#they get sick of waiting for an ambulance and just shove him in the car | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

footygirl114 · 2 months

Text

Operation (Leah Williamson x Reader)

This is definitely a result of too much Grey's anatomy but I was told that I need to let some of the ideas out of my noggin so here you go? (I think). Also I could be persuaded into this becoming a series...

Your pager going off interrupted the scrolling of TikTok you were doing while enjoying your morning coffee, after rounding on your patients. You glanced at the screen and noticed it was a 911 to the ER for an incoming Trauma. Kicking yourself into gear you moved and started to make your way down, the whole time kicking yourself for jinxing your pager since you were hoping to catch the Arsenal vs. Manchester United Game at the Emirates on TV during your shift.

Knowing that wasn’t going to happen as you walked into the ER and it was organised chaos. You walked towards the head of the ER and asked “what happened?”

He turns to you and says “A car jumped a curb at the Emirates stadium before the game, ran into a few pedestrians including an 8 year old and her dad. We have the driver, a 43 year old male, and the two victims on route now.”

“damn it, how bad?” you ask him as you move to pull your hair back, and put on a trauma gown and gloves.

“the dad, is in critical condition, they say he was able to get the girl out of the way but she sustained injuries when he shoved her out of the way.” He says as you walk with him to the ambulance bay waiting for the incoming ambulances.

As you wait for the ambulance you listen to the other doctors conferring over what they think the driver was on, but you take the second to glance at your phone and double check the texts with your fiancé. They state that she was there an hour prior to this happening, and knowing the teams timing you knew she was on the field for warm up.

When they finally pull up you wait to find out what one your patient is in. Once you know where the child is you step up and move beside her gurney listening as the paramedics rattle off her name and vitals. She meets your eyes and you can see how scared she is and you say to her softly “Hi Kenzie, I’m Dr. Y/L/N, and I am going to be taking care of you.”

She’s shaking as she asks “where’s my dad?”

“Sweetie, he’s being taken care of by some of my very good friends, You and I are going to get you checked out so you can be ready for him okay?” you tell her as you move your hand to tuck a loose piece of her hair behind her ear checking her pupils as you do this.

When she nods, you move to grasp her hand as you gesture for the team to get her gurney moving. You had waited so they could get her father inside so she wouldn’t have to see him too injured. Once you get her into a room and transferred onto a gurney you start your exam on her.

She’s stays silent as you explain what you are doing, you tell her that you specialise in helping kids who have been injured or sick, and when you press on her belly and he’s hisses and pulls away in pain you know she may have some internal injuries.

Once you determine she’s stable and waiting for scans you go to move away from her but she grabs your hand and says “don’t go.”

You turn and squeeze her hand back and says “i am just going to check on your dad and then I will be right back, I promise.”

She shakes her head and holds up her other hand, leaving her pinky up as she asks softly “pinky promise?”

You smile at her and wrap your pinky around hers and say “I pinky promise sweetie.”

She lets go of both of your hands and you move outside the door, watching as your favourite ER nurse immediately steps in and starts talking to the patient, keeping her distracted, you walk out of the room and the last thing you hear is them talking about the arsenal team. You smile to yourself knowing that she will be okay for a few minutes.

You take the time to order scans for her, and check on her dad, you also manage to talk to someone from social services who is looking for her next of kin, but they are having no luck since her fathers License is from Ireland, you know it will take some time for anyone to get over here.

Walking back into her room you smile at her and say “Hi Kenzie, I am going to take you upstairs now.”

She meets your eyes and asks “how is my dad?”

Moving back towards her you sit down on the edge the bed by her legs and say “he’s been taken into surgery, by those friends of mine. He’s getting the best care possible and they will do everything they can to help him.”

She starts to cry and you move to grasp her hand and she says “I want my daddy.”

It breaks your heart and you move closer and pull her into a hug softly whispering “it’s okay sweetie, let it out.”

After a few moments of letting her cry she’s sniffles and pulls back and says “I’m okay, I can be a big girl.”

You smile and wipe under her eyes and you say “you are strong sweetie, now lets go get some scans of your belly and then we can get you fixed up to be ready for your dad okay?” She nods and you gesture to the nurse to get her ready for transport upstairs for scans then into the paediatric floor.

Less than an hour later, you walk into her room on your floor. You were one of the attending surgeons on the paediatric floor. “Hi sweetie” you tell her as you walk into the room when she turns and smiles softly at you, you continue “They called your grandma, and she should be here tomorrow.”

“Grandma is old and cant move fast” she chuckles at you.

“Well she does have to fly over her, like you and your dad did sweetie. Why were you over here?” you as her as you fiddle with her IV.

She gasps and says “the game! I missed the game.”

“The arsenal one? Were you guys over here to watch it?” you ask her.

“It was my first game, daddy saved up and finally was able to bring me over to watch my favourite team play. Did I miss it? Can I still go watch?” she asks you with wide eyes pleading.

You sit beside her hip on her bed and say softly “sweetie, your scans came back and I need to go in and fix your belly, we are going to do it now.”

“So i wont get to see the game?” she pouts.

You smile sadly and hold up your pinky and ask “I pinky promise when we’re done, I will come and watch the full game with you right here.”

She smiles and wraps her pinky around yours and says “deal.”

Before you can say anything more the surgical team walks in and you know its time to go, You turn to her and say “We’re going to take you in and put you to sleep and when you wake up we will get to watch Arsenal kick butt okay?”

She nods and says “okay.”

You follow the surgical team push her towards the OR, you help them transfer Kenzie over and you stay with her until she’s out. You move into the scrub room and pull out your phone, texting Leah like you did before every surgery, and told her that you would be in the OR and will update when you are done.

Almost 6 hours later you were sat beside Kenzie’s bedside, it was dark and quiet and you were not expecting her to be awake anytime soon but you wanted to be here when she did. It had started to get late and when your phone buzzed you knew it would be Leah. You saw it was and you turned and looked out into the quiet hallway and decided to take the phone call there.

You had been with Leah for almost 5 years, and it was the best 5 years of your life. You had been still a resident and Leah was gaining popularity and you both decided that you wanted to keep your relationship quieter. Leah was worried that some of her more enthusiastic fans would attempt to contact you through the hospital and she wanted to make sure that you were safe.

It was sweet and when the opportunity came up to be an attending at this hospital in the middle of London you jumped at the chance to be close to your fiancé. You had been at this hospital for 6 weeks and as far as you knew, no one was the wiser to if you were single or in a relationship. Which is why you would make sure no one was around before you answered a phone call from her.

“Hi babe” you greeted her when you picked up the phone call.

“Hi love, are you still working?” she asks with a chuckle.

“I am, I’m gonna stay here tonight actually.” you tell her with a soft smile, eyes on the sleeping form of Kenzie in front of you.

You can hear her moving and she says “Are you going to be in surgery all night?”

“no actually, this patient came in and I operated on her” you tell her softly. “She’s 8 and was here with her dad to watch your game, but she was hit by a car on the way to the stadium.”

“Oh, love, is she okay?” she asks softly. Your heart grows three times the size as she just immediately understands why you need to be here and why you cannot leave her.

You pause on answering when Kenzie moves in front of you, but when she settles you say softly to Leah “she’s all alone Lee and I promised to watch the game with her when she wakes up.”

“You’re amazing and I love you” she says “and I will miss you tonight.”

“I miss you too babe” you tell her with a soft smile.

You listen as she moves around and it sounds like she’s gotten into bed and she asks “can you stay on the line with me while I fall asleep?”

Smiling you move and adjust the chair so you are reclining as you softly ask “Do you have training tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Good, I will definitely be home tomorrow babe” you say softly.

“Mhmm I want you here” she sleepy says.

You stay on the line listening to her breathe evening out and you smile to your self, thinking about how much you love this woman. “Sleep tight babe, I love you.” you whisper when you hear her softly snoring you hang up the phone. Turning in the chair to settle into a light sleep.

It’s early in the morning when you hear Kenzie moving around in her bed in front of you. You open your eyes to see her eyes open looking around. You wait to see if she will fall back asleep but when her eyes lock on yours you says “Hi sweetie.”

“hi” she whispers.

You move to stand up and check her vitals and move your hand to check her incision site and you ask her “how are you feeling?”

“Tired” she answers softly.

“do you want to go back to sleep?” you ask her, and move your hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.

She shakes her head and says “Can we watch the game now?”

You chuckle and tell her “yeah? lets watch.”

You move the table over the end of the bed to be closer and you pull out your phone and find the recording of the game. You always set Leah’s games that you miss to be recorded so you can watch them back. You pull the chair closer and you set the phone up so you both can see. The first 15 minutes are quiet but when Arsenal scores one she gets excited and sits up more.

After the third goal she’s more animated and is excitedly talking about the game and the players. The game has made her feel a lot better and more like a little girl and you are happy that she seems to be doing better.

You are lost in thought watching when she says “holy crap thats Leah Williamson.”

You chuckle without taking your eyes off the screen and say “sweetie she’s been on the whole game.”

“No, she’s right there!” she shouts.

You turn and meet the eyes of your fiancé standing in the doorway of the hospital room with two coffees, she winks at you and says “I heard we had a fan here that wasn’t able to make it to the game.”

You pause the game and move to stand up and step closer to Leah and you say “this is Kenzie.”

“Hi Kenzie” Leah says and she hands you a coffee and brushes by you to stand beside the bed “are you watching the game back?”

“yeah, I missed it cause Dr. Y/N was operating on my belly.” Kenzie says, the smile bright on her face.

“she’s pretty Awesome” Leah says and then continues “Can I watch the rest with you?”

“Yes please!” Kenzie answers quickly with an excited smile.

“I guess you don’t need me anymore” you say with a chuckle.

Leah smirks at you and says “Sorry love.”

“It’s okay, you guys enjoy I am going to shower and change.” you tell them both. “Kenzie please make sure to ask Leah all the questions okay?”

“I will! She’s my favourite player.” Kenzie says with a smile and moves to press play on the TV as she says to Leah “What did the ref say to you there?”

You chuckle to yourself and move outside the room, and you stand on the outside of the window looking in and you feel your heart grow again watching as Leah and Kenzie both talk with their hands about the game and you can feel the smile growing on your face knowing it may be time to have a conversation with Leah about what you want next.

#woso imagines #woso x reader #woso imagine #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #engwnt x reader #engwnt imagines

765 notes · View notes

mcdceamy · 2 years

Text

The walk from the car to the front door felt long. He felt like every step took him further away rather than closer. He glanced over his shoulder at the men who stood next to their cars, their hands clasped before them as they stood stoic, not moving. He turned back and headed closer to the door.

He had just sent Winnie and her mom off in the ambulance, the other two had left long before them. He headed over to his car and was about to climb in when he was grabbed roughly from behind. There was no one around so there was no need to cover his mouth but the shouts soon came spilling out. He turned trying to get out of their grip as he was dragged backwards and shoved. Seconds later he felt a blow to the head. He fell to his knees, his vision blurred and a high pitched ringing in his ears. His body was let go and he slumped forwards onto his hands. He felt like he was going to be sick. He swallowed thickly and was about to push himself up until his hands were roughly pulled behind him and secured with a zip tie. He was lifted to his feet and shoved into the back of a car, another blow to the head and he was out cold.

He woke in what looked to be a warehouse. It felt cold and it was dim lighting. His hands were now free but he was certain he had been out for a few days maybe. There was a bottle of water beside the mattress he laid on, small bubbles had collected against the walls of the bottle and condensation at the neck, indicating it had been there for a while. The food looked beyond appetising. He rolled onto his back and felt his hand along his forehead. A spot near his right temple was tender and slightly raised, dried blood on the back of his head told him exactly how long had passed. He pushed himself into a seated position and groaned.

Seconds later the door opened and he came face to face with his captors. He went to push himself from the mattress on the floor and a heavy weight on his ankle told him exactly why only one guard had come to his ‘room’. A metal shackle was around his ankle and this was connected to a metal ring on the other side of the room, giving him freedom to move around but not the ability to try to escape. He rose to his feet and reached out for the wall, holding on to keep him stable. No words were spoke but his face expressed every feeling he felt in that moment.

Derek stopped outside the door. From what he could see through the soft glass, mostly everything seemed the same. The staircase that lead up to the next floor. He smiled a little remembering small things; being caught with Meredith completely naked on them, carrying Zola upstairs for the first time, watching Meredith come down them most mornings as he waited for her by the door to go to work.

He wondered why she hadn’t been at the candle house, the house he had built for them. But if it had been 7 years and she thought he had died, like his rescuers had told him, then he understood full well. But he was grateful she had simply let it out and not sold it completely. The family at the candle house seemed nice, they had explained to him that they had been letting from Dr Meredith Grey for 3 years now. It took them a few moments before they recognised him, shocked to even see him standing on their porch.

Derek ran his hands down the front of his slacks, took one more look at the men behind him and then reached his hand out to the doorbell. He heard a soft commotion inside and then a young girl came running forwards before stopping short and staring at him. He was thinner, bruised from the rescue, but she still knew who he was. And gosh did he know who she was. She was taller but it was still his Zozo. He couldn’t find the energy to smile at her, still completely shocked by his first sight of her. She kept her eyes on him as she turned her head slightly, calling over her shoulder. “Mommy! Can you come here?”

Within seconds she was joined by a young blonde male and female. Both looked at him with confusion. He looked from Zola, to Bailey, to the young girl. Had Meredith remarried? Had she had a third child with someone else? His son was so grown up. He was getting almost as tall as Zola. But the young girl...she looked like a mixture of Meredith and Ellis. She was the double of her grandmother and he felt weak at the knees. His wife had moved on. Had had more children. But all of their eyes were glued on him, the girl’s hand was wrapped tightly around Zola’s hand and her eyes glanced at her as if she was asking a silent question to which Zola nodded to. He frowned a little.

A movement caught his eye and he lifted his gaze from the three children to see Meredith walking towards the door, a male behind her. He swallowed thickly and he reached out for something to hold himself up but came up empty. Her name slipped from his lips, his eyes not leaving hers.

Closed Starter / @mctwcsty / Plotted Starter

#mctwcsty #mctwcsty and mcdceamy ftw #( If She Gives You Her Heart Don't Break It ) Reply : McTwcsty

203 notes · View notes

amimimi · 3 years

Text

reki and langa taking care of their drunk s/o

synopsis: headcanons about how reki and langa takes care of your drunk ass

pairings: langa x reader, reki x reader

warnings: underage drinking (drink responsibly pleath!), getting sick, drunk..ness, I use the word “sexy”

notes: school is beating my ass, so i wrote this just to lighten the mood. i want to have one out for joe and cherry tomorrow! and i also want to write one where you take care of them while they're drunk too! but omg pls drink responsibly tho! 😭 I apologize in advance for any spelling/grammatical errors!

REKI

PLS he'd be so stressed out

he's taken care of drunk friends before and didn't even bat an eye but when it's you, he's a lot more concerned because you're his bby <3

will probably laugh a bit at your antics and take cute pictures of you

but then you’d get sick and he starts freaking out and looking up common signs of alcohol poisoning njgksdkdhskf

so he’s closing up at dope with manager oka when he gets a call from your phone number

he’s a little worried when he picks up and it’s your friend that’s calling him, and not you

“where’s y/n? are they okay? why can’t they talk to me?” he spits out without even taking a breath

oka and him are standing outside the shop

oka has one hand on the grate as he stares hard at reki, obviously concerned

“oh they’re fine! we were gonna meet up with our other friends to go to a party, but they go too drunk. ” your friend tells reki breezily.

reki hears your voice in the background, tiny and slurred, and his heart squeezes

“yea, i’m talking to him right now!” he hears your friend say to you. “yea, he’s coming right now...you want me to what?”

“hey,” your friend says directly into the receiver, taking to reki now “y/n said they miss you and they wanted to know if you miss them back”

“yeah, i miss them a lot” reki answers easily, exchanging glances with manager oka, who’s still looking confused and concerned

“y/n, he said he misses you too...why are you crying again?” your friend sighs, and reki’s heart clenches in his chest. “yeah, just come pick them up...please. i’ll send you the address”

reki hangs up and looks up at manager oka, who’s waiting for an explanation

“could you please give me a ride?” reki begs him, clasping his hands out in front of him.

and of course, manager oka says yes

when they arrive outside your friend’s place, reki thanks manager oka for the ride

“are you sure you got everything from here?” oka asks slightly uneasy about the situation. all reki told him was that you needed to see him—urgently

reki fumbles to take off his seatbelt and opens the car door

“yeah! i’m fine! thank you very much!” he says frantically.

“okay, call me if you need anything” oka frowns.

when your friend opens the door for reki, he kicks his shoes off and immediately is like “where are they?”

he’s led into your friend’s bedroom, to see you laying on your friend’s bed, wearing a short dress

you're crying face first into a pillow, not even noticing when reki and your friend stepped in the room

“hey, look who came to rescue you!” your friend grins, stepping into the bedroom after reki.

you slowly look up and blink some tears away to see reki standing by the door, looking at you anxiously

“reki?” you hiccup, struggling to sit up only to fall back down with a squeak.

reki’s heart twists as he watches you, before rushing over to help you with open arms.

“i’m here, baby, i’m here” reki sits on the bed and he pulls you upright. you slump into his chest like a rag doll and rubs soothing circles into your back. “you are so dumb for this”

“am not!” you weakly protest into his chest, your voice muffled.

"are too" reki counters, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

" 'was an accident..." you murmur, nuzzling your face against his chest

"no it wasn't" your friend clicks their tongue as you groan.

reki thanks your friend for taking care of you and for calling him before taking you back to your place.

you live just two down blocks from your friend's place so reki doesn't see the harm in walking

he thinks it may even be good for you

reki gives your his dope sketch sweater because all you're wearing is that short halter dress

tries to walk with his arm wrapped around your waist for support, but you're sagging against him heavily

so he just gives your a piggyback ride the rest of the way home

"oh my god, you're not wearing a hoodie right now..." you slur into his shoulder

"yeah, because i gave it to you" he hoists you higher up on his back and you giggle

“oh yeah,” you say.

you’re silent for a bit, before you lift your head off from reki’s shoulder and to reki’s horror, shout “y’all! this man gave me his hoodie! i think he gotta crush on me!😩🙈”

“shhh!!” reki hisses, pinching your thigh, which only makes you shriek. “people are trying to sleep! who are you even talking to??”

“the audience!” you announce, your voice booming through the empty street. reki rolls his eyes, not even wanting try arguing with you

“okay, okay just shut up please”

“you’re embarrassed because i told the audience that you gave your hoodie”

“okay then, tell the audience how you were crying for me to come see you”

“i...don’t recall that”

when you both finally make it to your home, you’ve quiet downed a little and reki is slightly relived/unsettled

he’s carrying you to your room until your tighten your grip around his neck and whimper “reki, i don’t feel good...”

reki bolts to the bathroom before placing you in front of the toilet just in time for you to get sick

he isn’t grossed out (he has three little sisters and he’s taken care of them when they’ve been sick) but he is shaken up

reki holds your hair back with one hand and alternates between rubbing your back and supporting you forehead with another—ALL WHILE scolding you for drinking so much dhjdjdbdjd

“you need to drink more responsibly! you shouldn’t of even be drinking! you’re underaged! oh my god, what did you even drink? how much did you drink?”

he can’t help it, he’s so worried for you

he’ll stop scolding you if you start crying tho, like how can he be upset at that?

wipes your mouth and kisses your temple before asking if your feeling better

when you say yes, he holds you up by your shoulders as you brush your teeth and rinse your mouth

he does your skin routine for you as best as he can (you have so many steps, it’s ungodly)

reki changes you into something more comfortable for bed and orders you to drink a glass of water

you’re so out of it that you comply, reluctantly of course

reki sits beside on you on your bed as you look at him glumly while you sip from the glass of water

“ahh, don’t give me those eyes. i’m making sure you don’t prune up” he pouts back at you, smoothing one of your eyebrows down with his thumb.

when you finish your water, he takes the glass for you and sets it your bedside table

“you have painkillers right? you’re gonna need them tomorrow morning” reki sighs as takes his jeans off to slip into bed with you

“in my drawer...” you murmur, your eyes half shut as you lay on your side. “are you gonna go?”

reki folds his jeans and places them on your desk, before walking back over to you

“nope, i gotta watch you for the night” he smiles softly at you and you give a shaky sigh of relief that makes reki’s heart burst

“it’ll be like a sleepover” reki says, as he slips next to you and turns on his side to face you

“a sexy sleepover” you nod, and reki frowns

“no...”

“...yes”

“you’re drunk”

“—in love, as our dear Beyoncé puts it” you slur, slightly grinning. reki doesn’t reply, staring at you disapprovingly, and you croak out— “we be all night! looooveeee—”

reki grabs your face with one hand, looking somewhere between horrified and amused

“i can’t stand you, right now” reki’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter

“but you’re already laying down—”

“enough, enough! roll over!” reki hisses, he points in the opposite direction with his finger

you giggle but comply

you feel reki’s hands wrap around your waist as he snuggled up from behind, spooning you

“i promise you, you won’t be laughing in the morning” he whispers into your ear as you begin to drift off

LANGA

just one big “?”

googling “how to take care of drunk person” with one hand with his other arm wrapped around your waist

alternates between confused and concerned

if you get sick, langa will actually call an ambulance—you have to tell him that you’re fine and even then he’s reluctant

you, langa, and reki all went to a party after S

you and reki are kinda amped, but langa isn’t enjoying himself all that much

people shouting across the room, shoving into him, the smell of alcohol—it’s all too much for him

so he’s like “ mkay, i’m out 🚶”

so he makes sure reki stays with you before walking to an isolated corner in the backyard to get some air

it hasn’t even been 30 minutes when you and reki stumble over to where he sits, arms wrapped around each other’s necks and giggling

langa watches the both of you stagger up to him with weary eyes, he already KNOWS that his night is gonna get stranger

“your darling, y/n, is drunk” reki announces, trying to keep a straight face

“reki is too!” you protest, stepping on reki’s foot causing him to yelp.

langa. exe has crashed

he realizes that he has to take care of the both of you,,,and he has no clue how

langa sits up from the planter he was sitting on and grabs both of your arms

“we’re going home” he says flatly, earning whines from both you and reki

langa drags you both to the front yard, as the both of you struggle in his grasp

“langaaa~ we didn’t even get to dance!” you whine, trying to break free from langa’s grasp

“langa, man, the party literally just started—” reki protests, struggling to get langa to let go of his arm. “holy hell, you’re strong”

“yea...it’s kinda hot” you murmur, slumping toward langa, who continues to drag you through the front door and onto the lawn. “langa, you’re so strong and hot, thank you for dating me”

when he’s dragged you both onto the sidewalk, he looks both ways down the street before asking “who lives closest to here?”

all of sudden, reki pitches forward to be sick

“langa! he’s dying, do something!” you wail, beginning to cry.

langa grips the back of reki’s hoodie to keep him from falling face forward

“okay” langa sighs as you drunkenly sob into his chest and reki moans, barely supporting himself. “i’m calling an adult”

he calls hiromi and begs him to come pick all three of you up

the three of you wait, sitting on the curb

langa is sitting between you and reki, an arm wrapped around you as you murmur nonsense into his chest and a hand clasped on reki’s shoulder who’s seeming a bit more lucid

“i promise you i’m fine! i get drunk quick but it fades away! let’s go back in!” reki pleads, earning a frown from langa

“y/n is still drunk, and you should probably go home” he looks down at you with sad eyes when you whimper against his chest. “i shouldn’t have let them drink”

hiromi brings the company car, shouting at the three of you as langa loads you and reki into car

hiromi is mad as hell but he still gets out to help langa buckle you in

langa offers for reki to come over to his house so he can monitor both

but hiromi grudgingly offers to watch reki because he knows there is no way langa can take care of you both

so hiromi drops you and langa off, telling him to call him if anything happens

langa carries you bridal style in his room and sits down on his bed with you in his lap

you blink up at him sleepily at him, holding onto his shoulders for support

“i don’t think you should’ve been drinking” he whispers, steadying you with his hands on your waist

“i don’t think i should have either” you murmur, before smushing your face into his neck. “i don’t wanna be drunk anymore, how do i stop?”

you sound close to crying and langa feels his stomach twist with panic because fuck, he doesn’t know either

he holds you against his chest with one arm and hastily whips out his phone, googling “how to stop being drunk”

cut him some slack y’all, he’s TRYING

he sees a “cold shower”, “plenty of sleep”, and “hydration” in the top results

sports mode langa: activated

carries you into the bathroom to give you a cold shower, but then you abruptly get sick and langa is like “!!?!!$!!??”

like reki, he’s gonna hold your hair and pat your back, but he’s too shook to scold you

says strange, earnest things like “you’re doing great!” and “you’re being very brave, i’m proud of you!”

unlike reki though, he’s slightly grossed out about by v*mit but he continues to be a dutiful boyfriend

waits until your done and you slump back against him, half asleep.

he decides the shower isn’t a GREAT idea with you being this groggy

langa isn’t letting you move an INCH

brushes your teeth for you—like he makes you open your mouth and gently brushes along your teeth

carries you to bed (he likes carrying you, he isn’t gonna lie)

he gives you one of his long sleeves to wear to bed and helps you out your clothes

langa holds a water bottle up to you lips and even tips your head back gently sjduslsjxjisej he’s so <333

his bed is pretty small and he’s pretty lanky, so he tucks you in, making sure you sleep on your side

he kneels on the floor beside you, his upper body resting on his bed and his face right next yours

langa holds your hand and watches you as you struggle to stay awake

“i’m sorry” you croak and langa kisses your finger

“don’t be sorry, it happens” he assures you quietly, his face slightly softening.

you blink bearily as you take in langa’s face, glowing in the moonlight shining through is window

“you’re so pretty” you murmur, weakly gripping his fingers. “i wish you could see yourself right now”

langa softly smiles at you as drift off

he watches you the whole night as you sleep, making sure you don’t skip a breath

notes: i’m writing one for joe and cherry and i’m gonna post that real soon!

edit: here it is!

#sk8 the infinty #reki x reader #langa x reader #sk8 the infinity x reader #reki kyan x reader #langa hasegawa x reader #tw alcohol #drinking

384 notes · View notes

maybe-theres-hope · 3 years

Text

Tarlos Fic - Dinner Date

3.2k | T | Warnings: Blood, Injuries (mostly minor) | Contains: Judd/Carlos friendship, Tarlos being perfect, blue Camaro (rip)

Read on AO3

“So, what are your plans for the night?” Nancy asked as they exited the ambulance, their shift nearly over as long as the bell didn’t go off in the next ten minutes.

TK smiled to himself for a moment before he spoke. “Well, Carlos is taking me to Jeffrey’s, so…”

“Holy mother,” Nancy breathed, looking at him with obvious envy. “Do you guys have a ten year anniversary or something coming up? Did he get some kind of commendation at work? Because I know your last one was like a month ago, so.”

“No, no anniversary, that’s in a couple of months. And its three years, Nance.” He chose to ignore her muttering about their mushiness ‘aging me ten years’. “And nothing from work that I know of. Maybe he just loves me?” TK couldn’t stop grinning while they stocked the bus and readied for the handover.

“He loves you crap ton! Their wagyu strip steak is a hundred and twenty-five dollars!” Nancy had her phone out, obviously googling the menu.

“Well at least we’ll save money on wine,” TK said with a chuckle.

“I’ve heard of the place by reputation but like, dude, who ever gets the chance to actually go there?”

“TK it seems,” Tommy cut in. “Why don’t you go on? We got it here and you’re gonna need at least an hour to pick out an outfit.”

“And gel your hair. You and your dad are way more alike than you want to admit,” Nancy added with a roll of her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. You sure, Cap? I can stay and help?”

“I’m sure, kiddo. Go get dolled up for your man. Eat a few bites for us, yeah?” Tommy yelled at his retreating figure. She and Nancy looked at each other with grins as they caught the little skip in his step.

“So, what do you think the occasion is?”

Tommy looked back at Nancy with a gleam in her eye. “I can wager a guess, but I don’t want to jinx it.” Nancy just gave her a look and went back to restocking.

Around 8 p.m., Owen was sitting in his office toying with his phone in his hand, smiling at his last text exchange.

we’re just leaving the house now, wish me luck!

you’re not gonna need it, kid :)

“Not if I know my son anyway,” Owen said aloud to the empty room. He wondered if it’d happened yet. No incoherent string of emoji’s from TK yet, so he doubted it.

He was shoving the phone back into his pocket with the bell went off.

“Alright guys,” Owen said into the mic from the Captain’s chair. “Dispatch says three vehicles involved, two still on the road and one went over the side into the ravine. Police are on their way but we’ll probably beat ‘em there. Strickland, Marwani, soon as we get there I want you to harness up and get down in that ravine. Judd, you too. You’ll be in command down there and I’ll stay up top with the other two vehicles. Everybody else you’re with me, got it?”

A chorus of “Copy that, Cap,” and suddenly they were on the scene.

“Marjan, Paul, we’re goin’ down!” Judd called to them as the rest of the crew went over to the silver Prius and black Mazda that were crumpled in the middle of the two-lane highway. Judd wasn’t a prayin’ man, but he sent up a little something to the man upstairs that this went their way. It looked bad.

Paul arrived at his side first, strapped into his gear. “Marjan’s grabbing the bag from the truck, she’s coming.”

“Alright. We’ll go down this way,” Judd said, pointing to a safe-ish stretch of hillside. “Can’t see the other car from here but dispatch said bystanders saw it go over. Probably just hidden in the trees.”

“Okay guys, let’s do this!” Marjan called, harnessed and carrying the medical bag and a backboard. “TK’s gonna be sad he missed this. Medical doesn’t get to harness up a lot and I know he loved it. He coulda helped.”

“Nah, he’s got better things tonight. Carlos was takin’ him to Jeffrey’s,” Paul said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Ohh, fancy,” Marjan said with a smile. “What’s the occasion?”

They’d reached the bottom and were starting to look through the brush and low-hanging trees for a vehicle.

“Don’t know,” Paul answered. “But I think Cap’s in on it somehow.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Judd cut in as he whacked a few branches out of his way. “Carlos came by the station a few weeks ago, and they sat up in Cap’s office for an hour before he left grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet tater.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Paul said with a laugh.

“Hey guys, look!” Marjan called from a few yards to the left. The other two went to her position and saw what she’d found. A track in the underbrush where it had been torn at and flattened. “Think this is the place.”

“Let’s go,” said Judd. They followed the path through the brush for a couple of yards before they caught sight of it: taillights. “Alright, Marjan you go on the passenger side, I got the driver. Paul you see if you can clear some of that brush off the back in case the doors are jammed and we gotta get ‘em out that’a way.”

Visibility was still low despite the lights of the car and their flashlights, but as they approached they saw the car wrapped around the trunk of a tree on the passenger side. “I don’t know if I can get in there, Judd, but I’ll try,” Marjan said as she broke out into a jog.

“Wait!” Paul cried. Judd looked over at him, and he would have said such a thing couldn’t happen to a calm and collected person like Paul, but his face had gone ashen. “That’s Carlos’s car,” he said on a breath.

“What?” In the dark, now that he was really looking, he could see they were coming up on—what used to be—a blue Camaro.

“I’m sure of it. TK bullied him into putting that sticker on the back because he said it was too pristine and it needed personality.” He shone his flashlight at the rear bumper and sure enough, there was a SXSW sticker half ripped off from the path the car had taken to get there.

“Come on,” Judd said, heart rate kicking up.

“Should we call Cap?” Paul asked.

“No, we stay down here and do our jobs, and he stays up there and does his. We’ll get ‘em.” His voice sounded numb even to his own ears, but he was determined.

“They were on their way to dinner,” Paul said lowly.

“Yeah, probably takin’ the backroads to avoid traffic,” Judd said, shaking his head. Fate was hell sometimes.

When they reached the car, Marjan was yelling. “TK! TK can you hear me?” She turned to Judd. “I can’t get in there. The tree trunk is halfway into the car, probably pinning him to the console. He’s unresponsive.” Her face was also pale, but determined.

Judd went to the driver’s side and saw Carlos, head hanging to the side facing the broken window. He tried the door as he called out. “Carlos? Hey Carlos, come on buddy. Can you hear me?” The door wouldn’t budge; Judd figured the car had rolled a couple of times coming down the hill, crumpling it like a tin can. Then he heard a soft groan.

He looked up, and one of Carlos’s eyes was trying to open. The other was swollen shut, where he’d probably hit his head on the steering wheel before the airbag deployed. Half his face had burn marks from it.

“Hey, hey Carlos, look at me, that’s it.” That one eye tracked around before it landed on Judd, drawn to the light of the flashlight on his helmet. “Hey man. We’re gonna get you out okay? Now, can you move your fingers and toes for me?” Judd stuck his head into the window to see down in the floor boards. “Alright, likely no spinal damage. How’s your head?”

“Hurts. Shoulder, too.” His voice was barely audible.

“Okay, it looks like you dislocated it,” Judd said as he prodded his left shoulder. “I don’t see anything broken but we’ll have to get you out to determine that.”

“TK—“ a wheeze, “TK…first. Been out…a while.”

Judd peered over to the passenger side, where TK was shoved almost fully into the center console, head laid back on the headrest and his face covered in blood. Marjan and Paul were still hard at work outside trying to clear a path into the car.

“We can’t get to his side just yet, but we can get you out first and then we’ll be able to pull him out this way, okay? We wanna focus on you right now.”

“Alive.”

“Yeah, you’re alive, Carlos. You’re not gonna leave us yet,” he said as he assessed the door panels where they could cut through with the saws they brought.

“No. TK. Weak, but…alive,” Carlos breathed out, coughing through the end.

“We’ll make sure he’s alive, okay?” Judd said, trying not to lose his professionalism at this whole messed up situation.

“He is.” Judd stopped looking around and looked back at Carlos. The man raised his right hand just as much as he was able, showing where he had two fingers on TK’s radial pulse.

“Good, that’s good Carlos,” Judd assured him. That meant Carlos had had some minutes of consciousness after the accident before they showed up. “Was he talking at all? After you hit the tree?”

“Little. Minutes, maybe.”

“That’s good, that’ll help. Alright Carlos, we’re gonna get this door off so I’m gonna cover you with this while we do okay?” Judd waited for a small nod before he covered Carlos’s face and torso with his own turnout coat.

After an agonizing four minutes, the door popped off in a shower of metal and broken glass. Judd removed the coat and went back in to assess. “Carlos? How you doin’?”

“Tired. But won’t…sleep. Promise. That’s bad.”

“You learn a few things from your Paramedic boyfriend?” Judd said with a watery smile.

“Mmm.”

“Judd, I got the back cleared. Maybe we can get in there to at least check TK’s vitals,” Paul informed them.

“Get on it, I’ma try to get Carlos here out onto this backboard. Marjan, radio for another backboard and have two RA’s ready to go topside!”

“Copy that!” Judd had to admire those two. They never let their professionalism slip too far, though he could see they were worried sick. He could relate. He wouldn’t relax until both of the boys were back up the hill and on the way to the hospital.

From the looks of things, maybe not even then. But he had hope.

“Alright, Carlos, I’m gonna grab your legs and behind your shoulders here and pull you out, okay? It’s gonna hurt like hell, but it’ll be quick.”

“Wait.”

Judd stopped cold.

“Left…pocket. Please.”

“You want me to get at your left pocket?” A nod. “Alright, hang on.”

Judd carefully shifted Carlos’s leg so he could reach into his slacks, which had probably been part of a very nice suit at the beginning of the night. His fingers searched until they hit a small bump, an object no bigger than a baseball, soft velvet over a hard shell. He sucked his lips between his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he pulled it free in his hand.

“Keep it…safe…for me?”

Judd looked down at the little black box for a moment, then clutched it tight in his hand before transferring it one of the innermost pockets of his turnout.

“Of course, man. I will guard this with my life.” He looked up and saw Marjan coming back with another backboard. “Alright, buddy. It’s go time.”

Carlos gave a weak nod and winced when Judd started to pull.

“Welcome back, man. You had us worried there for a bit.”

Carlos opened his good eye to see Judd sitting at his bedside, smiling softly. It took a moment to remember where he was. Hospital. Accident. Tree.

“TK—“

“Is fine. Banged up and will need crutches for a few weeks, not to mention a killer headache with no meds, but he’s fine. All things considered.”

“Where is he?”

“On his way, so you just stay put, okay? You’re pretty banged up, too, ya’know.”

Carlos shifted a bit and winced. His left arm was in a sling, his head bandaged over his left eye, and his right side hurt like hell.

“Broken rib when the tree went into TK’s door, door went into TK, TK went into the console, then the console went into you. He’s got a femoral fracture in his right leg but like I said, all things considered, you’re both pretty well off for how far you fell and probably rolled.”

“Yeah, he said his leg had gone numb but he could still move his toes. He made sense for about five minutes, then started talking all jumbled, then went quiet. I uh…freaked out a bit after that. I thought he had…” Carlos trailed off, looking haunted.

“Yeah, and you kept your fingers on his pulse that whole time. What you were able to tell us at the scene helped us treat him. You did good, Carlos.”

“Not good enough to swerve in time,” he said.

“Not your fault. And don’t you dare go thinkin’ it is. I don’t wanna hear it, Carlos,” Judd said in what TK called his Dad Voice. Stern and no room for argument. Carlos just nodded.

“And uh, hey. I been waitin’ to give this back to you.” Judd stood and walked over to the bed, holding out a tiny black box. Carlos took it and cradled it against his chest. “It better be a nice one, cuz I about had a heart attack while I was showerin’ thinkin’ someone was gonna come get my pile a’clothes and take ‘em to the laundry while I was gone.”

“You didn’t open it?”

“Nah, I figure the big reveal? TK deserves that all to himself.”

“Owen’s seen it,” Carlos countered, smirking.

“Uh huh. He approve?”

Carlos laughed. “He whistled and said I spent too much.”

“To impress the Cap it must be a lot,” Judd said with a small whistle of his own.

“Well, what was it Michael Scott said? Three years’ salary?”

Judd’s eyes almost popped out of his head, and Carlos laughed harder before wincing again at his broken rib. “I’m kidding, Judd. But I can tell you, no matter the cost, TK deserves the best and that’s what I hope I got.”

“You gonna make another reservation? Soon as y’all get back into fightin’ shape?”

Carlos looked down at the box again for a moment, contemplating. “I…don’t think so.”

Judd had a confused expression on his face but at that moment, a nurse was wheeling TK into the room, followed by most of the 126. Carlos’s face lit up like starlight at the sight of him.

“Hey, babe,” TK said with a smile. His leg was in a full cast, so the nurse was careful in maneuvering him around to Carlos’s bedside.

“Hey, I feel like you should be the one in bed! Why are you out and about?”

“Because you were still asleep and he’s an absolute menace. We made multiple apologies to the staff on his behalf for the last hour,” Owen said as he walked into the room behind his crew. “He’s a stubborn little shit. Always has been, always will be. You sure you’re up for that?” He asked knowingly. TK was still looking at Carlos, blushing at his dad’s ribbing. Carlos met his eyes and said, “Yes.” He blushed more.

“In fact,” Carlos continued. “I’m ready to get started. I’ve waited too long anyway. I mean, how many times do you and I have to beat death before I get the nerve to do this?” He said, looking into TK’s beautiful eyes which were looking confused.

“What are you talking about, babe?”

“Look, I’m sorry this didn’t go how I planned. And I’m sorry I can’t get down on one knee right now, but. I hope you love me enough not to mind.” He lifted his good arm, his hand holding out the box. “A little help, Judd?”

“It’d be an honor,” the man said before leaning in and opening the box, since Carlos only had one good arm.

At the sight of the contents of the box, TK’s eyes went as big as saucers. Surprise was written clearly over every inch of his features, which were all still beautiful even scarred and stitched up as they were at the moment. God, Carlos loved this man so much.

“Tyler Kennedy Strand, you are the love of my life. I tried so many different scenarios in my head of how this speech would go, before I just said screw it, I’ll speak from the heart. You’re kind, funny, sexy, sweet, and everything in between. You can’t boil water and you absolutely can’t properly separate laundry. I have a dozen pink shirts as proof of that.” At this, the gathered group chuckled and TK went bright red. “Ah, but you also know just how to ease the tension from a long day just by hugging me on the doorstep. And I can always count on you to be there for me when the world gets too much, when what we see out there creeps in too far. And I want you to know, that I want to be that for you too, for the rest of our lives. So, TK. Will you marry me?”

The room was silent, apart from the hum and beeps of the machines. Everyone on the edge of their proverbial seats, but no one having any doubt to the outcome.

“Oh, my God! Of course I’ll marry you! Yes, yes! Yes!” The last was said through TK’s fingers covering his red face, hiding the few tears that had started to fall. He held out his left hand to Carlos, who Judd had kindly helped by removing the ring from its box and handing it back to him. He slid it over TK’s finger, smiling like an idiot the whole time, barely registering the whoops and hollers of the 126 throughout the room.

He only had eyes for TK.

“I love you,” TK breathed through his happy tears.

“I love you too, baby. Always.”

“Oh, my God, dude, were you seriously surprised?” Nancy asked incredulously once the commotion had died down.

“Well…yeah? I didn’t expect this at all,” TK said, looking sheepish.

“TK…my dude…he was taking you to Jeffrey’s! How could you not know?”

Once again, the room erupted in laughter and TK ducked his head again. Carlos reached out and touched his chin, catching his eyes again.

There was nothing but love there.

CLEARLY every Tarlos fic I write has to have a proposal in it *shrug emoji*

Also I wrote this in like an hour after I had a dream so please excuse any typos I didn’t catch!

Please reblog if you liked it! I would really really appreciate it :) Thank you for reading!

#tarlos #tarlos fic #carlos reyes #tk strand #911 lone star #brooke writes

54 notes · View notes

reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

Text

12%

Part of Amelia’s 200 follower celebration!

Request: Angst prompt #47 with Spencer (why is it so hard for you to believe me?)

Word count: 1.5k (this got out of hand slightly)

Warnings: Mentions of schizophrenia, canon-typical violence, arguing. Can’t think of anything else! Loosely based off the events of 6x19, if you’re interested!

A/N: I am steadily working through the rest of the 200 follower celebration asks and should have them all up in the next 2 days! Thank you so much to everyone whose sent them, I’ve really enjoyed writing them :) (and feel free to send me more from the prompt list, i’m always open to them!)

i had a request for this same prompt with Emily so if you sent that ask: don’t worry! i have a different idea for it that i’m super excited to write !!!

The case was rough. Ben, the unsub who was suffering with hallucinations, had gone for Spencer’s neck with a knife. Spencer had been trying de-escalation tactics, reassuring Ben that if he put the knife down then everything would be fine. Unfortunately, it seemed he’d heard something else.

He'd lept towards Spencer, knife raised in his hand. You acted on instinct. The bullet left your gun, hitting Ben in the shoulder and knocking him down. Spencer was on him in an instant, pressing his hands over the wound.

“We need an ambulance!”

Hotch had told you you’d made the right choice. If you hadn’t taken the shot, he would have.

So why then, does it feel like you’ve done something so wrong?

Spencer doesn’t speak to you the whole ride back to the station. Hardly acknowledges you as you pack up your belongings, snatches the file you give him and shoves it into his satchel. The others pick up on it, of course, but daren’t say anything. As much as they enjoy lovingly sticking their nose into your business, they know to keep out of your fights.

He doesn’t sit near you on the jet. Instead, he takes a seat at the back, whispering to Morgan in hushed tones. You sit on the couch with Rossi, who does his best to involve you in the card game he’s teaching Seaver.

Once you’re back at the BAU, Spencer has to speak to you.

“Are you coming home with me?” You ask.

“Yeah.”

“Are you actually planning on speaking to me anytime soon?”

“Once we’re home.”

His ominous tone stokes the anxiety in your chest. Nodding, you wipe your clammy palms on the side of your trousers. It doesn’t sound good. He’s never used that kind of tone with you before, no, you fight clean. None of your fights ever devolve into angry shouting, there’s such an emphasis on communication that you’re realising now that maybe anger on him doesn’t look the same as on everyone else. Anger on Spencer looks cold.

The car ride back is tense. You try to put some music on, just the radio, to alleviate some of the thick tension. Spencer switches it off immediately.

You squirm, a little uncomfortable in your seat. Feeling Spencer’s gaze on you, you wonder if he’ll say anything. Then he looks away again, pretending to spot something out of the window. Cold.

***

You’re hardly through the door, his satchel not even hung over the back of the dining room chair before the words are out of your mouth.

“Are you mad about Ben?”

He huffs out a laugh, “Yeah, _____, I’m mad about Ben.”

“Why?”

“You shot him.”

“He was going for your neck, I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“I was trying to calm him down.”

“His hallucinations were clearly in control of that situation. Not you. You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to be able to see that.”

“I could have calmed him down.”

“No you couldn’t, Spencer! Just because you know how to deal with your mother doesn’t mean you know how to deal with every unsub we see who has hallucinations.”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth. They’re the only ones you’ve said that get a reaction from him though, his teeth sink into his lower lip and he shakes his head, as if amused. He’s clearly not.

“Don’t speak to me about my mom.”

“It’s relevant. Why the hell else would you have taken that case so personally? You were distracted by thinking about your mom and you were not thinking responsibly. You were acting recklessly because of your own personal vendetta. You put your gun down Spencer, you stepped towards him, you didn’t know if any of what you were doing was working. I’m not trying to undermine what you’re capable of, but you got too close today. You took a risk that I don’t think you’d have taken with any other unsub.”

“He’s not like the other unsubs,” He snaps, his voice full of venom.

“I’m not saying he is,” You say, “This wasn’t his fault. He’s sick and he needs help. I’m not blaming him. I’m criticising your judgement.”

“Yeah, you are criticising my judgement.”

You raise your eyebrows, “And what is that supposed to mean?”

"If it had been Morgan, or Hotch, or Rossi you would have thought about it before shooting. But no, because it’s me you thought I needed the protection.”

“So that’s what you think is it? I overstepped because I don’t have faith in you or your ability to protect yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Emily died a month ago, Spencer. A month ago, one of my best friends died on a case she ran off to handle alone. Forgive me for not wanting my boyfriend to be next,” You spit, throwing your coat over the back of the couch and storming towards the bedroom, “Forgive me for not wanting you to surrender your life to every unsub you feel sorry for.”

“What if it was me?” He asks, his voice breaking slightly, “What if that had been me?”

You turn around, throwing him a quizzical glance. His arms are folded defensively across his chest, gaze directed at the floor.

“What?”

“What if I was Ben? Would you have shot me?”

“Spencer what-”

“Schizophrenia is genetic. That could just as easily be me a year from now. I’ve been having those headaches that none of the doctors can figure out. This could be the start. So what if that had been me? Would you shoot me?”

“No,” You take a step towards him, hurt searing in your chest as he takes one back, “No, Spencer, of course I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“You hurt him.”

“Spencer, I would never hurt you.”

“Right.”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe me?”

“Because I just watched you shoot a guy who was sick! He was sick ____, he didn’t want to hurt anybody!”

“He killed four people Spencer! He had a knife to two kids throats when we came in! He tried to kill you! I’m not saying it was his fault but you can’t make out like he was innocent, or like he wasn’t a threat in that situation. He needed help. He was dangerous to himself and other people.”

“What if I was?”

“What?”

“That’s why it’s so hard to believe you,” His voice cracks, “What if I was a threat in that situation?”

“You said it yourself,” You say, stepping towards him again, “That there are a lot of different types of schizophrenia. Only around 12% of people who develop it actually commit any kind of violent crime.”

“Why do you know that?”

Your eyes lock, and a lump forms in your throat. Fuck.

“I looked up some things about schizophrenia.”

He curls into himself tighter, his knuckles white from how tightly they’re balled up under his armpits. The revelation seems to physically wound him. Realisation settling over his face that this was something you’d thought about. A possibility you’d considered. Somehow it makes him feel sick. The sturdy back of the front door is the only thing keeping him upright.

“I don’t think you’re gonna get it Spence,” You try, “You’re 29. It usually hits people in their early 20′s. You’re past the point of being able to get it.”

You know he knows all this. It’s useless information, but the silence is too much to bare, the hurt in his eyes is too much to bare. You open your mouth again to speak, to try to explain, to try to tell him that you’d only done it so you’d know how to help him if the time ever came. That all you wanted was to love and support him, that no matter what happened you’d always be there to get through it together. You’ve told him so many times before and somehow he still doesn’t seem to believe you.

“What if I was going to hurt Morgan?” His voice cuts through your thoughts.

“What?”

“You said you’d never shoot me. What about if I was going to hurt someone you cared about? What if it was Morgan?”

“I would never hurt you.”

“Obviously you don’t believe I can promise you the same.”

“Spencer it’s not like that.”

“You looked it up! You were researching the statistics! It’s obviously something that’s crossed your mind and we saw today that you protect the people you love from whatever you think is dangerous. And what’s dangerous could be me. You know that.”

The look on his face is heartbreaking. The fear in his eyes, the way his cheeks pull as he sucks on them, trying to keep in the tears. He’s so afraid of himself. So afraid of what he could become.

“Spencer I don’t believe you could ever be dangerous, I don’t know how you think I could ever think that, I-”

“Maybe I should go,” He says, cutting you off.

“Spencer.”

Before you can finish the thought, he’s yanking the door open, disappearing through it. You know better than to go after him while he’s like this, better than to disturb him when it’s clear he needs time. Sitting down on the couch, you fold your knees up against your chest. Waiting for him to come back so you can explain to him again how much you love him, how you could never be afraid, how you��re by his side through it all.

As the tears spill down your face, you start to wonder how many times you’ve had this exact same fight. How many times he’s refused to believe you. How he constantly pushes you away out of his own fear about himself. And then, as the sobs wrack your chest, you wonder: how many more times can I do this?

#spencer reid #imagine spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #reid x reader #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid angst #criminal minds imagine #imagine criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fanfic

162 notes · View notes

jetaime-jespere · 3 years

Text

I Was Enchanted To Meet You

This is a long time in the works, and a gift to my dear friend @cmhotchniss-blog, who sent me her idea of how Aaron and Emily met. Most of the ideas are hers, and I am forever grateful she let me connect some of the dots. 💓

"I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet. For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

One night for Aaron and Emily has a lasting impact on them both, twenty-four years later.

A mess of metal is what’s left behind on a dusky stretch of Route 66. Shattered glass sparkles like diamonds along the wet asphalt in the darkening sky as night meets the last moments of the day. Smoke curls and hisses around the mangled frame of the SUV, the stillness of the air a juxtaposition to the chaos that wraps around them - a slew of first responders, a few ominous rumbles of thunder, the mounting traffic on the other side of the highway. It’s a cacophony of sounds and sirens, shrill and relentless, that bring them all back to the reality that it can’t get much worse than this.

Read the rest below or on ao3!

There’s shouting - so much shouting - the frantic and panicked voices from the normally imperturbable team as one of their own is pulled from the passenger seat, limp and unresponsive. It only took seconds for things to go horribly wrong. Accidents were never supposed to happen, and yet here they were, helplessly surrounding a team of paramedics who were just a little too quiet in their intense focus, their faces stretched a little too thin, a little too grey, as they bent over Emily.

Her speech is slurred; her eyes flutter and blink weakly as they fight to keep her conscious and alert, rattling off blood pressure numbers with thinly veiled concern. They abruptly push JJ to the side, curtly demanding the need for more space to work, bark directions to the hospital, and start preparing to move her into the ambulance.

On the other side, a hand with a set of bitten down nails grapples for purchase at Dave’s shirt, fingers wrapping around the folds of expensive fabric to pull him closer in one last moment of semi lucidity. With a fading grasp Emily drags him down close enough to whisper something inaudible in his ear, words meant for only him to hear. The older man frowns, eyebrows furrowing with confusion as she falls unconscious, the last lick of light disappearing behind the trees.

____

“Dad, are you sleeping?”

Aaron’s eyes snap open a little too quickly, the bowl of popcorn nearly spilling into his lap when he jumps to attention. The voice, a familiar one, is insistent, as if it’s not the first time he’s said his name in the last few minutes. “No,” he says quickly and he’s not entirely sure who he’s reassuring. “No. I was just -”

“Let me guess,” Jack scoffs, taking a large handful from his own, much larger bowl of popcorn in his lap. “Just nodded off.”

“I’m paying attention,” Aaron attempts weakly as Jack laughs under his breath and shakes his head.

“I’ve heard that before.” His son reaches for the remote to rewind the last ten minutes of the scene he’d missed, still laughing. “This is what … the third week in a row?” While he’s right, Jack doesn’t seem bothered. The years away have made him wise beyond his years, with a patience not often possessed by hormonal teenage boys who spend most of their time with a screen in their face. Aaron often thinks his son inherited the best of Haley - her patience, for starters. He resembles her too, and every now and then, looking at Jack is like looking into a window of the past. A past that could have been a fantasy, for now it seems like so far gone.

“Something like that,” Aaron mumbles. It’s true. In the four months they’ve lived in the quaint Philadelphia suburbs of Chester County, an idyllic place without the Main Line housing prices, adjustment has taken on a new meaning once again. Gone are the fake identities, the constant checking and double checking of doors and windows, the frequent looks over their shoulders, the unsettling notion that it might not end - that this might, unfairly, be their reality. He knows they’d go to the end of the earth to find Scratch - they’d done it before to find Foyet, then Doyle. They fought monsters before, but somehow, this was different.

There had been a finality in his decision to take Jack and go into Witsec. His final act to name Emily as Unit Chief was an easy one, and while it didn’t lessen the blow of the circumstances in which he and Jack left, in a flurry of panic, reminiscent of one his son experienced once before, it gave him a semblance of peace he wasn’t expecting. A little bit of reprieve, the ability to sever ties that may never be rebuilt, to no fault of their own. The cruel and unusual situation was one that they always risked with the nature of their work, one that was always a distant possibility.

In the quiet moments, he thinks of her. The what ifs and the whys. Everything between them that was said, and what never was. What he’s never told anyone is just how long he’s thought of her in one way or another, the one night they shared together, years ago, tucked neatly away in his mind to save for nights when he wondered just how things got to be this way.

“Come on, Dad,” Jack laughs. “At least try to make it through this movie. You said you wanted to see this one.”

With a hint of guilt as his obvious disinterest, Aaron sits up a bit straighter on the couch, grips the popcorn bowl in his hands, locking his eyes on the television. The plot of the movie is already lost on him, despite it being a topic of conversation for the last several days. “Just play the movie, Jack.” He stifles a yawn into his fist and valiantly attempts to focus his attention on the screen.

Aaron is dozing when he’s interrupted again; this time by his phone vibrating on the table. He doesn’t miss Jack’s eyes flickering over to the phone. “It’s just like old times,” he sighs. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

The name on the screen is the very last he expects to see at such an hour in the middle of the week. Aaron frowns, the phone cradled in his hands as the phone vibrates insistently. It’s the familiar push and pull of guilt he feels when his eyes shift between his son and the phone again, an unexpected window into a life he long left behind. The phone keeps ringing, immediately following the first unanswered call. Not a good sign, he thinks.

“Dad?”

“I need to take this, Jack,” Aaron says quickly. It’s late enough that this is anything but a casual phone call. The blanket is tossed aside and the popcorn already forgotten. He barely hears Jack’s half-hearted protest as the phone crackles static and then connects. The voice on the other end speaks first, his tone clouded with thinly veiled fear.

“Aaron.”

“Dave.” His tone is equally clipped, even and steady even as the phone is held tightly in his hand, waiting for whatever news is about to come.

“Aaron, you need to get to Prince William Medical Center as soon as you can.” It’s the urgency in Dave’s voice that unnerves him; it sets off every warning bell in his head. His normally unflappable, at times annoyingly rational friend sounds harried and exhausted, as if it’s already been the longest of nights, as if making this very phone call was a last resort. “It’s Emily.”

Emily .

The words reverberate through his head, the implications tear through his chest like a series of spears. He knew it wasn’t good, but he didn’t expect this. “What happened?” But years of experience and unbridled heartache have steeled his nerves, tested his resolve time and time again. He should be used to this by now - bad news that haunts those he loves. But the fear is like a vice, a cold stab that wraps itself around his mind and back again.

“There was an accident.” Dave begins. It’s been a few years since he’s seen him, but through the phone Aaron can see the lines on his forehead that have certainly deepened by now, perhaps a few have been added over time as the years add up.

“Accident? What kind of accident?”

He barely listens as Dave recounts the last few hours in excruciating detail. They were on a case - local - Reston - on their way back to Quantico. A poorly timed summer storm made visibility terrible, rendering driving nearly impossible. They were sideswept by another SUV, the impact sending them careening into the median on 66 just outside of Woodbridge. It sounds like anyone’s worst nightmare - airbags deployed, the windshield shattered upon impact, the entire hood a mangled mess of metal as the car careened to a stop, the threatening hiss of the engine.

But the totaled car was the very least of their problems.

“She’s in critical condition, Aaron,” Dave says carefully, as if it’s only part of the truth, as if somehow it’s even graver than this. “She’s unconscious.” It doesn’t sound good - her head hit the window on impact, the rest of Dave’s news confirms his worst fears - a likely head injury, the extent of which they don’t know.

It doesn’t make sense. It seems like some kind of sick, ill joke - a nightmare he’ll wake up from, only to find Jack having devoured both bowls of popcorn and the credits of the movie he never actually watched rolling. “What aren’t you telling me Dave?”

“I think you’d want to be here, Aaron. It … it could go either way at this point.” Dave’s voice is so heavy, something Aaron isn’t used to. His friend was typically the voice of reason, the one he went to for assurance when things seemed to be spiraling out of control - something he did many times over. And now the tables were turned to their side, a cruel twist of fate. It takes no convincing; he’s already reaching for his jacket on the hook by the door, grappling for an umbrella shoved unceremoniously in a closet somewhere closeby.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

…

“Mendoza is on his way.,” JJ says quietly as she rounds the corner with two cups of coffee in her hands. “ He just called me.”

“That might complicate things.” Dave wrings his hands and paces the tiny hallway. “Who told him?” He asks curiously. It hadn’t been long since Emily had shown up in his office one night, shoulders heavy as she relayed the news of their breakup. Dave is no stranger to the failures of love - having been thrice divorced himself. Sometimes timing was to blame, other times it was priorities. In their case it was commitment, or lack thereof, things fizzling out and hasty goodbyes, half-hearted assurances of keeping in touch, that one will call the other. Yet Dave isn’t exactly surprised to hear the news. Despite their challenges, Mendoza had been all but enamored with Emily, in awe of her at times. He wasn’t a stupid man; he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t follow him to Colorado. There was always something else that stood in her way. He just never knew exactly what.

“Word travels fast.”

“Aaron is on his way.” After a long pause, Dave scrapes a hand across his face, exhaustion bleeding through the cracks of age. “I just called him.”

JJ only nods and stares into Emily’s room with a pensive expression. “What do we tell them?”

“We tell them what we know. Hope for the best. That's all we can do.”

...

The storm takes the humidity with it, a soft chilly breeze spreading through the darkness. Aaron hurries through the hospital doors, charging past the triage nurse towards the elevators. He’s only vaguely aware of the other man that wedges himself past the doors just in the nick of time. He looks just as distracted as Aaron feels, eyes distant -worlds away - and lost in his own thoughts as he offers a quick smile, fists shoved in jacket pockets.

“What floor?” Aaron offers with a tight smile.

“The ICU.”

He nods and pushes just one button, indicating that they’re in fact going to the same place.

“I’m sorry.” The other man nods his head in solidarity, noticing the single illuminated circle on the panel, shuffles his feet, checks his watch and hangs his head. The phone in his pocket buzzes; he checks it with a resigned sigh. Aaron feels a touch of sympathy for him, wonders just what brings him there.

Except he doesn’t have to wonder much longer, because not only is Dave waiting when the doors open, but he clearly knows whoever Aaron just shared the elevator with. And judging by the way Dave’s eyebrows lift just enough at the sight of them both, practically side by side, something tells him there’s more to the story than just a simple coincidence.

“I see you’ve met?” Dave cocks his head to the side, scrubs his chin with his hand thoughtfully. “I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“What the hell happened?” The man beside Aaron demands, a little more forcefully this time.

“So you haven’t met.”

“What the hell is going on, Dave?” Aaron snaps first, his patience starting to wane. The last three hours of travel have already started to catch up with him. It’s been years since he’s had to channel his feelings into something more stoic and taciturn. It doesn’t return as easily this time. He tells himself it’s because of age and time, yet the nagging voice in his head says it’s something else entirely.

“Andrew Mendoza, meet Aaron Hotchner. The former chief of the BAU. Hotch, this is Andrew Mendoza. Mendoza was the Special Agent in Charge of DC’s Field Office. He consulted with the BAU on a few local cases about a year ago.”

“Was?” Aaron questions, quickly putting together what Dave doesn’t tell him about Andrew Mendoza. There’s only one reason why he’d be there - a reason he didn’t anticipate. He has to swallow the bitter pang of regret that rises in his throat. It shouldn’t exist at all, but a familiar feeling that has lingered just within his reach whenever he thought of Emily. The chances they never took, the timing that seemed to elude them for one reason or another. Time. It had never been on their side.

“The Denver Field Office offered me a promotion last month. My daughter and I are moving out to Colorado in a few weeks.”

“Congratulations,” Aaron says stiffly as he offers his hand. It’s obvious why he’s here - the same reason Aaron is. “I’ve heard good things about Denver.” There’s something about the news that satisfies him.

“I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” Mendoza glances at Aaron, then Dave, then back at Aaron again. “But what the hell happened tonight?”

“JJ didn’t tell you?”

“Just that there was an accident.”

Dave presses his mouth into a thin line, relaying the story with such tact that Aaron knows it’s an abridged version, a slightly less terrible rendition of what happened back on the highway. “We were right outside of Woodbridge. On our way back from a case in Reston. Visibility was awful. It happened so fast. Emily must have hit her head on impact. She lost consciousness shortly after the ambulance arrived. They’re considering surgery to relieve the pressure in her brain.”

Dave pauses, letting the news sink in, taking a deep breath of his own to compose his frayed nerves. “There’s a chance of brain damage but they won’t know more until after she regains consciousness.” His gaze shifts between them both, gauging their reactions.

“When will that be?”

“There’s no easy way to tell. Could be hours after the surgery. Or days. She’s not breathing on her own. It’s going to be a while before we know anything.” He repeats the doctors’ words as calmly as he can. Dave’s typically unflappable demeanor is strained; the weariness laces through his voice.

“How did this happen?” It’s Mendoza who speaks up this time, clearly distraught and searching for words of his own. He almost looks embarrassed by his uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“It was an accident,” Dave repeats as calmly as he can, as if he’s practiced this speech in his head before giving it. “No one is to blame.”

The air seems to thicken around them, the reality setting in that while it’s already been a long night, it’s only just beginning.

“We’re here because of Emily. It’s a waiting game now, as long as it might be. May as well make yourselves comfortable. There’s a waiting room just down the hallway and a cafeteria on the sixth floor, if you want some coffee. It might eat a hole in your stomach, but it’s something.”

The room around him starts to spin. Aaron can’t remember the last conversation they had - something hasty by phone, he suspects, in the days of time differences and small talk. Never awkward, but something always lingering beneath the surface. Their conversations were all about what wasn’t said - subtext, layers of awareness only they possessed.

“One other thing,” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, a fleeting thought he nearly forgot, nothing more than a passing thought. “Before she lost consciousness, she was rambling incessantly about apple pie.” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, eyes narrowing in confusion. “The best apple pie in DC. Any idea what that could be about?”

Aaron stiffens, his jaw flexing at Dave’s seemingly innocuous mention in the midst of everything else. It’s been years since he’s last seen her and another fifteen since that night, one he’s never actually spoken of out loud. It could have been a lifetime ago, a distant memory. It feels so foreign at this point he could have dreamed it. Surely he misheard - there’s no way she’d be thinking of that. He pinches the bridge of his nose, stifles a yawn into his fist. It’s about to be a very long night. “Where is she? Is she in surgery yet?”

“Not yet. She’s just down the hall.” In the distance a monitor beeps then an alarm starts to go off, punctuated by the efficient scramble of nurses. It reminds him just how much he hates hospitals, and Aaron breathes a heavy sigh of relief when they don’t go into Emily’s room.

“You can see her, you know.” Dave offers gently, sensing the growing tension. “One visitor at a time.”

It’s somehow decided, without officially being decided out loud, that Aaron will go in first. Mendoza quietly mentions something about needing to call his daughter. Not for the first time this evening, Aaron is actually grateful Jack can hold his own at home for a little while, that they’re long past those years of constant check-ins. A simple text will do in a few hours’ time. And he steels his nerves with a few deep breaths before slipping into the room, the silence punctuated by the staccato beeping of monitors and a ventilator.

She’s like a ghost, translucent almost - amidst the machines and wires. He remembers a time, years ago, when the roles were reversed. Aaron wonders if she felt the same clench of fear in her gut, the awful feeling of helplessness that came along with being at someone’s bedside in a hospital. He wonders if she felt the same desperation clinging to every nerve in her body that things would be okay.

“Hey,” he says, sinking into the hard plastic chair at the side of the bed. “It’s been awhile.” Deep down he knows she won’t - can’t - respond. But there was a moment of hope - a tiny one - flimsy and built on nothing - that maybe she would move or something to indicate she heard him. There isn’t one.

Aaron swallows the rising lump in this throat, thick and pressing right down into his lungs. “I really need you to wake up, Emily.”

...

“When’s the big move?” Dave presses Mendoza gently, asking all the questions Emily never gave answers to. He folds his arms across his chest, unable to tear his gaze from the scene before him. From his place behind the window, he watches Aaron lower himself onto a chair on shaky legs, taking a few steadying breaths as he settles beside her. He rests a weary head on his fist.

“Two weeks. Keely wanted to finish her soccer season.” Mendoza crosses his arms over his chest as his eyes follow Dave’s.

Dave nods without really comprehending the words. “You’ll have to let us know when you’re both settled out there.”

“Yeah.”

Dave breaks an awkward silence. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you two.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t.” By now, Mendoza’s full attention is on the scene before them both, face solemn and stiff. “What’s the story between them?” His eyes narrow ever so slightly, shades of suspicion cloud his features and his shoulders tense. Years of profiling make Dave keenly aware of these subtle changes in his behavior. He’s questioning it .

Dave shrugs. “Friends? Colleagues?” By now, Aaron is brushing Emily’s arm with his thumb, and if he isn’t mistaken, swears he sees his lips moving too. “Anything else and your guess is as good as mine.”

It seems to smooth things over for a few moments, even as something else is planted in his mind. Something he never considered at all.

…

“Have you been to Boathouse Row yet?”

It’s an attempt to make small talk as they sit down; it doesn’t get past Aaron, who stays silent, completely ignoring the question.

“So what is it you’re not telling me?” Dave passes a flimsy styrofoam cup over the small table.

“Now might not be the best time, Dave,” Aaron retorts, rolling a tiny cup of creamer in his fingers.

“We’ve got nothing but time, Aaron. Surgeon says things could take hours. She might even be conscious immediately after. And you’re not driving back to Philly anytime soon.”

He has a point . “She was talking about when we first met.” He sighs heavily as he spins the cup around in his hands. “It was a long time ago.”

“At the BAU?” Dave knits his eyebrows in confusion.

Aaron rubs his eyes tiredly. By now any movement feels like effort, the space behind his eyes starting to throb with an oncoming headache and exhaustion. “Before that.”

“You mean you knew - “ Dave stops, his coffee ignored and interest piqued. “You two knew each other before?”

“We met years ago. Would be at least twenty now.” He’s too tired to do the math of exactly how long it’s been. “We met when I was working for her mother one summer in DC.”

“I certainly had no idea.”

“No one did. It never really came up.”

“By choice or on purpose?” Dave quips, his eyes just a touch brighter than they were moments before. He chuckles when Aaron just stares right back, the hint of a smile hidden in his eyes. “So what’s the story?”

His expression is wistful, as if he were dusting off a long held memory. “It was kind of an accident.”

Twenty-Four Years Ago

Not for the first time that evening, Aaron checks his watch discreetly and sighs into his fist. It’s only eight-thirty; who knows how long this thing will last. It wasn’t that he agreed to this. It’s practically a rite of passage when working for an Ambassador, or so he’s been told -working one of the many extravagant parties and benefit dinners that were practically part of her job description. The ballroom is full of DC’s political elite - congressmen and senators, the Secretary of State and the Attorney General. Rumor had it the Vice President would be making an appearance. For that reason alone, security was heightened, every egress monitored, yet he’s never felt more invisible in a room full of people.

Aaron spots her accidentally, but something tells him she’s not trying to blend in. The tall figure on the opposite side of the room is entirely too young to be one of them , yet she mingles easily with a champagne flute between her fingers. She’s wearing an elegant black dress with a high neck and open back. It shows off delicate shoulder blades that jut out like wings when she moves. He isn’t the only one staring.

She’s the Ambassador’s daughter - Emily . Aaron has only heard of her from the others, her name being uttered in exasperation when one of the agents finds her breaking protocol yet again - sneaking out and in at all hours of the night, slipping an endless parade of friends past the entrance logs without proper verification. He’s never spoken a word to her; he knows almost nothing about her except that she’s a student at Yale, supposedly speaks multiple languages, and has a knack for causing trouble.

They haven’t spoken a word to each other, but her eyes meet his across the square in the middle of the room that is supposedly a dance floor. His mouth goes dry and he immediately looks away when Emily excuses herself from whatever conversation she’s immersed in, only to look back seconds later to find her sauntering directly towards him , effortlessly maneuvering through the crowd.

Aaron nods a polite hello, attempting to keep his expression neutral when she’s finally closed the gap between them both.

“You know,” Emily says with amusement, eyes flicking over him. “You could at least try not to look so miserable.”

“Who said anything about being miserable?”

“It’s practically part of the job requirements if you work for my mother. Besides, you’ve been wearing the same expression since this thing started.” When she catches his look of sheer bewilderment and mild annoyance, she laughs softly. “Trust me. I’ve been to enough of these things to know what I’m looking for.”

“Are you spying on me?” He glances around, wondering just where the Ambassador even is amidst a sea of black suits. He should be keeping a close eye, after all. He strains his neck a little, scanning the crowd purposefully until he sees the woman that strongly resembles the miniature version of her in front of him.

“No. I’m just observant.” Without missing a beat, Emily waves to someone - a Congressman Aaron immediately recognizes from the news - something about a scandal involving a rather young intern under a desk - but he hadn’t been paying too much attention to remember all the details. “He’s such a scumbag,” she adds quietly without any elaboration.

He senses her reticence immediately; he wonders just how she knows all of this, if he should push, if at all “Isn’t that part of their job description to a degree?”

“Some of them,” Emily mutters. “But he’s one of the worst.”

“So I’ve heard,” Aaron murmurs, tearing his eyes away from the crowd to get a better look at her. Up close she’s even more stunning, with sharp cheekbones and a perfectly symmetrical face, her smile wide and eyes like dark orbs. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“I’ve seen you around. You’re the new guy.”

“New-ish. I started in March.” It comes out a bit more dejectedly than it should, but it’s hard to hide the disdain he feels for it all. Things have been far from easy over the last few months. It’s a mindless shuffle of one foot in front of the other, days that blend together similar to the ones before, with the slightest hope that a few more weeks of patience might wield a change.

“New to me.” She’s only been home for the summer a few weeks at most, so he can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually seen her. “So what’s your story?”

“My story?”

“You stick out like a sore thumb.” She cracks a grin at her own remark. “You’re too tense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Agent …”

“Hotchner,” he fills in quickly.

“Agent Hotchner, you certainly wouldn’t be the first security detail to use this as a stepping stone to a different career. You’re all just biding time until something better comes along.” She’s so matter of fact, so assured, it’s as if she’s had this very conversation with every other agent in the room at one point or another. “It’s usually the quiet ones. They have less to prove.”

“Are we that transparent?”

“Some of you. And I can’t say I blame you. This place surely isn’t a means to an end.”

“What does your mother think of your beliefs?”

“My mother knows exactly what I think of her career and everything that goes along with it. It’s what’s gotten us to this point, actually.”

“And what point might that be?” He’s only heard of some of the epic arguments between the two of them, the harshness of their voices reverberating around the Ambassador’s office or some ornately decorated living room. The bitter clashes of two strong wills, hidden behind the fact that just maybe they were more similar than different.

“A story for a different time,” Emily says smoothly. “Can’t exactly talk about it here.”

“You’re full of stories, aren’t you?” Aaron deduces but she isn’t even paying attention anymore as she scans the crowd. He can see the wheels start to turn in her head, the flicker of an idea materializing somewhere. She turns back, this time a grin stuck to her lips. “What?” He asks reluctantly.

“Let’s get out of here.” Emily bats her thickly lashed, heavily lined eyes. “This thing is going nowhere fast. Besides, you look like you could use a break. “How long have you been on?”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere,” she says casually with a wink as she plucks a champagne flute from a nearby tray, downing it quickly. “I probably shouldn’t drive, but you can.” It’s accompanied with a flippant toss of hair over her shoulder, an expectant purse of her lips.

It’s certainly not the smartest idea or the most prudent, but something tells him Emily could care less about prudence and image. “I could be suspended for unauthorized use of a government-issued vehicle.” Not to mention, having his boss’s daughter in said government vehicle with him, or completely leaving his assignment altogether. He remembers skimming over the terms of employment months ago, specifically the section about fraternization with members of the Ambassador’s Family.

“Who said anything about one of theirs?” She looks almost bored now, tapping her fingers against the empty flute. “That’s no fun anyway. They have trackers on them. For security purposes.” She forms air quotes with her fingers. “We wouldn’t get far.”

He’s about to ask her how she even possesses that knowledge when he feels her hand on his waist, dipping into the creases of his jacket like a lover would. It doesn’t phase her, and while normally his reflexes would spring into quick action, he’s glued into place.

“You have a car don’t you?” Emily unabashedly pats his pocket, feeling for keys.

He opens his mouth to object, but she’s too fast. She grins with satisfied smirk, a triumphant click of her tongue as he stiffens awkwardly when they jingle against her hand. “You aren’t a great liar, Agent Hotchner.”

“Aaron,” he says somewhat stiffly, resignedly. He’s doing his damn best to keep his eyes centered on the ballroom but it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate on the task at hand. The scent of perfume - something undoubtedly expensive - lingers and it makes him dizzy even if he hasn’t had a sip to drink. “And I didn’t lie.”

“Aaron.” His name rolls off her tongue thoughtfully. “Aaron,” she repeats, as if it’s the first time she’s ever heard it. “I never understood why there were two A’s. What do you do with the second one?”

His head spins to keep up with her, how her mind somehow bounces from one thought to the next with seemingly little direction. “Never gave it much thought myself, actually.” From the corner of his eye he catches one of the other agents giving him a quizzical, perhaps slightly jealous, eye roll. It’s a bad idea to entertain, but one he can’t ignore. Emily is staring at him, eyes sparkling, with the slightest touch of longing. Longing for what he isn’t sure, but whatever it is, it wouldn’t be found in the middle of the opulent ballroom.“What do you have in mind?”

“I’ve been told of a place not too far from here,” she begins slowly, a smile on her face at his gradual acquiesce. “A diner that supposedly has the best apple pie in DC.”

“Apple pie?” Just how much has she had to drink?

“I’m starving ,” she offers with a hand pressed to her flat stomach. Aaron’s eyes follow, lingering up and down on her narrow frame.

“They’re about to serve dinner,” He says lamely, shaking his head to ensure he heard her correctly. Waiters have started to circle the room with large serving trays balanced precariously above their heads, passing around the plates that he guesses must cost a few hundred dollars a head, maybe more. The crowds have thinned as more guests take their seats.

Emily shrugs with disinterest. “Once you’ve been to one of these things you’ve been to them all. Besides, this is when things start to get really insufferable.”

“Is that so?”

“Someone will start talking,” Emily drawls sardonically, surveying the crowd starting to take their seats at previously assigned tables - tables he could probably rattle off by name if asked. “Make some big speech promoting their campaign trying to get reelected or whatever. Then they all will. They love hearing themselves talk.”

“Part of the job, I guess.” He stares, unsure of what to say next. Her attitude towards politics is the complete opposite of that of her mother. His interactions with his boss have been somewhat limited; he doubts if she even remembers his first name. Yet he’s seen the way Elizabeth Prentiss revels in a world seemingly dominated by men, a woman in a league of her own. He wonders just how much the Ambassador has sacrificed; wonders if her daughter might be amongst that list. It would certainly explain their tenuous relationship.

“So what do you say? Surely you don’t want to sit around listening to a bunch of old guys spout a bunch of half truths to line their pockets?” She seems unbothered yet again, almost amused by the sight in front of her - as if her premonition of how the night would go is coming true.

There’s nothing he wants less. “How do you suppose I get out of this? I’m still on the clock, you know.”

“I’ll leave that up to you.” Emily sets the champagne flute on a nearby serving tray and spins on her heel, sauntering back towards the center of the ballroom. “I’ll be outside of the South Gate when you figure it out.”

…

In the end, he makes up an excuse to leave. It’s not exactly convincing and the agent in charge doesn’t exactly believe him when he feigns an emergency - food poisoning. But Aaron has always had an exceptionally good poker face, grimacing just enough to make it look questionable, and the other agent curtly nods, grunting something about having enough security for the evening, and making up the hours later in the week. It falls on deaf ears - he’s already out the doors of the security office, a small grin playing at the corners of his lips as he strides across the asphalt driveways with his back toward the house.

Sure enough, Emily is waiting for him, finishing the rest of a cigarette when he pulls around to the South Gate. He keeps his taillights off; the less attention he draws to himself the better.

His car has seen better days, the leather seats worn smooth and the stereo outdated, the steering wheel permanently indented from the grip of his own two hands, scuff marks and faded carpets. But it’s well maintained, and Emily smiles appreciatively when he holds the passenger side door open, then explains how to adjust the seat, just in case . She doesn’t seem to notice at all, just unceremoniously tugs her long skirt out of the way of the door and kicks off her heels.

“Fucking things,” she grumbles. The heels are sharp as knives, ridiculously impractical yet Aaron can’t help but picture her wearing them in a dress much shorter than the one she currently has on. He shakes his head, reminding himself not to go there, because the reality is, she’s still his boss’s daughter, and if anyone were to see them, he’d most definitely be written up, maybe worse, for taking her off property without following protocol. But she’s close enough to touch, her arm a gentle weight against his own on the center console.

“So,” Aaron asks, his voice barely audible. He shifts the car into reverse, breath hitching when his knuckles brush against her hand. “Just where is this diner you speak so highly of?”

“Silver Spring.”

“I thought you said DC.”

“It’s close enough.” Emily tucks a long piece of hair behind her ear with a roll of her eyes. “Just trust me.”

It’s the way she says it that makes him wonder if she would do the same for him. Aaron grips the wheel in silence as the cool night air seeps through the open windows. He catches her shiver and is about to offer his jacket when she breaks the silence.

“Make a right up at the light, and then it’s a quick left.” Emily shifts in the passenger seat. Her fingers twitch as if she were still holding a cigarette between them; she tucks her hand against her cheek daintily. She’s very much aware the passenger side is nearly spotless - nothing to indicate someone sits there frequently. No wayward sunglasses or a forgotten piece of jewelry belonging to a significant other. She straightens the wrinkled fabric of her dress and lowers her eyes.She’d had him pegged wrong - certainly he’d had it all figured out, the well intended nature that comes along with a mostly idyllic existence. She imagined a naive wife or girlfriend completely enamored with him, both parties working to make ends meet for bigger and better things - not happiness, for one. That they had in spades. But maybe a white picket fence, a dog and a baby or two one day.

Instead, he seems lonely and guarded, a choice he was forced to make. Circumstances, maybe, she thinks as the traffic light ahead blinks from a glowing green to yellow, to red. It shines a little brighter than usual, a universal warning everyone should understand . It makes her shiver again.

“Here. Take my jacket” The red light gives him the chance to shrug out of the confines of his suit jacket, which he hands over. He palms the wheel a little tighter when she wraps herself into it, the fabric draping over her like a shield.

“This is the place?” Aaron studies the gaudy exterior of the diner, hard to miss and yet, the type of place you wouldn’t give a second thought. The fluorescent lighting nearly blinds him, and he’s somewhat surprised to see through the windows that multiple tables are full despite the late hour. He can hardly conceal his disbelief. “How’d you learn about this place?”

“Word gets around,” Emily says lightly as she slips her shoes back on, wincing slightly when she stands upright, nearly enveloped by his jacket. “I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover. Maybe you should do the same.”

They find a booth in the back, tucked away from the clamor of the bustling kitchen and constant jingle of the doors. Again they’re left with nothing but silence, a few wayward glances, and two plastic coated menus between them. The haggard waitress only nods abruptly at their order - two black coffees, one with splenda and one without, one slice of apple pie, and two forks.

“You think she thinks we’re a couple?”

“I’m sure she has a lot more on her mind than us.” Aaron twists the paper straw wrapper between his fingers and studies her across the table. What he’s not expecting is to realize she’s doing the same thing - analyzing his body language with a degree of precision that matches his own, an expression that hides what she’s thinking. He wonders if she’s practiced it over time. She wears his jacket like a coat of armor yet she’s curious, the mundane quietness of the diner a stark contrast to their initial surroundings a short time ago.

“How does someone like you end up working for my mother?” Emily asks out of nowhere, direct and forward without an ounce of hesitation. It could be mistaken for an interrogation, he muses.

“Someone like me?”

“Decent. With manners. Not some macho guy with a little man complex or some baggage like that who gets off swinging his gun around.” She blows the straw wrapper across the table; it hits him square in the shoulder and stays here until he flicks it off. She doesn’t seem to notice as the waitress sets down their much anticipated order amidst a promise to come back with some cream for the coffee.

It’s his turn to laugh; he knows exactly what type she’s referring to. He could name more of them than he has fingers. “Trust me, it wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.”

Emily carves out a large bite of apple pie with her fork, eyes closing with delight as it disappears between her lips, along with a delicate moan. “This is so good.” She pushes the pie plate towards him. “So then what was it?”

“Bad timing, for starters.” Aaron stabs his fork into the jagged slice of pie, cuts off a bite for himself. His stomach growls; it’s been hours since the early dinner he’d scarfed down behind the wheel on his way back to work the shift he just abandoned. “You’re right,” he says around a mouthful of apple and pastry crust. “That’s really good.”

“Told you.” She proudly lifts her shoulders, momentarily triumphant before she digs in for another bite. But she also looks expectant, ready for an answer, even with another forkful of pie. He supposes he owes her one.

“I wanted to join the FBI,” Aaron begins slowly. It comes to him that she’s only the second person he’s ever told any of this to. He supposed talking about it would make it real, take it from a pipe dream to something that could irrevocably fail right in front of his own eyes.

“The big leagues, huh?” She waves her fork in a circle, and it takes a moment for him to realize she isn’t totally shocked. “I could see that, actually, now that you mention it. You have the poker face for it, at least.” Emily gives a little grin, one that meets her eyes. “But that didn’t happen?”

“Had the application filled out and everything. Was going to send it in.”

“So what happened?”

“My girlfriend … She didn’t like the idea. The recruitment process takes months and basic training even longer. Close to a year sometimes. Haley wanted me to do something a little more traditional. Wanted me home at 6 for dinner and around on the weekends.” He takes another bite of pie, partially to gather his thoughts, and to let Emily give her own.

“Girlfriend, huh?”

“Well.” The fork in his hand feels heavy all of a sudden; he sets it down with a clatter. “We’re taking a break right now.”

She takes in his words, chuckles a little bit. “I’m a little disappointed in myself. I definitely had you all wrong.”

“You keep saying that.” It’s more of a question than a statement, a curiosity he can’t contain.

“I took you as settled. Happy. With Haley. ” His girlfriend’s name rolls off her tongue; hearing it sounds strange, like she’s saying something she shouldn’t.

“I’m ... figuring things out. We’re figuring things out.”

“Do you love her? Does she love you?” Emily asks directly without hesitation. “If you do, there shouldn’t be much to figure out.”

He stiffens. “I don’t … not love her. But we want different things. At some point, you have to be honest with each other, right? When you can’t make it work, what do you do?”

“I’m definitely not the person to ask.” She laughs but there isn’t any humor in it, more of a resigned sadness if he looks close enough through the rough edges hidden by carefully curated appearance. “Relationships aren’t something I’ve had a ton of luck with.”

“Maybe you’re dating the wrong people.”

“Maybe.” She looks around the diner, rests her chin in her hands. “I’m pretty directionless myself at the moment, if it makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t, but thank you.” He takes a sip of coffee, more for something to do with his hands than a need for it. He wants to know more, wants to ask just what could possibly make her directionless. Someone who seemingly had it all.

“Sounds like we’re both lost.” There’s a dreamlike tone to her voice, as if they’re sharing a secret.

“We don’t have to be.”

“If I keep going at this rate, I’ll be a bored socialite by 30 throwing cocktail parties every night and getting drunk by the pool by day.”

“Who says?”

“No one has to say it. It’s … expected of me, I think?”

“Is that so?”

“I’m certainly not following in my mother’s footsteps into politics.” She scoffs. There’s contempt in her voice, for what he deduces is years of being put second, something she never asked for but received over and over again. “What else is there for me to do? Someone has to carry on the family tradition somehow.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Emily says, dragging her fork through some of the remaining bits of pie on the plate. She flicks a crumb into the air. “I’ve never really had a home , you know. Most of my life has been spent overseas. Just staying in one place for a while would be nice.”

“I always wanted to get away.” Aaron laments. “From Manassas at least.”

“Well, that’s understandable. You aren’t missing much there, or so I’ve heard.” She stirs a spoon into her coffee to work in the mess of splenda packets she’s dumped in.

He watches the liquid swirl, her mezmirzation at it. Something comes to him - something he’s always wanted to know. “Is it true you speak four languages?”

Emily looks up from her coffee, temporarily distracted by his question. “Six, actually. French, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Greek, and some Russian.” She ticks them off on her fingers nonchalantly as if she were counting inanimate objects.

He does a double take. “Six? I can barely handle English.”

“It’s always been easy for me. I just wish I knew what to do with it, you know?”

“When I applied, I remember seeing that the FBI needs linguists. People with language experience to work overseas.” He takes his own fork to the last remaining bits of the pie, watching her face carefully for a reaction. She’s almost unreadable; he can’t discern just what she’s thinking.

She laughs - not the reaction he expected. “You know, applying for the FBI would absolutely piss my mother off entirely. She would hate it if I did that. Kind of makes me want to do it.”

“She and Haley should meet. I’m sure they’d have lots to talk about.”

“You want to hear what I think?” Emily says after a few long moments, the coffee and the pie that once sat between them are now gone. “I think you should go for it. The FBI. Do it and don’t look back. And call your girlfriend. Let her talk, but tell her how you feel.”

“And?”

“If she comes back, then you know it’s meant to be.”

...

“Never even knew this place existed,” Aaron says, lingering at Emily’s elbow as they pick their way across the pebbled driveway of the diner. She’s a little unsteady on the heels now, not unsurprising given the late hour and the time they spent sitting down.

“Who knew a diner in the middle of Silver Spring Maryland would have such great pie?” Dangling from her wrist is a to-go bag with an extra slice of pie for the morning - the waitress had kindly given her one on the house - the leftovers from the day before.

“I thought New Jersey was the diner capital of the world,” Aaron muses. “New Jersey is all about their diners and traffic circles.”

“And Bruce Springsteen,” Emily adds pointedly. “He’s from New Jersey.”

“Him too.” Aaron laughs quietly. The tension in his shoulders mounts; he doesn’t want this to end. He wants to talk to her, wants to keep her there. But the moment feels final. Emily catches the wrist of the hand that reaches out to cup her cheek, wraps her fingers around it. “If things were different -” he starts quietly, looking almost embarrassed.

“I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to go, is it?” Emily leans into the weight of his calloused palm, into the touch of a man that isn’t her own. It feels foreign, like she’s taking something that isn’t hers. “I don’t think that’s in our cards, Aaron. Maybe in a different life.”

The ride back to DC is again silent, save for the crinkling of the paper bag in her lap. Aaron skips the main entrance and the long paved driveway, taking a shortcut around the massive property to the South Gate entrance. Emily side eyes him, looking slightly impressed. “Trying to remain inconspicuous?”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet,” she offers as he pulls up to the outside of the South Gate. “For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

“Maybe.” He tells himself to pull away, curling it back around the steering wheel protectively. “Remember what I told you, Emily.” He watches her reach for her shoes, their moments together dwindling down to seconds. “Don’t live your life on the terms of someone else. Especially your mother. If our paths cross again and you’re a bored socialite throwing cocktail parties, we’ll have to talk.”

She loops some hair behind her ear, gives him a small smile. “If our paths cross again in ten years and you aren’t leading some FBI unit somewhere, I’ll have some words for you as well.” She draws a breath, carefully slips on her shoes. “Thank you for the pie, Aaron.” The creak of the passenger side door is the only thing he hears as she slips away like a ship in the night, not to turn back around.

Aaron watches her disappear across the grass, blending into the deep blue of the early morning, the sky not quite awake but out of the depths of night. She’s a shadowy dark figure amidst the promise of a new day. The clock on the dashboard nears 6:00 AM. The little red numbers glow are a reminder of the inevitable crash that will most definitely come later on. He isn’t 20 anymore, after all. But when he drives away, there’s a sense of renewal, one he can’t explain, but deep down understands.

He hands in his resignation before he can work another shift, and he never does make up the time he promised. Three days after that, he mails a thick packet of papers in a standard manila envelope to the FBI Headquarters in Quantico.

A week after that, he takes out his phone and dials Haley’s number. About thirteen years later, his son comes into the world, wailing and screaming with healthy lungs and a head of dark hair. Haley is tired and beaming, his pride is obvious as the tiny bundle is placed in his arms.

They name the baby Jack.

In some ways, the stars aligned.

He’ll sometimes wonder if Emily’s did too.

…

Present Day

“Why didn’t things ever work out between the two of you?”

Dave’s voice brings him back to reality, out of the daydream he’s held so close to his heart for so many years. It’s jarring at first, a confusing limbo of then and now, past and present blending together for a few long moments. He glances around, the harsh overhead lights glaring bright, the low hum of hospital sounds reverberating through his ears. Along with it comes the reality of why he’s there, and the bitter rush of fear that floods his consciousness.

“Timing.” Aaron spins his now empty coffee cup in his hands. “Even after Haley and I got divorced, it was never the right time.”

“You’re going to blame timing ? That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“I never wanted to take the risk.” It’s the closest thing he can think of as truth. They built a tentative friendship after a rocky start, something built on mutual respect. His divorce brought new challenges - co parenting amidst a ridiculously stressful career, supporting and leading his team. Emily had always been one to hold her own, a silent backbone of their team, a friend to all of them. He’d relied on her, never wanted to lose what they had in hopes of something else . Ian Doyle had taken her from them all; her return was tense and it didn’t take a profiler to understand that Quantico just wasn’t home to her anymore. He let her walk away, encompassed by a fragile shell of his own tentative happiness, and in the years after she went to London, there was a permanent hole in his heart that never quite mended itself again. “Maybe I should have.”

“Love is a choice, Aaron. It doesn’t just happen. You have to choose to make things work.” Dave leans back in his seat, checks his watch, an eyebrow arching just a bit. “I thought you would have known that by now.”

“You and Krystall made a choice?”

“We still do. Every day we have to choose to love each other. Some days it’s easy. Others, not so much. But you know the best part?”

“I think you’re going to tell me anyway, Dave.”

“It’s never not been worth it, Aaron.” There’s a subtle gleam in his eye that wasn’t there before. “Something tells me you might just feel the same, if you gave it a chance.” Dave fumbles for his phone, patting the pockets of his jeans and then that of his blazer before finally pulling the phone from his breast pocket. He flips it open, his eyes widening at whatever message lights up the tiny screen.

“What is it?” Aaron asks with baited breath.

Dave looks up from his phone. For the first time since all of this began, he looks full of hope. “Emily’s out of surgery.”

…

The surgeon is pleased with the outcome of Emily’s procedure, and the air around them seemingly lightens with each minute he explains the procedure, and its success. The three of them hang on every word he says, asking questions and seeking assurances.

“She should be awake within a few hours. We’ll know more then, but her brain activity is good, and her vitals are strong. Agent Prentiss got very lucky. I have patients who often have a very different outcome.”

The relief is palpable, as if the tension was cut with a knife as they all exchange optimistic smiles and tentative handshakes, while profusely thanking Emily’s surgeon. Aaron excuses himself to call Jack - something he should have done hours ago. “I’m not going far,” he reminds Dave, his words a warning of what to do if anything changes in the next few minutes.

“We’ll be right here.”

Mendoza is shrugging into his jacket and digging for his keys with a look of resignation on his face. He catches Dave’s sideways glance. “I think it’s time I head out, Dave. Please give Emily my best wishes on a quick recovery when she’s discharged.” There’s a change in his voice, one that wasn’t there earlier.

“You’re leaving?” Dave asks curiously. “You aren’t going to stay and see Emily? It shouldn’t be much longer before we can go in.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

Mendoza shakes his head, runs a hand over his scalp. “I learned something tonight. You know when it’s just not meant to be, but you can’t find the reason why?”

Dave nods, a glimmer of understanding appearing in his eyes. “I do. I know it very well, actually.”

“I think I found the why.” His eyes roam around before they finally land on Aaron and Dave’s do too. The phone is still pressed to his ear but he’s still staring right into Emily’s room, never once looking away, even as his mouth moves in conversation to Jack on the other end. “I tried to deny it, so did Emily. But I don’t think her heart ever belonged to me. I think it belonged to him.”

—

Emily finally wakes up a few hours later. Aaron and Dave wait outside the room as she’s tended to by a horde of surgeons and nurses, testing brain function and vital signs, spattering off medical terms with ease. It’s a language only they understand, one Aaron never wants to learn. But their voices are hopeful, they have smiles on their faces as they talk to Emily, assessing her cognition and running tests. She’s a little confused and extremely tired, but awake and alert . Dave is just as relieved to see things appear normal; they’re both very aware of just how lucky they got.

Eventually, they’re finally allowed to see her.

“Do you mind if I … “ Aaron trails off, except he doesn’t need to finish the question.

“Go, Aaron. I take it you have some things you want to get off your chest,” Dave quips. “I’m going to call the others and give them an update. They’ve been waiting awhile.” He departs with a pat of encouragement on the back, a shared moment between them.

Moments later, he’s back in her room, at her side on the same uncomfortable chair from earlier. Her eyes flicker open once again, widening almost impossibly when she sees him. Years of unanswered questions are written on her face in seconds, a shared history fraught with more than what most people experience in a lifetime. But there’s something oddly content there too, as if she woke up from a dream that has somehow materialized in front of her.

“Hey,” Aaron says softly, reaching out with a nervous hand to touch her for the first time in years . He dodges wires and IV lines, finds her fingers with his own and gives a gentle squeeze. “You’re up.”

“You’re here?” Emily blinks with confusion, still making sense of just how she got there in the first place. “But I thought you were .. you and Jack are in Philadelphia. What are you doing here?”

“Of course I’m here,” he says soothingly, ignoring her question. They can talk about that later. “How are you feeling?”

Emily gives a wry grin, slightly distorted and weak, but there. “They asked me who the President of the United States was.”

It’s his turn to smirk. “What did you tell them?”

“To ask me after 45 leaves the Oval Office,” she says without hesitation. “I think I made at least two of them laugh.” But then something comes over her face, the reality of it all setting in. “You came all this way,” she croaks, throat raw from the intubation tube. “How did you know about all of this?”

“You were there for me, remember?” He’s not only talking about Foyet, but all the years she spent at his side. The years they spent doing a dance around one another, their steps never quite aligning. This time feels like a second chance he never thought he’d get, one he can’t mess up.

“That was a lifetime ago, Aaron. So much has happened since then.” Emily tries to sit upright, pushes herself up about halfway before exhaustion overtakes her. She grumbles in frustration; he shouldn’t smile but he does. It means the Emily he knows, the Emily he fell in love with years ago is somewhere in there.

“Take it easy,” he soothes, adjusting the pillows so she’s more vertical than horizontal. He uses the opportunity to press a kiss against her forehead. He touches his own to hers and murmurs, “That’s something I should have done a long time ago.”

A smile spreads across her face, just as brilliant as the night he met her. She remembers it all, just as well as he does. “Funny how it always seems to take one of us dying to figure things out.”

“What are you talking about?” It’s a morbid thought, one he can’t entertain for long because despite his question, there’s an element of truth to it. He brushes some hair from her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. It’s matted in his fingers and dirty yet he doesn’t even notice. His heart swells, the hand in her hair trails down to her cheek, a thumb against the blush that spreads there. “And by the way, that’s not funny.”

“I’m saying maybe after I get out of this place,” she gestures to the mess of monitors and wires and tubes, “You can ask me out on a date. Finally.”

“Anywhere,” Aaron agrees. He would go anywhere, if it meant he could be with her.

“I know a place in Silver Spring. Supposedly they have the best apple pie in DC.”

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #young hotchniss #Aaron Hotchner #Emily Prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #Aaron x Emily

59 notes · View notes

rachaelswrites · 3 years

Text

Green Light, Red Light

Spencer Reid x daughter!reader

Based on Criminal Minds Season 12 Episodes 21 and 22 “Green Light” and “Red Light”

Word Count: 1,796

Warnings: kidnapping, gun violence

A/n: Part of the Episode series (also was a request)

You were used to seeing Cassie in the mornings, but today she wasn’t there. There was another girl, but she looked too young to be a nurse.

“Where’s Cassie?” you asked. Your gut told you something was wrong and your dad always said to trust your gut.

“Cassie isn’t here today,” the nurse said, “I’m Carol,” she stuck her hand out for you to shake but you declined.

“I’m sorry about her. She’s so much like her father,” Diana said, resting her hand on your shoulder.

Carol bent down in front of you, “Speaking of your dad, I’m taking you two to visit him today. Would you like that?” she was talking to you like a child. You were technically a child, being only twelve but you were a lot smarter than kids your age.

You shook your head, “No. JJ or Emily always take me.”

“Don’t be silly Y/n,” Diana said, “Let’s go see Spencer.”

You had no choice but to comply. Maybe this could be your way to warn your dad about what was happening. On the bus ride to the prison you sat in between Carol and your grandmother.

“Come on Y/n, smile a little. We’re seeing your dad today,” Carol was trying to get you to trust her, but you were too smart.

“I don’t care,” you moved seats away from her, “I don’t like you,” you said under your breath. The lady you were now sitting next to you heard what you said and laughed a little.

You noticed as you were walking down the hallways to the visiting room, Carol acting strange. She would walk on different sides of the hallways and look down at certain times. You knew there was something up.

You got to visit Spencer first. You were sitting in a chair and your dad was pushed inside. He didn’t look like himself, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, “Dad!” you reached out to hug him but he stopped you.

“We can’t touch,” he nodded over to the guard watching you two, “I’m sorry,” he sat down on the chair across from you, “What’s wrong? You look upset?”

“I mean my dad is in prison so, sorry if I’m upset about that.”

“Besides that. Tell me if I can do anything.”

You sighed, “I don't know. Something just feels off about the nurse.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows, “I thought you liked her?”

“I’ve never met her before dad.”

Spencer leaned forward towards you. He had done some reading about kids acting up when something happened with their parents but this was something else, “Stop messing around Y/n,” he said seriously, “If something's going on, tell me.”

“I just did! I don’t know any Carols,” you didn’t understand why he was getting mad at you.

“Who’s Carol?”

“Cassie’s replacement? Carol said you hired her?” you knew for sure there was something wrong now, based on the look on your dad’s face.

“Y/n, I didn’t hire anyone besides Cassie.” Spencer was now confused himself. What were you talking about?

“But-” you were interrupted by the door opening and Carol walked in.

“Come on Y/n, we have to go now,” she said, reaching her hand out for you.

Spencer grabbed onto you tightly, ignoring the no touching rule, “Y/n, no.”

“Dad?”

“Spencer I’m sorry but I have to get her back now. She has school tomorrow. I wish you could have more time,” Carol faked her sympathy. She knew Spencer would recognize her. This was her way of throwing him off.

“She’s not leaving with you,” he turned to the guard, “I need Emily and my lawyer here. My daughter isn’t going back with her,” he was still holding onto you, “She’s not leaving here.”

“Back off inmate,” the guard said, pulling you away from him. He gently shoved you to the door and into Carol’s arms. She tried to wrap her arms around you but you pushed her off.

“I want to stay!” you yelled but the door was already closed in your face. Carol grabbed you and started walking towards the exit. Diana was nowhere to be found. You heard your dad yelling for you but there was nothing you could do. Surprisingly Carol was a lot stronger than you and it was hard to get her hands off.

“Diana said you were a good kid. I guess she was wrong.” she sneered.

“You’re not who you say you are. Why didn’t my dad want me with you?”

She laughed, “I’ll tell you later. We have someplace to be.”

~~~~~

Carol told you her real name was Lindsey and your dad worked a case that she was a part of. Lindsey had taken you and Diana captive. She put Diana in the truck of the car and put you in the passenger seat, “If anyone asks, I’m your babysitter. If you yell for help, I’ll kill her,” she gestured toward the trunk of the car as she got out at the gas station.

“Can I get some air? I get car sick.”

“Sure. Just stay by the car.”

You knew the team would realize you were kidnapped and would put out an AMBER alert on you, hopefully someone would recognize you. Lindsey had dyed her hair and cut yours. There was another person filling up his car. He smiled at you and then at Lindsey. You heard the AMBER alert go off on the guys phone and on Lindsey's. She checked it and whipped her head up to you, “Get in the car. Now!” she hissed.

You did as she told you and climbed back into the passenger's seat.

“I think I see the people you’re looking for,” the guy had called the cops and was reporting you two, “Their hair is different but I’m pretty sure it’s them. I’m at a gas sta-” before he could finish, Lindsey shot him.

You jumped back out of the car, “Why did you do that?”

“Are you really that stupid? Get back in the car,” she pointed the gun at you and shot. It just grazed your arm. Enough to scare you and make you bleed, “Put pressure on it. I need you alive.”

You scrambled back into the car and found some napkins to cover the wound. Her phone rang and she answered. Her gaze kept shifting from you to the trunk. She opened the driver’s side and shoved the phone at you, “Speak.”

“Hello?” your voice was shaky.

“Y/n? Is that you? Are you ok?”

“Dad! Please help me.”

Lindsey took the phone back, “She’s alive,” she hung up and got back in the car, grabbing gasoline. She poured it around the car and opened the trunk. She yanked Diana out and shoved her into the guy’s truck. She walked around to your door and did the same. She then set the gas station and drove off, leaving the building burning behind you.

Once at your new location, you were met by another man. He grabbed you, while Lindsey had Diana.

“I thought they weren’t supposed to be harmed,” the man said, motioning to the napkins that were placed on your arm.

“She’s a brat and needed to be shut up,” she replied

“And you’re a bitch.” you responded.

The man laughed but Lindsey grabbed you roughly by your hair, “Keep talking like that and I’ll make sure you die slowly,” she let you go and shoved you forward, making you fall.

“If your intention was to not hurt me, you’re doing an awful job,” you stood up and brushed yourself off.

They led you into the cabin and tied you and Diana up in one of the bedrooms.

“Y/n, you look awful,” she wasn’t in one of her clear head moments so she didn’t really understand what was happening.

“Well, being kidnapped that happens.” you said blatantly. Not really thinking about softening the blow.

Diana’s eyes grew in shock, “We’re kidnapped? How’d we get here? Where’s Spencer, is he coming?”

You shrugged. You could tell the injury in your arm was getting to you, because you were growing tired, “I’m sure the team’s working on it. They’ll get here,” you slurred. You heard Diana try to tell you something but you lost consciousness.

You weren’t sure how long you were out but you remember being woken up by someone shaking you and calling for a medic. You opened your eyes groggily and saw a familiar face, “Emily?” you tried to move but you were still bound to the chair.

“Oh Y/n, let’s get you out of here,” she helped Rossi untie you and helped you stand up, “Can you walk?”

You shook your head and she carefully lifted you into her arms, “Is my dad here?”

“He’s at Quantico. He’s been worried about you,” everyone was worried about you. There was no way Spencer would be able to handle losing either you or his mother.

“I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do,”

She set you on one of the gurneys that the medics had brought out, “You did everything right. Spencer would be proud,” she lifted your head up with her hands, getting a good look at your injuries, “They really did a number on you huh?”

You nodded and laid back on the gurney, “Can I see him soon?”

“Yeah. The medics just need to check you out,” she followed as the medics wheeled you into the ambulance, “I’ll stay with you if you want,”

You nodded again and she stepped into the back, sitting next to you.

Your injuries weren’t bad so they were able to patch you up in the ambulance. Emily was with you in the elevator. Diana was cleared before you so she got back sooner.

“Excited much?” Emily teased since you were bouncing up and down on your heels.

“Sorry. It’s just been so long since I saw him as a normal person,” you explained. Emily placed her hand on your shoulder as the doors opened. The rest of the team was waiting for you.

The doors had just barely opened before your dad pulled you into a huge bear hug. He wrapped his arms completely around you and rested his chin on the top of your head, “Oh my god Y/n, I’m so sorry,” he kissed the top of your head and pulled away, “This never should've happened to you,” he looked you over and saw the bruises on your wrists and the bandage on your arm.

You noticed his gaze had shifted to your arm and you placed your hand over it, “I’m fine dad. I’m just glad everyone’s ok.”

He pulled you back into a hug, “I’m never leaving you again like this. Ever,”

Taglist

@ssebstann @peachyprincessss @emmy-writes-sometimes @dudele @kerrswriting @laura-naruto-fan1998

#x daughter!reader #x teen!reader #spencer reid daughter #spencer reid x teen #spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #bau #episode

218 notes · View notes

emwritesfootball · 3 years

Text

I Want You | Dominic Calvert-Lewin

Word Count: 2,051

A/N: Yet another piece for @footballffbarbiex's On The Big Screen Challenge. Since I'm on the midseason finale of the episode of Grey's Anatomy that this is based off of, I figured I'd post this now. This is based off of Jackson and April, the scenes from the season 9 finale and season 10 episode 12, altered for the football world. I've had this sitting in my Docs since 1 January lmao. Enjoy xx

- - -

The gasp of the crowd of almost 40,000 at Goodison Park was simultaneous in the 38th minute when Dom was taken down by the opposition’s defense right as he was about to score. The tackle had been brutal and uncalled for, earning the centreback a straight red card from the referee while Dom stayed on the ground.

As if sensing catastrophe the medics and physio were on the pitch almost immediately. You held your breath, one hand clutching the fabric of the Everton jersey you wore while your other squeezed Lucas Digne’s hand. Your boyfriend tried to soothe you as best he could, but you were distraught. Dom was clearly in pain and clearly injured, and you couldn’t do a damn thing but watch him get carried off on a stretcher.

“I have to go to him,” you muttered, but Lucas stopped you.

“He’ll be fine, Chérie,” Lucas said, his voice low as his thumb rubbed circles over the back of your hand. “You know we’ve got the best medical team - they’re gonna take real good care of Dom, okay?”

“Mmhmm.” You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip to quell your unspoken fears.

Your mind was reeling as Richarlison took Dom’s place on the pitch, your stomach sick with nervousness for Dom. When you’d first started playing for the women’s team, Dominic had been your sidekick; he’d shown you around the stadium as well as the surrounding city. It hadn’t been long before you were falling for him, the two of you hooking up after an intense friendly between the men’s and women’s teams.

Over time, you’d started to fall for him, your friends-with-benefits relationship no longer enough for your heart. It had all gone wrong after a pregnancy scare - Dom telling you he was all in and saying he’d marry you and the two of you would raise the kid together. When you’d found out you weren’t pregnant and told him that he no longer had to worry about getting married, Dom had ended things then and there, both of you hurt for different reasons.

Soon after, he started “dating” (sleeping with) one of the physios. You hadn’t had any intention of getting involved with his teammate, but Lucas had come into your life as a friend while you’d been with Dom and things progressed after your break up. Now, you were engaged to Lucas, with a wedding coming up in less than six months - after an incredibly public proposal that you couldn’t say no to - but there was a part of your heart that still yearned for Dom.

The second Lucas let go of your hand, you were up out of your seat, flashing your pass as you raced through the tunnels at Goodison Park until you finally managed to locate Dom. The ambulance was silent while its lights flashed and you knew you didn’t have much time. Emergency personnel were loading him onto the ambulance and you were reacting within seconds.

“DOMINIC!” you shouted, panic racing through you. His name felt foreign on your tongue - you tried not to utter it if you could help it - but in that moment, it was all you had.

“Miss, you’re going to have to stand back,” one of the EMTs said, putting his hands on your shoulders.

The tears started to fall right then and you couldn’t stop them. “I...I need to see him. He’s my husband!” You stammered out the words in-between sobs, barely aware when the medic let you go and you rushed into the ambulance, the door slamming behind you as it lurched forward and started to race to the nearest hospital. You tried your best to stay out of the way while the medics worked, fighting back tears with every concerned look or sentence they shared with each other. Dom looked out of it and you hoped he’d been put on some painkillers, especially with the state of his arm. You hoped and prayed that his arm would be the worst of it, but you couldn’t be sure. You took his good hand in both of yours, pressing a kiss to the back of it as you whispered, “It’s okay, bubs. I’m here.”

***

People didn’t start arriving until almost two hours later, Dom’s girlfriend included. You didn’t know how many tears you’d cried in that timespan, your body physically exhausted from the day’s events. Lucas immediately found you in the waiting area, pulling you into a hug. “I was so worried about you, Chérie,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“S-Sorry,” you stuttered, feeling a new wave of tears coming on. “I just...I panicked and managed to convince them to let me ride in the ambulance with Dom and I…”

“It’s okay,” Lucas said, taking your face in his hands. “I’m glad Dom had you by his side.” Of course Lucas knew about your history with Dom but you’d always reassured him that he was the one you wanted and not Dom. Now, you weren’t so sure.

You snuck into Dom’s room right before visiting hours were set to end for the night. Lucas was waiting for you in the car park, warming up the car. A part of you felt guilty for what you were about to do, but after today you couldn’t stay silent.

Relief flooded you when you saw him sitting upright on the hospital bed, shirtless, his arm in a sling. The relief quickly faded, however, and all the other emotions you’d bottled up for the last six hours came bubbling up.

“What the hell, Dom?!” You screamed, rushing toward him. Tears were falling hard and fast as you shoved him, the nurse in the room who was checking his vitals came rushing over to stand between the two of you. “You could’ve died!” Sure, it was a little over-dramatic, but you had honestly thought you were going to lose him in the moment when he’d been down for over five minutes on the pitch.

The nurse calmed you down, not wanting to cause a scene. You didn’t either, but your emotions were so heightened it was almost like you were back in the ambulance scared out of your mind. “I’m fine, I swear,” you said, reassuring her when your breathing had slowed and you were starting to think properly.

“Okay,” she said, nodding and making her way towards the door. She turned to Dom, saying, “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Dom gave her a grateful smile, turning his attention to you. “Don’t,” he said, his voice weary. “Whatever it is that’s buggin’ you, just keep it to yourself, alright?”

You froze, staring at him. Your mind was racing again and you were so consumed with flashbacks of him lying motionless on the pitch that you couldn't speak for a few moments. Dom stared back, lost. He vaguely remembered your presence in the back of the ambulance but up until this moment, he had been so sure that he’d just dreamed you up, the painkillers playing tricks on his mind.

You took a deep breath, needing all the air you could get in order to say what you wanted to say. “I want you...Dominic.” His name was barely a whisper on your lips, but Dom heard you as if you’d screamed it from the rooftops. You ran a hand through your hair, your voice breaking as you repeated the phrase. “I want you.” Your voice wavered on the last word and Dom wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

He said your name, disbelief colouring his tone, but you cut him off.

“I haven’t been fair to you, I know,” you began, stepping towards him until you were standing at the end of his hospital bed, “And I’ve-I’ve really hurt you-”

“You’re getting married,” Dominic said slowly, unsure if he was trying to convince you or himself of the reality the two of you were facing.

It was like you hadn’t heard him. “When I saw you lying there on the pitch after that collision and I thought you were gone, I-”

“You’re getting married.” He said it again, this time with more conviction.

You dried your tears, your resolve returning. When you spoke next, your words shocked both of you. “Unless you can give me a reason not to.”

Dom stared at you, unable to say anything. He internally weighed his options. A few months ago, getting married to you was all he could think about - now, he wasn’t so sure. The two of you had been through unbelievable hurdles in your relationship, but you were engaged to another man who also happened to be one of Dom’s teammates and Dom knew he couldn’t stand by and fuck up the team dynamic or your relationship with Lucas.

***

Ultimately, he’d said nothing that night and the two of you hadn’t spoken about it since. You continued planning your wedding to Lucas while maintaining a stilted version of a friendship with Dom, which was how Dom had ended up in the congregation at your wedding.

“Give them the strength to commit their love to one another. Unshakeable through any storm; unbreakable in the face of any stress; a promise we simply refuse to break.” The pastor spoke, but Dominic barely heard any of it, except when he said, “And you, YN and Lucas’s closest friends and family, are here today to bear witness to their union. Will you promise to love and support their marriage in all the days to come? If so, please respond ‘we will’.”

Everyone responded, a chorus of “We will,” filling the quaint chapel.

Dominic didn't know what to do. He was acutely aware of his physio girlfriend by his side, but even more so aware of the fact that if he didn’t do something right now, he would lose you to his teammate forever. In that moment, nothing else mattered but his love for you and the love that he knew that you had for him.

The pastor continued to speak, but Dom heard nothing. He leaned in to his girlfriend, unsure what to say. “I, uh-” he started, pausing.

“What?” She asked, looking at him with curiosity that quickly turned into understanding.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m happy to be here today to be able to do this for you. I-” The pastor paused mid-sentence as Dominic stood up, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

You and Lucas were holding hands, your backs still to him. Finally, both of you turned to look at the commotion, shock written all over your face as your gaze connected with Dom’s. He flushed, giving the room a nervous smile before sitting back down.

The pastor chuckled nervously and for a brief moment, Dom wondered if he’d ever had anyone stop a wedding before. “YN and Lucas, I have known the two of you for quite some time and I’m happy to be here today-” he started again, and that’s when Dom knew he had to say something.

Dom took a deep breath, his mind made up.

“I love you,” he said, his voice deep and sure as he stood up for the second time. “I always have.”

You stared back at him, your eyes wide. If you were being honest, a part of you had dreamed about a moment like this - Dominic standing up and professing his love for you - but you hadn’t been prepared for it to actually happen.

Dom continued, “I love everything about you. Even the things I don’t like, I love.” You could feel Lucas fuming next to you. “And I want you with me.” Everyone was looking around in disbelief, but it was like nobody else existed but you and Dom in this moment. “I love you and I think that you love me, too.” He paused, his voice wavering. “Do you?”

You could feel Lucas’s eyes on you; your family’s, too, but there was only one person in the world you wanted right now and it wasn’t the man at the altar next to you.

“I do,” you said, your gaze fixed on Dom. “I do,” you repeated, stepping down off the altar and running towards the man who had been your whole world for longer than you cared to admit.

#my writing: dominic calvert lewin #dominic calvert lewin oneshot #dominic calvert lewin one shot #dominic calvert lewin imagine #dominic calvert lewin imagines #dominic calvert lewin x reader #dcl oneshot #dcl one shot #dcl imagine #dcl imagines #dcl x reader #amys2021challenge

38 notes · View notes

ninyard · 3 years

Note

Could you write something with a Nicky & Kevin friendship or just supporting each other, set at any point during the series

you know what anon I don’t think I’ve ever genuinely thought about Nicky n Kevin’s friendship before ?? But! What a fantastic friendship it is!!!! I think there’s a pretty pivotal moment in the series of their relationship, but obligatory CW for The Raven King Chapter 11 (the thanksgiving dinner) before we get into it

First of all I think when Kevin first arrived in PSU, and when he was staying with Abby, still healing his broken hand, Nicky was the only fox except for Andrew who visited him regularly? Even Andrew didn’t really “visit” at that point, but Nicky was the only one who pro-actively wanted to see how Kevin was doing, instead of asking Wymack or Abby or gossiping between the team. It was probably in part because Nicky LOVES breaking a good story, but mostly it was because of the fact Nicky is such a genuinely kind person? He knew how alone Kevin must’ve felt after being essentially banished from his “family”, with no future in sight or a will to live, really. So Nicky showed up. He always brought a gift, and even though Kevin didn’t really speak much and really seemed to hate Nickys fast, drama-filled way of speaking, he never told Nicky to leave.

When Andrew came along and took Kevin under his wing, that kind of drove a wedge in between any semblance of relationship they could’ve had. It was Andrew And Kevin, and that was it. Andrew didn’t see a point in leaving room for Nicky in that. But Kevin never forgot what Nicky did for him, and even though they’re practically opposite types of people, Kevin and Nicky never had beef, like literally ever. Nicky tried flirting seriously with him once, but Kevin scrunched up his nose and shook his head and for the first time Nicky didn’t persist. They really just had this unspoken respect for each other, but their relationship was never really much more than that. Whereas Kevin’s relationship with Andrew was a joined-by-the-hip kind of deal, Kevin and Nicky more so looked out for each other in the smallest ways. When Nicky sprained his wrist during practice the end of freshman year, Kevin was there for him to show him the best ways to move it to build his strength back up and to take care of it so it could heal properly. When Nicky was struggling with some type of homework on the bus to a game, Kevin would peek over his shoulder and nonchalantly point out the answers. When Kevin was starting to play again, Nicky always offered to play defence to help him regain his strength against an opponent.

But you know, as soon as you mention Nicky and Kevin my head INSTANTLY goes to the aftermath of Chapter 11 in TRK. Like, Kevin had to go downstairs after finding that situation, and presumably Nicky had no real idea. So Nicky looks in the Kitchen window, while talking to his mom about nothing, and he sees Neil and Aaron head out of the kitchen. He watches Kevin follow. It’s not long before Luther is back outside with a look on his face that says nothing good, and then Nicky sees Kevin. He’s on the phone, chewing at his fingernails, face white like he’d seen a ghost. He leaves the table, overhearing Kevin reciting his parents’ address and they lock eyes when he enters the room. Kevin’s eyebrows are knitted together like he’s about to cry. He puts a hand out when Nicky tries to push past him. It takes him a minute to hang up, and suddenly Nicky’s heart is racing and he’s desperate to go upstairs. Kevin can’t find the words.

“Andrew’s hurt.” The words don’t do it justice. It feels like a lie coming out his mouth. “Nicky,” he tries to push past again. “I don’t know if you should go up there.” Nicky turns back to see his mom and dad watching them. They look like they’re about to follow. Nicky asks if he called the police or an ambulance. Kevin says both.

“Who hurt him?” Nicky doesn’t know what to say. He can hear the mumble of voices upstairs.

“I don’t know.” Kevin’s voice is almost a whisper. “There’s so much blood.” And then Nicky shoves him out of the way and suddenly Kevin’s following him up the stairs and Nicky’s reaching out to hold Andrew’s face, Neil holding a blanket around his presumably naked bottom half. Kevin nearly got sick at the sight again. He’d seen enough blood in the nest, he’d seen enough rapes and tortures and beatings and dead bodies, but this was so much worse. This was messy, this was family, this was Andrew’s abuser killed at the hands of his brother, blood on the wall of Nicky’s childhood bedroom.

So Andrew and Neil leave in the ambulance, Kevin and Nicky left to take a taxi to the police station, waiting for Aaron who left in cuffs, waiting to give their statement. They don’t say much, but Kevin puts a hand on Nicky’s shoulder when he finally cries, and leaves his own shoulder free as a place to cry on. They’re told to leave without Aaron and they’re left alone again in Columbia, waiting for David to bring Andrew home safe. Neither of them have much of an appetite to eat, and it’s a while before either of them speak.

“Did you see it happen?” Nicky is staring at a wall, hands wringing around the end of a pillowcase. “Did you watch him die?”

“No,” Kevin fought off another panic attack that crept up his throat. “Did you know who he was?”

They skirted around the topic, afraid that if they said what really happened, it would be real, it would be unfixable. But Kevin knew Nicky needed him, until somebody else came back. Can you even imagine how much Nicky must’ve been in shock? I don’t think he even called Erik until the next day, you know. The only person he spoke about it with was Kevin, and when Betsy arrived he cried with her for ten minutes before a car was pulling up and he knew it was Andrew. Kevin and Nicky had never spent so much to me alone, but there was a strange comfort in the air. Kevin was the rock that Nicky needed, and Nicky was the distraction Kevin needed. Kevin wasn’t a hugger, really, but when Nicky asked to be held, he pulled him into his chest and didn’t let go until he was ready. They both comforted each other that night, but they never spoke about it again. Nobody else had to know that they’d practically broken down in each other arms, half in shock, half processing the trauma they’d just witnessed. Nicky had never been exposed to something like that before; Kevin knew it was a life-changing event for him. Nicky didn’t have any sort of ideas of superiority about his relationship to Andrew, either. He knew how much Andrew meant to Kevin, how he had walked in to see his protector so vulnerable, so hurt. He knew Kevin had to say that word down the phone to the operator, and how he had to say it to Coach, too. And he had to say it again and again and again to the cops in the station.

I know it’s an extreme example of their friendship, but I think a lot of it goes unspoken. That night was the night where their respect for each other became physical, and visible. It became more than just nods across a court or a pat on the shoulder after a good game. They were all they had that night. Just Kevin and Nicky, alone for god knows how long, just waiting, trying to keep it together. They each took a shot of whatever spirit they could find before Betsy arrived, and nobody had to know about that either. They coped in their own ways after that, but it really solidified how much they cared about each other, I think. Kevin texted Nicky for the first time that week, a couple different times, just to see if he was okay, how he was doing, if he needed anything. And oh man, did that mean the absolute world to him. Kevin and Nicky’s relationship is probably one of the more unexpectedly close relationships in the series, when I think about it. They didn’t experience what happened that night in the way Andrew or Neil or Aaron did, but the way they looked out for each other when both their worlds came screeching to a halt in the upstairs bedroom in a house that was no longer home? Unmatched.

There’s definitely softer/“fluffier”/funnier instances of them being friends but my mind couldn’t NOT let me write about this cos it was all I could think about SORRYYYY

#weird ramble about what Nicky n Kevin’s relationship makes me think of #thank u anon #Kevin day #Nicky Hemmick #aftg #tfc #this is kind of a mess but #it’s 2am #and I just had to write this

24 notes · View notes

spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

love drunk, waiting on a miracle

Summary: an average case of the flu develops into pneumonia and Spencer is left alone, suffering and afraid he’s going to die. Aaron’s on a case in Wyoming when Spencer stops replying: when he finally gets back home to him, his entire world flips on its head.

Tags: pneumonia, whump, serious illness, hurt/comfort, hurt!spencer, est.rel., hospitals, worried!aaron, fluff, crying, protective!aaron

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

In the haze of his fever, confusion worms its way into Spencer’s mind. He should really be getting better by now, right? It had only been the flu: a surprisingly cruel DC winter had sparked a much more severe flu season than usual and Spencer, with his terrible luck, had managed to contract it. Not surprising, really, when he considers the poor ventilation on the Metro. Flu season had probably turned the handrails into a petri dish, and there was that day two weeks ago when he’d been in such a rush he hadn’t time to use his hand sanitizer.

The flu, logically, made sense.

Except he thinks he’s probably been sick for at least a week and a half by now and flu symptoms are meant to improve after 8 days. He’s only getting worse. His chest pain is intensifying and he’s coughing up bloody phlegm every couple of minutes, but through his fever-induced haze he can’t think. He knows somewhere in the back of his head that something’s wrong, that he needs to get help, but he can’t even get up out of bed to do anything about it.

His heart is racing and he’s freezing cold, although his thermometer reads a number so high he wonders whether it’s broken, and the last thing he ate was two days ago. As the light in the window opposite his bed slowly fades and night approaches, his coughing turns to gasping and he’s struggling for breath.

Distantly, he wishes Aaron was here. He’d know what to do, he’d figure out how to help him, but he’s… somewhere else. A case maybe? He can’t quite remember. Wherever his boyfriend is, he's not here and that means Spencer has to lay awake, dazed and confused, gasping for air in the lonely darkness of his bedroom, terrified he’s about to die.

⭐️

Aaron doesn’t waste any time racing to his SUV as soon as the jet lands, vaguely acknowledging the rest of the team yelling after him to text them as soon as he gets to Spencer, before climbing into his car and speeding over to his boyfriend’s place. He has his sirens on — technically this is an emergency — but he’s still shouting at the traffic when lazy and distracted drivers don’t get out of his way fast enough.

Spencer had called into work sick last week with the flu. It wasn’t really anything to worry about: with enough rest and fluids he’d be back to work in no time. He’d stayed at Spencer’s apartment through the first four days as he attempted to play nurse much to both of their amusements, but they’d been called out on a case in Wyoming that had lasted for far too long. Spencer had sent him updates the first couple of days he was away, but then he’d fallen silent. The team had all attempted to contact him, and they’d all gone unanswered.

Sick anxiety swirls in his stomach as he presses his foot harder against the accelerator, pushing the limits of his SUV as he bolts across the border into DC, wishing desperately that Spencer lived closer to Quantico.

He hopes to God he’s wrong; that Spencer’s phone had run out of battery and his phone was broken or his texts just weren’t getting through for some reason, that he’d let himself into his apartment and he’d be sat on the couch, still not 100% but on the road to recovery, but he can feel deep in his gut that he’s right. Something is seriously wrong.

He abandons his car as safely as possible outside Spencer’s apartment complex before punching in the code for the front door and running up the stairs, taking two at a time until he’s on the right floor, sprinting down the corridor and hastily shoving his key into the lock.

The apartment is dark and the living room and kitchen are both deserted, so Aaron rushes to the bedroom, opening the door to find Spencer wheezing on the bed, clearly fighting for breath. He’d entered 911 into his phone on his way up, intuition telling him he’d need it, and he hits the dial button as he rushes to Spencer’s bedside.

“Hello, 911, what’s your emergency?”

“Hi, yes, I’ve just come home from a work trip and my boyfriend is gasping for air and struggling to breathe,” he replies, panicked as Spencer looks around, not seeming to recognise his surroundings. He leans down to press a kiss to his sweaty forehead and recoils at how hot his skin is. “He’s burning up… I— please. We thought it was just the flu.”

“Okay, sir, an ambulance is on its way. Is your boyfriend conscious?”

“Yes,” Aaron breathes, panic rising as he watches Spencer wheeze and gasp, “but I think he’s delirious. I’m not even sure if he knows I’m here.”

“Alright, it’s good news that he’s conscious. What’s your name, sir?”

“Aaron Hotchner.”

“And your boyfriend’s?”

“Spencer Reid.”

“Okay, Aaron. Stay with me. An ambulance is only a few minutes out. I need you to do a couple of things for me, okay? Do you know how to check Spencer’s pulse?”

“Yes. I’m first-aid trained.” Aaron places two fingers against his jugular. “It’s fast. Definitely over 100.” Spencer did not need tachycardia added to his plate right now, but here they are.

“You’re doing great, Aaron. Now I need you to remove any pillows under Spencer’s head and keep monitoring his heart rate and breathing for me until the paramedics get there. If he stops wheezing or gasping you need to tell me, okay? Same with his heart rate. Any change, you let me know.”

“Okay.” Tears are rolling down his face as he pulls the pillow out from under Spencer’s head and keeps two fingers pressed against his neck. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. Help is on the way. I’m here, I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.” He leans in to kiss his forehead again, before brushing his fingers through Spencer’s tangled, greasy hair.

“Aaron?” Spencer manages in between gasps.

“Yeah, baby, I’m here. You don’t need to talk, okay?”

“What’s— what’s happening? I can’t breathe.”

“I know,” Aaron says, voice strangled by a sob, “an ambulance is on it’s way. You’re gonna be alright.”

Spencer’s small moment of clarity passes and he slips back into his disoriented state, mumbling nonsense about chores he forgot to do in between his gasps for air.

“Has anything changed, Aaron?” the 911 operator asks.

“He talked to me for a second but now he’s confused again.”

“Okay. It’s good that he’s able to speak. The ambulance is less than a minute out, okay? I need you to leave Spencer on his own for just a second to let the paramedics into the building and lead them up to his flat. I promise you that this is the best and quickest way to get Spencer help.”

Aaron winces as his stomach clenches in anxiety at leaving his boyfriend alone, but he knows he needs to listen to the voice of reason right now. Emotion is only going to be a detriment to Spencer.

“Yeah, I’m heading down now.” He kisses Spencer’s forehead once more, whispering that he’ll be right back even though he knows it’s useless before running out of the apartment and down the stairs, sobbing with relief at the sight of flashing lights and sirens pulling up outside the complex. “The ambulance is here.”

“Okay, Aaron. I’ll leave you in their hands, now, alright? They’ll help you and Spencer.”

He barely hears the 911 operator hang up before he’s running down the couple of steps leading up to the front door to greet the EMTs.

“Are you Aaron Hotchner?” one of them, a blonde woman, asks.

“Yes, I— please, Spencer’s up here.”

He remembers leading them up the stairs but standing at the foot of his boyfriend’s bed and watching the paramedics attach an oxygen mask to his face before sliding him onto the stretcher is a blur of noise and light, snapped out of it only by the male EMT shouting at him through his haze, telling him to follow them into the ambulance.

This is the absolute worst day of his life.

⭐️

“Pneumonia?” Aaron repeats after the doctor standing in front of him in the sterile hospital hallway, still feeling out of it, consumed by shock. “We thought it was just the flu.”

“It’s likely that that is how it started,” the doctor explains gently. “Pneumonia is an unfortunate, and fairly uncommon, complication of the influenza virus, and with Spencer’s temperature so high he wasn’t able to take any kind of emergency action. The pneumonia going untreated caused an exudative pleural effusion which was why Spencer was finding it so difficult and painful to breathe. He’s incredibly lucky that you got there in time, Mr Hotchner.”

Tears well up in Aaron’s eyes for at least the fourth time tonight, but he’s powerless to stop them. Just the thought of losing Spencer cuts deep in his gut. “So, what now?” he asks, voice choked with emotion.

“Well, we’re draining the pleural effusion with a chest tube, aided by a diuretic,” she replies, “and he’ll need to stay in hospital for the next couple of days in order for us to monitor the progression of his pneumonia and to ensure that we don’t see any other complications. But Spencer is already improving, Mr Hotchner, so we have every reason to expect a complete recovery. Pneumonia tends to linger, but generally we see temperatures clearing by the end of the first week, chest pain and mucus production gone after four weeks, and all other symptoms except fatigue disappeared by the three month mark. In almost all cases, patients are back to normal by six months.”

“Six months?” Aaron asks incredulously, his mind going a million miles an hour as he tries to comprehend what this means for them both.

“Pneumonia is a fairly serious illness, Mr Hotchner. It will take some time to get over completely, but he should be able to go back to work by the end of the month, even if he doesn’t feel 100% yet. It’s a slow but steady journey.”

He nods in understanding as he drags a hand down his face. He can’t help but feel responsible for Spencer being in this mess: if he’d been home, he would’ve noticed the change in his health and rushed him to hospital to make sure he got promptly diagnosed and treated instead of suffering a fucking pleural effusion scared and alone.

“Okay,” he sighs. “Thank you. Could you— can I be the one to tell him?” If he has to hear this news, he should hear it from Aaron, not some impersonal, impatient doctor who doesn’t care about Spencer beyond the performance of his lungs.

The doctor nods. “We’ll be along to make sure he understands the medical side of things,” she clarifies, “but there’s no reason you can’t speak to him first.”

With that, she walks off down the corridor, leaving him standing outside a sleeping Spencer’s room. Taking a deep breath, trying to steady his pounding, racing, bleeding heart, he opens the door and slips inside, settling into the seat next to his bed.

He’d had to be sedated once they arrived at the hospital, his delirium spiralling into terrified anxiety, making it difficult for the doctors to assess him. It had made the chest tube insertion easier anyway, and allowed him to sleep through the worst of the pain before the non-narcotic medication he’d been prescribed kicked in.

Almost as soon as he sits down and takes in Spencer’s pale, sleeping form, his phone pings with a text from Derek. He’d texted them with updates in the waiting room, as much as he could through the haze of shocked anxiety anyway, and the last one had been a quick text saying Spencer was sedated and in for tests. How’s it going? Any updates?

Influenza that developed into pneumonia. Went untreated which caused a pleural effusion. Doctors say the worst will pass in the next few weeks, but full recovery could be up to six months.

It had felt exhausting enough when the doctor had told him, but typing those words out means facing the reality properly, and all of a sudden he’s heaving violent sobs as he bends over Spencer’s bed, clutching his hand tightly in his own. It’s nearing 4am, and after an exhausting case Aaron still hasn’t slept. Exhaustion mixes with relief mixes with stress into a heady cocktail of emotion. He allows himself to fall apart, but it takes almost twenty minutes for his tears to dry up and his body to stop heaving.

He leans back in the chair and stares tiredly at Spencer’s rising and falling chest, eyes dry and swollen, using the reassuring motion of his boyfriend’s breathing as a sort of meditative exercise. The early signs of dawn are visible outside the window when he’s roused from his miserable trance by the door opening.

A small amount of surprise flashes through his mind at the sight of Penelope closing the door behind her and walking over to sit in the spare chair next to him before he realises that this makes complete and total sense for her character. Spencer is her best friend, and she’s hardly one for boundaries or waiting for an invitation. Aaron’s never been more thankful for that aspect of her personality than right in this moment.

“Penelope,” he sighs, and he doesn’t even care that the relief in his voice is painfully evident.

“You look awful,” she says sadly. “You need to eat and drink something. I bought you some water and an energy bar.”

He hadn’t realised how hungry he is until he’s unwrapping the bar like he hasn’t eaten in days. “What are you doing here?”

“I was with Derek when you texted him.” That explains her lack of makeup and colourful dress, he supposes. “I made him drive us over immediately, but he stayed in the waiting room because he didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Well, Aaron can be grateful for that, at least. He doesn’t mind Penelope seeing him like this but it might be a little too much to have Derek around him in his most broken state.

“Spencer’s going to be okay, Hotch,” she says softly, uncapping the water bottle and insisting he drink some. “You need to take care of yourself in order to take care of him. Why don’t you sit in the high-backed chair over there and try and close your eyes until Spencer wakes up.”

“No, I need to stay awake, what if he—”

“Hotch,” Penelope interrupts, “I’ll wake you up if he so much as twitches. But I doubt you’ll need it. You’ll know; your subconscious will wake you, I promise.”

He can’t exactly argue with that, and Penelope is nothing if not tenacious so even if he tries, he knows it would be a futile battle. He’s out even before she’s finished draping her scarf over him.

She ends up being right, to the surprise of absolutely nobody, and he’s jolted out of his doze as soon as Spencer stirs. He leaps up and immediately rushes to the side of the bed, ignoring his headrush in favour of leaning over and placing a hand on the top of his head, threading his hand through the tangled curls again. “Hey,” he murmurs as Spencer blinks his eyes open blearily. “You’re in the hospital, but you’re going to be okay. I’m right here, baby.”

Penelope is nowhere to be seen, but he guesses that she’s probably just nipped to the toilet or out to talk to Derek.

“Aaron,” he rasps, trying to move the oxygen mask from his face.

“No, you need to keep the mask on, sweetheart,” he explains, placing his hand gently over Spencer’s and moving it away. “You can talk through it, okay?”

“What happened?”

Aaron breathes in shakily and sighs it out before meeting Spencer’s eyes again. “The flu you had developed into pneumonia which gave you a pleural effusion, which is why you have that chest tube in.” He watches as Spencer moves his head to the right to look at the clear tube draining fluid from his lungs into the collection device at the side of his bed. “You’re on painkillers to help you breathe more easily, antivirals to ease the initial infection and a diuretic to help reduce your pleural effusion.”

He watches helplessly as Spencer’s eyes fill with tears at his words, and he presses closer, moving his hand to his cheek.

“I was so scared,” he cries, nestling into Aaron’s hand.

Me too. “I know, baby,” he murmurs, running his thumb gently across the small line of exposed skin above his oxygen mask. “You’re safe now, I’m here. We’ll get through this together, okay?”

It’s a few seconds before Spencer speaks up again, meeting Aaron’s eyes as tears spill down his cheeks. “Six months.”

Of course Spencer knows the average pneumonia recovery time. Of course he’d take the hardest job off Aaron’s plate. All he can do is nod sadly as tears spring to his own eyes and lean down to kiss his forehead. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Six months.”

Penelope comes back into the hospital room to find Aaron lying next to Spencer on the hospital bed. It had taken a decent amount of convincing but every bone of his body aches and longs to protect Spencer, so resisting those teary requests had been a losing game from the very beginning. He’s dozing tiredly on Aaron’s chest as his fingers caress his head gently, soothing him against the pain he’s feeling.

“Oh,” she gasps as she hurriedly closes the door and rushes over to Spencer, whose eyes flutter open at the sound of his best friend’s voice.

“Penny,” he says quietly, not moving his head but reaching out his hand to Penelope, who immediately clasps it gently in hers.

“Oh, baby genius, I’m so glad you’re okay.” She tears up as well and it almost makes Aaron laugh: this hospital room will be drowned in their emotions by the time they’re heading home. “Do you want me to get Derek?”

At Spencer’s tired nod, she smiles, squeezes his hand and rushes to get Spencer’s other best friend.

Derek, thankfully, doesn’t add to the pool of tears already collecting on the linoleum, instead walking confidently over to the bed and leaning over to hug Spencer as well as he can when he’s obstructed by both the hospital bed and Aaron’s arms wrapped around his boyfriend.

“We’re gonna get you through this, Spencer,” Derek says, looking deep into his eyes with that intense, earnest expression on his face that tends to make an appearance at times like these. “You’re not doing this alone, you hear me?”

God, Aaron tears up at that, he can’t blame Spencer even a little bit when he immediately bursts into tears.

“Shh, baby,” he murmurs, holding him impossibly closer. “You’re okay, you’re so loved. Why don’t you try and get some sleep before the doctors do their rounds in a few hours yeah?”

“We won’t go anywhere, Spence,” Penelope reassures him. “Derek and I will stay right here.”

⭐️

It’s a long six days of sleeping in uncomfortable high back chairs and holding Spencer as he tries desperately to get rest despite his disruptive, painful cough and irritating chest tube. The entire team visits as much as possible, but with both Aaron and Spencer both away, the caseload is much more difficult. He’d feel guilty if he wasn’t absolutely sure he’s where he needs to be.

With the pleural effusion completely drained and Spencer’s lungs healing well, they’re eventually discharged, and they don’t even have to talk about where they’re going. Aaron drives them back to his own apartment, which is helpfully on the ground floor, so he doesn’t have to carry Spencer up three flights of stairs.

As soon as he’s settled comfortably in bed with everything he could possibly need close to hand — tissues, water, dry crackers, the remote for the TV, and a stack of books he’d requested, alongside the home oxygen supply he’d carefully set up — he sits down next to him.

“I’ve taken three weeks of compassionate leave,” he says softly, brushing a lock of curly hair from Spencer’s face. It’s washed and brushed out, not a hint of the gel he usually slicks it back with, and Aaron’s always loved him like this, soft and natural.

“You didn’t need to do that.” Spencer’s voice is still a little croaky, but muchm clearer as his lungs have healed up and his words aren’t obstructed by a clunky oxygen mask. The nasal cannula also means it’s much easier for Aaron to finally kiss his boyfriend again.

“I know, but I wanted to. You’re more important than a job: I need to be here, and I will be. I’d move heaven and earth for you, how many times have I told you that?”

Spencer smiles bashfully at that, a pink flush colouring his cheeks — it’s so good to see his pale skin come to life again. “Two hundred and thirty-six.”

He laughs warmly at that. “God, I love you.”

“You’ve told me that five thousand, six hundred and forty-two times,” Spencer murmurs, lacing his fingers with Aaron’s. He pauses for a moment, staring at their intertwined hands before looking up again. “Come and lay with me?”

“Anything for you, baby,” Aaron coalesces, toeing off his shoes and slipping under the covers. He can’t help the smile that crosses his face as Spencer immediately curls into him, nestling his face into Aaron’s neck.

“Love you,” Spencer murmurs, warm breath brushing Aaron’s collarbone.

“I love you more, sweetheart.” He’s fairly sure it’s true; he can’t imagine anyone loving someone more than he loves Spencer.

“Five thousand, six-hundred and forty-three,” he whispers sleepily before his breath evens out and he falls asleep.

The road ahead isn’t going to be easy, Aaron is under no delusion, but right now, his life seems pretty damn perfect. He came so close to losing Spencer, but here he is, pressed tightly against him in a fierce cuddle so emblematic of his boyfriend’s character, with the promise of a full recovery — however long that will take — and he’s not oblivious to how unbelievably lucky that makes him.

It’s hard not to smile as he presses a gentle kiss to Spencer’s curls.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamalystark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau (taglist form)

#criminal minds #criminal minds writing #criminal minds fic #hotchreid #hotchreid fic #spencer reid whump #hurt spencer reid #hotchreid whump #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #hotchreid angst #hotchreid fluff #aaron hotchner/spencer reid #aaron hotchner x spencer reid #spencer reid/aaron hotchner #spencer reid x aaron hotchner #my writing

97 notes · View notes

futures-tense · 3 years

Note

Hi. Is bruises prompt still free for Bad Things Happen Bingo? If so, may I request it? I have an idea, but it you dont like it, dont feel obligate to write it 😊 the crew begin to notice frequent new bruises on TK. In different places. They begin to suspect that Carlos is not as a saint as he seemed to be. They keep a close eye on TK and Carlos. When asked about the cause of the bruises, TK evasively replies that it is his clumsiness, which makes them even more suspicious. They can't stand it anymore when one day they accidentally notice hand-shaped bruises on his neck and wrists. Carlos, backed against the wall, confesses a truth that is different than everyone expected. TK and Carlos just started BdSM experiments in the bedroom and TK likes it on the rougher side, especially when he starts having cravings for drugs.

TW: accusations of abuse (there’s no actual abuse but still, take care of yourself)

So I’m not super comfortable with the BDSM part BUT I did take the first part of the prompt and I used a bit of a,,, familiar storyline for some of you so I hope you like it!!

the blood on my hands (scares me to death)//3.4k

TK’s been off all day. Paul noticed it first (obviously) and now Judd wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. Because now-- after watching him a little more carefully-- he’s seen TK wince about a dozen times in the last three hours. He’s been wearing long sleeves.

In the middle of August.

In Austin, Texas.

He tried to put it out of his mind. TK would talk when he’s ready, he thinks. And they all know how well he does when they press him on topics he’s not ready to talk about.

So Judd tries not to think about it. Until he goes into the locker room.

He turns the corner and runs a towel over his drying hair, glancing up at TK on the other side of the room.

But he stops.

The black and blue bruise coloring his shoulder stands out against his skin. It spreads to the top of his arm and TK winces as he pulls his shirt on.

“Damn,” he says, making TK jump. “That’s a hell of a bruise you got.”

“Yeah,” TK mumbles. “What can I say; I’m a clutz.”

A knot twists in Judd’s stomach. That was barely believable. Which means that TK’s lying about how he got hurt. It could mean any number of things-- all of which Judd doesn’t want to think about.

“What’d you do?”

TK makes a face as if he hadn’t expected the question to come up. “I just… fell. Down the stairs.”

Judd raises an eyebrow, entirely unconvinced. “You fell down the stairs.”

TK nods but doesn’t look up at him.

The knot tugs tighter.

But before he can say anything, TK’s out the door. Judd watches him go, wringing the towel in his hands.

Paul and Mateo come in a moment later and he looks down.

“What is that look for?” Paul asks but Judd just shakes his head. “Oh, so you’re going to be weird and ominous now too?”

Judd takes a breath but doesn’t respond.

He prays he’s wrong.

____

Carlos:

Dinner?

Carlos:

I’ll cook

TK:

Not tonight

Carlos:

Tomorrow then?

TK:

Can’t, working

Carlos frowns at his phone. He knows for a fact that his boyfriend has the next day off-- they both do, he was kind of excited about it. Not to mention, TK hardly ever sends such short messages, and he’s canceled four date nights in the past month.

He clenches his jaw and climbs out of the car, slipping his phone into his pocket as he closes the door.

His shift ended about twenty minutes ago and TK’s shift ends in an hour or so. And with the way TK’s been acting odd lately? Well, Carlos doesn’t see anything wrong with stopping by for a few minutes.

Carlos adjusts his jacket and looks around the firehouse. He spots Judd in the kitchen first.

“Hey, Judd,” he says with a smile. “Have you seen TK?”

Judd barely spares him a glance, already turning his back on him. “Meds on a call,” he says flatly, just before he turns toward the gym.

Carlos shoves his hands in his pockets uncomfortably. “Alright,” he mumbles.

He sits at the counter, determined to be there when TK returns. Paul and Marjan come in a few minutes later.

“Hey, Reyes,” Marjan says, making a beeline for the coffee maker.

“Marj, that is your fifth cup today,” Paul says.

“And?” She smiles then turns her attention back to Carlos. “Did you just get off?”

“A little while ago, yeah,” he nods. Paul offers him a cup of coffee but he shakes his head. “TK said he was working late today, so I thought I’d stop by on my way home.”

Marjan makes a face. “No, he’s not.”

Carlos can feel his throat tighten. “That’s what he told me.”

It’s Paul’s turn to shake his head. “We invited him out with us but he said he had plans with you.”

Carlos has to look down-- any direction really-- because they’re sharing a look and giving him concerned looks-- which is exactly what he doesn’t need at the moment.

The roaring of the ambulance rumbles through the station as Nancy guides TK back into the bay.

When they park it, TK jumps down and Carlos sees him clench his hand into a fist. He falls into easy banter with Nancy as they make their way to join them. TK grins when he sees him.

“Hey, babe,” he says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you said you couldn’t make dinner,” Carlos says quietly. “I thought I’d stop by.”

Marjan makes a face. “Hey, Paul, Nance, why don’t we go find Mateo and we can play doubles?”

“Yeah, Paul,” Nancy starts. “Why don’t Marj and I absolutely obliterate you and Mateo in foosball?”

The three walk away, already riling each other up. Tk watches them go with a quiet laugh but Carlos shifts in his seat.

“So, Judd seems to be mad at me and you lied to Paul and Marjan.” He swallows. “And me.”

TK looks at him for a moment, then down at his hands. “I don’t know what’s going on with Judd and I don’t know what the others told you. But, Carlos, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Carlos wants to call bullshit but he doesn’t. TK reaches for his hand but he pulls back. “Why don’t-- we’ll talk at home.”

Carlos turns just in time to see TK’s face fall.

“No, Carlos, wait.”

He stops, against his better judgment.

“I’m- I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Lying.” TK nods to himself. “I shouldn’t have.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow when he doesn’t continue. “That’s it?”

TK laughs helplessly. “What else are you expecting?”

He rolls his eyes and shrugs sarcastically. “I don’t know, TK, maybe an explanation?” TK purses his lips and looks off to the side. It’s his resigned look-- the one he makes when he doesn’t want to talk anymore. But Carlos isn’t giving up that easily. “Why did you lie to me? To Paul and Marj? What’s the real reason you can’t make it tonight?”

TK seems to consider something but evidently talks himself out of it. “That’s-- I can’t answer that, Carlos, please just drop it.”

This is it.

The one question he never thought he’d have to ask him. And he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

“Are you seeing someone else?”

TK hates the question as much as he does.

“God, no, ahuvi.”

He tries to step close again but Carlos can’t. He doesn’t feel like he can trust him-- at least not right this moment. And he hates that. Because this is TK, the most caring and loyal person he knows.

Or. He thought he knew.

“Then what is going on?”

“Babe, please, just-”

His request is cut off by the alarm calling for the medical team. He sighs and curses under his breath.

“Can we talk about this at home?”

Carlos scoffs. “Will you be there?”

He knows it’s uncalled for and he regrets the words immediately. The words make TK’s features twist in a way that Carlos never wants to cause again. He lingers a moment longer before going to the ambulance.

Carlos pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t know what to do or who to go to for advice. He might if he knew what was happening. But he’s been left out of the loop again and-- honestly? He’s getting pretty fucking sick of it.

Continue Reading on AO3

#my bthb card #bad things happen bingo #my fics #tk strand #carlos reyes #judd ryder #paul strickland #nancy gillian

22 notes · View notes

sunshinepunches · 3 years

Text

Tomura gets a kiss at the kissing booth

Warning: Major character death i’m serious

Shigaraki/reader Words: 1.7k

Also posted on ao3 😳😏

————

His first kiss.

He was gonna get a kiss today at the University open day and that was gonna be it. Then those whore bastards, Dabi and Takami, couldn’t say anything ever again. Well, they could still make fun of his virginity, but not his kiss virginity. How was he gonna do it, you ask? The cheerleading club had opened up kissing booths to raise funds for charity. That’s how he was gonna do it.

There were several booths, all with cute girls in them, they were the cheerleading squad after all, in their cheerleading outfits too, tight tops and tiny skirts. He nearly chickened out, but stood in line at the nearest one before he could. He quivered excitedly on the spot. The girl at the counter was cute. That being said they were all cute.

When he reached the counter the girl took one look at him, “Oh ew,” she said.

Tomura panicked. Ah. He didn’t think it was that bad? Was it his face? He showered yesterday?

“Look, I’ve already gone overtime, and I really don’t wanna touch anymore compsci nerds like you.” She looked harried and Tomura had no idea how she knew he did compsci, “where the fuck is Y/N?” She pulled a University branded sweatshirt over her tiny top, “God, I can’t believe they’re whoring us out like this,” and flounced off, clearly very over it.

Thus leaving Tomura, horrified, stuck to the spot. Had that really happened? Had a kissing booth girl denied him a kiss? He felt far too ashamed to join the other line. Some of the students were eyeing him with mixed amusement and pity. God, he just wanted to disappear. He started to stiffly walk away, scratching his neck anxiously, when he heard you.

“Wait! Oh my god. Wait, just wait! Please don’t leave.” You dove heroically behind the stand, dragging your sweatshirt over your head, messing up your bouncy hair.

Tomura goggled. It was you. Cheer squad captain. 3rd Year Bachelor of Physiotherapy. One heck of a Big Deal on campus and an Absolute Bombshell of a woman. Saved a cat from being run over once, rumours said you stopped the car with your bare hands, other rumours said you picked the car up off the cat’s broken body and set the bones yourself.

“Y/N” Tomura whispered.

“Yeah, Oh dear god you know me. I am so, so sorry.” You bowed your head deeply at him. “I am,” you looked at your arm which didn’t have a watch on it, “like, really late.”

“That’s ok,” said Tomura tightly. He had an erection seeing you take the sweatshirt off and he hated himself for it. Your hair looked so soft, he wanted to die in it.

“And oh gosh, I- have seen you around campus haven’t I?” You sure had. He knew exactly where the cheer club did their weekly training, next to the swimming pool, on the oval and he’d always sit himself on the bench looking very hard at the flipping skirts while tapping away at his code. Once, you sat down next to him, sweaty after yelling out instructions at your team and bent down to retie your shoelaces. You smiled at him mindlessly and flung your messy hair back up into a ponytail, sweat dripping down your neck. It was the best moment of his life, and he figured that was the closest he’d ever get to a girl. He didn’t even make it home, he had to limp off into the pool bathrooms and jerk one out right there.

“And, sorry, your name was?”

Tomura wasn’t jerking off in the pool bathrooms, he was standing there, staring at your tits. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, Tomura?”

You smiled. It was as beautiful as that time on the oval. Tomura melted a little bit. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He already felt himself getting stiff.

“Well, Tomura, would you like a kiss?”

Would he like a kiss? He could die happy just being offered one. He would get run over in place of that cat for a whole kiss!

“It’s for charity,” you continued brightly as if you read his shellshocked arousal for hesitation, “We’re raising funds for kids with cancer at the local hospital. We’re even gonna have our mascot go to the hospital for the sick kids! I think that’s really nice, it’s something fun for them to get their mind off things!”

Tomura was glad those kids were dying from cancer because it meant this opportunity. He shakily took out his wallet and dropped a fifty into the donation jar.

Your perfect mouth o’d at the donation. “Oh, how generous Tomura! Thankyou so so much, hopefully we can reach our target sooner.”

You were so sweet, he would pay a thousand if it meant you never kissed anyone else ever again. But his heart was beating very fast and it was seemingly getting unbearably hot.

He swallowed, mouth dry, “yeah, uh, goodluck. Hope you guys get it.”

You smiled again, it was brighter somehow than the damn sun. It was blisteringly hot actually. Wasn’t there a cool breeze before? He was sure of it because he was looking at skirts all day. And what was up with his heart slamming against his chest? Well he was kinda about to kiss a Big Deal so that was normal.

You looked concerned at him. Noo he didn’t like seeing you frown. Your lips seemed to be moving slower than your words, “Are you okay? Tomura?” Oh, you were worried about him, that was super cute actually. You could frown a bit more if it was over him.

He found he couldn’t reply, but actually he couldn’t breath either. It really was so hot and blurry, and it wasn’t just because you were hot. Everything was hot and blurry.

Tomura passed out.

————

Tomura came to pillowed on a soft lap and a tender hand stroking his sweaty forehead with a cool handkerchief. Cheerleaders tittered above him and hovered about, curious. He could see up their skirts...

“Everyone! If we could give him some space please!”

No he didn’t need space, he needed a face full of hot cheerleader ass. Your spandex bound tits came into view, actually he decided he didn’t need other girls. “Tomura? Are you alright?” You gently stroked his hair, and he pushed into it weakly. It felt really nice. And he was right next to pussy. It was going straight to his cock.

“I had the nurse check up on you and it seems like you had a panic attack. Oh you poor thing,” you murmured at him, eyes glistening with pity. You had such nice manicured hands and they were just scratching his scalp in a delicious way. He needed to cum.

“Oh, the nurse said to hydrate you.” You proffered a pink bottle, “Oh sorry, it’s mine, I hope you don’t mind.” He shot up and snatched it from you and took several greedy gulps.

You giggled. Tomura thought it was a nice sound.

“Seems like you’re feeling better.”

Tomura sunk back down onto your lap and meekly handed the bottle back. “Just thirsty, still don’t feel good,” he half lidded his eyes, and breathed in your flowery perfume. He hoped you bought his excuse. He’d like to stay forever.

“Aw, ok,” you sounded genuinely disappointed. “I just thought I could give you your kiss if you were up to it.”

Tomura’s ear twitched.

You continued playfully, “but if you’re not feeling up to it then...”

Tomura opened his eyes with a snap and narrowed them at you, “I feel well enough for a kiss-,” he said snappishly, then caught himself and coughed as if ill, “I think,” he corrected, pretending to struggle to get up. You pushed him down again, getting on top of him, pushing your plush tits to his chest.

“You really think so?” You said, licking your lips. “I don’t wanna hurt you again.”

“No, no, this is good, this is fine.” He nodded eagerly, hoping you weren’t feeling his rock hard stiffie. Oh, you were, you were grinding on it, that was hot.

“Okay then” you breathed. You touched your lips to his tenderly, belying the fact that you were grinding your hot core against his zippered erection. Tomura grunted, opening his mouth, enjoying the wet hot slide and the perfect way your mouths slotted together. And oh, you had his lower lip between your teeth. Tomura was sure he would faint again. You only nipped him gently before returning to your passionate makeout session. The hotness of it was giving Tomura enough courage to run his hand up your sides. You whimpered and grasped his hand, shoving it under your skirt. Tomura’s head combusted. He could feel the swell of your thigh and the slick slide of your tongues against each other, he didn’t know what to focus on at all. You ended the kiss with a gross pop and Tomura could see there was still a drip of saliva connecting your mouths. “Oops,” you giggle, diving in for a naughty peck which broke the saliva string. You twirled a finger through your long gorgeous hair, “Got a little carried away.”

Tomura nodded in agreement. “Yeah same.” And at that point he decided he could die happy.

————

You couldn’t believe it. Tomura fainted. He gave you fifty bucks and passed the heck out, twitching disturbingly on the ground and frothing at the mouth.

You’d called an ambulance immediately of course. A man just went down! How could you not?

They’d been fussing around inside for almost an hour now. And it wasn’t looking good.

A tired looking nurse emerged from the back of the ambulance, “Sorry, are you family? Anyway, uh the kid’s dead, sorry,” he told you, “He had a heart attack.” Your team tittered behind you, gasps and other noises of horror.

Some guy yelled unhelpfully “Y/N just killed a guy!!”

Dear God, you supposed you had. That wasn’t a rumour you’d live down so easy. Not after the cat incident. And the poor guy didn’t even get his kiss.

But you were keeping the fifty.

#major character death #shigaraki imagines #shigaraki fluff #shigaraki/reader #shigarakixreader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki

192 notes · View notes

redstainedsocks · 3 years

Text

Back to the beginning

So I wanted some context on what had happened to Zach in the first place and also to show some of the differences pre- and post- captivity and lo, another POV character was born.

Warnings: violence, fight scene, knife mention, taser, injuries, kidnapping on video, torture mention, scared whumpee, aftermath of captivity, stress/trauma responses.

Part 1, part 2

Sasha had watched the security footage many times. Possibly hundreds. At first looking for clues for a way to find Zach after he’d been grabbed, then later out of guilt, and then later still out of a desire to see him again at his best—whole and fighting and fierce.

They had all thought it would be the last time they’d see him alive. They’d been proven wrong when two videos and a couple of dozen photos had been sent on a memory card to their headquarters. Footage of Zach bleeding and blurry and suffering. He’d been tortured, clearly. The extent of the damage was impossible to tell but it didn’t look good.

It was his eyes in those pictures which had haunted Sasha—they’d been lifeless, empty of joy. He looked like a man who believed there was nothing good left to experience. And then they’d found his body—or, so they’d thought.

That was two years and three months ago, and now he’d been found, alive but littered with injuries, and he was on his way here after three days in hospital.

Sasha couldn’t say why, in her nervous anticipation, she opened the window and played the video again. It seemed to happen without her deciding to do it, some kind of ingrained response to her worry. There was no sound but in Sasha’s mind it played with background static. The black and white footage was grainy, but she’d seen it so many times by now that it looked crystal clear to her eyes.

She’d been Zach’s field partner that day and she’d let him down. They’d come up against a wall of tear gas and retreated; it was an ambush no doubt about it. The first sight of Zach on the footage was him stumbling backwards, arm flung out. The inside of the building wasn’t caught on the CCTV, she knew they’d left out of a side door but that was where her memory ended. Someone had been waiting, taken her down with one swift blow to the back of the neck. The last glimpses of Zach on that day were here, while she had lain unconscious just out of view, mere feet away.

Zach was clearly fighting someone, his back was to the camera but he jolted, parried and blocked with an assailant just off-screen. His weapon had been knocked aside and he fought empty handed for a drawn out series of blows and strikes back. There was one long, agonising minute where he stumbled out of view of the cameras before he reappeared with a small knife in hand. Probably the one from his own boot but they had never been able to verify that.

He slashed and jumped back, his instincts and training were strong and there was no reason to believe he couldn’t hold his own in a one-on-one fight. He circled his opponent and faded into the shadows to the right of the screen, and came back with speed, arm raised, ready to strike. The person he fought was in range of the camera by that point—masked and unidentifiable—and they grappled for a long moment, until Zach was thrust aside. He found his feet easily enough, caught his balance, and blocked two hits to the face but took one to the stomach. He doubled over, the footage wobbled, static blurred the screen for a second.

As Zach straightened the last time Sasha held her breath. She leaned in closer to the monitor knowing what was coming.

Zach stumbled forward with a sudden jerk, his arm hanging limply and his knife dropped out of shot while he doubled over. He took a harsh blow to the face and swung around, going down hard on one knee. Even after all this time Sasha still winced. She could see the bolt of the crossbow glinting where it protruded from his shoulder even in the lowlight film.

She had a burst of pride, like always, as Zach clawed back to his feet. He blocked another punch that should have sent him sprawling, kicked away the knife that he’d dropped so it couldn’t be used against him, and faced his attacker once more. Her stomach flipped as the end of the altercation drew near. There was a short grapple and the bolt in his shoulder was grabbed and yanked on, and Zach threw his head back in what could only have been a howl of pain.

Once Zach was shoved to the ground the second attacker appeared, and he tried to get up only to be tased into a twitching, helpless tangle of limbs on the ground. Sasha watched with a sense of righteous anger burn through her, it was worse now that she knew this brutal fight didn’t only lead to weeks of pain and a messy death for Zach… but years of lost time, where he could have been subjected to almost anything. Knowing now that it only got worse for him made her sick.

He snarled at them, bared his teeth, tried valiantly to get back on his feet and keep fighting and only went still when they tased him a second time—paralysed and possibly unconscious. She watched them rip off his helmet, his arm bracers, his Kevlar vest, all of it discarded onto the tarmac beside where he lay. The two attackers were brutal, landing kicks and slapping Zach around the face.

Sasha sped up the footage, watching at two times the speed as one of the attackers made a brief call, a van pulled up—license plate obscured—and they dragged Zach into it. There was only a dark grey puddle that Sasha knew to be blood left behind. She stopped, closed the program, and rubbed at her eyes.

She knew what came next, she didn’t need to see it. Her team arriving too late, the ambulance that was called to assist her, the weeks of sleepless nights and fruitless searching. She pulled her hair out of her braid to plait it again with practiced ease, a way to calm her nerves. She’d lived with her shortcomings that day, made as much peace as she could knowing she wasn’t the only one to blame. The entire mission had been compromised and she only played one small part in the turn of events. It still kept her up at night though, it still ate away at her confidence at her ability to do her job—though she would never tell anyone that.

And today… she was going to look the man she let down in the eye. The man who had been through hell and back, the man she should have helped to protect, should have been fighting side by side with. How would he react? Did he hold resentment? Would he rather not see her?

For that matter, it was possible he would rather not see any of them, but the team was the only safe place he thought he could gp?

The message came that the vehicle was only a few minutes away and Sasha stood and smoothed down her shirt, grabbed her jacket and put it on, if only for something to hold on to if she needed to ground herself. Best to face it head on and get it over with. Better to know. She’d had enough years of thinking the worst.

She wasn’t the only one who decided to be part of a welcoming committee and they met the convoy of vehicles in the underground car park below their current office headquarters, and came out of the lift just as the cars pulled to a stop. The windows were blacked out and she waited anxiously next to Lacey and Jordan as their old leader, Emit Bryson climbed out of the first car with his assistant in tow. Bryson looked tired, his frown lines looked deeper than usual on his dark skin and shadows blurred under his eyes, but he had a bounce in his step that Sasha didn’t think she’d seen since Zach was taken. He caught her eye and nodded, smoothing down his wool coat with one hand while the other loosened his tie and top button. His walking stick was, for the moment, tucked under his arm and out of use.

Archer jumped out of the second car and helped to guide a tense man out after him; a man who shrank in on himself trying to look smaller than he was, and it took Sasha a second to put the pieces together. That was Zach. He had a blindfold over his eyes and was utterly still when Archer let go of his hands. The blindfold was a necessity to protect their new location until Zach could be confirmed to be uncompromised and fit to know and protect their secrets once again. It still seemed cruel when she thought about how untethered Zach must feel.

Archer leaned in and spoke to Zach, and Zach slowly reached up and pulled away the sleep mask that had doubled as a blindfold. His eyes were brightly alert, flicking quickly from place to place, and Sasha could only guess at how many times he’d had to assess danger while completely helpless before it.

Besides the rise and fall of his breath that rocked him back and forth he was frozen in place when he wasn’t being guided to move. His movements were jerky and so unlike the vibrant man she knew before. Zach was nearly always doing something with his body- tapping his foot or fingers and he was fluid and smooth, almost dancer-like when he moved, his posture relaxed and easy, unless he was alert out in the field. Which she guessed, in a way, made sense. He’d gone out on a mission it had never ended, he’d never got to come home. This was what years of being unable to relax, unable to rest, probably did to a person.

It turned her stomach, and made the whole thing seem suddenly more real—the stuff of nightmares come to life.

Bryson strode forward and gestured for Zach and Archer to follow. Sasha turned and locked eyes with Jordan and Lacey in turn, seeing her own shock mirrored on their faces. As much as they’d tried to prepare themselves, seeing Zach like this was never going to be easy.

Lacey recovered first and stepped forward first, raising her hand and offering a wide smile. “Hey, we all came down to see you, I hope that’s alright. Way to be overwhelming right?” she laughed breezily, breaking the tension as she shoved her hands in her pockets with a shrug. “We just wanted to welcome you home, well, back.”

Zach latched on to each person who spoke, his attention zeroed in on whoever was moving and addressing him like his life depended on it.

“You all know each other well enough, I think Zach will be able to lead the way in how comfortable he feels able to talk to you all, and how soon,” Bryson said.

Zach’s eyes widened, and he licked his lips with obvious nervous energy. Sasha wanted to reach out and pat him on the shoulder, say something, anything. Offer comfort. What comfort could she have to offer?

“I can… yes? Hi. Hi, all of you.” He glanced around the sea of faces but Sasha was fairly sure he didn’t actually see any of them, not really. Zach’s voice shook but he smiled briefly, a flash of upturned lips, and then looked to Archer for something Sasha couldn’t name.

“It’s been a long day, long… lots of days. Let’s get upstairs first and then we can all say our hellos and I miss yous and all of that. No reason to rush, we have time,” Archer said, smoothing over the awkwardness. He muscled forward with his large frame to call the lift down and Zach stuck close on his heels, close enough to bump with his elbow though Sasha noted that he carefully kept his body from touching. “I could really go for some coffee, dunno about anyone else.”

“I think some refreshments and a good sit down will be in order, yes,” Bryson replied. “Did anyone buy more of my favourite blend yet?”

Jordan, with his smooth voice and easy grace, answered. “Of course, what do you take us for? We wouldn’t let you go without it two visits in a row. I think someone made a run out for Zach’s favourite tea too, so we have the basics covered.” He winked at Zach and Zach blushed.

The lift pinged open behind her and Sasha moved aside to let everyone through, Zach’s gaze landed on her and he winced, she watched him swallow and carefully fold his arms across his chest. Her heart withered, desperately sad, furious all over again… until he raised three fingers from his elbow and tilted half his mouth up into a smile.

She smiled back broadly, nodded at him, and he melted into Archer’s side looking positively exhausted.

Sasha had no idea what any of it meant, or where his head was at, but the fact that he hadn’t yelled or dismissed her or cried… that was better than her worst fears. Maybe it would be alright? There were too many of them to fit in the lift, the passengers from the cars took up all the space and Sasha, Jordan, and Lacey waved them off. They could have waited for a second lift, but none of them wanted to stand around awkwardly waiting. There was too much nervous energy between them, so they took to the stairs instead. It was four flights up to their main office, and if she thought the time for useless wondering about what had happened to her friend was over—well, she had ninety-six stairs and several painful days ahead to ponder it more.

[Taglist: @haro-whumps, @whumpthisway let me know if you’d like to be added or removed]

#whump OC #whump series #team whump #I mean sort of?#OC team #aftermath of whump #whump recovery #knives tw #referenced violence #kidnapping #torture mention #capture video #taser #stress response #trauma recovery #trauma response #post captivity whump #Zach and Archer

65 notes · View notes

rainy-day-gracie · 4 years

Text

Falling

hey hey hey !!

this was a Spencer Reid request for Reader to have some kind of past trauma so she pushes Spencer away despite having feelings for him. On a bombing case, she opens up to him.

9/11 disussion, if you are ever in New York city I highly recommend visiting the 9/11 museum. Has lots of artifacts and letters sent from the terrorists, very moving. I visited last summer and was almost in tears.

Fluff and angst, the usual

MASTERLIST

“Can you catch it?” I laughed as I threw kernels of popcorn at Reid, him failing at catching them in his mouth.

“That was definitely your fault, it wasn’t even close,” Reid complained jokingly. I just shrugged, popping a kernel into my mouth and ignoring the way my heart beat when he smiled.

Nope, my heart is not open for business, I told myself.

As we were lost in our chuckles, the team and I almost didn’t notice Hotch run from his office to Rossi’s and then down the stairs.

“Wheels up in 10. We’ll brief on the jet.”

I looked to Reid with furrowed eyebrows. “That’s not good.”

His eyes followed Hotch, who was already headed to the elevators. “No, it is not.”

“A bomb just went off in the Forest Brush Elementary school in South Carolina an hour ago. Right now, body count is 24, the number of injuries rising.” Hotch gave us the news with heavy eyes, and the plane was silent.

“Location is definitely intentional, the unsub probably had a rocky childhood,” I said, not totally sure of what I was saying. Reid noticed my unfocused eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

Glass windows and foundation shattering.

“Where was the bomb planted in the school?” Morgan asked Hotch.

“The unsub didn’t plant it. He kept the bomb in his car and drove it into the school cafeteria before detonating it with a remote. They still haven’t identified the bomber yet.” Hotch said without looking up from his flies. I fought to listen to what they were saying, instead of getting lost in the memories.

Screams of terror and overwhelming smell of smoke.

“YLN?” A hand nudged my arm gently, and I flinched at the movement. My eyes met Reid’s, and he gave me a questioning look.

“I’m fine… I just wanna find out who did this.” Reid didn’t buy it, but he didn’t press.

“Alright, everyone needs to dive into their assignments as soon as we touch ground. Morgan, Prentiss, JJ, Rossi go to the elementary school and help with search and rescue. If there’s any witnesses at all, get them medical help and then do an interview. Reid, YLN and I will go to the police station to meet with families, examine blueprints of the school, and contact the press.” Hotch looked to me, and I shot him a grateful look. The press I can handle. __

After an hour at the police station, I was already exhausted. “The press want a statement from the principal, apparently he ran into the school continuously to save as many kids as he could.”

Reid raised his eyebrows. “Wow, that is really brave. Has the team interviewed him yet?”

I shook my head. “No, he’s still being checked out by medics. I just don’t understand how the press can’t just let the witnesses alone, let them deal with their trauma without a camera shoved in their face.” My words came out bitterly, and Reid noticed.

“Hey, what’s going on with you? Is everything okay?” For some reason his words only made me angry.

“No, everything is not okay. 24 kids and teachers are dead.” I glared up at him before storming away.

He caught my arm before I could get far. “YFN... did something happen to you?”

My anger melted away as quickly as it had come, and I pulled on his tie. “Come on,” I said simply, leading us into an empty room. My breath started to come more quickly, and I shut the door fast behind us.

Reid looked at me with kind eyes, and my heart did jumping jacks. “What happened to you? You’ve been different on this case, I’ve never seen you like this.”

I closed my eyes, leaning back against the closed door. “United Airlines, Flight 175.”

His expression changed immediately. “You... were in New York?”

“On September 11th, 2001, I was a 20 year old intern, working in the North Tower of the Global Trade center. I lost a part of myself that day, and that was the day that made me want to join the FBI. To fight people that prey on the innocent.” I gulped, tears biting the edges of my eyes and memories flooding my vision. “When the tower collapsed, I could feel the rubble pressing down on my chest. I should’ve died, but I was coming back from getting coffee so I wasn’t high up when the plane hit.”

Reid tried to pull me into a hug, but I pushed him away. His eyes turned from sympathetic to sad. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“No, it’s not you, I promise. I just don’t...” If I hugged him, my heart wouldn’t be able to keep from falling. Like the towers on that fateful day. “I was engaged to my high school sweetheart... he was going to surprise me with breakfast since I was in a rush that morning, and he was waiting for me when...”

Tears streamed down my face, and when Reid pulled me into a hug, I didn’t resist him this time. “Is that why you push me away?” He whispered into my hair.

“Yes.”

Both of our phones buzzed, snapping us out of our daze.

Hotch had sent a text to the team group chat. Need press conference, as many cameras as possible.

I looked at Reid, having a newfound gratitude for him. “Thanks... for being worried about me.”

He gave a small smile. “I’ll always worry about you. That’s just the way it is.” __

“Earlier today, 29 year old Charlie Calloway drove a black Jeep Cherokee into Forest Brush Elementary, killing 24 people and injuring many more.” I kept my chin high, looking into each and every camera surrounding me. “The FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit is currently working the case around the clock, not resting until we have completed our investigation. With the help of the Charleston Field Office, we have set up a tip line for anyone with information regarding the explosion.” Keep talking, give enough time for the tip line to buzz. “We are here to ensure that nothing like this happens again.”

I rambled for another 10 minutes before Reid from across the room gave me a thumbs up. “Thank you for your time. No questions will be answered for now.”

The team was circling a phone held by Rossi when I reentered the police station. “The unsub called. He had a partner.” Reid murmured in my ear. “The press conference drew him out.”

Rossi glanced briefly at me before turning his attention back to the phone. “What is your goal?” Rossi asked, and there was a brief pause before he spoke again. “Revenge is the oldest motive in the book-” Rossi was cut off, and his gaze landed on me again. “He wants to talk to YFN.”

My heart seemed to beat slowly, too slow. “Um, uh, yeah. Yeah, I’ll talk to him.”

Rossi handed me the phone, quickly talking me through what to do. “Don’t call him a coward, it would set him off on a rampage. Play into his fantasy, act afraid.”

“I am afraid.”

“So show him that. He sees women as lesser, that’s why he got so enraged when he saw you on TV. If we can get him to underestimate you, he’ll slip up and give something away.” Rossi gave me the phone, and Spencer’s warm fingers slipped into my free hand.

“Who am I speaking to?” I asked, trying not to hyperventilate.

Police sirens and my eyes stinging with dust.

“What gave you the right to lie to those reporters?”

“What do you mean?” My voice shook slightly, and I didn’t try to hide it.

“‘We are here to ensure that nothing like this happens again,’“ he said in a mocking tone. His voice was slightly out of breath, like he was moving, and the sound of cars said he was on a city street.

“Just doing my job, sir,” I said, squeezing Reid’s hand.

“Oh yeah? Well so am I.” His voice was on the phone, but it was also close. I looked across the field office at a young man giving me a sick smile. He had on a thick trench coat, and in an instant, he unclenched a fist I didn’t even see.

The blast seemed to happen in slow motion. The entire team got blown across the office, along with every single law enforcement officer on the first floor.

My vision went black, and I woke up on a stretcher outside what was left of the building. My head pounded worse than anything I had ever experienced, but I lifted it enough to see the scene with blurry vision. Endless ambulances and police cars, a massive sea of onlookers barely being held back by officers, and my whole team scattered around by different paramedics.

Except Reid.

“Reid?” I called out, getting to my feet and stumbling around the pavement. A mass of curly brown hair collapsed on the ground caught my eye from inside the building, flames and rubble surrounding him. “Reid!”

Paramedics tried holding me back from the scene, but somehow I was able to slip out of their grip while running towards the caved in building.

Dust fell in my eyes and the ceiling creaked, letting me know in my hazy state of mind that the building was about to collapse on top of us. I got to Spencer, who was groaning and crawling as best he could.

“Hey, hey, Reid, c’mon, time to go,” I hooked my arms around his stomach, lifting him to his knees and unsteadily to his feet.

“YFN...” he mumbled, his brown eyes becoming focused on my face. Spencer snapped out of his daze. “Time to go.”

We ran out as soon as the ceiling caved in, and the burst of adrenaline wore off instantly. Spencer and I collapsed on the pavement, our chests heaving.

“YFN... you saved my life.” Spencer looked over at me as paramedics raced toward us.

“Of course,” I said breathlessly. “I love you.”

“What?” His face was lost in a swarm of paramedics, and I smiled to myself.

Late that night, we were all silent on the jet ride back. It was concluded that the bombings were over, and everyone wanted to go home anyway.

I was half asleep in my seat when Spencer sat lazily next to me, neither of us saying anything.

Spencer was the one who spoke first.

“You are the bravest person I’ve ever met. For you go through what you’ve gone through and still run into collapsing building to save a friend...”

He trailed off for a moment, probably considering the word ‘friend’. Are we really just friends at this point, after everything we’ve gone through? “I know that you push me away because of what happened to your fiance’, but you can’t keep yourself away from happiness out of fear something might happen to me.” He laced his fingers through mine gently. “I love you, and I’ll wait for when you’re ready. I just want you to be happy.”

A soft smile came to my lips, and I looked over at him next to me. “I love you too, Spencer. But you already know that.”

Spencer chuckled, and I drifted off to sleep on his shoulder. The sound of glass shattering and the smell of smoke left my brain for the first time since that fateful day in New York.

Spencer lightly pressed a kiss to my forehead, and I fell asleep with a small smile still on my lips.

TAG LIST: @squirrellover1967 @yomama-umbridge @tiktokslut @ sknnymnne @pinkdiamond1016 @vixengustin88

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #dr reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic

271 notes · View notes

jinmukangwrites · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2020, Day 2

Kidnapping

A03

Warnings: violence against a minor, kidnapping, panic attacks, near death experiences

-o-o-o-o-

There's the sound of people moving close by. Shuffling and mumbling amongst each other. It's grating on Damian's nerves.

Not that he'll let them see that he's unnerved or anything close to it. It's just, well, he's currently tied to a chair with miles of duct tape around his wrists and ankles—connecting him to the arms and legs of the chair—and wearing a hood over his head to obscure his vision. There's also a slap of tape across his mouth to keep him somewhat gagged.

He's been kidnapped. Off the streets like some hunted animal, into a van filled with people waving guns and shouting. The effects of the chloroform they used on him are still wearing off, making it so that even though he's been awake for quite awhile now, stuck in this room and restrained to a chair, he can still hardly find the strength to lift his head or summon the coordination in his fingers to test his bonds.

Kidnapped.

This is… his first time being kidnapped as Damian Wayne. Not as Robin. Not as an Al Ghul heir.

Just: thirteen year old Damian Wayne.

And Damian had never believed Richard about how scary it was when the older man had explained to him what to do in case of abduction via civilian identity. Damian's starting to see it now.

He's starting to understand now.

And, admittedly, it is scary. More scary than any of his other identities. At least when he was kidnapped for his connections to his grandfather, the kidnappers knew how dangerous he was. And as Robin, there's no need to hold back. But as he is now… they want him as Bruce Wayne's tiny little son.

So there's no slipping his binds, no glorious escapes with flying kicks and powerful punches. He can only sit here and be expected to whimper and cry like any other child hostage. He hasn't had any contact with the kidnappers yet, since waking up, but he can already tell it will be humiliating.

But he will do it, because Richard told him to. It's how you keep safe in situations like this. You act weak like they expect you to be, and you don't make yourself anything close to a threat to them.

The mumbling around him continues and Damian's head is still too muddled to pick the conversations apart. He's pretty sure he's heard ransom and Wayne a few times, so hopefully, this shouldn't take too long or be too traumatic. Damian knows there is no price his father wouldn't pay for him.

Or at least… he thinks he knows.

He quickly shoves that doubt to some corner of his hazy mind to focus on trying to fight past the lingering effects of chloroform. He doesn't remember much from the initial kidnapping, just chaos and yelling and not being able to breathe as he's dragged away, but they must have given him just a little too much. Feeling sick to your stomach is a common effect of the sedative, but Damian's been trained since his first memories to be able to have an immunity greater than most adults to these kinds of drugs.

They must have given him too much. Must have. Because he can't bear the thought of finally getting weaker like his mother and grandfather always says he will if he spends too much time with his father and his family.

Somehow without Damian having noticed anyone had come up to him, the fabric bag over his head is ripped off, adulting his sensitive eyes with light too bright for him to meet straight on. He lets his first instincts run, the ones that don't make him force back whimpers and flinches to put on a show that he's more mature than what his age may imply. He cringes away from the light, squeezing his eyes shut, but then the bag of his head is grabbed and calloused fingers dig into his cheek, tugging the tape off his mouth in one huge rip. Tears sting his eyes as his entire mouth goes numb. He's pretty sure the tape took skin from his lips with it, causing the metallic taste of blood to enter his mouth.

Before he can try to even recover from that, something is pressed against his ear. He thinks he hears something like his name being called out to him, but everything is so fuzzy and far away.

It's a slap to the cheek that gets the fog to clear a little. The first thing he hears is the sound of his father yelling to not hurt Damian.

Father. The thing pressed against his ear. A phone.

Ransom.

Proof of life.

"Say hi ta daddy," a man's voice says, his voice tight and angry like he's had to repeat himself multiple times. He probably has had to.

Slowly, Damian takes a deep breath, fighting the fog that is already beginning to creep back in. He tries to open his eyes, but the light is so bright. It's all he can do to open his mouth and say "f'ther…"

But apparently, that's enough for the kidnappers, because the phone is ripped from his ear and a hand slaps another piece of tape over his mouth, replacing the bag immediately after.

Damian huffs, quickly becoming annoying of being restrained, blinded, and silenced like this. Quickly beginning to very much dislike the lingering effects of drugs. Everything is so far away and muted, but so overwhelming at the same time. It makes something tighten in his chest as the kidnapper (kidnappers, right? There are multiple? There's multiple voices in the room…) speaks to Damian's father with tight, angry, and overly confident words.

"And I want the money by midnight tonight, or else you're never seein' the brat alive again," the man says. How far away is midnight? How long does Damian's father have to gather the ransom? (And… how much is it? How much is Damian worth? No, no that doesn't matter. Father will pay any price).

The call must end after that, because a short time later, Damian feels a rough hand grab the top sections of his hair through the bag. Damian's now very much aware of a presence right in front of him. The nauseating smell of cigarettes assaults his sensitive senses.

"You're goin' ta sit here and not make a sound, yeah?" The man says, the same one who was talking to his father. Damian can recognize him by his unique accent, which is lazy. If you're going to kidnap someone, at least copy the accent of the area the person lives in. That way, the victim won't be able to predict where you come from and narrow down your identity and… and how drugged is he? Criticizing the tactics the kidnapper has used to kidnap him? Get it together Damian. "Cooperate, and no unnecessary harm will come ta ya, kay?"

He doesn't wait for Damian to even attempt to try and answer, because with a rough shove, Damian's head is forced down so his chin hits his chest.

His head spins at the sudden movement, and it takes him way too long to realize the voices have shifted around him. Fading in and out until Damian manages to crawl back to awareness and realize everything is silent now.

No movement. No talking.

Nothing.

Just the sounds of his own breathing and the freaking of the chair he's tied to every time he shifts.

He focuses on that silence. On the internal noises. Meditating until the traitorous feeling in his stomach begins to settle—until the muffled feeling in his brain begins to clear.

He flexes his hand, scowling at the numb feeling that still lingers in the joints of each finger. He wonders slightly if it's because of the ever-persistent after-effects of drugs or if it's because the tape is so tight it's cutting off circulation.

He slowly works his sluggish fingers into a fist, then he tugs on the tape. He feels weaker than a newborn kitten, but judging on how there's a bump in the groove of the wood near his left wrist that hasn't shifted at all with his tugging, the tape is definitely tight.

Damian released a breath through his nose, deciding to now risk opening his eyes. He doesn't see much, just vague lights shining through the pitiful thread count of the bag, but that's not all bad. With the holes between each woven fiber of fabric shining through with light, he'd be able to see vague forms of people and things around him.

There's nothing. Just light. Nothing moves, nothing changes.

Damian must be alone in the room.

He curls his fingers, picking at whatever tape that's in his reach, trying to decide where he needs to go from here.

He could force himself to disregard the nausea swimming in his body and lean forward to grab the hood with one of his tapped hands, then rip the tape off his mouth, then chew the edges of tape around his wrists until he manages to get it loose enough to slip through. He'd then free his other arm and his two legs, stand up, and break the legs of this creaky chair to have a blunt force weapon. Then, using the walls as support until the adrenaline kicks in, he'll leave the room he's trapped in and find a way hopefully unnoticed. If he is noticed, well, that's what the chair leg and the adrenalin is for.

Damian is a skilled warrior. He was trained by the best of the best, the most deadly of the deadly. He knows how to kill a man so many ways it's impossible to really narrow down to numbers.

He'll take down his kidnappers, leave the building, then find the closest road. Hail a car. Ask for a phone. Call father and ask to be picked up and for an ambulance; not for him of course but for the men and women he left drooling on the floor behind him.

It would be spectacular. A daring escape that these buffoons wouldn't expect. A tale to be praised and retold.

Or he could sit here, pretending to be a frightened, privileged rich thirteen year old boy like they think he is. Like what Richard told him to be.

Don't make yourself a target. Be what they expect you to be, and wait for me to find you. Don't out yourself unless you absolutely need to. Life or death, Damian. Promise me.

Damian promised. Unless he was in an immediate threat to his life or physical well being, he has to keep up the act.

That was when Richard was Batman. And even though father is back, Damian can guess the same rules stay in place. Richard was raised by his father, after all, and he has the family record of most civilian abductions.

Which also means he has the record of most civilian abductions survived.

But… technically his life is being threatened. If father doesn't pay the ransom, they'll kill Damian. Or so they say. But... but father will pay. Damian shouldn't have to be worried. In fact, he isn't worried. All he needs to do is sit tight and wait for this all to be over. They said midnight tonight. Yes, that could mean a minute of waiting here or a full twenty four hours, but that's fine.

Father will come.

Batman will come if it so demands. He always does.

(Except for when he doesn't).

And maybe it's the fuzziness still in his brain. Maybe it's the weak limbs or the confusing situation or the half-formed memories that won't let him remember what he was doing walking out in the city to be kidnapped in the first place.

But that thought… the thought that maybe father won't come… it sticks in there. No matter how hard he tries to shove it away.

Because what if… father doesn't come? If he were in his right mind, this train of thought wouldn't even cross his mind.

But now it's all he can think about.

Because Damian… and his father... do not have the best relationship. Being Robin hasn't been the same since he came back. Living in the manor hasn't been the same. There's so many arguments in each other's presence, so many tense interactions that has Damian not even bothering to go downstairs from his room unless he needed to eat. Father is always angry and distrustful with Damian, like he's waiting for Damian to slip up and ruin something. Kill someone.

Damian is Bruce Wayne's biological son.

But he's also the only child he didn't choose.

What if… what if he uses this as an opportunity to finally be rid of Damian? Let the kidnappers off him and then wipe his hands clean, saying there was nothing he could have done. No one would mourn him, except maybe Richard. But everyone else, especially Timothy…

He's shoving down the urge to throw up and bending down to start trying to escape before he knows it because it feels like such a fact that everyone wants him gone… but Damian doesn't want to be. He's already died once, and he promised himself that he'll get better. He won't go back down to hell. He'll make things right. He'll be normal, and kind, and gentle. He just needs a little more time to fix himself. Time that can't be taken away from him now.

It takes a few tries, tries that have his wrists straining against his binds, to get the hood off his face. He squeezes his eyes shut at the assaulting light, but forces them open again to get a read on his situation. Blinking tears from his eyes, he studies the room he's placed in the center of. Well, it can't be called much of a room, it's more like a small, square storage closet, one that—judging by the flattened carpet near his feet—recently had things moved out of it to make room for Damian. The walls are an ugly yellow color that would have Alfred the Butler wrinkling his nose to, especially if he saw the dark wooden baseboards. There's a door immediately in front of Damian, and the knob doesn't look like it has a lock. They must have faith in the binds they've put Damian in to place him in a room that doesn't lock.

They're going to regret that.

Still squinting his eyes, Damian bends forward again and twists his wrists raw against the tape in an attempt to reach the strip on his mouth. It isn't as difficult to do this time because he can see now, even if his sight is limited thanks to the persistent blurriness and sensitivity that comes from the lingering effects of chloroform. The feeling of the tape leaving his cheeks and mouth is sharp and painful, and he tastes more blood enter his mouth at the action thanks to various sections of his chapped lips deciding they'd rather stick with the tape.

Now that that's over, Damian moves his free mouth to his wrists, trying to lash his teeth to the cut end of the tape. The tape on his left wrist ends near the joint of his thumb, which he figures will be easier to get to than the where it's located on his right wrist: under the chair arm. It takes a few tries, but he eventually manages to dig his lower teeth under the end and begin the process of unraveling. He clenches his teeth, then jerks to the side, the tape following the motion.

He forces it as far as he can bend within his trapped position—and thankfully, by the time where contorting like this begins to become painful, the bit of tape is long enough for his fingers to grab if he strains against the bindings.

It takes a short amount of time for the plastic to reach a point where he can grab at with his teeth again, and he's in the process of doing so when he suddenly hears voices on the other side of the door.

He freezes for a second, heart fluttering up to his throat, and immediately begins to try and listen to the muffled voices.

"Three million," a woman's voice says, her tone in a whispered sigh. "Can you actually believe that the kid in there is worth three million."

The number is so shocking that Damian almost misses what is said next by a man's voice this time. Though, it's different from the man who made the ransom call.

"Oh, I can. Wayne is up to his balls in money. I'm sure he's spent more on whores."

No. No that is not true. Three million?

That's... That's...

The door suddenly opens and Damian realizes he's accidentally fallen still while listening to the conversation. It's comedic, almost, how the woman stops in her tracks after opening the door, a man behind her looking shocked with his mouth open.

Then, the woman rushes forward and wraps one hand around Damian's halfway freed wrist and then bunches a chunk of hair in her other, forcing him away so his back slams into the back of the chair. He bites off a cry at the harsh movement. He's failed. He's gotten caught. Pathetic.

Weak.

"Don't just stand there, you idiot," the woman practically screeches towards the man, "go get Dee!"

The man nods, then turns tail out of the room in what could possibly be a sprint.

The woman snarls under her breath, tightening her grip so it's harsher than what the tape initially was. "You shit," she hisses. "How'd you get this far?!"

"The money," Damian says instead of answering her questions. "You're not going to get it. It's impossible."

Her grip tightens. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"My father doesn't have that much money just... Just sitting around. It takes time to get that much money. More than twenty four hours."

"Don't bullshit me, brat," the woman hisses, her voice just barely a little louder than the distant sound of approaching footsteps. Angry footsteps. "I've seen the numbers. He donated more than that to the fucking water plant just a bit ago."

"It's true. That money, he had already been saving up and setting aside months prior. And the rest of his money he has in stocks- or on the way to charities or into the funds meant to financially support Batman and the Justice League-" Damian cuts off with a wince as her fingers tighten. Her grip is grinding on his ulna and radius. "There's no way you're getting the money. You have to give him more time- or let me g-"

"Are ya insane?!" A newcomer shouts. Damian almost flinches at the noise. Here he is. The ransom call man.

He must be in charge of this dumpster fire of a kidnapping.

Damian flicks his eyes away from the woman still holding him towards the man. He looks… normal. For a white American man. Medium build, barely any neck, dirty brown hair and black framed glasses that aren't shaped like anything exciting.

It's then that Damian realizes that none of them are wearing masks.

There's only one reason why an abductor wouldn't wear a mask or cover their face in some way.

They don't intend on letting the victim leave.

Or maybe, this man is the only one that doesn't intend to see Damian go. Maybe the others are all naive enough to follow his every order and get there cut of three million. Whatever the case, the look in the man's pale eyes are furious, his lips turned down into his five o'clock shadow.

"I don't know how this happened, D-"

"Don't use names!" The man screeches, walking forward with his finger held towards her like it was a wand casting a horrible spell. "Get the tape! Tie him back up, and someone get me the chloroform."

"The chloroform, boss?" The other man, the one who had been talking with the woman earlier, asks. Damian remains stiff and antsy as the woman finally lets him go to grab a roll of tape which just happened to be on the floor and Damian hadn't noticed. "So soon? But, isn't that dangerous-?"

"What does it matter?!" Dee snarls, causing the other man to quickly walk back out of the room like a dog with its tail shamefully tucked between its legs.

There's the sound of duct-tape being unwound, the noise cutting through the air like a swinging sword.

"So your plan is to bleed my father dry of everything he has," Damian hisses towards the man as the woman begins to re-wrap his wrist to the chair, "and then kill me anyway when he can't get you everything."

And maybe Damian shouldn't be gibing at the already livid man. He realizes this when red fills his face as he stomps forward, shoving the woman out of the way to wrap Damian's wrist the rest of the way up, and then takes a separate strip and practically slaps it onto Damian's mouth.

"I told ya not ta try anythin'," the man snarls when Damian glares at him. He doesn't back down at the glare either, even though Damian made it as intense as he possibly could. A "batglare" as Richard so lovingly puts it. Except most bat leveled glares are depleted by the lack of mask and milky eyes. "I told ya you'll get hurt if you do."

Damian's heartbeat kicks in and he jerks in his restraints when the man moves his hand towards one of Damian's trapped ones, digging through Damian's clenched fist until he grabs the middle digit and starts bending it backwards.

Damian does his best to free his finger and bend it back down, but unfortunately, the finger strength of a thirteen year old is destined to always be weaker than a full grown man. He prepares himself for the pain before it hits, oftentimes, broken fingers are more shocking and painful than one expects.

When the sickening snap hits the air, Damian's left with a split second decision to bite off his grunt or verbally shout. It's painful. Definitely painful enough to warrant a shout. Richard has always told him to go with his first instincts when kidnapped in a civilian's identity.

But this man wants to kill Damian. He had been planning to kill Damian all along, judging by his lack of surprise or confusion when Damian called him out.

This man will kill Damian in less than a day's time. Perhaps exactly at midnight.

Damian doesn't shout. This man doesn't deserve to feel more powerful. He doesn't deserve to let Damian play into his hands. If he's going to kill Damian anyway, he should at least be honest about it! He hates Americans and their sleazy ways, always hiding behind secrets and double meanings. If Damian were back with Grandfather, no one there would lie about desiring Damian's death.

So he doesn't shout like he wants to. Just grunts and pants through his nose as his finger is released, a pulse in it that's in time with his heart, making the hurting practically vibrate in intensity.

He can barely contain his shouting when the man begins to add more duct-tape to his wrists, wrapping his hands down so they're flat to the arms of the chair. There will be no using his fingers to try and escape now. They're pinned, and all Damian can do is continue to glare; taking deep breaths through his nose, and ignoring how the pressure of the tape on his broken finger presses down with horribly sharp pins and needles.

The other man returns now, holding a brown tinted glass bottle that looks like it should contain iodine of something similar.

But it doesn't. That fact is clear enough when the bottle and a rag is handed to the leader.

Damian really isn't looking forward to this one.

He wonders slightly, as he watches the man pour some of the substance onto the cloth and tries to jolt his head away from grabbing hands, if he'll be awake when midnight comes. If these are his last moments alive. There's no hope to escape now.

Stupid. He should have ignored the rules earlier on and just escaped. Disregarded being a typical and normal child. It's not like being a normal child had ever done him any good. It always just gets him hurt, even if for a while he truly feels comfortable in his own skin being a child. It's safer to be jaded and angry and full of killer's instinct. Things like this don't happen to Damian Al Ghul.

Eventually, the hands in his hair win and the cloth presses over his nose. Immediately, a suffocating chemical reek hits his nostrils. He writhes in the grips, terror and panic beginning to slip into his chest cavity.

Ever so slowly, he can feel the chloroform weakening him. He tries to not breathe in, but he also knows that they're not letting go until he's unconscious. Might as well finish this already. Let it end.

Let Damian Wayne end.

His fingers and toes tingle. It's painful. And scary. And he… he wants to cry.

But he doesn't, because nothing on his body is his own anymore. His eyes slip shut and unconsciousness is winding it's cold embrace around him, consciousness becoming similar to the fine sands of his home country. Thin, fine, and slipping away.

The cloth leaves his face, as do the hands in his hair, and his chin hits his chest.

-o-o-o-o-

Voices. There are voices. In front of him, behind him. Everywhere. His stomach rolls and his sinuses feel like he's been stuffed full with cotton. He gags, trying to open his mouth but something keeps it shut. Vaguely, this feeling becomes oddly familiar. The intense urge to vomit, the tape over his mouth, the aches and pains that reside between every cell of his body.

His brain is a million miles away, floating in the strong currents of the sky, out of reach but trying to take Damian with it.

There's a shout. It echoes in his ears. It makes him flinch.

Flinch from what? He doesn't know. All he knows is that he's confused and in a numb agony that makes him want to curl up and not exist.

Light attacks his senses. Sounds echo and stab. He cringes away, squeezing his eyes shut, but a hand falls into his shoulder, spending shards of glass down his spine.

This hand… it's dangerous. Unfriendly. An enemy.

He forces his eyes open against the crusty gunk that's trying to keep his eyes shut. Everything is a swirl of blurry shapes and figures moving in front of a splash of ugly yellow. There's one blob, in particular, that's right beside him.

Damian doesn't like this man. Why does he not like this man?

Why can't he open his mouth? Why can't he move? His finger hurts. He needs to throw up.

"Where's the rest of my money, Wayne?!" The man screeches, causing Damian to wince and try to retreat from the grating voice. It doesn't work though. The hand on his shoulder is strong, along with whatever is keeping him sitting in the chair.

Duct-tape, his mind sluggishly supplies.

Duct-tape. He's been… kidnapped. Ransom. The money... too high… impossible…

"I told ya, if I don't get my money I'll kill the kid!"

Die. Damian's going to die.

He writhes weakly in his bonds, his muscles no stronger than paper. He doesn't… he can't...

"I'll get you the money!" A new voice says, one that's muffled by the speakers of a cell phone. Worried. Anxious. Deep. Father. "I just need more t-"

"I gave ya enough time already," the man sneers, fingers curling into Damian's collarbone.

"I'll get you more than three million if you just give me time! A few more days, that's all I need t-"

Something hard and cold is pressed against Damian's head. Damian closes his eyes, doing his best not to flinch as the safety is loudly clicked off.

"Ya didn't meet the requirements, Wayne. Now, yer goin' ta pay fer that."

Scared.

Damian is scared. He doesn't… he's hopeless. He wants to cry. He wants to throw up.

He wants to go home.

Damian's father yells angrily over the phone. Desperately. It almost sounds like… he actually cares. Like Damian dying will affect him just as much as any other of his chosen children dying.

Damian's died before.

But that was before he and father had spent this much time together. This much time to learn what they like and dislike about each other. When father saved him, he was saving a boy he thought had potential, similar to how Richard gave Damian Robin because he thought he had potential. Potential to be good.

Damian always messes things up. Especially when those things involve being good. Perhaps, this time, when life leaves him, father won't feel guilty about it. Richard won't be depressed about it. Timothy could have Robin back. Jason would have a bullet point on his list of reasons to not visit the manor knocked off. Duke and Cassandra won't be burdened with his prickly personality. Hell, maybe even Stephanie will be better off without Damian this time around.

Suddenly, there's a loud bang, and Damian is immediately sure he's dead. In a haze of panic and fear and terror, Damian's barely aware of the crashing that follows the bang, nor does he pay much attention to the sharp boom which was much louder than the first one.

All he can think about is that he's dead again. He's dead and he doesn't want to be. He doesn't want to go back to Hell. He promised himself he'd be better. He promised himself he'd be the boy father wanted him to be, the boy Richard believed he could be.

He doesn't want to be dead again. But he's dead again.

He's dead and there's nothing he can do about it now besides mourn his own life, because he knows no one else will. There will be a funeral, but it will be a formality. There will be revenge, but it will only be because the people who killed him are criminals and deserve to be put behind bars.

Not because they loathe them for taking Damian's life.

Tears slip through his dead eyes. His dead chest rattles with sharp, dead gasps.

He's dead. He's dead. Dead dead dead dead dead-

"got you-" a far away voice whispers. "Feel that? I'm breathing, you need to too, Dami-"

Expanding. A warm body under his cold, dead, fingers. Going in and out, and Damian subconsciously begins to try and copy that. Breathing. Something that doesn't belong to him anymore.

But he tries.

"There we go," the voice says, "you're going great!"

Is he? Is he breathing correctly? A thing only the living can do?

He gasps, his lungs shaking with each breath he tries to copy. The voice encourages him until Damian's able to keep breathing on his own. Until he opens his eyes and sees a familiar face with bright blue eyes, a body wearing a black suit with a splash of blue right where Damian's freed hand is pressed against.

Around them is a mess of unconscious bodies, all restrained with zip ties and cuffs. It's horribly difficult to focus, but things are so much sharper than what they were the last time he had his eyes open. He can see a second familiar face, picking through the mess of unconscious bodies as if looking for something. It's Timothy.

Richard smiles at him. "See? I have you. You're okay-"

And Damian launches himself forward, hardly even remembering that last he remembers he was restrained to the chair. They must have cut him loose. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because Richard immediately winds his arms around Damian, careful of his broken finger, and begins whispering comforts so soft and genuine that Damian… Damian feels heat gather in his eyes.

Besides them, Timothy finds what he was looking for, quickly putting the cellphone the leader had been using to his ear. "It's okay, Mr Wayne, Nightwing and Red Robin found him. He's safe."

Safe. Alive. Damian's alive. He curls his good fingers into Richard's suit, his chest heaving from sobs that want to tear out. He didn't die. The drugs and stress made him think he did. Richard and Timothy came and saved him. Dragged him out of a panic attack, and are going to take him home.

Home. Where father will hover like a worried mother hen until he's sure Damian is alright. Where Richard will convince Alfred to make something high in carbs and sugar to comfort Damian. Where Timothy will invite him to play video games with him to give silent support. Where Cassandra will give the best hug and whisper that she's glad he's okay. Where Duke will talk with him until his sides hurt from laughing. Where Jason will visit and ruffle his hair and grumble quietly that he's glad Damian isn't dead.

Home.

He curls tighter into Richard's embrace.

Home.

---

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated <3

#damian wayne #robin #dc comics #batman #batman comics #dc #jin writes #whumptober2020 #no.2 #Kidnapping #fic #fanfic #violence tw #kidnapping tw #child abuse tw #whump #whump tw #gun tw #panic attack tw

112 notes · View notes