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white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen · 3 years

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Cross the Ocean

A/N: Requested by @starry--skies. Sidenote: this may be a good story for a sequel sometime.

Summary: Neal once told you he would cross the ocean to be with you, but when you know he’s in danger, you’ll cross the ocean yourself to save him.

Word Count: 2,955

How could an apartment feel so cold and empty when the same number of people dwelled in its walls? You supposed it had been long enough that all the signs of him had faded. Spare clothes, returned to June, because there was no one else to return them to; the extra toothbrush trashed because no one was using it, anyway, and why have it take up more space? The linens could only go unwashed for so long, the last flowers he had offered died months ago, and his necklace was sitting in your jewelry box, unseen, because it hurt too much to wear it.

The same number of people lived in it, true. But Neal hadn’t needed to live there to leave his mark, and now that mark was gone, jumped on a plane without a goodbye, just like him.

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

“Don’t go,” you said, unprompted, staring across the room to the dark shadows covering the wall.

You could feel his movement as Neal picked up his head. “Where would I go?” He asked, confused, sleepiness adorably muddling his voice.

You shrugged halfheartedly, already regretting having said it out loud. He felt your shoulders under his arm and tightened his warm hold on you, tugging you closer to the heat of his chest.

“Just don’t go,” you said again, hugging yourself comfortingly.

The idea that the man beside you could leave – had a history of leaving – without a trace left you feeling cold already. You were a cautious person, but loving someone the way you suspected you were growing to love Neal made you want to let down your guard. It was scary, like taking off the Kevlar vest to assuage someone with a gun; you were reasonably certain that you were safe, but you were also making yourself vulnerable to massive injury.

Neal moved his hand slowly, probably just so you would know that he hadn’t fallen asleep. He didn’t answer right away. The silence and the stroking of your arm sent mixed messages and you had just about settled on reading it as pity, and almost curled up tighter and moved away. Did he think you were clingy? Did he think it was pitiful that you expected him to stay with you? Maybe you had misread everything.

His hand stopped moving and he moved again, just enough to press his lips to your forehead. “Y/N,” he said, softly, his voice clearer. Thinking on it had woken him up more. “I don’t plan to go anywhere. Definitely not anywhere you can’t follow.”

Whew. There was a softness and delicateness to the way he talked to you, but it sure didn’t sound like pity or exasperation. More like… empathy, and maybe apology, for your evident insecurity and any role that his past played in it.

“I guess I just – I keep thinking one day I’ll wake up and you’ll be an ocean away.” Without me, you wanted to add, but figured it was implied. And unnecessary, probably, since he had done it to Kate before, or close enough. He had likely learned the kind of damage that did to a relationship.

Neal resumed his gentle stroking of your arm. “Oceans aren’t a big deal. We’ve got cruises and airplanes now,” he reassured with a playful bit of teasing. More seriously, but very simply and matter-of-factly, he continued, “And if someday we wake up an ocean apart, I’d cross the ocean.”

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

It was easy to be bitter and easy to resent. In the beginning, you had been insecure, nervous that he would leave overnight when an opportunity arose. How could you not? Neal tried to leave forever without so much as a goodbye to anyone, only stopped by a bomb and a lost love. It had irked you then, and it scared you when your rapport deepened. He had fake documents ready to go, an agreed-upon rendezvous point with Mozzie planned for any given time. Neal worked hard to assure you he loved you. You weren’t sure he ever managed to convince you there was no chance of his leaving, but you at least had confidence that he would say goodbye, give you a chance to have closure.

No such luck. Part of you knew it wasn’t out of lack of desire, but rather lack of opportunity. The other part wanted it to shut up. Love him as you did, you knew Neal’s situation was a product of his own choices. He made his bed, and he should have lied in it, but for the family he had found in the city who loved him too much to let him rot in the pocket of a man who’d use him as a tool and throw him back in prison the second he stopped being useful – or, worse, leave him to die when it became too much trouble.

Whenever you embraced the anger, because the sorrow was too overwhelming, you resented Neal for all his stupid choices. Keeping the painting, pulling those stunts on the aerial tramway, and baiting Kramer for months with constant near-misses that could’ve been avoided if he had just stopped breaking the law. It was such a simple solution. And you were angry. The last six months of your relationship had been rocky, because the anger wasn’t new, it wasn’t just because he had gone away. It was because he kept compromising himself, and his coworkers and friends by extension, and yourself by association.

Holding onto anger was never your forte when it came to Neal, though. Sooner or later, usually within a couple of days, you would see or hear or do something that would remind you of the man, and you’d be hit with a wall of all the good memories, all the things he did that made you feel pride and adoration and contentment. Then came the longing and loss, and finally, the blame. The blame that you had just failed to pin on Neal himself, so you embraced the bitterness instead.

Peter had one job and instead, he turned Neal loose. Gave him the green light to run. At least if Neal had gone with Kramer, there was the chance of a happy ending. There was a reasonable chance that, with the WCCD at his back, Kramer wouldn’t be able to keep Neal past the two years left on his original sentence, and when it was over he could have come home. Peter had ruined any chance of that, his silent gesture telling Neal that there was no alternative and that he had the approval of his family here. Most importantly, that nod was a goodbye, and acceptance, and an “I love you, so I’m letting you be free”. You’d never begrudged Neal his close relationship with Peter but you felt cheated that, on top of ruining any slight chance of your partner returning to you, he got to say goodbye while you were left blindsided and heartbroken.

The first time you resorted to bitterness to cope, it lasted several weeks. You avoided Peter and dodged his team. They were worried, and El reached out, but you politely assured her you were fine and just didn’t want to see any of them. She respected your wishes and must have told her husband because he, Diana, and Clinton all stopped trying to find you. Neal’s friends were like salt in your wounds, even the ones who hadn’t told him to go. It was too deep and too fresh to handle the reminders. Hell, you could still barely handle your own apartment. You really didn’t know how deeply in love you were until Neal was gone.

It took longer, but the bitterness and betrayal ran its course and became exhausting, as well. Finally, you cycled back into sadness and mourning, which took so much out of you but demanded so little. Roses made you cry because you thought of the roses Neal would give you. So did your favorite dress, which was only your favorite because it was his favorite, too. Tiny things that you could expect to encounter at least once every few days would make you feel hopeless. You were grieving, as if he had died. Knowing he was alive and well didn’t soothe the pain because the permanence of his decision to flee the authorities put him so out of your reach, he might as well have died.

Every run through the stages hurt a little bit less, wound up a little bit shorter. You were healing, you knew, but the ache in your heart persisted. Learning to function again, learning to be prosperous and content without him, was an option, no matter how impossible it seemed on some days. On those days, you weren’t sure you even wanted to. Neal had earned such a place in your life and in your heart, and even when the things he did made you see red, you still knew in both heart and mind that he loved you and was yours. Some little piece of you wanted to still be his, so that you could keep that connection, that last thing you had of him.

That little piece was such an asshole.

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

A deep delve into your professional life helped keep you occupied so you didn’t think too hard. It wasn’t the healthiest way of processing a breakup, no matter how messy or devastating said breakup was. Still, it was better to be productive and helpful than to let yourself continue spiraling and cycling through destructive emotions and patterns. The summer passed agonizingly slowly but when you looked back, it was like the blink of an eye. Suddenly it had been a whole season since you had last seen Neal. The romantic side of you wanted to say that it hurt just as much as it had before, but… it didn’t.

You felt awful thinking it, and then awful for feeling awful for having a life after him. Neal was gone. He had no choice about leaving New York, but he did have a choice about how, and he chose the route that left no possibility of a reunion. Why the hell should you wait around for him, wishing you kept hurting for a man who clearly was more interested in his freedom than in recovering what you had together?

Going home the day you had that thought, you looked at the button for the 21st floor and for the first time in a long time, you actually thought about just poking your head in and seeing how Neal’s other friends were doing, and then you realized the anger was running out. You didn’t have the energy or the will to keep deliberately resenting Neal or Peter.

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

By August, you could look back on everything and understand the decisions that were made. You didn’t agree with them, but you understood the desperation fueling them and the fear that Neal must have felt. The moment Neal’s handler, whoever that was, tied his hands and threw him aside, the man was as good as dead, just in a matter of time. Kramer wasn’t above that. If he were free – even just by flight – Neal could protect himself. You could forgive him for leaving, but you weren’t sure he was forgiven for leaving without even a phone call to you as he booked it to the airport.

Later that month, though, your personal grievances didn’t seem to matter all that much. A man approached you while you were at work. You thought he was the man you’d asked to come answer some questions, but no – you were the one being questioned. He was cynical, evasive, and exacting, and clearly after information on Neal.

As soon as he left, you went to the twenty-first floor and beelined for Peter’s office, ignoring the tentative, sympathetic greetings from familiar faces. Peter glanced up when you entered and then did a shocked double-take. It was the first time you had voluntarily approached him in months, after all.

Peter stood up so quickly his chair legs scraped loudly on the floor. “Y/N,” he said right away, but then obviously had no idea where he was trying to go, unable to figure out what to say. You could see the sympathy and sorrow on his face. Not only did you lose your partner, and Peter had lost his friend, but the other agent had encouraged your partner to leave. He knew from your avoidance that you blamed him, at least partially.

With a wave of your hand, you dismissed it. Nothing Peter could say would fix the situation. You knew what he had done was in Neal’s best interests, weighing his wellbeing over your feelings. Where Neal wasn’t forgiven, Peter was, finally, and the avoidance that remained was just about trying to distance yourself from reminders of your blue-eyed artist.

“Someone just came asking questions about Neal,” you said, crossing your arms and peering across the office at Peter. “Agent Collins. He said he’s just tying up loose ends, but he’s not, is he?”

Peter’s openmouthed surprise turned into a grim purse of his lips. He shook his head, looking frustrated, and gestured for you to close the door. You did, and leaned back against it. “He’s the bureau’s version of a bounty hunter,” the agent confided, putting his fists down on his desk and leaning onto it. “Neal was almost commutated, then slipped out under their noses. It makes them look bad. They want to get him back.”

You didn’t miss that Peter was using pronouns that excluded himself, but didn’t comment. It was no surprise – he’d made his stance clear when he encouraged Neal to go. “Why now?” You demanded. “It’s been months, surely the trail’s cold.”

“Best guess?” Peter hazarded, sighing deeply. “They’ve spent this time trying to find him other ways. Now they’re realizing that Neal’s better than they thought and all they want to do is make an example out of him.”

Oh, hell no. “Like they haven’t already?” You asked snidely. Peter tilted his head aside, not explicitly agreeing but getting his point across all the same.

The bureau had your trust – for the most part. When it came to their treatment of Neal, your eyes had been opened to how even organizations seeking justice could be completely unjust in their treatment of people who lacked recourse. Neal was frequently put in life-threatening situations with no training and no choice in the matter except to be put back in prison. Enough people knew Neal was working with the FBI for Sing Sing to be a life-threatening situation, in and of itself. Neal was nothing but a tool to them because he lacked the normal resources of walking away or pursuing litigation.

You looked aside, glowering at the drab office wall. “It gets worse,” Peter wearily told you. “Collins is looking for a win. And at this point, a dead fugitive is just as good of an example as an incarcerated one.”

“Not happening,” you refused furiously. “What the hell happened to proportionality?” Neal may have pissed some people off, Robin Hood-ing from the one percent, but he was never violent. Sending a bounty hunter after him with permission to kill was wildly inappropriate and inhumane.

“I’m afraid proportionality isn’t the first thing on the mind,” Peter warned as you stalked further into his office, toward his desk.

“We have to warn him,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to Peter. Neal was “run at any time” paranoid, not “stay away from windows” paranoid.

“Yes,” Peter nodded, “But we can’t. We don’t know where he is. There is no way of telling him.” The agent wasn’t giving up or resigning himself to being useless. As much as there was disappointment and worry in his face, there was also stubbornness.

“So we find him,” you quietly suggested. “No one knows him better than we do.”

“Y/N.” Peter dropped his voice to match your volume and spoke with a soft, concerned tone. “You have to understand, finding Neal and not turning him in, much less tipping him off about Collins, is outside the law.”

“The law is apparently saying it’s okay to murder a man who has, at worst, taken money that isn’t his.” You fervently stated. That wasn’t your first concern, Neal was, but you needed Peter to know that you weren’t just in this because you were in love with the man in question. There was a principle at stake, and a moral obligation. “The equivalent of chopping off a pickpocket’s hand, coming from the government that supposedly despises cruelty and injustice. I won’t support that, and I sure as hell won’t stand by and let it be done to someone I love.”

While you had been talking, Peter had slowly started to smile. It was the smile he used to always give to Neal when he was proud, when your boyfriend would remind him that Neal was a kind person with a good, loving soul. Having it directed at you reminded you far too much of the smile Neal always gave back and your chest tightened – not just at the memory, but at the decision which meant you were bound to see it again.

“I knew you were going to say that,” Peter admitted with a small, relieved grin, like the shared challenge and conspiracy were washing all the sourness and distance under the bridge. You really thought that maybe it was. His confidence in you and his commitment to your boyfriend reassured you that you weren’t losing your mind and you weren’t alone, no matter how lonely you’d been feeling. “I just need you to understand what you’re putting at stake.”

“Wherever he is, when we find him, I’m coming. No matter what.”

#lawmen and conmen #white collar #white collar x reader #reader insert #neal caffrey #neal caffrey x reader #fanfic #oneshot #cross the ocean #requested #angst #sad #breakup #tw: abandonment #grief

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fuck-customers · 5 years

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TW sexual assault mention

So fuck my manager and fuck my workplace. Hi, long time reader first time submitter. I worked at a bakery, at first I loved it, the customers were niceish, the pay was above minimum, the manager was tolerable, a bit tough, but nothing I couldn't handle. I have about 10 years experience of work, so I know how to handle tough managers. For this one however the way to handle it was to say that I was no longer able to open or work in the mornings (which was when she and this other coworker nobody liked would work.)

Add to this the fact that she would regularly schedule me to clopen, which I have insomnia, so clopening really screws with my health. I got really sick at one point. Also she's a text book micro manager, and I felt like she was just waiting for me to fail. Also, I'm a 26 year old man, don't talk to me like a kid when I mess up. Oh and also 'hurry up' is not very constructive, like duh hurry up, I know, I'm going as fast as I can.

At the beginning I tried talking to her, let her get to know me not just as a worker but as a person, at other jobs it had hurt me that I wasn't buddy buddy with the manager so I wanted this to be different. This obviously didn't tickle her pickle, because everytime I would tell her something about me, I would get radio silence and a smirk that told me she didn't care. So I stopped talking to her like that, nothing wrong with a strictly professional relationship...

Anyways she's annoying, So for most of my time there I was a closer, I had a good relationship with the closing manager, she liked the way I worked, and because of this the manager gave me way more hours, 38-39 range. Then I got a raise, I was really happy for a while. Until I got sick. I got the flu and I had to call out of 3 shifts. On top of that the week before I had dared to defend myself when I felt I was being disrespected. My hours dropped from 38 to 8! I couldn't work there anymore. This was salt on the wound, and I felt even more disrespected. Plus the fact that I would always be fighting about my schedule, week after week she ignored my availability.

Besides all this they have some really shady and illegal policies. One policy that she seemed to only enforce on me was the water policy. She told me that I could only get water on my break, and that I had to ask permission to get the water. I told her that I would get water whenever I felt like it. 'It's just policy.' She kept repeating, well it's a dumbass policy and I've elected to ignore it.

There is the injury policy, where you get a write up if you get injured, (one time a coworker refused to sign the write up because she got burned and they didn't even have burn cream!) Utter BS.

There were a bunch of other little things too. Like for example the level of fuckery that the closing manager got up to. She needs to take like a course on what is and what isn't appropriate to talk about at work. She asked me to look at her body (over clothes) because she had gotten a new spanx, and it clearly made me uncomfortable. She asked me again and I told her she looked like a box so shed stop asking me lol. A disabled girl came into the store one day and when she left the closing manager told me 'a man is going to take advantage of her one day.' WTF?!?!? Who says that?? To add insult to injury the disabled girl is a regular and she is the sweetest person ever! I told her I don't like thinking like that and walked away.

The customers always first? So why do I have 5 people in line while you're in the back with another coworker chatting it up and laughing? She would constantly do this. Look, I get it, your eyelash fell off (she told me she took two hours to apply them, I was like GIRL.) But I have a line, could you come to the front instead of trying to fix it?

Ugh! And the way everyone was obsessed with gossip here OMG!! They would constantly try to get me to participate, and talk shit, but guess what, it's a small store (we have like 9 employees) it's gonna get around!

Plus I couldn't lie anymore. I didn't believe at all in our product, the bread gets stale so quickly. The cakes and food items are subpar and everything is too fucking expensive!! Tired of hearing customers complain about the prices. Guess what, nobody is forcing you to buy from here. Get your chocolate croissant somewhere else.

TLDR? They have cockroaches.

#tw #trigger warning #submissions #fuck customers #cashier problems #happy ending #fuck co-workers #fuck retail #embarrassing #server problems #call center problems #fuck coworkers #fuck managers #retail justice #retail law #submission

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okimargarvez · 4 years

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WHEN THE DOORS ARE CLOSED

Original title: When the doors are closed.

Prompt: JJ, Spence and Emily over eavesdrop a weird conversation outside Garcia’ office.

Warning: none.

Genre: funny, family.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, Jennifer Jareau, Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: part 81 in Garvez canon Life.

Legend: 💏🔦.

Song mentioned: none.

GARVEZ STORIES

WHEN THE DOORS ARE CLOSED

-JJ, I want to talk to you about... - the man walks quietly, but stops abruptly when he notices his best friend with her head resting on a door he knows very well. -What are you doing out of Garcia's office?-the blonde beckons him to shut up.

She gestures in an exaggerated way. -Spence, keep quiet and come here.- she almost drags him next to her. -Listen.- she whispers and together they bend down again against the cold and metallic surface.

-But I don't hear anyt... - the youngest tries to protest, without result, if not to get reprimanded again.

-You're too loud, you are going to blow it!- JJ protests. She has just the time to say that, then the known silhouette of their leader appears.

-Too late.- Spencer comments, like a bird of ill omen, an owl.

JJ immediately returns to an upright position, Reid takes a few more seconds. -Hi, Emily.- the blonde performs in one of her best embarrassed smiles, but she doesn't blush. She is a professional, after all.

The brunette crosses her arms as she watches them with a stern look. -JJ, Reid, why were you with your ears attached to Garcia's wall?- she asks in a professional tone, but a twinkle in her eyes and a slight curvature of her lips betray her.

-I'd like to know too.- Reid adds in a low voice, catching a look from JJ. Which this time blushes a little, looking around.

-I thought I heard...- she tries to explain, but it's stronger than her, she can't say certain things out loud and surely, it doesn't depend on being a mother and therefore accustomed to a censored language. -...oh, you understand, don't you?- but her colleagues both shake their heads.

-No.- they answer in unison.

Behind that door, meanwhile, an impatient Penelope is intent on performing one of her favorite activities, while the system is making an update, taking advantage of the pause generously granted by the United States' unknown subjects. -Why do you keep moving?- she asks her test case, her consenting victim. -Look that I can tighten even more.- she threatens him, with a smug smile on her lips. The man loses himself staring at that part of her body, but the realization of intimidation makes him come back to himself.

He inhales and exhales twice, checking the state of his lungs. There doesn't appear to be anything compromised. -If you squeeze a little more, the blood will not flow anymore.- he replies, with his usual whining tone as a child, as when he is sick. -The arm will go into gangrene.- he adds, mumbling and looking at his own body, covered with colored filaments from the shoulder down.

But nothing seems to be able to pity her or move her. -Crybaby.- she comments, continuing to move her hands, indifferent to Luke's complaints. -It was you who had this brilliant idea.- she reminds him then, rubbing salt in the wound more.

-One of the worst I've ever had.- he confirms, cursing himself.

Penelope snorts, gives him a dirty look. -Be quiet, you don't let me concentrate.-

Outside, JJ looks at her friends triumphantly. -Did you hear that?- she asks, to emphasize the event. Her cheeks are no longer so red now that she has found accomplices in the crime. A moment of silence follows.

Then Emily shakes her head, unable to completely hide how ridiculous and absurdly funny the whole situation is. -JJ, eavesdrop out of a door...- she begins, with the intent to reproach the friend, but the gaze of the latter makes her completely change course. -Do you think what I think?- she exchanges a look with both.

The first to speak is the little genius. -BDSM.- he simply says, realizing soon how both women are looking at him now.

Above all, JJ never misses a chance to tease him. He is like a brother to her, he is her best friend, one of the most important people for her. - Spencer, have you decided to make new experiences?- she asks, reflecting on how in these last days there really is something different in him. But if he met someone special he would surely have told her, wouldn't he?

As usual, Reid blushes and gets stuck. -N...no, I was talking about...- JJ sighs with relief. It is nice to know that not even the prison could change some things.

Prentiss watches her coworkers interact for a few seconds without intervening. -Penelope and Luke are having unusual sex in her office.- she translates, in an embarrassed tone, as if she were merely giving an empirical statement. The other two both remain open-mouthed. -Sorry, I couldn't take it anymore.- the brunette replies, spreading her arms.

Spencer finds the courage to ask the question that is crossing the mind of all. -Isn't it a little morbid?- in fact, however genuinely happy he is for them, and he's not so unpleasant to see how much they really love each other... especially now that he's starting to understand how it feels... in short, he prefers not to imagine them in certain compromising positions.

-I thought so too, but then...- the blonde tries to explain herself, in vain.

-Curiosity killed the cat.- the voice of her best friend is superimposed on hers, with that sibylline tone that at the beginning she found quite annoying.

After a last look at the armored door, Emily sighs and decides that it's time to go back to wearing the role of head of the BAU and resume the situation. -Let's go before somebody noticing it, them or the big bosses.- they certainly won't let her repeat it twice.

Inside, in Garcia's office, the man has practically never stopped complaining. -I'm hot, how long will I have to keep this on?- and he knows he's playing a very dangerous game. His girlfriend doesn't even look at him.

-Until I'm finished.- she answers only. -Do you want to give your little niece a handmade sweater?- she doesn't even give him the time to start a reply. -So, stay still, quiet and above all, silent.- she glares at him.

-But...- he has the courage to say.

-Silence.- she warns him again. -Knitting should relax you.- she says, talking more to herself than to Luke.

Which seems to be caught by a divine revelation. -You are right.- and instantly he falls asleep.

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#garvez #criminal minds #cm #penelope garcia #luke alvez #jennifer jareau #spencer reid #emily prentiss #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia

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