#you can slap him in your commercial or side of the van

[hell0mega]

people are drawing Steamboat Willie Mickey doing all this crazy shit and whatnot, but you could always do that. you can do that now, with current Mickey, just fine. it's fanart and it's legally protected. hell you could take Disney-drawn Mickey and put a caption about unions or whatever on it and it would still be protected under free speech and sometimes even parody law.

what is special about public domain is that you can SELL him. you could take a screenshot and sell it on a tshirt. you can use him to advertise your plumbing business. people have already uploaded and monetized the original film.

you could always have Mickey say what you want, but now you can profit off it.

[the-littlemxrmaid]

Band Practice- Eddie Munson

Summary: Eddie’s got a confession to make

Pairing: Eddie Munson x OC reader

Warnings: none story wise, but this was written with no proofreading

“What do we think?” I was twisting the bottom of my shirt in my hands, as I stood behind my chair at the lunch table. The boys looked up from their lunches, and I met Eddie’s gaze first.

“Whoa.” It was mumbled out under Eddie’s breath, and Gareth slapped him on the arm. “I mean uh… it looks great on you Jen. First Hellfire Club meeting in your official shirt. I’m such a proud shepherd.”

“Jesus Christ, Eddie, lay it on thick. You look great Jen.” Gareth shot a grin at me, and then turned back to his lunch.

“Thanks boys.”

I sat down finally, my place having fallen on Eddie’s left hand side. We ate quietly for a few moments until Gareth loudly cleared his throat. We all looked at him, but he was focused on Eddie, who was frantically shaking his head no at him.

“Is there something you two would like to share with the class?” Jeff asked, his can of Coke stopped halfway to his lips.

“Eddie has something he wants to ask Jen, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

“I do not.” I blinked between the three of them as they turned their eyes to me. “I don’t, I swear.”

“Sounds like you do. Come on Munson, I can handle it.” He opened and closed his mouth for several seconds before Gareth nudged him. He heaved a heavy sigh.

“So Jen, we have band practice tomorrow.”

“Ok?”

“Would you maybe like to come… watch us practice?”

“What like a groupie?” He snorted, and turned to Gareth as if to tell him he knew I wasn’t going to say yes. “I’d love to come.”

“You what?”

“I’d love to. I have an essay though, can I bring it to work on?”

“Sure.” Gareth answered for him, since Eddie looked like he forgot how to breath.

“You’ll pick me up, right Eddie?”

“Course, Jen.”

***

“Morning!” I was leaning into the passenger side window of Eddie’s van, tossing my bag in.

“Morning. You got everything?”

“Yeah, and I got bad news.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “My parents want to meet you. I think just to make sure you’re not going to kill me.”

“Oh right. Big scary Munson.” He turned the van off, pulling the keys out of the ignition and tossing them to me. “Let’s get this over with.”

We walked back up the sidewalk to my front door, shoulder to shoulder, or as much as we could be with the height difference, until we split so he could open the door for me.

“Such a gentleman.”

“Only for fair maidens such as yourself.” I snorted, trying to hold back more of a laugh.

“How do you get girls, ever? Mom!”

“Kitchen!” We made our way into the kitchen, where my mom was making lunch. Dad was sitting at the table reading the paper.

“Hi Mrs. Hastings, Mr. Hastings. Nice to meet you.”

“Eddie.” My dad slowly lowered his newspaper to the table. “What’re your plans for today?”

“Oh, my band has practice today, figured Jen might want to tag along. She’s bringing homework with her, Mr. Hastings, so don’t worry.”

“What time will she be home?”

“If I don’t get any calls from anyone while I’m out dad, I’ll be home at 10.”

“Band practice until 10?”

“Well we have to go, Mr. Hastings, before we’re late. Nice meeting you!” Eddie grabbed me by the shoulder and steered me out of the house. “Well that was awful.”

“I don’t know, I think it went pretty well.”

“Get in the car Jen.”

I shuffled my bag around my feet as Eddie took the keys back from me and turned the van on. He turned to radio up, Black Sabbath blaring through the speakers. Gareth didn’t live far from me, so one song and several commercials later Eddie was parking on the curb outside his house. They were already tuning up, and Eddie shook his head towards the house, letting me know I could go ahead without him.

“Hi Jen!” Gareth all but hollered it as I made my way up the drive. “Eddie getting Sweetheart?”

“I’d assume, unless he just dropped me and the van off and he’s actually abandoned me.” I put my bag down next to the chair they’d set up for me and settled in as Eddie came up, prized guitar in hand.

“You ready for a show, Jen?”

“Well since I’m getting it for free, sure.”

***

“Okay is anybody else starving? It’s like… 7.”

“Jen’s right, we gotta take a break and eat. I’ll go order a pizza.”

Gareth slipped off into the house, while Jeff pulled down another folding chair from the wall and slipped into it. Eddie pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and pulled one out and lit it before coming over to squat next to my chair.

“Get your essay done?” I hummed in response and held out the pages. “Good.”

“Hey Eddie-“

“No, you cannot.” To make a point, Eddie stuck the cigarette back between his lips. “I’m not ruining you like I did these idiots.”

“Then you should’ve seen the look on my parents face when I walked out of the house in my Hellfire shirt yesterday.” This time it was Eddie’s turn to laugh.

“Be about 30 minutes before food gets here.”

“Not bad for a Saturday.”

“Well it is later.” The boys all mumbled in agreement before returning to their instruments and lightly fiddling with them. “Hey Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Since I didn’t really bring anything else to do, would you mind taking me home? After we eat?”

“What, not having fun?”

“No, I am, but I think me just sitting here might get awkward.”

“I think we’re probably packing it in for the night anyways after we eat. You could come over to mine.”

“It’ll be late. And why would I-“

“What’s your one friends name? Allie? Just say you’re staying with her.”

“Eddie.”

“What, I said I wouldn’t let you smoke, I didn’t say I’d be a good influence.” He took one last drag off his cigarette before putting it out on the garage floor. “We can watch a movie or something. And since I had to meet your parents today you could meet my uncle Wayne.” I sighed.

“Fine. I’ll call after pizza.” He grinned.

“Hey, you maybe wanna try a couple chords?” He was already up and grabbing Sweetheart from where he’d propped her up, and holding her out to me before I had even processed what he said.

“On Sweetheart?”

“Well yeah, bird, what else would you play a couple chords on? Here.”

“What did you call me?”

“Huh?” Eddie hesitated. “Uh, bird I guess.”

“I get a pet name and I get to hold Sweetheart? Are you sick?” I stood, letting Eddie take his place in my chair before I sat on his lap and gingerly took Sweetheart from him.

“I’m not sick. I feel perfect.” I looked up briefly at the other three boys, whose jaws had all dropped open.

“I think the others might disagree. What’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well the boys are currently looking like they just shit their pants, so…” Eddie took his hands off mine, propping Sweetheart back up.

“Van.” I was practically dragged, and we reached the van in record time. He opened up the back door and let me sit on the edge before he took a seat next to me. “I don’t know how to start.”

“Start what?” He sighed, running a hand down his face before looking up at the garage. Gareth and Jeff were definitely not being subtle with their staring. “Eds?”

“Bird I- Jen.” He let out a sigh. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you in the cafeteria that first day. You looked… so lost. None of your friends had that lunch so you were just glancing nervously between all the tables. I didn’t want to scare you so that’s why I sent Gareth to go get you. And you were so damn shy. We barely got your name out of you. I don’t think you spoke a full sentence for two weeks and when you did it was damn near hypnotic. And I don’t let just anyone sit next to me at the table and I damn well don’t let anyone touch Sweetheart.”

“Is that why the boys looked like they shit themselves?”

“Are you still on that?”

“What?”

“Jesus H Christ Jennifer.”

“Jen.”

“Bird.” I pulled my gaze off of him and down to my Converse. “Look Jen-“

“I like you too, Eddie. You didn’t have to pull my arm very hard to get me to stay the night tonight with you. Or to come to band practice. You’re not very observant.”

“Seems like you aren’t either.”

“Are you going to kiss her Eddie or do we just have to sit here and wait?”

[rodeoxqueen]

Stuck Thinking About You-Dante/Reader

TheLastCrusader Requested: Dante or Vergil gets immobilized in some embarrassing or inconvenient way during a job and then (Y/N) pays them company until they can be freed. How about they have a crush on (Y/N) and they don't know it is returned until the end?

Vergil’s Part: Coming Soon. 

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28187496

Warnings: Fluff, Romantic Comedy, Taking Care of The Twins, Vulnerability, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Characters Call Out The Writer for Her Lazy Writing

Dante was the Legendary Devil Hunter, a tried and true hunter with the might of hundreds of men. And here he was, paralyzed by a venomous demon. During a hunt, it had a lucky shot and hit him with a dart. It would have killed a normal man three times over, causing the victim to lose muscle function and die. Since Dante was not a normal man, his body would metabolize the poison in due time. It’s just too bad he was stuck in his current form, arms to his side and stiff. He was lucky to be able to talk anyway. 

Nero had laughed at his predicament and dragged him back to the van by the boots, throwing him onto the spare seat like a sack of potatoes. His brother had smugly walked alongside his son, entertained by how Dante complained about his now immobilized situation. 

“Laugh it up. When I can move again, I’ll be kicking your asses.” Dante threatened, face down on the cushion with his sword strapped to his back. He sounded muffled and Nero laughed at him again. 

“Wait until (Y/N) found out you got shot in the butt by a demon.” Nero jeered. Dante groaned. 

Oh God forbid you found out, his crush. The gorgeous and funny (Y/N). He’d be a laughingstock. 

You had been working on the Devil May Cry paperwork when the red devil was carried in looking like a cardboard cut out of himself. The red devil was incredibly displeased and had a sour look on his face. 

Nero and Vergil dropped him onto a couch, dusting themselves off and high-fiving. 

“What happened to Dante?” You ask, seeing how Dante was unnaturally still. 

“My brother was unluckily poisoned. The toxins shall wear off soon, although he will be stuck like this for the meanwhile.” 

You see Dante attempt to move with his grunts and groans, yet to no avail. 

“Yeah, he’s gonna have to wait for it to wear off. You should’ve seen him, he gets jabbed and he just drops like a dead body!” Nero wiped a tear of laughter off his face. 

“Anyways, I gotta go back to Fortuna. Call me when he’s back to normal.” Vergil nodded as his son left the door. 

He turned his gaze to you. 

“I am going to retire to my room. Please let me know when he can move again.” He said as he exited the first floor. 

You put your hands on your hips seeing the devil still face down on the couch. 

“Um..Dante?” 

“Yeah?” He said, slightly muted by the cushion. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Can’t move. Stuck.” 

“..Do you want some help?” 

“Nah, I’m alright.” 

“Well, are you sure?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” 

There was a pause. You could hear Dante trying to breathe with the leather of the couch right up on his nose. 

“Would you like to be face up?” 

Dante stopped for a moment. 

“Yes.” You grinned, getting up from your seat to help out the red devil. Rolling up the sleeves of your sweater, you began by pulling on his side at the innermost of the sofa. You grunted as you put all your might on him. 

He was literally built like a brick house, and he sure as hell weighed like one. You broke a sweat getting him to be perpendicular to the couch before gravity helped out and you tipped him over. He fell back on the couch with a resounding thump. 

“Thanks (Y/N).” He flashed his charming grin, a bit of a struggle as his face muscles were slightly numb.  

You smiled at him. You saw how his veins were slightly darker, and he was quite pale. His body must be working overtime to detox itself. 

“Do you want anything while you’re trapped like this?” He made an effort to try to shrug. 

“I’m good.” Dante was not good. He was freaking out. You were used to touching him, punching him when he said a joke too cheesy, and those grazing touches he’d freak out internally over. You had such nice hands. His side where you pulled him up had tingled. 

You made your way back to the desk, Dante’s eyes on your rear. 

You went back to work, typing up reports, and examining payments from clients. Music played from your headphones, leaving Dante in silence. 

The sounds of you typing, scratching down notes on a notebook, and humming lull him to sleep. Maybe when he wakes up, he’ll be up and running again. 

You were half an hour into your work when you heard snores. Looking up, you see that the younger Sparda twin was fast asleep, probably sleeping off the toxins. An endeared smile crept up your face, seeing how at peace he was. 

Dante was an attractive guy, he was nice and funny. He seemed to always want to hang out with you and make you laugh. What a nice half-demon who was your boss. 

The veins around his neck seemed to pulse, forcing the blood to withdraw the demonic toxins within it. 

You admired the white-haired male, before going back to the papers. 

Dante woke up a few hours later. 

He tried to stretch, only to find his limbs were still stuck to his sides. 

“Ah shit.” He mumbled, yawning. His jaw popped in several places and he tried turning his head to see you. 

You answered the phone tucked by your ear as you rapidly typed out more reports. 

Once you had hung up the phone, you saw that the sleeping man had awakened. 

“Hey, Dante. You’re up. How are you feeling?” Dante sighed.

“Still can’t move.” You frowned. Even with his metabolism? 

“Aw, that sucks.” 

“Is that all my paperwork?” Dante asked, seeing the mountain of papers on the table. You slapped the yellowed papers. 

“This bad boy can fit so many missing payments.” You joked, quoting a car commercial you saw. Dante rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, let’s all make fun of Dante.” He said. 

You went back to check a few things. Dante peered at the clock. Crap, he always forgets to fix that clock. It’s been 4 o’clock for three months now. 

Dante coughed. He hadn’t had a sip of anything for hours now and napping always made him wake up with a desert-dry throat. He also wanted to rub his eyes but once again, can’t move. 

There was a knock on the door. You grabbed your wallet and got to the door. An amazing smell hit Dante’s nose. 

You came back into his line of sight when you came back with a plastic bag

“You hungry?” You asked, opening the box of pizza you had ordered. You hummed with approval when you saw no olives. 

“Meh, not really.” 

Just when Dante wanted to be low-key, his stomach made the loudest noise. It was like a damn whale call. Mind you, he was starving after his nap. He flushed with embarrassment but tried to play it off. 

You laughed. You made your way over to Dante. 

“It’s fine, I got enough for the two of us.” Setting the pizza box on the ground, you sat next to his still paralyzed form. 

“Oh man, you totally didn’t have to-” His stomach made a louder noise at the amplified smell of baked goods. 

You laughed at his expression. 

“It’s not like I can just move and take a slice right now.” He groaned. His eyes widened when you held up a fork of sliced pizza. You absolute angel. 

“I know.” You winked. 

“Now say ah..” You teased. He smirked, opening his mouth to be fed. 

Dante felt the warm cheesy culinary creation hit his tastebuds. He reveled in the lack of olives, something he always got on his slices whenever he ordered. 

You helped yourself to your own slices between feeding Dante. 

He swallowed wrong, and coughed. He had already hid his dry throat from you, not wanting to be needy. He continued coughing like a madman. A straw hit his lip and he simply sipped it, doing whatever he could to counter his fit. 

The familiar sweetness of cola soothed him and he let out a small burp.

“My bad.” He smiled as you laughed. His eyes darted to the can of soda you put back on the floor. Holy shit. You were drinking out of that. You gave him your straw. You were cool sharing drinks with him. That was an indirect kiss. Dante was ready to implode. Before you could notice his shock, he quickly made a diversion. 

“Where did you order this? It’s a lot better than the place I order at.” He asked after another forkful. You shrugged. 

“It was this new place that recently opened up. It’s close where I live. Thought I’d spice things up a bit and pick a new joint.” 

“Have you been there before?” 

You shook your head no. 

“Yeah, I haven’t. This was my first time ordering there.” Maybe next time Dante could take you there. 

“Feeling bold aren’t we?” You asked smugly at his mumbled sentence. Shit. He did not mean to say that out loud. 

“Uh. Yeah. I am.” He sputtered. You chuckled at the devil’s sudden bashfulnes. 

Dante wished he knew when to shut up. This was one of the times he wished he could. 

“Yeah. I like you a lot. You’re really nice to me, you’re real good looking too. This is totally not how I wanted to ask you out but here I am. This is really awkward for me. You can totally say no. I’m not going to be mad. I’m also your boss so that might be weird-” 

“Tell you what-” You quickly gave him another piece of pizza. 

“Once you can move again, I’ll take you on that offer.” You winked. Dante almost choked again. 

“I like you too, if you haven’t noticed.” You added, looking away for a moment. 

He laughed. You angel. 

Once the slices were cleared and the drink finished, you cleaned up. Dante saw through the window a completely dark night. 

“Whoa. It’s super late. Are you sure you want to go out that late?” Dante asked, genuinely worried. 

You shrugged. 

“I mean, it’s not too bad. I don’t live that far-” 

“I can teleport you home.” Vergil called from the stairs. The older twin came down with his book in hand. 

“Oh Vergil. Nice to see you again. I saved you a couple slices of pizza.” You pointed to the box that lied on Dante’s desk. 

“No need. Although the gesture was very kind of you.” Vergil quickly took out the Yamato, slashing through dimensions.

“Well this is oddly convenient plot-wise. Totally lazy writing. The writer definitely gave up with the conclusion. This is outrageously well-timed.” You said, hands on your hips. Vergil gave you a look.

“What?” 

“What.” 

“Anyways. I’ll see you soon. Call me when you’re back to normal.” You say to Dante. He winks at you and makes a click noise with his mouth. He’d do the finger guns too but again, he can’t freaking move. 

You left promptly, waving at Dante and thanking Vergil. 

The older twin turns around to see his shameless brother. 

“So, how long were you upstairs waiting for her to leave?” 

“Too long. I’m surprised she took overtime just to take care of your sorry self.” 

“I’m the one with a hot date, Mr. I Got Laid Once.” 

His brother scowled. 

“If it were not for the fact that you are not a fair match in your current condition, I would have slaughtered you by now.” The Yamato was pointed in his direction and Dante blew a raspberry at him. 

“Whatever.” 

“I’m going to bed. You can stay on the couch, you dolt.” Vergil snipped, going back up the stairs. The lights were shut off, leaving Dante in darkness. 

Dante smirked, closing his eyes. He can’t wait to wake up tomorrow and plan out a date with you.

[zalrb]

hi! same anon from before, hahah. first of all thank u so much for answering - i'm a big steve mcqueen fan too and i was wondering if you were ever interested in reviewing your favourite mcqueen movies? a few words for each kinda thing. i love your movie reviews because way more often than not, i find myself agreeing with you and you seem to find the exact right words. of course, it's merely a request you don't *have* to take seriously.i hope u have a great day!

OK so here is my list, starting from favourite to least favourite. The only feature film of his that I haven’t seen is Hunger.

What I will say are general Steve McQueen characteristics that I like about all of the movies is the fact that his films require patience and attention. If I’m tired or not really in the mood to devote my focus but I want to watch something, I’m not putting on a Steve McQueen film. I want to be fully present. His work demands that. I appreciate that.

I have also come to respect that there are what you would consider holes in his movies. Like we don’t really know anything about Brandon’s backstory in Shame, we know his sister says that they come from a bad place but we don’t know what that place is and the movie doesn’t find it necessary to divulge that information. Widows has a lot of loose ends that a typical heist movie may at least attempt to sort out but I don’t think McQueen really concerns himself with those details, he concerns himself with the emotional present and he concerns himself with the present to such an intimate and almost unbearable degree that it can make you flinch and cringe as a viewer because it’s uncomfortable to kind of stew in emotional truth like that, it’s uncomfortable to stew in the present that way.

There is an artistry and a poetry to his movies, it reminds me of paintings and I can say without irony or without being corny or without being pretentious, that these movies really do examine the human condition, do deep dives into emotion or deep dives into emotions that a particular event or issue would bring about.

1. Lovers Rock

I love this movie for so many different reasons. It means so much to me as a woman of Jamaican descent to see an ode to Caribbean party culture in the diaspora

and even though it’s in London and even though it was in the 80s, there is so much overlap in Canada, it was basically like a spiritual experience watching this movie and on twitter, there was so much outpour of gratitude and feeling seen by Caribbean Canadians, it was like a whole moment, so this movie makes me super emotional.

Like this scene, where they yell “Jah!” “Rastafari!” it got me in my chest and I had never experienced feeling so seen in film before because it’s specifically Caribbean, in this case Jamaican, and what I usually see is African American or movies from the Continent and this was diasporic and it was Caribbean

But what I also love about it is that even though it takes place over one night, it’s a love story between two young dark-skinned Black people and it’s handled with the kind of grace and beauty and weight that I like in my love stories, like it’s not Atonement, it’s not POTC, but it’s this culturally specific courting and coming together and it’s super sweet and just very nice

2. Alex Wheatle

There is this scene in this movie that is excruciating to me in its simplicity and it’s one of McQueen’s techniques or choices. So this installation in Small Axe is about Alex Wheatle who is an author and in the beginning we see his life in an orphanage and how he’s abused and ridiculed and how as a child he would be thrown in a room for hours just lying on his side

Then we get to him as an adult and we see the way the police harass Black youth and they take Alex throw him in the back of their van and he’s bloodied and beaten and he’s just lying on his side for hours. And I cried because that callback to his childhood was so brutal to me even though we don’t see excessive violence onscreen, it was just him lying on his side like when he was a kid and how systems upon systems are failing him and failing Black children, Black people and I didn’t need that spelled out for me, I just needed to see him lying on his side for minutes. And that’s kind of the power of McQueen’s directing/storytelling to me?

Another reason I really like Alex Wheatle - and the Small Axe anthology as a whole - is showcasing Black history in other countries

and it’s a great story about identity and figuring out your history, your roots, where you come from and how it informs you

3. 12 Years A Slave

I didn’t know if I was going to watch 12 Years A Slave or not, I kind of make it a point not to watch movies about enslavement now and I haven’t seen a movie about enslavement since (I did watch the show Underground though). What I love about this movie is how it examines the human condition, how it examines resilience, how it examines the soul, really, through many of the characters but particularly Solomon. It’s that unflinching portrayal of emotion and the present that really stuck out to me. And also again some of McQueen’s choices, like when they’re on the slave ship, for a lot of it we don’t see inside, we see the rudders

but that inspired such dread in me? We see the trees a lot.

We see the setting. We see the environment and that just adds a whole other layer, Lupita Nyong’o spoke about that when filming, about just thinking about the trees and what they witnessed. But I watched it, I didn’t cry until the third act then I wouldn’t stop crying then I pulled myself together and a week later, my roommate was playing it in her room and I could hear it and I was trying to write for workshop and it was just the score that I could hear and I got so emotional I had to ask her to put her earphones in so I could work.

4. Education

This installment of Small Axe was again an educational one for me (pun intended) because I know the ways in which the education system in my country and in my province and in my city fail Black children and I know enough about how that happens in the States, I didn’t know so much about how it happened in England and this was very illuminating for me without it taking on the tone of a docu. There is this scene that is just so uncomfortable to watch because it’s long and it’s boring and it’s irritating and that’s exactly what you’re supposed to feel because you’re supposed to feel exactly what the characters would feel in those moments:

Education also has a scene where we hear an entire song, but it’s deliberately not fun, when the teacher torments all the kids with his acoustic version of “House of the Rising Sun.” Why that song? That happened with me!

Oh my god. The teacher brought in his guitar, and he started to strum. We’re this captive audience. That was it. But it’s interesting, about that sequence. Because it’s funny, and then it gets irritating, and then you get bored. You have to go through boredom to get to the other side of it, and then you get to something else. And then there’s another understanding of it. So it had to play out that way, in real time.

and you know by the end, the movie explores how to engage children, how to encourage children, how to advocate for children and the different ways you can educate children so it’s an optimistic movie and I appreciated that

5. Widows

My second best experience at TIFF (Toronto International Film Festival) was watching Widows. TIFF screenings tend to be very quiet. But there’s a scene in Widows where after the protagonists (four women) do the work and get the money, Daniel Kaluuya watches them, holds them at gunpoint and takes the money, then leaves in his car. Then you’re with him in this car and he’s feeling good about himself and he’s laughing and he’s listening to this speech his brother makes then you see another car gain on him, run into him and it’s the protagonists and they take their money back and the entire theatre cheered and clapped and it was awesome. And that is the type of “girl power” scenes I like that aren’t “girl power” scenes? Where it’s just this man thought he could take what he wanted from these women and leave and they were like ummmmmmm?

I would say Widows is McQueen’s most commercial movie and it still doesn’t read very commercial and unfortunately Liam Neeson is in it but again I like the choices he made, I like that when Colin Farrell’s character is going on this racist rant in his car, we see the exterior of the car with his dialogue as a voiceover.

I like how controlled and tight the direction is and how throughout the movie I was on the edge of my seat in a different way, I was just tense until it was all over. It was also interesting watching his direction with Gillian Flynn’s screenplay interact with each other.

I had issues with this movie, mainly one moment which is when Alice, who is white, slaps Veronica (Viola Davis) -- Veronica slaps Alice first but Alice is a character who has been abused and who has been controlled by the men in her life, by her mother and she’s finding independence and so she exerts that by slapping Veronica back and I just thought there were other ways to show that.

6. Red, White and Blue

Another installment of Small Axe. My first husband stars in it and won a GG for it

and has this gem in it

It’s a good representation of what it looks like trying to right a system from the inside, since this is about Leroy Logan who became a police officer and ended up policing the neighbourhood he grew up in and how he was trying to be a positive change in the environment and in the police force and the racism he experienced as an officer

7. Mangrove

The first installment of Small Axe. To be quite honest I wanted to like Mangrove more than I did. It’s Steve McQueen so it’s a good movie, although the accents had some Trini people I know be like mmmmmmmmmmmmno, and again it’s also an educational movie because you learn about the Mangrove restaurant which was a Caribbean restaurant and hub for the community and for artists and authors and the police saw it as a threat so they constantly harassed the costumers and did raids and did everything in their power to shut it down.

And there are some great lines in this movie, I was most compelled when it became a courtroom drama, because that was some masterful directing

8. Shame

Shame was definitely uncomfortable for me to watch haha and it’s interesting because there were reviews that were like the title doesn’t match what we see because are we really expected to believe that the protagonist feels shame when we see him in New York having anonymous sex with [conventionally] attractive strangers and he has awkward moments with his sister and I was just like ............ if there’s anything McQueen is able to do is show how mechanical and compulsive Brandon’s sexual conquests are and his inability to actually connect because once he does he becomes impotent and pushes Marrianne away, his life is sterile and unfulfilling

so, I don’t know, some of the reviews had me like, what movie were you watching?

[zen3to5]

J/H 4-14: Jackie Says Cheese

Following production order, the next few episodes - "Red and Stacey," "Eric's Hot Cousin," "The Third Wheel," and "An Eric Forman Christmas" all remain unchanged in this timeline. I imagine some of you are surprised "The Third Wheel" didn't come in for a rewrite, and I watched it multiple times looking for an opening myself, but nothing jumped out at me. "Jackie Says Cheese," on the other hand...

(This is another one that was only partially re-written. Some re-written scenes are sequential, and some aren't; you'll know those by the *** separating them. Enough material is the same that I think anyone familiar with the episode can recognize the context for all of these. Just to get us all on the same page: imagine the episode playing out as you know it up until the second scene dealing with Thomas...)

FF.Net AO3

***

INT. HUB - DAY   THOMAS continues to make his own mark as the “foreign kid:” he sits at a round table with TWO PRETTY GIRLS. Over at the wall table, FEZ watches with cold disapproval, while KELSO eats. “Long, Long Way from Home” by Foreigner plays on the jukebox.   THOMAS: (laughing) I don’t know. I’ve just always been good-looking.   He and the girls laugh some more.   FEZ: (to Kelso) Look at that foreign bastard. Cracking up the whores.   KELSO: Yup. That is one sexy accent.   FEZ: Hey, if I pretend to say something funny, will you laugh?   KELSO: What would you pretend to say?   Fez snorts and looks back to Thomas.   FEZ: That Thomas is shady. (to Kelso) And have you noticed he never says what country he’s from?   KELSO: (beat) What country are you from?   FEZ: What country are you from?   KELSO: America.   FEZ: Fine, mystery solved.   He scoffs and turns back to stewing.

***   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – DAY   A quiet afternoon. HYDE reads in his chair, DONNA reads on the couch, and JACKIE paces up and down the room.   Kelso enters through the basement door.   KELSO: Hey.   Jackie immediately crosses to him.   JACKIE: Michael, I’m broke! I had to buy generic hair conditioner. And now, I have split ends.   KELSO: Well, no one is gonna notice that, baby.   HYDE: (to Jackie) Yeah, they’ll all be looking at that monster zit.   Kelso shrugs, nods, and takes a seat on the couch.   JACKIE: (to Hyde) I have to ration my cover-up. (to Kelso) So find a job already!   KELSO: I’m trying, okay? It’s tough out there.   HYDE: Kelso, you’ve been down here in the basement all day, reading the funnies.   KELSO: And the next page over’s the want ads! I’m getting to it!   Jackie glares down at Kelso, who tries not to look guilty.   DONNA: What about that new store at the mall? The Cheese Palace.   HYDE: “Where curd is king?”   DONNA: The very same.   KELSO: Nah. I saw that place. They’re only hiring for cheese maidens to hand out the free samples. Girl maidens. You know, with boobs and stuff.   Donna looks up at Jackie.   DONNA: Hey, you know who’s an actual girl with boobs and stuff?   JACKIE: Oh, Donna, you don’t have to get a job just for me.   DONNA: I was talking about you, pimple-chin.   JACKIE: Oh, no, no, no, no. I am not getting a job. A job is for poor people. I am a rich person who doesn’t have money. Big diff.   Donna and Hyde roll their eyes.   Kelso looks up at Jackie, leans closer.   KELSO: Hey, is that a blackhead?   Jackie recoils at the thought.   JACKIE: NOOOOOO!   CUT TO:   INT. MALL – DAY   On a mildly busy shopping day, Jackie stands in the courtyard, in full cheese maiden attire, with a tray of free samples. She meekly offers it up to passers-by, who all ignore her.   JACKIE: Cheddar? Cheddar? Cheddar?   FADE TO BLACK   COMMERCIAL   BUMPER   MUSIC NOTE: “Working in the Coal Mine” by Lee Dorsey.   INT. MALL – DAY   Right where we left off. Jackie keeps offering her cheese samples to patrons, none of whom seem interested. But for each effort, Jackie has a rhyme.   JACKIE: Try the Swiss. You can’t miss. Try the Cheddar. It’s even better.   Hyde comes around the corner and stops by Jackie. He looks down at the floor.   HYDE: The floor’s real shiny, and I see your heinie.   Jackie groans, hits him in the chest.   HYDE: Hey, the cheese maiden hit me! Cheese guards, seize her!   JACKIE: God, this job is awful! I’m starting to glisten!   HYDE: You mean, sweat?   JACKIE: No. Girls don’t sweat. Sweating is for boys and pigs. Girls glisten.   HYDE: Like a Christmas ham.   Undeterred by Jackie’s glare, he helps himself to some cheese samples.   JACKIE: Where is Michael? The only reason I have this job is so he and I can be together.   HYDE: In the basement, eating Fritos. (Jackie gasps) Yeah, if he sends in 80 empty Frito bags, he gets a remote-control car.   JACKIE: I’m working for our love, and he’s trying to get a toy car?   HYDE: (shrugs) Hey, bright side is, all that “glisten’s” pushed that blackhead out.   Jackie’s hand goes to her chin as Hyde takes some more cheese.   BUMPER   INT. BASEMENT – DAY   As Donna and Kelso watch TV (Kelso with a bag of Fritos), Fez paces up and down the room, muttering to himself.   FEZ: Thomas. Thomas. Thomas!   He stops, leans on the back of Hyde’s chair.   FEZ (cont’d): What I have to do is show everyone that I am cooler than Thomas. You know, I once saw the Fonzie do something on TV that just might do the trick.   CUT TO:   EXT. BEACH – DAY   FANTASY SEQUENCE. The whole gang, plus Thomas and the two girls from earlier, are gathered on a pier. Fez is the Fonz, complete with leather jacket, while everyone else is dressed for the beach.   FEZ: I am now going to jump over a shark on water skis to prove that I’m the coolest foreign exchange student in Point Place.   THOMAS: (scoffs) He’ll never make it.   DONNA: Shut up. He can do it. He’s – the Fez!   The gang all nod in support.   FEZ: Okay. Here I go. Hit it.   And off he goes, to a series of obviously blue-screened shots miming water skiing and stock footage of a great white shark. Fez takes time to break the fourth wall with a smile and a thumbs up.   Back at the pier, the gang cluster together, Donna holding onto ERIC and Jackie surrounded by Hyde and Kelso.   ERIC: He’s crazy, man! He’s crazy!   HYDE: He’s at the ramp!   An even more artificial shot fakes the act of jumping the shark as Fez cries out in triumph. Cut to him climbing back onto the pier and receiving congratulatory cheers, pats, punches, and hugs by the gang and Thomas’s two girls.   JACKIE: You suck, Thomas!   Thomas’s face runs with artificial sitcom tears.   ERIC: Fez, you jumped that shark, and you’re not even wet.   FEZ: That’s ‘cause I’m cool-a-mundo. Ai!   He gives two thumbs up and grins.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – DAY   Back to reality. Fez is grinning here too. He looks down at Donna and Kelso.   FEZ: What do you think?   DONNA: Not only is that the worst idea I’ve ever heard, it was the worst moment in television history.   FEZ: (beat) Yeah, you’re right. I stopped watching after that episode.   KELSO: I kinda liked it.   Donna gives him a long stare; he inches away from her.   FEZ: THOMAS!   And back to pacing he goes.   ***   EXT. ROAD – NIGHT   Kelso’s Samba out on the dark backwoods’ streets. Fez is behind the wheel, Kelso in the passenger’s seat, and Thomas right behind them, an arm on either chair.   THOMAS: How exciting. My first American road trip. I can’t wait to see Lake Dillhole.   Fez, with a small, sly grin, pulls over and puts her in park.   FEZ: Well, the wait is over. We’re here. (to Thomas) Now, hop out, you crazy son of a gun.   Thomas, beaming, jumps out of the van. Kelso takes a careful look around the area.   KELSO: This is the Michigan border.   FEZ: Well, what do you know?   Thomas looks in through the drivers’ side window.   THOMAS: So where is Lake Dillhole?   FEZ: (pointing) Oh, it’s right there, behind the Get Bent Memorial. So, get bent, dill-hole!   He throws the van back into drive and takes off down the road. He and Kelso share a quiet laugh.   KELSO: That was a sweet burn, man.   FEZ: You don’t have to tell me.   KELSO: (beat) I don’t wanna take away from your moment, but we did just leave a high school kid stranded in the middle of nowhere, and his host parents are probably gonna want to look for him. (beat) And the cops.   He and Fez share a look. Fez spins the wheel, and they both lurch as the van turns around.   CUT TO:   INT. MALL – NIGHT   Jackie on the night shift. She continues to fail at drawing in samplers. Donna watches her with a big smile from the rim of a large plant pot, while Hyde stands just off to her side, sneaking cheese samples as she tries to solicit shoppers.   JACKIE: (to patrons) The Gouda’s so good-a. The Havarti’s a party.   Hyde reaches for a sample further down the tray. Jackie slaps his hand away.   JACKIE (cont’d): Quit it! Steven, why do you keep eating all my cheese?   HYDE:  We’re in Wisconsin. (takes a bite) Hey, this Havarti is a party!   He motions for Donna to come over. She joins them and takes a sample herself.   JACKIE: Oh, my God, this is awful! A few minutes ago, I smelled stinky cheese. And it was me!   HYDE: Hey, I stink after work too. Of course, that stink’s got nothing to do with work. And ganja ain’t no Gouda.   Jackie shakes her head, passes him the whole cheese tray and starts to walk away. Hyde and Donna follow.   HYDE (cont’d): Come on, Jackie. This can’t be that bad.   DONNA: Yeah. And you got this job so you could be with Kelso. I mean, doesn’t that make it satisfying?   JACKIE: NO!   Kelso and Fez come around the corner. Kelso smiles at Jackie, but she holds a finger up before he can say a word.   JACKIE (cont’d): Michael, I love you, but I am not cut out for work. I’m cut out for having rich people give me things. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.   Just as she says this, her MANAGER comes up behind her and presents her with an envelope. He walks back into the store as Jackie opens it up.   JACKIE (cont’d): Oh, my gosh. It’s a check! And that’s my name! Mine!   She shows it off to Hyde, bobbing on her feet. Kelso starts to bob too.   KELSO: (to Jackie) All right, so we can stay together!   JACKIE: Yeah, and I can still be rich!   KELSO: Yeah! You know, we deserve a celebration. Hey, let’s go buy me a remote-control car.   JACKIE: No, Michael. Money doesn’t grow on trees. (gasps) Money doesn’t grow on trees. You know, I think having a job is changing me. Okay, think about it: a whole new me.   HYDE, FEZ, DONNA, & KELSO: (beat) That’d be great.   Jackie pouts at them all, takes back her cheese tray, and heads out into the courtyard.

[fairyscribbles]

Witness. (We’ll do the dishes together, D.O)

Another request done! I hope you enjoy it! <3

-

From the outside, it would look like a completely normal dinner between two newlyweds, until someone would look closer. Until someone would see your leg bouncing up and down, see that his grip on the cutlery was far too tight.

No one could blame either of you, when the sun was going down and you were targeted by one of the most dangerous vampires in the country.

"The food is really good, Irene." That wasn't your name. And as if it belonged to someone else, you smiled softly at the man sitting across from you.

"I'm glad you like it, Ben." That wasn't his name either, but that's how the witness protection program worked. Relocation to a different town, a set of new names to get used to, a whole new appearance that you had to become comfortable with, calling a complete stranger your husband, and all through that still fear the time when the sun ran behind the mountains.

Looking at him sitting across from you, you studied his face. It was so strange to call him that, since the name Kyungsoo became a synonym of savior to you. He didn't look like a Ben. Only the name Kyungsoo fit him. After all, he was the one who ripped the centuries old bloodsucker off you during the raid of one of the biggest blood brothels on the continent.

A raid that you had helped create. A raid that put the blood mate of the owner and dangerous gangster behind bars.

Tap, tap, tap, the heel of your slipper slapped against the floor, almost inaudible to your ears, but most probably annoying to the police officer looking at you. The after-effects of being bitten wear off very slowly, and the itch under your skin was still present, a sultry feeling that coaxed you to find a vampire that could feed on you. Kyungsoo cleared his throat, smiling at you.

"So... how was your day?" you knew you should act as if you were just a normal couple, but how can you answer to a question like this? Of course you stayed at home the whole day, keeping away from the sunlight that could hurt your skin form being used as a blood whore for such a long time.

"It was...I read that book you recommended, it's really nice." you tried to sound excited about it, but reading the tips to self-defense from a vampire wasn't anything that could be categorized as easy reading. And just like the book recommended, you made sure every room had a small stash of religious icons that could be used against the undead soldiers if they would ever breach the threshold of your house. Shaking your head to push those thoughts out, you resumed talking.

"I umm...I also, cooked? And I don't ache that muc-" your statement was cut off by the sharp hiss coming from the werewolf, his eyes staring you down. No abnormal talk at the dinner table, rule #5. You immediately shrunk down, shoulders hunched, biting back the apology that was coming from your throat.

You missed the furrowed brows that sat on Kyungsoo's face, rubbing at his chin. A nervous tick, the only one that let you know that deep inside his mind, he was bemoaning the way he cut you off. There was a very low chance that the house was bugged- he himself had checked. There was even a lesser chance that someone was lurking around the perimeters of the house, waiting for a single clue to let them know who the two of you really were. With another clearing of his throat, Kyungsoo started eating again.

"What else, something interesting on TV?" Kyungsoo tried to restart the conversation, but it felt like it couldn't be saved, and you stood from the table at the same time he spoke.

"I'm not hungry anymore, I'll...I'll just go wash up! Yes, so the food on the pans won't dry up and stuff," your explanation was most definitely lame, but it was easier than to be with the werewolf in the same room in that moment.

You felt immense guilt when talking to Kyungsoo. It has been days since the two of you entered the witness protection program. Days he has spent away from his pack, days he had to spend babysitting a blood whore who is crashing from her high. He never seemed to mind, but you couldn't believe that he was doing this voluntarily.

The raid was a blur in your memories, the only pillar of stability being the grip Kyungsoo had on you as he took you from the red satin room, one arm holding you under your knees and the other's grip in your hair to bury your face in the crook of his neck, to prevent you from seeing what was happening around the two of you. And once you caught a glimpse of your former customer on the bed, ribcage ripped open and heart still fighting the silver stake that was slowly but surely coaxing it to stop beating, you decided that you didn't want to see more.

You don't even know how long it took, but when it was all over, you found yourself in the hospital with other of your co-workers, medical staff fluttering about you in white coats and trying their best to rid you of the bad blood coursing through your veins. Some of the older blood whores weren't happy with it and tried to fight the doctors that were taking away the only source of their short-lived happiness.

This house could be the set of a commercial, you thought as you looked at the bright and cheery tiles, marble green fridge, kitchen counters running under the window leading out to the street. Several utensils were cluttered on the surface, evidence of your effort to cook something edible (you did a good job, even if it needed a bit more seasoning). Glad that Kyungsoo did not follow you, his round eyes seemed to understand whatever you needed at a specific time, you stepped to the sink and began to wash dishes.

There were many rules you were supposed to keep up with- if you remembered well, there were around 25 of them to keep in mind, and thus you thought it was hard sometimes to obey all of them. Some were understandable, such as not leave the house after dark and make sure all the entrances to the house were locked and secure. There were others that did not make sense that much, like close the blinds when you were going to sleep. One would think that having the sunlight enter as quickly as possible would be a good thing to prevent vampires, but you weren't the expert on hiding from a very angry bloodsucker.

Washing dishes was something you always enjoyed, funnily enough. It brought you peace, and you could zone out while the almost hypnotizing circles with a sponge washed all the grime and grease from the utensils, making them as good as new. During that, your mind always cleared, and you stared into nothingness.

And in the nothingness, he stood.

At first you did not notice him- how could you, in the dark setting of the street, nothing seemed out of place. It was only after you realized that it was all too silent, as if someone just froze time that you saw him.

Standing on the other side of the street, partially hidden by a white van, Minseok seemed to attract all the darkness that gathered in the middle of him. Even when he was that far away, you could clearly see his face, already rid of the allure he hid behind when he stole new bloodwhores and seduced potential business partners.

 His hollowed-out cheeks stretched out thin, making his face look ghastlier than you ever saw it. His eyes were huge, a striking red against the white background of his skin, his jaw loose, fangs peeking out.

The edges of your vision became fuzzy as you started shaking, the spoon in your hand cluttering into the sink. Once he knew you saw him, his eyes suddenly turned black, black holes that seemed to suck you from your fake kitchen in your fake home, away from your fake husband and into the bottomless depths of despair. Fear squeezed around your heart when you heard the voice of your previous owner in your soul, promising a very long and painful death for what you had done to his business, to his love, to him.

You felt as if you were caught in the darkness for years, fighting against the shadows that grabbed at your wrists and ankles and throat, that hoped to find any way to get inside you and make you burn from within, until you were yanked back, back from the despair, and back into the fake kitchen of the fake house and into the arms of your fake husband.

Kyungsoo was standing right behind you, arms wrapped loosely around your waist as he ran the tip of his nose over the arch of your neck, plush lips swooping down for an anchoring kiss every now and then. He must've felt you return, as his hands slid down to yours, entwining your shaking fingers with his stable ones.

"We'll do the dishes together, hm?" he said out loud, louder than you thought was necessary. You realized that it wasn't for you, it was for the creature of darkness that slinked back when he saw Kyungsoo standing behind you. No longer under Minseok's power, you let out a breath as if you were underwater for ten minutes.

"O-Okay." trying to gain control of your body was still impossible, and Kyungsoo was the only one that kept up with the pretense of washing dishes, while you held your hands under the warm spray of water to bring life back into them.  

"Are you okay?" this question was much quieter, directed into the skin of cheek, where he pressed another lingering kiss. With the kiss came the calming wave of his scent wafting over you, most possibly trying to battle the scent of death's grip that was on you just moments ago.

"He saw me. He...I don't know..."

You don't know if you gave him permission to enter, you wanted to say, but the words couldn't leave your mouth, as your eyes watered.

Minseok was nowhere in sight. He could be in the house at that moment.

He could be right behind you.

"The dishes will wait until tomorrow, but I won't. Come on, dear, I missed you." more of his performance, you thought as Kyungsoo spun you away from the sink and to the staircase. Before he turned to leave himself, he made sure to press the panic button conveniently pressed under the kitchen counter.

It was only a number of minutes before the other police officers came and made the move to arrest the renegade vampire. A number of minutes that he could make use of and decorate the safehouse with your insides.

Kyungsoo seemed to be doing everything in his power to keep the organs in your body, as he urged you into the master bedroom, ignoring the large bed in the middle of it and heading straight to the walk-in closet. There, in the smallest corner behind an array of white shirts that Ben was supposedly wearing to work on a daily basis, the wall was slightly different. It gave way under the right palm print, and when Kyungsoo pressed his hand against it, the wall revealed a small panic room, just big enough for the two of you.

It seemed to be great timing, because the only sound you heard as the doors shut tight behind the two of you was the front door breaking under the force of Minseok's blow.

The world was swallowed in darkness and silence, and it was eating you alive. You suddenly wished you could hear everything that was happening in the house, because like this, you didn't know where he was, didn't know how close he was to you, if he was standing right in front of your hiding place and working on a way to get inside...

"Shh...you're hyping yourself into a panic attack." Kyungsoo whispered and he ushered you into his embrace. It would be a joke to call this a panic room; it was a panic cupboard, just big enough to fit you and not draw any attention to supernatural intruders. When the monsters outside were strong enough to plow through whole walls, the best way to stay hidden lies in the size of the rooms.

The two of you were sitting, the room barely big enough to not have to tilt your head at an angle. After he made sure that you were inside, Kyungsoo turned to press his back against the entrance and folded over you to shield your body with his own.

"What if he...if he finds us?" your voice was breathless, and all your other musings were shut down by the police officer behind you, chest rumbling against your back in silent warning.

"The force is on the way; this panic room is protected. I'm here, ___. I won't let him get to you, just like I didn't do so all those times before. Just breathe for me. In, and out. Slowly, like this." his chest moved up and down in exaggerated breaths that you tried your best to mimic. You weren't sure if it was the breathing, or the fact that the grip you had on Kyungsoo's arms was able to anchor you, and you didn't let yourself go to a flurry of emotions that would have you screaming out and blocking your breath.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you at dinner," Kyungsoo murmured into your ear, running his fingertips up and down your arms when he was satisfied with your breathing. You almost let out a shaky chuckle. Out of all the things to do, to be apologizing for something like this...

"It's...It's okay, I broke the rule..."

"It's not okay, you were trying to talk about your improving health. I'm sorry I didn't give you the support. I really am happy that you feel much better, though." you hummed, grabbing at the fingers of his hand when they came down to your wrist.

"I'm glad you liked the food." you whispered back, and a ghostly image of a smile appeared on your face.

"That is, if lying isn't a part of the witness protection as well." Kyungsoo chuckled, squeezing at your fingers. Warmth seeped from the sound, and it made your clenched muscles relax.

"I would never let the line of duty get in the way of culinary honesty, ___. I swear, it's as if you didn't even know your husband." he mocked in a shocked tone, and if you had more space, you'd smack him for it.

The lighthearted atmosphere was torn to shreds by a sudden, sharp sound. Three knocks, a pause.

Three more knocks, and a strange sequence that had Kyungsoo pressing at the panel once more. Wordlessly, he helped you get up, offering only a small smile of support.

Off to another city you go.

[mystic-scripture]

New Fic: Rough Riding (Sons of Anarchy)

Chapter 1

Wattpad | FF.net

Chapter 1: Welcome to Charming

California highways were always the best for long drives, especially to motorcyclists. The long stretch of road seemed endless, the wind playing across the rider’s face and tangling poorly prepared hair. The power of the bike vibrating through the very fiber of their being, there is no losing the sense of danger that teases at them flirtatiously as they ride faster, harder, and on more twists and turns than they ever dared before. Unless it was a drive to clear one’s mind, you’ll find a smile hidden behind the eyes of any rider, unless they have shades on to hide their joy from you. Hidden behind the badass biker scowl there is always a joy for the ride.

At least that was the feeling for the woman, her brother and her friend. Two of whom were  trapped in a van that held their bikes along with supplies belonging to the third boldly speeding ahead of them on his own Dyna. Both girls glared at him, wanting to have the cool night air skim across their skin and not deal with the stuffy rental that smelled of gas station sushi and the aftermath of such bad decisions. They had been in the car for so long that they’d gotten used to it, but every pit stop they were slapped with the putrid odor while Tank rode freely, his wavy, shoulder length hair billowing behind them as he stupidly rode sans a helmet. A further insult to the girls and how they were trapped.

“We better get there soon.” The passenger grumbled, her youthful, pixie-like face hardening with her frown and her pool water blue eyes hardening at the tanned figure in front of them. “Or I’m stealing his Dyna at the next stop.”

A brief and rough snort escaped the driver’s throat as she tried to imagine it. “I’d pay money to see that, not gonna lie. You know Tank won’t go easy on you because you’re a girl.”

“I can take him.” Came the defense with a seemingly indifferent bob of the shoulders.

“Ren, he’s got a foot and I’m pretty sure a little more than a hundred-fifty pounds on you.” A fuller bottom lip pushed past it’s top lip in a concern pout. “He also has, ya know… a rep when it comes to fist fights.”

“You say that like we don’t either.” Thin lips pulled upwards mischievously, Siren’s voice still unaffected. “Besides, I was our Sergeant at Arms, wasn’t I? Thanks for The lack of faith, Vix.”

Vixen Tirado let out a tired sigh, running her hand through a mess of chestnut brown hair. She new perfectly well how capable the raven haired girl was. Her rail-rod thin frame mixed with her youthful face and short stature made it easy for people to underestimate her. No, Vix knew better, but she also knew her brother; he wasn’t named ‘Tank’ for no reason. After a moment of careful thought, not wanting to insult the only female she’d opened up to, she let out a small sigh with an airier laugh this time.

“I mean he does lack the agility and reflexes that you do.” She offered a sidelong glance at the girl smirking next to her. “But if anybody is gonna knock my bro on his ass, it’s gonna be me.”

Both women laughed at that, Siren fully aware of the sibling rivalry that was known to get physical. Vix was never a tomboy,  nor was she a girly girl, but she refused to live up to the Old Lady Example of her mother or any of the sweetbutts that she was subsequently raised by. No, she was going to ride on her own, and made sure she found women that felt the same way. Her brother, though sometimes concerned about what other men would say, always supported her in this, and taught her everything their dad taught him. Thus begat the never ending competition.

“Okay, that’s fair.” Siren nodded, turning to look out at the span of desert around them. “When he invited us to join him on his run Charming I thought I was gonna get a decent ride in. Not this delivery bullshit.”

“Yeah, or that he’d have a brother or two,” Vix grumbled, amber eyes checking her mirrors for what felt like the millionth time this trip. “But no, he tricked us into this fuckery. They must be using up all the prospects for something else.”

“And here I thought it was that SAMRO finally decided to go Co-ed. Or that a certain Tacoma resident was missing you.” A pale hand went to cover a doll-like face that held no real innocence in the mock expression. “Oh shit, did I say both of those out loud?”

Vix let out a snort, shaking her head at her friend’s eccentric ways, doing her best to. “You know you did, ‘mana.”

“Oh, I must have struck a nerve! The spanglish begins.” Though Siren new that her friend was simply calling her a sister, she needed to live up to the name. “I mean, it’s great that you are bilingual, it helps me to understand your tolerance level.”

Her response was a nod coupled with a small hum of affirmation, leaving the other girl to turn on the radio and sing along with the music. Siren was known to babble at times, leaving Vixen to quietly listen and add to the conversations as she saw fit. She knew that her friend didn’t have a lot of people to talk to, and though Vix didn’t say much, what she did have to say usually helped to sort all the noise in Siren’s head.

About eight songs later, they both straightened up at the redwood sign coming up to the right of Tank. They both turned to each other with smiles on their faces in spite of their previous complaints. The small town of Charming opened up to them, small shops lining the streets, and giving way to houses and more business related real estate. Free of commercial real estate, the whole town was full of small businesses and family stores that have been around forever. Their town slogan wasn’t wrong, the name did adequately say it all. Vix was sure there was more to the town that met the eye, based on her business here, but the look of the town was quaint and homey. Siren seemed more than a little excited about it while Vix prefered being back in Tacoma with the long runs to go shopping and the open air around everything.

They soon pulled up to Teller-Morrow Automotive Repair, turning into the open gate with ease. Vix jumped out of the cab as soon as she took the keys out the ignition, stalking her way over to Tank so quickly, her hair came up in down in a ripple of waves around her shoulders. She waited for him to back his bike into the line of other bikes, with her hand held out expectantly.

“Have a nice drive?” He smirked, his hardened face opening up with the expression.

“I had a drive.” She responded, looking pointedly at her empty palm. “I’ll have a better one when my Harley is free from being stuck with whatever we brought here.”

Tank gave out a deep, but jovial laugh, keeping the keys she was looking for tucked away in his kutte. When she ground her teeth at him in annoyance, otherwise not moving, he let out a sigh, a tired hand running through wind-tangled strands. Stepping around the bike, he wrapped a burly arm around her lean frame, squeezing her close for a second before releasing her.

“Gotta talk to the Prez and the SAMTAC contact first, Cyn.” The timbre of his voice meant to be more calming than his normal gruff tone, but it set her on edge even more. “Can’t have you two opening the truck without them. Already took a chance bringing you here.”

“Right, and I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that Koz was away and you had no one to babysit us.” Vix punched him in the shoulder. “ Which is really not needed given that we are only a couple years younger. Also, cut it out with the real name shit, I have an alias for a reason.”

“You and I both know that Melly would have ended up needing you to bail her out, or you’d get into a fight after drinking too much, and without any Sons to have your back…” He sighed. “Look, I get that you miss your charter, I do, but they’ve been patched over by a group you didn’t like, so you left. You need to start following our rules again.”

“I didn’t even get to wear the full rocker, Tank.” She crossed her arms, not liking to be reminded of that. “Stupid Steel Sirens stole away my chance.”

“They also would have taken Melly’s name away from her if she stayed, so don’t act like you’re the only one who gets to be angry.” A large hand gripped her shoulder briefly. “But come on, she’s staying by the truck, talking to their prospect it looks like, let’s get this done and we can figure out accommodations.”

“Great, another thing I could have done had I gotten a chance to ride.”

The woman’s grumbling was akin to a teenager, not someone twice as old, but Tank took it in stride, letting out another chuckle as he lead his sister toward the clubhouse. The lounge opened up to a gameroom with a bar to the side, and a set of large double doors closing anyone who didn’t belong to the club out of church. In it sat the redwood table that the Sons of this charter sat at for votes and important meetings. His sister would never see the inside of that room, no matter how much she wished she could. It was a big part of their old man’s life, having been one of the first Nine before moving to Tacoma to start off the Washington charter.

He felt his sister stop next to him, her body rigid and full of tension. He held back the need to hold her, knowing that it would only make things worse. They haven’t been to Charming before, or if they have, they were too young for her to remember anybody, so it confused Tank as he watched her reaction. When he followed her gaze he instantly new why, and cursed himself for not asking who it was.

Standing at the bar, a shot in his hand, stood his brother in club as well as charter. Baggy jeans rested on his hips, his knife holstered where it should be, and a gun on the other side. He wore a grey reaper crew t-shirt under his kutte, with his patches sewn in place with care in spite of their dirty state. Around his bald head coiled an inked Snake, one that she’d done herself, giving him two pairs of dark eyes to look at her.

They both stood unmoving, the mostly empty room becoming tense. To anyone observing they looked relaxed enough, but Tank knew them both far too well to let it stay how it stood. Moving his hand to clear his throat, he was saved by Siren bursting through the door with Clay in tow. How the small girl knew who to find, he’d never know, though his guess was that she fluttered her eyelashes at the prospect who was close behind them. Pointing to Tank, she smiled and whispered something to Clay before breaking into a skip and stealing the SAMTAC member’s shot.

“Heya TK,” She greeted, downing the shot with a grin. “How’s Cali treatin’ ya?”

And just like that, whatever hold they had on each other broke. Vixen’s body relaxed a fraction of an inch, and moved to introduce herself to the Prospect (Half-Sack he heard him introduce himself as) and Clay. Tank let out a sigh, moving to his brother, and wrapping an arm around his surrogate sister thankfully. As he reached them, they were in relaxed conversation.

“That was the last of the good stuff, Kid.” There was a frown stretched across his features before he turned to Tank. “‘Sup Killa?”

Tank clasped arms with Happy Lowman, giving his brother a friendly pat against the back. “Wishin’ I’d asked Koz who they sent down here before agreeing to this. Would have brought different company.” It wasn’t quite an apology, he didn’t need to give one, but he hated to see his two families collide like this. “Or given out proper warnings.”

“Can’t avoid each other forever.” Hap shrugged. “Haven’t really talked since the patch over.”

“That’s because you’ve been more Nomad than SAMTAC.” Siren said. A fresh bottle of tequila in her hand. “Found more of what you call the good stuff for ya, Hap.”

“Whose side you on, Reddy? Cuz honestly I just got mixed signals.” Tank joked, accepting a shot glass from the petite woman.

“She’s on the side of whoever helps her at the time.” Hap smirked, taking the bottle from her and pouring drinks. “Or she’s jus’ good at the whole neutral thing.”

“To quote something Vix taught me…” the girl said, looking to her friend for a second her eyes the only indicator of her worry. “¿Porque no los dos?” (Why not Both?)

“Yeah, yeah” The boys laughed her smug comment away, before Hap ruffled her hair and they followed Clay into Chapel. The doors closed behind them, and Siren moved towards her friend.

“You good? I know I made a joke about it, but I honestly didn’t know he was here.” She bit her lip, and looked into the amber and olive tones that swirled dangerously in Vix’s eyes. “Judging by the conversation I just heard, I know that Tank wasn’t trying to pull one over on you either.”

Vix nodded slowly, blinking as she turned away from the closed doors and started to move outside. “Well, it’s like you both said, He’s been more nomad than anything, but we can’t avoid each other forever, can we?”

Siren paused for a second, simultaneously shocked and guilty that she had heard it. After recovering, she trotted after her, wishing that just this once her friend would open up and talk to her. “It doesn’t mean you have to be okay with it, or that this Club business has to force you into it.”

Vix laughed at that, opening the truck door and pulling her old kutte around her shoulders. She always took pride in the life, and dressed the part, something that earned her respect among the boys, and jealousy from all the sweetbutts. She’d pulled most of the club official things from it, the Daring Divas of Tacoma- hell as far as they knew even the Daughters of Chaos- no longer existing. She kept her charter patch on though, as well as her Daughters of Discord one that proudly marked her as a woman who’s killed for her club before. The back no longer bore the rockers, but instead was a collage of biking and other patches, the two on her left breast the only thing that showed her old loyalties. One the right there was an embroidered fox that’s tale wound around her biking name.

All the other girls would see it as her asserting dominance, or pretending to be someone who was more than just a hang around, but Siren new better; This was Cynthia Tirado’s armor just as much as it was a second skin. The other girl pulled her hair out from under the collar and walked up to her friend, pulling a pack of smokes out and a lighter.

“Care for a Cig?” She offered, nodding her head towards the picnic table that sat outside the clubhouse doors. “I know I could use one after that drive.”

“Somehow, I doubt your sudden craving of the Nicc is just from that ride.” The paler girl mused, following in her footsteps anyway.”

“It would just be the ride if you and Tank would stop poking the bear.”

Vixen spoke plainly, wrapping her lips around her cigarette, taking a long and heavy drag from it the second it was lit. She sighed out the smoke, stepping onto the bench and sitting at the table. She offered Siren the box and lighter, knowing that she’d take one. The brunette wasn’t much of a tobacco smoker, but she always kept a box around for social situations or ones like this where she didn’t have a joint on her. The two sat in silence, Siren clearly wanting an elaboration on the comment, and Vix tried to figure out what that was. Relying on the calming qualities of the cancerous stick, she blew the most recent drag’s smoke to the side, turning to face her friend.

“Hap and I are fine; have been for years now.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ren droned, puffing out a smoke with a look stating she didn’t believe her. “Sure is easy to say that when you’ve both spend the past five years apart. Him going Nomad right after it all and you throwing yourselves into prospecting into the daughters. And the two of you doing your tattooing shit, and random hookups with people you both pretend are the other.”

The final thing was said with a knowing smirk, making Vixen groan out. She wasn’t one to openly talk about things, let alone her complicated past with the Tacoma Killer, but Siren was too goddamn observant for her own good. She took a few puffs before stamping out the quickly killed cigarette in the ashtray next to her hip. Vix talked about very few things, but the Happy case was a thick file tucked in a small cabinet along with her daddy issues and emotional detachment. They were red tapped as confidential until a yet to be determined date.

“We all have have our coping methods.” She said, feeling her skin prickle around her shoulders uncomfortably.

“Doesn’t always make them good or effective.” Siren stamped her own cig out, a small frown pulling at her delicate features. “Listen, Cyn all joking and banter aside you know you can always-”

“Talk to you about my deep seeded issues and relationship related trauma,” Vix finished for her, having heard the speech too many times. “I know, Ren. I just can’t.”

“You say that, do you really-”

“Enough Ren.”

This time the comment was snapped, ending the train of conversation. She ficked her lighter on, dancing her fingers back and forth across the flame. She waited out the various faces her friend made, and the stammered attempts to restart the conversation, her face devoid of motion as she took in her surroundings. The lot at this point was mostly empty; two or three non club bikers and the prospect working in the garage and more than the people they’d seen worth of bikes lined up in a row. Vix wanted hers out of the back of the truck along with whatever the hell her brother was delivering to the mother charter.

Her eyebrows perked up as a Caddy rolled in and an older looking woman jump out before the vehicle had fully stopped. The men came out, including the owners of the rest of the bikes, meeting her halfway. The conversation was hushed and quick, but there was an urgency in all of their forms. Tank turned to the girls at the table, muttering something to a blonde with a clasp of the shoulder. As the group disbanded, the older Tirado made his way toward them, his face taking on the more dangerous look of something serious happening around him. Vix stood up to meet him halfway, tucking her things into her kutte and her hands into her back pocket.

“That looked more important than an emergency car repair.” She stated watching the woman and the blonde take off. “Those the rest of Morrow’s family?”

“Jax never took Clay’s name, and Gemma tacked it on to the Teller, but yes on both accounts.” He jerked his thumb to the warehouse. “You and Melly hang out here for a bit. I gotta take the cargo straight to the customers, and then meet up with Jax at St. Thomas if he needs anything. Gonna be a longer stay than I thought.”

“Oh good thing I packed my saddle bags then.” She nodded. “You better take care of my goddamn bike. I’ll behave up here as that mandate is followed.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Sis.” He smirked, dropping a kiss to her temple before hugging Siren. He muttered the next into her hair, but Vix still heard it. “Make sure she doesn’t cause trouble, yeah? Fuckin’ trip is gonna be long enough without her making things worse.”

“Course.” She chirped, earning a glare from the other woman. “I’ll even make sure she doesn’t hussle the people here too hard.”

“Great, first I’m places under club arrest by my brother, and now getting all possible fun ripped away by my sister.” She spun on her heel with a frown, marching off towards the club house door. “Guess I’ll just drink myself into a coma or something equally as boring.”

“Love you Vix!” Tank called out, laughter clearly in his voice.

“Fuck you too, Tank.”

[this-darkness-light]

Critical Incident Chapter 1

Read it on Ao3!

Pairing: Fritz Howard/Gavin Q. Baker III Rating: Explicit Fandom: The Closer/Major Crimes Word Count: 10,920 Summary: Gavin is taken hostage by two criminals on the run from the FBI, and it’s up to Fritz to save him.

Tags: AU - canon compliant, Major Crimes era, Fritz is still in the FBI though, because I prefer that, kidnapping, hostage situation, bondage, I’m a sick fuck and I cannot lie, BAMF Fritz, some angst

Warnings: non-consensual touching, but the bastard gets his comeuppance, no rape in this fic! 

Tagging: @brieflymaximumprincess -.-.-.-.-Chapter One: The Plot-.-.-.-.- Gavin has waved the last client of the day out of his office and is finishing up the attorney/client contract over a cup of fabulously delicious and much needed espresso when his cell phone rings. Saving his progress, he tugs it out of the jacket of his gray Armani suit and takes a sip of his drink as he checks the caller I.D. Warmth blossoms in his chest when he sees Fritz’s name and picture on the screen. 

Smiling to himself, he swipes his thumb to answer and leans back in his leather rolling chair, staring out the far window at the blazing summer afternoon sky. 

“Hey babe. What’s up?”

“Have you seen the news?” Fritz says without preamble, sounding like a harbinger of doom.

Gavin frowns and tugs the phone away from his ear long enough to throw it some major side-eye. Rude. “Well hello to you too,” he says, swiveling around idly in his chair. Sunlight glinting off the glass coffee table in front of the brown leather new-client sofa stabs his eyes. Wincing, he turns to face the window to his left and stares down at the cars crawling like ants along the already congested streets.

“Just…if you’re near a TV, turn on the news.”

A dozen questions jumble together on the tip of Gavin’s tongue, but the tone of Fritz’s voice tells him not to ask, just do it. Rolling his eyes and grabbing the tiny porcelain cup, because this is not a conversation he can have without caffeine, Gavin sighs himself to his feet and wanders down the tastefully decorated hall to the breakroom. 

But he really can’t help himself. He just has to know. “And why am I going somewhere where I might actually have to interact with my colleagues?” he asks, deliberately slurping the espresso loud enough that Fritz can hear that he’s interrupting Gavin’s post-client wind-down ritual with his gruff, vague orders that put him in danger of having to socialize. 

“Are you near a TV yet?”

Gavin clutches the phone harder than strictly necessary and shakes his head as the beginnings of a headache start squeezing his temples. Sometimes dating an FBI agent has its drawbacks. Sure, the sex is great. Fabulous, actually. But moments like these, where Gavin is abruptly slapped in the face with the reminder that he’s a mere civilian while Fritz is a government agent make him —

He loses his train of thought as he steps into the breakroom and finds several lawyers and paralegals clustered around the wide-screen television. Quirking his brows and canting his head to the side, Gavin absently rinses his empty cup and joins the small crowd. Lucky for him he’s taller than everyone else and can see the screen just fine. A female news anchor in a stylish navy blue business suit addresses the camera as pictures of two men fade into view above her left shoulder: a bald, clean-shaven Hispanic man with cold dead eyes like a shark, and a thickset white man whose face is smothered by a tangled, reddish-brown beard. At the bottom of the screen, a ribbon of text reads ‘Breaking: Two Suspects Escape Custody, Three FBI Agents In Critical Condition.’

“ — were arrested under suspicion of engaging in organized crime, including murder for hire, extortion, kidnapping, and drug trafficking,” the newscaster is saying. The screen flicks to an aerial scene outside the FBI field office. Chaos reigns on the ground as people dart to and fro while others huddle in small groups. Black-and-white LAPD squad cars and black government-issue SUVs whisk into the parking lot or back out onto the street, lights flashing and sirens wailing.

The news anchor begins describing “frenzied” efforts to capture the criminals, but Gavin doesn’t need to see or hear anymore to know why Fritz is so on edge. Backing quietly away from the lawyers glued to the screen before anyone can see him and start a conversation, he leaves the breakroom and heads back to his office. 

“So,” he says as he sinks back into his chair, “I suppose this means you’ll be working late tonight.” Though why Fritz couldn’t just say that to begin with is beyond Gavin. Chewing his cheek so doesn’t actually say that and make Fritz’s day even worse with his snark, he slips off his glasses and and fumbles around in the side desk drawer for some pain killers.

“Pretty much,” Fritz says as Gavin grabs one of the water bottles displaying the firm’s name on the label (so vulgar) and twists off the cap. “Could you — hold on a second.” Something rustles and scratches across the connection and muffled voices rumble in the background, brisk and clipped and, on Fritz’s part, apologetic. As Gavin pops the pills and gulps them down with a grimace, he realizes that Fritz is probably not even supposed to be talking to him right now. The fact that Fritz took the time out of an undoubtedly stressful and highly classified situation to call Gavin and make sure he knew what was going on makes his chest tighten, and he’s glad Fritz couldn’t hear his mental sniping.

Cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder, he jerks the computer mouse around to banish the screen saver and gets back to work on the new client contract to give himself something to do while waiting for Fritz. Muffled voices drone in his ear as he finishes it up a few minutes later, prints it out, and slips it into a blue manila file folder for medical malpractice suits. That done, he shuts down his computer and busies himself tidying his desk, humming tunelessly to himself.

He’s in the middle of organizing the top drawer when Fritz comes back on the line. “Sorry about that,” he says, voice rough and quick. “Anyway. I need you to do me a huge favor and go to the Police Administration Building after you get done at work.”

Gavin, who’s organizing the pens by size and color, squints at that. “Why?” he asks, a handful of pens poised in front of him. 

Fritz sighs, and Gavin knows he’s scrubbing a hand down his face. “Just do it, please? For me?” he asks, a note of desperation slipping into his voice.

And suddenly Gavin realizes what this is all about. Smiling and laughing softly to himself, he plops the pens into their designated slots and shuts the drawer with a snap, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leans back in his chair. “Sweetie, there are more people in Los Angeles than there are in some states. Some countries, even. I doubt those suspects of yours will randomly stumble across me of all people.” 

“I’d still feel better if you were somewhere surrounded by cops.”

The last thing Gavin wants to do is bother Sharon and her team over something so ridiculous. There are bad guys on the loose, hide me! No, Gavin Q. Baker has more dignity than to go running to Sharon like a sniveling little child. Besides, they’re probably involved in the manhunt, supporting the FBI. Showing up there now would be pointless. “Do these people even know where we live? Or where my firm is?” he asks, idly playing with his tie as he stares at the ceiling, imagining patterns in the random splatter of dots on the tiles. 

“No, but —”

“Then why does it matter where I go? I’m a grown-ass man, Fritz. I think I’ll be fine by myself for a few hours.”

Fritz sighs heavily. “Gavin. Please, just —”

“Love you, Fritz. Bye-bye.” He hangs up before Fritz can protest and tucks his phone back in his jacket pocket so he won’t be tempted to answer if Fritz calls back, which he does. Humming under his breath, Gavin collects his keys and his wallet and lets the call go to voicemail. Really, Fritz is just being paranoid. It’s beyond silly for Fritz to worry about something so improbable, but his sweet concern for Gavin’s safety makes Gavin feel light and weightless all the same.

After twisting the blinds shut to block out the sun, he flicks off the light switch, shuts and locks his office door, and heads out. As he passes the secretary’s desk in the waiting area, footsteps echoing on the white quartz and black granite tiles, she farewells him with a soft “Be safe, Mr. Baker.” Shooting her a broad smile and a playful wink, he pushes open the heavy glass door and heads for the stairwell, waggling his fingers cheerfully in the air.

Fritz — at least he assumes it’s Fritz — calls three more times on his way to the parking garage. Gavin ignores it, drumming his fingers against his leg as he strides through the lobby and out into the relatively fresh air. Honestly, everyone is being absolutely ridiculous. The escapees have probably crawled back into their dark, sleazy criminal underworld by now and won’t poke their heads back out for a good long time. No matter what Fritz might think, Gavin seriously doubts they’re going to spontaneously swarm his car at a red light and drag him into a white panel van or whatever. As he unlocks the door of his burgundy Lexus and slips behind the wheel, he decides to go home. That way he can tell Fritz ‘I told you so’ when nothing happens, and hopefully goad him into dragging Gavin into their bedroom and pounding him into the mattress. The idea makes him warm and tingly and he smiles at his plans for the evening.

Just as Gavin predicts, the drive home is quiet and criminal-free. He spends most of it singing along with the radio and button-mashing the presets whenever boring songs or commercials come on. Not even the typical rush-hour traffic jams spoil his mood. As he finally pulls into the tree-lined gravel driveway of their Laurel Canyon home, his phone buzzes in his pocket and gives the telltale chirp of a text message. After cutting the engine, he takes a moment to stretch and roll the stiffness out of his neck, then tugs out his phone as he locks the car and strolls toward the house, swinging his keys around in his free hand with a rhythmic jangle.

It’s a message from Fritz. CALL ME RIGHT NOW. I MEAN IT!! Gavin snorts fondly. Really, all caps and two exclamation points? My my, how dramatic. Fritz should audition for Days of Our Lives; he’d fit right in. Still, he better call before Fritz has an aneurism or starts shitting bricks. Ha. Fritz shitting bricks. He smirks and chuckles at the admittedly childish rhyme as an old navy blue sedan rounds the corner, engine spluttering like the hillside roads are overwhelming the transmission.

The engine groans to a stop behind Gavin. A door opens and footsteps crunch on the gravel as he swipes a thumb through his contacts list for Fritz’s number. But they have neighbors on either side, so he pays it no mind until he glances around, waiting for Fritz to pick up, and realizes that both of the neighbors’ cars are already there. A slight chill shivers down his spine, but he shakes the feeling off. Fritz’s paranoia is rubbing off on him, that’s all. Obviously one of the neighbors is expecting company, he tells himself as he unconsciously lengthens his stride, nothing sinister about that. Stop overreacting. 

Fritz picks up after two more rings. “Gavin! Where are you?” His words shoot out in a rapid fire jumble that Gavin barely catches.

“I just got home,” Gavin says as he jogs up the short flight of steps up to the front porch and thumbs through the keys for the one to the front door. Behind him the footsteps quicken their pace, pounding into the gravel, and despite himself his breath hitches as his pulse stutters into overdrive. His palms are suddenly clammy and he fumbles the keys. Swearing under his breath, he snatches them up and jams the house key into the lock.

“Shit. Get inside, right now, and lock the door.”

“I’m trying, I just —” The lock snicks open at the same time something sharp pricks between his shoulder blades. Gavin freezes and grips the keys so hard his knuckles turn white as adrenaline floods his veins like ice water.

“Hang up the phone, blondie,” a deep voice hisses into his ear. Gavin shudders and stares unseeingly at the door, blinking rapidly. Oh god, Fritz was right. He was right. What are the odds? What the hell are the actual odds? A strangled laugh tries to punch out his throat, but he chokes it down.

The man jabs the blade into Gavin’s back hard enough to draw blood, making him flinch and gasp in pain. “I said, hang up the fucking phone.”

Gavin’s hands are shaking so hard it’s a wonder he hasn’t dropped it. Swallowing harshly, he slowly lowers his phone in a series of short, jerky movements, letting it dangle limply at his side. Fritz’s tinny voice echoes in the silence, frantically calling Gavin’s name. Shit. Fritz is probably miles away, and he has no idea what’s happening. Shit, shit, shit.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Gavin lunges sideways off the porch and lands next to a copse of trees. Jerking the phone back to his ear, he hurtles toward the neighbor’s yard, hoping she’s near a window and can see what’s happening. “Fritz, they’re here, at the house,” he heaves out as he jumps over the row of short hedges dividing their properties. “They —”

Something slams into Gavin’s jaw, snapping his head back. His phone flies through the air and clatters onto the road as he stumbles and trips over his own feet, flinging his arms out to stay upright. If he hits the ground he’s done, he’s dead. Lurching to his right, he manages to catch his balance and flings himself toward the phone, scooping it up — he can’t leave it, it’s his only connection to Fritz — and sprints across the lawn to the neighbor’s house, a cry for help on his lips. But his throat is dry and his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth and nothing comes out when he tries to scream, like he can’t get enough air in his lungs.

He’s almost to her front door when a hulking arm hooks around Gavin’s chest and yanks him back against an equally hulking torso, and the cold, sharp metal of a knife presses against his throat. Gasping, he cringes away from the blade, instinctively clutching at the man’s arm with his free hand and squirming to escape his grasp, but the man’s hold on Gavin is firm. “Stop moving or I’ll kill you right now,” the man hisses into Gavin’s ear. With a twist of his wrist he presses the blade harder against Gavin’s neck, teasing over his jugular. Gavin stills, nearly hyperventilating as his pulse thrashes in his ears.

“Come on, man. We don’t got all day,” a lightly accented voice calls from the sedan. Hispanic, maybe? Gavin can’t really tell, but he doesn’t have the chance think about it too much as the man with the knife yanks him around and drags him toward the old blue sedan. Aside from his captors’ car, the street is empty. Deserted as a church on Monday. Where are the neighbors? Why is nobody seeing this, stopping this, helping him? This is a nice neighborhood, a good part of town. Things like this don’t happen here. So why is this happening? Why?

As they near the car, the man holding Gavin at knifepoint shifts the blade to the back of his neck and shoves him forward. “Open the door and get in.” His tone promises a world of pain if Gavin disobeys.

Gulping in a breath to try and calm himself down, Gavin does as he’s told. He slides across a spliced vinyl seat with chunks of the underlying foam cushion jabbing through the cracks, then flattens himself against the opposite door, clasping his phone to his chest with shaking hands. The inside reeks of sweat and body odor and stale cigarette smoke. 

Grinning through the scruffy reddish-brown knots snarling his face, the man who snatched Gavin grabs his upper arm as soon as he’s inside and pulls Gavin away from the door, wrenching a shrill yelp from his throat. He’s brawnier than the mug shot on the news gave him credit for. Bulging muscles strain against the sleeves of his stained black t-shirt.

“Hey there, blondie,” the man says, waggling the knife in Gavin’s face in a friendly reminder that he’s now a hostage. “You’re kind of cute.” He flashes Gavin a yellow, tobacco-stained grin and tugs him close enough that Gavin can smell the acrid stench of cigarettes on his breath. Gavin pulls a face and jerks back, wanting to be next to this vulgar oaf as much as he wants to jump in a sewer in his best Armani suit. The man just snickers and hauls him forward again, wrapping a meaty arm around his shoulders so he can’t pull away and stroking his hand along Gavin’s bicep. A ball of lead forms in his gut and bile burns the back of his throat. He swallows it down harshly, because as satisfying as it might be to throw up on his captor, he’s pretty damn sure he’ll stab Gavin for it or slit his throat or stab him and then slit his throat for good measure, and what little short-term satisfaction he’d get is just not worth dying for.

Sirens howl in the near distance like a pack of wolves on the hunt. The bearded man tenses and squeezes Gavin’s shoulder, looking fixedly down the street as though expecting a throng of cops to swing around the corner. A faint glimmer of hope breaks through the smoggy vapors of fear suffocating Gavin’s chest, and he just knows that Fritz is out there right now, looking for him. Fritz will rescue him. He must have known the criminals were in the neighborhood; that must be why he told Gavin to go anywhere but home, only Gavin was too goddamn proud to listen. Please be out there, he says silently to himself like a mantra. Please, please, please.

To Gavin’s extreme disappointment and the criminals’ obvious relief, no cops show up. The driver jerks around in his seat and scowls back at them, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his bald head. “Stop fucking around back there and tie him up.” His voice snaps like a whip.

Grumbling under his breath, the bearded criminal forces Gavin to kneel in the foot space amidst a heap of old fast food wrappers and discarded tissues and cigarette butts, then slots himself behind him, far too close for Gavin’s liking. He chokes on the cloud of B.O. and tobacco that shrouds him and tries to pull away, but the cool metal of another knife slides beneath his chin like a dangerous promise. Gavin’s heart snaps against his chest, mind numb and paralyzed with fear, and he hugs his phone to himself like a lifeline.

Of course the driver notices, because Gavin’s luck is currently for shit. Fast as a snake striking a mouse, he snatches the phone out of Gavin’s hands and tosses it onto the passenger seat out of his reach. “Can’t have you calling for help,” he says with a sneer, pinning Gavin in place with his cold, shark-eyed gaze. “Now put your hands up.”

Mindful of the blade pricking at the juncture of his throat and jaw, Gavin gives a small jerky nod to signal his cooperation and slowly raises his shaking hands to the level of his ears. He’s too afraid his voice will crack or jump an octave if he tries to speak. A pained whimper escapes his lips as the bearded criminal wrenches his hands behind his back, cinching them together with something cool and smooth, like a leather belt. It’s so tight he can feel his hands going numb from loss of circulation.

“You look good tied up,” the bearded criminal whispers against the back of his neck as he manhandles Gavin back onto the seat and drapes his massive arm around him again. “I like it.” Gavin shudders and squeezes his eyes shut to block it all out. This is just a dream. Just a bad dream. He fell asleep at his desk and is having a nightmare based on the news. He’ll wake up anytime now and laugh about it later with Fritz while they’re cuddling in post-coital bliss.

A cacophony of sirens and squealing tires explodes in the quiet street. Gavin snaps his eyes open in time to see a pack of squad cars and black SUVs careen around the corner and skid to a halt, surrounding the sedan. Warmth jolts through his body and his breath hitches as uniformed officers pour out of the cars, guns trained on the sedan, screaming orders for the criminals to come out with their hands up. The police! Yes! Oh thank god. Gavin cranes his neck to see if Fritz is leading the pack, or maybe Sharon and her team. Maybe both. Both is good.

Before he can process what’s happening, the bearded criminal yanks Gavin in front of him like a human shield and positions him so he’s behind the gap between the driver and passenger seats, in full view of the cops outside. A muscled arm snakes itself around Gavin’s waist, pulling him flush against the criminal’s chest, and the sharp edge of a knife jabs against his pulse point. “Back off or blondie here’s dead,” the bearded criminal shouts, angling the blade so it catches the late afternoon light. 

Gavin winces at the assault to his eardrums. He has no idea if the cops can hear anything, but they get the gist nonetheless. From his new vantage point, Gavin watches as the nearest officers exchange wide-eyed looks and slowly shuffle back, obviously waiting for someone in charge to tell them how to handle this unexpected situation. 

For what seems like hours, nothing happens. The cops confer quietly outside, casting furtive frowns at the car. Gavin locks eyes with one of the officers but flushes and quickly lowers his gaze, hating how exposed he is, out on display like he’s some kind of goddamn trophy. Suddenly he’s glad Fritz isn’t here to see him like this, so helpless and weak. Especially after Fritz warned him, practically begged him to go to the precinct. God, he wishes he’d just listened for once instead of being so stubborn. 

Movement outside pulls him from his thoughts, and he looks up to see a tall, dark-haired man in a blue FBI jacket striding forward through the clustered uniformed cops, a bullhorn clutched at his side. Gavin’s heart plummets into his stomach as he realizes who it is and he pulls back, needing to hide before he’s seen, but the driver reaches back and grabs a fistful of his hair to hold him in place at the same time the bearded criminal slices the blade deeper into his neck. He flinches as blood trickles down his neck.

Outside, Agent Fritz Howard raises the bullhorn to his lips. “Israel Espinoza. Joseph McCray,” he says in a deep, authoritative voice that would have Gavin burning up for entirely different reasons under very different circumstances. “Release your —” Fritz’s jaw drops and his eyes widen. “Gavin,” he chokes out, voice strangled even with the bullhorn amplifying the volume. 

Every eye on the street swivels onto Gavin, burning into him like a thousand laser beams. A hot flood of shame washes over him and he can’t bear to look Fritz in the eye. Biting his lip almost hard enough to draw blood, he hunches his shoulders and stares at Fritz’s shiny black shoes. God, he hates himself for letting this happen. For putting Fritz in this position. At this point he’d give anything to make it all end, to just make it stop.

The driver, whose name is apparently Israel Espinoza, slaps the side of his head, and with a start Gavin realizes that he asked him a question. “I said, you know this guy? Answer me,” he snarls, shaking Gavin when he doesn’t immediately reply. The blade snicks his skin again, and Gavin flinches as another stream of blood joins the first.

“I — yes, yes I know him,” he gasps out. Apparently this isn’t good enough, because Espinoza slaps him harder. “How?” 

Gavin knows he should lie and tell them that Fritz is a friend or a distant cousin, anything but the truth, but even now, even here, he just can’t make himself do it. Licking his dry lips, he swallows harshly and says, “He’s…my partner.

”Espinoza’s brows furrow as he glances from Gavin to Fritz and back again. Then a slow, wicked grin settles on his face as he realizes exactly what Gavin means by ‘partner,’ and he grabs Gavin’s phone from the passenger seat, waggling it in the air. Fritz gets the gist and digs his phone out of his pants pocket. Moments later the shrill ringtone fills the car.

“I got your boy here, Agent,” Espinoza says, canting his head at Gavin without taking his eyes off Fritz. A sour taste burns in the back of Gavin’s throat and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, wishing he could spontaneously combust and put himself out of this misery. “You want him back, tell your men to stand down and let us through.”

Fritz is still gaping at Gavin, shell-shocked, the forgotten bullhorn drifting back down to his side. Gavin longs to dive out the passenger door and run to Fritz, letting him know Gavin’s safe, he’s fine, and he’s sorry for being such an idiot, so, so sorry. But he knows even trying will get him killed and that means never seeing Fritz again, and worse, hurting Fritz even more than he already has, and that’s not something he has the strength or the desire to do.

When Fritz still hasn’t said anything a few moments later, Espinoza jerks his head at McCray. The bearded criminal squeezes the handle of the blade and digs the tip further into the juncture of Gavin’s neck and jaw, forcing him to tilt his head back and expose his throat. “Or we can just kill him right in front of you. Your call,” Espinoza tells Fritz. Gavin’s chest is so tight it hurts and he can’t breathe. Being humiliated like this is one thing, but being humiliated like this in front of Fritz? Forget spontaneous combustion. He wishes the ground would bottom out in a sink hole and swallow the car whole.

The direct threat against Gavin’s life seems to snap Fritz out of his shock. Nostrils flaring he takes a few steps toward the car, planting his legs wide, and sweeps the bullhorn back up to his mouth. Several uniformed officers fan out behind him, guns trained at the windshield. “Let me talk to Gavin.” A hot flush burns across Gavin’s face. No, he can’t talk to Fritz. Not when the last thing Fritz said to him was to go to the precinct, and his response had basically been “haha, nope. Bye.” If he’d listened, this wouldn’t be happening. It’s all his fault and he knows it, and he doesn’t need Fritz rub it in. 

But Espinoza shrugs and presses the phone to his ear, and Fritz lowers the bullhorn to keep their conversation private. 

“Gavin.” Fritz’s voice bursts across the line like sunlight bursting from behind a cloud, and a pang fills Gavin’s chest with yearning. He has to swallow hard twice before he can summon the nerve to reply. 

“Hi Fritz.” His voice comes out a shrill, strangled croak. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “Hi.”

Outside, Fritz takes a half-step toward the car, then apparently thinks better of it and aborts the movement. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Gavin honestly has no idea how to answer that. He’s definitely not okay, and he’s a little banged up and bleeding, but otherwise not hurt. “I’ve…been better,” he finally says, since this is the closest to the truth he can get. A staticky sound buzzes over the line like Fritz sighed or laughed into the phone. 

Before either of them can say anything else, Espinoza jerks the phone away. “Okay, you talked to him. Now fucking stand down or I’m gonna kill your pretty little boyfriend.” Gavin cuts his eyes at the driver at that. He could die happy if no one calls him that ever again. The unexpected prickle of irritation heartens him and he clings to it like a security blanket, wrapping it around himself to stave off the fear snapping and crackling like a livewire at the edges his mind.

Pursing his lips, Fritz juts out his chin and raises the bullhorn. “How about this. You let him go and then get out of the car and lay on the ground with your hands behind your heads, and we settle this without anyone ending up dead.”

Espinoza just laughs. “You think I’m playing, Agent?”

“No, I don’t think you’re playing, Espinoza. I’m not playing either. I’m completely serious.” Fritz’s voice is calm and steady and strong, like waves rolling against a sandy beach. “Let Gavin go and then slowly get out of the car, and no one gets hurt. It’s as simple as that. What do you say?”

Espinoza’s lip curls and he scoffs at Fritz. “You think I’m stupid enough to fall for that? I ain’t going to prison. If it means I have to kill your boy and run all of you over, I’ll do it.” Signaling the end of their conversation, Espinoza tosses Gavin’s phone onto the passenger seat and revs the engine threateningly, making several of the officers flinch. To their credit, none of them take a single step back.

Gavin tenses and a bead of sweat rolls down his back. He hopes he’s not about to become another collateral damage statistic. Surely Fritz won’t allow that. He won’t let Gavin die here today, not like this. Despite himself, images of his own dead body fill his head, riddled with bullet holes and lying in a pool of blood. It’ll be all over the news, top story for at least a week. ‘Prominent Defense Attorney Gavin Q. Baker III Killed in Police Standoff.’ They’ll show his photograph, the poised, dignified one he took for his picture on the partners’ wall at the firm, and then cut to his corpse on a stretcher, covered in a blood-stained — 

He gasps as Espinoza stomps on the gas and guns the car toward the end of the street opposite Fritz, slamming Gavin hard against McCray’s chest. The officers in their path dive out their way as they narrowly squeeze between two squad cars, ripping off a side mirror and bashing in a bumper. Gavin watches in the rearview mirror as the cops behind them surge forward and open fire. Bullets ping off the car, exploding the back window. Gavin flinches as shattered glass cascades around him, but the knife at his throat and the criminal’s arm around his waist keep him from taking cover.

Cackling like he’s having the time of his life, Espinoza flips off the police and whips around a corner. Gavin catches one last glimpse in the rearview mirror of Fritz charging down the street, gun trained on the car, and then he’s gone.

Espinoza weaves through the neighborhood at gut-wrenching speeds and then pulls out onto a main thoroughfare, blasting by other cars and weaving back and forth between lanes fast enough to make Gavin’s stomach churn. Swallowing hard, he braces his feet against the floorboards, cringing at every near miss and dizzying swerve. All he can think is that they’re going too fast and he doesn’t have on his seatbelt, because right now those are the safest thoughts he can let himself have.

Sirens scream to life behind them and soon half a dozen squad cars roar onto the street in their wake, lights flashing. Up ahead even more black-and-whites join the fray, cutting them off. A tiny bubble of hope swells in Gavin’s chest — this is it, this is his rescue — but it bursts as Espinoza veers hard onto a side street, temporarily thwarting the cops’ attempt to corral them. 

Despite the high speed chase most of the adrenaline from Gavin’s capture has worn off, leaving him shaky and jittery. Unable to keep himself upright, he sags against McCray and stares forlornly out the windshield. A small part of him longs to ask what they intend to do with him. Surely they can’t hold him hostage forever? But the larger part just wants to pretend like the criminals aren’t even there, like this is some kind of joy ride he’s taking with Fritz, even though Fritz always drives five miles under the speed limit and not like a reckless lunatic.

Besides, he’s pretty sure this is going to end in somebody’s funeral. 

Something blunt pokes him in the side, making him jump. “Having fun yet, blondie?” 

McCray. Gavin grits his teeth and pointedly says nothing, watching the buildings flash by outside like he’s getting paid to do it, though he does sit up a little straighter and rolls his shoulders to ease the growing ache in his joints. 

McCray gives a throaty chuckle that grates on Gavin’s already raw nerves. “Ignoring me, huh? Real cute. I’m gonna have so much fun with you.” Chuckling again, he runs his hand up and down Gavin’s side in a very suggestive manner, making Gavin’s skin crawl. Ignore it, he tells himself. Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it. Hopefully the idiot will get bored and leave him the hell alone if he refuses to engage. 

Then something hot and wet swipes along the shell of his ear, and he chokes when he realizes it’s McCray’s tongue. Oh god. The sirens swell in volume as Espinoza makes another sharp turn, and Gavin prays the cops catch them before they get wherever they’re going, because he has zero desire to find out exactly what McCray means by ‘fun.’ All the educated guesses his mind helpfully supplies make him want to throw up.

For what seems like a lifetime Espinoza barrels through the city at breakneck speed, followed by what sounds like every cop in Los Angeles. Then the failing sun bleeds out and the day bruises into night, shrouding the city in an almost total darkness that swallows up the navy blue sedan and throws Gavin’s would-be rescuers off their trail. The fear lurking at the edges of his mind grows steadily stronger the darker it gets, shredding his safety blanket of irritation. By the time Espinoza pulls into the back parking lot of a condemned apartment building, Gavin’s pulse is racing again and he’s gulping down breaths to stay quiet. 

Espinoza jumps out of the car almost before the tires have stopped turning, leaving him alone with McCray. Gavin half-heartedly hopes they’ll abandon him here with the car and flee on foot, but of course they don’t. McCray flings open the door and then hauls Gavin out. His knees are wobbly and he almost falls, but the bearded criminal catches him under his arms and sets him back on his feet, shoving him toward a dark, dilapidated building that looks like the next earthquake will knock it down.

A few dying street lamps line the street nearby, casting sickly, flickering orange light onto the sidewalk. Shabby buildings huddle together like they’d all collapse if even one of them fell. The area looks completely abandoned, but Gavin can’t let what might be his last golden opportunity to escape, or at least call for help, pass without doing something. 

Gathering his nerve, he bolts to his left toward the street, screaming “Help!” at the top of his lungs. Running with his hands tied behind his back is awkward, but damn it, he does it. One of the criminals swears, and two sets of heavy feet pound the pavement behind him. He’s almost to the litter-clogged curb and halfway through his second scream when one of the criminals punches him hard enough to send him tumbling to the ground, scraping his shoulders and knees and knocking the breath out of his lungs as he lands in a sprawled heap. Coughing, he ignores his newest injuries and lurches up to his knees, but before he can take off again a hand fists into his hair and yanks him up with a shrill yelp. 

“Shut up,” McCray growls, clamping a huge hand over Gavin’s mouth before he can scream again. But his depressingly short taste of freedom after what seems like hours of captivity has made him wild, and rather than submit meekly like he did before Gavin thrashes in the man’s grip, jabbing backward with his bound hands and kicking at the man’s kneecaps and biting hard on the thick, meaty fingers over his mouth. Howling in pain, McCray releases him and Gavin dashes blindly away, breath bursting in and out of his heaving chest.

He gets maybe ten feet away before someone grabs him and effortlessly flings him onto the pavement, planting a knee into his back to hold him down. Shit. Spitting out gravel and dirt and blood from his newly cut lip, Gavin struggles to throw the criminal off balance enough that he can get away, but the all too familiar feeling of cool, sharp metal slides against his throat and all the fight drains out of him, leaving him gasping and trembling. Even though he just failed spectacularly, there’s no way they’re not going to punish him for attempting to escape. He just knows it.

Right on cue, Espinoza lumbers into view and kicks Gavin in his side, making him cry out as a starburst of pain sends fiery jolts of adrenaline screaming along his nerves. “You little fucker,” Espinoza snarls, kicking him again. “If that FBI agent wasn’t your boyfriend, I’d kill you right here.” Gavin moans and curls as much into a protective ball as he can with McCray’s knee on his back and the knife against his throat. He’s suddenly very, very glad that he told them Fritz is his partner and not just some random friend. Apparently it’s the only thing keeping him alive, though he can’t help but wonder how much longer that will be, FBI agent boyfriend or not. Sirens wail in the distance, and he hopes it’s long enough for Fritz and the police to find him and save him from this nightmare.

“Come on, let’s go.” Espinoza whirls around and stalks off toward the apartment building. McCray finally removes his knee from Gavin’s back and forces him to his feet.“You’re gonna regret that little stunt, blondie,” he hisses into Gavin’s ear, marching him at knifepoint in Espinoza’s wake. Ice floods Gavin’s veins, but he doesn’t regret his brief moment of rebellion. It proves he still has some fight left, that he’s not completely under their thumbs, knives or no knives. Fritz would be proud. At least Gavin hopes so.

Espinoza leads them down a series of dusty, graffiti-streaked corridors lined with broken glass and flaky chunks of drywall before muscling open the door to what was probably once a nice little one-bedroom apartment. Against all odds, because that’s apparently the shape of Gavin’s luck tonight, the apartment still has electricity flowing through the dilapidated fixtures. Ratty green curtains frame the window, and there’s enough grime on the glass to hide the glare of lights from any curious eyes that happen to wander by in a squad car.

Whoever the previous tenants were must have left in a hurry, abandoning most, if not all, of their possessions. Espinoza goes to the window, flicking back the raggedy curtain and peering through the film of muck into the parking lot. McCray nudges Gavin none too gently toward the kitchenette, where two rickety chairs sit in front of an equally rickety round table. The floor creaks under his feet, making him glad they’re not on the second story, and the musty stench of mold and mildew fills the air with the incense of decay. Something shifts and skitters behind the walls and he grimaces. Rats. Oh dear lord, that’s just fabulous.

“Sit down, blondie.” McCray slams Gavin into one of the chairs before he has a chance to comply. 

Apparently satisfied that they weren’t followed, Espinoza joins them in the kitchenette. “Go find something to tie him up with. I’ll watch him.” He unpockets his knife and presses the blade flush against Gavin’s jugular so he can’t make a mad dash for the door. Gavin winces, but at this point he’s too exhausted to do much besides scowl up at the criminal smirking down at him and imagine how he’d look in handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit and a life sentence in a maximum security prison. 

McCray nods and disappears. Bangs, clangs and thuds clatter through the apartment as he rummages around. Gavin shifts, trying to get comfortable in the rock hard seat. He fervently hopes they won’t find anything and they’ll have to lock him in the bathroom, which in his very vivid imagination has a window just barely big enough for him to squeeze himself through. He holds onto the daydream until McCray returns to the kitchenette with a thick coil of rope, and his shoulders droop like they’re made of lead. 

A heavy sense of hopelessness settles over him as McCray slips the belt-thing off his wrists and yanks them through the slats in the chair, twining the rope around them in a figure eight pattern and cinching it between them so he can’t wriggle his hands free. He straps Gavin’s ankles to the chair legs next, then winds the rest of the rope around his chest and stomach so tightly it digs into his skin, making it hard for him to breathe. That done, McCray steps back into Gavin’s line of sight and leers at him like he’s a free gourmet buffet. The criminal’s tongue darts out and licks along his parted lips like a worm poking itself out of the dirt.

“I’ll take first watch if you want to try and get some sleep,” McCray says without taking his eyes off Gavin.

Espinoza rubs the knuckles of his free hand along his chin, then shrugs. “As long as you quit messing with the hostage and watch out for the cops.”

McCray nods so fast he looks like a dashboard bobble head on a bumpy country road and strides over to the window, planting himself next to a raggedy sofa. “I’ll stay right here the whole time,” he says, obviously trying for earnest and trustworthy. All Gavin sees is a fox trying to convince the farmer to let him guard the hen house. He stares beseechingly up at Espinoza, willing him to see through the ruse and take first watch himself.

Espinoza grunts. “You better. If I come out here and see you anywhere near him, I’ll gut you.” With that he pockets his knife and disappears down the short hallway into the single bedroom. As soon as his boss is gone, the bearded criminal licks his lips and smirks over at Gavin. An icy fist clenches Gavin’s chest. Even though he knows it won’t do any good, he wriggles his hands and yanks at his bonds, trying to find a weak spot he can exploit to free himself, but McCray obviously knew his way around a rope. All his struggling does his chafe his wrists, so with a frustrated grunt he tilts his head back and frowns up at the loops of loose wire drooping from the cracks in the mold-stained ceiling.

Great job, Gavin. No really, great job. Fabulous, even. He huffs a breath out his nose. Goddamn it. How could he let this happen to himself? Better yet, how the hell did this happen at all? There are literally millions of people in Los Angeles. The criminals had a one in several millions-chance of running into Gavin. So of course they did. He’s almost tempted to believe in God, because the series of implausible coincidences that created this situation smacks of divine intervention, and not the good kind. Plus, if God were real, Gavin could hate him and rant and rail at him and make himself feel better.

One thing’s for sure. When he gets out of here alive — because damn it, he is getting out of here alive — he’s making Fritz give him self-defense lessons.

Lights flash outside, and a tiny golden bubble of hope wells in his chest when he recognizes the red, yellow, and blue lights of a police cruiser. McCray stiffens and ducks to the side of the window, flattening himself against the grimy wall. Gavin strains against the ropes to see outside, but he’s too far away and the glass is too filthy for him to make anything out. Two car doors creak open and slam shut, and something flutters in Gavin’s stomach. They got out! Maybe they’ll see the car, recognize it from the APB that’s surely been issued by now, and comb the area for signs of the suspects. His pulse jacks up as muffled voices reach his ears. If he can hear them, surely they could hear him too. Almost giddy with a new surge of adrenaline, he takes a deep breath as quietly as he can. 

“HE—”McCray is suddenly beside him, shoving something scratchy down his throat and clamping a hand over his mouth. Gavin gags and jerks his head around to dislodge it, but the criminal’s grip is sturdy. With a growl he grabs a handful of Gavin’s hair and wrenches his head back, holding him still. How is Espinoza not hearing this? He must be deaf or dead to the world.

“Shut up or I swear I’ll snap your neck,” McCray hisses into his ear. 

White-hot fury surges through Gavin. His rescuers are right there, right outside, so close. With a muffled snarl he strains against the ropes even as they gouge into him and jerks his hands against the bindings and butts his head back at McCray’s face, earning a sharp yowl, but the man refuses to let go, and the ropes refuse to unravel.

Then the two doors slam shut again and the lights drift off down the street, leaving darkness in their wake.

Gavin’s heart stops and he stares unseeingly at the window. No. No, no, no. They left without even investigating the building, the most obvious place he could be. They could have saved him, could have ended this all now, but they left. They left.

Gavin’s fury abandons him as quickly as it came and he slumps in the chair with a choked sob. His throat burns and with another sob he squeezes his eyes shut against his moldy dump of a prison, not wanting to look at it, not wanting to be here, wishing he was home with Fritz. Hot tears stream down his face, plopping onto his lenses as he breaks down and cries, chest heaving.

He’s so caught up in his own misery he doesn’t register that McCray has moved until rough fingers brush away his tears. Flinching, he jerks his head up to find the criminal squatting in front of him, one hand on Gavin’s knee, the other caressing his face in a mockery of tenderness. “You’re pretty when you cry,” McCray murmurs, running the pad of his thumb along Gavin’s cheek. The hand on Gavin’s knee travels up his thigh and squeezes his hip. Gavin breaks out in a cold sweat and jiggles his leg to shake off the criminal’s grip, but it only encourages him to squeeze again, harder, his thumb sliding between Gavin’s legs. Oh god no. No. No, this can’t be happening. He can’t let this happen, not after everything else. Unable to hold back a whimper as the criminal gropes him, he twists his face out of the man’s grasp and tries in vain to shrink away from the unwanted touches.

“Ah, ah, ah,” McCray says, grabbing Gavin’s chin and forcing Gavin to look at him. “Just relax. Let it happen. You know you want it, been asking for it all day.”

Gavin moans and shakes his head as best as he can. Tears stream down his now burning cheeks as his body hardens against his will. “See? You like this,” the criminal breathes, his eyes blown black with lust. He lets go of Gavin’s chin and slowly strokes him from his neck to his waist, pausing to fondle a nipple beneath his blue-and-white striped Charvet shirt. He presses so close to Gavin that Gavin can feel the man’s hot, rancid breath on his neck.

Breath hitching, Gavin shakes his head again and yells “No! Stop!” as best he can around whatever’s in his mouth. McCray ignores him in favor of leaning in and licking along his collar bone. Gavin shudders as bile burns at the back of his throat, but he swallows it down, has to, unless he wants to choke to death on his own vomit. It’s not at all the way he wants to go, but the way things are going now, it’s looking like a better and better alternative by the second.

He squeezes his eyes shut and bites back another whimper as the man tugs down the zipper to his pants and slips his hand into Gavin’s boxers, coaxing him to further hardness. Another stream of tears cascades down his face. Oh god, he’ll never be able to look Fritz in the eye again after this. If he even gets to look at Fritz ever again. His stomach roils and he sobs, longing to see Fritz, willing him to burst into the room and save him from this. He’ll make it up to Fritz somehow, but if Fritz ends up leaving, he won’t blame him. What kind of freak gets hard when he’s being molested? Even so the idea of being alone depresses him and he dissolves into tears, breath hitching around pained whimpers.

“Shh,” McCray says, pressing closer so their bodies are nearly flush. “Be quiet. You like this. Just be quiet and take it.” Fisting a hand in Gavin’s hair, he tilts Gavin’s head back and bites along his neck. No. That’s what Fritz does. Only Fritz can do that. Gavin struggles to get away, his body clenching with dry heaves.

The criminal’s face tightens and he pulls away, frowning down at Gavin. “Stop doing that,” he says, yanking Gavin’s hair when he doesn’t stop, when he can’t make himself stop retching in fear and disgust. Mouth twisting into a snarl, McCray pulls back and backhands Gavin across the face. He gasps, cheek stinging. Then McCray grabs his face again, hand clenched around his jaw, forcing him to look up at the criminal through watery eyes and splotchy, tear-stained glasses.

“I said stop it,” McCray hisses, “or I’ll —”

The front door flies off its hinges as armed cops swarm into the room.

“Police!”

“Get down on the ground!” 

“Drop your weapon!” 

“Put your hands over your head!”

Despite the thing gagging him, Gavin’s mouth falls open and he gasps as Fritz barges in on the heels of a uniformed officer, gun drawn and trained at McCray’s back. Their eyes lock for a second, and times seems to slow as Fritz stares at him, eyes widening a fraction. Then Fritz’s entire face hardens and those soft brown eyes narrow to flinty slits. Gavin averts his gaze, hot shame washing over him and soaking him to his core.

“Step away from the hostage,” Fritz barks as a cluster of cops breaks off from the group. Moving in formation down the hallway, they rush into the bedroom, shouting the same orders.

In a heartbeat McCray scrambles around the chair and crouches behind Gavin, pulling his knife back out and slotting it against Gavin’s throat. “I’ll kill him. Won’t think twice,” he says, deliberately nicking Gavin’s neck so the cops know he means business. 

Gavin flinches as his skin parts beneath the blade, but at this point his system’s so flooded with adrenaline and he’s so overcome with humiliation he barely feels the pain. Without the criminal blocking the way he’s entirely exposed to Fritz, and surely Fritz must notice the shameful hardness tenting his boxers. He curls into himself as much as he can, but the criminal pulls him back up, forcing his body to unfold. 

“Get away from him. Now,” Fritz says, voice like granite. 

Shouts erupt in the background followed by a series of thuds. More shouting. Then the group of uniformed cops appears in the hallway, triumphantly dragging out a roughed up Espinoza in handcuffs. Fritz shakes his head and gestures with a hand and they pause, eyeing the situation in the front room.

Behind Gavin McCray gives a sharp, hysterical laugh, breath huffing along Gavin’s skin and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t? You can’t shoot me or you’ll hit him too. So do both of us a favor and back the fuck up.”

Fritz’s grip on his gun is firm and his aim is unwavering. “I’ll tell you one more time, McCray. Drop the knife and let Gavin go.”

For a second that seems to stretch into eternity, nothing happens. Then everything happens at once. 

Bellowing incoherently, McCray jerks Gavin’s head back and slides the knife across his throat. Gunfire erupts from the left and the knife tumbles from the criminal’s hand before it slices more than half an inch into Gavin, clattering onto the stained linoleum. Seconds later a heavy thud echoes its landing and pained wails fill the apartment.

“You shot me,” McCray shrieks. At Fritz’s signal two uniformed cops converge on him and, based on the scraping and grunting, haul him to his feet. “Police brutality,” he adds as the officers drag him into the center of the room and force his hands behind his back so they can cuff him. Blood seeps from his left shoulder, staining his shirt. Seeing his tormentor in handcuffs and obvious agony makes Gavin go limp with relief. It’s over. It’s finally over. Thank god. 

No, not god. 

Thank Fritz.

As the uniformed cops handle the suspects, Fritz holsters his weapon and rushes to Gavin. Kneeling in front of him, he tugs the gag out of his mouth and tosses it carelessly onto the floor next to the knife. “My god, Gavin. Are you okay? Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

Gavin mumbles something vaguely affirmative and drops his chin to his chest, unable to look Fritz in the eye. If he didn’t notice Gavin’s shameful erection before he’s bound to notice it now. His eyes water and burn, but he blinks back the tears even as his chin trembles and his breath stutters like he’s going to start crying again at any second. But he can’t cry in front of Fritz. Won’t. He’s already seen Gavin helpless; he can’t let Fritz see him weak too.

Fritz must sense his distress and runs his hands soothingly down Gavin’s shoulders while making soft, reassuring noises. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe now, okay? You’re safe.” Still rubbing calming circles into Gavin’s shoulders and back, Fritz turns toward the cops crowding the front room. “I need one of you guys to come over here and help me untie him.” One of them peels away from the group and instantly starts tugging at the ropes securing Gavin’s wrists. 

It’s all a bit too much for him to take in, and he can’t choke back the sob that punches out his throat. “Fritz. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, you have to believe me, I didn’t want —”

Fritz presses a finger to his lip, shushing him. “It’s okay.”

But it’s not okay. He has to tell Fritz, make him understand that Gavin didn’t want it, didn’t want to be touched like that. Fritz has to understand. “He touched me,” Gavin blurts out as the officer untying him finishes unbinding his hands and moves on to the ropes twining around his chest and stomach. The second his hands are free, Gavin zips up his pants with fumbling fingers and folds his hands over his lap. “He touched me and…he made me…” But he can’t finish, can’t admit it aloud. Heat flushes his face and he hangs his head again, biting his trembling bottom lip.

Fritz gently tilts his chin up, brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean he touched you? What did he make you do?”

Gavin whimpers, sounding pathetic even to his own ears, and looks pointedly down at his groin, which is finally, mercifully, going soft. Fritz follows his gaze, and he knows when Fritz understands when his hands clamp down on Gavin’s shoulders and his eyes harden again into the steely gaze of a federal agent. Gavin swallows thickly, but before he can explain himself, Fritz pushes up and spins on his heel toward the front room, leaving Gavin alone in the kitchenette with the uniformed officer.

Squeezing his eyes shut as a tear slides down his cheek, Gavin presses a fist to his lips to hold back a sob and wraps his other arm around himself. Of course Fritz is angry; he has every right to be. Who gets hard when they’re being molested? He’s sick. Disgusting. Fritz is better off —

A meaty thud and sharp cry ring out from the front room. Gavin’s eyes pop open in time to see McCray hit the floor, blood streaming from his obviously broken nose. He blinks, not entirely sure what he’s seeing until several officers converge on Fritz and haul him away from the criminal. Their voices admonish him for striking a handcuffed prisoner while their faces give away the fact that they don’t give a shit. To them, the sleazeball got what he so richly deserved.

Oh. 

Oh.

Well. Looks like Gavin has nothing to worry about after all. The pressure in his chest eases and he takes a deep breath, slumping back in the chair.

“Police brutality,” McCray shouts again to a room full of deaf ears as two cops lug him back to his feet. One of them yanks the ratty curtain off the wall and half-heartedly uses it to staunch the blood flowing down his face into his beard.

Fritz shakes the officers off and strides back to the kitchenette just as the cop finishes untying Gavin. Before Gavin even has a chance to thank the man, Fritz pulls Gavin up into a tight embrace that squeezes most of the air out of his lungs and crushes his side where Espinoza kicked him, making him suck his teeth in pain. “Don’t you ever do anything like that to me ever again,” Fritz says, voice muffled against Gavin’s hair. “I don’t know whether to slap you silly or, or, or kiss you senseless.”

“You could do both,” Gavin manages to squeak out. 

Fritz just laughs and does neither, squeezing him harder like he’s afraid Gavin is going to vanish if he lets go. Gavin can’t hide the hiss of pain this time, prompting Fritz to ease up on the embrace and step back, though his hands still grip Gavin’s upper arms like vises. “You’re hurt,” he says, giving Gavin a critical once-over. 

Gavin shrugs a shoulder. “It’s nothing.” Honestly, he can’t be bothered to care now that Fritz is here. Whatever’s wrong will heal eventually.

Fritz gives him an ‘I don’t believe you’ look. “It’s obviously not nothing. What happened?”

Gavin shrugs again, but even if he wanted to he can’t make himself lie to Fritz, either directly or by omission. “They kicked me, but I’ll be fine.”

“Because you’re going to the hospital.”

Gavin grimaces. He hates hospitals. Hates the hours of anxious waiting and the antiseptic smell and the endless beeping and booping of machines and, worse of all, the needles. Shots, IVs, those evil things they collect blood samples with, all of them. Just no. Shuddering at the thought, he presses close to Fritz and wraps his arms around him half as a distraction tactic and half as an honest need for comfort after the hellacious day he’s had. “I’ll be fine,” he says again, nuzzling a kiss into Fritz’s neck.

Fritz huffs, but wraps his arms very carefully around Gavin. “Sure. After you go to the hospital.”

Gavin grunts. So much for distraction tactics. He pulls back and looks his beautiful, beloved boyfriend dead in the eye so he knows Gavin is beyond serious about this. “Fritz. I am not going to the hospital.”

Fritz meets his gaze head on. “Yes, you are.”

Gavin glares at Fritz.

Fritz glares at Gavin.

Gavin goes to the hospital.

He ends up staying overnight and most of the next day. After making him suffer through a battery of tests (and the insertion of an IV, because apparently he’s dehydrated and why he can’t just drink water until he’s re-hydrated he’ll never know), the doctors are finally satisfied that he’s not bleeding internally and all his internal organs are fine. Nevertheless, they send him home with strict orders to take the rest of the week off to ‘recuperate,’ because doctors hate lawyers and are probably rubbing their hands in glee at the idea of taking one out of commission. Never mind the fact that Gavin would be the one defending them if they found themselves on the wrong side of a medical malpractice suit. 

Ingrates.

He huffs and puffs and throws a fit, but one look from Fritz and he caves, agreeing to stay home until next Monday even though it’s only Wednesday. Shit. Just shit. Gavin can feel the crazy creeping up on him now.

It’s late in the day by the time they let him go. Crimson throbs at the horizon and fades upward to a delicate pink. Wispy white clouds brush across the pale face of the moon, just a ghostly crescent in the early evening sky. Gavin scowls up at it, still too pissed off at the world to appreciate the natural beauty of a gorgeous sunset.

“I can walk, you know,” he grouses as Fritz pushes his wheelchair through the lobby and out to the patient drop-off area where Fritz’s blue Toyota is idling by the curb. 

“Standard discharge procedure.” Fritz sounds like he’s about to start whistling a jaunty tune. He’s obviously enjoying this way too much. Gavin rolls his eyes and picks at the large bandage covering the cut on his neck where McCray tried to slit his throat. It itches horribly, but Fritz swats his hand away before he can get any relief.

“Leave that alone.”

“Yes, mother,” Gavin snarks as Fritz parks him next to the car and opens the passenger door for him. He manages to stand up on his own before Fritz wraps an arm around him and guides him into the seat like he’s a newborn foal taking his first steps in the world. He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, mindful of the tender bruise purpling his side. “I swear to god, Fritz, knock it off. I’m not going to break.” Fritz just smiles down at him, pressing a kiss to his temple before shutting the door and wheeling the chair back to the hospital lobby. The sunset paints his back in soft pastels as the doors swish open to let him in.

Gavin sighs and leans back in the seat. All sniping aside, he’s nothing but grateful to Fritz, and not just for saving his stubborn ass. Instead of rightfully claiming the bust as his own, he graciously let one of the other agents take credit (and the accompanying pile of paperwork) so he could personally escort Gavin to the nearest hospital. Fritz was probably just making sure that Gavin actually went to the hospital and stayed there long enough for treatment, but still, Gavin appreciates it. Especially since he got to squeeze Fritz’s hand to a pulp when the nurse inserted the IV and had someone to talk to during the long, boring stretches of downtime between tests and results. 

The doors slide open as Fritz comes back outside, breaking into a light jog as soon as his shoes hit the concrete. The fiery sky burnishes his face a warm bronze, like he’s glowing with an inner light. Smiling to himself, Gavin steeples his hands together and taps his fingers against his lips. Fritz truly is the kindest, most patient man on the planet. And so very, very gorgeous. It’s enough to leave Gavin feeling overwhelmed, but in a pleasant sort of way, like the warm buzz of a good wine. As Fritz slams his door shut and shifts the car into drive, drifting out of the parking lot at a safe and responsible ten miles an hour, Gavin is struck by an aching need to show Fritz how grateful he truly is.

He can think of a few ways.

His lips quirk into a smirk as a delicious little plan starts forming in his mind.

-.-.-.-.- 

�

[letitrainletitsnowbutdontletmego]

Finally - Chapter 5: Undercover

aka: 9 times Jay tries to win Voight over (intentionally and not so intentionally) and the 1 time he doesn’t need to.

Also on ff.net and AO3.

Many, many thanks to @justkillingtimewhileiwait for all of her help, listening to me bounce ideas off her, ramble on about what I wanted to write and mostly, the beta-ing. You are awesome! :)

It was nearing 2am but Jay couldn't have felt more awake or alert if he tried. The case was coming to a head that night, with Erin and Burgess being sent undercover in a standard nightclub to get the last piece of evidence they needed before the rest of Intelligence could swoop in and arrest them all.

That was until things took a turn for the worse, which somehow always seemed to happen when he wasn't there to backup his partner. When he was stuck outside, across the road and with only an earpiece connecting them. Though they had been made, the perpetrator who was now holding Erin and Burgess in a room lined with explosives had not searched them further than their weapons. It was a small blessing, but a blessing nonetheless.

"Alright," Voight began, claiming all their attentions as he slapped down the blueprints for the club onto the front of their surveillance van where they were all gathered. "Only way in is through the door they've got loaded up with C4, detonator attached. Both Burgess and Lindsay are unarmed, and it sounds like Burgess is injured. Perp has a gun trained on the C4; the smallest of grazes and it'll level the entire building. They have no room to move in there, so it's up to us."

Jay studied the blueprints, trying to visualise the commercial area they were in around it. The room was on the ground floor and seemed like an office but they had no other information about it. Even though it was on the edge of the building, there was only one window and it was the size of letterbox high up on the wall, only beneficial in allowing in a bit of natural light.

"The window," he said when everyone else remained quiet, stepping back and eyeing the highrise that was directly opposite the window.

"What about it?" Voight asked roughly, snapping his attention back him.

"It's our only option. I can get him through there. It's small, but I've dealt with a lot worse," he stated confidently, knowing that at that time of the night, the building would likely be empty, giving him free reign on where he could set up for the perfect shot.

"There's no margin for error here. You miss and the whole building could go up," Voight warned him, as if he hadn't already considered everything that could wrong.

"I know," Jay said stiffly, staring his boss down. "But I won't."

"Anybody got any other ideas?" Voight asked the rest of them, and when they all remained quiet, Jay took it as a sign that he wasn't going to be refuted.

Without another word or waiting for approval, he headed over to his car where he always kept his trusty rifle on hand when they were on a bust. Popping open the trunk, he rapidly began setting up his weapon, loading it and making sure it was ready to go. It was a skill he had picked up easily, scarily easily, back in the army. Now, it was as familiar as driving or making coffee to his partner's liking. He did it without a thought to spare.

Ready, he unzipped and peeled off his jacket and hoodie, and threw them into the trunk too. The less layers the better, he had always found, to help him minimise a number of variables that could throw off his shot by even a millimetre. Clothes restricted movement, which changed the course of every shot fired. Besides, despite the coolness of the night, he could feel his blood running warmer than usual as the adrenaline kicked in.

Footsteps alerted him that he had company as Jay grabbed his gun, glancing up to see Voight stood with his arms crossed, not a foot away from him. "You got this, Halstead?"

"I've got this," he assured him, only to be met with a semi-doubtful look. Slamming the trunk close in frustration and a hint of anger at Voight's lack of belief in him, Jay turned towards him as he repeated again, this time more assertively. "I've got this."

"Are you going up there as her partner, or her boyfriend?" Voight asked, and Jay had to grit his teeth to stop himself from snapping back at him.

"What does it matter?" he replied instead.

"It matters because I want to know who's hands I'm laying Erin's life in," Voight remarked, though Jay could see the cracks in his usually stoic features to find a hint of worry there.

Inhaling deeply until the cool Chicago air cut sharply at his lungs, he breathed out steadily to calm himself and remember that they were both after the same result here. To get Erin and Burgess out of there, as safely as they could.

"You're laying it my hands. Partner and boyfriend, but mostly, a Ranger. Alright?" Jay finally answered as truthfully as he could.

"Alright," Voight replied after a beat, reaching out to grab his shoulder and squeezing it tightly once. "You're our best shot, Jay. Go save our team."

...

He had set up pretty quickly in a small break room in the building opposite the club, giving him the perfect angle and view into the room. He hadn't expected the relief to fill him as it had when he finally caught sight of Erin, back towards him but looking as unharmed as she had when he had helped zip up her dress earlier that evening in the locker room.

The earpiece that linked the entire team together was never quiet, though they all tried to keep off it if they could. Erin was trying to reason with the man holding them, if not to drop his gun and let them out safely, then to at least let Burgess out. The latter had reassured them all a few times that she wasn't badly injured, a dislocated shoulder from what Jay had deduced by the way she curled her arm awkwardly into herself, but she was in no position to help overpower the man who held their lives, along with the hundred or so partygoers still in the club, in his hands.

Voight had informed the two of them of their plan, telling them to keep going as they were, to stall for time for Jay and to sit tight for only a bit longer.

Forcing himself to disassociate from the situation emotionally, as he had been trained, Jay steadied his breathing and reduced any movements to that necessary. He watched through the scope for the perpetrator, but he could only see the lower half of his body through the window, having stood opposite Erin and further back towards the room.

"Do you have the shot?" Voight asked suddenly, probably wondering what was taking so long. They were all stationed around the building with the bomb unit backing them up. If Jay got it right, they'd still need their professional help to get everyone out safely.

"Negative," he replied, urging the suspect to move into his scope of view so he could drop him there and then. "I need-" Jay suddenly broke off when he saw Erin step back slightly and how the man holding them there followed her movements without meaning to.

"Need, what? Finish your goddamn sentences, Halstead!" Voight barked, but Jay could barely hear the words as they washed over him now he had a plan and was preparing himself to take the shot.

"Erin, when you're ready, I need you to take two steps back, and then hit the ground when I say so," he said carefully so there was no room for misinterpretation or anyone else to interrupt.

The idea was simple, and it took only 20 seconds for Erin to follow it through. Taking a small step back, and then another, Jay held his rifle in place with his finger on the trigger as the perpetrator finally came into view. There really was no room for error; a bullet straying off its course by even a millimetre could either hit Erin or the C4 right then. And if it missed either one, then he had no doubt the man would shoot out of fright if nothing else.

"Erin," he murmured, seeing her stiffen slightly at her name and knowing what he was going to ask her to do next. "Duck."

It took less than a second for the word to leave his mouth before he was sending the bullet towards the suspect, Erin having done as he had directed without any hesitation. It hit the target right where Jay had aimed, his trademark shot right between the eyes.

"He's down," Jay stated, watching as Erin hurriedly unarmed the man now an ungraceful heap on the floor despite his inability to do anything with it. She looked over her shoulder briefly, following the line where the bullet had come from and he knew she was looking for him. But he was hidden in the shadows of the darkened building, meaning she was left disappointed.

"Hold back! Let the bomb unit in first." Voight's voice came through suddenly, and Jay realised he had been paying so much attention to what was going on in that room that he had zoned out. The team had infiltrated the building, but couldn't get into the room until they were told it was okay to do so by the bomb unit. "Nice shot, Halstead."

...

It took the bomb unit just over five minutes to instruct on how to successfully open the door without setting off any of the explosives. Her shaking hands didn't help the process, but she was glad there were no wires involved nonetheless.

Her team were the first through the door, with those from the bomb unit attending to the C4 not a second behind them. Erin had made her way over to where Burgess was sat on the desk on the far side of the room, having made sure she was out of harm's way just in case something had gone wrong. Her face was blotchy and pale, and Erin could tell it was taking everything in the other woman to keep herself from crying out in pain.

"She needs medical attention," Erin stated immediately when Ruzek approached them, knowing he was probably more worried about her right then.

Ruzek nodded and holstered his gun. "EMTs are waiting outside, c'mon," he said softly, wrapping an arm around Burgess' waist and leading her out of the room.

Erin watched them leave, hearing the strained whimpers her friend let out at every step she took and thanked god it wasn't anything worse. Their evening had been bad enough and they had practically stared certain death in the face, but having have her friend and colleague injured beyond a sprain or a dislocation would have probably been the final nail for her.

Scanning the room quickly, she couldn't help the disappointment that hit her when she noticed that Jay wasn't there. She knew it wasn't possible for him to be; he had been the one to fire the shot that saved them meaning he would have been across the street in a whole other building. Considering the victim was still warm, it definitely hadn't been enough time for him to get over, suit up and join the team before they entered.

Voight was in front of her before Erin could turn away, and there was something about the familiarity of him that brought her down rapidly from the adrenaline high. "And you?" he asked softly, knowing what he was referring to immediately.

"I'm okay," she replied, offering him a grim smile as she curled her hands into fists to keep them still. She didn't have any pockets to high them in this time, nor anything to hold onto. "You guys took your time, huh?"

"We didn't want to leave anything to chance," he told her, soothingly stroking her arm. "Jay's outside. Have him take you back to the district, alright? We'll see you there. Get everything sorted in your head and get yourself cleaned up."

Erin nodded, glad for the excuse to leave. "Okay, thanks."

"I'm not the one you should be thanking," Voight informed her, and this time, the smile that pulled on her lips was one of relief.

...

Jay went through the motions of taking apart his gun as quickly as he could, his mind mostly still on Erin. He had seen Ruzek bring out Burgess, leading her straight to the ambulance to get the help she needed, but no one else had followed and that was agitating him. He wanted to leave the weapon there and go find Erin, but rules were rules and he was an Army man. He knew exactly what the risks of leaving a sniper rifle, locked, loaded and ready to go, in the back of a car could end in. So he followed procedure, even if he did it on muscle memory.

He had just replaced it into its case when he heard Brett's voice, asking someone if they were hurt and somehow Jay just knew it was Erin. Slamming the case shut, he didn't even bother to close the trunk before taking a couple of steps towards where Erin had joined him by the car, evidently finding him before he could even look up.

Wordlessly, he took her in, checking her for any physical injuries though he had practically had an eye on her the whole time he had his rifle aimed in her direction. Plus he knew Voight wouldn't let her out without being checked out if had had even the smallest of scratches on her.

"Hey," Jay murmured softly, feeling the anxiety leave him rapidly at the sight of her in front of him. There was a tightness in his chest that he hadn't noticed was there until he took a breath and realised his breathing was no longer as constricted as it had been all night.

Erin didn't reply, instead stepping closer until she was within his reach to tug her tightly to him. He could feel her arms against his chest, a hand curling into his shirt as he wrapped his arms around her and keeping her as close as physically possible.

With a hand on her back and the other in her hair, he turned them carefully he was placed between her and the building which now contained the crime scene. Where their colleagues and the other emergency services were milling around, doing their jobs, and probably wondering how she was doing too. But he knew Erin, knew it took a hell lot for her to seek comfort like she had right then, in the middle of the a case and front of everyone. So he did what it was his job to do and protected her, even if it was from prying eyes at that moment in time.

Stroking her hair gently, Jay rested his chin upon her head, feeling her starting to relax against him. She kept her face tucked into his chest but he could detect her breathing calm down as her heart slowly began to match his pace. He allowed himself only a second, letting his eyes slide close as he held her, willing himself to forget how close it had been that night to never having this moment again.

Erin pulled back a minute or so later, though she didn't take a step away nor did she drop her hands. He watched as she kept her eyes trained over his shoulder before he shifted a bit to regain her attention. He laid his hand on either side of her neck, gently cupping her face and run his thumbs over her jaw line as he took her in.

"Are you hurt? At all?" he asked her forcefully, willing her not to cover up anything that he couldn't see.

Erin shook her head as much as she could without dislodging him. "I'm okay, Jay," she assured him with a wry smile. "Physically, I'm okay. Mentally, I'm a bit shook up. And I don't even know emotionally."

"The adrenaline will be wearing off soon," he stated, knowing it was probably the main cause of not having her head in the correct place right then. He'd gone through it way too many times before, where the adrenaline masks the emotional reflexes until it's just him and the dark, quietness. Only, he wasn't going to let her deal with it alone.

"Hmm..." she hummed, agreeingly. Unfurling her hands, she laid them flat against his chest and looked him straight in the eye. "That was a good shot. Thank you."

Taken aback by her words, Jay shook his head. "You don't have to thank me for having your back. I'm your partner; it's what I'm here for."

Erin smiled slowly and genuinely, pressing herself closer to him again. "I meant, thank you for not shooting me instead. I've seen your aim at the shooting range," she teased, earning herself an unimpressed huff from him.

"Sometimes, Lindsay, I feel like you forget I'm a trained sharpshooter. The shooting range and long distance are two very different scenarios," Jay muttered, though there was amusement lining his words. He brushed back some of her hair as he became serious, an earnest look on his features as he added, "Regardless, I'd never miss. Not if it's you out there who needs me to make the shot."

"I know," Erin leaned up slightly to capture his lips with her own for a brief, grateful and life-affirming kiss. His hands dropped to her waist when she fell back, and she shivered at the loss of contact. Without a word, he reached into the open trunk and pulled out the hoodie which he had discarded earlier. Slipping it over her shoulders, Erin finally let him go to tug the material around her, indulging in its softness and the fact that it was Jay's.

"Let's head back to the district. I don't think they need us here anymore. You can fill everyone in once you've cleaned up and gotten changed, yeah?" he said as he shut the trunk, unknowingly repeating Voight's orders from earlier on.

"Yeah," she agreed, nodding and allowing herself to be ushered to the passenger's side of the car with a hand on her back, not even thinking about fighting him on driving right then.

Once Erin was safely inside, Jay gently closed the car door and glanced up towards the club building to see if anything new was going on. Fortunately, no-one seemed to be paying them any special attention but he spotted Voight near the entrance of the building, talking to a few people who Jay barely recognised. If he put more effort into it, he was sure he could at least narrow it down to their unit, but his mind was elsewhere completely.

Voight looked over at him not an instant later, casually and coolly in the middle of a conversation, indicating that he had probably been doing the same for a while now. Meeting his eyes, Jay watched as the sergeant remained where he was, giving him a stiff nod in wordless acknowledgement that he was trusting him to take care of Erin and get her back to the district. Nodding back, Jay climbed into the car without hesitation, smiling softly at Erin when she glanced over at him when he started the engine, grateful that the night was almost over.