugh escapes her.

“Ok, maybe a little. You should know that I cannot be held accountable for my actions if you don’t stop.”

Jay knows she isn’t serious in the slightest and lets out a laugh. He stills his fingers, but keeps his hand on her hip under the covers and gives her a light squeeze.

There’s a moment silence that settles over them as Hailey’s fingers move across his chest before they stop suddenly and Jay catches her staring. His eyes follow hers, and he sees her index finger just shy of the scar below his shoulder. He watches her as she hesitates another moment before running the tip of her finger over the skin slowly, carefully, as if she’s afraid she’ll damage him somehow.

“Does it ever hurt?” She asks him then, but her eyes don’t leave the tarnished pink skin.

“Not anymore. Physical therapy helped with the stiffness. Now it’s just a reminder of how stupid I can be.”

Hailey shakes her head at him, her eyes finding his.

“You can be a little reckless maybe, but you’re not stupid. You just have a big heart. It’s one of the things I like most about you,” she tells him.

Her tone is quiet and sincere, but he recognizes a hint of sadness in her voice as she speaks and he can tell she’s thinking over something in her head.

“I have a question,” he says a beat later.

“Oh boy,” she groans out.

“It’s nothing bad. Just curiosity,” he assures her.

Hailey only nods and waits for him to continue.

“You said the other night that it’s been a long time for you since you saw me as just your partner,” he says and watches her smile at the memory.

“I did.”

“When did it change for you?”

Jay watches her as she takes a deep breath, no doubt the question taking her by surprise. Her fingers stop moving against him and she moves her hand down his chest to his waist. There’s virtually no space between them, but she somehow inches closer, holding him against her. He drops his elbow to lie straight on his side next to her and can’t help himself as he runs his fingers through her hair to the top of her head, needing to always be touching her now.

Hailey takes another deep breath, trying to find the words to answer his question, and she squeezes her hand against his hip again before she lifts her eyes to his. She needs to look at him when she answers him.

“I think it was maybe after your dad died. You got shot and I found you in the street. I just lost it. I thought you were dead. I went out drinking with Adam that night, trying to wrap my head around everything. Trying to ignore everything. I needed a distraction and then, well, you know what happened after that.”

Hailey watches as his eyes grow a bit wider at her admission. She can tell he’s not upset, not angry with her. He couldn’t be. But she does see a slight look of realization in his eyes.

“I didn’t know it was that night,” he says. He’s not sure how he’d never known that detail.

Hailey swallows a large lump in her throat that she hadn’t noticed was forming during her confession. She forces it down and squeezes his side again, letting out a long sigh.

“I was a wreck Jay. He was there. A warm body to sleep next to. I didn’t think anything would come of it,” she explains.

“I’m not judging,” he tries to assure her, looking right at her, almost through her as he notices tears in her eyes now.

She knows she doesn’t owe him any further explanation, but she can’t stop herself or the words from pouring out of her now.

“What happened with Adam wasn’t serious and I knew it wouldn’t be, even if it did last longer than I expected. I tried for a while to bottle it all up, push down my feelings for you. We’re partners, ya know? All I could think about was what happened with me and Garrett, with you and Erin. And then things just spiraled after that. Al died and Antonio left. Kelton was on a warpath. Then you got shot again last year and that time I really did almost lost you.”

Jay nods in understanding. He knows about Garrett, what she’s shared of her relationship with him, and he knows it destroyed her when she lost him. Jay’s own relationship with Erin ended poorly to put it lightly, and the rest were ripple effects of unforeseen circumstances and bad timing. There’s a somewhat sad, reminiscent look on Hailey’s face now as he leans his head down towards hers. He moves his hand up her body and holds the side of her face.

“The awful things that have happened, none of that’s on you,” he tells her. He needs her to know that none of it is her fault. That he doesn’t blame her. That he never has, never could.

“Trust me, I didn’t exactly plan on falling for another partner,” she attempts to joke. He gives her a side eye and notices a tiny twitch of a smile peek out at the corners of her mouth.

“Yeah, you kinda came out of nowhere for me too,” he tells her.

Jay smiles sweetly at her before closing the remaining gap between them and presses his lips against hers. It’s sweet and slow, and she kisses him back just the same.

“When did it change for you?” She finds herself asking when they finally pull away.

“I think I was a little later to the game than you, but not by much,” he says honestly. Hailey just smiles softly at him and waits for him to go on.

“It was that domestic case with the Alderman’s wife and that kid, Devin. I just remember seeing how it was affecting you and wanting to protect you. Be there for you. We had drinks at your place that one night, then Adam showed up. I got really jealous when I realized he had you and I didn’t.”

Her hand finds its way to the back of his head then, holding him to her for a millisecond before she kisses him just as softly as he’d done to her moments ago. It’s quick, but sincere, and she finds herself mesmerized as she stares into his green eyes when they pull away.

“He never had me, not like you. Not like this,” she whispers.

And then he’s kissing her again. It’s the closest they’ve come to saying those words and he tries with everything in him to say the words he wants to say out loud with his lips against hers instead. They get lost in the softness and the tenderness, and then the moment is broken by the ringing of a phone coming from her nightstand beside them.

Jay groans against her lips as they pull away and Hailey just smiles at him, knowing they’re both thinking the same thing. That phones are not their friend when they’re in bed together. She turns in his arms and reaches for her phone that has once again broken a moment between them, but the grin on her face doesn’t go unnoticed by her partner when she looks at the screen.

“Who is it?”

“Vanessa wants to FaceTime. I haven’t spoken to her since before New York,” she tells him.

He nods down at the phone in her hands. “You better answer it then. A pissed off Rojas is no joke.”

Hailey’s smile widens and she kisses him once more before turning to reach for her shirt on the floor. She pulls it on quickly to cover herself, then leans back against her headboard and swipes to answer the video call.

When she sees Vanessa’s face on the screen, the younger officer’s grin matches Hailey’s and she immediately goes into it with the blonde.

“Hi my favorite roomie! I miss you so much. I’m finally back to real life and I needed to talk to you. How are you? How’s the team? How was New York? Tell me everything! I miss you guys!”

“Hey V! I better be your favorite roomie and I miss you too! I’m good, the team is good, New York was alright. Glad to be home though. How was the case? And where are you?”

The blonde notices her friend isn’t in a hotel or a room of some kind, rather sitting against a wall in some sort of plastic chair.

Jay smiles at the interaction between the two women that have become fast friends, smiling wider at the one beside him when he notices the look of pure happiness and contentment on her face. It’s a sight he loves to see on her so he sits back against the headboard and just watches her.

“I should also tell you I’m not alone,” he hears Hailey tell the younger woman a few seconds later. He glances at the phone in Hailey’s hand in time to catch the curious look on Vanessa’s face.

“I’m at the airport about to catch a flight back to Chicago. The case took me to Boston for a bit. But what do you mean you’re not alone?” Vanessa asks.

Hailey scrunches her face, smiling sheepishly, and glances over at Jay for a moment who just smiles and nods, knowing what she’s asking.

“Well...” Hailey begins and then she turns the phone just enough for Vanessa to catch sight of a shirtless Jay sitting beside her.

Neither of them misses the bulging eyes of the girl on the phone and they both laugh, and then Jay waves.

“Hi Vanessa,” he says.  

“Well hello, Halstead. Fancy seeing you in Hailey’s bed and shirtless, no less,” the young woman teases with raised eyebrows.

Jay just smiles and nods, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink that makes Hailey laugh.

“All I have to say is it’s about damn time. What’s it been? Like a year since the hospital thing, Hails?”

Hailey’s eyes bug out and she shoots a glare at Vanessa, but not before catching the curious look on Jay’s face. She can already see the wheels turning in his head.

And she’s right. His mind starts playing flashbacks of that day he was released from the hospital and she came to pick him up. When they had once again been interrupted by a phone and he almost screwed up again. He remembers how she had said she wanted to tell him something, but she never did.

“Uh, yeah. It’s been a while,” Hailey says, looking back at her phone.

“Well whatever happened, I’m glad it did. You guys are both so clueless and stubborn,” Vanessa says with a shake of her head.

There’s a distant voice from somewhere in the background and the look on Vanessa’s face tells Hailey their time together is about to be cut short.

“They’re starting to board. I gotta go, but as soon as I’m back we have to get together. I want all the details my friend,” Vanessa winks through the phone.

“Oh god,” she hears Jay scoff from beside her and she laughs again before nodding at her former roommate.

“Be safe and text me when you land,” Hailey tells her and watches as Vanessa rolls her eyes.

“Yes mom,” she teases.

“We can be lazy this weekend with some Grub Hub and Netflix, and catch up on everything,” Hailey suggests.

“Sounds good to me. I love you lots and I’ll see you soon. Bye Jay!”

Hailey turns the phone back towards Jay and he waves again. “Bye Vanessa. Be safe.”

They disconnect a moment later and Hailey places her phone back on the nightstand before she turns to look at Jay who has a shit eating grin on his face now.

“What?”

“That day in the hospital,” is all he says and she rolls her eyes at him.

“You caught that huh?”

“Damn right, I caught that. You were gonna tell me you like me,” he teases her.

Hailey feels the heat in her cheeks almost instantly and she looks anywhere, but at his face. She tries to distract herself with the corner of the duvet that rests over them in her bed, but he reaches for one of her hands and laces his fingers through hers. She tilts her face towards him and catches his bright green eyes staring back at her, a grin still fixated on his own face.

“I like you too,” he says with a squeeze of her hand.

“I thought you might,” she tells him, unable to stop herself from grinning right back at him.

There’s another moment and then he can’t stop himself when he says, “I really like you.”

Hailey nods in silent agreement knowing exactly what he means and what he’s trying to say, but also knowing they don’t need to say those words just yet. She knows this thing between them is real, that it’s the long-haul type of deal. She knows that even though he’s never been good with his emotions, he’s somehow good with them when it comes to her and she realizes she doesn’t need to hear the words just yet. That she wants to bask in the newness of them for just a little while longer.

And for a few more moments she does until the day catches up to her and she realizes what she had done earlier. How she lied to him in her kitchen and a feeling she doesn’t like creeps up inside of her. A feeling that she doesn’t want this new thing between them to start out on a lie, however minuscule and necessary it may have been hours ago when she’d done it.

“Jay?”

“Yeah?”

“I lied to you,” she says before she loses her nerve.

He raises an eyebrow at her, not sure exactly what she means, and then he smirks at her to lighten the slight tension he notices has formed between them.

“What, you don’t actually like me?” He teases.

“No. I mean, yes. Ugh. Yes, I like you, but no, that’s not it,” she says as she takes her free hand and runs it though her hand nervously.

“What is it?” He coaxes. The look on her face tells him they’re about to have another one of their heavy moments.

“Um, when you first got here. I told you that my dad was good, that I talked to him, but I didn’t talk to him. I stared at him through the window of his room and then I left. I just, I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it, I - “

“You don’t need to explain yourself Hailey. Not to me,” he tells her while squeezing her fingers against his.

“But I lied to you.”

“I already knew you lied and I get why you did it. I knew you’d talk to me about it when you were ready.”

“How did you know that?” She asks him.

“Because I just know you Hails.”

Jay notices the look in her eyes then, a tiny bit of confusion and as if she’s waiting for more. He feels the way her hand is almost trembling in his now and he realizes that she’s expecting him to be angry with her. It’s what she has witnessed with her parents and what she was used to seeing as a kid. It’s as if she almost expects the anger and hostility to come, but it doesn’t. It won’t. Not with Jay.

He is sure she knows he would never hurt her, but a part of him feels like he needs to remind her. Because the way she’s looking at him with tears glistening in her eyes again is making his heart constrict almost painfully. He just wants to wrap his arms around her and shield her from everything, but he knows he can’t and he knows she wouldn’t let him.

“Can I say something?”

Hailey can tell he’s treading carefully by the tone in his voice. He’s always careful with her, but not in an overbearing way, and at that moment she’s grateful despite the tiny part of her that is feeling nervous over the words he could say. She nods at him anyway and watches him take a quick, deep breath before he speaks again.

“I really am sorry for yesterday when we were questioning Zach. You thought I was talking about you when we were pushing him, and maybe subconsciously I was, but it wasn’t my intention to make you feel bad about the situation.”

He pauses for a moment letting his words sink in before he squeezes her hand yet again and continues.

“I know I don’t know the full extent of what happened to you, of what you experienced with your dad, with any of it, and I would never try to force you into saying or doing something you don’t wanna do. That you’re not ready to do. I also know that you’d kick my ass if I ever tried to boss you around like that.”

He gets her to smile like he hoped he would and then pulls his hand from hers to hold the side of her face.

“I’ve told you before we’re good. We’ll always be good. That hasn’t changed and it’s not going to,” he tells her.

“And one more thing? While we’re touching on this subject at least,” he adds before she can say anything.

“What’s that?” She asks him as she sniffs back more tears.

“I need you to hear me when I say you’re safe with me. That I wouldn’t ever...I mean, I couldn’t, God, I can’t even say the words Hailey.”

“You wouldn’t hit me you mean?” She offers. She says it so casually like it’s not something terrible to speak of.

The realness of it all and what she’s been through hits him in the gut again. It claws at his insides how someone as brave and strong and wonderful as Hailey could ever be in a situation where she doubts her worth or questions whether or not someone loves her. He’s completely dumbfounded how anyone could ever hurt her.

“Yeah,” he chokes out and she finds herself nodding her head at him.

“I know you wouldn’t. Still a little reassuring to hear it though, so thank- “

“Don’t say it,” he nearly pleads with her, his eyes glistening with tears of his own. He certainly hadn’t expected their night to go like this, with this conversation.

“Say what?” She presses.

“Don’t thank me for saying I wouldn’t ever put my hands on you like that. It’s not romantic or chivalrous, Hailey. It’s the absolute bare minimum,” he tells her.

All she can do is stare at him as the weight of his words sound in her ears and hit her hard in her chest. She always knew the bar was low, that not being an abuser wasn’t usually a checkbox on the list of qualities to have in a significant other. That it should just be a given that it wouldn’t happen. He just stares right back at her with so much care and concern andlove that it makes the tears she’s been holding in fall from her eyes.  

The only response she has for him is another slow nod of her head and then she’s kissing him again, tears be damned. She presses herself against him and pours everything she has into that one moment, like it could be their last, even though she knows it won’t be. She knows they’re going to have so many more of these moments. These kisses and admissions and gentle caresses in the middle of the night.

Her eyes are still closed when they pull back from one another, and then she’s relishing the feel of his lips on her forehead for the second time that night. When she opens her eyes, he’s staring right at her.

“This has been some pretty heavy pillow talk we’ve had tonight,” she says to him once they’ve settled back down into her bed under the covers.

Jay’s arms and hands find their way around her again, needing to touch her. He smiles softly at her once more and leans over to kiss the side of her head. It’s the only response that feels right.

Hailey’s not sure how much time passes between them in silence. Sleep has started to creep up on her fast and she knows it was near eleven when she got off the phone with Vanessa. She glances up at Jay and sees his eyes are closed, but she knows he’s still awake because his fingers ghost over her skin. He drags them up and down her spine and over the dip of her lower back. It’s as if he’s trying to put her to sleep himself, but she has a sudden thought and she needs to say one more thing before she passes out beside him.

“Hey Jay,” she calls out, just audible enough for him to hear her, but not loud enough to break the sleepy state they’re succumbing to.

“Hmmm?” She hears him moan out and then he squeezes her side in recognition as well.

“Just for the record, I really like you too,” she tells him.

Jay opens his eyes at her words, the unspoken meaning of them not being lost on him, and Hailey gives him a sleepy smile. He just smiles back at her with a stupid grin that she’s come to adore, and then he nods in quiet understanding before he leans down to kiss her again because he doesn’t think he could ever stop kissing her now that’s he had her.

The air around them thins out, the heaviness of their evening beginning to dissolve, as they kiss each other slowly for another few moments and just hold onto the other.

As heavy as their words have been tonight, Hailey realizes their conversation over the last few hours has almost been necessary, maybe even a little overdue. It’s only been two days of this, but she’s sure they’re not moving fast. If anything, they might not have moved fast enough. After all, it did take them quite a long time to get to this moment. Three years worth of time to this moment where they’re lying in bed together, naked under covers, saying I love you to each other without actually saying the words. It just feels natural. It feels like them.

[unrestedjade]

Baseless Ferengi headcanons no one asked for and that get increasingly queer-navel-gazing and self indulgent because the horrible space goblins have consumed my brain:

- Mobile ears, because if hearing is so well developed and important to them they should be able to aim those big stupid radar dishes. Also because then they can emote with them and that's cute. THE AESTHETIC IS PARAMOUNT.

- Since they canonically sharpen their teeth with chew sticks and sharpeners, their teeth must grow continuously. So I submit: subcultures that let certain teeth grow out as a fashion/political statement. Ferengi punks and anarchists with 5" tusks. Ferengi with all their teeth filed flat (mom and dad HATE it).

- Corollary to the above, most of their teeth are crooked. At the least, they don't share our fetish for straight teeth. What if their teeth are deciduous, and there's no point in trying to force them into perfect alignment, since they'll just fall out and get replaced? So like, sharks but their teeth can also grow longer with no limit. WHAT HAST EVOLUTION WROUGHT ON FERENGINAR :V

- Parents nagging their kids to sharpen their teeth "or they'll grow up into your brain and you'll die :)"

- Personal space? Don't know her.

Okay I need a cut because there's too many now. WHOLE SOCIETY OF GAY HOMOPHOBIC UNCLES AND AUNTS GO I HAVE A PROBLEM

- I can't remember who on here put forth the idea of them having retractable claws but Yes. :3

- Pushing back against the worst canon episode a bit but: relative ear size being the only obvious sexually dimorphic trait, and even that having enough of a gray area that the only way to be 100% sure you're talking to a male or female Ferengi is if you do a blood test. Unless they're intersex! *shrug emoji*

- This is why they're so fanatical about gender conformity and their Victorian "separate spheres" attitude to men and women's roles. Capitalist patriarchy is fragile! And as artificial to Ferengi as it ever was to Humans! (self-indulgenceeeee about gender shiiiiit)

- You know how with domesticated rabbits, the rabbit getting groomed and paid attention to is the boss? Yeah. Go ahead and paint your bestie's nails, just don't be surprised if she cops a little bit of an attitude with you from then on.

- Their fight/flight/freeze/fawn instincts skew heavily toward the last three, and what a lot of other species read as annoying sucking up is the Ferengi in question feeling anxious and unsafe. Especially if they don't feel integrated into the group. Even being at the bottom of the pecking order is better than not being in the flock at all.

- If they DO opt for fight, it's ugly and typically their last resort. Bites or scratches will get infected without intervention-- microbes that their immune system can handle could cause big trouble for aliens. You might wanna check for full or partial teeth that break off and get lodged in the wound, too.

- Too many of these are tooth related but I don't care. :B More teeth stuff: you know what else has teeth that grow constantly? Puffer fish. Likewise, Ferengi can chew up mollusk shells as easy as potato chips, and they need the minerals for their teeth. (Imagine grandpa Sisko offering Nog a crayfish for the first time and watching as he just...pops the whole damn thing in his mouth and crunches away...)

- Their staple foods seem to be grubs and other arthropods, high in protein and fat. I've unilaterally decided their cuisine also involves a lot of edible fungi, ferns, plant shoots and seeds. Gotta get those vitamins. Overall flavor profile leaning toward umami, vegetal, and fresh herbs, and pretty mild (or "delicate" if you wanna be snooty about it, which a Ferengi probably would let's be real).

- Not much sugary food. I'm basing this solely on Quark's aversion to root beer as "cloying". Which could definitely just be his personal preference, but most of the people I hear hating on root beer cite the actual sassafras/sarsaparilla flavor (saying it tastes like medicine) not the sweetness. Nog might be the weirdo outlier for being able to enjoy it.

- Their home planet isn't bright and sunny, so their eyes are better at discerning shades of gray in low light conditions, with relatively weak color vision. Which could explain why they dress Like That.

- Conversely, human music has a reputation for stinking on ice because a lot of it is juuuuust lightly dissonant or out of tune because we can't pick up flaws that small. Ferengi can, and it drives them up the *wall*.

- Music? So many different kinds. Traditionally, maybe lots of percussion and winds, and water as a common component of many instruments to alter pitch or tone. Polyphony out the ass. Some of the modern stuff is an impenetrable wall of sound if you're not a species with a lot of brain real estate devoted to processing sounds. Pick out one melody to follow at a time.

- Yes, back to teeth again I'm sorry. It's a sickness. At some point in their history, pre-chewing food was just something you did for your baby or great grandma as a matter of necessity. Possibly your baby gets an important boost to their immune system and gut biome from your spit. At some point takes on a more formal intimacy aspect and gradually drifted from something all adults and older kids do to something only women do. Your husband and older kids have perfectly functional teeth, but you love them, right? =_= (Think old memes about husbands being useless in the kitchen if little wifey isn't there to cook, but even more ridiculous. Ishka was right about everything but especially this. Thank you for making your family chew their own food, Ishka. Not all heroes wear capes. Or anything!)

- How did they get started on the whole men: clothed vs women: unclothed nonsense? My equally stupid idea: men just get cold easier. Those huge ears dissipate a ton of body heat. Cue Ferengi cliches like "jeez, we could be standing on the surface of the sun and my husband would put on another layer." At some point, again, this got codified and pushed to ridiculous extremes in the name of controlling women and keeping everyone in their assigned box, to the point that women just have to shiver if they really are too cold and men have to pass out from heat stroke if the alternative is going shirtless, because That Would Be Inappropriate.

- Marriages default to five years, but they're also the only avenue for women to have their own household or any stability. Plus their religion places no emphasis on purity save for pure adherence to the free market and the RoA. So, curveball to the rest of their patriarchal bullshit: female virginity isn't a concern in the least. Bring it up and they'll rightly side-eye you.

- Family law is absolutely bonkers and lawyers that specialize in it make BANK. I feel like custody would default to the father usually but oh wait, the maternal grandfather has a legal stake in this, too, and your next father-in-law is asking HOW many kids are you dragging into my daughter's house, etc etc. Growing up with a full sibling is way rarer than growing up with half or stepsiblings, since it usually takes both men and women two or three tries to find someone they vibe with. (Not love, unless you're super cringe.)

- A misogynistic society is a homophobic society. Imo those flavors of shittiness just come in pairs. Homosexual behaviors are fine within certain parameters (aka "always have sex with the boss") but not on your own terms. To add spice, bisexuality is their most common mode (because I'm bi and these are my hcs for my fics I'm not writing, so there), but capitalism demands fresh grist for the mill so you better get het-married and pop out some kids you lowly peons. You have a choice so make the proper one. :)

- Corollary to the above, that doesn't keep all kinds of illicit "we're just friends with quid-pro-quo benefits for realsies" affairs of every stripe and every gender from going on everywhere. Many Ferengi have a lightbulb moment somewhere in early adulthood when they figure out their dad's business partner or the "auntie" who visited their mom every month had a little more going on.

- Plus there's way more gender non-conformity and varying degrees of trans-ing than the powers that be have a handle on. Pel isn't unique, even if most would have to somehow make it out into space to be able to thrive.

Damn a lot of these are just my personal bugbears plus THE GILDED AGE BUT WITH HAIRLESS SPACE RODENTS ain't they

- Women can't earn profit, okay. But lending or "lending" things to each other isn't commerce, riiiiiiight? To be assigned female is to master navigating a vast, dizzying barter/gift economy. Smart boys and men leverage this, too, and there are splinter sects that view this as the purest expression of the Great Material Continuum.

- Of course plenty of women make profit anyway, and just do their bast to dodge the FCA. The tough thing about insisting on using latinum as currency is that cash can be so hard to track, you know?

- Because of the RoA, guys are discouraged from doing favors or giving gifts without setting clear expectation of getting some return on investment. This can twist into an expression of friendship (and of course women do it too), and the ledger will keep cycling between debit and credit among friends for decades. A common mistake aliens make is to tell them recompense isn't needed without explaining why, or return their favor or present with something that zeroes out the debt. The Ferengi will assume you want to break off the friendship. (I cribbed this from dim memories of an African studies course I took in 2007 and whose textbook I know I still have but I can't frigging find it...)

- Flirting, they do a lot of it for a lot of reasons. Roddenberry made it clear that they're just straight up pretty horny, but there's no reason it can't pull double duty for building alliances with other people, smoothing over feuds or disagreements, or cementing friendships. Ferengi who are ace and/or sex-repulsed are possibly viewed similar to the way we'd view someone who's "not a hugger/not big on touching" and if they flirt just don't get offended if it doesn't go any further; aro Ferengi don't garner much comment aside from an occasional "wow how badass, never falling in love with anyone."

- where to even start on making sense of the Blessed Exchequer??? Like seriously, what is this literal prosperity gospel insanity, I need to force myself to re-read Rand and like, some Milton Friedman for this shit. Help.

- fuck I'm probably going to actually do that, RIP me...

[deathlikelead]

Contact Buzz

Summary: Fiona and Iggy get buzzed at the neighborhood bonfire.

Ship: Fiona Gallagher/Iggy Milkovich

Warnings: Drug use, alcohol, depictions of foreplay, not sfw

Word Count: 2.7k

Read on AO3

The noise should be the first thing that draws Iggy’s attention since it sounds like an end-of-the-world party is taking place a few blocks away from where he’s walking home after his beer run.

It’s not the noise though, it’s the smell. Whoever it is has to have the strongest weed imaginable, and Iggy wants in on that. He only notices the noise once he gets closer, dozens of people whooping and hollering, the dark sky illuminated by the giant plume of flames in the center of them all.

Mickey's boyfriend - the first redheaded Gallagher kid, Iggy can’t remember his name. Evan, Aaron, something monosyllabic like that - is carrying one of his little brothers on his back near the flames. One of their neighbors is waving his shirt into the smoke above the flames then pulling it back to inhale. It looks like the whole of Wallace Street is here, dancing around and shouting along to the song that’s playing loudly over someone’s speakers.

It’s chaotic, and where there’s chaos, there should be Milkoviches. Though he has to admit he doesn’t look very hard, in the quick glance he does give, Iggy notices a distinct lack of anyone from his family.

When he gets close enough, he wades into the crowd. He sets his pack of beer down on the first tailgate he comes to, and a joint appears in his hand as if by magic. He doesn’t know who it was that gave it to him, and they’ve already disappeared by the time he looks up to watch the fire after taking his first hit.

If he could smell it from three blocks away, Iggy’s surprised the cops aren’t here already. Then again, he heard that Fiona Gallagher maybe had a thing with one, so maybe she pulled some strings or some dick that allowed the whole neighborhood to come out and get a contact buzz together.

Iggy’s lived in the Southside his whole life, but he can’t spot a whole lot of people he thinks he knows. Even less he would consider friends.

He takes his magic joint with him and goes to hop up to sit next to his beer in the bed of whoever’s pick-up. He rips the box open and tugs a can out to pop the top on, drinks about half of it before the other side of the truck is dipping down under the weight of someone hopping up to join him on the other side. Iggy looks up, curious, around his beer, lowering it and belching as he makes eye contact with Fiona Gallagher.

The action makes her laugh for some reason, and then before Iggy can process, she’s leaning over and snagging the half-empty can out of his hand to down the rest of it. Iggy isn’t sure what to do with that, but he smirks at her as he goes for another one, asks, “Why you guys burning a giant pile of weed?”

Fiona helps herself to one of his beers, taking several swallows before shrugging. “Had too much. Needed to get rid of it.”

That answer makes Iggy roll his eyes, the gesture almost exaggerated in its obviousness. “Well shit, could have just brought it over to our house. Could have gotten rid of it for you no problem. And would have wasted a lot less.”

Fiona makes a face that Iggy thinks is half disbelief, half amusement. “Meaning what? That you and your brothers would have smoked it all?” And well… yeah, okay, that’s exactly what Iggy meant. But he can’t let her have the last word.

“No, my sister too, don’t be sexist. You should know her. Mandy, about 5’8”, totally banging your brother. Ringing a bell?” Iggy may know a little more than he’d like about Ian and Mickey’s indiscretions, but he isn’t about to make it public knowledge. Too many ears around that might remember overhearing it in the morning. Besides, he didn’t know if Fiona knew. Not his business.

For a second, Fiona looks like she’s about to say something, but after a moment of introspection, she instead finishes her beer and makes a grab for the joint Iggy’s still holding between his fingers. He’s already got a nice buzz going, and his reaction time’s a little slow, so she’s already got in her grip by the time he tries to grab it back. The world tilts off its axis a little bit when he tries to lean over for it, so he gives up and just lets her have it. “Grabby bitch, aren’t you?” he asks, though there’s not any heat behind the words. He sounds as happy and fuzzy as he feels.

Fiona coughs out a smokey laugh around the joint between her lips. “Not sure a Milkovich has any room to talk about ‘grabby’.”

Iggy hums at the dig, but well it’s true. Iggy wonders if he’s really obvious, or if Fiona has mind-reading superpowers. Both seem equally likely.

“Whatever. You may got a yuppie boyfriend buying you whatever you want now, but seems like you’ve got a little southside klepto left in you.”

Fiona takes another hit, nodding to him along with the beat of the music as she blows the smoke away from him - like it would make any difference if she blew smoke in his face at this point. The action makes him laugh. - “Don’t got a boyfriend. Not that it’s your business, fuck you very much.”

Iggy raises an eyebrow at that but leaves it to her to elaborate as he holds out his fingers, making a lazy gesture for the joint. He doesn’t care that much, but he’s pretty sure that girls love to talk, and he doesn’t have anywhere better to be than here - beer, free weed, hot girl as company, and all. Fiona doesn’t elaborate though, just watches him finish off the joint as she’s working on another beer he didn’t notice her stealing.

Once the joint burns down enough that it’s burning his fingers, Iggy squashes it out on the tailgate next to his thigh. There’s a hand around his wrist. Iggy blinks, trying to push through the weed haze settling over his brain, and he realizes that the hand belongs to Fiona, who has hopped down off their shared seat. “Come on, come dance with me.”

Fiona tugs Iggy up close to the blaze that’s going strong, stinking up the empty lot and all the surrounding neighborhoods. There's a lot of bodies thrumming to the beat of the radio around them, but it’s unreasonably hard to focus on more than one thing at once.

Whoever grew this weed knew what the fuck they were doing.

And right in front of everyone, Fiona presses her back against Iggy’s chest and starts rolling her hips against his. Iggy chooses that sensation as his one thing to focus on, resting one hand against her left hip and trying to roll along with her. It takes a moment, but he thinks he gets the hang of it. At least Fiona is laughing, twisting around to wrap an arm around his neck and continuing to grind against him, belly to belly.

Iggy thinks they must spend the entire night dancing pressed against each other like that, but when Fiona pulls away, pulls on his wrist, and tugs him through the fog, he’s surprised to find it’s still dark around them. They’re further away from the fire now, the noise and the heat fading into the distance, the memory of them already faded under the buzzing in his brain.

Fuck, whoever grew this - Kevin, someone said Kevin - really did know what he was doing.

Fiona drags Iggy back to the truck, grabs another beer for each of them, and then again grabs his wrist and tugs him further away from the party, and starts down the block.

Iggy is pretty sure that the house she pulls him into isn’t hers, but he’s never been to hers either, so he can’t exactly swear to it. Fiona kicks her shoes off and flops down on the couch comfortably, grinning up at the ceiling.

He must look confused because, after a moment, she tugs herself into a sitting position and turns to face him. “Are you just gonna stand there all night?”

Iggy blinks. Takes a moment to collect his balance, then makes his way around the couch to sit down next to her. “This your house?” he asks because he’s thinking about it.

“Kev and V’s. too many people at mine.”

Too many people for what, Iggy isn’t sure. He fidgets with the tab on his can of beer and relaxes back into the couch. The two of them sit in fuzzy silence for long enough that it startles Iggy when Fiona is back in his field of vision, up off the couch to turn up a stereo across the room. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. “You were more fun when we were dancing,” She declares as she crosses the room and snags his beer, only to set it on the end table and pull him to his feet again.

There's no hesitation from Fiona, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing up against him again, swaying to the end of the slow song playing on the radio. There are fewer things to be distracted by in the pitch black of a stranger’s house than there is at a weed bonfire block party, so while dancing with Fiona is still what he focuses on, Iggy can pause for a moment and think Holy shit.

Fiona Gallagher is dancing with him.

A few hours ago, a few minutes ago, he's not sure, but not long ago, she’d been grinding on him.

The memory of it is hot, and Iggy finds that he’s sliding his hands up under her shirt now. Fiona leans into it, a carefree smile on her face. When the song ends, she pulls away from him and tugs the shirt off. Iggy’s brain short circuits and Fiona has the nerve to press back against him, asking, “This cool with you?” with a smirk on her face.

He manages to stop staring at her chest and pick his eyes up to meet hers long enough to confirm, “Yeah.” It makes her laugh for some reason, and that sound excites him, as does the tone of her following demand of, “Okay, then take yours off, too.”

Having happily gone back to his staring, he doesn’t quite pick up on the actual words, so Fiona decides to help him out, hands coming to either of his hips and tugging upwards on his shirt until all Iggy has to do is lift his arms. He doesn’t see where it is that Fiona throws his shirt too, but he’s not sure that he cares anyway.

He had been expecting her to press into him and start dancing to the beat again, but instead, she’s standing in front of him, undoing her shorts. She struggles a little, buzzed and uncoordinated, but looks up at him once she’s freed of the button, the zipper falling open so that he can see her panties. “You really are just gonna stand there and stare all night, aren’t you?” she asks, laughing when it takes him an inappropriate amount of time to drag his gaze back up to hers.

“No.” He decides, though he still makes no move to do anything but stare.

It's becoming increasingly obvious to Fiona that she’s going to have to guide him through every step she wants to take here, and though the thought makes her roll her eyes, she’s not entirely opposed to it. “Right,” she answers, playful sarcasm dripping from her tone as she steps over to him, repeating the unbuttoning and unzipping with his jeans. Again, she grabs his wrist, this time guiding his hand to her waist and finally resuming their grinding to the middle of a new song playing on the radio.

She thinks he’s starting to get the hint by the time the song ends, so she steps back and shimmies out of her shorts. She stays quiet, looks contemplative at something behind Iggy for a moment.

Kev and V have a ridiculous spiral staircase, and Fiona is not a hundred percent sure that Iggy wouldn’t lose his balance and break his neck on it if she tried to lure him up it. Hell, She’s not a hundred percent sure that she wouldn’t break her neck if she tried to go up it. But after a moment of consideration, she looks back at Iggy and decides she likes the idea of being chased. Kev and Veronica do have a really comfortable bed…

She taps Iggy's chest to get his attention, a suggestive look spreading across her face when his eyes meet hers. “I’m gonna go upstairs. Last door on the right at the end of the hall.” Fiona doesn’t wait for a response, but she does reach up behind herself to unclasp her bra and shrug out of it so she can drop it on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. It takes more willpower than she would be happy to admit to force herself not to look back to see if Iggy has caught on that he’s supposed to follow her. When she’s halfway up, she hears the staircase creek behind her and grins.

----

Iggy still feels remarkably fuzzy when he wakes up. Not high, but not exactly not high. It’s mixing wonderfully with the hangover from his beers - Where exactly had he left those? - and making his mouth taste like his head feels, like cotton and fuzz and pressure.

There’s sunlight streaming into the room he’s in, and it smells like flowers, leaving him a little unsure of where he is. He pries his eyes open and looks around, but from where he lays on the bed, he still can’t distinguish where he is. All he can see is an unfamiliar wall, with an unfamiliar window and an unfamiliar dresser pushed against it.

Downstairs, there’s yelling, but there’s also the scent of food, the promise of which is enough to get Iggy to drag his ass out of the comfortable bed. He looks around helplessly for a minute, but unable to locate his boxers, he decides to dig in the dresser for a pair instead.

“In my bed? In my fucking bed, Fiona? Actually,” the yelling gets louder as Iggy approaches the stairs and starts to make his very slow way down them. “Actually, in my house at all? You couldn’t have picked anywhere else in Chicago to take your dirty white boy to hook up?”

Fiona is sitting at the counter with her head in her hands and her back to him, while a very animated woman moves around the kitchen. The woman - Victoria? Has to be something with a V, since everyone calls her that. - hip bumps the great weed curator out of the way of the stove so she can plate a couple of eggs and some toast to bring over to Fiona. “We’re gonna have to burn the sheets now, you know that, right? And for fuck’s sake, Iggy Milkovich-”

Whatever secondary rant she’d been preparing to launch into is cut off momentarily by the question her husband asks after turning around and catching sight of Iggy. “Are those my boxers?”

Iggy looks down at them, shrugs, then looks back up with a dopey grin. “Yeah. Sorry, man. Eggs?” He comes to join Fiona on her side of the little breakfast nook, grinning and digging in when a confused, hesitant-looking Kev sets a plate of eggs down in front of him.

Beside him, Fiona and V have started up again, so he looks up to Kev and asks through his mouthful of eggs, “Are they always this loud when they gossip?”

Neither one of the offending gossips quiet. Either they didn’t hear him, or they just didn’t care.

Kev looks exasperated. “You have no idea, man.” He sets his spatula down next to the stove and reaches behind his ear as he comes to lean across from Iggy. “Joint?”

[casifer-is-king]

Goldfish

PI!Frankie Pt. 2 (Private Investigator Frankie Morales Pt. 1)

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x fem!reader

Rating: M

Warnings: some language, sexual situations: dry humping and making out.

A/N: I can't get this these two out of my head so I just keep writing hah. It is cross posted on AO3 under my username BlondiMarie.

Frankie is bored out of his mind - watching some high up bank employee as he sits through some shady meeting - when his phone pings.

Pollito: Today's the day. At 3pm tonight I will officially be a divorced woman. And by 9pm I will hopefully already be drunk on celebratory drinks! Are you gonna come have a shot with me??

Sorry dulzura I have to work.

Pollito: Bank dude still? You must be slipping, Mr. Morales. You've been stalking that guy for weeks now.

Please don't call it stalking woman. It's surveillance. And I'll have you know I'm about to close this one.

Pollito: Oh I don't doubt you. You're the best investigator I know XD

Frankie shakes his head with a grin. The meeting he's been watching seems to be coming to a close, so he throws some money down for the coffee he'd ordered and walks out to his truck. He looks over the information he gathered from this most recent surveillance and knows that tonight is going to be the best night to follow up on it. He just wishes he could put it off. Spending the evening celebrating with you sounds like a much better time. Especially after everything you've gone through this past month with the divorce.

In the past few weeks, the texting between the two of you had been just as constant as ever, but you had added hanging out together to the mix as well. There had been one dinner so far, which you insisted on paying for, claiming you'd never pay him back if he paid. Then there had been a couple of times you went out for drinks, but Frankie did pay for those even through your complaints that you can pay for yourself.

It was all friendly, though. Not that Frankie didn't want to move on from friendly. He just didn't want to push that move too quickly. You were already stressed enough without him adding his own shit to the mix. So he goes on being the supportive friend, ignores his growing feelings and focuses on work.

And it's a plan that works well for him up until this night.

It's almost midnight when the next text from you comes through.

Pollito: where ar youuuuuu

I'm working Pollito.

Pollito: but yo should be here drikinh with me Fishyyyyyyyyy

Sometimes Frankie really wishes he hadn't told you about his Delta call sign, but he can't help but smile down at his phone as he waited for whatever you were typing now.

Pollito: I need a ride home :(

I thought you had it covered dulzura

Pollito: nuh hh. Come get me?

Frankie bites his lip and peeks up through his windshield. A man in a suit is walking up to the door Frankie has been watching for the past hour. One more glance at the slew of little sad faced begging emojis you had just sent and Frankie was out of his truck and closing the distance to his target with long strides.

Simultaneously hitting record on his phone and pressing a forearm into the target's chest, Frankie quickly takes control of the situation. “This is being recorded. Now I want you to tell me what you and your buddies are doing here tonight?” he asked in a tone that commands an answer.

“Get off me!” the man tried to push Frankie away, but ended up being pushed harder against the building behind him.

“You tell me what I want to know and you can go on your way. Now, what are you doing here tonight?”

“I will call the cops,” the guy made one last ditch attempt. His voice was weak, though, and didn't hold near the authority he had hoped for.

“That's not going to happen,” Frankie's growled out. He glared into the target's eyes for a moment, his teeth clenching. “What's going to happen is you're going to tell me exactly what you and your pals are doing in there. In as much detail as possible.”

“Ok! It's a skim operation!” The man finally gave in. He proceeded to give Frankie everything he needed without any additional prompting from the ex-special forces soldier.

When Frankie got everything he needed, he finally let up on the target, who immediately collapsed into himself. “See, that wasn't so hard,” Frankie said. “Thanks, man. I'm sure you'll be hearing from some people soon.”

Walking away, Frankie looks down to his phone. It's been 15 minutes since your last text.

I'm on my way bonita.

〰️〰️〰️

You know that you're well past drunk when you find yourself singing Total Eclipse of the Heart at a karaoke bar, surrounded by your best friends. Said friends are just as drunk as you are after too many rounds of sickly sweet shots.

You saw him as soon as he strode into the bar. He was wearing his usual baseball cap, but tonight he was wearing a black leather jacket over a tee shirt that stretched deliciously over his chest. You locked eyes with him from the stage, then followed his broad form as he made his way to the bar. With a beer in hand, he watches you sing with a warm look in his chocolate eyes.

As soon as the song is over, you're off the stage and by his side. With a huge smile you throw your arms over his shoulders and he stoops to wrap his arms around you in return.

“I'm so glad you came, Fishy!” You yell directly into Frankie's ear.

“You look like you're having enough fun without me, Pollito. And stop calling me that” Frankie retorts, pulling away with a faux glare.

“I'll stop calling you that when you stop calling me a chicken!”

Frankie laughs outright, showing off the adorable dimple in his cheek. “I promise it's just a nickname. It's not meant to be offensive.”

You glare up at the taller man, fingers still holding onto the plush leather of his coat. He only smiles down at you, though, with a fond look in his dark eyes. “Have a shot with me!” You finally demand. “We are celebrating the fact that I'm a free woman, remember?”

Frankie indulges you with a smile as you grasp one of his large hands in yours and turn him back toward the bar. He doesn't pull away, so you take that as a good sign and lightly run your thumb down the prominent vein running down the back of said hand.

Ever since the night Frankie came and kicked your ex out for good, he had been tip-toeing around you. You were more than certain that the man felt the same about you as you did him, but he hadn't made any move to go any farther than the dinner date you took him on. But every time he'd peek the tip of his tongue out when he concentrated on something you wanted to kiss him. And whenever he'd wrap his arms around you and pull you into a friendly hug, you wanted to push him against the nearest surface and leave marks across his neck. Not to mention all the little things, like watching him drive and yearning to grab his hand in yours. Or even just sitting next to him on the couch and wishing he'd pull you closer so you could just bask in his warm existence.

But, ever the gentleman, Frankie does none of those things. He texts you all day, spends time with you when he's not busy, and lets you vent to him endlessly about your divorce. And so maybe that's where the issue lies: you were technically still a married woman and Frankie is just the kind of gentleman who wouldn't make a move on a married woman? Regardless of how separated she was from her husband.

Marriage isn't an issue anymore, though, you think happily as you and Frankie down your shots of Jameson and it's subsequent pickleback in two smooth steps. Because this was your celebration as a newly single woman! You just had to make sure Frankie was aware of this as well.

Your little Frankie bubble was invaded as your friends squish up to the bar beside you. “Oh, look who made it right as we are leaving!”

“Hello, Erin. I see you two have been taking care of her,” Frankie nods toward you with a mildly facetious smile.

“Only the best divorce party for our best friend!” Ashley cheers, sloppily throwing her arms around your neck. “But our Uber is here, so it's time to pack it up.”

You can almost feel Frankie's eyes squinting at you as you turn to your friends. Oops. So maybe you had exaggerated just a little bit to convince Frankie to show up tonight. But it was worth it now that he was here. “Actually, Frankie's gonna take me home.”

Erin and Ashley exchange looks and you know, even in your drunken daze, that is time to usher them out to their waiting ride. “Come on, loves, your car won't wait forever.”

After long winded goodbyes, multiple hugs and some empty promises from Ashley that you would all get lunch the next day, you finally packed your friends into their Uber.

“Ready to go, too, cariño?” Frankie asked, looking down into your eyes.

Your head tilted to the side. This was a pet name he had not called you before. You are about to ask about it, but suddenly his large hand is covering the span of your lower back and warmth is radiating from that spot straight into your belly. With a dreamy nod, you allow Frankie to lead you across the lot to his truck. He gently lifts you into the passenger seat and his full torso covers you momentarily as he leans across to buckle you in securely.

You're struck, in this moment, by the realization of how broad this man's shoulders are. Of course, it's not something that you can miss; but in this moment, warmed by his body covering yours, he seems broader than ever. Shoulders leading to strong arms, ending with those hands. It was obvious that Frankie was accustomed to working with his hands, with long, thick fingers calloused from engine work and handling guns. But it's the little things about Frankie's hands that always captured your attention. The way they twitched when he was feeling anxious, always looking for the first thing he could to occupy them. He'd caress the table beneath his fingers, following every groove over and over again. Or when he tapped along to the music on the radio as he drove and his fingers would flex, showing off all of his tendons.

You're brought out of your thoughts when one of those fingers reaches up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. He's still close. Close enough that it wouldn't take much effort to just lean forward and place your lips on his.

But in the next instant he's retreating, shooting you a wink as he closes the door and jogs over to the drivers side.

“Did you get the guy?” You asked once Frankie had pulled away from the bar. “The one you've been watching.”

“Of course I did,” he drawls. “I'm the best, remember?”

“I am certain that's not what I said,” you laughed.

“That's what I remember you saying.”

You laugh at him, enjoying how his deep laugh harmonizes with yours, enjoying the moment with him. You wish you could drag this moment on, you think blearily. But soon enough he's parked outside your new condo and gently helping you up to your front door.

“Stay,” you whisper as Frankie fights to get your door unlocked while also dealing with you draped all over him. He grunts, just a general signal that he heard you speak, but he doesn't answer your request.

He's depositing you onto your couch when you say it again, more forceful, “Frankie. Stay with me.” You're grasping at the sleeve of his coat, both hands attempting to pull him down with you.

Frankie freezes, suddenly a statue in the middle of your living room. Seeing that you aren't going to be able to make the man budge by pulling him down, you relent your grip and move on to pouting up at him.

“Not a good idea, cariño. Not tonight and not like this.” He sounds just a little bit regretful. So you latch onto that and double down on the pouting.

“I want you to Frankie. Want you to stay here and kiss me and touch me with your pretty hands.”

Frankie groans in a way that makes you feel like you've won, but instead he takes a full step back and pulls off his hat to run his hands through his hair. The curls are messy, but they look so soft and you want to touch them desperately.

The next thing you know, you're standing in front of him and Frankie's hands are curled gently around your wrists as he's pushing you back at arm's length. “Dulzura, it is time for you to go to bed.”

You frown and whine, “don't wanna go to bed.”

“Goodnight, cariño,” was the last thing you heard before you drifted off to sleep under your warm blankets.

Frankie 🐟: The guys are doing an early bbq then the fight is tonight.

You pick up your phone to read the text as it pings a second time.

Frankie 🐟: You're still coming right??

Of course! What time should I be ready?

Frankie 🐟: I'll be there around 3.

Sounds good. See you then!

Frankie is there at 2:47pm. It's the first time you've seen him since the day of your divorce just a week ago. You aren't exactly ready, but he only stands around impatiently for 10 minutes before you are finally out the door. The drive is across town, and 20 minutes later Frankie is pulling up to a nice little house in an equally nice neighborhood.

Frankie walks into the house without knocking, leading you through to the back door. In the back yard a group of guys are standing around a grill, two of them with beers in their hands and one with a water bottle.

“Hey! Look who finally made it!” One of the guys calls out as he sees you and Frankie approaching. A wide smile graces his handsome features.

“Hey guys,” Frankie greets, “Sorry we're late. Someone wasn't ready when they said they'd be.” Frankie ignores your huff in liew of introducing you to his friends.

You shake each man's hand, trying to match faces to names you already know: Santiago with his dark eyes, stubbled jaw and curly hair; Benny is the one with the wide smile and crystal blue eyes; and Will who's eyes match Benny's, but who has blonde hair and a beard that enhances his chiseled jawline perfectly.

“I've heard so much about you all.” It's a cliché line, but it's the truth. Frankie talks about these guys more often than he talks about himself.

“Want a beer, dulzura?” Frankie asks. When you nod he turns back to the house.

“So we finally get to meet Frankie's new best friend,” Santiago turns to you with a smile. “You and Catfish have known each other…. How long now?”

“One month, two weeks and four days,” Will pipes up from your left.

Before you can even comment on the absurdity of him just knowing that, Santiago is already going on. “Exactly! And we are only just now meeting you?! It seems a shame that Cat would keep such a niña bonita from us!”

“You know how possessive Fish can be, Pope,” Benny cuts in. “I'm surprised he didn't wait another one month, two weeks and however many days.”

The guys laugh and you join in, though yours is definitely more confused than anything. “I don't think that's it,” you reply. “Just timing hasn't matched up, ya know? But I'm glad things worked out tonight. I'm excited to see your fight, Benny. Frankie talks a lot about y'alls training.”

Frankie appears by your side again, handing you your beer bottle and casually draping an arm over your shoulders. “Ben's gonna do great tonight. He's put in a lot of work for this one and he's gonna leave that ring the champ.”

“I always leave the ring a champion,” Benny puffs up.

“Except when you get the shit kicked out of you,” Santiago says, feinting a jab to Benny's torso which leads to Benny grabbing Santiago in a headlock.

Will gives an exasperated eye roll and he and Frankie begin to drift over to the smoking grill in tandem, you being pulled along with them from under Frankie's arm. “You really thinking he's got this one?” Will asks as he opens the grill to check on the food inside.

“No doubt. He really has put the work in, and we've been working on taking advantage of Thompson’s weaknesses. Benny's the better fighter between the two anyway, so this one is a no brainer,” Frankie replies with confidence.

Will seems convinced by this and nods. “Good. He needs this win.”

They leave it at that as Benny and Santiago make their way over, still pushing at each other and laughing.

“Ok, save it for the ring, brother,” Will says to Benny. “Foods done, let's eat.”

〰️〰️〰️

Frankie downs the rest of his beer and peeks over at your own bottle. Seeing that it's nearly empty as well, he leans in and interrupts your conversation with Will by whispering in your ear, “another drink?”

You turn to him with a sweet little smile and a nod before turning right back to listening to whatever Will was telling you.

Standing and walking into the kitchen, Frankie can't help but feel happy seeing how well you're dealing with his best friends. Brothers, really, after everything the four of them had been through. Which is just another reason for Frankie to smile, knowing that the guys are going out of their way to make you feel comfortable.

Opening the fridge and grabbing two more bottles, Frankie hears the soft padding of footsteps and raises his chin to see that Benny has followed him. He steps back and let's the younger man grab a water bottle and a beer.

“So, you tappin’ that yet?” Benny asks with a salacious wiggle of his brows.

Frankie rolls his eyes at his friend's crudeness. "Come on, man, she just got divorced."

"Ok, but if that wasn't an issue?" Benny pushes.

"I don't know. Maybe. I don't know if she'd even want that."

“But you are into her?"

"Of course I am, Benny!"

"Well, don't wait too long, brother. Don't let her slip through your fingers."

〰️〰️〰️

In the living room you are left with Santiago and Will. Santiago takes the opportunity of having Frankie out of the room and turns to you. “So, has Fish been treating you well?”

You're confused by the question, but answer, “of course. He's a really good friend.” You smile as you lower your head.

“But I'm sensing you're maybe interested in more than that?” Santiago pushes.

“Um, well, I'm just kinda going with the flow. He's just kinda been there for me through a whole shit storm,” you explain.

“Well one of you is gonna have to make a move at some point.”

Before you can deny anything, Will comes to your defense. “Come on, Pope. This isn't an interrogation here.” You smile at the man appreciatively, but then he ads: “anyway, we both know Frankie is gonna take his time making any moves."

The conversation is cut short when Benny saunters back into the room, presenting you with another beer in a flourish.

“Do you do any fishing?” Santiago changes the topic swiftly.

“Not at all,” you laugh.

“Don't like fish?”

"More like fish don't like me. I had a goldfish once, but it died pretty much as soon as I got it home."

“How do you murder a goldfish?” Benny asks, looking your way incredulously.

“I don't know! I did everything the guy at the store told me to do.”

“Well, lucky for you, it's ok if the ones you catch die, goldfish killer,” Benny jokes. “The goal is to eat them anyway.”

“I don't know. I have zero experience with fishing,” you protest.

“Don't you worry, we will teach you everything there is to know,” Benny says with a wink. “I hear catfish are pretty easy to catch.”

Santiago snickers and you see Will try to hide a smirk.

“Is that what you guys usually fish for?” You ask, trying to gain some context for the comment and following reaction.

“No, darlin’, it's not,” Will answers, his smirk evolving into a smile. “But we will be happy to have you come with us whenever you want to tag along.”

“Where are you guys trying to take her, hermano?” Frankie asks as he re-enters the living room. You notice that his lips are turned down slightly and his brows are pinched, creating that worry line between them that he sometimes gets when he's thinking too hard about a case.

“Just offering to teach the goldfish killer how to do some real fishing.” Benny's smile is wide and definitely leaning away from innocent.

“It was literally just one goldfish,” you mumble.”It's not like I'm some mass goldfish murder.”

Frankie pats your shoulder as he takes his seat beside you, “of course not, cariño. I know you'd never purposely hurt a fish.” His tone was only mildly sarcastic, so you let him off with a glare.

“Well you might have to break that rule once we get out to the lake with a hook in the water, but I think you'll manage just fine,” Benny laughs. “Here, put your number in my phone!”

Benny's phone is slapped into your palm, so you have no choice but to comply with his request. He also grabs for your phone and unlocks it to immediately start adding his contact info in return. Only seconds after you have swapped phones back, your own phone alerts you to a message. Opening the screen you note that you have now been added to a group message labeled “Operation Teach Goldfish To Reel In A Big Catch”. You see Frankie listed in the chat, as well as two other phone numbers that are not saved in your contacts.

“Kinda long for a chat name, don't ya think?” You comment, raising one brow toward the younger Miller brother.

“It's a working title,” Benny laughs out loud. “Now let's get going, guys. I have a fight to win!”

There were only a few people there when you got to the venue where the fights were being held. You go back and watch Benny warm up, surprised that the goofy guy from back at the barbecue has now turned deathly serious. He's definitely in his element here. Frankie and Will offer some pointers and words of encouragement until it's time for him to go change.

“I'm gonna go get our seats,” Frankie says as you all file out towards the changing room.

“You're not gonna walk out with me?” Benny sounds suddenly anxious.

“I don't wanna leave her alone, hermano,” Frankie explains, gesturing toward you.

Benny's brows pinch together and his frown deepens.

“I can go save the seats myself,” you assure with a smile at both men.

“Are you sure, cariño?” Frankie looks mildly worried, but he's also glancing back to Benny, clearly at a loss for what to do.

“Of course! You guys do your manly ritual stuff and I'll be out there when you get done.” Turning toward Benny you give him a bright smile, “good luck out there!”

The smile Benny gives in return is full of relief and appreciation. “Thanks, Goldfish.”

“That's… You didn't forget my name already, did you?” You ask hesitantly.

Benny laughs outright at that. “Of course not, sweetheart. But Goldfish Killer is too long to say every time.”

With a huff and an eye roll you try to hide the smile that's creeping into your face. “Ok, asshole. You go focus on not getting knocked out in the ring.”

“Not a chance of that happening,” he retorts with a wink before turning to go into the changing room.

Frankie turns to you once more. “You sure you'll be ok out there?” He asks once more.

“I'm positive, Morales. You go make sure Benny is ready to win this thing.”

Frankie smiles down at you with a soft look in his eyes. “Kay. I'll see you out there soon.”

People are starting to trickle in as you enter the arena and scope out for the seats Frankie had mentioned earlier where they usually sat. They are in the front row and still open, so you make sure to stake your claim on four seats and sit down to wait.

You're scrolling through social media when a shadow falls over you. You look up and see a man standing next to you, waiting to catch your attention. “Hey, are these seats taken?” He asks.

“No, those ones are free. I just have these ones on my left,” you smile politely.

“Thanks,” the guy smiles back before taking the seat next to you. You focus back on your scrolling for a moment before the guy speaks again. “Should be a good fight tonight, huh?”

Looking back up, you see the stranger is still addressing you. “Yeah, I'm sure it will be,” you respond.

“Who are you betting on?” He asks.

“Ben Miller,” you answer without a thought.

“Really? Ok,” the guy laughs.”I'm Nick, by the way.”

You give him your name in return and, with mild reluctance, allow him to engage you in a conversation.

It's 20 minutes before the lights dim and loud music starts pouring out of the speakers. You turn to focus on what's happening, but Nick leans closer to say something else. In that moment, you feel Frankie settle into the chair to your left, his arm automatically falling across your shoulders and he's pulling you toward him.

“Hey, sweetheart. Sorry that took so long.” Frankie's voice is deep, but usually it's a soft gravely sound that drapes over you like a warm, wool blanket. In this moment, though, his voice has turned stentorian. It's so clear, even over all the background noise, that you are sure Nick has heard every word without issue.

To prove that point, the stranger immediately backs off.

You smile up at Frankie thankfully as Santiago and Will make their way over, passing beers to you and Frankie. He takes his beer in his left hand and keeps his right arm firmly around your shoulders. Accepting that he wasn't going to move any time soon, you subtly lean toward him and focus on the fight that's starting in the ring.

As the second fight begins and the announcer introduces Benny, the solid arm moves from your shoulders and Frankie's hand drops to your thigh. The weight of that hand causes your stomach to flutter as he gives one squeeze of his strong fingers.

You glance over to the owner of the warm hand and see that he is leaning over Santiago, listening to something Will is saying.

You take the opportunity and bring your hand up as well. You allow yourself to touch the denim of his jeans, feeling along the solid span of his thigh, moving inward until the tips of your fingers are touching the inner seam of them.

His hand squeezes your thigh again, this time just a hint harder. Not a warning to stop; probably not even something he meant to do, you realize after peeking up at his face through your lashes. Frankie is straight faced, appearing to be watching as Benny gains the upper hand early on his opponent. But his eyes flicker down to your quickly every few seconds, and each time you catch him you move your hand just a little farther up his leg.

〰️〰️〰️

Frankie's arm is around you again, but this time he has you pulled firmly into his side as he leads you down the hallway. The announcer had barely finished announcing Benny as the winner before he had grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the arena. With one sharp turn he leads you through one of the doors along the hall and has you backed against it in one swift motion.

“I've been waiting to kiss you for so long,” he growls into your neck.

“So why haven't you already?” You counter. And that's all it takes for Frankie's lips to come crashing down on yours.

It's a rough meeting of mouths, both of you having lost all patients after weeks of waiting for this. His mustache tickles you and you giggle a bit at the sensation of his facial hair as well as the euphoria of finally kissing this man after dreaming about it for so long. He takes this opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth and you eagerly accept.

The kiss has melted into a deep exploration of each other's mouths while his hands find their way up your sides. Those hands cover your ribcage, up just below the swell of your breasts; he caresses the very bottom of them with just his thumbs before both hands continue toward your back. He traces fingertips down each vertebrae of your spine until he reaches your ass and firmly takes a handful of each cheek.

This action causes you to be pulled closer to his body and it's that moment that you realize he has slotted his leg between your thighs. The friction causes you to gasp and your head falls back against the door. Frankie takes this opportunity to begin exploring your exposed neck, mapping out all the places that make you moan and squirm on his thigh.

You move your hands up to push your fingers through his curly hair, knocking his hat off in the process. As his mouth meets the juncture of your neck and shoulder, electricity flashes up your spine and you grip a handful of his hair in one of your fists. The pull on his scalp rips a moan from deep in his chest and he jerks his hips into yours. With this added closeness, you can clearly feel his excitement pressing into your hip.

You drag a hand slowly down Frankie's body, feeling all the firm muscle of his shoulder and pecs, traveling further down his stomach until you reach the edge of his tee shirt. His mouth has migrated toward the other side of your neck as you push your hand up under the bottom of his shirt, fingers dancing across skin covered in a speckling of hair, following the trail down to his belt and…

Suddenly both of your phones are vibrating at the same time. You squeak loudly as you feel his phone through the pocket of the leg he has firmly pressed into your center.

“Fucking shit,” Frankie curses, stepping away from you and reaching into his jeans for the phone. “Fucking assholes,” he curses again, turning the phone to show you that Santiago is calling him.

You fall back onto the door and retrieve your own phone with shaking hands. It's Benny calling you, which you allow Frankie to see with a shake of your head and sardonic smile. He huffs out a deep breath and ignores the call.

“Guess we better find them,” Frankie sighs, running a hand over his kiss-swollen lips.

“Yeah, we should do that,” you agree, running your hands through your hair in an attempt to tame it. Once you both have composed yourselves to the best of your abilities, you allow Frankie to open the door and lead you out with a hand low on your back.

Immediately you hear Benny's voice hollering from down the hall, “Well well well, there they are.”

You feel your whole body cringe before turning toward the rowdy voice, knowing full well your face is flaming red from both embarrassment and where Frankie's stubble had rubbed your skin sensitive.

“And where have you been?” Benny questions as the three men approach.

“Around,” Frankie answers, barely nonchalant.

Benny laughs loudly, but Will expertly leads him continuously down the hall. Though not without throwing you and Frankie a knowing smile.

“Did you lose your hat while you were “around” exploring random storage rooms?” Santiago inquires with a leer as he also sweeps past the two of you, following the Miller brothers.

Frankie's hand shoots to his head and he runs his fingers through uncontained hair. He curses under his breath then turns to hastily swoop his hat from the floor and place it back on his head.

When he stands back to his full height, he pauses a moment to gaze at you. The corners of his eyes crinkle into a smile as your eyes meet his and in an instant he's leaning down to deliver a soft, quick kiss to your lips. “We better catch up or we'll never hear the end of it,” he comments.

The three men are standing around outside the doors when Frankie finally escorts you out. Benny wastes no time pulling you into their conversation. “Bar? I need a drink after that win!”

You turn to look up at the man beside you, your eyes meeting is chocolate ones instantly. The two of you have a moment of silent communication before Frankie turns to his friends. “I think we'll skip the bar tonight, hermano. You guys have fun though.”

“Oh, you hear that, gentlemen? Frankie and Goldie are gonna skip the bar,” Santiago says satirically.

“Oh, we heard, brother,” Will affirms in a matching, though more subdued tone.

“Yeah yeah, ok,” Frankie interrupts the banter. “Come on, cariño, let's go before these comedians get too deep in their skit.”

The guys laugh and start their rounds of manly goodbyes.

You turn to Benny when he's stepped back from Frankie's hug. “Great job tonight. Congrats on that win,” you smile up at him.

The beaming man instantly pounced to sweep you into a hug. “Glad we finally got to meet you, Goldfish.”

“You're not gonna give that up, are you?” You glare good-naturedly.

“I've already changed your name in my phone. Can't go back now.”

You sigh half heartedly and return Benny's hug. “It was nice to finally meet you too,” you pull away with a sincere smile.

Back on the ground you get a side hug from Santiago and Will offers a friendly nod and a smile. Then, with one last wave, Frankie grabs your hand and leads you to his truck. After each of you are buckled in, he turns to you with hesitant eyes.

“So….” he doesn't hold eye contact for long, quickly tipping his head forward to hide behind the bill of his hat.

You smile at how cute he is, here in this moment. A distinct difference from the man who had you crowded against a door and rubbing yourself all over his thigh not even 15 minutes ago.

“So, I have this new condo full of brand new furniture, if you wanna check it out,” you suggest.

“Sounds perfect to me,” Frankie agrees, reaching over to grab your hand as he sets off toward your house.

✨✨Three✨✨

[study-coffee-chicago]

Small (A Halstead brothers + Halstead sister imagine)

Grab your snacks because this is a long one.

Warning: graphic depictions of violence.

Being short and able to fit into small spaces had its perks...but you didn't think it would come in handy in such a dire situation as this. Your mind wandered back to who knows how many hours ago, reminding you of how you got in the situation and what the current situation entailed. Needless to say, you were currently in hell.

***

"Sev? What are you doing here?" you asked as you opened the front door to reveal Kelly Severide holding a six-pack of beer.

"Heard your brother just worked a really tough case. He here?" Kelly asked.

"He's in the shower. Voight gave him the day off after the case yesterday. But, c'mon in."

You stepped out of the way and allowed Kelly to enter, and closed the door. You went back over to the kitchen where you were pouring yourself a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. After all, it was only nine in the morning.

"Want anything?" you asked Kelly.

"I'm good, thanks. But if you could put these in the fridge that'd be great."

"Only if I can have one," you joked, grabbing the beer and putting it on a shelf in the fridge.

"If your brother wasn't here, I probably would let you."

"Kelly?" Jay asked walking out of the bathroom in a pair of jeans, still without a shirt on as it was in his hand.

"My eyes!" you yelled, quickly covering them with your hand.

"Do you ever leave the bathroom with a shirt on? Or do you just put it on once you're out?" Kelly laughed.

"It's my house. I can do what I want."

"Well, put the damn shirt on. You're scarring the poor kid."

"Fine, fine, okay." He slipped the shirt over his head. "You're good now."

You uncovered your eyes and took a sip of your coffee. You were about to swallow when Jay decided it wasn't too early to mess with you. "Not like she hasn't seen dudes shirtless before. She really wants to see that one kid from her political science class shirtless."

"Excuse you?" you exclaimed after you had spit your coffee back into your mug, causing Kelly to look at you with a disgusted look on his face. "I do not!"

"You're not exactly quiet when you talk on the phone with Emma, Y/N," Jay smirked.

"You see this, Kelly? This is the shit I have to put up with every day."

Kelly decided to smack Jay upside the head. "Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"Be nice to your sister!" Kelly laughed. "Or else I'll tell her that I caught you and Hailey making out in your truck on my way out of Molly's the other night!"

"I knew it! I knew you guys were in love with each other! Kelly, I need you to put that statement in writing because Will now owes me fifty bucks."

"Wait, you guys made bets on my love life?" Jay asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"So, he is in love with her!" Kelly yelled, giving you a high five.

"Okay, enough about me," Jay started, effectively putting an end to that conversation. "What are you even doing here?" he asked, turning to Kelly.

"I heard about your case last night and I figured you could use some company. I brought beer."

"Great. Once I finish my coffee, we can break into that. You catch the Bears game the other day?"

And, now that they were talking about the glorified game of catch that was football, you took that as your cue to leave.

***

A reminder popped up on your phone at 11 am sharp. Tell Jay that low oil light came on in car it read.

You walked out into the living room only to hear Kelly say, "I'm tellin' you man, girls love that shit."

You assumed that shit was some sex thing...so you didn't want to know in the slightest. You cleared your throat, and Jay turned to you with wide-eyes.

"Uh, Y/N, how much of that did you happen to hear?"

"All I heard was him saying girls love that shit. Thank God I didn't hear more. But, my low oil light came on, so can change it?"

"The light or the oil?" Jay asked, taking another sip of his beer.

You squinted your eyes at him. "The oil. I'm stupid when it comes to cars, but I'm not that stupid."

"I'll do it in an hour."

"I have a class at three."

Jay groaned. "Seriously? Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because it just came on yesterday?" Jay raised an eyebrow. "Okay, fine it came on three days ago. But in my defense, you haven't been home during the day and it's hard to change the oil in the dark."

"I can do it in the dark," Kelly pointed out.

"I can do it in the dark," Jay mocked. "Of course you can, because you're a firefighter. I don't suppose you know how to fire a sniper do you?"

"Dude, I'm a firefighter, not a cop!"

"Listen, I don't care who changes it faster or who can do it in the dark. Jay, just please change my oil."

"Uh, fine," Jay groaned, standing up from the couch.

"No, I can do it," Kelly offered.

"You sure?" Jay asked.

"As long as you buy me lunch."

"I knew there was a catch. But, sure. Me and Y/N will go pick up lunch and we'll bring some to Will too and we'll be back before she has to leave for her class at three." He turned to you. "Sound good?"

"When have I ever passed up the opportunity for free food?"

"Never?" Jay guessed.

"Exactly," you answered, grabbing your car keys off the hook and tossing them to Kelly.

If you knew what was about to happen, you would have definitely stayed home.

***

"So, care to elaborate on you and Hailey?" you asked Jay as you were on your way to Chicago Med to drop off some food from Mama Garcia's to Will.

"If you give me that fifty bucks Will's gonna pay you, then I might just enlighten you."

"Nah, I'll just have Kelly tell me everything he knows instead. Or I can ask Ruzek--"

You were cut off by the sound of sirens behind you. "What the hell? I wasn't even speeding," Jay muttered.

"For once in your life," you shot back.

"Shut it."

Jay rolled the truck to a stop and you shot a look behind you. No one had gotten out of the car yet.

"They're probably just running my plates," Jay answered, seeing as you looked confused. "Some cops are weird and run 'em before they get out of the car. I made the mistake of doing that once when I was a rookie and the suspect fled."

"Oooh, did you get in trouble? I hope you got yelled at!"

Jay looked behind him at the cops who stepped out of the car. At first, he thought they might have been plain-clothed officers, but why would plain-clothed officers be driving a squad car? Then, he looked closer and it was as if he was transported back to four years ago.

"Y/N--"

"I was kidding, I don't care if you got yelled at or--"

"Y/N!" Jay yelled. "I need you to get down now, and call 911. Tell them my name and tell them to ping your phone."

"Jay, what's going on?" You slid off your seat and curled up into a ball on the floor, pulling out your phone.

"Just do it, dammit!"

Jay reached for his gun that he kept hidden in the glove compartment as your fingers flew across your phone.

You heard the tell-tale sound of a window being broken and looked up the see Jay covering his face, gun still in hand. Jay tried to push open the door, but before he could, the door was ripped open and he was dragged out of the car. "Detective Halstead. So, we meet again," you heard a deep voice say.

"Hello, 911 what's your emergency?"

"Detective Jay Halstead, intelligence. Ping this phone," was all you could manage to get out.

"You hear that?" another voice asked. "Sounded like a girl and it came from his truck."

"I'm alone!" Jay yelled. "I just came to pick up some food is all!" he protested. In a normal situation, he would've tried to fight back. But, this wasn't a normal situation. He needed them to take him wherever it was they wanted him and he needed them to do it fast so that they didn't find you.

"I don't know about that, Detective. Where's the fire from the last time I saw you? You never go down without a fight. Are you protecting someone, is that it?" He paused and nodded to his associate. "Check his car."

"You son of a-- Ahhhhh!" Jay writhed as a taser struck his stomach.

"Jay!" You jumped up at the sound of your brother's cries of pain. He never showed weakness, so this was bad.

"Take her!" the man who was holding Jay yelled.

You jumped out of the car and started running, but they were too fast and caught up to you within five steps.

"Let me go! Let me go!" you yelled as you struggled and kicked your legs out as you were picked up off the ground.

You saw Jay trying to fight his captor as well, but it was no use because as soon as he got tased again and showed weakness for a second time, they tied his hands behind his back. "Y/N, stop fighting," Jay gritted out. "It'll-- only get-- worse."

"Let go of me you fucking asshole!" you yelled, swinging your arms, hoping that you got him in the nose.

"Derek, I think this bitch needs a little lesson in obedience," the one who was holding you said.

"I'll do that in a second." He pulled out a syringe.

"Don't!" you yelled as you watched what he was doing. But it was too late, the syringe full of sedatives had already been plunged into your older brother's shoulder, ending all your hopes of escape.

"Now for you," he walked over, twirling a knife in his hands. He handed it to his associate, who held it against your throat.

"You scream or move, you die."

***

Jay woke up to a pain in his shoulder. All he could think was Not again. Not fucking Derek Keyes again.

But then, he heard your screams of pain coming from the other room and that immediately snapped him out of his groggy state. He had to get out of here. He could be tortured like an animal, after all, he'd already been through it once, but there was no way in hell he was going to sit back and allow it to happen to you.

He tugged on the ropes securing him to the pipe and tried to jam his shoulder into it to make it loose. It moved slightly and he knew that if he had time, he could get out of it.

You would no longer laugh at the story of Jay going through taser certification or laugh at how much he bitched about having to be recertified each year. Because God, taking a taser to the stomach hurt like hell. And, what made it even worse was that you were chained to the ceiling, so because of your short stature, you couldn't even put a toe on the ground. So now, when you were tased or hit, despite trying to double over, you would just swing back and forth, like a tormented and tortured rag doll.

"J-Jay!" you yelled as you were tased in the stomach and swung back once more.

"He won't put himself through this again, sweetheart. After all, he knows what's it's like. He'll just let you take one for the team this time."

"Liar," you gasped out.

"I have a better idea. How about we play a little game, just you and me." He fiddled with your bra strap that was falling down your left shoulder. They had ripped your shirt off before they had begun tasing you. You were just thankful they had let you keep your jeans on. "Don't you want to know what the game is?"

"No--" you were cut off by being tased in the shoulder, causing you to scream out.

"Not the answer I was looking for. Let's try this again, shall we? Do you want to know what the game is?"

"Y-Yes."

"See now that wasn't so hard." Keyes put his hands on your shoulders to stop you from swinging. "The game is simple. I give you a choice between two clothing items. You choose the one you want to take off and then...well, you'll see what happens from there. Now, here's your choice: bra or jeans?"

"Wh-what?" you stuttered.

"Did I stutter, bitch? Make your decision, bra or jeans?"

"Jeans," you gasped. At least you had underwear underneath. And, if he took off your bra and tased you there, well, you did not want to know how that felt.

He pulled out a knife and you instinctively tried to sway back away from him. Keyes chuckled. "Don't worry. This won't come near your face...yet."

Then, you heard the ripping of denim as your jeans were quite literally cut off of your body.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you the rest of the game," Keyes smirked. "Wherever I take clothes of off, you take a taser hit to." Without even giving you time to process what he had said, he stuck the taser into your left leg, causing a burning and writhing sensation to go up your entire body.

"Mercy! Mercy!" you yelled out. Honestly, at this point, you wished you would just pass out.

"One last choice," Keyes started, twirling the knife between his fingers. "I can continue having all my fun with you or I can get your brother and--"

"Jay. Take Jay," you gritted your teeth and said without thinking of the repercussions of your actions.

"What you want, you get."

Keyes unchained your hands and you all but fell into his arms to avoid falling on the cold, hard concrete. He tugged your arm, pulling you up and you could've sworn if he pulled any harder, that your shoulder would have popped out of its socket. He then dragged you over to a large steel door, put in a code, and pushed it open, causing it to scrape against the floor.

That's when you heard him. Jay.

"Let her go you fucking animals!"

"Oh, we're letting her go alright," Keyes chuckled sinisterly as he got closer and closer to the light of the small flickering lightbulb that was hanging from the ceiling, giving the space you and Jay were currently being held an eerie glow. "But the deal was her for you."

***

You didn't know how much time had passed. You tried to keep your mind off of Jay's screams from the torture chamber by translating all your thoughts into Spanish. That only helped for the first few though, because they all had to do with pain.

Me duele. Me duele. Me duele.

I hurt. I hurt. I hurt.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

You were currently tied to a pole about six inches away from the rectangular-looking pipe that Jay had been tied to before Keyes took him. Everything Jay had taught you about survival had gone out the window. Not that you thought it mattered. All he had taught you to really do was how to break zip ties if your wrists and ankles were zip-tied together and if you needed to hit someone, hit their nose with the heel of your hand and then run as fast as possible while their vision was blurry.

Your shoulders ached from holding your weight for so long and the bleeding on your stomach had slowed to a trickle after all those taser hits. Your thigh was still numb from the worst taser hit of them all, but you were slowly regaining feeling in it.

You heard moaning coming from the left of you and turned your head to see a shirtless Jay being dragged back over to you. His face was already bruising and there was blood dripping down his torso. As he got closer, you couldn't even bear to look at him. You were the one who caused this. You were the one who made him go through all this pain. If you would've just taken what Keyes was giving you, Jay wouldn't be hurting as much--if not more--than you were.

They tied Jay to the pipe once more and then Keyes crouched down to your height. You resisted the urge to spit in his face. "I hope he forgives you." He began to caress your face, causing you to grit your teeth to keep from crying out, in fear or disgust, you weren't sure which. "Because I sure as hell wouldn't, sweetheart."

"Get your-- hands-- off her," Jay heavily panted next to you.

"Nobody asked you!" The echo of the slap Jay had just received from Keyes could be heard throughout the entire basement, causing you to flinch backward, hitting your head on the pole.

"Ah, fuck," you muttered through gritted teeth.

"Now, I'm gonna go make a few phone calls, eat some food, maybe have some friends over." At the mention of friends, your eyes widened, hoping that didn't mean what you thought it did. "Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. It's not what you think...yet."

Then, he left and you scooted around the pole so you could be closer to your brother. "I'm a monster," you whispered.

"What?" Jay turned his head to look at you, trying to maneuver his shoulders under the pipe to loosen it once more.

"He said you or me, that I had to choose and I told him to take you. I'm sorry. I should've just let him--"

"No, what you did was the right thing. I'll be fine. I was worried about you the whole time you were in there." Only then did he get a good look at you and saw that you were only in your bra and underwear. "Oh, God. He didn't-- I can't forgive myself if he--"

"Jay, he didn't do that." You shivered, despite being covered in a layer of nervous sweat.

And, Jay being a detective and all, didn't miss that. "Can you move any closer to me?"

You tugged on the rope, using whatever slack it had left in it to slowly drag yourself closer to Jay. Somehow, you got yourself close enough to Jay that you were leaning against him. You felt the warmth of his chest and remembered when Jay had told the doctor one time that his temperature always ran a little high, that that was normal for him. And God, right now you were really thankfully for those extra point three degrees he had on you.

"You're warm," you mumbled.

"You're getting blood in your hair."

"But it's warm." You closed your eyes.

"No, no, no, no, no." Jay moved his shoulder, making your head move up and down.

"Stop it. Trying to take a nap before he comes back."

"No, no we are not doing that. You do not close your eyes on me, Y/N Halstead. Do you understand me?"

You blinked and opened your eyes. "Fine. But everything hurts."

"I know. I know it does, kid. But we're gonna get out of here, okay?" Jay craned his neck to look above him. Then, he looked you up and down. "Think you could fit through that air vent?"

***

"You've reached Jay. Leave a message and I'll get back to you. At the tone please record your message, when you have finished recording--"

"Dammit, Halstead. It's been two hours!" Severide grumbled to himself as he sat on the couch in your house. Then, he scrolled through the phone to find your contact.

He waited for a few rings. "Hey, it's Y/N. I can't come to the phone right now. But pro tip, send me a text and maybe I'll answer that. Bye! At the tone please record your--"

He slammed his finger down on the end call button and went to call the third Halstead in a row, Will.

"Kelly?" Will asked as he answered his phone in the doctor's lounge. "Not to sound rude or anything, but why are you calling me?"

"Have you seen Jay or Y/N?"

"Can't say I have, why?"

"They went out to grab lunch and said they'd drop some off to you and it's been two hours. I don't know, maybe something happened to them."

"Yeah, I'll call Voight. Maybe Jay got called in and Y/N's just at the district. I'll let you know what I find out."

"Thanks, man."

Will ended the call and scrolled through his contacts until he found Hank Voight's phone number.

"Voight," the gravely-voiced sergeant answered.

"Hank, it's Will Halstead. Any chance you've seen my brother or sister lately?"

"No. I gave Halstead the day off and I haven't seen Y/N. Why? Is everything alright?"

"It's just that Kelly Severide just called me and he said that Jay and Y/N were out grabbing food and it's been two hours and neither of them is answering their phones."

"Okay, I'll look into it and get back to you. Don't worry about it. They probably just have no service because of a downed line."

"Yeah," Will agreed, trying to be optimistic. "Thanks."

"No problem, doc."

Voight ended the call and walked out of his office and into the bullpen. It was a slow day in Intelligence and hell, Ruzek hadn't even shown up yet.

"Is Ruzek gonna show up or is he playing hookey today?" Voight asked, annoyed.

"I think he's just hungover," Kevin answered. "If we got a case though, I'll pick him up on the way there and wake his ass up."

"Hank." Voight turned to look at the stairs, seeing none other than Trudy Platt. "You all need to listen to this."

She pressed play on an iPad and your voice came through the speaker. "Detective Jay Halstead, intelligence. Ping this phone."

"That's Y/N's voice," Kevin said.

"Trudy, when was this call placed?" Voight asked.

"About an hour and a half ago."

"Okay. Atwater, go pick up Ruzek. Burgess, ping Y/N's phone. Upton, me and you are gonna go suit up and then go find Jay and Y/N's last known."

"Copy that," Hailey answered.

***

"No sign of them, Sarge," Hailey said as she walked around Jay's truck, which showed clear signs of forced entry.

"This is 5021 squad," Voight spoke into his radio, "I need you to roll the crime lab on our current location and notify all units, an officer and a civilian have been abducted."

"Should we call Will?" Hailey asked.

"No. Not until we get more information. We don't need him to know that both of his siblings have been kidnapped. Because, if he's anything like Jay, which there's a 99% chance he is, he'll do something reckless. And we can't have that, not with this case."

"Kim, do you have any pod footage from our location?" Hailey asked.

"I do, but it's not facing that way. Wait, I got something. It looks like there was a squad car...and Jay's truck is out of frame. Dammit!"

"Kim track that patrol car number, see if it was reported missing or stolen."

"Copy."

There was typing on Kim's end before she came back on the radio. "Patrol car was reported stolen from the police garage this morning. According to the GPS, it says it's at the bottom of the Chicago River."

"So, whoever did this ripped the GPS out. Great."

"Hank," Trudy's voice came over the radio.

"What do you have for me, Trudy?"

"You need to get back to the district. There's a package for you and it's got a DVD and a flip phone in it. Some kid dropped it off, said it was important that this be viewed by you and Intelligence."

***

"Anybody else getting deja vu from this? Or is it just me?" Adam asked as he popped the DVD into the computer as everyone else crowded around to get a view of the screen.

"If this is what I think it is, then it is not good," Voight agreed.

"Someone care to enlighten me?" Hailey asked.

"About four years ago, there was this dealer, Derek Keyes. We had a buy going down in Midway and he killed his own brother and took Jay. Sent us a DVD and a flip phone," Adam answered.

"We watched Jay get tortured like an animal," Kevin said.

"And then Keyes called," Adam continued. "He said he wanted all our CI files and to send a lone female officer. We made fake files and sent Erin Lindsay, but they didn't have him. So, Erin had to go back with them, and somehow, I have no idea how those two did it, but they fought off Keyes and his associates and got out of there alive."

"Let's get this over with," Voight said.

They all held their breath as the video booted up. When Adam did press play, they were met with you hanging from the ceiling and being tased. They could hear Jay's screams in the background telling them to let you go.

"J-Jay. Take Jay," you panted and were taken down and dragged out.

Then, the video switched to Jay being tased. Hailey thought she was going to be sick. They had her partner, the man she had finally shared her feelings with and she'd be damned if they took him away from her.

The phone rang and Voight flipped it open and put it on speaker. "Hello?"

"Sergeant Voight, so we meet again," Derek Keyes' voice came through the phone. "I wish it were under better circumstances."

"What do you want, Keyes? We both know how this goes."

"I know what you want," Keyes started, smirking on the other end of the call. "You want your detective and his precious little sister who just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I've gotta say, Jay is quite the martyr this time around. Not like his sister gave him much of a choice, but he did it willingly. Didn't even fight back when he got back in there, all he said was not to hurt her more than I already have."

"She's just a kid, Keyes!" Adam yelled. "Let her go!"

Adam was like another older brother to you, but he was the fun brother. He always said that if you went to a party and needed a place to crash after without telling your brothers, he was your guy. He was also the one who, whenever you had to be stuck at the district for whatever reason,  would sneak you a few dollars if you didn't have cash on you and you'd get Oreos from the vending machine.

"Oh, but that wouldn't be much fun for me now, would it?" Keyes chuckled.

"What do want?" Voight sneered.

"All of the drugs from the evidence locker. Meet me tonight at ten pm and you'll get your precious detective and his kid sister back. Send a lone, female officer. I'll send you the address."

Then, the line went dead.

"Okay, so we just go and check out all the drugs from evidence and throw them in a bag and do the meet. Simple," Adam stated.

"Are you out of your mind?" Voight asked, stepping closer to Adam. "Most of those drugs are laced, and there no way I am sending that much out onto the streets!"

"It's not just Jay this time! They have Y/N!"

"He's right, Sarge," Kevin backed up his best friend. "If it were just Jay, we might be able to get out of it without getting the drugs to Keyes. But, Y/N's got no way to defend herself in there, not with guys two times her size. You saw how she looked in that video and how she cried out for Jay. He'll do anything for her, Sarge. That's usually a good thing, but it might not be in this case."

They all knew what Kevin was getting at: If it was a choice between you or Jay dying, Jay would take the bullet in a heartbeat.

"Alright," Voight nodded. "I'll go sign out the drugs. Kim, get a wire on Hailey. Atwater and Ruzek, scope out the place and find the best spot to watch the drop."

***

"Jay, I swear to God if you break your damn shoulder--"

"I will not break my shoulder, Y/N." Jay gritted his teeth as he shoved his shoulder into the pipe.

"All I'm saying is that Will is gonna have to poke you with a needle if that happens."

"Listen, we're gonna get poked and prodded anyway." There was a soft clang as one end of the pipe came loose and popped off its bearings.

Jay quickly got his hands out of the rope and moved over to untie you.

"Oh, Thank God." Jay pulled the rope off your wrists, to see blood trickling down them.

"What the hell did you do?" Jay asked. His wrists weren't bloody, just raw, so he didn't know how yours had gotten that bad without you saying something.

"When they were hurting you, I just kept tugging on them. But it didn't work. They just got tighter."

"Yeah, because with the type of knot they tied you up with, the more you tug, the tighter it gets. Can you feel your leg yet?"

"How did you know it was numb?"

"I'm a detective. I notice things and you kept pinching your leg."

"It's better, I guess."

"Try and stand up, walk a few steps, and then we are getting out of here."

"How? You're gonna boost me up to that air vent where we have no idea where it ends and then I'm gonna go outside, pray that it's not snowing, and try and fight this guy off. Not to mention, I am literally just in my bra and underwear!"

"Listen, you probably won't have to go very far before someone who's concerned comes up to you and you ask to use their phone and you call Will, who will call Voight. If Will doesn't pick up, call 911. And, it's Chicago. People have seen weirder things than this."

You started walking around, making sure you could feel your leg. And you could feel it alright. You could feel it aching from your knee up to your hip, but you had to get out of here. You didn't know how much more of that you could take. And, you felt nauseous...but you couldn't tell Jay that or else he'd make you sit down and your escape plan would be dead in the water.

"Ready?" Jay asked.

"As I'll ever be," you answered, walking closer to him.

"You'll be okay, kid. We're gonna be okay."

You nodded, holding back tears, and then took a deep breath. Jay grunted in pain as he took your foot in his hand and boosted you up so that you could reach the open vent. Once you got your hands tightly wrapped around the entrance, Jay pushed so that your body was completely inside. You couldn't imagine the amount of pain he was in as he was having to irritate all of the wounds on his stomach and shoulders to get you up there.

You began your crawl through the dark and hoped that you didn't see a snake or a different type of reptile or rodent. Because, if you did and Keyes didn't kill Jay, you sure as hell would.

You crawled through the dark for what to you felt like hours, but in reality, it had only been three minutes, until you saw a speck of light ahead of you. You went as fast as your injured body would allow you to go, knowing that the outside world and freedom were getting closer and closer with every struggling step.

"Fuck," you muttered. You could see outside through the vent, but there was just one problem. You'd have to kick out the metal filter in order to jump outside.

You stifled a scream as you pulled your legs back, crunching them up to your chest which rubbed against the wounds on your stomach and kicked forward. You heard a creaking noise, taking that as a good sign, you kicked the filter seven more times with all the strength you had left and heard it hit the soft snow below.

You poked your head out, for once thankful that you were being held in a basement so that you were at ground level and wouldn't have to jump from four stories high.

But it was cold, oh so cold, and your lack of clothing didn't help matters.

Then, you heard Jay scream.

Hearing that kicked your adrenaline into high gear and you slipped out of the air vent and onto the ground, your feet making footprints in the snow. But, it was as if you couldn't even feel your feet on the verge of being frostbitten as you ran across the yard, further and further away from that place, closer and closer to safety.

But then, you came to a fence, which made your heart stop. You couldn't remember the last time you had climbed a fence! Yes, it paid to be small so you could fit in an air vent, but it did not help you the slightest bit when trying to jump a fence.

You gripped the metal and slid your foot into one of the rectangles, hauling yourself up as fast as you could.

But, you weren't fast enough.

You were ripped off the fence so fast that it made your head spin, the dizziness causing bile to rise in your throat.

"Let me go!" you yelled, kicking and screaming, hoping that your foot would make contact with any part of Derek Keyes' body that would cause him pain.

"Oh, where's the fun in that?"

"Please--" You couldn't finish your sentence before Keyes had slapped you across the face and then pressed a piece of duck tape on your mouth, effectively shutting you up.

"Much better. Now I can enjoy my peace and quiet."

You huffed and tried to scream through the duck tape, but it was no use. You tried to lick the duck tape like Jay had taught you, but you had been without water for so long that the tape wouldn't lose its stickiness no matter how hard or long you tried. Salty tears rolled down your face, wasting whatever water your probably dehydrated body had left.

You were once again dragged into the basement, meeting Jay, who was on the floor writhing in pain from the taser hit he had just received, chains on his wrists and ankles.

"Look who finally decided to turn back up, detective," Derek said, as he chained you to the pole. You knew that you'd probably need a tetanus shot from the rust getting into your cut-up wrists...if you ever go out of here that is.

"Op! Op!" you tried to yell stop through your duck tape, but that was the best you could do.

"Let her go, Keyes," Jay panted. "You want me, you have me. Now," he paused to take in some much-needed air, "just let her go."

"That was going to be the plan before I caught her trying to escape. I was going to take her and exchange her for the drugs and then maybe your people would find you in time. But, seeing as she is the escapee and you're just the accomplice, I think that she should get a longer prison sentence. That's how it works, isn't it detective?"

You whimpered, but Jay said nothing. A kick to his side made him remember who was in charge. "Yeah, yeah, that's how-- that's how it works."

"Precisely my point." He nodded at one of his associates who pulled out a syringe. Instinctively, Jay flinched. "Aw, is the big, bad detective afraid of a little needle?" Then, he plunged the needle into Jay's shoulder once more.

Jay tried to stay awake by focusing on you, silently telling you that it would be okay, but soon his eyes closed, the drugs taking over his system.

"Get him in the van, go do the deal," he told the guy who had just put sedatives in your brother's system. "As for you, sweetheart, it's time for another game."

***

"Hailey, van pulling up on your six," Ruzek said into his radio.

"Copy," Hailey answered. Seeing as she was unarmed, this needed to go smoothly. Not just for her, but for you and Jay.

As the van pulled up, Hailey's heart beat faster and faster. One slip up and she, Jay, and you would all easily be dead.

"Lone female officer," Keyes' associate said as he pulled up to Hailey. "Voight knows how to listen. You got what we asked for?"

"Sure do," Hailey answered, popping the trunk and pulling out the bag full of drugs. "All the drugs from 21st's evidence locker." She unzipped the bag, showing it to the men. "Now, give me my people, and then you can have 'em."

"That's not how this works. The drugs and then you get them back."

Hailey hesitated, but then she heard Voight's voice in her earpiece. "Do it, Upton. We have them surrounded."

She handed over the bag and he inspected it. "Get him out!" he yelled to the person in the back with Jay.

The door was opened and Jay was shoved out of the van, smashing his face into the gravel as the van sped off.

"Take 'em," Voight said.

"Sarge, Y/N's not here!" Hailey yelled. "It's only Jay and I need an ambo here! Now!"

"They- They got her, Hailey. Escape-- caught-- still there," Jay gasped as Hailey helped him sit up and wiped some blood from his face.

"Jay says Y/N's still there!" Hailey said and then the ambulance came up next to them.

Hailey undid the knots that were holding Jay's wrists and ankles together. They had switched out the chains for rope as soon as they were far away enough from Keyes' place that they knew that Jay wouldn't escape.

"Hailey, I counted- I counted the turns. They didn't give me enough and I woke- I woke up as soon as the van started."

"Sarge, I need you here, now! I think we got something, but I'm gonna need some help."

"Copy," Voight answered.

"Can you stand up, sir?" the paramedic asked Jay.

"Yeah, yeah I can do that." Hailey took his hand and helped him stand up and sit in the back of the ambulance.

"Jesus, man," Adam said as he saw Jay's current state. "You look like hell."

"Not the time," Voight admonished. "Hailey, what do you got?"

"Jay said he counted the turns. So if we can somehow get him in the car, I think he might be able to tell us where to go by backtracking."

"Halstead, you good to go?"

"Yeah," Jay answered, slowly standing up.

"Sergeant," the paramedic turned to Voight, "we really need to get him to Chicago Med."

"Listen to me, his sister is missing and probably being tortured right now. He is the only person who knows where to go because those other two sons of bitches who brought him here ain't talking. So, if you take him to the hospital and his sister dies, her death is on you. But if it makes you feel any better, one of you can ride with us," Voight sneered.

The paramedic reached behind her, pulling out a medical bag. "Take this. Use the hydrogen peroxide to clean the cuts. Use the bandages and gauze to cover them up, but remember to clean all of them." She looked at his stomach. "This one needs stitches, so I'm gonna need to keep him here--"

"No! We can just pack it, can't we?" Hailey asked.

"I mean, you could. It'd only work for a max of two hours."

"Well, we better work fast then," Voight said. "Hailey, help him to the car."

***

Keyes roughly grabbed your face in his hand. You were once again chained up and hanging from the ceiling by your wrists. The minute you stopped swinging, you did what you should've done hours ago. Jay wasn't here to save you and this wasn't going to get any easier. You were saving yourself in this one.

You spat in his face, resulting in you getting a slap across your face and then getting tased in the shoulder.

"I'm getting bored of this," Keyes said, faking a yawn.

He turned around and you used that moment to gather up all your strength and swing backward, using the momentum to carry you forward and kicking your legs out, successfully hitting him in the back, making him fall to the ground with a thud. You wiggled in the chains, ignoring the pain in your bloody wrists screaming out for you to stop. But, who were you kidding? They weren't going to budge.

"Tough girl, huh?" Keyes snarled as he stood up, pulling an orange lighter from his pocket. He flicked it open, flames slithering out. "Good thing I like tough girls. And, I also have another game."

You spit at him again, but he was too far away for it to reach him. "Go to hell!"

"I was going to tell you the rules, but since you wanna be so feisty, you can figure it out as we go."

He moved closer to you and reached up to your arms. You screamed out as the flames licked up your left arm, testing your restraints once more and trying with all your might to swing to the right, away from Keyes and his lighter. As you screamed, Keyes counted.

Then, he went to the other arm and did the same thing, counting to the same number and pulling the lighter away. But, since you kept screaming, he kept counting.

He then moved the lighter around your stomach for six seconds, and you screamed for another two. "You know what this means? Eight seconds the next place I light up. If you shut your goddamn mouth, I wouldn't have to do this."

"Fuck you!" You felt a wave of nausea again and this time, you knew you weren't going to be able to keep it down. "I'm gonna- I'm gonna--" And then you puked right down yourself. If you didn't already feel humiliated and at the mercy of Keyes, you sure did now. Chained up, covered in your own vomit, and just waiting to be burned once more.

This was how you were going to die. At this point, you just needed to accept it. Maybe if you shut up, you'd be able to die in a little less pain than you were currently in.

Keyes laughed at how helpless you were and moved his lighter to your collarbone. "No, no, please! Please just kill me! Please!" you pleaded.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Then, he held the lighter to your collarbone. You screamed and tried to get away from the lighter, but you were losing energy and through the pain, you remembered what Keyes said: If you shut your goddamn mouth, I wouldn't have to do this. So, you screamed for two seconds and bit your tongue as hard as you could to keep from yelling out once again, making more seconds get added to your burns.

"You're learning. That's good," Keyes said as he played with the lighter, making the flames go in between his fingers.

"I'll be quiet I promise!"

"Two more seconds." He moved the lighter to your thigh and was about to flick it to make fire spit out when he was loudly interrupted.

"Derek! We gotta go! They found us!"

Keyes threw the open lighter to the ground. "Looks like you'll actually get your death wish."

Then, he bolted out the door as you watched the flames moving across the concrete, quickly starting to burn the pile of rope that sat next to the wall, only making the fire accelerate.

***

"Turn left!" Jay yelled to Voight.

"Is that smoke?" Hailey asked.

Jay saw the black smoke. "That means a house is burning! Call CFD!" he yelled, his Rangers training and all the things he saw in Afghanistan paying off once again.

"This is 5021 Squad, requesting CFD-- Jay, is this close to where you were?"

Jay's face paled, realizing what Voight was insinuating. "Oh my God."

"This is 5021 Squad," Voight started again, "Requesting CFD and Rescue Squad. We have a house fire and possible victim inside in an unknown condition. Offenders assumed to be fleeing, patrol be advised."

***

Your eyelids felt heavy as you felt the flames licking the wall next to you, dangerously close.

Please let me pass out from smoke inhalation. Please let me pass out from smoke inhalation, you thought to yourself. After all, if you were going to end up being burned alive, you'd prefer to be unconscious when it occurred; it'd hurt less.

You thought that you might actually get your way for once today, two days? You didn't know how long you had been here. Your eyelids fluttered closed and you thought you were alive, but then you heard someone calling out to you.

Severide?

The first person you thought you'd hear from or see when you got to heaven, you assumed was going to be your mom, but apparently, that had changed.

"Want Mom," you mumbled, hoping she'd appear out of thin air. Because, you were in heaven and that's what angels do, right?

"Fire Department, call out!"

Why was Severide dead and why was he saying to call out? You were dead so why did you need saving?

"Fire Department, call out!" another voice yelled.

Wait, was that Cruz?

Holy shit, you weren't dead...not yet at least.

"In here," you tried to be as loud as you could, using the last energy you had, but it was just your normal talking voice. So, with all the strength you had left, you tried to clang the chains connected to your wrists and the ceiling together, hoping they'd make enough sound so that they could find you.

"Cruz, get the bolt cutters and cut these chains off her!" you heard Kelly yell. "I'll catch her and then we'll get outta here!"

The smoke hurt your eyes and you were so, so tired.

You felt yourself falling and your eyes shot open in fear. You tried to move out of the hold, but everything hurt...especially the newly added burns from Keyes which were especially tender.

"Y/N, relax. It's just me, it's Kelly."

"Kelly," you muttered, closing your eyes and slipping into an unconscious state.

"I need a medic!" Kelly yelled as he carried you out of the burning house and towards the second ambulance.

Jay was sitting in the first one, getting the cut on his stomach looked at. "Y/N!"

He moved to try and stand to get over to you, but he was pushed back down. "You can see her at the hospital," the paramedic told him. "I can't have you ripping the cut more than it is."

"Jay, she's in good hands," Hailey said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Please, just tell me she's alive." He made eye contact with Kelly who looked at Sylvie. She nodded.

"She's alive, Jay."

***

"Dr. Marcel, trauma victim is two minutes out!" Maggie yelled to Crockett who was standing at a computer, finishing some charts.

"I'll help," Will volunteered.

"Good, know anything else about the victim?"

"Kidnapping victim." Maggie paused, listening to the radio. "Will, you can't treat this patient."

"What do you mean I can't treat this patient?" he asked, taking a step closer to Maggie.

"Will, it's Y/N."

"What?"

"I don't need a wheelchair, Hailey! I can walk!" Jay yelled as he entered the ED, to be met with a shock-faced Will.

"Give it to me," Marcel said as Sylvie rolled you in on the stretcher, still unconscious.

"Y/N Halstead, 20-year-old female, kidnapping victim. Diminished breath sounds, most likely from smoke inhalation. First-degree burns on her stomach, shoulder, and collarbone, needs stitches in her right wrist and a tetanus shot. No broken bones that we could find, but it wouldn't hurt to check. Bruising on a lot of her body, but it looks superficial. Go through concussion protocol as well. There's a big bump on her head," Sylvie answered.

"Thanks, Brett."

"Trauma three!"

Will just stood, staring at you being pushed into the trauma room. Then, he flicked his eyes up at Jay. You were here because of Jay.

"She's gonna be okay, right Will?" Jay asked, walking closer to his older brother.

Will said nothing.

"Will!" Jay yelled once more.

Will's eyes darkened and he looked down at Jay. "She's here because of you!" If Jay had a shirt on, Will would've grabbed him by his collar. "You could've gotten her out of there and you didn't!"

"I tried! We tried to escape and they caught her. They took me instead of her to go back--"

"They took you back instead of her? God, did you even try to fight back, or did you just let them take her back and torture her?"

"Are kidding me right now? You don't think I tried? Look at me! I fucking tried but they chained me to a fucking wall, Will! There wasn't much I could do from there!"

"Okay, okay," Hailey said, stepping between the two men and placing her hands on Jay's chest. "Let's go get you stitched up. And, you two better work this out before Y/N wakes up. Because she will wake up."

***

Will tapped the glass of the entrance to Jay's hospital room, seeing as it was midnight and Will was working a double shift, he had grabbed some coffee to keep him awake. And, knowing Jay, he knew that he wouldn't sleep at a time like this, so he grabbed him a coffee, too.

Hailey had gotten up to go to the bathroom before Will had gotten there, leaving Jay alone. Jay looked up to see who was knocking and nodded his head, allowing his older brother to enter.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," Will apologized, handing Jay his coffee. "I know you tried your hardest, it's just, I'm used to seeing you come here in an ambulance, but seeing Y/N? That hits different. It's like everything I learned in med school flew out the window the minute Brett brought her through the ED doors."

"If only we didn't try to escape, then she could've gone when Keyes' people went to do the deal and she wouldn't be in this mess," Jay sighed, taking a sip of his coffee, being careful not to move his left arm too much.

"How's the shoulder?" Will asked.

"I didn't break it. Just hurts a lot. They said if I would've hit it a few more times I would've broken it though."

Will nodded, wanting to ask Jay how the hell you got yourself into this mess. But, he didn't want Jay to shut him down.

"Out with it," Jay prompted. "I know that look. It's when you want to say something, but won't."

Will raked a hand through his hair, tugging on the roots. "How did she even get in this mess to begin with?"

"We were just going to get lunch, that's all we were doing." Jay's voice grew quieter, as he realized that this entire thing was wholly on him and no one else. "I got pulled over and it was- it was Keyes. Must've stolen a patrol car. I- I told her to get down and call 911, but they heard her on the phone. They heard her on the phone and grabbed her, Will. I tried to fight back, but then I was drugged and..." He stopped and looked down. Then, he set his coffee on the table and put his face in his hands as his body began to shake with sobs.

Will stood up and put his hand on Jay's good shoulder, rubbing back and forth. "When I woke up, I was tied to- to a pipe and I heard- I heard her screaming for me."

"Hey, hey, it's okay. She's safe now. She's safe."

And, then Will's pager went off, alerting him that he had an incoming victim of a car crash. "I gotta go, little brother, but Hailey's back." He gave Jay's shoulder one last squeeze and slipped out of the room.

"Jay, I know what you're doing," Hailey said, dragging a chair across the small room to be closer to him. "None of this is your fault."

"But it is, Hailey! If I didn't have the brilliant idea to try and get her to go through that air vent and escape, she wouldn't be here right now."

"You were doing what you thought would get her out of harm's way. You did what you were supposed to do. It just...didn't work out quite right this time."

"Obviously. God, if they would've just taken me instead..."

"Hey, hey. Jay, look at me," Hailey said sternly, grabbing his face in her hands when he looked up at her. "She is safe now and I know for a fact that when Y/N wakes up, she's gonna need you. She can't have you spiraling. She's gonna need all the help, support, and love she can get."

"But what if she hates me?" Jay whispered. "I'm the reason she's in all that pain."

"She could never hate you, not now, not ever. And, Keyes is the reason she's in all that pain. Not you, most definitely not you."

***

You woke up to the steady hum of machines and you felt something in your arm.

Keyes was going to drug you just like he did to Jay. And the machines were so that he could electrocute you.

"Please wake up," you heard Jay mutter.

If he was here, that means the deal didn't go down as planned and Jay probably had more injuries. You couldn't open your eyes, for fear of what condition your big brother would be in because of you. If only you had gotten over that fence...

They didn't know you were awake yet, so you fumbled with the needle in your arm, hoping to pull it out to stop any more drugs from invading your system.

You jumped back as you felt someone's hand on your arm, keeping the needle in and your eyes shot open, to be met with just Jay.

You moved away from him, knowing that if he was back, Keyes would follow.

"I need some help in here!" Jay yelled as you reached once more for the needle in your arm.

"Y/N, we need you to calm down!" Maggie told you as she ran in, grabbing your hand to pull it off the arm where the IV was. "You're in the hospital, at Chicago Med. Will's here, but he's with a patient."

That was when you finally took in your surroundings. The hum of the machines were the monitors, and whatever was going into your body were drugs, but they were to get you better.

Your heart rate steadily slowed, until it was back to its normal rhythm. "There you go," Maggie said as she handed you a cup of water which you gladly drank. "I'll get Will and Dr. Marcel."

"Thanks, Maggie," Jay said, finally sitting down again. You ran the fingers of your left hand over the stitches on your right wrist and started poking at them. "Uh, no," Jay told you as he saw what you were doing. You looked up at him. "I know it's your first time getting stitches, but I can promise you, as someone who has gotten over 100, they aren't as interesting as they seem."

Luckily, Jay was saved from telling you to stop messing with stuff when Will and Crockett entered.

"Y/N, you're okay, kid," Will said as he gave you a small hug, careful of your injuries. You just looked at him and nodded.

"Now, Miss Halstead," Marcel began, "how are you feeling?" You didn't say anything, just kept staring. "Does anything hurt?" Again, he received no response.

Will and Marcel shared a looked, they knew what this could be. And, that didn't go unnoticed by Jay. "What? What's going on?"

"She could have sustained other neurological injuries besides her concussion, as it seems like she can't hear us," Marcel answered.

"You're saying our sister's deaf?" Jay asked, horrified.

"That's not what I'm saying, but it is a possibility. I just need to do a quick neuro exam to be sure."

He reached into his pocket, causing you to flinch and move back on the bed, your heart rate rising as you remembered Keyes reaching into his pocket to grab the lighter. This did not go unnoticed by the three men in the room.

"Jay, hand me that whiteboard and marker behind you, would you?" Will asked.

Jay handed it to him. "What are you doing?"

"Writing down what Dr. Marcel's doing so that Y/N knows. Because, if she did lose her hearing, she has no idea what he's grabbing right now."

"Oh," was all Jay said. If his sister went deaf all because of him, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

Marcel's grabbing a flashlight, you read. And then he's gonna shine it in your eyes and you have to follow it w/o moving your head.

You nodded, understanding what he was doing, even though you could hear the whole conversation.

You completed the exam and everything seemed neurologically intact. The two doctors shared a look. "Jay, come with us," Will said.

"I'll be right back," Jay told you. He thought about squeezing your hand but thought it might be too early for him to do that without warning. When you squeezed Marcel's hand during the neuro exam, that didn't freak you out because Will had written it on the whiteboard, telling you what was about to happen.

"What's going on? She did everything right in there," Jay asked once they were out of the room.

"Everything is neurologically intact," Marcel answered.

"But..."

"But, she's traumatized, to say the least."

"So you're telling me that our sister won't talk because she's been through trauma?" Jay asked, quieter this time.

"Short answer, yes."

"Why?"

"There's a multitude of reasons. She might not feel safe and comfortable yet. Your captor might have told her if she talked, that he'd hurt her."

"He never said that to her," Jay said. "Not when I was there anyway." Then, he turned to his brother. "She's gonna talk, right? She won't be like this forever?"

"It's all up to Y/N, now," Will answered. "She'll talk when she feels like talking."

"Care to give me a timeline on that?"

"Could be hours, days, months. I've heard stories in my psych rotation of it taking years."

"So what do we do?"

"You just be there for her," Marcel answered Jay's question. "Both of you."

***

2 days since kidnapping

You were finally headed home after being stuck in the hospital, not that it really mattered to you anyway. The only difference was that you would get to sleep in your own bed and look at the pile of homework on your desk that should be getting done, but not doing it.

Jay unlocked the front door and you walked inside, glad to be home. "I'm gonna make us some breakfast. Anything specific you want?" Jay asked. You just shrugged. "Okay, breakfast burritos it is then."

You headed into the bathroom to shower while Jay was making breakfast. You hadn't looked at yourself in the mirror since you had been kidnapped, and quite frankly, you had no desire to. You had seen the number Keyes had done on your stomach, arms, and thighs, and you didn't want to see what he did to your face. If it looked as bad as it felt though, it'd give a toddler nightmares.

You stood in the shower, using mostly cold water, so your burns didn't hurt too badly. You used a washcloth in place of a loofa to avoid opening any stitches, cuts, or burns. And, you had switched out your face wash with Jay's since his didn't have scrubbing beads in it, so they didn't irritate the bruises on your face.

You showered and changed into your comfiest pajamas (careful to have your back to the mirror while changing so you didn't so much as peek at yourself), and wrapped yourself in your favorite blanket. You grabbed gauze, bandages, and the cream you were supposed to put on your burns to have Jay help you re-wrap your burn on your left arm. Then, you walked back into the kitchen, to see Jay wrapping up your burrito.

"Not only are we eating burritos, but you're one, too," Jay joked, referring to you being wrapped in a blanket, as he set the plate of food down in front of you.

You shrugged and nodded. You set the supplies on the table and then held your arm out to him. He moved a chair closer to you and spread the cream on the burn, put the bandages on top, and then wrapped it in the gauze. "Not too tight, is it?"

You shook your head no and then started to nibble on your burrito.

By the time you were only halfway done, Jay had eaten two burritos and put his plate in the dishwasher. "You're not getting up from the table until you finish that," Jay stated, turning to you.

You scowled at him, but he just smiled back. "I'll even watch Survivor with you while you eat. And we can watch as many episodes as you want...but if you don't finish that, we're only watching one episode. Sound good?"

You looked at him and nodded, and he went off to his bedroom to grab his laptop.

The episode started to play and you knew which one it was immediately: the three amigos episode where your favorite castaway was at the bottom with his two alliance members and they all played immunity idols to avoid going home that night. You looked at Jay and nodded, telling him that he made a good choice.

You slowly but surely finished your burrito, not before heating it back up in the microwave during the ad breaks, just before the end of the episode. "You know what episode comes next, right?" Jay asked as if you had no idea. "The one where Malcolm gets voted off."

That was your favorite player in Survivor that season, but seeing as you had seen that episode before, you knew it was coming. So, you just shrugged and moved to the couch to continue your binge-watching.

***

Jay slowly closed his laptop, trying to make as little noise as possible so he didn't wake you. The two of you had broken for meals and to go to the bathroom, but other than that, you had watched Survivor all day. Typically, Jay hated sitting around all day and doing nothing, since that meant he was being unproductive, something he had learned from his years in the military. But, seeing how distracted you looked when watching the show even though you knew what was going to happen, he knew he couldn't just leave you after everything that had happened.

You had fallen asleep halfway through the episode, so Jay finished it by himself, but was sure to jot down the time in case you wanted to finish watching it tomorrow. He turned on the lamp on the small table next to you and put a glass of water next to you in case you woke up in the middle of the night.

Typically, he'd sleep with a fan on, something that you now did as well, but tonight, tonight that was not going to happen. He knew he had to have as little background noise as possible in case you woke up screaming or gasping in the middle of the night.

***

You were chained to the ceiling once again. And, just like last time, your feet didn't touch the ground so you just hung there, practically limp. But, unlike last time, Derek Keyes was nowhere in sight.

You strained your ears to try and hear anything that would alert you that he was coming but you heard nothing, absolutely nothing except the clink of the chains when you moved.

That was until you heard yelling, Jay yelling to be precise.

"I said you for the drugs and this," There was a pause, you assumed so that Keyes could show whatever the hell it was to your brother. "this is not drugs!"

You heard Jay yell and then you heard a sound, like someone dragging a sack of potatoes across the floor. And, it was getting louder.

The door opened, revealing Keyes dragging Jay inside the room, followed closely by an associate of his. You tried to swing back.

"Get her down," Keyes commanded. "And then tie her up with that rope over there. Make sure her hands are tied in front of her though and leave a line of rope dragging on the floor."

"Don't touch her!" Jay spat with all the energy he had left.

Keyes punched Jay in the face. "Shut the fuck up!"

Jay spat out blood and made eye contact with you. I'm sorry he mouthed. You sucked in a breath, knowing that this would not be good for either of you if Jay was apologizing before anything even happened.

You were roughly taken down from the chains and tied up in the corner now. You could probably try and walk around, try and make a run for it even, but your hands were tied in front of you and that door would be too heavy for you to push open without them tied up. You needed a code, too. So, there was no escaping.

"Now, you're taking her place and you just get to watch," Keyes said as he chained Jay up to the ceiling.

"Do whatever you want to me! Just leave her alone!"

Keyes punched Jay in the stomach. "What did I say? Shut up!"

Keyes then walked over to you, pulling a lighter from his pocket. You tugged on the rope as hard as you could, moving your entire upper body to try and get loose, but it was no use.

"Now, I'm going to light the end of this and it's going to slowly travel up the rope and to your hands. Maybe I'll put the fire out when it just gets your hands, maybe I'll let you die a slow and painful death by fire. You'll just have to wait and see."

"Keyes you can do whatever you want with me! Just don't touch her!" Jay yelled, pulling on the chains and trying to move closer to you.

Keyes flicked open the lighter.

"Please no," you whimpered. He crouched down at the end of the rope, the flame dancing dangerously close to it.

Then, you heard a crash. Did Jay somehow pull off the unthinkable and break out of his chains?

"Y/N, Y/N wake up."

Wake up? What did that mean? You were awake. If you weren't you wouldn't feel the rope digging into your wrists--

You jolted awake as you felt someone gently touch your shoulder.

"Y/N, it's Jay. You're at home on the couch. You're safe." At this, you went to sit up but were stopped when you felt a wetness on your right wrist as if it had been sitting in water.

You turned and looked at your hand. It was covered in blood. Then, you looked at the floor and saw the broken water glass that Jay must've left out for you.

"I'm gonna throw a few towels on the floor and then we're gonna get you cleaned up, okay? Looks to me like you threw out a few stitches."

He left to go grab a few towels and then came back--this time with shoes on--and laid them on the floor. "Do you mind if I quick pick you up just to get you into the hallway? Wouldn't want you to get glass in your foot and have to get more stitches." You hesitated, but nodded, allowing Jay to carry you to the hallway, your blanket still wrapped around your shoulders, where he then set you back down and you followed him to the bathroom.

Jay flicked on the light and pulled out the first kit, while you pushed yourself up onto the counter using your good wrist.

"I need you to rinse it out," Jay said as he reached over and turned on the faucet. "That way, if it's really bad, I can tell and call Will to come over here. But, maybe we'll get lucky and we can just wrap it up for right now and get it restitched in the morning."

You placed your wrist under the running water, thankful that Jay had tested the temperature to make sure that it was not too hot and not too cold. After a few seconds, you took it back out and allowed Jay to gently pat it dry with a towel. Then, he looked at it and came up with his verdict.

"I think I know what happened," Jay started.

You furrowed your eyebrows. You didn't even know how this happened, so how did he know?

"I think you kept rubbing your wrist back and forth on that jagged edge of the table because there's a splinter in here." You jerked your arm away from him, hiding your hand back under the safety of your blanket. Ain't no way in hell he was digging into your open wound with a pair of tweezers, no way in hell.

"Relax, I'm not gonna take it out. I'm gonna call Will and he's gonna take it out and stitch you back up." You shook your head, no. No way were you even allowing your doctor brother to take a pair of tweezers into your open skin. "He'll numb it and everything, don't worry," Jay reassured you, pulling out his phone.

"Will! It's not Lanik calling to cover your shift, it's me." you listened to Jay's side of the conversation. "Y/N threw out some stitches and now there's a splinter in there, so I need you to come over and fix it." There was a pause. "Believe me, if I thought it could wait a few more hours, you wouldn't be getting this call." Another pause. "Yeah, you can just stay over here. No, just a blanket." Another pause, this time longer. "Yeah, I'll try and do that. See you soon."

He set his phone on the counter and turned back to you. "Okay, so here's the deal and I know you're not gonna like it." You raised an eyebrow at him, urging him to continue. "Will said that that needs to be wrapped in a clean towel." You pulled your wrist tighter against the fabric of your blanket. "And that is not going to cut it."

You shook your head, no. Your blanket was warm and it made you feel safe and secure when it was wrapped tightly around you. "Y/N, it's got blood on it." He paused, trying to figure out how he could do this. "Tell you what, if you let me wrap your wrist in a clean towel, I'll let you use my weighted blanket while yours is in the wash. Deal?"

Jay offering you his weighted blanket? What kind of fever dream was this?

Will had gotten that blanket for Jay when he got home from Afghanistan for the second time to help ease his nightmares. He kept it in his closet most nights now, but you did see him using it after some particularly rough cases. One of those times being when he had been kidnapped by Keyes the first time.

You nodded, telling him that you had a deal, and out your arm. He pulled a clean hand towel out of the closet and the medical tape from the first aid kit. Then, he wrapped up your wrist, not without you wincing, and taped it.

"Now, do you want to go to your room or the living room to wait for Will?" You pointed to yourself. "Your room it is then. Can I take that blanket? I promise I'll be back with the weighted one in three minutes tops," he promised.

Reluctantly you handed over the blanket, which blood had soaked through in a small spot, and then made your way into your room.

True to his word, Jay came back in holding his gray weighted blanket. He placed it over your shoulders, seeing as you were currently staring off into space, your mind wandering back to the nightmare that caused all of this.

What if Intelligence hadn't gotten Keyes the drugs? Was that what would've happened?

"Y/N," you were pulled out of your thoughts by Jay softly saying your name. You looked up at him. "Whatever you dreamt out there--because I know you were dreaming since I had to wake you up--it isn't real. Keyes is locked up and he won't ever be getting out." He didn't know that for sure, he just knew they had him and his associates in county at the moment, awaiting sentencing. But, he'd say anything to ease your fears.

You nodded half-heartedly at him and he looked at your desk, textbooks still open to where that had been before the kidnapping. "If you want to take a semester off, that's fine. If you want to go back or see if you can finish the semester online, that's fine, too."

You shrugged. In all honesty, you had no idea what you wanted to do. You knew you wanted to finish the semester because you didn't want all of your tuition money to go to waste, you just didn't know how you'd do it, if you even could do it.

"You don't have to make a decision now or even in a week, just keep it in mind." Jay grabbed your laptop off your desk and set it on your bed. "Mind if I sit next to you?"

You moved over, allowing him to sit on your bed and he opened the laptop and passed it to you, silently telling you to put in your password. You did so and handed it back to him. "Figured we could finish the episode you fell asleep watching."

Just as the episode had finished loading, you heard a door open and you pushed yourself back further into the bed. You could jump off and hide in the closet if you needed to. You didn't think you could fit under your bed anymore, but it was worth a try if--

"Jay! It's Will! Where are you two?"

You visibly relaxed as you heard his voice. Jay placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Breathe, it's just Will. It's just Will." He gave you a second to take a deep breath and exhale. "Good. Now, I'm gonna go get him and you're gonna go in the bathroom. We'll meet you there. Is that okay with you?" You nodded. "Good."

You made your way into the bathroom and sat on the counter again, your--well actually Jay's--blanket, still wrapped around you.

"Hey," Jay greeted Will as he stood in the living room, holding his medical bag, a backpack which Jay assumed held clothes since he was going to just spend the rest of the night here, a small whiteboard, and a pack of dry-erase markers. "What are the whiteboard and markers for?" Jay asked, taking Will's medical bag from him.

"Figured if Y/N was up to it, she could write on the board so we know what she's saying."

"Good idea."

"That's why I'm the doctor and you're the cop."

"Shut up. Y/N's in the bathroom waiting for you."

Will and Jay entered the bathroom to be met with you sitting on the floor sobbing. "Whoa, whoa," Jay exclaimed, crouching down next to you. "What happened?"

You shook your head, not wanting to tell your brothers. "It's okay," Will started, crouching down on the other side of you. He handed you the whiteboard and a purple marker, your favorite color.

You stared at it, wondering if you could do it. So, you just scribbled NO.

"Wanna tell us why?" Jay prompted.

You'll laugh at me.

"No we won't. We promise," Will reassured you.

You squeezed your eyes closed, letting more tears fall before you finally decided to tell them. I looked in the mirror for the first time since

You didn't finish writing the sentence, only set the whiteboard down and waited for them to read it.

Neither of them knew how to respond, because how did they respond to their little sister seeing her face covered in faded bruises for the first time? Jay wanted to say that it would all be okay, that he knew how you were feeling because of the number of times he had looked in the mirror and saw bruises on his face and body, whether in the rangers or from being a cop, but he knew it was different. It was different because being a girl came with more insecurities, one of them being your skin. And, even though you didn't wear makeup, this was different than not wearing makeup. You chose to not wear makeup. You didn't choose to have this happen to you.

So, Jay just wrapped one arm around you protectively and Will squeezed your good hand, both reminding you that they were there, even though they had no idea what to say at the moment. And, that was all you needed: comfort from family while you cried out all that you had been holding in.

After staying in that position for about ten minutes, you were finally calm enough to push yourself up onto the counter and let Will do his job. He unzipped his medical bag and pulled out a syringe and a bottle, of what you assumed to be the liquid that would numb the affected area.

"Hey, turn away now because I'm getting the needle out," Will told you. He turned to Jay. "You might want to, too."

You weren't afraid of needles per say, you just didn't like to see how big they were before you got the injection. It always helped to look away when you were getting an injection and to not look at it while the nurse or doctor was prepping.

Surprisingly, Jay was fine. Usually, his hands get all clammy and his face gets a bit pale. You just chalked it up to him not being the one being stuck with the needle this time. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Y/N," Will started, "This is gonna hurt since it's going into an open wound."

"Man, why would you tell her that?" Jay exclaimed as he unwrapped the towel from your wrist.

"Thought she might need to be prepared. Now, I'm just gonna wipe it down with some disinfectant and then give you the local anesthetic, and then I can get the sutures in."

Jay held out his hand for you, silently telling you to squeeze it. Will wiped it down and that didn't feel so bad.

"Hey, hey, look at me," Jay coaxed as he watched Will pick up the syringe. "Squeeze my hand as hard as possible. You won't hurt me, I promise."

Then, you felt the pain of the needle in your skin as you squeezed your eyes shut, gritted your teeth, and squeezed the ever-loving life out of Jay's hand. But, after five seconds, the needle was out and after a minute, you couldn't feel your wrist.

You let go of Jay's hand and Will pulled out a pair of tweezers to remove the splinter. After that, he disinfected the area once more and put in new stitches.

"Good as new," he told you.

Thanks, you wrote on the whiteboard.

"No problem, kid." You stifled a yawn. "Go get some sleep. We'll still be here in the morning. Promise."

You rewrapped the weighted blanket around yourself and looked at Jay, silently asking if you could keep it for the night. "I guess you can keep it just for tonight," he relented as your blanket had just finished in the washing machine and still needed to be dried. "Besides, if I need anything, I've got this knucklehead here to keep me company."

"Who you calling knucklehead, knucklehead?"

You rolled your eyes at their immaturity and walked to your room to go to sleep. But, instead of turning off the lights all the way like you normally did, you dimmed them. You knew you would be using that dimmer for awhile.

***

Will walked into your room the next morning--well, closer to afternoon actually--to see you still wrapped in Jay's weighted blanket, laying on top of your other bed sheets and comforter. The lights were still on and he was shocked that Jay didn't turn them off when he woke up this morning and it started to get light out.

"Y/N. Y/N, wake up." He gently touched your blanket-covered shoulder, making you flutter your eyes open ad look at him. "Morning, sleepyhead. Your head hurt? Any nausea?"

He waited for a beat to see if you would speak and when you didn't, he handed you the whiteboard and the marker.

No, why?

"Because it's 11 o'clock and you don't normally sleep this late and you have a concussion, so I'm worried about post-concussion symptoms."

I'm fine.

"Okay, well I'm gonna go make some food, give you some time to wake up."

You picked up your phone and saw a text from Jay telling you that your blanket should be dry and that he was at the district and would be home later.

You went into the kitchen and were about to go get your blanket from the dryer when you heard the flickering sound of a burner being turned on. Your eyes landed on the flame and you slowly walked backward, afraid that it would somehow burn you even though it was twenty feet away.

You winced as you backed into the table, hitting your low back. Immediately, Will turned off the burner and turned around. "Y/N? You okay?" You stood still and stared at the stove. "Hey, that noise was just the burner turning on. It wasn't anything else, I promise."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. Then, you dropped the blanket and made your way to the bathroom to go take a shower.

"If you're showering, be careful with your stitches!" Will yelled to you. "And, I'll help you re-wrap your burns after, too if you need."

You undressed and gently unwrapped the bandages from your burns.

Keyes did this to you.

Keyes' lighter did this to you.

Fire did this to you.

***

"Hey, man, good to have you back," Adam greeted Jay as he walked into the bullpen.

"Thanks," he replied, taking a seat on the edge of Hailey's desk.

"How are you doing?" Hailey asked. "You look tired."

"I mean, I've been better, obviously," Jay answered, rubbing a hand on his face. "Y/N popped some stitches last night when she had a nightmare, so we had to call Will and deal with that in the middle of the night."

"Halstead, here to make your statement?" Voight asked as he emerged from his office.

"Yeah, you wanna just do it out here? Because I know all of you want to know what happened and it'll save me a lot of talking if I only have to say it once."

"If that's what you wanna do, then we can do that."

Voight grabbed a notepad and a pen. "Start from the beginning."

"We were just going to grab lunch, that's all..."

Once he was done giving his statement, Jay was drained needless to say. He was in the locker room and God, all he could think of were your pleas for help when you were both held captive. He was sitting against the lockers, head in his hands, quiet sobs leaving his lips.

"Jay," Hailey alerted as she walked into the locker room. She slid down the lockers next to him. "Jay, hey, it's okay."

"It's not okay, Hailey!" He yelled. He took a deep breath. "Sorry, it's just, she hasn't said a goddamn word since she was rescued from that house."

Hailey wrapped her arm around Jay, allowing him to lay his head on her chest. "And you're keeping all your emotions in to stay strong for her so she doesn't break any more than she already is, aren't you?"

"How did you know that?" he whispered.

"Because I know you, Jay. You always look out for others but sometimes you forget to look out for yourself. Just remember that I'm here if you need me."

"Thank you."

Hailey ran a comforting hand through his hair. "What if she- what if she doesn't forgive me?"

"She knows it's not your fault. You did everything you could. Hell, you even tried to get her to escape all while knowing it would be worse for you when Keyes came back. You did a good thing, Jay."

"She looked at herself in the mirror for the first time last night," Jay stated.

"What?" Hailey asked, confused.

"She hadn't looked in the mirror since before all this went down. Me and Will walked into the bathroom and she was sobbing. I didn't even know what to say to that. What do I do if she doesn't talk again, Hailey? I didn't know what to say when she broke down last night. If I can't do that, how am I going to handle the rest of this?"

"You just have to remember one thing. Y/N's still in there. It might take a little digging, but underneath all the dirt that Keyes buried her in, she's still there, just underneath it. You and Will just need to dig her out, one shovel-full at a time. And, I'm sure all of us will help with some of that digging."

"Thank you," Jay choked out.

How did I get so lucky? he thought to himself.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Hailey still running a hand through Jay's hair and giving him the comfort he so desperately needed.

"I better get going," Jay whispered.

"I understand."

Jay stood up first and held out his hand to help Hailey up. He splashed some water in his face and dried it, trying to get rid of the tear stains and Hailey took something out of her locker.

"What's this?" he asked, taking the book, Corrupt, and a bag of pumpkin spice coffee from her.

"I saw the book on Y/N's to-read list on Goodreads and figured she could use the distraction. And, I remember her complaining one day about running out of pumpkin spice coffee."

"Where'd you find it? She looked everywhere for it and she couldn't find it because it's out of season."

"Never underestimate the power of Amazon," Hailey smiled.

"You're the best, Hails, really."

"So I've been told."

Jay rolled his eyes at that comment and the two parted ways, but not before Jay gave her a quick kiss on the cheek when no one was watching.

***

"How's she doing?" Jay whispered to Will as he entered the house.

Will motioned for Jay to follow him since you were sitting on the couch watching tv.

"I turned on the stove and she freaked, man," Will told his brother as soon as they were in Jay's room safely out of earshot of you. "She just like backed into the table and then she went and took a shower and everything was normal after that."

"Still no talking?"

"Not a word."

"Damn."

"She'll come around. She's a Halstead, our stubborn asses don't go down without a fight."

"You're right about that."

"I'm always right, little brother. We just have to wait."

"I don't think I have to tell you that Halsteads don't have a patient bone in their bodies. And, you are not always right. If I recall correctly, you violated a DNR your first year at Med, which was wrong."

"Okay, so I've been wrong sometimes, but I'm right most of the time."

"Shut up. Now get out so I can change."

You were continuing your Survivor binge when you felt the couch dip next to you. You looked up to see Jay.  I didn't even know you were home, you scribbled on your whiteboard.

"Just got home about ten minutes ago. I tried to be quiet in case you were sleeping. Hailey got these for you."

He handed you a book and a bag of coffee. How'd she know?

"Mentioned something about you complaining about being out of that coffee and she looked on that one website you use for your books."

Goodreads?

"Yeah, that."

You better keep her. I approve.

"Shut up," Jay joked. "And you better erase that before Will sees."

You erased it just before Will returned, this time carrying a bowl of popcorn. He sat down on the other side of you.  "Now, what episode are we on?"

And, you picked up the remote started the next episode.

***

4 weeks since kidnapping

"Coffee, kid?" Jay asked as you sat at the table eating a bagel. You had been up for two hours already and it was only seven am. You nodded at him and he pulled out another mug from the cupboard. "How long have been up? You're looking a little tired."

2 hours you wrote on the whiteboard.

Even though it's been a month and the bruises had disappeared, the burns had turned into scars, and the stitches had been removed, one thing hadn't healed: your will to talk. Everyone around you had been waiting for you to utter a single word, but it hadn't come yet. They'd gotten used to you writing in dry erase marker to communicate.

You had resumed all of your classes online so that you didn't have to go to class. At first, some professors were skeptical that you'd be able to pass the class because of how much time you missed, but when you, Will, and Jay showed up to your university's administrators and your  academic advisor to explain the situation accompanied by Voight, they relented. It helped to have the most infamous cop in Chicago on your side.

You put your head in your hands. "Hey, hey." Jay placed a hand on your shoulder and bent down so his eyes were level with yours. You lifed your head. "Everything's gonna be okay. We're gonna get through today and the next and the next. We've made it this far. We've got no choice but to continue," he told you, the last two quotes being something that Mouse had told him when they had both returned from Afghanistan as shells of the men they had previously been.

"And before you question me, I know this because you're coming to the district with me today. And, no, it's not up for discussion."

Okay, but I'm driving myself, you wrote, not in the mood to argue right now.  

"Listen, as long as you go, I could care less how you get there."

***

"Morning mini Halstead," Adam said as you entered the district.

"Damn, Ruz. Not running late for once? I'm shocked," Jay joked.

"I'll have you know that I am very punctual."

"Wow, using big boy words," Jay quipped as he punched in the code and then placed his hand on the palm scanner.

"Morning, Jay," Hailey said, giving Jay a kiss once he was settled at his desk.

"Morning, Hails."

Adam made a gagging sound and you smacked him on the chest. Shut up, they're cute, you wrote on your whiteboard.

"Yeah, Adam! Shut up, we're cute!" Jay yelled.

Yes, now everyone knew that Hailey and Jay were a couple. Yes, they had filled out the proper HR forms. No, neither had been fired. Yes, they were still partners. And, no, Will still hadn't given you your fifty bucks. Yes, he had probably forgotten all about the bet you two had made.

"Alright, everyone listen up!" Voight yelled as he came out of his office. "Seeing as everyone wanted to run out early last weekend, you know what day it is. Everyone's favorite: paperwork."

The unit groaned and you just scribbled on your whiteboard. Haha, you have to do big kid homework.

"Yeah, yeah, it's hilarious," Jay replied. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, you've been complaining about a test."

You rolled your eyes and walked into the breakroom, leaving the door open in case they started messing around and you wanted a break.

***

It was nearing eleven when you heard an unfamiliar voice in the bullpen. "Taser recertification day everyone. To testify in court, you need to be tased at least once every year to know the effects."

Taser. Keyes. Pain. Burns. Terrifying. No, Y/N, you can't think that. He's locked up 23 and one. Now, focus on your damn homework.

Which amendments are also known as the Reconstruction amendments?

Buzz

Buzz

Buzz

13th, 14th, and 15th amendments.

You heard Kevin grunt. "Bigger they are, the harder they fall."

What are the three clauses in the 13th amendment?

"Who's next?"

"Fine, I'll do it. Not like this hasn't happened before. Just, please do my shoulder. Lord knows I've taken more hits to my pecs and abdomen than I can count."

Yelling and groans of pain...from none other than your brother.

Keyes. Keyes had found you guys and he wanted to finish what he started. Somehow he had gotten in here and stolen the taser and now he had Jay. It was just a matter of time before he found you, too.

There weren't any perfect hiding places in here, but if you moved the couch you might be able to crouch behind it and call for help before he found you. You could call Kelly or Will and tell them to call another precinct to get over here and fix it. Because, if Keyes had gotten in here and gotten his hands on a taser, then the cops in the 21st district precinct obviously couldn't do their jobs.

You got off your chair, staying close to the ground to make it harder for Keyes to spot you. You pulled, moving half of the couch away from the wall.

"What was that?"

Shit, he found you.

You could fit behind there, right? Yeah, yeah you could fit behind there.

"Who moved the couch?"

You hugged your knees to your chest, hearing footsteps coming closer and closer to you, and squeezed your eyes shut.

Someone touched your arm and you uncurled yourself and started kicking. You heard someone moan in pain as you felt your boot-clad foot make contact with someone else. You hoped it was Keyes.

"Stop fighting! Stop fighting!" You felt another person coming closer and closer to you and you swung your arm out, palm making contact with what you assumed to be someone's cheek.

"Y/N! Y/N! It's me, Jay! The person you just slapped is Jay. And the person you kicked is Adam. You're in the district, you're safe."

You opened your eyes and slowly blinked a few times. You saw Jay in front of you holding his hands up in surrender, a red mark on his left cheek. Adam was rubbing his shin and Voight, Hailey, Kevin, and Kim were all standing in the doorway with looks of worry spread across their faces.

Tears began to roll down your cheeks. You couldn't believe you just did that.

Jay nodded to everyone and they left the room, Adam closing the door behind him. You looked down; you couldn't even bear to look at Jay.

"You're okay," he whispered. "Do you know where you are?" You nodded. "Good, that's good. That's really good."

You hugged your knees to your chest once more and frantically shook your head back and forth.

"I know you don't think it's okay, Y/N. But, I forgive you. I know it wasn't you who was doing that. Hell, I know better than anyone else in this unit. I know you're showing PTSD symptoms and that's fine. We just gotta take it day by day."

You finally looked up at him. Your lips began to tremble and your body shook with sobs. It had been a month! This should be over by now! You should be back to normal by now! Why the fuck couldn't you just get over it?

"I know it's hard, I know," Jay whispered. "Can I touch you?"

You nodded and he somehow squeezed himself next to you and wrapped you a hug, letting you cry it all out once more.

Ten minutes had passed and you were sure you had run out of tears when Jay said, "Let's go grab some Oreos from the vending machine downstairs, and then we can get out of here. What do you say?"

You nodded and he helped you to your feet. Then, you put everything in your backpack and walked out of the breakroom.

"You're okay little mama," Kevin said and enveloped you in a hug before you got past his desk. "You're good."

You managed to give him a small smile before you turned to Adam and pulled out your whiteboard.

I'm so sorry.

"It's not that bad, really. Beats getting kicked in the balls on a case any day."

You and Jay were walking down the stairs when you saw Voight. "Give that taser certification guy hell for me, will you?" Jay asked.

He nodded and gave you a pat on the back, Voight's version of a hug.

***

6 weeks since kidnapping

Jay put the finishing touches on your cupcake, complete with chocolate frosting and sprinkles, before sticking the candle in the top. Today was your 21st birthday. He had already made the mimosa you said you wanted to have when you woke up (you had mentioned it 3 months before and he had put it in his calendar to remind himself) and it was sitting in the fridge to keep cold. He grabbed his lighter and walked to your room.

Voight was nice enough to give him and Hailey the day off so they could spend it with you, during the day that was. You had mentioned that you wanted to go out with some friends to a bar, but that was before everything had happened six weeks ago, so he assumed it wasn't on. Nevertheless, he, Hailey, and Will were still on a mission to make this birthday memorable...even if your first drinking experience at a bar would happen at Molly's with your brothers and their friends instead of out at a bar or club with your friends.

He flicked on a lamp when he got to your room and then walked to your bedside, gently shaking your shoulder. "Y/N, wake up."

You rolled over and slowly opened your eyes and rubbed the sleep out of them. Seeing Jay with a cupcake in his hand, you gave him a close-lipped smile.

"Happy, happy birthday. Today's your special day. You just got a cupcake, now blow the flame away. Hey!" Jay sang and then pulled out an orange lighter and flicked it open.

Your eyes grew wide as the flame danced from the lighter and onto the candlewick.

"Make a wish." He held the cupcake closer to you.

"I'll be quiet, I promise!" You scrambled backward and into the furthest corner of your bed away from Jay and the fire he was currently holding towards you.

He hadn't heard you speak in a month and a half, no one had.

Quickly, Jay blew out the candle and pocketed the lighter. Holding his hands up in surrender, he just stared at you as you began to shake in fear.

"Y/N," Jay whispered, still holding his hands to show you that the lighter wasn't in his hands. "I'm not going to hurt you."

You didn't look up. You didn't stop shaking.

He was lying. It was a ploy to get you to talk so that he could burn you longer.

He took a risk and touched your arm and you yanked it away, expecting it to burn. "I'll be quiet, I promise!" you repeated.

"Y/N, it's Jay. Do you know where you are?" He flicked on the light, hoping that would help.

No answer.

"You're in Chicago. You're at home. It's your birthday. Keyes isn't going to burn you, I promise."

At the mention of Keyes and burns, you swatted at the air, hoping that you could knock the lighter out of Keyes' hand when he didn't have it flicked open.

"Okay, noted," Jay muttered to himself. He had never seen you this bad before, not right after the attack, not after the nightmare, hell not even after the taser recertification incident. You had never shaken in fear during any of those occurrences when your triggers made a surprise appearance.

But then, he put two and two together: him being taken away from you, you never being burned when he was there and then having burns when they rescued you, jumping when anyone turned on the stove, and now freaking out when he pulled out a lighter and lit a candle for you on your birthday, you not talking and promising to be quiet after he pulled out a lighter and moved the cupcake towards you. It all made sense now.

"Hey, I'll be right back, okay?" he told you, even though he knew you weren't able to hear him.

Jay made his way to his room and pulled out his gray weighted blanket. Then, he walked back into your room. You were only in your bra and underwear when you were with Keyes, so maybe having something else covering your body, despite the fact that you were currently fully clothed right now, would help.

Something soft and heavy landed on your legs. It didn't feel like Keyes was on top of you. It felt more comforting, calming, warm like you had more clothes on. Maybe Jay had somehow gotten his shirt back and had given it to you to keep you warm in this basement.

Wait, where did that lamp come from? There was only one lightbulb in here the last time you checked. And, why did it feel like you were sitting on something comfortable like a couch or a bed instead of on a cold, hard concrete floor?

Why was Jay standing up and not chained or tied to the wall? How did his face heal from the bruising so fast? Why was he wearing his pajamas?

Wait a minute, was that Jay's weighted blanket in your lap? And, was that your desk in the corner?

Jay noticed you looking around the room. "Do you know where you are now?" You nodded. "You know you're safe and in your room, right?" You nodded again, then took a deep breath and stretched out your legs, and moved forward, removing yourself from the corner and moving closer to Jay. "Do you still want your cupcake?"

You nodded and he handed it to you. "Are you okay going to see Dr. Charles today? I know you already had an appointment this week, but I think it might be good if you saw him again after what just happened." You nodded, agreeing with him. "You mind if Hailey comes over and stays with you? I gotta get ready and take care of something."

You gave him a thumbs up and he went to call Hailey while you sat in bed and tried to forget about the episode you just had by enjoying your cupcake.

***

"Halstead, what are you doing here?" Casey asked as Jay entered the firehouse after Hailey came over to stay with you.

"Oh thank God you guys are on shift. Severide here?" Jay asked.

"Yeah, in his office. Anything going on that I should know about?"

"Not really, I think I know why Y/N doesn't like fire though and I need the evidence pictures from the arson from when we were kidnapped to make sure I got it all straight."

Jay knocked on the door to Kelly's office and he looked up and waved him in.

"Jay, what are you doing here? Isn't it Y/N's birthday?" he asked, turning his chair around so he was now facing Jay instead of his desk.

"That's kinda why I'm here. She had an episode this morning when I gave her a cupcake. I tried to light the candle and then she flipped out and yelled I'll be quiet, I promise."

"She's talking?"

"All she did was repeat that sentence. The minute she saw the lighter and when the flame got close to her face, she freaked. So, I know this going to sound crazy, but is there any chance you found a small handheld lighter when you investigated the arson?"

"Let me see..." Kelly unlocked his filing cabinet and flipped through it, looking for the evidence file Jay had requested. "Here it is."

He laid the folder on the desk and Jay leaned over. He clenched his teeth as Kelly opened the folder, seeing the basement he was held captive in once more, even if it was covered in ash.

"Wait a minute, it's barely in the frame, but there's the end of the lighter. Let me friend the file on my computer and I can zoom in on it," Kelly suggested.

The clacking of keys could be heard as Kelly found the file and opened it, quickly finding the correct picture and pressing a few keys to zoom in on it.

"Oh, God," Jay whispered.

"What? What is it?"

"That lighter, it's the same color as the one I used to light Y/N's candle this morning. No wonder she freaked out."

"But why would she keep saying she'd be quiet?"

Jay nodded, pulling up a chair and sitting next to him. His eyes widened. He hadn't seen you get burned when he was with you, but what if that's what happened to you when they did the drop?

"Any way you can print that zoomed-in image out for me? I gotta get to Med."

"I can do that."

Kelly printed the picture and handed it to Jay. "Thanks, man. I'll get you a round at Molly's." Then, he quickly left and sped off to med, putting the pieces together.

***

Will was just walking out a treatment room, rubbing hand sanitizer in his hands, when a very determined Jay walked through the ED doors. "April, you mind charting the next patient? Jay's here and with that look on his face, well he's not gonna leave until he gets what he wants."

"Yeah, no problem. Good luck."

"Thanks." Will rolled his eyes.

"Will! Will I need to ask you something and you can't blow me off about this or claim patient confidentiality or some other legal bullshit."

"Legal bullshit? You're the cop here buddy, I'd expect you to care about the law more."

"Whatever, just is there some place we can talk?"

"Jay, I'm working. Can't this--"

"It's about Y/N," Jay blurted, knowing that that would most definitely get his older brother's attention.

"Okay, c'mon."

Will led the way to his office and once inside closed the door. "What's going on? What's so important about Y/N that you came to talk to me during my shift, not about a case, and left Y/N home alone on her birthday?"

"One, she's not home alone. Hailey's with her. And two, it's because I think I know how she got those burns."

"Fire, Jay. She got those burns from fire."

"I know that, smart ass. I mean, I think I know exactly how she got the burns." He laid the photo down on the desk. "That, that's a lighter. Now, if I remember correctly, first-degree burns are the worst because the fire directly hit the skin. Could that lighter have been the cause of her burns?"

Will typed away on his computer, pulling up the pictures of your burns, and looked closely at them, switching his attention from the picture of your burns to the evidence picture with the lighter. "But that's impossible," Will muttered. If the fire started at the floor and went to the walls, you'd either have burns on your feet and legs and/or on the left side of your body. But, you had them on both arms, your stomach, and your collarbone. And, the fire hadn't gotten high enough to be able to burn your upper body. "Unless..."

"Unless what, Will?"

"It's impossible to get these burns just from a burning building from the trajectory of the fire and the location of the burns. But, judging by the location and the severity of her burns, these most likely were made by Keyes holding the lighter to her, for longer than a few seconds. He had to have the lighter to her collarbone and stomach the longest, just by how bad those two are."

"You're sure?"

"I'm pretty damn sure, Jay. But, the only person who can tell if us if we're actually right, is Y/N. And, I don't think she's gonna wanna talk about this."

"Can you make her an emergency appointment with Dr. Charles?" Jay asked. "And, can you make sure you're there during the appointment, too?"

"What, why?"

"She had an episode this morning when I gave her a cupcake to wake up. I went to light the candle, she saw my lighter and the flame and flipped out. Then, she said that she promises to be quiet. You don't think- you don't think she burned her for talking do you?"

Will closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It all made sense: the not talking, the jumping when he turned on the stove, freaking out when Jay lit a candle.

"Based on what she's done, it makes sense. But, I'll consult with Dr. Charles before the appointment to tell him what's going on."

"Thanks, man. Bring those pictures to him, too."

Then, Jay left the office, thinking that between two of them and Kelly, that they had solved the mystery of why you hadn't talked in a month and a half.

***

You walked into Dr. Charles' office very confused to say the least. Hailey was waiting outside, but Jay and Will insisted on coming with you to this appointment; you just chalked it up to them being more worried about you than usual.

But, as you sat between your brothers on the long couch with Dr. Charles seated in the chair in front of you, you got a pit in your stomach. This felt more like an intervention.

"Y/N," Dr. Charles started, "Are you okay if your brothers sit in on this one? Or do you want them to leave?"

You pulled out your whiteboard. I'm just wondering why they're here with me in the first place. I know this morning was bad, but I didn't think it was that bad.

"You know, that's a very good question and I'm really glad you asked that. Jay, would you like to tell Y/N where you went earlier today?"

You turned to Jay expectantly. "I went to see Kelly and I asked him to show me the crime scene photos from Keyes' place."

At the mention of Keyes, you tensed up. Will squeezed your shoulder. "Y/N, remember those relaxation techniques I taught you?" Dr. Charles asked. You nodded. "How about you try one right now."

You closed your eyes and pictured a beach, the waves crashing against the shore, the feeling of sand between your toes. You walked closer to the water's edge and felt the coolness of the freshwater, whisking the sand from between your toes away. You felt the sun on your face and squinted your eyes against the brightness of the day.

"Better?" Dr. Charles asked as he noticed your breathing had become slower and most of the tension had left your body. You nodded. "Go to the beach again?" You nodded in confirmation again. "Good, I can tell it's a place that really relaxes you. Are you okay for Jay to continue?"

You turned to Jay, hoping that was answer enough. And it was because he continued explaining why he needed the crime scene photos. "I knew that there was a possibility that Keyes' could've been the one to burn you, but I didn't know. So, I went to Kelly to see if there was a lighter in any of the crime scene photos. There was, an orange one to be exact."

Keyes flicked the orange lighter open, playing with the flame and letting it move in between his fingers.

"Y/N, the beach, remember the beach," Dr. Charles prompted, bringing you back to the present moment after you took a few deep breaths while thinking of the fresh smell of the water and the sand.

Jay looked at you, silently asking if it was okay to continue. When you nodded, he started once more. "So, I saw that and I remembered that you'd promised to be quiet this morning. I came to Med to talk to Will, and between the two of us, well we figured out that he'd burned you, Y/N."

Your eyes filled with tears at the memories of how terrified you had been. You were so sure you were going to die that day.

"Did he play some sort of sick, twisted game with you, Y/N?" Will asked.

You looked down as your lip began to quiver. He had, you wanted to say, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. He told me that if I talked he'd hold the lighter there longer and that's why the ones on my stomach and my collarbone are the worst and the one on my thigh isn't as bad because he said I was learning the game. That was what you wanted to say at least, but you couldn't even part your lips.

Dr. Charles handed you a bottle of water and you took it from him, feeling the coolness in your hands, a reminder that fire was nowhere near you at the moment. "Y/N I think he burned you if you talked, is that it? Just nod your head yes or no, you don't have to talk or write if you don't want to. You are the one in control here. And, if you don't want to tell us if he burned you for talking or what the game was, that's fine, too."

You moved your head up and down once, confirming both of your brothers' worst fear: Keyes had burned you for talking.

Jay wanted to speed all the way to Stateville Prison and burn that son of a bitch Derek Keyes for what he did to you. But, somehow, he kept his cool and just looked at you with soft eyes and grabbed your hand.

"Y/N, I have something I want to try," Dr. Charles started, "I've already told Jay and Will about it just so that they won't freak out, but whether or not you actually want to try it, that's all up to you. We do whatever you want to do."

You looked up at Dr. Charles with glassy eyes.

"There's this therapy called in vivo exposure therapy, nicknamed flooding. What happens is, we take the patient's biggest fear, in your case that would be fire and talking, and we bring it out in the open, exposing you to your biggest fear in a safe and secure environment. The logic behind this is that the anxiety and adrenaline only last for a certain amount of time and once those drop, you realize that your fear of this was unwarranted."

What would it entail? you wrote.

"What would happen is that either Jay, Will, or I would hold an open lighter near you."

You frantically shook your head no and leaned more into Will.

"Okay, then we won't--"

"Listen, Y/N," Will started. "You are in a safe environment. We will not let anything happen to you. Ever. You gotta believe us on that. We just wanna hear you talk again. Let us help you. Let me help you. You will be safe the entire time and if you want me and Jay to sit on either side of you, like we're doing now, while Dr. Charles holds the lighter, we can do that. Isn't that right, Jay?"

"He's absolutely right, kid. We'll be right here the entire time."

You grabbed your whiteboard and took a deep breath. And you promise this will work? You promise there will be a drop in my anxiety at some point?

"I think that there's a very high chance that will work. And, I can promise you that there will be a drop in your anxiety during this because there always is a drop. If we got anxiety and then that fight or flight instinct didn't leave, well life would be scary all the time. And that's just not how life works," Dr. Charles answered.

Okay, you wrote. We can do it.

"Do you want me or one of them to hold it?"

You pointed to Dr. Charles.

What relaxation technique should I use to calm myself down?

"I'd recommend using the body scan because it takes the longest, but you can use whatever technique you want."

You nodded and closed your eyes.

"You ready?"

You nodded once again and Will wrapped his arm around your shoulder in the protective-oldest-brother-way he always had and Jay gave your hand a squeeze, silently reassuring you that everything would be okay.

"Start by relaxing your feet now, so that you're that you're in the right headspace."

You clenched and unclenched your toes, taking slow deep breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth, relaxing your toes one by one and focusing only on those sensations.

You heard the lighter flick open before you felt it. But when you felt it, it was near your face.

The smell of blood pierced your nostrils, whether it was yours or Jay's you had no idea. You were being held by one of Keyes' associates, his arm strongly wrapped around your shoulder. This time, you weren't hanging from the ceiling, but your arms were chained to the sides of you. Part of the chain laid in your right hand and it felt so heavy that you thought your hand was going to fall off.

He was saving the best for last, he was going to burn your face and let you burn from top-down. The fire would start at your cheek, move up to your nose, and then your eyes. You didn't want to even think about how much pain you'd feel when it hit your eyes. But, maybe you'll have passed out from shock, fear, or exhaustion by that point. You hoped you would.

Salty tears made your way down your face as you realized that this was it. You'd never see your brothers or your best friend again. You'd never graduate college. You'd never get to pick out the perfect wedding dress and walk down the aisle to marry the love of your life. Your last moments would be spent being burned alive in a basement, hoping against hope that someone would get here fast enough to rescue you. And, even though you knew Jay's unit was fast and wouldn't stop until you were safe, your hope was quickly fading.

"Any last words?"

"Please, please, no! I'll do anything! Anything!" you yelled, tugging on the chains.

But, he didn't burn your cheek for talking. Keyes broke the rules of his own game.

This was bad. It was just going to be worse for you. Your chest started moving up and down, trying to pass out from hyperventilation as fast as possible.

"Focus on your feet. Move the relaxation to your feet."

Who was that? It sounded like Dr. Charles.

"Relax, relax, relax."

Will was here, too?

But, whatever the reason, you focused on relaxing your feet. Maybe it would make dying easier.

The lighter hadn't moved closer to face as you made your way up your legs and relaxed your knees. Was Keyes going to burn you? Or, was he going to let you go?

"If you're gonna kill me, Keyes, then just do it!"

No answer.

You slowed your breath even more.

If Keyes didn't answer, that meant that he wasn't here. That meant, it was only fire. And, without Keyes to hold the fire. Fire couldn't hurt you. It couldn't hurt you.

"It can't hurt me. It can't hurt me," you whispered to yourself.

You dropped your head and shoulders and started to pant as the adrenaline wore off. Slowly you opened your eyes. "It can't hurt me," you said so that everyone in the room could hear.

Dr. Charles flicked the lighter closed.

You looked at each of your brothers. The person who you thought was Keyes' associate was just Will with his arm around you. And, what you had thought was part of the chain in your hand, was just Jay squeezing your hand.

"Thank you," you said to all three of them.

You turned to Will, to see him crying. "Why are you crying?" You turned and saw that Jay had tears in his eyes, too.

"I know the statistics of coming back from something like that, Y/N, of talking again. And I was scared- I was scared that you wouldn't come back from it."

"Hey, you're okay. We're okay," you repeated something that everyone has been telling you the past weeks.

You turned to Jay, knowing that this needed to be said. "And, Jay?" He looked you directly in the eyes. "I forgive you."

And that was all it took for a stray tear to roll down his cheek and for him to pull you into a hug. "I love you kid, you know that?"

"I love you, too. Both of you. Thanks for not giving up on me."

"Not a chance in hell," Will told you.

"Now, what do you say we go grab that mimosa?" Jay suggested.

"Yeah, let's do that."

The three of you said goodbye to Dr. Charles and left his office, meeting Hailey in the hallway. "I never got a chance to properly thank you for the book and coffee, Hailey, so thank you."

A smile grew on Hailey's face. "You're welcome." Then, she turned to Jay. "I told you she'd come around."

"You were right, babe...as always." Jay grabbed Hailey's hand in his and interlocked their fingers. "Think you can get someone to cover your shift, Will? Come out with us for some good old-fashioned brunch and day-drinking?"

"I think I might be able to manage that. Text me the place and I'll meet you there."

He started to walk away, on a mission to get someone to cover for him, when you remembered something. "Will, you owe me fifty bucks!"

[cricketchaology]

the bile of the beast

this fic includes discussion of the symptoms of PTSD, especially as it relates to eliot's past with violence (including allusions to sexual violence). if these topics are triggering for you, please proceed with caution.

READ ON AO3

it's san lorenzo (again, but different than it used to be) , and it's sweeter this time. it's fake blood on sophie's dress and damien's smirk melting off his face, a president's hands on nate's lapel. it's righting a wrong, but it's also a burning warehouse a country or so away, cops called and infiltrating, and they won't find who did it because eliot is a professional, always has been. they'll find a room full of messy corpses, turning in the evening sun, each as nameless as the last. moreau likes his men to be nothing (outside of him).

it's something eliot knows intimately: the way moreau can sink his teeth in so slowly you don't release you are nothing but a chew toy. and it's an odd thought when you are the dog, that your hide is flea-ridden and blank. that you are the soft toy he humps in the yard, not the doberman across the street that bears its teeth behind the screen door of close-cropped control. that, sometimes, you aren't even the weapon. sometimes you are the display: the show dog, heeling at the hand that no longer bears a treat. that your ribs are the home of boot-toes, breaking you down to the red dust you thought you escaped when you took up the mantle of a flag all those years ago.

so he holds the bottleneck. he clinks the right glasses, smiles appropriately in a way he prays reaches his eyes because sophie will notice if it doesn't and he can't. he's not feeling the happiness he knows is supposed to rise in his stomach at revenge because this isn't, the shapes are all pulled too long, too neat. it's moreau, it's messy by nature, it’s bloodied hands and broken chairs and little bits being removed from base-spine with even tweezers, folding on the floor like christ in the tomb, listening the tut-tut-tut of a man who doesn't love, but he loves you , or you think he does. eliot's grip tightens at the notion.

cause he knows moreau. he knows moreau like the back of his hand. knows how many times each knuckle's been busted and finger broken, constellation tracing each freckle. he knows moreau like a typewriter knows the author's touch, pounding away till the letters are worn. he knows moreau, which he means he knows it's not over, which means he can't stop running because he never, ever could, and it's why he's here now, with a team that knows him too much for him to stay. who will act like tomorrow is a new day, a free one. like with the italian off their backs, nothing is hanging over their heads.

tomorrow is day one of post-post moreau. it's not the first time he's escaped, and it won't be the last. it is a fact he knows the team won't understand- not when they got off easy, this time. last time it was by the skin of eliot's teeth, shoulder bullet-lodged and airplanes unnamed as he crossed ocean after ocean just to put enough distance between him and the hammer so that he could avoid being the next nail. he wasn't free then. wasn't free a day after moreau, wasn't even free before, because when moreau wants something, he gets it. and he wanted eliot spencer less then than he wants him now. the thought makes his skin crawl, remembering the heat of the brand as it grew closer to his inner thigh, kissing the hairs near his groin before drawing away. because moreau doesn't even need to lay claim to own you, just has to say he did. just has to release that wolf-grin and hold your collar like its always been his.

eliot's spent years clawing at that loop, the necklace that bites too tight around his skin even when no one else knows. he cooks, and he smiles, but it's always there, always weighing on the nape like a hand, skin pinching. he's spent years scratching and howling, enough that the red ring is more evident than the too-tight collar itself. enough that he knows it doesn't come off. to know even a moreau locked in a hole in san lorenzo is still the one he remembers, even if the shape is different.

so when nate offers up a glass of whiskey, raised high by an unshaking hand, it takes everything in eliot to smile, lift his beer bottle, and cheer.

///

he does not remember much of the first day post-post moreau, which is something that scares him. he's not sure how it passed him by; he remembers waking up in the hotel, turning in sunbeams as they scrape past the window screen. he remembers the panic of nate not answering the door when he knocked, and he remembers slamming his body into it until he saw nate alive and well, but he doesn't remember the conversation that followed. he doesn't remember what comes between the elevator and the airport, or what movie hardison played on the flight, or how many seats were unfilled. they're the kind of lapses that could get him- get all of them, he amends, wondering how he could forget- killed. because what eliot lacks in computer skills or acting ability he makes up for in counting hats, mapping exits. he pays his stay in blood.

except he doesn't now, or he's not supposed to. the thought haunts him the rest of the flight. he's barely conscious when they arrive back in boston, his head swimming between the then and the now, post and post-post. he doesn't even realize they've landed till the seatbelt light flickers off, and his hands go to help sophie carry all the luggage she packed in place of the carryon he didn't need.

because eliot never travels with a suitcase. when he arrives, the clothes will be laid out on the bed that’s been paid off for the next few nights. the most that ever belongs to him are the shoes, but even that is a danger- particulates are easily traced, so the red dirt is disposed of every other week, burying the people he isn't supposed to say he's been. disoriented as he is, he winds up picking up a stranger's briefcase before he realizes it's the weight of paperwork-filled folders and not a sniper rifle nestled intimately inside.

he drops it like the handle burns. the movement is abrupt enough that his elbow nudges nate's side. his furrowed brows say we need to talk.

eliot wants to meet his eyes but can't. instead, he grounds himself, taking enough of the team's bags that the straps start to wear into his skin, pulling him from the nothing that's begun to spread from post to post-post. he's silent on the drive home, oddly unperturbed by the fact that parker insists on driving (something about how airplanes don't feel fast, and she wants to feel fast, and everyone being too tired to argue) . he doesn't so much as grumble as he makes a roundabout the vehicle, jabbing each tire with the tip of his toe. he stares at the license plate for a moment too long, trying to remember why he's in boston before nate shouts something along the lines of "come on, let's get home."

it's raining; something eliot doesn't register till they've arrived at the office and are piling out of the car. his arms are loaded with bags by the time he hears someone say, "we'll worry about the luggage later," which they surely said before he loaded up. by the time he makes it inside, his hair is curling at the ends in a way it never did in the before- cropped too short then for even damien to find much comfort in running fingers through, though he'd do it anyway. petting more than soothing, and the difference was something eliot learned to sense before the hand was even laid down, the way a knee aches before a storm.

the thought must show on his face, or maybe his disheveled appearance is enough to earn the concern coloring his team as they stare at him, dripping in the doorway with their luggage draped across his body all pack-mule-like. he's shivering, though he isn't exactly sure why, by the time they pull the bags from him, ushering him upstairs as the bar staff eyes them no more curiously but perhaps more timidly than usual. the soles of his shoes squeak against the vinyl, and he flinches, thinking about all the ways a wrong sound could get him killed. moreau is tut-tut-tutting in his ear again, like before, in the during .

the whole team is talking, mumbling mercies and platitudes, and his heart is racing in his chest, pounding like heels on rooftops and down staircases in foreign countries. the rain beats down on the window like fists, like prisoners you knew before they were prisoners and allies you used to trust, and he's not really breathing; the air in the crawlspace is too thin. his hands are shaking, and his CO is saying “steady, steady,” whispering it like a mother to her babe, and the shot rings out with that familiar flashbang of lighting.

"stop," he mutters, and it feels like too much noise, too much noise (surely, they're going to catch him this time). "please, stop. stop."

the air falls quiet, like new york news as the death of osama bin laden is broadcast, like hushed last phone calls on the plane going down, army basecamps right before the armada. it's quiet like death is- like two lovers who don't know each other yet. like hair coiling, blackening, burning in the heat. his breath hitches like he can remember it.

"...eliot?" parker asks, because she's parker, crazy by design, but even now, she isn't touching him, though her hands are outstretched like she wants to. hardison looks at her like she has horns, like she's breaking a vault while the sirens scream, and she is, in every conceivable way. it makes eliot ache in a way he didn't know he could still feel. it makes him want to be the person she thinks him to be.

he meets parker's gaze like he's staring down the business end of a gun. like being the fish in the barrel.  he averts her gaze, transfixed on the city skyline behind her, peering through beating rain. he's scanning for men laying belly-down on balconies, sniper's trained and at the ready. he struggles to make out the horizon through obscuring strands of hair he doesn't remember growing out. he swallows, fingers flexing with a familiar hunger for hurt.

before he's aware of it, he's being lead to the couch, his soaking jacket somehow shed without his knowledge (he was too busy counting hats, mapping exits. moreau wants to know how many hats). the sofa is soft beneath him, swallowing him in warmth better than his standard-issue sleeping bag, and he's helpless against the hands on his shoulders pushing him purposefully deeper. the nails are enough for him to know it's sophie, even though he can't fully see her in front of him. the hair is tucked behind his ear with a tenderness he didn't know still existed. that he doesn't think he can deserve.

he isn't sure how long he sits there, his hands shaking in his lap. he isn't sure how long the silence permeates till it's replaced with the sound of knife striking board, and he comes to understand that Chopped reruns have been playing on the screens ahead, and it's sweet because they think he'd like it, not because he does. his boots have been unlaced, pulled from his feet (now bare, like christ folding on the floor in front of the disciples, moreau saying "wash my feet, eliot") and set gently near the end of the sofa. the thermostat has been turned to a temperature he lovingly calls "oklahoma august," which the rest of the team always whines is too hot, and the smell of thai food from his favorite food truck seeps into the air. he hangs on the scent like a cartoon character to fresh pie on the window.

it's too much like post , rather than post-post, the way they smile at him shambling to the island. the ache of the fights from the past weeks are starting to catch up to him; without a fresh neck in his hands, it's easier to remember the skin peeled from his knees. seeing him, nate holds out a steaming plate of his favorite and eliot takes it slowly. he stares down at it, enchanted by the authenticity of it even after it's pulled from a takeout box.

but you don't eat things you didn't see prepared; it's a lesson he learned after being poisoned in some hole in south america, and that he risked with every hors d'oeuvre moreau would hold to his lips, saying taste this, meaning die for me, like the sound of vultures overhead. something must change in his eyes because nate isn't smiling anymore. because nate is reaching out, taking the plate back, and it's clear that he doesn't understand what he's done wrong, no one does, not even sophie, if the way her gaze fluctuating between eliot and nate is to say anything.

"i'm not supposed to eat anything i didn't cook," he instinctively explains (this must be a test), wanting the sad look to leave hardison's eyes. "you either. i'm not supposed to let you eat anything i didn't prepare- that i didn't taste."

a beat of silence follows, heavy like the snow piling on slates, like soot on a seven-year-old brow. nate breaks it hesitantly.

"eliot-"

"let me taste your food," eliot says, all too much like the during and unlike post or post-post; it's too soft and ungrowled, too eliot and not enough spencer .

the look sophie shares with nate is deadly- like hiroshima at ground zero or kitum cave circa 1980. there's a silent battle wagging there, one eliot can't find the energy to care about because, without even a second of hesitation, parker hands him her plate of too-sweet noodles. she smiles at him, strange in that way parker always is, like a rat taking trap-bound cheese.

eliot takes care, inspecting the color, the smell, and though all of it is wrong, it's parker's, and it smells like how parker likes pad woon sen, which a post , but not post-post, eliot would have the energy to despise tenderly. but that's not who he is now, twirling noodles up on the fork, chewing garishly until he can gulp them down with confidence, like swallowing a key and knowing they can't beat it out of you. like downing the rations before the taste of them reaches your brain. he hands the plate back, feeling lighter, and hardison must be able to tell because he offers his dish up next. he watches as eliot inspects it thoroughly like a jeweler counting carats. the process doesn't take long, and, after a few minutes, each takeout box has been combed through for error, and eliot has determined they are safe enough to settle at the bar for the meal.

he doesn't sit down though, isn't supposed to. he goes to check exits, to stand by the door. he thinks about meetings in moreau's office, thinks about clubs and bars and women in bikinis that moreau never wanted to touch. because women were shows- because if moreau wanted something, he got it, and eliot knows this, so he knows moreau didn't want the women. he knows that moreau hungered for something different- not younger, but meaner. harder. he thinks about moreau in the sauna, beckoning eliot over, saying dismiss your post and meaning drop to your knees, folding before him like christ, like washing feet, like intimacy anew. he thinks about hardison, tied to the chair, and about chapman and his gun and moreau towel-drying sweat from his skin. he thinks about the kick, the move he invented, and hardison sucking air from the pneumatic, thinks about sucking air and-

///

"pause the show," sophie says, right before eliot goes from nervously checking the locks for the dozenth time to crumpling to the floor, his fingers digging claw-like into the edge of the doorframe. his breaths are too quick, huffing in and out, in and out, fast as chopper blades overhead screaming against wind. his whole body is vibrating by the time ted's voice is cut off, hand closing over the cloche in slow motion.

parker is the first to him, light on her feet and perching in front. she observes him like a cat might a dead bird; curiosity and hunger, unfamiliar yet innate. but then that hunger fades, is sated, and she's tucking her knees beneath her body and folding herself by eliot, kneeling. she surrounds him, skin heavy like a blanket, and eliot melts into her like one fades into the air after jumping from a plane- the way the heat melds to your back as an explosion follows you out the door.

with only slightly more hesitance, hardison joins them on the floor, his long arms enveloping them. eliot's hair tickles his nose, hardison's soft breaths blowing them away, then pulling them back like the ebb and flow of waves lapping a shoreline. he closes his eyes for a long moment, batting away the thought of water filling his lungs, and reopens them to find nate staring down awestruckenly.

sophie smiles softly in a way that means she knows something no one else does, cracking the mark open like a pistachio shell. hardison squints, searching for an answer, but she gives none. instead, she pulls nate away by his wrist, casting a look across the room before quietly trailing up the staircase, leaving eliot, parker, and hardison tucked tightly into the corner.

///

the seconds evade him while he sits there, sobbing on the floor. it feels like a weakness, something he should be hiding- he hasn't cried like this since the night his momma died (not in his pristine funeral suit. his father has pulled his tie-tight and said, "now don't you embarrass me," and he didn't then- made sure he never did again.) he hadn't cried like that the entire time during , or post , but now it was post-post and here he was, broken to bits on the wooden floor of a dingy bars' loft in boston.

not for the first time, he finds himself wondering how the hell he ended up here. how he escaped the during , how he made it to post-post. because, really, he's seen greater men die on their first tour. he's been in the hellholes they strung soldiers up in, purple heart wearers bleeding nothing but red, red, red- and he's been that man, russian roulette spun and against the odds making it a baker's dozen rounds before the tortures tired of threats and moved onto toenails. even then, he didn't cry like this- if he did cry, well, that was sweat in his eyes. that was him praying to a lord he stopped believing in at 18, saying, "if you get me out of this one alive, i'll get better" and it never, ever being true.

he isn't aware that parker and hardison have been whispering a mantra of "it's okay, it's okay, eliot, you are here, you are ours" until they pause for breath until parker's voice is addressing hardison, asking, "hey- hey, if it's too much, it's okay. you can take a break."

it's then that he realizes he isn't the only one praying then; they all are, the shoulders of his shirt on either side soaked through, not by the unrelenting rain but by the two closest things he has to family. that hardison's voice has gone from soft and strong to shaky: a leaf resisting those oklahoma winds rising from 40 to 50, from cold fronts and warm one crashing and crushing everything in their path as they war with one another. that parker's body has cooled as she gifted her warmth to eliot's still rain-frozen form.

it's then that he realizes he's lucky. that san lorenzo is sweeter because parker dashed it with maple syrup when he wasn't looking- that hardison replaced the whiskey sours with sodas. that post-post doesn't fit any of the characters sophie has taught him to play, and that he doesn't need to count the hats because nate already has; he knows each shape and each color, the brand names printed on the bill.

the next breath is a little deeper as hardison whispers, "i'm good, i'm good," across him to parker, and eliot feels the rattle of her head against his neck more than he sees it. the way they draw in a little closer, the way parker subconsciously syncs their breathing like sophie's taught her to do with marks, but it's different because eliot isn't a mark- because it isn't post-post, it's something different entirely.

it's the scent of his favorite thai food crusted in the corners of an unwiped mouth. it's his closet being reorganized by color, his go-bag packed with money he didn't put there. it's in-jokes and damnits and distinctive sounds. it's not explaining because they won't make him.

when his breathing is finally stable, he feels them pull back- not entirely, but enough that there's an instant ache in eliot's gut for them to come back to him. hardison's brows are knit, all the anger of the week prior washed away and replaced with nothing but care. parker is smiling gently with that even present lilt to her eye- like she's stolen his watch and is waiting for him to notice.

with slowly re-steadying hands, eliot brushes the last remnants of tears from his face, feeling his cheeks flush slightly when his father's voice tries to rise from somewhere within him. as though feeling the demon climbing up, hardison places a hand on the outskirts of eliot's bicep, holding him gently- grounding him.

"you good?" hardison asks simply, but the question makes all the raw things in eliot sore again in the way a second-day sunburn feels; not quite painful, but omnipresent. warm.

"yeah," he finds himself saying, and it's not something a post eliot would mean, but maybe a post-post eliot does. maybe a post-post eliot can. he finds himself smiling at the notion.

"yeah, i am."