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alagalaska · 4 years

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It’s Only Hair, Right?

Summary: A Billy Hargrove imagine based on my experience of having Alopecia.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem! Reader (first person narrative)

A/N: I was having a bad day and this is something that just came out. I understand this may not be for everyone but I feel Alopecia (hair loss) is something that a lot of people have but never talk about, so I still wanted to post this even if no one reads it. If you do read it, please let me know what you think! P.S. there's a little gift from me to you at the end ;)

Warnings: Hair loss and the issues that come with it. There will be swearing, talk of negative self-image, brief non-graphic mention of needles (for the purpose of steroid injections which are given to try and stimulate hair regrowth), angst, fluff and Billy being very impulsive.

Disclaimer: I acknowledge that not everyone will experience or be affected by Alopecia in the same ways, so please note that this is purely based on my own experience of having it. Please do not steal or copy my work in part or in whole.

Word count: 2,137

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“Stupid, fucking…” I grumbled frustratedly, around a mouthful of bobby pins, adjusting the small floral scarf I’d put in my hair to try and cover the back of my head.

I had been standing in front of the bathroom mirror for about fifteen minutes, attempting to put my hair up for work.

Billy came into the room, smiling that lopsided grin of his; swaggered up behind me and placed his hands on my hips. He dipped his head to kiss the side of my neck, blonde curls tickling my shoulder. He hummed against my skin as I continued jamming pins into my hair.

His eyes caught mine in the mirror, seemed to gauge my mood, then flicked up to the scarf in my hair.

“This is nice,” he said, tugging gently at the bow I’d tied clumsily at the front of the scarf.

“Don’t pull it, you’ll mess it up,” I snapped, jerking away from him. It came out a lot harsher than I’d meant it to.

He dropped his hand, frowning.

I sighed, placing the unused bobby pins down on the side of the sink, and turned to him.

“Sorry, I just can’t get it to sit right. It’s pissing me off,” I said, gesturing at the back of my head frustratedly.

He smirked at that.

“Never would have guessed,” he teased. His smile dropped again when he saw the obvious lack of amusement on my face.

I untied the scarf and started yanking it from my hair; grasping at the pins I had so carefully placed, removing them one by one. I scattered them carelessly onto the rim of the sink with the others. One slid into the basin, stopping at the edge of the plughole where it balanced precariously.

Billy’s hands came up to rest over mine, stilling them. He turned me to him.

“Hey,” he said. My eyes had fallen to the tiled floor, so he gently placed one hand under my chin, tilting my face until I was looking at him again. “You look beautiful.”

I considered his words for a moment.

“Well, I don’t feel it,” I said, pulling away from him.

Billy’s jaw tensed. He didn’t say anything.

“Don’t know why they insist on hair up anyway,” I grumbled, turning back to face the mirror again.

I turned my head to the side, taking in the state of my hair without the scarf covering it.

A large section behind my left ear was almost completely bald, save for a few strands here and there. My fingers poked at the skin, which felt smooth and waxy to the touch.

There was a large patch behind my right ear too, which extended round to the back of my head and one final area at the back, towards the middle, which was clearly visible with my hair up.

Unfortunately, with my work having a ‘hair up’ policy for female staff, it meant I couldn’t just hide it under the rest of my hair or throw on my favourite beanie hat, like I usually would when I wasn’t working.

It was getting harder and harder to disguise it, the more my hair fell out. The patches were gradually getting bigger and, according to my dermatologist, could get a whole lot worse before they started getting better.

I picked up the hand-held shaving mirror that was sat at the back of the sink and held it out behind me, angling it so that I could see the back of my head reflected in the larger mirror in front of me.

Billy leaned up against the wall, watching me with a crease in his brow. Chewed on the inside of his cheek as I inspected the patches of scalp.

“Any regrowth?” he eventually asked.

I sighed.

“No.” I tried not to sound too disappointed. It was probably too soon to tell anyway.

My last visit to the dermatologist had been a few days prior, for my final round of steroid injections. If it didn’t work this time, that was it; I’d just have to wait for the hair to grow back on it’s own, which could take anything up to two years. If it was even going to grow back at all, that is.

Billy had gone with me, of course. Had sat quietly in the corner, trying to maintain his supportive role as best he could, as he’d watched the discomfort on my face; powerless to help me. Had held me afterwards as I’d cried into the shoulder of his leather jacket.

My eyes were starting to sting now as I stared at the ugly patches of visible flesh.

I generally tried not to brood about it too often, but sometimes it was hard not to be outwardly fed up; especially after enduring the unpleasant ordeal that was having numerous injections straight to the scalp, only for them to not work.

Billy pushed away from the wall and stood behind me again. He prised the mirror from my hand.

“Come on, you better finish getting ready for work,” he said. He paused, then added, “Unless you wanna call in sick? We can order some takeout, watch a movie?”

The offer was tempting, but we really needed the money for rent; and although my pay was crap, the tips were definitely worth it.

“No, I should go,” I said regretfully. “Thanks though.” I glanced over my shoulder at him. Threw him a small smile, feeling bad for having been moody.

“I liked the scarf,” he said, gesturing to where I’d abandoned it. He smiled encouragingly, holding the mirror up at the back of my head. “I’ll hold this so you can see what you’re doing.”

It was easier to do this time, with Billy’s help. Only took me a couple more minutes to get the scarf positioned right and pinned in so that it was secure.

I smoothed my palm over the scarf, checking it one last time in the mirror. I turned to Billy, chewing my lip.

“What happens when it gets too bad to cover up?” I asked.

“I dunno, shave it off?” he answered, shrugging. He put his hands on my hips, pulled me in closer. Slid his hands into the back pockets of my work trousers. “You don’t need hair to be beautiful.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead then one to my lips; lingered there as he said, “Could shave the whole lot off and you’d still look smoking hot.”

I laughed, despite myself.

“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say,” I retorted. I took hold of one of his perfect curls, gently teasing it out straight between my fingers and let it go. Watched it bounce.

“I’m serious,” he said, leaning back to look at me from arms’ length, with a frown. “It’s only hair, right?” He slowly cracked a smile, trying to encourage me to join in. When I didn’t, he quirked an eyebrow at me, “Right?” he prompted again.

I let out an exasperated sigh, rolled my eyes, but indulged him by replying anyway.

“Right.”

That had inadvertently become our motto regarding my hair. When it had originally started falling out, people would say that to me all the time, ‘It's only hair.’ As if that would make me feel better.

It used to really annoy me, but then Billy had started saying it as a joke, and it had kind of stuck. He insisted that if he said it enough times, I actually might start to believe it. Unfortunately, that theory still had yet to be proved.

“Ok, I gotta go or I’m gonna be late,” I said. I wandered through to the bedroom, Billy following behind me, and gathered up my purse and keys. “Bye,” I said, then gave him a kiss on the lips.

He watched me thoughtfully as I left.

------

When I got home from work, Billy was nowhere to be seen. Granted, it was late, but he normally never went to bed until I’d come back from my shift.

“Babe?” The living room was empty, the TV murmuring away to itself. I wandered over to it, turning it off.

That’s when I heard a faint buzzing sound. Followed it through the flat until I was standing outside of the bathroom door. I pushed my ear to the wood.

“Billy?” I asked, knocking on the door.

The buzzing cut off abruptly, followed by a short silence and then what sounded like something being knocked over. I heard Billy curse sharply, under his breath.

“Babe? What are you doing in there?” I went to open the door.

“Er, hang on a sec,” he said, then hurriedly added, “don’t come in.” I could hear him scrabbling to pick up whatever he’d dropped.

The buzzing started up again. I figured he must be trimming his pubes. No big deal. I’d seen him do that before, a bunch of times, so I didn’t get what all the fuss was about.

I tried the handle. It wasn’t locked.

“Why can’t I-?”

I froze in the doorway, the words dying in my throat.

Billy was stood, shirtless, in front of the bathroom mirror; an electric razor in his hand.

“Y/N,” he said, exasperated, “I told you not to come in. I’m not done yet, it was meant to be a surprise.”

Well, it certainly was just that.

“Oh my God, Billy,” I breathed, walking into the room.

My eyes fell to the basin at his hips, full of familiar dark blonde curls, lying limply against the white porcelain.

The remaining hair on his head was shaved short, save for a small section at the back, near his neck, which he’d obviously missed and the left side of his head, which he was in the process of shaving before I interrupted him.

I looked him over. Somehow, he still managed to take my breath away, even with a poorly shaved head.

He put the razor down on the edge of the sink. Rubbed his hand over the stubble on his head, surveying his handy work in the mirror.

“What d’you think?” He flashed me that smile of his, in the reflection. Faltered slightly when he saw the way my eyes were welling up. “You hate it?” he asked, sounding unsure; disappointed, even. He turned to me.

“No, of course I don’t hate it,” I said, sniffling. Attempted a smile.

“Then what’s wrong?” he asked. He put his hands on my upper arms, stroking them soothingly.

“It’s just... I feel like this is because of what I said earlier…” I sighed, knowing full well that he’d taken what I said to heart and that’s not what I had intended.

“Well, yeah, it is,” he said, shrugging. He looked like he was going to say something else but I cut in.

“I just don’t want you to regret the decision.”

He laughed.

“Bit late for that now,” he said jokingly. But I didn’t find it funny.

“This is a huge deal, Billy,” I continued, as if I hadn’t heard him. “You love your hair.”

He barely seemed to think about his response.

“Yeah, but I love you more,” he said easily.

I didn’t know what to say. My eyes were welling up again.

“I figured that if you did decide to shave your head, it might be easier if I shaved mine too,” he explained, still gently rubbing my arms. “And besides, no one’s even gonna notice your hair now, with all this going on,” he said, gesturing to his lack of hair.

I sputtered a laugh. That was true, it was a state.

“God Billy, I wish you’d just waited until I got home to start this,” I laughed again, wiping at my face with the sleeve of my work shirt.

“At least it got you laughing,” he said with a smile.

“Yeah, and now I’ll laugh every time I see you,” I joked, picking up the razor. “Let me try and fix this.”

I started carefully shaving the hair at the back of his head then continued the section at the side which he hadn’t finished.

When I was done, I stared into the sink, filled with his beautiful hair.

Billy noticed and turned to me.

“Hey, it’s only hair, right?” he said, placing a kiss on the end of my nose.

I hummed a laugh. Thought about it for a moment.

“Right,” I replied.

As Billy started cleaning up the remains of his mullet, I took off my head scarf, pulling it free of the pins. I folded the fabric in my hands and looked up at myself in the mirror. Suddenly, what I saw didn’t seem so bad.

Billy was watching me from behind.

I smiled back at my gorgeous boyfriend, and for the first time ever, I really did feel like maybe it was only hair.

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For those of you that made it this far, here’s some Billy with his head shaved ;)

My taglist is always open, please let me know if you would like to be added!

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eldritchteaparty · 3 years

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Chapters: 4/? Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares

General summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary: Jon and Martin head back to the Magnus Institute, where Martin goes on an interview outing with Tim and Jon starts to catch up with Sasha’s “statements.”

Chapter 4 of my post-canon fix-it is up! Read above at AO3 or here below.

Tumblr master post with links to earlier chapters

***

Shortly after Martin’s phone flickered to life, he found a lot of messages waiting for him—and they were almost all from the same person.

Are you ok?

Message soon please.

Do you need anything?

Answer when you can.

Still worried…

He glanced at Jon, sitting on the other side of the bed and looking through his own phone.

“Sasha been messaging you too?” Martin asked him.

“Yes. And I’ve got one from Tim.”

Martin had that one also. “Telling you to answer Sasha?”

“Yes—and calling me something I won’t repeat.”

Ok, so he didn’t have exactly that one.

“All right,” Martin said a few minutes later. “Let’s do this, then. I’ll message Sasha back.”

“Wait—what are we doing? What’s the plan?”

He typed out a simple message to Sasha telling her they were ok and he was sorry for not answering sooner. “We lie to them.”

“Hm.” Jon seemed uneasy.

“Did you… want to tell them the truth?”

“Well…” Jon thought. “Obviously, we can’t. I’m just concerned that—”

“Exactly. And even if we did tell it to them, they wouldn’t believe it.”

Jon still looked doubtful. “Martin, I’m not sure if I—”

“Look, sometimes there are good reasons to lie. We just need to keep it simple, make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.” He read the message one more time and hit send. “Anyway, don’t act like you don’t know how. You’re actually quite good at it when you want to be.”

He didn’t mean to add that last part; it just came out, and it came out bitter. He looked at Jon again and regretted it immediately. He had come to realize he much preferred Jon’s anger to his sadness, especially when he was the cause. He opened his mouth to apologize, but as he did his phone began to buzz. They stared at each other.

“Jon, I didn’t mean that. I’m—I’m sorry—forget it, ok? I have to—hang on.”

He answered Sasha’s call on speaker, turning away to concentrate.

“Hey, Sasha.”

“Martin? Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t answer you sooner. It’s been—”

“How is Jon, do you know?”

“Yes, he’s—he’s with me. We’re both ok.”

“Oh, thank god.” Her relief was clear, even over the speaker, and Martin felt a pang of something in his gut. He hadn’t had a moment to consider how much he’d missed Sasha, how unfair it had all been, and how much it felt like she’d somehow come back. It would have been so easy to think that way—except their Sasha was still dead, and he may very well have been responsible for the death of the person she thought she was talking to.

“You do sound better,” she continued. “Look, I really didn’t want to tell you what to do, but—tell me you went to a doctor or something?”

Martin cleared his throat, aware Jon was listening to the conversation. “We did, actually. We did end up going to the hospital. I think we were maybe in a bit of shock after all.”

“No kidding. What happened? What did they say?”

“Physically, we’re—we’re all right.” He thought about all the blood again, and decided he should add a little more. “I mean, we were very dehydrated. They put us on a drip for a bit. And—and antibiotics, just in case. But they said we’re healing well, I guess?”

“That—that’s good. What else? What about—not physically?”

“Well, they did a lot of tests. The kind where they asked a bunch of questions. They didn’t want to call it amnesia, exactly, but we’ve—we’ve got some memory loss.” Experience told him the less specific the lie, the better. “Neither of us really remembers what happened. And it’s possible… we might have forgotten some stuff from before, too. We don’t really know how bad it is yet.”

“Oh. That’s terrible.”

Martin looked over his shoulder at Jon, who had crept closer to hear better. He nodded, and Martin turned back.

“It’s not great, but the good news is they don’t think there are any deeper issues. I mean, they’ve got us signed up for all kinds of therapy, but they don’t think there’s any—how did they say it—no lasting cognitive impairment.” Cognitive impairment was a phrase that maybe came to him too easily after caring for his mother; he felt like he was maybe pushing it a little.

“Well, that part’s good. How are you feeling, though?” Sasha asked.

“A lot better.”

“Did they feed you? Do you need anything? Can I bring you something?”

“No, that’s all right. We’re—actually, Sasha, we were wondering if we could… maybe come back. To work.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and Martin cringed and held his breath through it; he didn’t look at Jon. He might have gone for it too soon.

“You want to come back? Already?”

He exhaled quietly, away from the phone so Sasha couldn’t hear it. “They said the more we could normalize things, it might—help? I mean, I know there might be some issues rehiring us—but maybe if Elias hasn’t replaced us yet—"

“No, I mean—you know Elias, he hasn’t even taken you off payroll. It just seems… fast. Are you sure you want to?”

“Well, if you’re worried, we don’t have to come back right away.” Jon grabbed his arm and Martin frowned at him, shrugging him off. Wait, he mouthed. “I know we might not be up to our usual workload, and we’re going to have to take some time off for therapy and all… I’m really only bringing it up because they thought it would help, but it’s completely fair if you don’t want to take—”

“No! No, I don’t mind.” She sounded upset, and he felt bad. “That’s not it at all. And we could use your help, honestly, but I really don’t want to put pressure on you while you’re recovering. Do you promise you’ll let me know if it’s too much?”

“Yes,” Martin answered. “Yes, of course. Jon too.”

“Well…” said Sasha, “When are you thinking about coming in?”

Um… hang on.” He muted himself and turned to Jon.

“What do you think?” Then, before Jon answered, he added, “And do not say today. It’s already after 2 pm and that would just be weird.”

“Fine. Tomorrow, then.” Of course. He sighed.

“Sasha?” He said, unmuting the phone. “Jon says—Jon says tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Really?”

“Yeah. Yeah, actually. If you’re all right with it.”

There was more silence.

“And I mean Sasha, I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t mind being around people. It would be nice.” That wasn’t even a lie.

“Ok. Sure, Martin.” It had done the trick. “Take your time getting in though, ok? And get some sleep tonight.”

“Will do. Thanks, Sasha.” He hung up, and turned his head slightly in Jon’s direction. “Happy?”

“Thank you,” Jon answered, putting an arm around Martin to press his mouth briefly to his cheek. Martin couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, all right. Just don’t exhaust yourself. Remember, you’ve got to eat real food and sleep real sleep now.”

“Mm.” Jon was already headed out to the sitting room where his desk was.

“What did I say, Jon?” he shouted.

“Eat and sleep,” Jon shouted back.

Martin grumbled to himself.

The rest of the day was spent washing the one set of clothes that he had, and going through the phone to learn what he could about his current situation. His passwords and fingerprints opened all the apps, but that didn’t faze him anymore. He was able to figure out from email and voicemails that the apartment building where this world’s Martin had been living had indeed kicked him out, but thankfully his belongings were being held in storage. He could pay two months of back rent and a late fee if he wanted to reclaim them, although it wouldn’t be until the following week.

Fortunately, Sasha had been correct that they hadn’t been taken off payroll—not only had they not been taken off, but Martin had been paid his full salary for the last two months. If he hadn’t already been convinced that Jonah Magnus was not running the institute, that certainly did it.

***

Although he didn’t successfully get Jon off the computer for it, he did manage to get him to eat most of a meal that evening at his desk. And while Jon didn’t get in bed at the same time he did, Martin was still up to hear him come in.

“Hey.”

“Sorry,” Jon said softly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, that’s all right. You didn’t. I actually—something’s been bothering me. I wanted to apologize for what I said right before Sasha called today. About… you. Lying. I mean, we need to talk about it—what happened—but not like that.”

“Martin…” Jon shifted under the covers. “I want to talk about it. I do. You deserve that. I’m just…”

“You’re not ready yet.”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll—I’ll try not to push,” Martin answered, closing his eyes again. “I want to do this right. Or at least better than we’ve been doing things. Just… you try too, ok?”

There was a moment of quiet before Jon answered. “Ok.”

***

Going back to the Magnus Institute in the morning already felt much easier than it had the first time. It didn’t hold the same sense of discontinuity—it felt less like déjà vu and more like returning to a place he had genuinely spent a lot of time. Rosie was away from her desk when they arrived; Sasha and Tim were in Sasha’s office with the door closed, and they could hear muffled conversation through the door. Jon sat at his desk, but Martin decided he’d wait for Sasha before he even pretended to do something, and sat on the sofa instead.

“So,” he asked Jon, “how are you feeling, now that you’re here?”

“Good, I suppose,” he answered. “Well, not bad, anyway. I’ll feel better once I can start looking through some of Sasha’s statements.”

“They’re not statements, Jon. I expect you’re going to be disappointed if—”

“I just meant that I’ll feel better once I have some understanding of…” He trailed off. “Why do I need a pin?”

“Hm?”

“My laptop. I need a pin.”

“Wait, didn’t you have one before?”

“No. Sasha kept telling me to set one, but…” Jon sighed. “This would be a lot easier if we could remember things about this place when we wanted to.”

A thought occurred to Martin, something they hadn’t talked about yet. “Are you going to be all right, Jon? With Sasha being the archivist here?”

“She’s not the Archivist. There is no Archivist here. Not even me, right now.” Martin could hear him typing, trying different combinations of numbers, and could also hear his frustration growing.

“Hang on, let me try a couple things before you go getting all worked up.” He got up and went to join Jon at his desk. “And no, you’re right, of course—I just meant, are you ok with her being the head archivist here? At the Institute?”

“I don’t care.” Jon leaned back from his desk so Martin could reach the number keys. “Wait—is that the sofa that Tim brought in when—”

“Yes, it is. And it was a good idea.” The pin would have to be something Jon would easily remember, and knowing Jon, probably also too easy for someone else to guess. He tried Jon’s birthday; it didn’t work. He tried the street number of Jon’s flat, and that didn’t work either. “Hmm…”

“Well, I suppose professionalism isn’t as important when your entire area of research is—”

“Jon, hush.” Last four of Jon’s phone number?... Nope. He stared down at the keys and a wild thought entered his head. No reason he couldn’t try it, though. He typed the four-digit combination and was surprised to find that it worked.

“Oh.” Jon leaned forward. “What did you type?”

“I don’t know,” Martin lied. “I was just trying things. I don’t remember what I did.”

“Well, how am I supposed to get back in next time?”

“You’re going to have to change it.”

“I don’t want to change it.”

“Sasha’s going to make you change it.”

“How is Sasha going to know that—”

“Because I just saw Martin type it in for you,” Sasha said from the door of her office, smiling.

“Hey, Sasha.” Martin let himself smile in return—it was easy, if he forgot the last four years of his life. “Thanks again for letting us come in today.”

“Honestly, I’m already wondering if it was a mistake. I told you to take your time and really, it’s first thing in the morning.”

“Well, Jon just couldn’t wait to get back,” he said, reflexively rubbing the back of his neck. “He—hang on.”

He snatched the mouse away from Jon and clicked through to the screen where he could change his pin, while Jon did his best to appear extremely inconvenienced. “Oh, stop. Type the new one, I’m not looking.”

Jon grudgingly did as Martin instructed.

“So why were you so eager to come back, Jon?” Sasha asked.

“Oh.” Jon cleared his throat. “I, um…”

Martin interceded. “He’s actually been very concerned about—about the things you said have been happening here since we were gone.”

“I wondered if that was it. I’ve been thinking about that myself,” Sasha said. “I know you don’t remember anything, but the timing was just so… Jon, I know you’ve always been a skeptic—”

“And I still am. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for everything.” Martin thought maybe Jon would catch on after all. “But it would be quite the coincidence if it were unrelated. I was actually wondering if I might review some of the notes you took during your—interviews.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Sasha replied. “To be honest, I haven’t the slightest idea what to do with them. They aren’t exactly typical archive material. Maybe you can help me—”

“Morning, everyone.” Tim cheerfully disrupted the conversation as he slipped into the room behind Sasha. “How are we all feeling?”

“All right,” Martin answered, when no one else did.

“Great. Especially coming from you, Martin, because we are going on an adventure today.” Tim made his way to his desk and picked through a few papers.

“Oh?” Martin looked at Sasha.

“What Tim means is that if you are up for it, there were a few people who contacted us but couldn’t come in, and we haven’t had a chance to get back to them. I haven’t felt comfortable sending Tim to interview people alone, and well—it’s not really our job, and I’ve got more than enough actual work to take care of since—well, we’ve gotten a bit backed up.”

“What do you think, Martin?” Tim asked, waving the papers toward him. “Up for it?”

“Oh, well, I—I guess I could, yeah.” He glanced at Jon, who was suddenly sitting up very straight in his chair.

“Martin, I—are you sure?”

“I think so,” Martin replied.

“I’m just thinking that if something were to happen…”

“What—what sort of thing?”

“Yeah Jon, what sort of thing?” Tim echoed. They both turned to look at him and found him with a curious look on his face. “Oh look, if you two need to consult about this, please go ahead. Don’t mind me.”

“Yes, thank you, Tim.” Jon spoke through gritted teeth, indicating the sarcasm hadn’t escaped him. “Martin, just—come talk to me.” He stood up and took Martin by the arm, leading him out into the reception area and closing the door—but not before Martin saw Tim bite back a grin.

“Jon, what—”

“Martin, we have no idea what’s going on, or who or what could be out there, or—”

“Do you want Tim to go by himself?”

“Well—no, but—”

“Look.” He took Jon by the arm now. “I know we haven’t been apart since—well, not for a long time. And I know every time we have been apart, it’s been bad. But things are different now. This is different. You’ll be all right here with Sasha, and I’ll be with Tim and—”

“And with anything else that’s shown up since we got here. And if something happened, I—” Jon stopped and looked toward the floor. “I wouldn’t know about it.”

“Yeah, well, welcome back to being a normal person.” He squeezed Jon’s arm. “Look, if you’re really worried, I’ll come up with some excuse. But Jon, we’ve got to—we’ve got to try and be functional here. Plus, if you really want to figure out where things are—if you’re here going through the interviews, doesn’t it help for me to be out there? Talking to people? You know—like I used to do for you by myself all the time?”

Jon pressed a hand to his own mouth, thinking.

“Jon, I’ve got my phone.”

“Technically you had your phone when you went to look for Jane Prentiss.”

“Ok, I see why that’s not that reassuring, but do you realize how long it took for Jane Prentiss to—become what she was? And I will be with Tim, and—”

“Yes, you’ll be with Tim. Great.”

“Jon.” Martin sighed. “He’s just concerned. Ok, what if I—what if I look through the contact forms before I leave? Make sure I don’t recognize any names on them? Like—no bad names?”

“We don’t even know if it works like that.” Jon thought for another minute, but Martin could see his resistance starting to come down. “Look, I don’t want to… maybe I am being overprotective.”

“You think?” It didn’t really bother him to hear Jon say it; in fact, he got a bit soft knowing Jon felt that way, but it wasn’t going to help the situation to admit it.

Jon finally gave in. “All right. Do look at the names though—and if anything happens—”

“I’ll let you know right away. I won’t do anything dumb.”

“I know. Martin, I—” Jon looked up at him again. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He leaned down for a quick kiss, which Jon returned. “I’ll be fine, ok?”

Jon nodded, reluctant.

***

Despite another look from Tim, Martin did check the names as promised; there were only three for that day, and he didn’t recognize any of them. By the time they left, the thought of spending time alone with Tim made him more nervous than their actual task. He imagined that as soon as they were out the door, Tim would start peppering him with questions about where he and Jon had been, what had happened between them, or both.

As it turned out, though, their time together was quite enjoyable. Martin had forgotten how easy it was to be around Tim—that he had that thing he could do that just made everyone comfortable when he wanted to. They took the tube out to a suburb, and on the way, they talked about the weather a little bit. They talked about a new café that had moved in down the street a few weeks ago; Tim said it was all right for an occasional something different, but nothing special. They talked about what Tim had been up to in his free time. As it turned out, his brother Danny was getting married soon to a girl Tim absolutely adored. Martin suddenly remembered when Danny had come into town and visited Tim at work one day a few years ago, and he’d been amazed by how similar the two of them had been when they stood side by side.

I’ve met Danny Stoker. The urge to smile hitting alongside that awful catch in his throat was becoming a strangely familiar feeling.

Their first interview was with an older woman in her home. She had gotten in touch with the Institute after receiving their information through a friend of a friend, who’d heard a story from yet another friend. Martin really thought there wasn’t anything to it. Well, he supposed it was possible there was a ghost living in her television set that just happened to have moved in after her daughter had tried to help her set up a new voice assistant—but in all fairness, it seemed unlikely. The second interview was equally unimpressive.

Once they finished up, Tim made a phone call to their third interview subject, and announced they were headed back to central London. The man didn’t want to meet at home, but he was willing to meet them somewhere public; Tim arranged to meet him at a deli not far from the Institute. The ride back was pleasant enough, if a bit quieter.

“It’s getting late,” Tim said, after glancing at his phone. “We have time to eat first, if you’re up for it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Martin was pretty hungry again by the time they sat down with their food. He supposed he’d missed being able to enjoy food, but having to eat multiple times a day was sort of annoying when it came down to it. He was just wondering if he should send Jon a reminder to eat, when he realized Tim was staring at him; he hadn’t touched his sandwich yet.

“Everything ok?” he asked.

“What happened?” Tim asked. “To you and Jon.”

“Oh, I—” Martin swallowed the bite in his mouth. “I assumed Sasha told you. We don’t—”

“Don’t remember.” Tim cut him off. “Really, though? Like—nothing?”

Well, here goes. “Really. Nothing.”

Tim regarded him thoughtfully. “We looked for you. Me and Sasha, we looked everywhere, for weeks. Well, everywhere we could think of.”

“Tim, I’m—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” That was the truth. In fact, he was sorrier than he was going to be able to explain.

“Sasha took it really hard, you know?” Tim said. “I mean, you were at work when it happened. She felt responsible. Like it was her fault.”

That sounded familiar.

“It wasn’t,” Martin replied. “It wasn’t her fault. It had nothing to do with her.”

“I told her that. Every day. I don’t think it made any difference, though. And I’m sure it hasn’t really sunk in yet that you’re back.” Tim picked a small piece of crust from his sandwich bread and chewed it carefully before swallowing. “I mean, it almost seems impossible, doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were gone for two months, you left no sign of what had happened or where you were—and then you just show up again one day, making out on the landscape, covered in your own blood.”

“We were not making out,” Martin snapped.

“You were too,” Tim answered. “What’s that about, anyway?”

Martin didn’t answer him.

“Look, I have no idea what happened, but… I’ll admit, I’ve always wondered if you maybe had a thing for him. I mean, the man’s always been a bit of a wreck, and I’ve watched you defend him and try to take care of him ever since we all started working together. And it’s not like you got along that well, but I know you and it just seems like the kind of thing you’d go for. But I never thought—”

“You really don’t like Jon, do you?”

“What? No, I like him just fine. You know that. But I like him for who he is, and this just seems like… it seems like a lot after two months.”

“Tim, it’s complicated, and I don’t know how to explain it. You don’t—you don’t know what we’ve been through. What he’s been through, or what he’s—”

“I thought you didn’t either.”

Martin’s heart skipped, and then beat double to make up for it. “I just meant—look, I don’t know what happened, but I—I feel things I can’t explain. And I can say that it feels like it’s been a lot longer than two months since—since we disappeared.”

“Is that so?” Tim asked. “Just tell me. Do you not remember, or do you actually not remember?”

“I—I really don’t remember.”

“Why did it sound like there were quotes around that?”

“There weren’t.”

“Right.” Tim said. “Well in that case, I ‘believe you’”—he paused to make large air quotes— “and I ‘definitely won’t keep asking.’”

“Tim—”

“It’s fine,” Tim said as he finally took a large bite of his sandwich, then continued with his mouth full. “Whatever happened, I am glad you’re back—and whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here.”

As hungry as he was when he’d sat down, Martin couldn’t touch the rest of his sandwich. He kind of resented the way Tim was able to keep eating. Tim had always been that way though, hadn’t he? Able to say what he thought without worrying about the consequences. It had taken on a different flavor after he’d found himself trapped at the Institute, of course, but even then, he’d stood up to Elias without any fear of what might happen. Even when he’d died, he’d gone out the way he’d wanted too—no regrets.

Martin wanted so badly to tell him the truth in that moment. Instead, he sat in silence and watched him eat.

A short time later, Tim grabbed a napkin to wipe his mouth. “I think that’s him. Our interview. Yellow shirt, black jacket.” He raised a hand toward someone coming through the door behind Martin.

“What was the name again?” Martin asked as he turned around.

“Hang on—” Tim pulled out one of the contact forms. “Here we go. Antonio Blake.”

Wait. Wait, there was something familiar about that name—shit. He’d thought about it too quickly that morning. He’d completely forgotten about the alias.

Jon is going to lose it when I have to tell him this.

“You’re—you’re Oliver Banks,” he said to the man now standing directly in front of him.

Oliver looked suspiciously from him to Tim and back again. “I didn’t—how did you know that?”

“I—don’t know. It just came to me.” Given what Oliver had to be going through, maybe there was half a chance he would find that plausible.

Tim gave him a look. “You know him?”

“Not—not really. Please, sit.”

Oliver continued to hesitate. “I’m not sure I want to.”

“Look—I am sorry, I didn’t mean to—I’m Martin Blackwood, from the Magnus Institute. This is Tim Stoker.”

Tim stood up and offered his hand in that easy, open manner he had, and Oliver tenuously accepted it.

“Please,” Martin said. “Whatever you have to say—we’d like to hear it. It might be important. Maybe we could… help.”

He didn’t feel great about himself for adding that last part.

Oliver slowly pulled out the third chair at the table and sat down. Martin didn’t know what he’d expected him to be like, but somehow this wasn’t it. He felt sad for this man. He looked so tired, but at the same time so ready to run. He reminded Martin a bit of Jon, actually, during the year after Jane Prentiss had come to the institute and before they’d realized that Sasha had been murdered. He supposed that made a lot of sense, the more he thought about it.

Tim spoke again. “You didn’t leave a lot of detail in your message, so—do you want to just walk us through what happened to you?”

“Well…” Oliver looked from one to the other of them again. “I’m really not sure you’ll believe me. To tell the truth, I’m not sure anymore that I’m not going crazy. I’ve—I’ve not been sleeping much, and it’s…” he trailed off.

“You don’t want to sleep because you’re afraid you’ll dream again.”

Oliver re-focused on Martin. “How do you keep—”

“It’s all right.” Martin said. “I just want you to know that I’ll believe you. If you want to tell us.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. Martin didn’t want to say anything that might send Oliver back out the door, and Tim followed his lead. Finally, Oliver spoke, quietly enough that it took some effort to hear him.

“It was a dream. Or it started with a dream. The first time, I dreamed that I was walking near Canary Wharf—I used to have a job there years ago, and—well, I don’t need to get into that, do I… The point is, I know the area. There were people around me, people I don’t actually know, like happens in a dream, but they all had these—I don’t know—tendrils.” He paused and made a motion with his hands, like he was holding something heavy. “I don’t really have another word for it. Like snakes, almost, but not alive like snakes. Just tendrils, everywhere, and they went through these people—like their hearts, or their heads, or around them somewhere. I really didn’t like it, you know, but also I think I knew I was dreaming. Everything was sort of pulsing and—and I was trying to ignore all of it, but when I headed home in the dream… Well, it was my landlady. She had lots of them, like black veins, running into her chest, or her lungs, really, somehow I knew it was her lungs. I woke up not long after that.”

Martin tried to keep his expression neutral. This was so much like the statement Oliver had made years ago in their world, to Gertrude, but it was also so different. Most obviously, it wasn’t a statement at all, it was just Oliver talking. That made sense. There was no Archivist here, either with them or in general, which Jon had so intently pointed out that morning. The words weren’t just pulled out like Martin was used to, thank god. And certainly, the people Oliver had first dreamed of in their world would have passed years earlier. The basic story, though, was the same.

“OK.” Tim nodded, scratching down some notes. “But I assume there’s more?”

“Well, the thing is—not even two weeks later, she—she died. Lung cancer. It was sudden. Undiagnosed. I’d almost forgotten about the dream, to be honest, but that… it shook me.”

“Understandable.” Tim nodded again. “So you think your dream was a—a warning?”

“Well, I mean—of course I was sort of struck by it, that day, but after a little time, it didn’t seem like such a big thing. She smoked her whole life. I know sometimes people know things they aren’t really conscious of, and maybe I just—knew she was sick. But then… it happened again. A man at the bakery near the shop where I work now. I barely knew him. It was his heart. And I—I dreamed it again. The whole thing. A week before it happened. And I just started wondering if—if every person I see in that dream…”

Tim frowned and looked toward Martin, which prompted Oliver to do the same.

“What do I do?” Oliver asked, and Martin swore a shiver ran through him—maybe it was from nerves or too much coffee or not enough sleep, or maybe all three. “I thought maybe you would—know something about this. Maybe you’ve heard of it before. Do you think—do you think I could help them? If I found them, if I talked to them—”

“No,” Martin answered. “I mean, I have heard of it before, and… no. You can’t help them. I’m—I’m sorry.”

Oliver worried at his lip. “I’m not—I’m not causing it somehow, am I? I was thinking that maybe—if I keep trying to stay awake—”

“No.” Martin shook his head. “No, you’re not causing it. You—you should know it’s not your fault. And if you sleep, or if you don’t sleep—they’ll still… they’ll still die.”

Oliver nodded his head, digesting the information. “So I can’t do anything. I just get to know they’re going to die, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“I’m sorry.” Martin wondered what he would have said if he’d had time to think about it. Would it have been any different? Would he have thought of something better to say, something that didn’t fall so flat the moment it left his mouth, something that could have actually helped?

Would Jon have said something better?

“All right,” Oliver replied softly, bringing Martin back from his thoughts as he stood up from his chair. “Thank you for listening. I—I think I’m going to go.”

“If you need anything—if we can help—you know where to find us.”

Martin wasn’t sure if Oliver even heard him.

“What the hell was that?” Tim asked loudly, once Oliver was out of sight.

“Nothing,” Martin answered.

“That wasn’t nothing. You knew that man. You knew what he was going to say.” Tim pointed at the door, waving his finger for emphasis. “And then you…”

“Tim, I can’t explain it right now.”

He turned his finger on Martin. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like this.”

“I’m sorry. I wish—” His phone, which he had set on the table, buzzed at him. It was a message from Jon, asking if everything was ok. “Let’s go back now, all right?”

Tim shook his head in disbelief. They didn’t speak on the walk back.

***

Jon jerked up from his desk when they walked in, which was now covered in numerous hand-written notes and manilla folders. Martin suspected he’d maybe been taking an unintentional nap. “How did it go?”

“Fine,” Martin answered. “Did you eat?”

“Not—not yet.”

“Here,” Martin said, tossing the rest of his sandwich onto Jon’s desk. “I didn’t finish it.”

“Oh.” Jon peeked under the wrapper. “You barely ate this at all. Are you sure you don’t—”

“Yes.”

“All right, well—thank you.” Jon took a quick bite and set it aside as he resumed reading.

“Well?” Tim said.

Martin ignored him.

“Are you going to tell him about your friend?”

“What friend?” Jon asked, eyes still on the paper in front of him.

“I didn’t catch his name, actually,” Tim replied. “But I do know it wasn’t”—he pulled out the now-crumpled contact form— “Antonio Blake.”

“What?” Jon immediately stopped what he was doing.

“Jon—”

“You saw Oliver Banks.”

“Oliver Banks.” Tim deliberately overpronounced the name. “That’s right. Thank you, Jon.”

“Tim—”

“How could you miss that?” Jon stood up.

“It was fine! Nothing happened. I would have—”

Jon didn’t even need to speak to cut him off; the look in his eyes was enough. “We need to talk.”

“Please,” Tim cut in. “One of you talk, at least.”

“In private. Come on,” Jon said, once again taking Martin by the arm. Rosie was back at her desk now, but Sasha had temporarily stepped out, and they spoke in her office with hushed voices, without bothering to turn the light on.

“Jon, it really was fine, I—”

“Stop.” Jon reached up to take Martin’s face in his hands. “It’s ok. I just want to know what happened.”

“Nothing, really. He—he’s had a couple dreams, that’s all. He wanted to talk about it. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do to—to help them. I told him he couldn’t. I felt bad for him.”

Jon closed his eyes and breathed out, then opened them to look at Martin again.

“Jon, I don’t see what the big deal is. I mean, what does he even do? He sees people’s deaths, and wakes up other people’s”—he paused— “Archivists.”

“It’s not funny. Or that simple.” Jon let go and turned to face the wall. “Martin what if—what if he had seen your death?”

“Well then—at least I’d know? I guess?”

“Or what if he’d seen Tim’s? Or—or mine?”

Martin could sort of see Jon’s point then—but only sort of. “Ok, but—I still think we weren’t really in any danger. Yes, I messed up, and I should have caught that, but—”

“It’s too dangerous,” Jon interrupted. “You can’t do this again without me. And—and neither can Tim.”

“Oh really,” Martin responded. “And why do you—”

“It’s not just Oliver,” Jon broke in again. “I found some things in the—in the interviews Sasha did. Do you remember the thing we called the Anglerfish?”

“Yes?”

“And do you remember Laura Popham?”

“Um—”

“She went caving with her sister and—”

“Oh, right. Lost John’s Cave.”

“They’ve… they were in there, in the interviews. Already. In just two months.”

Martin was starting to understand Jon’s reaction.

“And I was hoping it was just those sorts of things,” Jon continued, “and no… avatars, but if Oliver Banks is already connected to the End—”

“I see.” Martin stepped closer to Jon to put an arm over his shoulder. “All right, I get it. Things are happening fast.”

“Well… most things.” Jon sounded a little offput.

“Wait.” Martin almost laughed, but not because he found it funny. “Wait, are you upset because you aren’t connected to the Eye yet?”

“Upset isn’t the right—”

“Now who’s jealous of Oliver Banks?”

“Technically that would be envy, not jealousy—”

“Technically yes, but that isn’t the—”

“—and I’m not,” Jon finished. “I just—I feel like I know it’s coming, and I’d like to get it over with.”

“Right.” Martin rolled his eyes, but only because Jon couldn’t see it in the dim office. “So what do we do now?”

“First, if there are more interviews to be done, they could be important, but… we do them together. You and me.”

“There are. And… if Sasha is ok with it.”

“And then I keep going through Sasha’s notes. And then I go back before that, just to—”

“Jon, you’re going to exhaust yourself.”

“Then I do.”

“No. It doesn’t do anyone any good if you—”

They were interrupted by Sasha’s voice.

“Jon? Martin?”

“Yes,” Jon answered. “Sorry, I needed to speak with Martin, so we borrowed your office.”

“That’s fine, but you didn’t need to do it in the dark,” she said, switching on the light. “So I was just talking to Tim, and it sounds like today was… eventful?”

“That’s not exactly what I said, but I suppose that’s the polite version.” Tim followed her into the office.

“Well, I have something to report, too.” Sasha sat down behind her desk. “I know I said I was going to get back on regular archive things today, but… well, let’s just say I got curious, and may have found a back door on the web to access certain matters of official police business.”

“Really?” Tim’s grin was back. “That almost sounds like someone’s misbehaving.”

“I’d feel bad about it, but let’s also say I wasn’t too pleased with the way a certain missing persons case was handled.”

“Good for you.”

“Thank you, Tim.” Sasha did seem very pleased with herself. “But that brings me to my next point. Tim, I know you have some… contacts at some of the local police stations who might be able to—supplement the information I’m getting? I could use your help with that.”

“Sure, boss,” Tim said. “And that should work perfectly, actually, because I believe Jon was just getting ready to forbid Martin from going on any more interviews with me.”

“That is not—” Jon started over. “I would like to go with Martin on any further interviews, if that’s agreeable.”

“I mean—that’s fine, and I certainly don’t want anyone going out alone,” Sasha answered, “but what about catching up with everything here? It seemed like you felt that was pretty important.”

“I’d like to keep doing that too. I might need to put in a few extra hours.”

Sasha sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that. Maybe? Let’s see how you’re doing next week.”

“Sasha, I’m—”

“—already worn out, and a very bad judge of your own health.” Martin nodded in agreement, and shrugged without sympathy when Jon glared at him. “For the rest of this week, if you come in, you’ll both stay here. Jon, you can keep going through my notes, and Martin—would you mind helping me catch up on some of the filing and patron requests? I don’t even want to think about how far behind we are. Those other interviews have waited this long, they’ll wait a few more days. Especially if Tim is able to help follow up with the police angle.”

“Of course,” Martin answered. Even if Jon didn’t think he needed to take it a little bit easy, Martin was more than willing to acknowledge his own limitations—and sometimes Jon’s, even if it wasn’t appreciated. “Oh, and Sasha—we’ve got therapy tomorrow morning, so we’ll probably be a little bit late.”

“Good,” Sasha replied. “And for now, don’t take any of those notes home, Jon.”

Jon stared daggers at Martin, but he didn’t regret it—especially not after Jon fell asleep on him on the couch during dinner a few hours later.

#the magnus archives #tma #mag pod #tma spoilers #jonmartin #tma fanfic #my writing

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notquitecanon · 4 years

Text

Lauren Reynolds/ Marvel (Reader Insert) Pt. 5

TW: death, combat, guns, knives, fighting, blood, graphic description of violence and injury angst, arguing (if that counts)

This is Criminal Minds Season 6, Ep. 18, so if you haven’t gotten that far and don’t want it spoiled, maybe just move along, come back and read once you’ve finished season six.

Gonna be honest, I took Seaver out of this. I love her character, but she just kind of got in the way. Otherwise, most of this is the same as the episode, except where I either modified dialogue or switched around characters!

I wanted to use this chapter to show some relationships between the team, but I don’t think I did a very good job of it. Also you lowkey a badasss.

Part one Part Two Part Three Part 4

___

It took another hour's drive to get to Quantico. Anderson seemed to feel your unease, so he didn’t even attempt to make small talk, only driving faster. You were grateful for that. You were grateful for Steve, trying to cheer you up. But the anxiety was back, climbing up your throat like bile. You chewed on your thumbnail as you watched the scenery go by, wondering what would wait for you at the BAU.

As soon as you were brought into the building, you caught a beautifully familiar face. Sighing in relief, you rushed forward into a hug, “JJ.”

“They called in all their cards, huh?” She breathed, returning the embrace. You detached as you were ushered into an elevator.

“Any idea what this is about?” You asked, her lips pressed into a line. That wasn’t a good sign. The elevator dinged and opened up.

“We’re about to find out.” She muttered, giving your hand a squeeze as the two of you strided out of the elevator. The two of you walked into the BAU like you owned the place, she was wearing her Pentagon ID and your SHIELD badge was clipped delicately to your belt. Hotch was explaining the situation.

“I’ve reached out to two experts on the matter who can also shed light on Prentiss’ past.” He informed them, pinning what looked like Prentiss’ key card to the idea board. Reid’s head cocked to the side.

“Them.”

When Hotch nodded to you and JJ, every head swiveled to you. JJ held her head high, trying to hide her anxiety, while you just smiled at your team.��

“Let’s get to work.”

Within 45 minutes, you and JJ had completely redone the ideas board. With her Pentagon connections and your SHIELD intel more and more blanks were being filled. Even with the advancement, every minute passed was another minute Prentiss was in danger.

“My contact only knew her history word of mouth. She assumed Lauren Reynold’s identity when undercover for Interpol. With them they profiled terrorists.” JJ explained, then you piped up.

“Interpol worked closely with SHIELD operatives for that. She was a part of a special task force called JTF-12.” You added, that information had actually come directly from Clint- who apparently worked several missions against the IRA and had a personal grudge with Ian Doyle. He offered to come in, but you told him to stay with his family.

“They were assembled after 9-11. CIA, SHIELD, and other Western Agencies assembled the best and brightest. As you may have heard, all sorts of people were recruited post 9/11. These were the same agencies that recruited Bruce Banner, Betty Ross, and tried to recruit Tony Stark.” You continued.

“Terrorists and Serial Killers profile different.” Derek pointed out. The roundtable nodded.

“How does Ian Doyle fit into this?” Spencer asked, eyebrows knitted fiercely together. You made a mental note to check in about his headaches later, but for the moment you just answered his question.

“Doyle was her task forces last target.” You filled him in, flipping the mission file onto your tablet. JJ nodded.

“And now the JTF is on his hit list. He’s already hit Jeremy Wolf, Sean McAlister, and Tsia Mosely.” She explained, motioning through photos. “And the team leader, Clyde Easter hasn’t checked in since Tsia’s murder and is currently presumed dead.”

“Did JTF make the arrest?” Hotch asked, and you answered.

“No, the host countries handled that so the team could move onto the next case. And so names wouldn’t be on paper.” You informed. Hotch’s face screwed up in confusion.

“If all they did was deliver a profile, how does Doyle even know about them?” He asked. JJ and you shared a look, but you bit the bullet.

“Due to the shady nature of terrorist cells, international agencies will use infiltration tactics. Which is why Emily was considered a US spy.” You explained, catching Derek’s disapproving scoff. You knew he liked things straight forward. Spencer, however, continued with another question.

“Who was undercover on Doyle?”

This time it was JJ who delivered the bad news, “Emily. She made contact with him in Boston to get intel on Valhalla. She was posing as another weapon’s dealer.”

JJ then passed out printed out photos of a younger Emily, cutting flowers, wearing a linen pants suit. Derek looked at the photos, “She looks mighty comfortable.”

Hotch redirected the phrasing, “How close did she get to Doyle as her cover?”

Once again it was your turn to give bad news, sucking in a deep breath, “Well, his profile included an in-depth background of all his romantic relationships. Emily... was his type.”

You paused to look at the rest of the table. Morgan’s face flashed with contempt. Spencer’s frown deepened as his eyes flitted back to the photos. Garcia was looking around for an explanation while Rossi and Hotch shared a look. Now they understood just how personal this was for Doyle.

And that put Emily in so much more danger.

______

After the meeting, Hotch assigned tasks. You had watched Derek storm off towards the garage, Rossi following calmly behind him to go through Prentiss’ apartment. Garcia retreated back to her computer room with JJ as they worked on finding any sort of paper trail.

You were left with Reid, you and he were reviewing the SHIELD case files that were relevant to the case. For the longest it was silent, the two of you working in harmony for Prentiss’ sake. You paused from your scrolling, looking up to the genius. His eyes were moving almost inhumanely fast as he mouth the words he was reading, one hand scribbling down notes as he went.

“How have your headaches been?” You asked quietly. His head popped up, eyes wide, so you quickly placated him, “No one’s around. I just figured that all the screens, puzzles, and people are probably not great. Reading on screens for the past 30 minutes straight probably hasn’t helped either.”

His eyes softened, going back to the tablet, “The Doctor said it’s psychosomatic. But I think he’s wrong.”

You nodded, waiting to see if he would add anything to the matter, he did, continuing to say, “They died down a little bit, but it does seem to correlate with stress.”

You smiled softly, “Have you told the team, yet?”

He shook his head, smile pulling into a guilty line. “Just you and Emily, the others would just worry and baby me.”

You just nodded, going back to your files. It was probably for the best that Derek had been sent to Prentiss’ apartment with Rossi- just the idea of her seduction had made him angry. The explicit details would enrage him. Speaking of the pair, your head turned as the pair rushed through the bullpen to Hotch’s office.

“Guess that means they found something.” You muttered, watching the door slam behind Derek. With a sigh, you flicked to the next page for fresh content. It was a file report of their first meeting. You’d gone through this countless times so you popped your head up to rest your eyes, settling on the idea board across the room. Then it clicked.

“If we’re profiling Doyle like a normal unsub, and Emily as his object of desire/rage... It’d make sense for them to go back to the place it all started. That’s Boston.” You thought aloud, eyes meeting Spencer’s. You watched him process before he nodded, eyes lighting up with understanding.

“We need to tell Hotch.”

________

“Boston. She went to Boston.” You blurted swinging the door open. All three men gaped at you, Derek was holding Emily’s passport and Rossi’s was dangling a gold necklace from his fingers. Hotch paused before looking to you, with Spencer lurking just behind you.

“What’s your evidence?” He asked, jaw and eyebrow set. You took a deep breath.

“Well she’s not running away,” You started, pointing at the passport in Derek’s hand, “And she’s chasing Doyle, who’s chasing her. Like any other unsub/victim combo. They’re going to end up where it all began. That’s Boston.”

Hotch nodded, gesturing for the rest of you to follow him. JJ and Garcia flanked the group, Garcia rambling her findings as the team sped towards the exit. “Sir, one of Clyde Easter’s covers was flagged by TSA on a flight to Boston.”

“Have him detained as soon as he steps off. We need to go. Garcia, you're coming with us.” Hotch’s orders were clear and concise, and the team was quick to carry them out.

_______

On the jet to Boston, you listened to Garcia leave voice messages on all of Emily’s old numbers. Her voice was quiet and small, you could hear the tears she was holding back as she plead with the voice mail, “Hey, Em, it's me, Penelope. Hotch told me to go through all your numbers, and I found this old listing. You probably don’t even use this anymore, but if you do, if it is you and you’re out there... Come home, please.”

You could hear her throat tighten, so you placed a comforting hand on her knee. Her other hand laced with yours in solidarity as she continued, “God, Emily, what did you think? That we would just let you walk out of our lives? I’m so furious at you right now! Then I think about how scared you must be, how you’re in some dark place all alone. But you’re not alone, ok? You are NOT alone.

We are in that dark place with you. We are waving flashlights and calling your name. So if you can see us, come home. If you can’t, then... then you stay alive. ‘Cause we’re coming. We’re coming.”

She clicked off, pressing the cell to her lips as a safeguard to keep her tears at bay. You squeezed her hand before getting up. Stopping at the coffee bar by the bathroom, you checked your own phone- naively hoping that maybe Emily had reached out. No such luck, as of 10:13. Three hours had felt like three days. You did have three other texts from your SHIELD friends.

Clint: Be careful with Doyle, he’s more dangerous than he looks.

Natasha: Clint told me you're going after Ian Doyle. Be careful.

You laughed dryly, so much for secrets. Texting them appeasements, you were touched by their concern.

Steve: Just checking in, any word on your friend.

You: Nothing good yet. Following a lead to Boston.

Three little dots showed you that he was typing, but you beat him to it.

You: If that text is going to say ‘be careful’, don’t even send it.

The three dots disappeared, before reappearing and turning into:

Steve: Yes ma’am. I’m sure everything will work out.

_______

Twenty minutes later, your tablet pinged: an alert from SHIELD. You had already combined Boston PD with all your relevant tags. You handed your tablet off to Hotch as you voiced your findings, “Hey guys, I got a firefight in east Boston. Automatic weapons, sounds like our guys.”

“ANnnnnd, I got video footage.” Garcia chimed, tapping away at her computer. She gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

“Baby girl, what is it?” Derek pressed with concern. You scooted in closer to her to see, soon your understood her dread.

“It’s, It’s, Emily. She’s here. Oh god, she’s walking into a trap.” Penelope gasped. Her eyes were watering, but Hotch kept his cool.

“Garcia, put in on the big screen.” He ordered sternly, but somehow still kindly. The blonde hacker nodded fervently, wiping her eyes from under those red glasses.

“Right, Right, I can do that.” She said, mostly to herself as she followed through. Soon the video was on the jets display. All the team members were silent the first time the video played through. The air in the cabin seemed thick with tension. Derek and Hotch visibly tensed, as if ready for a fight. Next to you, Rossi’s expression hardened, the only readable emotion was disdain. Spencer looked as if he was cringing and couldn’t stop. Beside him, JJ simply clenched her jaw and forced herself to watch- just as she had done when Spencer was taken hostage all those years ago, Emily had been knew then.

You watched as Prentiss sprayed the car with bullets, shattering a window before throwing a flash grenade in the SUV. Then she squatted down to cover her ears, but as soon as the boom was over, she was on the move again. Stalking around the SUV, that’s when the camera angle switched. Now showing the passenger side, you watched as Emily seemed to negotiate. Then from out of nowhere, a man appeared and shot Emily twice.

This caused a scream to erupt out of Penelope while everyone else either gasped or winced. Derek, ever the protector, attempted to comfort her with a warm arm around her shoulder, but it didn’t seem to help until the man (who you presumed to be Doyle) revealed her bulletproof vest. There was a collective sigh of relief when Emily seemed to stir.

Just as quickly as Emily attacked, Doyle shoved her into another van that quickly sped off. Garcia took the screen off the monitor and tapped at her computer a little longer.

“I can follow them two more blocks, but then they vanish.” She admitted, still furiously typing and apologizing for losing her cool.

When she finally gave up, she moved into the group displaying her screen. The video feed was backed up and ready to play again. The group looked at the paused screen, three men around the black range rover.

You broke the silence, “They knew she was coming. Doyle was already lying in wait before Emily even got out of her car.”

“From the first angle, it looks like Doyle got into the SUV. But from this angle, you can see that he didn’t,” Garcia agreed, switching the camera and playing the feed again, “Which I wish Boston PD warned us about before I started watching it. Sorry again for the screaming.”

Derek watched the silenced video in shock, “She threw a flash-bang grenade into a car. She’s lucky the three people inside didn’t die. Is anybody else bothered by that?”

You stopped to think for a second, thinking of if it did bother you. You realized it didn’t, maybe it would have before SHIELD, but now that seemed like a normal course of action. That said a lot about the effect Natasha and Clint, hell even day to day life with SHIELD had on you. Before you could stop yourself, you lifted your eyes to him, “Three targets.”

Rossi clarified your statement, but didn’t seem to disagree, “Well, three bad guys.”

Derek scoffed at the word change but Hotch spoke up before Morgan could air his complaints, “Illegal as it is, I think Prentiss knows she has to be as ruthless as Doyle.”

“That’s how you survive.” You muttered, watching as the video played on a loop, not able to take your eyes off it, “It’s how spies survive.”

“Don’t eve-” Derek started, but Spencer interrupted with something constructive.

“He’s come to the US to wage a public vendetta. He even hired a group of mercenaries to remain loyal to him. He has nothing to lose, so she has to act the same way.” He defended Emily. Derek sighed in frustration, turning to look out a window.

“So how did Doyle know she was waiting for him?” Rossi asked, floating ideas around. You answered with another question.

“Well, we’ve already discussed the probability of a mole. So who knew the Emily left the BAU?” You posed the question. JJ continued your line of thought.

“The same guy who’s been feeding Doyle the contractors and agents? So someone who has known Prentiss from the beginning.” She nodded, glancing around the jet. “Our best suspect was just arrested with a suitcase full of cash.”

Classic rat, selling secrets. A flash of anger went through you before you suppressed it.

“How do we get Easter to talk? He won’t cooperate willingly.” Spencer asked. The group fell silent, and despite the fact you wouldn’t show it, you couldn’t help the hostility in your voice.

“There are lines I can cross that you guys aren’t allowed to. SHIELD has looser rules on interrogation.” You offered angrily, glaring at the footage of Clyde Easter on the monitor. Hotch narrowed his eyes as if he was trying to read you but didn’t agree or disagree with your implications. Derek watched you with shock.

“It won’t come to that. I’ll interrogate him, the rest of you focus on Doyle’s location.” He decided. The rest of the team nodded before Penelope piped up.

“I hate to be the one to ask this, but,” She paused for a deep breath, “How long does Emily have?”

Hotch tried to hide his own stress, but some seeped through, “Her best chance is also the most troubling. Doyle saved her for last because he views her as his stressor. This means he’ll take his time.”

It was a bittersweet hope, but hope nonetheless.

_______

When the jet landed, it was all a flurry of activity. A race against the clock to save a victim, that was a story you told to often. But this time, you had the feeling of impending dread in your stomach. This wasn’t a random stranger. This was Emily.

The same Emily that force-fed you water on wilder nights, who had the sweetest cat named Sergio, who saved your ass more time than you cared to count. Emily who set you up on blind dates and drank wine with you when they ended up terrible. Emily who noticed your crush on Spencer and kept it a secret for an entire year until you had gotten over it and moved on- she was the only person who ever knew, and would likely take it to the grave. Emily who always had your back, both in the field and in life. Like the rest of the BAU, she was family, and it was hard when your family was in danger.

Even though everything seemed to be moving at lightspeed, it somehow seemed not to be moving at all. In fact, you wondered if time had stopped until Rossi dragged in a scrawny man in an atrocious suit yelling obscenities.

“Who’s that?” You asked as Rossi handed him over to the police. He wiped his hands in discuss as he answered. Hotch approached in interest.

“Jack Fahey. Irish Mob. He called Easter’s cell phone 12 times in six hours.” Rossi explained. You and Hotch nodded, seeing the thin connection.

“Any connection with Doyle?” Hotch questioned.

“Boston PD says he’s low level. But the Irish mob has long-standing ties to the IRA.” Rossi confirmed. Your jaw hardened.

“I’ll put some feelers out. Maybe find a few more ties.” You sighed, pulling out your tablet to search through files. Keywords: Doyle + Fahey / IRA. The search was running through millions of files so you set it down while it loaded.

“You two see if you can get anything out of him.” Hotch nodded, turning back to Garcia as you and Rossi shared a look.

____

You, Rossi, and Spencer stood in the doorway of Fahey’s interrogation room. Anyone could see that his skin was already crawling in discomfort, and having three sets of eyes on him would irk him further.

“Alright, Jack, why were you blowing up Doyle’s phone?” You asked, making your tone as condescending as possible. His fingers drummed against the table impatiently.

“Any of y’all got a smoke? Bean pole? FBI Barbie?” He sneered, licking his lips. You scoffed, letting his insults roll off you like water.

“What do you think?” Rossi asked. You purposefully turned your back on Fahey, knowing the lack of attention from the only female would drive him up the wall.

“Male ego narcissist masking deep-seated insecurity.” Spencer shrugged, looking between you and Rossi.

“Loudmouth, overcompensating.” You feigned a giggle, “You know what that means.”

You looked over your shoulder giving him the “mean girl” once over. He started to object. But Rossi continued as if he wasn’t talking.

“So if we puncture his self-image, this hood rat will talk.” He nodded. Apparently, being called hood rat was more of an insult than a little dick.

“Hey, hey, hey. I ain’t no hood rat. You take that back.” He demanded. You just smiled sweetly.

“So admit to being... lacking in other areas?” You asked as you took the seat across from him. Spencer stood behind you and Rossi sat beside you.

“I ain’t neither. I’m more than adequate and I ain’t a hood rat.” He growled, leaning back in the metal chair. Rossi scoffed as you just smirked.

“You look like one. Smell like one too.” Rossi paused to take a deep breath, “Smell that?”

You and Spencer shared a look, dramatically sniffing the air before answering in unison, “Hoodrat.”

“I am not! Take it back!” Fahey whined. This strategy was working quickly, and you hoped Hotch was having the same luck. Rossi stood, sauntering around the table and leaning down to eye level with the Irish mobster.

Condescendingly, he asked, “Jack, do you know what a hood rat it?”

Then he looked back to the two of you, “See what I mean, he’s just gonna have to learn the hard way.”

Fahey held up his hands in surrender, “All right, all right, Clyde? he was going to pay my medical bills. This ear, it ain’t growing back.”

“What happened to it?” Spencer asked from behind you. You nodded as if to say that was your same question.

“This bitch teammate of his shot it. Said it was a warning.” Fahey growled. Seemingly not noticing the three of you share a look. “Thought she could take on this IRA big shot named Doyle. So I told these- AHHH.”

He was cut off by Rossi shooting out of his chair and grabbing the edge of his injured ear, he immediately went limp in his hold to avoid further damage. You inwardly cringed at how greasy his skin and hair looked but ignored it and his pathetic cries.

“Where is Prentiss?” You growled, watching his eyes dart from you to your teammates as if they were going to stop Rossi. He kept stuttering words, using the word “who” like a lifeline. Spencer leaned across the table.

“Lauren Reynolds, where is Lauren. Reynolds.?” He demanded. Rossi let go and sat back down, offering him a reprieve to answer. Almost sickeningly, his face lit up.

“Ohhh.” He drawled, his voice made your skin crawl in the worst ways as he cheekily smiled between the three of you, “Friend of yours, is she?”

“You tell us where she is right now or I swear to god I’ll send you to a prison where they’ll teach you what a hood rat is.” Rossi threatened. Fahey only smiled, thinking he had the power back in his corner.

“And by the time you do, she’ll be in pieces. So, uhhh. My price just went up.” He grinned. Spencer and Rossi only shared a look while you glared at the grunt in front of you.

“Dr. Reid, do you have a pen on you?” You asked sweetly, eyes never leaving Fahey who looked more confused. Spencer produced a fancy pen out of his cardigan, placing it in your waiting hand. “Thank you, will you boys wait outside. I just want to chat with Mr. Fahey here.”

Your voice was so sugar-sweet, that it bordered on malice. With another shared look, the two men left the room and turned off the camera that was recording the interrogation. You waited a few moments, staring at Fahey until he squirmed. He chuckled nervously,

“Want ole Fahey to show you a good time? I mean I know your partners are still watching, but if it doesn’t bother you, it-” You cut him off with a harsh growl.

“Shut up.” It was a stark difference from both your condescending and sweet tones. Jack even flinched as he registered your anger. In one swift motion, you were by his side, pressing the butt of the pen into the skin between in ribs and his side, right where the bend of his arm would touch. His entire body immediately seized up.

“I learned this fun little trick from a friend of mine that worked for the KGB in Russia. They made the IRA look like you, like a bunch hoodrats. You wanna know what’s happening? I’m pushing against your brachial artery. If I don’t ease up within the next forty-five seconds, you will start to bleed internally. If I even slip, I’ll puncture your skin and you will bleed out quietly in this chair. You will die a very slow, cold, and painful death, do you understand me?” You hissed in his ear.

“The Feds don’t allow this! I got rights! They’ll see the video and you’ll go to jail.” Jack struggled, you chuckled bitterly next to his ear.

“I’m not FBI, and the camera stopped rolling the moment they put a pen in my hand. And given your predicament do you think any of the actual FBI is gonna help?” You asked, pressing down ever so slightly.

“Ok! Ok! I’ll talk!” He gushed, jerking away from you as you let go completely. You threw the pen on the table, as he continued, “On one condition. The government pays my medical bills.”

You raised an eyebrow, picking the pen up again. His eyes widened backing away, but Rossi entered before you could continue. He looked from you to Fahey.

“We’ll discuss it. (Y/L/N), with me.”

You nodded, following him out. Once the door was shut, you turned to the older profiler, indignation clear in your voice “Rossi, what gives, he was about to give me everything!”

Rossi nodded over his shoulder at Derek who was watching you in disgust in anger. You knew Derek disapproved of off the table methods, but this was Prentiss!

“(Y/N), you almost killed him! That’s not how we do things. I don’t know how they do things at SHIELD or at Interpol, but in the FBI we try to beat the bad guys without stooping to their level- the KGB, really (Y/L/N)? We’re the good guys, or have you forgotten that?” He growled, voice bordering on patronizing as he followed you and Rossi out of the observation room. You gave it right back, emotions were running high and your frustration from Fahey, from Doyle, hell all the way from the last time Fury yelled at you- it was all boiling over.

“First of all, I had it completely under control, he wouldn’t have died. Second of all, I can name ten interrogations off the top of my head when you turned off the camera or when Hotch had to pry you off an unsub, so I don’t even want to hear it.” You snapped before stopping dead in your tracks to turn sharply to him, voice rising with every syllable and hands gesturing wildly, “And lastly, Derek, I don’t know if you got the memo, but one of our best friends is being held hostage by one of the cruelest arms dealers in the books. This isn’t little leagues anymore, so I’m sorry if you’re too good to get your hands dirty, but I’m getting really tired of this holier than thou attitude towards Prentiss and me. I don’t care what beef you have with her right now. If you’re not prepared to give everything to this case, to get her back alive, then why are you even here?”

Your eyes were alight with anger, and Derek’s eyes were wide with shock. He’d seen you angry at unsubs, even seen you pop off at Hotch before. But he’d never been on the receiving end, nor had he ever seen this kind of fury. Reid watched on, almost afraid to get between then two of you. Finally, Rossi decided to put a stop to it. He placed a hand on your shoulder, sharing a look that said, ‘Stop before you say something you regret.’ You nodded and let him lead you away from Derek.

Once out of Morgan’s earshot, Rossi rubbed your back a bit- he was always more fatherly than he liked to claim. “You alright?”

It was a two worded question, but you knew the implications. You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself, before shaking your head, “Sorry, I know now’s not the time for infighting. I just got so, so...”

“I know it’s hard to keep your head on straight, but the important thing is that you didn’t say anything you couldn’t take back.” He nodded before motioning you along, “Now, let’s get back to what really matters. He’s either afraid of you or in love with you- I can’t tell, that gives us a little bit of leverage. What else did you notice?”

You chuckled a bit at his joke, letting go of the anger as you answered. “Withdrawals. He needs a cigarette.”

“Let’s use that.”

____________

“You know when a cigarette is best?” Fahey asked after a long drag of a cheap cigarette. Grey smoke swirled around him like fog on a lake. Derek was worried about me killing him? Lung Cancer will get him long before I do. You and Rossi simply rose an eyebrow, waiting in the cold air on the roof for Fahey to say anything useful. “After sex with me.”

After that thrilling conclusion, you simply rose an eyebrow as Fahey licked his lips while looking at you up and down. He continued on to say, “The Fluorescents didn’t do you any justice, sweetheart, neither did the stabby stabby, but a fiery woman is attractive and I can be very forgiving.”

Rossi stepped between you two, pretending to scare him off but really protecting him from you. Growling a harsh, “Mind your manners.”

Fahey backed off, protectively covering his injured ear, “All right, whoa, whoa.”

Rossi continued own, glaring at the worm, “You’re already extorting us for Prentiss’ location.”

“It would be a real shame if you, I don’t know, ‘slipped’ on an ice patch and fell.” You singsonged, as you looked to the sky. Fear flashed over Fahey’s face before he smiled cheekily.

“If you keep being mean, I’m gonna fall in love with you.” He grinned. You simply rose a single eyebrow as Rossi put himself between the two of you.

“Listen pal, I don’t know how much longer I can hold her off, and up here she can a lot worse than poke you with a pen.” Rossi shrugged, stepping out from between you two. You just smiled sweetly, flipping the pen through your fingers. “So out of curiosity, what’s it like working for Doyle?”

“Eh. He’s not so tough.” Jack shrugged taking another long drag, so long that the cigarette burned down to his fingers. You offered another one and Rossi held up a light. You skimmed the rest of the rooftops, anything so you didn’t have to look at Fahey as he gushed about his ‘involvement’ with Doyle.

“Wow, you’re really the man, huh?” You asked clearly not paying attention, looking at the building adjacent. Something about its silhouette just wasn’t quite right. But Fahey distracted you with another lewd comment.

“I could show you how much of a man I really am...” He stopped when Rossi stepped closer forcing him to back off, allowing you to narrow in your eyes on the discrepancy. You’re eyes widened in realization a moment too late.

The whistle of a bullet followed by a warm spray of blood punctuated his last disgusted comment. A sharp pain grazed your shoulder as you shouted, “Sniper, GET DOWN!”

Rossi didn’t give you time to argue as he covered you with his body, pulling you to the ground. Two more rounds shredded through Fahey, making his body convulse before it hit the ground. Rossi covered you like you were his own child, holding your head against his chest until he deemed it safe. By the time you were able to get a good look at the sniper- no snipers, there were two- there was just a flash of silver off one building and the other retreating out of your firing range.

Even with the warm blood dripping down your face, you didn’t think about your own life. Without Fahey, you might never find Emily.

________

An hour later, the clock had struck midnight and your phone had been long neglected, forgotten on some desk as soon as you had arrived. After getting first aid (and arguing against going to the hospital), your shoulder had been wrapped where the bullet grazed you. You were dabbing blood off your shirt sitting on the bench outside the police station’s bullpen, mentally kicking yourself for wearing white. Hotch slipped in, watching you do so.

“That’s not going to come out. How’s your shoulder?” He stated, sympathetically. You nodded with a shrug.

“Could be better. I don’t know what else to do to other than twiddle my thumbs.” You sighed, resting your elbows on your knees. Aaron stood across from you.

“(Y/N), we have a problem.” Hotch stated, your eyebrows furrowed, waiting for the rest of what he had to say, “Without Fahey, there’s not much left.”

“Hotch, unless you have a point, this is the worst pep talk, ever.” You sighed. Hotch didn’t even crack a smile, he never did on cases.

“We all want to save Prentiss so bad, that we can’t see this case straight.” He admitted. Again you nodded.

“Ok, what do we do?” You asked. You were at a loss, exhausted, upset, dirty, and you honestly didn’t know what Hotch was getting at.

“None of us can give an unbiased profile. So we bring in someone who can.” Hotch nodded to you, handing your cell phone over to you. Suddenly it dawned on you what he meant. You had a call to make.

________

Hotch left you alone to make a call, he didn’t know any of your SHIELD friends but he said he trusted your judgment. Clint was the first that came to your mind, but he’d told you everything he knew about Doyle, so he wouldn’t be much help, and he was biased. Natasha would have been a good contact, but she was on a mission. Your thumb hovered over Steve’s contact before finally pressing the call button. It took a ring and a half for him to answer, unsurprising he was up at this hour.

“(Y/N)? What’s wrong, what happened?” You smiled at the concern in his voice.

“Hey, Steve, I’m fine, well mostly, but I could use a fresh pair of eyes- or well ears.” You started, waiting for his response to your not-quite question.

“Alright, what’s going on?” Steve asked and you smiled at his willingness to help. With a deep breath, you launched into the entire story, only sparing the bullet grazing incident. Knowing Steve, he’d sprint to Boston just to force you into a hospital.

“Steve, you don’t know any of them, tell me, what sounds off?” You asked the soldier who had been patiently listening to you ramble.

“Keep in mind, I don’t understand much about this profiling science, so it might not be very helpful, but...” He started, but trailed off.

“Anything is helpful, we’re at a wall and the clock’s ticking.” You sighed, eyes closing as you leaned your head against the wall.

“How does their affair change your profile? Does that truly affect it that much?” He asked, and while he had a point, you took the moment to relish the blush you knew was on his cheeks. Regardless, you’d already explored that point.

“What else?” You pressed, wishing you could see his behavior. The other end was silent. “Steve, I’m sorry to put in this position but I can’t even see it straight anymore, please think!”

“Why is he targetting families?” The Captain rushed out. And your eyes widened.

“Steve, keep going.” You whispered, rushing into the bullpen and grabbing a dry erase marker. You jotted down, ‘families?’ as you listened to his search for the right words.

“You said Prentiss is Doyle’s stressor, that he believes she wronged him. So why go after everyone else. The child in DC, it doesn’t fit with the rest of the story.” He rambled. You basically copied him word for word.

“Rogers, I can’t thank you enough. If this whole SHIELD thing doesn’t work out, remind me to get you an interview at the FBI.” You smiled, praising him over the phone. You heard the rest of the team already chatting over ‘your’ discovery.

“Anytime, (Y/N), just be careful.” He conceded. You nodded as if he could see you.

“I’ll try my best.”

__________

With Steve’s added push and a little help from Clyde, the team was back in action. You labeled him as a family annihilator and deduced he had a hidden child. From that, Garcia cross-referenced Irish Immigrants with Doyle’s employees. That’s where she found the pictures.

A series of photos. A middle-aged brunette woman and a small blonde child. In the first few they were both crying to the camera, silver duct tape silencing them. In the next couple, there was a hand brandishing a handgun. And in the last three, the photos showed them limp, blood trailing down from the bullet wounds. The photographs were sickening, gruesome in every way. Aside from the obvious, something was wrong. You clicked through them, trying to decipher what your gut was telling you. Spencer watched over your shoulder, seemingly sensing the same thing.

“(Y/N), look at the hand.” He muttered, and you complied gasping as you understood. Garcia looked at the pair of you in confusion before Derek voiced their question.

“It’s a hand in black clothes.” He shrugged. Spencer shook his head, reaching over you to point at his epiphany.

“No, look at the nails.” You clarified, examining the jagged and short edges Spencer was pointing at. Garcia gasped.

“Oh, oh my god.” Was all she managed, subconsciously scooting her rolling chair away from the computer. First assumptions- worst assumptions- ran through your head at Mach speed, but you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you were missing something.

Regardless of the implication or whatever your instinct was trying to tell you, you spoke, “Garcia reference search warehouses, secluded or abandoned, with their own perimeters, cross that with any Interpol activity. .”

She simply nodded, clearing away the gruesome photos from her screen. You did the same with your mind, I’ll find out the truth from Prentiss when we save her. We’ll sort this out.

“Got it. 1518 Adams Street.”

Garcia’s words from earlier that night rang through your head, Emily, I think of how scared you must be, in some dark lonely place. But, Emily, we’re waving flashlights and calling your name. We’re coming, just stay alive.

_____

“Agent Prentiss is the only friendly in the building. Rescuing her is out primary objective.” Hotch ordered as you all geared up. Safety’s clicked off, ammo clicked into chambers, velcro ripped on and off as vests were strapped on- it had been a long time since you wore FBI labels you thought as you tightened the straps- and there was a collective sense of determination and nervous energy in the air.

“Our only advantage here is stealth. Once they know we’re on-site, there’s nothing to stop them from killing her.” Derek- always in charge of strikes- informed. “So we keep it quiet until we get to her.”

Everyone nodded in agreement as the briefing disbanded. To your shock, Derek approached you. The look he gave you wasn’t friendly, but wasn’t hostile either, so you decided to hear him out.

“Like you said, this isn’t little league,” He began, watching you clip extra ammo clips to your belt, “I’m sure the strike team is great, but as it stands you have a better grip on this than me. I want you in there with me when we go in.”

You simply nodded, holstering your gun. Derek had an automatic weapon slung on his shoulder, while you just opted for extra handguns, giving you three loaded guns on your person. One in your hip holster with a silencer attached, one in the waistband on your pants, and an ankle holster hidden by your pants. Taking some of Natasha’s advice to heart, you also slid a tactical knife into your vest- just in case.

Derek wasn’t done though, “I don’t know this world, and frankly I’m not comfortable with it. But I can sort my issues out with Prentiss when we get her back. And I need someone I trust in there watching my six.”

The statement seemed mundane, but you knew the meaning behind it, someone I trust. That was as close to an apology as you were getting, but you offered him a genuine smile- you’d take it. Just like old times, you wrapped your arms around him, and he returned the hug. Like a brother to me.

“We good?” He asked as you let go. You nodded, raising an eyebrow as if nothing ever happened.

“Let’s get this son of a bitch.”

___________

Entering the warehouse was nervewracking, as everything relied on stealth. A silenced sniper took out the two guards at the gate, allowing your’s and Derek’s group to enter. Every guard and goon was taken down by a silent bullet, a quick and quiet end to their life. You kept your wits about you. Every step was a step closer to Prentiss. You thought was you stepped quickly behind Derek, eyes sweeping crook and cranny.

As more and more thugs appeared, the group fanned out. It was a sad fact that anyone who saw you had to be killed or incapacitated- no one could spook Doyle. Not when you were this close.

You waited for Hotch to send the signal. Winding through hallways, gun at the ready, you waited. Every ounce of anger and frustration you tunneled into fine-tuned senses as you followed Derek. The two of you stuck together, the rest of the team was checking other buildings. As you entered the first large room, you heard it. A struggle, Prentiss’ yells and a man’s grunting as you heard the fight. At the same time, the group of enemies noticed the two of you- your first count said nine. Then it happened, the power went down. That was the signal for all hell to break loose.

“DEREK GO!” You shouted, as two rushed towards you. You shot at one blindly, hitting him in the leg. The other didn’t have a gun so he tried to grab you. You delivered a roundhouse kick to his face, hooking the bend of your knee around the back of his neck and pulling him to the ground. The butt of your gun whipped across his face before you finally pull a bullet in him. Derek gaped at you for a moment, before snapping back to reality. 7 enemies, one injured

“I’m not leaving you!” He yelled back, fighting off another. BAM. Six and one injured.

“Derek, you have to trust me. I got this.” You growled eyes adjusting to the dark as a particularly large man hulking up to you, “Emily needs you. She’s fighting, but she needs you.”

Derek hesitated, but finally growled as he complied, sprinting towards the sound of Emily’s struggle as you emptied the rest of your clip into the giant approaching you. He was easily seven foot and padded with extra layers of flesh and maybe a vest, he grunted at the shots but he didn’t slow down. Part of you regretted sending Derek away as your eyes the other five approaching you.

Make Natasha proud. You thought as you vaguely heard Derek demand back up for you over the comms. Lightning fast, you dropped the empty clip before replacing it with a new one. This time you emptied it into his chest and forehead. Almost inhuman, he kept walking for a minute before finally collapsing in on himself. Five, one injured. You locked eyes with every other man in the room, a moment of calm before they all rushed at you.

A tall, lean man with blonde hair was the closest to you, so you pitched the empty gun at his face like an MLB pitcher. It hit his nose with a satisfying crunch, causing him to stop to hold onto his bleeding face. Four, two injured.

The next was almost of a caricature of an Irish stereotype: short, red-headed but balding, square jaw, and bulky with muscle. He had a jagged scar running from his eyes to his neck. He was too close, you didn’t have time to grab another gun. You realized that too late, a solid fist connected with your ribs. The pain was immediate, but just as Nat had trained you, so was your reaction. Her voice echoed in your head as you dropped to the ground and swept his feet out from under him. ‘Your enemies won’t wait from you to recover, neither will I’

After a swift kick to his redhead, you turned to your left swinging your leg up and around to look around the next nearest enemy, a stocky bald man. Using your leverage, you pulled yourself up and twisted, grabbing your ankle gun at the same time. This sent the bald man to the ground, disorienting him long enough for you to put two shots into his head. Three, two injured.

In your distraction, the redhead had recovered, sneaking behind you wrapping his strong arms around you, pinning your arms to your stomach. “Drop the gun, bitch.”

You didn’t, so he squeezed you hard enough that you swore you felt the already throbbing ribs crack- or maybe it was your elbow- forcing the gun out of your hand. The blonde, face now dripping blood, approached.

“Hold her steady for me, Mckellan.” He smirked after kicking your knees, forcing them to buckle before balling his hand into a fist. The grip on you tightened and you braced yourself for a hit. Even with the preparation, it didn’t ebb the pain. You had been punched before, but not like this. You felt the curve of his knuckles whip your head to the side, right where your eye met your cheek, you watched as your earpiece clattered to the floor. The blond kicked it out of your sight. The force dizzied you, but you didn’t get a reprieve. ‘Mckellan’ dropped one arm to take hold of your hair, jerking your head up just in time for the blonde to hail another fist onto your face. This time landing on your jaw, allowing you to taste the blood in your and feel it trickle down your face.

They laughed expecting you to be done, as your head hung for a second. You defiantly lifted your eyes to the blonde’s, spitting out a mouthful of blood and hoping he could see the murderous glint to your eye. He did, and you saw the fear in his as he registered too late. With all your strength, you threw your head back- twice. The first time you hit your captor's nose, you felt it crumple. The second time was his chin, you felt the force cause him to bite down. Hope you didn’t want your tongue, you sick fuck, you thought as his hold loosened.

With a little more freedom, you jumped up and arched your back, wrapping your legs around the blonde's neck. With all your might, you threw your body to the ground, twisted your hips, and bent your knees. You felt all your muscles strain but were rewarded with a sharp snap as the man went limp. One short breath before you lunged for your gun, kneeling and aiming it at Mckellan who had just spit out his bloody, severed tongue. Your lip curled in disgust as you pulled the trigger. Standing up, you kept your count, Two left, two injured.

Before you could even find your next target, someone launched onto your back. The sudden weight disoriented you as grubby fingers pulled at your face and hair, causing you to once again drop your gun. His grubby fingers prodded at your face and his heels dug into soft flesh to hang on. Base instinct took over, their weight causing you to blindly stumble backward until you hit a wall. Feeling the contact, you grunted in anger pulling back before ramming your attacker against the wall again. The short man shouted curses at you but didn’t let go. With a primal growl, you did it again, harder this time. Checking him into the brick wall with as much force as possible. This time he dropped, and you instantly whirled around kicking him in the stomach as he scrambled to his knees. You took the leverage, your fingers knotted into his greasy black hair, to maximize force you brought your knee up at the same time you brought his head down. You didn’t know whether he was dead or unconscious, but it didn’t matter as he crumpled to the floor- he wasn’t getting up anytime soon.

For a moment, you leaned against the wall forgetting there was still another attacker. You were panting and sweating, fatigue set in as you lost your momentum. The ache in your head blossomed, reminding you of the hits you had taken, your shoulders were sore from Mckellan’s hold, your knees from the blonde’s kick, not to mention the two blooming bruises and busted lip on your face, (you wouldn’t be surprised if your nose was broken), the koala attack and the hockey style defense you put on had your entire bottle rattle, and that was just on top of normal body fatigue. I could really use a super-soldier right about now you thought.

Of course, your moment of rest was no longer than fifteen seconds. Just enough time for someone to tackle you from the side. You shrieked in shock and pain as you hit the ground on your already injured ribs, your attacker's weight adding to the hit. Your head smacked against the concrete, and you saw stars and you tried to escape as he tried to wrap his hands around your throat.

It took a moment for you to regain your wits, but when you did, you rolled. Your attacker fell away, or at least his weight shifted enough for you to scramble away. You saw your gun a few feet away, so you scrambled towards in on your hands and knees. Seeing your plan, the bearded man grabbed your ankle and hauled you back to him. In anger, you twisted around, your other foot stomping into his face. You knew you wouldn’t make it to your firearm, so instead, you leaned up and tackled him back to the ground. The two of you rolled a good distance before you ended up with the upper hand. This time with you on top, you delivered one well-executed punch to the face before slipping the knife out of it’s hiding spot. With a growl, you brought down the knife, but he caught the handle as the tip pierced the skin above his heart. For a moment there was a power struggle, he was no longer fighting for Doyle, he was fighting for his life.

But you were fighting for Emily. A rush of determination lit a fire in you. You reared back, balling up your fist and hitting the butt of the knife like a hammer. It plunged the blade in an inch. Sensing how close you were to winning, he flailed underneath you, trying to hold off the blade with his remaining strength. With one last growl and hit delivered to the knife handle, the last of Doyle’s men slacked against the bloody floor.

After all the struggle, he was dead rather quietly. Besides the injured one, that should be all of them. You heard the click of a gun safety sliding off.

“You’re too late bitch, Doyle’s alread-” BAM smoke rose out of the hole between his eyes as he fell over.

His (him being the first man you shot in the leg) gloating distracted him before he even had a chance to aim at you. The moment you heard the click, you’d slipped your hidden firearm out. With a groan of pain, you rose to your feet. Everyone in the room either dead or wallowing in pain as Swat flooded in. Slowly, you moved to pick up you earpiece, entire body protesting movement.

“-A MEDIC IN HERE. PRENTISS IS DOWN.” You tuned into the last bit of Derek’s pleading. Like you had been electrically shocked, you were recharged, tearing towards Derek’s location. It was three hallways over, and as you came in, your heart broke.

Emily was on the floor, a bloodied piece of wood sticking out of her abdomen. Derek was beside her, holding her hand. He noticed you, eye raking over your body. You knew you probably looked like hell, but he didn’t comment. There were other priorities and your health didn’t make the list at the moment.

“Go after Doyle, he can’t have gotten far!” He ordered, you nodded, taking one last look at Prentiss- her eyes lolling around- before you sprinted out the back door. You could hear a commotion up ahead so you followed the noise, reloading your gun as you went. Turning a corner, you could see Doyle across the train tracks about to get into a car, staring straight at you- smiling.

“IAN DOYLE, SHIELD, PUT YOU’RE HANDS IN THE AIR AND GET ON YOUR KNEES.” You thundered, anger tearing shreds in your already sore throat. Into your comm, you asked, “I have a shot, do I take it?”

Hotch picked up as a train whistled its approach, “Yes, take the shot.”

Right as your finger twitched against the trigger, your comm hissed in your ear causing you to flinch- but not take your eyes off Doyle who was now grinning like the Chesire Cat.

“Belay that order. Agent, you do not take that shot.” A new voice took over your comms.

“Who is this? On whose orders?” You heard Hotch demand. Your eyes remained on Doyle, who curiously hadn’t moved. Anxiously, you gripped your gun tighter keeping your target in firing range. The train was getting closer, making it harder to hear, the spotlight lighting up the night.

“Order comes from the World Security Council.” The voice shot back. You growled although no one could hear it. You were taking the shot, you had already decided. You didn’t care if you spent the rest of your life in federal prison. Doyle deserved it. Hotch was still arguing with the new voice as your entire body tensed.

Time moved in slow motion, you were losing your window. Running forward, you squeezed the trigger, bullet ricocheting off metal. But you were too late, the train cut in front of you like a knife.

“Guys, I’ve lost my visual. Does anyone have sights on Doyle!” You shouted into the comms. Trying in vain to see past the train. Slamming your earpiece into the ground, you screamed a slew of curses at the top of your lungs- your anger, desperation, and anguish being lost in the noise of the locomotive. Minutes later, the end of the train flew by you. Revealing what you already knew, Doyle was gone without a trace.

Another hiss of curses fell out of your lips as you turned on your heel and sprinted back to Emily and Derek. Arriving just in time to see the EMT’s put her on a stretcher, you hunched over to catch your breath. Though you still had plenty of anger, your adrenaline was fading fast, no longer masking any of the pain you were in. You hissed as you limped behind Derek, trying to catch up to Emily’s stretcher.

“How’s she?” You asked, not arguing when he slung one of your arms of your shoulder to help you. His jaw hardened.

“She’s been through hell. Lots of blood loss. Maybe some internal bleeding.” He shook his head, leading you back through the warehouse. Back through the room that held your handiwork. Derek saw this too.

“You look terrible. I shouldn’t have left you.” He remarked, watching as an agent pulled a sheet over the guy with a knife in his chest. You shook your head.

“If you stayed with me, Emily would be leaving in a body bag. She’s got a chance because you scared Doyle off. I’m the one who let him get away- I should have taken the damn shot.” You reprimanded but ended in a low snarl, one arm going up to cradle your ribs that were now throbbing. Normally, there would have been a handful of jokes and a few innuendos in there. Derek would have teased you and questioned you on where you learned to do all that. You would have teased him about being able to kick his ass. But now, there was only resignation. The case was over, but Emily’s fight wasn’t finished.

When you finally saw the light of the ambulance, Hotch rushed to you. Eyeing you up and down. “We’re going to meet Emily at the hospital, should I call another Ambulance?”

You shook your head as Rossi appeared- the ambulance was pulling off with sirens piercing the night air, “Minor wounds. Nothing to worry about.”

Both older men looked unconvinced but didn’t press the matter, allowing Derek to help you into the back of an SUV. You sank into the seat beside Spencer, who was wringing his hands with worry. He gave you a once over before beginning to ramble about minor injuries and the statistics on death’s in the US. For once you didn’t have the energy to listen or pretend to listen, you just stared at him blankly until it tapered off, ending with his handing you a handkerchief. You took it gratefully, lacing your hand through his as a comfort and dabbing the cloth to your face as the SUV pulled into the road.

The radio clock read 3 AM, and the night showed no signs of an end.

____

Garcia and JJ met the rest of the team at a hospital, where the whole lot of you were ushered into a waiting room. Garcia fussed over you a little, which you knew was because she was so worried about Emily, but couldn’t do anything so you allowed it. Several nurses tried to drag you to the ER for treatment, but you refused every offer until JJ came up behind you.

“Emily will be in surgery for the next few hours, go get patched up. I’ll come to get you if anything happens.” She told you, it was quiet and gentle, like the warm hand on your shoulder- a stark contrast to everything else that night. You hesitated, looking back to your team and then to the doors that lead to Prentiss. Sensing your hesitation, her blue eyes locking with yours, “Prentiss would be the first person to drag you into an ambulance.”

With a defeated sigh, you nodded, letting a short Hispanic night nurse lead to the ER. She, along with a gaggle of other nurses and one doctor’s approval, went to work. They cleaned out the numerous cuts and scratches along your face and arms, diagnosed you with a mild concussion, wrapped your knee (advising you to buy a brace if you wanted it to heal right), and told you that you fractured two ribs. You refused X-rays, knowing that they’d take to long. So with their work done, most of the nurses went to their next patient.

The one that brought you stayed behind and despite your silence- Claire Temple her name read with a smiley face beside it, was incredibly kind. She handed you two wet hand towels, “You’ll feel better with all that blood off you. Be careful where the skin split though.”

Tiredly, you sponged off the blood- which did make you feel a little less gross- and was careful around the bandages. Claire stood behind you, deft hands working through your hair- pulling out glass, twigs, and god knows what else- before twisting your hair into a loose braid. With a kind smile, she offered you a bottle of water and two large white pills.

“Thank you for your kindness, but I need to be-” You started to protest. She dropped them in your hand regardless.

“Honey, those are max strength ibuprofen. You’ll be perfectly alert, as long as you can stay awake.” She smiled- you were exhausted, the clock on the wall read 4:02 AM- stepping to the side. “Go wait with your friends, your other friend should be coming out fo surgery soon.”

Her kindness was something you really needed at that moment, a reminder that not everything was terrible, so you mustered the sweetest smile you could, “Thank you, I really needed that.”

“I know, now go.”

_______________

The waiting room was bleak. Hotch and Spencer took turns pacings. In the time you had been back, Spencer had gone through three cups of coffee. Garcia was beside Derek- who hadn’t moved, only holding his head in his hands- nervously tapping her pen against her notebook. JJ was in and out, making a thousand different calls. Rossi stared into thin air as he was lost in thought.

You had only been in there for forty-five minutes, but as you sat a few seats away from everyone else, mentally beating yourself up- I could have taken that shot. I shouldn’t have even asked permission- your anxiety was already bubbling over.

When JJ entered the room without a phone in her hands, you knew something wasn’t right- as did everyone else in the room. A single pull of her lip confirmed everyone's fears. Some tried to remain stoic- Hotch’s jaw hardened, Derek hung his head- others immediately broke- Garcia gaped, denial written across her face, Spencer was shaking his head like he was being lied to.

“She never made it off the table.” JJ tried to keep a smooth tone, eyes meeting the floor. Your heart shattered, Emily was gone. Doyle actually killed her- you didn’t save her. Your eyes were hot with tears, and before you knew it your feet were carrying you out of the waiting room, out of the ER, out of the hospital.

Your throat was constricting, tears blurring your eyes as you slid to a stop. You didn’t go that far outside, but the distance felt like miles. It said a lot, that you ran outside- the rest of the team is inside, together. You thought, choking on a sob, you thought bitterly, God, how fitting. I left, just like I left them.

Your thoughts kept devolving, breathing becoming erratic as it became sobs became harder to hold in, I left, maybe if I stayed I could have noticed something was up with her, brought it up sooner, figured Doyle out sooner. We shouldn’t have waited for SWAT we could have been there twenty minutes earlier. I shouldn’t have listened to Morgan, I should have stayed with them and helped stem the bleeding. I shouldn’t have asked permission to take the shot. I shouldn’t have listened. I should have taken the shot. It wouldn’t have brought Emily back but at least her killer wouldn’t be running free. I should have taken the shot.

You dropped to your knees against the cold pavement, allowing yourself to cry as you looked to the sky for some sort of answer. All you found was a hospital helicopter heading east. You sat outside, in the middle of March in Boston, in a short-sleeve not even noticing your shivering until a warm hand was on your shoulder. You looked behind you to see Hotch, who shrugged off his coat and put it on your shoulders. He helped you up, his ever so serious eyes looked at you- and as always you felt obligated to give him an answer.

“I should have taken the shot.” You croaked, now acutely away of how cold, hungry, sore, and exhausted you were. Hotch shook his head.

“You had orders not to.” He corrected, stoic as ever. That was good, the team needed a rock in all this. But at that moment, you didn’t see that.

“He got away.” You choked, wiping at the near-frozen tear trails on your face. For the first and only time in your life, Hotch pulled you into a hug. It was stiff and cold, and honestly reminded you of every ache and pain, but the sentiment was nice.

“We’ll catch him again. Let’s go home.”

________

I was excited for this, but then it turned out,,, bad

taglist: @irishfaulk97 @viarogers @toboldlyscream @benji-booxx @sophiiev @thebadassbitchqueen

#criminal minds x reader x marvel #marvel x criminal minds #mcu x reader #criminal minds x reader

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alienduckpond · 5 years

Text

Back in town - ch 4 - Slip Up

Mistakes are made when Ella assembles the Amber Island bridge.

Warning for a little bit of angst, and a mention of a remembered childhood accident? It’s not graphic, but I think it needs warning for?

1 - Good Day / 3 - BooBoo Pouch

-~-

Arlo hitched Spacer to one of the wooden planks stacked up between the path and the river, shifting Ella’s tool belt closer to the middle so it wouldn’t fall off if Spacer pulled. There was still a huge amount of material left to be added to the bridge, considering that Ella had already been constantly working on it for two full days now.

But then, this was one of the bigger projects that the guild had hosted, he thought as he walked down to the bank, squinting in the fading daylight at the bare bones of the structure she’d made so far. And the fact that she was already assembling the whole thing, only three weeks after she moved to town and getting her license, was incredibly impressive.

She was standing on one of the stone pillars closer to the Island side, tying together what looked like the last of the connections of giant pipe and hardwood log that would make up the edges of the bridge which stretched from bank to bank, to the thick crossways support beam. He watched her tie a series of knots with an appreciative quiet hum before Ella stood up and pulled on the rope, using her weight to secure it snuggly as she dangled back over the water, and he could see her look of intense concentration in the light from the lamp on the cross beam.

Stopping to wait by one of the end supports, a huge slab of wood buried in the ground, he thought she met his eyes when she half turned towards him. Her eyes were flickering in the light from the lamp as she gripped the rope one handed and leaned further out over the river, stretching her other arm out as if reaching for the waterfall. But since her face was pointed almost directly at him he lifted his hand and waved.

“Hey Ella, any idea how much--"

The shriek she let out when her head jerked slightly, her feet actually leaving the stone pillar as she jumped in shock, made him flinch. He had a split second to register that she was most definitely looking at him now before he had to watch in what felt like slow motion as she grabbed at the rope which was slipping through her fingers. Because the same reflex that had made her jump had also made her let go of the rope.

And since she'd been leaning off the pillar, that meant that her precarious footing and support became no footing and support, and he could do nothing but stare as she tipped backwards, and fell into the water with an enormous splash.

Swearing as he hurried forward to the edge of the river, he grit his teeth and jumped down into it while his head filled with memories of the last time she’d fallen in. He stared desperately at the spot she’d gone under between the upriver pillars as he waded forward, but the water was dark in the fading light, and the lamp shining from above was making the surface reflective.

“Ella?” he called, panicked and preparing himself to go even further out into the freezing water and find her, but then her head broke the surface and she gasped and spluttered. She flailed a little bit before one of her hands pushed her sopping wet hair from her face, long enough for him to catch the murderous glare she sent him before she let go and it immediately fell back down with a heavy slap.

“Lolo! You are dead when I get over there!” she yelled, kicking forward and starting to lurch towards him, swimming one handed as her other hand held her thick hair out of her eyes again. “I swear, you really are a jinx! I hadn’t dropped anything in the river the entire time I’ve been here but the second you show up I fall in?”

He let out a silent sigh of relief as she kept ranting while she swam closer. She was fine. She wasn’t four years old and unable to swim. She was fine. But then he started to actually listen to what she was saying, and choked on a laugh. He hadn’t heard words like that since he’d walked past a group of drunk Duvosian sailors while he was in Tallsky. And hearing such words in Ella’s normally sweet voice was, was not something he’d ever expected to happen.

“Ella!” he finally managed to get out, not sure if he was shocked more that she knew words and phrases like that, or that she was directing them at him, and watched as she rolled her eyes, lip pulling back in a sneer. He stepped out further into the water, wading forward till it swirled around his thighs to reach for her, grabbing her wrist when her hand slapped into him and turning to start pulling her closer to shore.

"Oh shove off Lolo, I’m almost certain you’ve heard worse in your time with the Corps.”

“Well, yes,” he admitted, tugging her forward to a shallower stretch of river bed and helping her stand next to him. She stumbled slightly as the force of the water buffeted her, and he shifted himself to stand upstream to block it. “But there’s a difference between hearing random people saying it and, well, you.”

She groaned and dropped her head, and he knew she was rolling her eyes at him even without seeing it. Letting go of her wrist to wrap his fingers around her arm above her elbow firmly, he tugged her into movement again, trying to shield her as best he could from the flow.

“We’ve been over the whole I’m an adult now thing, right?” she asked, sounding slightly more annoyed than amused. “I’m pretty sure we’ve covered it several times now that I’m a real proper grown up person, who is allowed to do things like swear.”

“We have, but you’ll always be my sweet and innocent little Beany Boo to me,” he told her cheerfully, trying to ignore her disdainful snort which was followed immediately by a sneeze as they reached the bank. Shifting his hand back down to hers, he climbed up onto solid ground in one step, then waited while she grumbled at him and his stupidly long legs before pulling her up when she nodded at him. He reached forward to grab her other hand when she yelped as her foot slipped out from under her as the mud gave way, and pulled her against his chest before moving to wrap his arm around her to hold her steady.

“You ok?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” she muttered, sounding petulant. “I’m still mad at you though. The water's bloody freezing."

Slowly dropping his gaze to his own legs, the waterline halfway up his thighs standing out starkly in the light from the lamp even at this distance, he then lifted his eyes to meet her sparkling ones as she leaned into him, and he felt a shiver run up her back.

"You don't say," he said dryly, keeping his expression and voice as blank as possible, which earned him the snort he’d been hoping for. “Come here pest, let’s get you warmed up.”

“Don’t you pest me,” she snarked, pausing to sneeze as he tried to lead her to Spacer. “It’s your own fault we’re both wet you bloody jinx. If anyone’s a pest, it’s you.”

She cut herself off with a string of sneezes, wobbling forward and clutching at his arm when they were done, and he frowned as he looked her over, seeing another shiver shake her body. She sniffed and wrapped her arms around herself, and immediately leaned against Spacer when they reached him.

He sighed fondly, then started unbuckling his shoulder harness and unzipping his jacket. He shrugged it off and spun it round and over her head to settle it on her shoulders, quickly sweeping her heavy mass of hair up and onto the outside of it before holding the sides up with a grin.

“Arms.”

“Damnit Arlo, what did I just say about me not being a kid anymore? You don’t need to fuss over me like this, it’s not like I was going to drown out there!” she snapped, glaring up at him and jerking herself backwards, and he felt his smile falter as he met her eyes. But he kept watching her, letting his face settle into his blank Captain’s mask as he waited. She finally huffed and did as he asked, shoving her arms into the sleeves and standing still as he tugged the front together, then reached for the zip.

It took him several tries to hook the zip in place, then he pulled it up quickly to the top of the collar by her nose, letting go as soon as he could and stepping away from her.

“Not this time, no. But you almost did. When you were four. Right here, on the old Amber Island bridge. So I’m sorry, but you’ll have to forgive me for wanting to reassure myself that you’re ok this time.”

Turning around before she could say anything else, he walked swiftly to the bridge frame and up onto the pipe. He ignored the way his shoes squelched as he made his way to her lamp, trying to not actually think about anything. Quickly leaning down to grab the handle, he paused when he saw how badly his hands were shaking.

She had to have no idea. That was the only reason she’d have said what she did. She wouldn’t, there was no way she’d have gone there if she actually remembered. She wasn’t like that.

The memory hit him again and he pressed his palms against his eyes.

Gust and Ella bickering on the bridge, one of them having done something to the other yet again. Then Ella's high pitched yell. Gust screaming her name.

Looking up from cleaning Sonia's scraped knee in time to watch Gust hit the water, and both him and Paulie scrambling into the river to try to grab him. Only for Gust to pop up, spluttering and holding Ella.

Ella who was coughing and gasping and clinging to Gust’s neck, who was trying his best to keep them afloat as Arlo and Paulie swam over. Ella who had almost gone under again when she tried to wriggle out of Gust’s hold before Arlo was close enough to catch her.

Ella who had stayed in bed for a week with a sniffly fever and cried whenever he left her sight.

Pressing harder against his eyes, he dropped into a crouch to rest his elbows on his knees. She'd been fine. She'd been completely fine afterwards and never acted any different or like she'd even realised anything had happened, aside from her sudden dislike of sea urchins.

He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face and into his hair, anchoring himself with the faint pain as he clenched his fingers.

Because while he was pretty sure he was allowed to be slightly over protective right now, given the circumstances, she, she did have a point about the him treating her like a kid thing.

He had been getting better about catching himself before he could fall into old habits, most of the time. He wasn’t reaching out to clean the grease or food off her face, or brush dirt out of her hair. And he’d been letting her pay for her own things after she made a huge point about him putting everything on his tabs around town. He’d tried to bite his tongue and wait for her to come to him to ask what it was she’d done to upset people, before he helped her fix things, like he had the first time she met Merlin. And he was fine with standing back and letting her lift and carry things, since he’d seen first hand she was just as capable as he was, possibly even able to carry things for longer.

But seeing her soaking wet and shivering, here at the Amber Island bridge…

It had been way too close to that memory.

He pulled his hands down over his cheeks, counting to twenty before dropping them completely to grab the lamp and push himself up. He rolled his shoulders and breathed deeply one last time, then turned and started back. He kept his eyes on his feet, concentrating on staying on the flattest part of the edge so he wouldn’t slip. His waterproof boots really were amazing, in that they hadn’t let any of the water out of them yet, which was throwing off his sense of balance slightly.

Stumbling slightly when he jumped the last few steps to the dirt he looked over to Spacer, expecting to find Ella already mounted and waiting for him. But she wasn’t. She was exactly where he’d left her, staring at the floor and hugging herself tightly, the sleeves of his jacket dangling down off her hands.

She looked utterly ridiculous. Adorable, but ridiculous. And he mentally scolded himself for thinking so after everything she’d said today, but she really did.

The sleeves ended a good hands length past her fingertips, and the bottom hem which normally sat nicely on his hips reached down to her thighs. The zip was poking at her nose, completely hiding her mouth given how high the collar was on her, and she seemed to be doing her best to shrink down and hide behind it as he crossed the space between them to stop in front of her.

It was just like when she’d been a kid, stealing his jumpers whenever he wasn’t looking to bury herself in, and while he’d normally find the thought amusing and possibly heart warming, right now it was making him feel… empty.

He tipped his head back to stare at the clouds, frowning when he saw how dark and fast they were moving. He sniffed, the smell of rain thick in the air, and looked back down at the top of Ella’s head.

“It’s about to rain. C’mon, I’ll give you a ride home.”

Shaking her head and bending it further forward, he had to lean in to hear her when she started to mumble, muffled as she was by his collar.

“I’m still damp, and I don’t want want to get your saddle wet. I’ll sit behind you.”

He sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair and considered arguing, before deciding he simply didn’t have the energy right now. He walked past her and untied Spacer, grabbing her work belt as he did and throwing it over his shoulder. He hooked the lamp on one of the saddle hooks then pulled himself up, taking his foot from the stirrup and holding his hand down to help her mount. He waited till she’d settled behind him, her hands resting lightly on his hips, and he bit down the sigh that wanted to escape. Instead, he simply grabbed her hands and pulled them forward, wrapping them around his waist until he felt her snug against his back, gripping her hand when he felt her try to pull away.

“Hold on tight please, I’m going to cut across the llama field and I don’t want you falling off,” he said, keeping his voice professionally bland. He let go of her, waiting for a second to see if her hands would stay where he’d put them, and then grabbed the reins and kicked Spacer into motion.

They crossed the road in silence, and he settled a hand on top of hers again when Spacer jumped up the small ledge only to immediately let go as soon as they were on flat ground. He could hear the wind picking up, and the smell of rain was getting stronger. Hopefully he’d be able to get back to the Corps before it really started, since he was going to be leaving his jacket with her. Which he should talk to her about.

He tried different things in his head as they trotted across the field, the only sounds the wind rustling the branches of the trees as it picked up speed, and then her sneezes as the wind whipped around them and made her shiver against his back. He nudged Spacer around her fence, then pulled him to a stop at her gate.

Well, it was now or never he guessed.

“I’m sorry for startling you and making you fall,” he started, deciding his Captain voice was probably best for what he needed to say. “I thought you were already looking at me or I’d have got your attention some other way. And I’m sorry for how I’ve been treating you.”

Her hands tensed against his stomach, pulling against him, and he tried to ignore it as he went on.

“You’re right. I sometimes treat you as the little girl I knew before, as my darling little sister who needs watching over, and you aren’t her. You’re an independent young woman now who knows all sorts of things, and who is more than capable of looking after herself. You’re an adult, and a member of our community, and you don’t need me coddling or protecting you. As the Captain of the Corps, I should have done better and treated you more fairly. I promise, I’ll stop treating you differently, and--”

“No,” she shouted, sounding choked as her hands pulled tightly against him, squeezing at his sides. He heard her growl a string of muttered profanity as she let go of him, then she shifted against his back. She pulled away from him completely, and he whipped his head around to look back at her only to collide with her cheek as she draped herself over his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him back against her chest. She turned her head into his, her wet fringe pressed into his cheek and she made a soft, choked noise.

“No, it’s, it’s ok. I know I complain, but I, I don’t mind. I, I really like when you look after me. It’s nice to be reminded that you care, ya know? I’m sorry Lolo, I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” She trailed off with an actual sob, her body shaking against his back, and shit!

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” she went on, voice thick around her tears. He reached up to wrap his fingers around her arms, trying to pull her away so he could turn, but she held onto him tighter.

“I know I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that, I’m just all aggy today and I took it out on you when you didn’t deserve it. I, I. It’s no excuse, but I didn’t have anyone in Barnarock to help me. There was no one there who understood me. Kendra was alright, but, but she weren’t Ma, and she weren’t you. There was no one who understood me or who helped me with people, no one who explained things like you did, and I couldn’t rely on anyone so I ended up doing everything myself. And then coming back here and having you looking after me again is so, it’s all--”

She stopped, letting off a soft whine as she pressed her face into his, and he felt her tears start to slide down his cheek. He started shushing her, leaning his head into hers with as much pressure as he could and holding her arms while he made comforting noises.

“Please, please don't stop looking after me and being my Lolo. Please don’t leave me. I don't want to stop being your Ella, or your Beany. I, please?”

She stopped completely then, her sobs loud in his ear and her arms like iron bands around him. He stroked her arm, and tried to shift his hand to stroke her hair too but he couldn’t from the angle they were in. He opened his mouth to try talking to her, to tell her it was all ok, but there was a lump in his throat. A lump of all the feelings from the evening he wasn’t sure he could identify, that was making words impossible and his own eyes itch.

He simply pressed his cheek into her again, rubbing against her as best he could as he started to hum. An old tune that his Ma used to use when he was little, and he’d used on her when she was a baby. Probably not the best thing he could do given everything, but it was all he could think of right now.

It seemed to work though, since her crying slowed to the occasional wet hiccup. She slid down his back, her arms moving from around his shoulders to settle loosely around his own, and he could finally wriggle his way free to spin round, throwing his leg over Spacer’s head and sliding off.

He held his hands up to her, wriggling his fingers when she simply sat and stared at him, sniffling loudly. She hiccuped, then sneezed before she leaned forward to swing her leg backwards, and he caught her around the waist as she fell towards him. He set her on her feet then wrapped his arms tightly around her, copying the position she’d had him in and pulling her as close as he could, not caring about her sopping hair trapped between them.

“I’m sorry Ella. I’m sorry. But it’s ok. It’s ok. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’ll, I’ll be here as long as you want me to be, ok? We just, we just need to work out some boundaries I think. But we can do that later. Come on, let’s get you inside. It’s going to start raining any minute and you’re already soaked.”

He let go of her when she nodded mutely, her hands scrubbing at her face. He moved round her to smile softly, holding her face between his palms and rubbing at the tear tracks under her eyes.

“Go on inside now, I’ll come see you tomorrow. I should be free after two maybe, so-”

“Can’t you come in now?” she interrupted, hiccuping slightly at the end. “Can’t, can’t you come in and we can talk now? You, you can come in and warm up and I can wash and dry your clothes. I’ve got pyjamas that might be loose enough to fit you, and plenty of blankets for your stupidly long legs.”

Huffing a laugh at her attempt to lighten the mood, he pulled back and started to shake his head, and she grabbed at his arms. The ends of the sleeves flipped over to wrap around him, as if joining in her pleas for him to stay.

“Please! I finished fixing the loft, and I’ve been setting up a blanket fort up where my old bedroom was. We can go sit in it, and I’ll make tea and cocoa, and you can, you can tell me more about what you got up to while I wasn’t here. I want. I mean, I. Just. Please?”

Staring at him, eyes wide and hopeful, it took effort to look away and glance up at the clouds, then close his eyes to listen. He could faintly hear the rain already falling somewhere, which meant it’d be on them soon enough, and he really should go.

“Spacer can come in too! I can set a tarp down so he doesn’t make a mess, and I’ve got a bunch of apples inside he can eat, and other veg. So, please? Please stay Lolo?”

Slowly opening his eyes to look at her again, his resolve wavered further. Lips wobbling, eyes begging, he sighed. Because he never had been able to say no to her.

He reached out and pushed her gate so it swung open, then gripped her shoulder to turn her towards her house. He smiled at her when she tried to resist, her eyes welling up again as they stayed locked on his and her lip wobbling more.

“You better go find that tarp quickly, or else you’ll have a very wet horse to clean up after.”

-~-

5 - Unexpected Discoveries

#My Time At Portia #MTAP #mtap arlo #mtap fanfiction

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amymel86 · 7 years

Text

Strictly Professional - Chapter 8

Everything almost seemed normal again. Jon had made his admission that he had feared any weird tension between them and that had been his reasoning for staying away from the apartment. Sansa assured him that there wasn't.

There's still that funny little belly flip thing though. Especially when I catch him giving me those weird looks......it'll go away - he'll get used to the idea of what we did, Sansa mused on her commute home.

Sansa had almost forgotten about the new delivery from Rose Petal Adult Toys when she nearly fell over the unnoticed inconspicuous brown box that the postman had left outside their door in the shared hallway.

She placed the parcel on the kitchen table, made herself a cup of tea and sat down to have a good stare at the unopened thing. Normally, she would tear into these deliveries with gusto - excited to see what they had sent her, but this time felt different.

What if there's another couples toy in there?........What if there isn't?

Sansa sipped the last drops of her tea and held the empty mug to her lips as she eyed the package in front of her. She sighed and bumped the lip of the ceramic cup softly against her mouth a few times.

I'm being ridiculous.

After flipping on the kettle, Sansa dropped a teabag into her mug for a second drink as the water bubbled away. She pulled out one of Jon's old University mugs from the cupboard and added a spoonful of his preferred coffee along with a touch of sugar, just how he liked it. She set it aside, ready for when he came home in about an hour's time. It was one of Sansa's rituals and she was glad to be back at it now that Jon was around more again.

Just a blip.....he was just a but weirded out about the whole sex thing....but it's ok now. It's fine now.

Flopping back down onto one of the kitchen chairs, Sansa stared down her foe on the table. She wrapped both hands around her tea and blew the steam away. After taking a tentative sip she cursed loudly at the burn her tongue received.

Alright, no more stalling, Sansa thought as she set aside her drink and started to peel away the brown parcel tape to get at the unknown contents.

Sansa's hand rummaged around in the small pit of white Styrofoam packing peanuts and came back holding a small box. 'Naughty Girl - Beginner's Bondage Kit' it said. It's contents included black silk bondage ties, a lacy blindfold, a small faux leather spanking paddle and a matching flogger with rubber tassels.

Alrighty then.

Sansa had never really considered bondage before, but the thought was....intriguing.

Would Jon want to do that?...well I can't very well spank myself can I?

Setting the box down with a soft snort to herself followed by a sigh, Sansa wondered if Jon would want to put a stop to this 'couples toy testing' thing and set Claudia straight with the truth as she began rummaging for any other products that she may have been sent. Her hand found another box, she pulled it out and had a good frown at it.

'Secret Lover Wearable Clitoral Stimulator'

What the?

The small box showed a product photograph of the silicone hot pink stimulator that was like a long, curved. shallow cup. Above the product's logo was a photograph of some perfect red lips with a silencing finger on top of them.

After curiously opening the box, inspecting the product and reading the information leaflet, Sansa found out that the strange little thing should be placed in her underwear, so that it cupped her and pushed against her clit. There was a downloadable app that controlled the vibration, meaning that the wearer can have a little secret fun at the tap of her partner's fingers whilst in public. Sansa blushed at the thought.

Imagine cumming in the middle of the supermarket?! Getting your rocks off in the fruit and veg isle.

She let out a burst of a giggle and went to the bathroom to put the Secret Lover Stimulator in place and see what it felt like.

After downloading the app, she typed in the code on the info leaflet so that it could sync up with her toy.

God! Since when did orgasms become so techy?

There was a dial to slide up and down to accelerate or decelerate the intensity and a few other buttons that told the simulator to follow a certain pattern of vibration.

This is odd, she thought as she stood in the kitchen sliding the dial up and down on her phone screen with the pad of her thumb. The toy giving her delicious vibrations against her most sensitive area.

The apartment buzzer suddenly chimed noisily, causing Sansa to start, nearly making her drop her phone. She dragged the dial right down to the bottom of the graphic, turning off the vibrations in her panties. Quickly hiding the 'Secret Lover's packaging behind the kettle, Sansa went to answer the door.

Margaery Tyrell is a whirlwind. And when partnered with and encouraged by her brother Loras, she may as well be a hurricane, as she plunders Sansa's wardrobe, pulling items of clothing out and discarding them behind her with an elegant toss.

"Too baggy......too wholesome......not short enough.....grey?! Bleugh"!

"Marg, not that I don't appreciate you barging in here and creating utter chaos, but why is half my wardrobe scattered like autumn leaves"?

"You-" the brunette straightens up and points a very direct, slightly accusatory finger at Sansa "-need to get laid, missy".

Sansa flushed momentarily, memories of what happened on the very bed that Loras was currently sitting on starting to flash behind her eyes like an erotic projected slideshow.

"Not that I'm not touched by your concern for my vagina - but I'm fine, thank you very much".

"Sans, I know Claudia's supplying you with the top notch goodies-" she said, bringing a black dress over to hold it up against Sansa and admire the length "but you need some real action or you'll be spending your savings on mountains of batteries for the rest of your life darling".

"Think of the waste Sansa" Loras chimed in as he sprawled out on her bed luxuriously "all those batteries - not good for the environment you know? Think of climate change. Think of those cute endangered pandas. You practically owe it to the earth to bump uglies with someone".

"I don't think tha-"

"Ah" Loras interrupted Sansa's protests, holding up one silencing finger "climate change and pandas, Sansa. Climate change and pandas".

Sansa shook her head, rolled her eyes and submitted herself to the 'Terrible Tyrells' ministrations as they dressed her, poked and prodded her, messed around with her hair and applied her make up before practically pushing her out the door to go in search of a suitable watering hole.

The base was thumping through Sansa's entire body at Longclaw's Nightclub, as multicoloured lights danced and streamed through the throng of dancing bodies, writhing and grinding in-time to the music.

"Remind me again why we're here"? Sansa shouted over the din. They had started off in a perfectly respectable bar with classy black leather and chrome furnishings and somehow ended up in a club with sticky floors and packed with students chasing a midweek buzz.

"Because we're trying to find you some young buck to fuck" Margaery hollered back in Sansa's ear. Sansa rolled her eyes at her friend's smirk.

Never change Marg. Never change.

"Thanks, but I don't need to get laid"!

"Oh really? Already got someone to fill that void then"?

"Are you referring to my lady parts as a 'void'"?

Just as Sansa was watching Margaery take a breath and lean in to answer her, Loras interrupted the two of them as he came back from his mission to the bar to procure some drinks. "Hey, what about him over there Sans"? he asked, pointing at an obscenely tall and muscular man leaning against the bar and surveying the masses. "I talked to him for a bit - he's tragically straight".

"HIM?! He'd snap me in half"! Sansa squeaked loudly.

"I know" Loras sighed dreamily before taking a sip of his drink through a straw.

"So you're not with anyone at the moment then Sans"? Margaery interrupted, unable to let the previous topic of conversation go. Sansa shook her head and deflectively sipped her drink. "So who did you review that cock ring with then 'StarkAfterDark'"?

Sansa froze. She hadn't counted on Marg seeing her review. Taking a big gulp of her vodka and coke, she tried to regain her composure.

"Oh, you know, just a hook up".

"A hook up"? her friend narrowed her eyes in suspicion "Who"? she asked before her eyes went wide "Not Harry again"?

Sansa took the unintentional lifeline that her friend had thrown her. "Yeah"

Why can't I seem to tell her about Jon? It's no big deal.....Is it?

"I thought you said he was useless in the sack"?

Sansa took in a breath, about to respond but a quick double tap to her shoulder stopped her voice in her throat. Whirling round, she was confronted with a smiling work colleague.

Ramsey.

"Sansa"! He half slurred, half hissed, his sickly sweet breath fanning over her face "what is a lovely lady like you doing in this establishment on a weeknight"?

"She's trying to get laid" Margaery very unhelpfully jested. Sansa glared at her friend before plastering a fake smile upon her lips.

"Hello Ramsey".

Ramsey's eyebrows had shot up his head at Marg's abrupt statement and his intense, wide eyes were darting back between the two friends, trying to discern the truth of the situation.

"She's just kidding" Sansa laughed forcefully.

"Well that's a shame" he grinned wickedly. Sansa faked another laugh and tried to put the unease she felt in her gut down to the alcohol.

"Thanks Marg! Why'd you have to say that in front of him"? Sansa hissed in her friend's ear once Ramsey had swaggered off to get himself another drink.

"What's wrong with him? He's good looking and he definitely wants to devour you Sans. He's got to be better than 'half-assed-Harry'". Margaery stopped her reasoning dead when she saw Sansa's reluctance plain on her face. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion "Unless there's someone else you're not telling me about"?

"No!....No, it's just....I work with Ramsey you know?....I just don't think it's a wise move".

Because sleeping with the guy you live with is sooo much better Sansa. Urgh.

A few drinks later, and Sansa was swaying her hips on the dancefloor to some Rhianna song that she loved. So far, she had managed to deflect Ramsey's advances to get her to dance with him by constantly sticking close to Loras or Marg, giggling and mouthing along to the lyrics as she gyrated and hair flipped with the best of them.

However, the time had come it seemed as Ramsey made another move to circle her waist with his arm and draw her near, attempting to urge her to grind against him in-time to the beat. He was sweaty and smelt like a mix of stale lager, strong cologne and cigarettes.

Sansa gave him the slightest of smiles, not wanting to offend him whilst simultaneously trying to think up an excuse to escape his grasp.

Bathroom. Say you need the bathroom.

She was caught off guard however, when Ramsey brushed some of her hair over her shoulder. His fingertips grazing her collarbone before he flattened his palm across her skin and inched his hand up her neck to cup her jaw.

Oh shit. He's going to try and kiss me.

Just as Sansa's brain began to short circuit, she felt an almost painfully strong jolt of vibration against her lady parts. She quite literally jumped out of Ramsey's arms with a surprised squeal. As soon as the sensation occurred, it disappeared just as quickly. She was left there staring wildly at Ramsey, who looked more than a little confused.

"Sansa? Are you alright"?

"Yeah....yes...umm...my phone!....I....uh...my phone buzzed". Just as she had shouted the words out over the music, the vibrations started up again in her panties - this time a at a low constant hum.

The 'Secret Lover Stimulator'! It must be malfunctioning....or the app is playing around?

Sansa dug through her bag for her phone only to see that everything on the toy's app seemed absolutely normal. Whilst she had been routing around in her belongings, Ramsey had snuck in behind her, pulling her back to him by her hips and rolling his own against her behind. The vibrations stopped.

That's weird. I should go and remove it, she thought, looking up and around for sign of where the ladies bathroom might be. As she was scanning the scene, her eyes snagged on one lone familiar sight. Jon Snow, leant against the club's back wall. He was stood under one of the few lights in the establishment, the effect making him look slightly predatory as he stared directly at her with a smirk on his lips and....his phone in his hands.

Sansa returned his gaze with one of confusion. Her and Ramsey were at the edge of the dancefloor, close enough to Jon for Sansa to make out a movement of his thumb against his phone screen at exactly the same time that her concealed toy picked up it's vibrations and one of Jon's brows rose cheekily.

Oh shit.

She gawked at him with a look of shock that then turned into one of defiance. Jon looked amused and then determined. His thumb started tapping the app. Sansa's panties began pulsating deliciously.

Oh no you don't Jon Snow!

Sansa began swaying and rolling her hips back against Ramsey in retaliation. The vibrations ceased immediately, only for them to start up again when she raised her eyes to look back at Jon.

Is he....is he trying some sort of messed up sexual Pavlovian training on me?

Sansa tested her theory. Reaching up and behind her, she grasped the back of Ramsey's head, all the while continuing to grind her ass back into his crotch. The vibrations stopped. And, as she predicted, they started up again when she released Ramsey and held Jon's gaze. They even intensified when she purposefully licked her lips at him in a seductive manner.

The cheeky shit!

The cheeky shit continued to smirk at her from his place at the back wall of the club as Sansa finished her dance with Ramsey. He had been tapping away at his phone, playing with her pussy from afar the whole time. The buzz in her lady parts were driving her mad, making her feel like some sort of secret animal in heat. Sansa had come pretty close to cumming once and Jon had clearly anticipated that, ceasing all vibrations just before she fell off the edge into a public orgasm. The fucker.

"What are you doing"? Sansa hissed at Jon when she'd managed to peel Ramsey away and escape his attentions.

"Product testing" he replied with a cheeky smile as he wagged his phone screen at her. "I'm actually surprised that you're wearing it".

"Yeah, well....the Tyrells....happened...and I didn't get a chance to-"

"Oh heeeeey handsome" Loras interrupted, slinging an arm drunkenly around Jon's shoulders.

"Hey Loras" he replied with a chuckle "you good"?

"Hmmm....that depends....you still straight"?

"Sadly yes".

Loras grabbed Jon's face by the chin with his full open palm and waggled it playfully "what an utter tragedy".

"You made it" Margaery chimed in once she reunited with the group.

"You knew he was coming"? Sansa asked with a furrowed brow and arms crossed across her chest.

"Yeah....Jon text me asking where we were...said he wanted to give you a ride".

Did he now? Sansa thought as she watched Jon laughingly try to fend off a very drunk Loras from covering his face with kisses.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jon x sansa fanfiction #jonsa fan fiction #jonsa fic #jonsa fanfic #jonsaff #jonxsansaff

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