#//Going through the five stages of grief within moments as he tries to rationalize it all; before giving up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cringelordlikesplaz · 3 years

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Ocean’s Eternity

So. I’ve been thinking about the end of Obsidian Age a little too much. Basically this is the 3000 years Plastic Man spent on the bottom of the ocean. I might do a follow up to this later.

When he woke, everything was dark. There was a sensation throughout his body which felt like suffocation, and there was this... itch. All over. But it was mild. It wasn't important compared to the other, more pressing matter at hand.

He couldn't move. He couldn't see. He couldn't feel or hear or smell or taste or do anything.

Well, that's not true.

He could wait.

~~~

He was on the ocean floor, this much he knew.

~~~

He wasn't being saved. After waiting for however long he'd waited, that was becoming clear. His team was most likely all dead. That was the only scenario he could see where they didn't save him.

He was in the thick of it, that was for sure.

~~~

He was going to be stuck for a long, long time.

~~~

He mourned for his team. He would have cried if he'd had eyes, but he didn't. Not like the ocean needed any more salt water. He mourned for a lot longer than he should have, honestly. But it wasn't like there was anything else to do but sit there and be sorry.

What finally got him to stop, however, was the fact that they all probably went somewhere nice. Excuse his pun, but there was no way in Hell that the Justice League didn't go to heaven.

~~~

This couldn't be fixed.

~~~

He wasn't sure how long he'd been there. It had been a long while.

He'd taken to counting the seconds, unsure if he was anywhere near correct. No one really concerned themselves so much if the space between beats were too long or short enough. Maybe the Flash, actually. But even he didn't count the seconds.

Or maybe he did. He didn't know. He couldn't ask.

He was going crazy.

He was going very, very crazy.

He knew this. He was pretty sure crazy people weren't supposed to be so aware of their craziness. But when you are aware of nothing else but your mind, he supposed you had to be self aware.

~~~

Every once in a while, he'd have something happen to him that felt like a seizure. It was painful and sudden and sharp and he begged any gods that would listen to let him be. And maybe something out there listened. Maybe something took pity on this wretched thing on the bottom of the sea because when the seizure ended, he'd black out.

Peaceful oblivion.

~~~

He was mad. In more than one way, he was mad. He was pissed, would be the more correct term in this situation. He was mad at his team. At the Justice League. He was so, so angry. How dare they. How dare they?!

They talked shit about him. Sometimes behind his back. Sometimes to his face. They never gave him an ounce of respect. They never gave a damn.

And then they had the audacity to die and leave him there, on the bottom of the sea. Forever. With nothing to do but count the seconds which was probably wrong now that he was so worked up. Great job, Justice League, you made me lose count!

He fumed and raged and plotted and didn't scream because he had no mouth.

~~~

The itching was bad. It was really, really bad. It was so, so bad. It was the only thing he could feel. It was consuming every memory of every other sensation. He didn't remember what sunshine felt like, or the rain. He couldn't even feel the coldness or the water or the pressure that was certainly around him.

He could only feel that damned itching.

He hated it. He hated it so much.

He wanted to turn into a monster and rake his claws across the Earth, he wanted to pull up the land and have magma flow out like the world's life blood. He wanted to shriek and yell and cry and tear his brain out of his skull and slam it into the center of their planet and then maybe- just maybe- he could finally die.

Or maybe he'd infect the planet with his strange body, and then the world and everyone on it would know his pain, know this madness that crawled like a million spiders made of razor blades just under skin that wasn't there.

~~~

His dreams offered no reprieve. His dreams were too lucid, nowadays. Too much time alone in your head would make you a master at your subconscious, he supposed. Except he was still very very very crazy, and so he wasn't quite a master at anything.

But sometimes- sometimes.... his dreams weren't lucid. Maybe he wasn't even asleep when he dreamed, anymore. Maybe it didn't matter. But sometimes, his mind finally calmed, the insanity put away for a few hours, minutes, seconds, all would be soft.

His dreams, the not-lucid ones, whether he was awake or not, had a common theme.

He would be spending time with his son. Whose face, despite so much time alone and insane and in pain on the bottom of the sea, had remained clear as day.

He would be holding someone's hand, and despite how he can't remember the warmth of the sun or a fireplace or a hug, would be warm anyway.

He would be smiling, calm, and happy. He wouldn't be so alone.

When he woke, the madness usually got worse.

~~~

He was no longer mad at the Justice League. He'd finally calmed down. He was still mad, he was certain of that, but that was in the sense that he was insane. He was no longer angry at his old, dead team.

Because rational thought, something he thought had died within him, had found a way to resurrect itself. Like some shambling zombie, it crawled its way up from the bottom of his soul and started to whisper facts to him.

And he was so, so tired of being mad.

They didn't put him here. They would save him, if they were alive. They'd pull him from the depths of this dark Hell and they'd put him back together, piece by piece. They would take away the pain and the darkness and they'd give him back his sunshine and his family and his heart.

Because they were the Justice League. And they were good.

He mourned for them again, because they deserved to be remembered, even if the only thing that could remember them was the dust at the bottom of the world.

~~~

He was no longer mad. Probably. He wasn't in the best position to tell, honestly. Oh, and he means mad in the sense of insanity, this time.

He was no longer crazy.

It lost its appeal, strangely enough. If he was correct with his counting, it had been around a thousand years. Maybe more, maybe less. Maybe he was completely off. It didn't matter.

What mattered was that, even though he was sane -saner- his mind was still a wreck. In the expanse of his mind, he stood, hands on his hips. He surveyed the damage. Memories shredded, emotions lost, fear and despair and loneliness on a rampage.

He cracked his metaphorical knuckles.

It was time to start picking up the pieces.

~~~

Slowly, very slowly, he pieced together his memories. Some were beyond repair. He tried to fix them anyway. With patience and care and all the time in the world, he glued his old life back together. His name was Plastic Man, Eel O'Brian, Patrick. Huh.

He was a thief. A hero. A father.

He had a son. He remembered his son. He never forgot his son, despite it all. But his son's memory did get warped- he'd have to smooth that out.

But, he noted with no small amount of pride, he'd remembered his son's face. Not his height or his age or his voice, but he remembered his face.

He also remembered that he wasn't a very good father. That came with much less pride.

~~~

In the wake of his madness came clarity. Acceptance. He made his peace with his eternal damnation. Some sort of thousand-year long five-stages-of-grief thing. With a lot more insanity than was usually recommended.

He wasn't going to lie to himself: it sucked. There was nothing good about his situation. But there was nothing he could do, and going mad had only made things worse.

In the wake of his madness came clarity, and with clarity came the realization that he was lonely. Eternally so. He was lonely and regretful and sad. He had so many things he wanted to do. So many places to go, people to see. He had wanted so much.

He didn't know if he deserved it.

He probably did.

~~~

So he was probably still a little bit crazy. Not like before. He was, what he considered, a healthy amount of crazy.

Just enough to pass the time. Talking to yourself was never considered 'sane' anyway.

~~~

He was still counting the seconds. It helped things stay in order. He was counting in his dreams, in the deepest part of his subconscious, he counted. He had built quite the internal clock for himself, it seemed.

~~~

Sometimes, he'd stop for a while. Not counting, of course. He had probably forgotten how to stop counting. But everything else. Sometimes, everything else would stop.

His mind would be ever so slow, and nothing truly mattered in those moments. He simply existed, pieces of plastic on the ocean floor.

And it would take a while to come back. He didn't really want to go back, but he always did. And when he did, he'd laugh.

He was plastic in the ocean. He'd been polluting the waters before plastic had even been invented.

It wasn't very funny, but he'd laugh anyway.

~~~

He was in the middle of replaying a baseball game in his mind for the nth time when something happened. Another seizure. Hadn't had one of those in a while.

But something- something was off. It-

He woke up.

~~~

His thoughts were sluggish. There was- noises and- lights? Pressure. He must have really gone off the deep end now.

And he felt like a pile of mush- of goo or slime- and-

And the itching wasn't there.

The itching was always there.

And he could move.

He may have freaked out a little bit.

~~~

"Plastic Man, you need to calm down!" Superman yelled.

He snarled, "Don't tell me what to do! You're not even real!"

"We are real! Please, we need you to listen to us-" Martian Manhunter was cut off as he wrenched up a metal panel from the floor and chucked it at him. It phased through the martian, of course, but it did seem to surprise the green guy. His hallucination was very convincing, he'd admit.

The sensations being too loud and painful and too much. The light too bright, the air too fresh. He didn't even know he'd remembered how to breathe.

Suddenly, Superman was in front of his face and was- well he was petting him. It was kinda weird.

But- but his hands were warm. Not only that they had- they had texture and he could feel how tense Superman was, but as the seconds passed and he calmed, so did the tension leave Superman's hands.

"Oh." He whispered. He reached up and took Superman's hand, inspecting it. It was strong, like steel, and he could feel a pulse beat just beneath the skin.

"Oh." He said, interlocking his fingers with Superman's. He gave a light squeeze and Superman squeezed back. He looked up at the man of steel, noticing for the first time he'd shrunken back down into a reasonable size.

A pressure was draped across his back- A black cape had been wrapped around him. He looked over to see Batman kneeling beside him, a hand on his shoulder. He touched the cape on his shoulders- it was heavy and thick and made of something smooth on one side and soft on the other.

He dragged his fingers across it, reveling in the sensations.

Martian Manhunter was there too, now, and he reached out and gently touched the martian’s face. J'onn allowed him to do that, his eyes shut.

"Oh wow," He said, his voice strange to his own ears.

"...Is this real?" He asked, finally pulling away to look at his hands. They were melted slightly. His entire form was melted slightly. He was also naked. He hadn't even noticed. No wonder Batman covered him up.

"Yes." Batman said, his grip tightening like he could convince him through sheer force of will. Maybe he could.

"...Oh," He said, letting his hands fall.

He swallowed.

"Oh my God." He said, his voice cracking. He buried his head in his hands, feeling his body melt even further.

Someone hugged him. He wasn't sure who. He rested his chin on their shoulder. They put their arms around him and somehow that helped his body stay stable.

And everything was still too much and too close but it was real. It was real.

He was back.

The Justice League saved him.

~~~

He knocked on the door. He stood there, anxious. The sky was dark. It was dusk. Clouds covered up the sunset. Smog was in the air. Cars drove in the street and the wind howled overhead.

He couldn't stop staring at it all. It was real. It was real. Real in a way he'd forgotten. Real in a way his mind couldn't replicate, not in 3000 years. Though it had come very, very close.

The door opened.

"Patrick," Angel greeted, "How nice to see-"

She paused, taking him in.

"Did something-?"

"Yes." He said, his voice hoarse.

She opened the door for him, and he stepped inside.

"Where's Luke?" He asked.

"Living room." she said, "Come."

Their apartment was small. But not too small.

Luke sat on the couch, cartoons playing on the TV.

"Dad?" Luke said, brightening. He jumped up from the couch and hugged him tight. He returned the hug, stretching his arms out of his sleeves and holding his son close.

"Dad!" Luke said, pulling away, "You're back!"

"Yes." He said, "And I'm here to stay."

He turned to look at Angel.

"If that's alright...?"

"Of course." She said, smiling softly, "But I'm going to need help around the house."

He smiled at her, and nodded.

"Dad?" Luke said, weary, "What happened? You and the Justice League saved the day, right?"

"Yeah, Luke. We did." He said, "But I'm not a part of the Justice League anymore."

There was a pause. Angel sat down in a chair.

"Did they kick you out...?" Luke asked.

"No, son, they didn't. I didn't do anything wrong, either. I just-" He choked back a sob, "I can't go back."

Luke hugged him tighter.

"I love you, Luke. With all my heart." He said, failing to keep the tears at bay.

Luke nodded into his chest. He thought he could feel his shirt getting wet.

"So I'm going to stop being Plastic Man."

#plastic man #patrick o'brian #eel o'brian #jla obsidian age #obsidian age #jla #fanfic #fic #my wrtiting #fanfiction #luke o'brian #superman #batman #martian manhunter

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mystic-scripture · 4 years

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Prolific Scene: Grief Assessments

Continuing off my post from here, I’m making my way through the ten week time lapse. I’m still not sure If I’ll do anyone as in depth as this one or her one for Spencer, but I do want to make an attempt at going through all the team. Nothing has really jumped at me for Rossi or Garcia (ironic given their family, but it’s explained in this) and I don’t think Wendy would have that much of a relationship with Ashley. Anyway, enough rambling, and on to the writing.

Wendy sat on Hotch’s couch, her knee bouncing and her arms crossed as she glanced at him across the coffee table. She knew she was reading as closed off, and that it would be recorded along with everything else. He was profiling her before they even spoke about the elephant in the bullpen so to speak. That was, in fact, the entire point of these mandatory grief assessments. Except, traditionally speaking, it was something the whole team underwent, and Strauss was the one to conduct them.

So why she was sitting in front of her SSA, she didn’t know. If anything it strengthened her arguments that she’d been having with herself. She hadn’t forgotten about the suspicious behavior between him and JJ. So, while he was having his go at profiling her she was doing it right back, or at the very least attempting to. Unfortunately, he had been at this a lot longer than she had, and everything she learned was from him. It was part of the reason she was stubbornly waiting for him to initiate, trying to parse out who could stay silent longer. The answer came after she took a sip of the offered tea without breaking eye contact.

“I suppose I’ll start with answering the question you're making a point not to ask.” He said, stating the obvious first. “Why am I doing this instead of Strauss?”

“That would be because I know that every member of this team, present company included, finds her to be an evil that isn’t necessary at this time. More accurately, she’s a dragon that we don’t bother unless we really have no other options.” She quipped, offering a shrug as she put the tea down and returned her arms to their crossed position.

“That is,” he cleared his throat, trying to control the smile that tried to twitch at the corners of his mouth. “Certainly one way to put it.”

“Well I figured it was more diplomatic than ‘Heinous Bitch’.” She offered a half smile of her own. “Probably would look better on paper, too.”

She felt her smile grow as she earned one, paired with a small chuckle from her boss. She always felt a swell of bride in getting him to smile, aside from being Jack, it was rare to achieve it. She didn’t let it show though, raising an eyebrow as if to challenge him to contradict her. They both knew he wasn’t going to, the point to break the tension between them.

“Besides, given your need to control this team with everything you have…” She mused, swirling her mug slowly in one hand. “And how close to the vest the team plays it amongst each other, let alone any perceived outsiders; you were the logical solution.”

She watched the subtle twitch in his eye as she called him out for his alpha male personality, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he focused on her, allowing his attention to shift ever so slightly where she could slip past his walls. It was a blend of Rossi and his teachings; lighten the mood then attack the subject’s pride. He nodded slowly, his eyes shifting up and down her face. His face was set into the neutral, yet stern expression. Lips and eyebrows were straight, and to the point, much like his speech patterns. From what she could tell, everything was annoyingly familiar. The pause broke as she sighed, deciding that getting to the point was best for both of them.

Wendy pulled her lips inward, biting the middle before puffing them out. As he refocused his gaze, she stated the truth. “Denial and Anger.”

“What?”

He shook his head, as if he didn’t understand. She knew that he did, of course, it was just a ploy to make her comfortable enough to continue talking. Blue eyes met brown in annoyance, rolling slightly when they found nothing.

“That’s where I am right now.” She clarified, unable to stop her hands from twisting with each other. “Five stages of grief and all that? I mean yes I’d agree that I’m depressed, as well, and there has been plenty of bargaining. Hell, I wouldn’t be lying if I sat here and said I still feel all of them aside from acceptance. But Denial and Anger...those two are the most prevalent.”

“So what do you do?”He relaxed with her familiar babbling, but only slightly, his hand moving along the lined pad of paper in his lap. “How do you rationalize it?”

“Well, Denial is self explanatory and common in cases like this.” She recited, her voice taking a clinical approach.

Her body, however, betrayed her as she started picking at her fingernails. She’d only started the habit after the funeral, but it was oddly comforting to her. Whether or not Hotch noticed it, wasn’t shown in his face, but indicated in the new writing on his pad. She didn’t pause, pushing forward as she felt her knowledge push away her feelings, if only for a moment.

“This can’t be happening, I can’t believe she’s gone…” She placed the tea back on the table, rotating in his direction. “This has to be some twisted nightmare, so on and so forth.”

“But the anger?” Hotch pressed, his eyes not leaving his notes. “Where would you say that is currently placed?”

“I could lie to you and say that it’s hard to pinpoint.” She stated, picking her words carefully. She knew that in order to get something from him, she was going to need to give. However, her methods were all she had against him. “Doyle for his part in it, Emily herself for running away, Me and Derek...but that is mostly logic and the aforementioned bargaining talking more than my actual feelings.”

“Why Derek?” His face softened with curiosity. “Was there a shortcoming that wasn’t mentioned in your reports, something that he did wrong?”

“No, we played it straight, it’s nothing like that.” Wendy sighed, standing up to pace, her hands weaving her thought process in front of her. “He did everything he was supposed to, he stayed and tried to stabilize her, clearing the room before stopping. It was me who messed up. I pushed forward leaving in a futile attempt of hubris. We didn’t both need to be there, and he had backup, so I ran down the hall, trying to track Doyle.”

“But he was gone,” She paused, her hands freezing along with her legs. “I hadn’t seen the extent of her injuries, he’d gotten to her so quickly. When I heard him call out for help, I doubled back so fast I’m surprised I was able to stay upright after. I’d foolishly thought she was fine, I thought-I don’t even know what I thought, all I could do was stand there and stare after calling for the medic.”

She gulped, blinking so as not to focus on it. She’d refused to do a cognitive interview for this very reason. She hadn’t wanted to think about it, her mind compartmentalizing it behind a wall of facts. She hesitated, she froze, and she hated herself for it. Having let the truth out for the first time, she felt a knot twist in her gut. She hadn’t even told Spencer about that, and Derek told her not to mention it. They’d done the best they could and that was what mattered on paper. But paper didn’t keep the nightmares at bay, and paper didn’t twist into her everyday thoughts to shame her.

A silence fell over the room as she slowly slumped back onto the couch, cradling the teacup in her hands. It wasn’t particularly hot anymore, her hands barely feeling the heat within, but it was something that kept her hands busy. She’d given up on her own hunt into Hotch’s mind, her thoughts circling around her confession.

“Wendy…” She turned to meet her mentor’s gaze. “Are you in any way qualified to help with the sort of injuries Emily sustained? Do you have a medical degree?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m the on field tech support.”

“If that’s what you need to hear, the yes.” He tilted his head as if to accept her self depreciation. “So, what could you have possibly done to help in that situation.”

“Look, I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work.” She mumbled, setting the tea down to level her gaze at him. “Intellectually, I get it, I shouldn’t blame myself, we did everything we could. Everything was done right.”

She grit her teeth watching the pen scratch across the paper, eyes barely leaving hers.

“But with all due respect, Hotch you weren’t there. I deserve to feel like this, to let this guilt fill me. When it really mattered most, I cared too much about the suspect than I did about my own teammate. I left her bleeding out on the floor while I chased a lost cause. I was too focused on my job to worry about my friend.”

“I may not be as smart or have a steel trap of a mind like Reid does, but I still could have worked something out. Looking back there are several ways I could have helped. I should have known, something, anything that could help. But instead, I froze, and just stood there: useless. Sure I called for Medics, sure I told Derek not to pull the plank of wood she had sticking out of her stomach, but what did that to in the end?”

“Morgan did the only thing you could have done.” Hotch raised his eyebrows at the look she gave him. “Think about it, he applied pressure, and was there for her until someone qualified showed up. You did the right thing.”

“Again, logically, I am aware of that.” She sniffed, rubbing at her nose stubbornly. “But the stupid chemicals in my brain that control emotions that have a different idea.”

“Then let’s talk about how you’re coping with that.” The pad slid onto the coffee table, his entire focus on her now. While she didn’t meet his gaze, she could feel it, the usual intensity of it gone as concern came to the forefront. “How is this affecting you and Reid?”

“I can’t provide an answer for that.” Wendy stated, averting her gaze just as quickly as she met it.

“Can’t or Won’t?”

She bit her lip in thought, debating the answer. How could she tell him that it was both? She knew it would come up eventually; it was inevitable. Ever since the hospital, things had been strained between them, Wendy watching Spence slowly slip away from her. This was different than when Gideon left, different from when he was using. They’d been uncharacteristically distant and she didn’t know how to help him. Usually, she was instant on her presence, and letting him know she was there. This time though, this time that was only met with deflection and him pulling away. If she was to be honest, this was the part she really didn’t want to talk about.

“Let’s just say things aren’t quite normal at the moment.” She stated, doing her best to keep her body language as neutral as possible. “And answering your question would require me to interact with him enough to form a diagnostic for you to interpret.”

“So you haven’t seen each other? What about Garcia?” His brow furrowed, lips falling into a slight frown. “You’ve at least seen her and talked to her, have you?”

“She’s my cousin, obviously I’ve seen her.” She snipped, offended by the implication that she was isolating herself on purpose. It made the guilt of trying to read his expression dissipate a little, especially when she recalled some microexpressions when she recounted the incident they were here about. But only a little

“And I’m not providing any profiling of her.” Rushed out of her lips, a little harsher than she intended. “She’s pretty easy to read as it is, you don’t need insider trading.”

He let out a ‘hmm’ of interest, making her look up at him quizzically. “There’s no need, I’ve already assessed her. Though, she did the same thing, maybe with a little less hostility. She also knows that she can’t read you.”

“Not for lack of trying on her part. She even tried to take me to a couple sessions of the group she runs.” Wendy rolled her eyes. “Trust me, it’s better for everyone involved that I not participate in group therapy scenarios.”

She thought there was an ever so slight wince at her words. If it was in regards to how she reacted to Penelope, or if it was the use of ‘trust me’ she wasn’t sure. But there was no denying the pull to his lip, almost like she’d said something that disappointed him. She didn’t look at him head on, acknowledging her solidarity in the feeling. Nervous about what he wrote, she instead focused on him from the corner of her vision, playing with her mug again.

A part of her thought it was an appropriately nice and thorough gesture on Hotch’s part; grabbing one of her own mugs. It showed his care in his team outside of the professional scope. Wendy felt a slight uptick in her pulse, a physical manifestation of anxiety, when he spent a few more seconds than previously on his notes. She kept quiet though, sipping at her drink as she kept a subtle gaze on him. When he was done, she tilted her head in tandem with him, ready to continue.

“Maybe you don’t grieve in the same ways, but have you talked to her?” She shook her head slowly, causing him to push on. “But isn’t that what family’s for, comforting each other in times of loss? Why build up the walls?”

“Because I know Penny, and she is going to push all her own stuff aside to focus on someone else.” Wendy placed her drink down with a sigh. “And that is a distraction to the team that we can’t afford. I also know that while she means well, when it comes to things like this, her comfort is ineffective. At least with me, anyway. She has enough raw emotion on her own without lumping my emotions and relationships into a loss that affects both of us.”

“So there is something you’re avoiding telling me about your relationship?” He held up his hands, putting the pad down. “Saying this as a friend, not your supervisor, but that rings an opposing tune to your deflection earlier.”

“Doesn’t necessarily make it an invitation to pry.” She defended, smiling despite her blunt tone.

She couldn’t help it; it was challenging to be so guarded around Hotch. She hated herself for harboring these suspicions, knowing he has and will always put the team first. The man lost his wife long before she was killed by his enemy. However, his line of questioning was a little too pointed for her to ignore. Not that she was. She wasn’t crazy, she saw Hotch and JJ talking in the hospital, she saw the looks they shared at the funeral. It wasn’t her grasping at straws, it wasn’t her grief making up illusions in her mind, she was sure of it. She knew how to separate emotion from reality. Or so she thought, but seeing the culmination of his efforts to make her feel comfortable gave her doubts.

“While that’s a fair statement, there’s a part of you that wants to discuss it.” He said, pulling Wendy from her thoughts and back to the conversation at hand. “What’s on your mind?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, fighting against his soothing tone. “Whether or not you asked him anything regarding our personal relationship.”

“Deflect all you want,” He said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “But it’s your subconscious that keeps circling back to it.”

“Don’t know why, there isn’t much to tell.” She picked up the mug to take another sip of tea. “I already told you; we haven’t really seen each other much.”

“But he’s your partner, in more ways than one.” Hotch reminded her, “Which makes that unusual for the pair of you, correct?”

“We’ve worked three cases, in which you’ve been pairing me with Rossi or Morgan, each had our own parole consults, and I’ve been helping Penny narrow down cases to take on.” She deadpanned, “We may have lost a team member, but the killers didn’t slow down.”

“That never seemed to stop you two before.” He mused, raising an eyebrow. “You two have been here later than me sometimes when I know neither of you had particularly heavy work loads.”

She paused, not willing to give into him with that. Yes, they were rather physical for a lot longer than they were together, but that wasn’t what he was asking. The emotions were something they still worked on day to day, and that was all she was going to discuss with her coworker. Unfortunately, her face warmed, and her eyes widened in surprise, giving him everything he needed anyway.

“Well, now that you’ve confirmed it, thanks by the way I owe Rosse twenty bucks.” He gave her a look where he had a half smile, but his eyes challenged her to call him on his bluff. She decided on laughing humorlessly, rolling her eyes.

“Not that it’s any of your business, either of yours, there’s more to it than that.” She explained, tapping her foot a couple of times. “You know what, okay, I’ll admit it, I’m worried about him. Ever since the hospital and the funeral it feels like he’s pulling away from me even when he’s there, but that’s grief. I’m not going to force him on the issue when I know that JJ’s been helping him. When he needs me he knows where I am so that I can do my part, until then, I can’t really do or say anything else at the moment without sounding callous or jealous.”

“What about, your needs?” Hotch said, sounding genuinely concerned for her. She avoided his gaze, not wanting the confirmation. “You suffered a loss as well, and we’ve spent this entire conversation circling it outside of your confession that you’re angry at yourself for something you couldn’t control. It hardly seems fair for you to help anyone without processing your own feelings.”

“I know, but that’s pain.” She stated, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “As the Dread Pirate Wesley said: ‘Life is pain. Anyone who says different is trying to sell you something.’”

“On that note, I think that’s where we’ll stop. For today, at the very least, I may call upon you again.” Hotch stood, moving to open the door for her. “Until then, know that my door is always open.”

“Technically you just had it closed.” She teased, stretching upwards and taking her empty mug with her. “But thank you, I do appreciate it.”

He gave her a quick smile, nodding to her as she made her exit. Wendy offered a half smile in return before starting the walk down to the bullpen. A part of her wanted to throw him a bone, tell him that maybe she was jealous. JJ was in the picture far longer than Wendy had, and she knew about his crush. Their similarities had always been a source of insecurity. That is until she paused on the stairs, to glance back at him.

She doubted he was even aware of it, but she watched him, his figure moving ever so slightly as released whatever tension he was holding. If he was going to keep secrets from her, it was more than fair that she do the same.

Wendy Tag: @abbyarcxnes @raging-violets @perfectlystiles @curious-kittens-ocs @starcrossedjedis @foxesandmagic (Want to be added, hmu!)

#oof I love this dynamic so much #Wendy Durant #fic: prolific #fd: criminal minds #arron hotchner #hotch x wendy feels #BAU Team angst #scriptures of the mystic

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