#<<(it's the nine bullet point if you wanna skip) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

study-coffee-chicago · 3 years

Text

Stars on your Sleeve (Part 2) [A Jay Halstead Imagine]

A/N: The name of the girl is Y/N (I mostly write my imagines in second person POV...except for the one you guys might see in a few weeks) and cariña is just a nickname/term of endearment in Spanish that means sweetheart. Sorry if anyone got confused about that in part one!

"Dad," you started as you walked into Jay's office after school that day.

It was a Thursday and you had taken the bus from school to the district. It wasn't often that you did this, but you had gotten texts from both your mom and dad telling you that the current case was going to drag on and on tonight, so they wanted you at the district so that you wouldn't be home alone until two or three o'clock in the morning.

"Hi, cariña. How was your day? Learn anything interesting in school?"

"Dad," you groaned. "It's high school, half the stuff they teach me I won't ever use again."

"Well, excuse me for wanting to know about my daughter's day."

"Just can't wait for this week to be over to sleep in."

"You and me both, kid."

"Half the time you work weekends though, Dad," you pointed out.

"Comes with the sergeant title."

"And your sleeping in is like 7:00."

"Point taken. Now, did Mom pack you a few extra snacks or do you need some money for the vending machines?"

"She didn't--"

"Don't even finish that sentence, young lady," Hailey said as she burst into Jay's office. "I packed you a few extra things and you know it. You just want--"

"--Oreos," Jay and Hailey said at the same time.

"Hey, don't blame me! They taste good," you protested. "Anyway, Dad, can I use your laptop to do my homework?"

"Don't you have that school-issued one?"

"That one blocks Netflix."

Jay crossed his arms across his chest. "Homework, huh?"

"I'm just writing a paper. It's not like I'm doing math or reading something."

"What type of paper?" Hailey asked. "Because, I'm pretty sure that if it's a research paper, you need to focus."

"It's a narrative, so I don't need to be constantly focused, Mom."

"Makayla does the same thing," Adam said as he entered the office as well. "Let the kid have the laptop, Jay."

"Thanks, Adam."

"Uh," Jay groaned, "I guess."

"We also have a lead, so you wanna roll out after I give you the info?" Adam asked.

"Yeah. Sorry, Y/N, you need to go into the breakroom now."

"But why can't I stay in here?" you whined. "I want your spinny chair."

"Y/N, this is a case," your mom told you. "You know the rules: no being around the case talk. It's for your own good, we don't want to scar or scare you."

Mom, you know what I've seen, you wanted to tell her, but you knew it would be no use as your parents would never budge on this rule.

"I know, Mom."

Jay pulled his laptop from his desk along with the charger. "Rules?" he probed, holding onto the laptop and charger.

"Dad, I know the rules. Mom, c'mon, tell him."

"It's your dad's laptop, Y/N. I'm not arguing with you or him on this one."

Jay cocked his head to the side. "I'll give you the laptop after you tell me the rules...even though I know you know them."

You sighed. You went through this every time you used his laptop when he was going to be gone. "Only use my account, don't try to login to your account, and do not delete my search history."

"Here you go." He handed you his laptop and charger. "Good luck on your paper. Don't work too hard."

You went into the breakroom and opened the laptop. First, you pulled up Netflix, and then you pulled up your paper. It was your paper for your senior portfolio, which most people were putting off, seeing as you were only a freshman, you didn't need to work on it yet. But, you knew it had to be long, so starting it now would probably be helpful.

The paper was basically a narrative telling a story about each year of school. The stories had to be from two to five pages long, which meant that the paper in its entirety would be between 26 and 65 pages long. But, you didn't mind. It's not like you had to write a boring research paper. You also had to write about your career goals and one wish for your future as well, which would make the paper even longer still.

Seeing as your schooling didn't exactly match up with the American school system until you were around nine and in third grade, you had gotten permission from your teacher to just write about the sections of kindergarten, first, and second grade, as just memories from when you were six, seven, and eight years old.

You'd save the memories of six and seven for later, since you'd have to dig into the part of your brain where you were in the orphanage with your older sister, Illiana.

For now, you just scribbled down a few lines for ideas of when you were eight years old...which was pretty simple since a lot happened in your life that year.

***

"Y/N, we brought you some food if you--"

"Shut up!" Mouse hissed as the rest of the unit clambered up the stairs and into the bullpen. "She's sleeping."

Yes, when Mouse came home he returned to his job as the tech analyst of the Intelligence Unit. And, when Jay became sergeant, he pulled a few strings and got him a huge salary increase.

"I'll pull the car around front," Hailey offered.

"No," Jay whined. "That means I gotta be the bad guy and wake her up."

"Sorry, babe. I call dibs."

"Ew, guys, please keep the lovey-dovey nicknames to home. I don't need to see that," Adam joked.

"Shut up, Ruz."

Hailey swiped the keys from Jay's office and Jay went to wake you up. But, before he did, he saw the laptop, still open to both Netflix and your paper.

There wasn't much in the paper yet, as Jay had expected, only a few bullet points. His name caught his eye below the age 8 section...whatever that meant. He didn't mean to pry (well, really he did), but he closed the laptop without logging you out so that he and Hailey could take a look at it later.

"Y/N, Y/N, wake up."

You were woken up by someone gently shaking your shoulder.

"Quiero dormir, vaya," you whined. That was one thing you always did: reverted back to Spanish when you were tired. At least both Jay and Hailey understood it now because they had learned Spanish...which helped them with parenting because when they were mad at you, they'd talk in Spanish and that's how you know you were in deep shit.

"I know you want to sleep, and I'm not leaving," Jay answered. "But, we're going home so you can sleep in your bed instead of here."

"Mmmm, okay," you mumbled. You rubbed your eyes, but then decided it was too much work to get up, so you just sat up and closed your eyes once again.

"C'mon, cariña. Mom's got the car out front and then all you gotta do is stay awake until we get home, okay?"

"Mmmm," you mumbled and then stood up. He already had your backpack slung over his shoulder and was holding his laptop in the other hand. "Can I skip school tomorrow? I'm tired."

"Not a chance," Jay chuckled. "But, I can drive you to school and we can get you a frappucino on the way there."

"Mom won't be mad?"

"We don't have to tell Mom everything now do we?"

"No, we don't."

***

"What are you doing?" Hailey asked Jay as she slid into bed next to him that night. "Are you seriously checking our daughter's search history this late at night? C'mon Jay, she's a good kid. You won't find anything."

"That's not what I'm looking at. But, now that you mention it, I should probably check that, too."

"Then, what are you reading? Because I know for a fact that your case notes are definitely not as organized as that."

"Wow, Hails, you're so sweet," Jay said sarcastically. "It's Y/N's paper. The rubric was pasted at the top and it looks like she has to write about a memory from each year of her life and her career goals and a wish for the future."

"And you were snooping because...?"

"Because I saw my name. I wanna see what she says about us, Hailey."

"Jay, she loves us, baby. We're her parents. We both know that. You don't need to read her schoolwork to know that."

"Either way, I'm still reading it. Join me if you want, or go to sleep."

"Uh, fine. But if she asks, this was your idea and I will not hesitate to throw you under the bus."

Age 8, they both read to themselves, leaving/running away from orphanage

"God, no matter how many years it's been since she told us what happened, it never fails to break my heart," Hailey said.

Jay wrapped one arm around his wife. "I know, babe. I feel the exact same way."

"Hey, Y/N," the therapist started and you looked up at her. "Do you want to in that room over there and watch some tv while I talk to jay and Hailey? I can even turn on the Spanish movies for you."

"Okay!"

After getting you all set up, she left you in the room with a Spanish children's movie playing while she went to get Jay and Hailey.

"Jay and Hailey?" she asked as she entered the waiting room.

"Dr. Smith," Jay greeted.

"I have something to tell both of you, and Y/N told me it was okay that I tell you. When I asked if she wanted to be the one to tell you this, she said no because she didn't want to make you sad."

They entered the room where you had previously been and Dr. Smith sat in a chair and Jay and Hailey sat on the couch.

"What's this about?" Hailey asked.

"Well, she told me why she ran away from the orphanage."

Jay and Hailey were shocked. You'd been with them for three months and hadn't once mentioned why you ran away and what happened before Jay found you. It wasn't for lack of trying on Hailey and Jay's part, though. They tried. After all, they knew how to talk to child victims. But, they didn't want to push you too hard, and eventually, they just dropped the topic all together because they knew you'd talk about it when you were ready. Apparently, today was the day that you were ready to tell that story.

"And?" Jay pushed. "Why'd she run away?"

"She said that they came for her, the people who you were fighting," Dr. Smith said.

"Los Rebeldes," Jay said, more to Hailey than to anyone else.

"They came for her specifically?" Hailey asked.

"No, they just came to the orphanage. She said that she heard voices--male voices--telling them to get down on the ground and then some shots rang out. Her sister, Illiana, told her to hide and slipped the necklace around her neck. So, she did. She said she closed her eyes really tight and she just laid there, hiding and barely breathing. She said she heard a gunshot and then she heard Illiana scream and she heard squishing noises."

"Oh my God," Hailey gasped.

"You're saying they shot and killed her?" Jay asked, his voice cracking.

"That's what it sounded like, yes."

"How did she get out?"

"She said that she snuck out through a small door in the back of the room. She said it wasn't a real door, but it was a small door that led to the outside, by her description, it sounded about three feet tall and two feet wide."

"The waste doors," Jay muttered.

"The what?" Hailey asked.

"The waste doors...well, that's what we called them on Base anyway. They were these little doors where you could place stuff outside. Sometimes we'd put the packaging of our MRE's there or other crap we didn't need anymore. Not good for the planet, but yeah, that's what we did."

"So, Jay, you're telling me that Y/N essentially snuck out of the orphanage through a trash chute?"

"Well, we used them for waste, which is why we called them waste doors. But, I heard rumors of them being used at orphanages for parents to put their baby in a crib. They'd just open the door and place the baby in the little crib on the other side of the door."

"She moved the crib and snuck out through there?"

"If there was a crib, then she moved it and got out. If not, she just crawled out through there."

"Did she tell you anything about when she left?" Hailey asked Dr. Smith.

"She said that she didn't have much with her, just her teddy bear and that locket. But, she said that she walked for the rest of the day. And, according to her timeline, the soldiers came right after breakfast. She said she was really scared that they were going to find her and so she just kept walking. But then, she found a bit of a forest it sounded like and since it was starting to get dark and cold, she laid down."

"I found her in the middle of the night and she must've been there since sunset. No wonder she was hypothermic."

"We got her her first banana split after that therapy session," Hailey said. "I honestly don't know whether the food was to get her to try something new or to comfort us."

"Yeah, that was a rough night. I didn't even want her to leave my arms," Jay said. "Jay found me and I went home to Chicago," he read aloud. "Man, that night was rough, too. Probably worse than the night where we found out why she left."

"Now, it's crowded here, cariña so stay cerca to us or go mano a mano with me or Hailey, okay?" Jay asked you as the three of you found a parking spot at Navy Pier.

Adam, Kim, Kevin, and Will were all there as well. They had planned to go out and party and go to a bar when Jay returned home, but that changed now that he and Hailey had a kid to take care of, so they had decided to take a trip to Navy Pier.

In the airport, Jay had gotten a huge coffee from Starbucks, seeing as he had barely slept on the way home. Before coming to Navy Pier, you had gone to a place called iHOP where you had gotten some really yummy pancakes, and Adam, Kevin, and Will had made you laugh a lot and Kim spoke Spanish with you.

"What does that word mean?" you asked.

"What word?" Jay asked, looking down at you as he took your hand.

"Cr-crowded," you sounded out slowly.

"Uh, it means there's lots and lots of people."

"Oh, okay. I stay by you."

"So Y/N, what do you like to do?" Will asked you.

"I like reading and play fútbol," you told him.

"Really? Jay loves playing soccer!"

"We played back at the big house in España," you told Will excitedly. "We won and I got lots and lots of goals."

"Looks like you have a pro soccer player on your hands, little brother," Will said to Jay.

"Don't I know it."

"We go on the big thingy you showed me in the little book in the plane?" you asked Jay.

"The Ferris wheel?" You nodded excitedly. "We can do that, but let's walk around first. We might be able to play some games and win you a friend for Osito."

"Really? Osito have a friend?"

"Really," Jay promised.

As you walked down Navy Pier, you were excitedly pointing out every little thing you saw from the ducks and the seagulls to the big yachts floating down the Chicago River.

"Let's go into Garrett's, babe," Hailey suggested when they were inside the big atrium. "Give her a taste of Chicago's world-famous popcorn."

"I think that's a great idea," Jay agreed. "What do you think, cariña? Want to try some popcorn and then we'll get your favorite?"

You tilted your head to the side. "Popcorn? What is that?"

"Palomitas," Kim clarified for you in Spanish. "Hay muchos tipos diferentes de palomitas allí para probar y comprar."

"Oh, okay. Yes, please."

"What did you say to her?" Hailey whispered to Kim.

"Just gave her the Spanish translation of popcorn and then told her that there's a bunch of different types of popcorn that she can try and buy in there. But, you and Jay most definitely have your work cut out for you when it comes to learning Spanish. You're lucky that she's pretty good with English already and that I'm here to help you learn Spanish."

***

"Sleepy, cariña?" Jay asked as he heard you yawn from the backseat.

Hailey was driving and he was holding a big bag of caramel and cheddar popcorn...which Hailey was telling him not to eat all of it because she knew he would. You were in the backseat with your big stuffed bear, whom you had named Osita since she was a girl bear because she had really soft white fur and a pink ribbon tied around her. Jay had won that for you when he played a shooting game. You also had a stuffed duck that Will had won for you when he played a guess the weight game. You named him Pato...which meant duck in Spanish. You had gone on the Ferris wheel and had pointed out all the pretty things in the sky when you were up there. Hailey had never seen Jay so happy as when he was smiling wide at every little thing you pointed out and he tried to explain to you what they were.

"No," you answered as you laid your head against Osita. It was currently 3 pm Chicago time, which made it about 9 pm Spain time.

"Tell you what," Hailey started, "When we get home, we can show you your room, and then we can watch a movie and eat this popcorn. Because, if we don't start eating it soon, Jay will eat it all."

"Jay eat it all if we no eat it too?"

"Jay eats a lot," Hailey joked.

You reached your hand in front of you and towards Jay. "Palomitas please." Jay chuckled and Hailey smiled as he put some popcorn into your little outstretched hand. "Gracias."

"De nada," Jay told you.

"When we watch movie, how I get it?" you asked.

"We get it on the tv," Jay told you.

"No, how I know what they saying?"

Hailey hadn't thought that far ahead when she had suggested watching a movie. "Um," Hailey faltered. "We can make it so it's in Spanish."

"But then you no know what they say," you pointed out.

"We can put words on the bottom of the screen in English for us," Jay suggested. "Then all three of us will know what they're saying. Is that okay?"

"Okay!"

"Hailey," Jay whispered. "What are we gonna watch?"

"She's too old for princesses probably and way too young for action movies...how about Disney Channel movies? We could try High School Musical? That one's pretty good."

"You're kidding Hails. You watched that? Didn't it come out when we were like 20 or 25?"

Hailey held back a laugh. "Yes, it did. But, I babysat a lot of kids in my neighborhood who were around Y/N's age, and we'd always end up watching those Disney Channel originals."

"Okay, whatever you say, babe."

***

"I think I'm gonna bring her to bed," Jay said.

You had fallen asleep halfway through the movie. Before starting it, you had seen your room. It was purple! And, in black letters behind your bed, it said Salon de Y/N, which meant Y/N's room. Jay assumed that Kim had helped Hailey with the spelling and the boys had helped move the furniture into your room. There was also a little basket with a few things they thought you would like, such as a few different colored soccer balls and a bookshelf.

On the bookshelf, Hailey had picked out some books in Spanish that she had found at Barnes and Noble and some short chapter books in English that she used to read as a kid, such as the Nancy Drew series and Little House on the Prairie. She knew that you might need help reading them and might not be able to completely understand them all by yourself yet, but she knew that she and Jay would be there to help you.

"It's 6:00," Hailey protested. "Shouldn't we wake her up and have her stay awake for a few more hours so that her body can adjust?"

"If you're asking an adult like me that, yes, I'd stay awake. But, she's a kid. She needs her sleep. And, I'll probably be up before you anyway, so I can deal with her if she wakes us up at five in the morning."

"Okay super dad," Hailey joked. "Bring her to bed. I'll make us a quick dinner and cover this popcorn so it doesn't get stale. Can't wait for us to go to bed tonight." She winked.

"Hails, as much as I would love to take you up on that, I don't think it's a good idea when it's Y/N's first night. But, I will give you all the cuddles in the world tonight, don't you worry about that."

"As long as you didn't pick up the habit of snoring overseas then I'm all for that, babe."

***

Jay woke up to the sound of soft whimpering. It sounded like it was coming from the hallway but he couldn't be sure. He reached over Hailey and was about to grab her gun from her drawer where he knew that she kept it, but stopped when he remembered that it was probably just you. It wasn't just Jay and Hailey in the house anymore; you were there as well and that's probably where the noise was coming from. And, he didn't want to scare you by holding a gun.

He glanced over at the clock. 3 am. Yeah, sounds about right that you'd be waking up right about now since you'd slept for about nine hours and it was 9 am in Spain right now.

Jay slowly tiptoed out into the hallway, cursing himself that he hadn't left a light on or kept his and Hailey's bedroom door open so you could find them easily.

Jay reached out for the hall light switch and flicked on the lights, causing you to jump. "Hey, hey, it's just me. It's just Jay," he said calmly once he laid eyes on you. You were holding Osito and there were fresh tears running down your cheeks.

Jay never knew the force of an eight-year-old running into him could be so strong as to almost knock him over. You dropped Osito and wrapped your arms around him as if your life depended on it.

"It's okay, it's okay," Jay soothed. "What's wrong, cariña? Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"I-I no know where I was," you mumbled into his shirt. "Was dark. Think you and Hailey left, so I came to find you."

"Oh, sweetie," Jay started. "I'm sorry. I forgot to turn the light on for you in your room so that you'd know where you are. And, me and Hailey would never leave you."

"You promise?"

"I promise." Your stomach grumbled. "Hungry?" you nodded. "Alright, let's get you a sandwich and then get you back to bed."

"You eat too?" you asked.

"You know, I could go for a sandwich."

***

The next morning, Hailey rolled over to see that Jay wasn't in bed next to her and his side of the bed was cold. Then, she remembered you and walked over to your room and slowly opened the door. You looked up from the Spanish book you were reading and put a finger to your lips.

"Jay sleeping," you told Hailey.

Jay was sitting upright in your bed against the headboard, his thumb holding a place in what looked to be a Nancy Drew book.

"Did Jay read to you last night, huh?" Hailey asked as she walked closer to you and Jay.

"Yeah, he told me that Nancy does what you and Jay do with policia. Then, I sleep again and then I wake up and he sleep again, so I started reading in Spanish."

"I think we should let him sleep a little more while we go finish High School Musical and eat palomitas before Jay eats it all. Does that sound good?"

You nodded eagerly and closed your book. Then, you got out of bed and followed Hailey out of your room. And, after hearing that Jay had read to you and seeing him sleeping upright in your bed so that you'd be able to sleep, she had one more reason why she was truly head over heels for the man she married and got to call her husband.

"Look, Jay. She wrote her birthday in here for age 9," Hailey said as she pointed to the laptop screen.

"God, I don't think I'll forget that day for the rest of my life. It was such a good day."

"You are such a sap when it comes to Y/N."

"Hey! let me be sappy about our daughter, Hailey Anne. She's in high school now, high school. That means she'll be going off to college soon."

"Don't get too far ahead of yourself, sergeant," she joked. "Just keep reading this. It was your idea to snoop through her stuff after all."

"Jay, you got the stuff?" Hailey asked as she was sitting cross-legged on their bedroom floor with wrapping paper, tape, and scissors in front of her.

"Jesus, Hails," Jay laughed, "You make it sound like we're doing a drug deal."

"Well sorry if I want her birthday to go really well. Now, did you get them or not?"

"They're in here." He set a plastic bag down on the bed. He took out three framed pictures and laid them out on the bed. Of course, he made sure that the frames were different shades of purple. "Good?"

Hailey stood up and looked at the pictures. "I never know the CPD's sketch software could work miracles like this, so yeah, I'd say we did good."

Over the past month, everyone in Intelligence had told you that they were testing out a new sketch software to use to try to track down criminals. They let you play with it because they said they wanted to see what it would do...even though they knew what it did, how good it was, and it wasn't new. It was just a ploy to make sure they got your birthday gift right. They had told you to try and input someone's face from memory, someone like your older sister, Illiana.

So, when you had to go to the district for the day with Jay and Hailey, you'd ask to play with that software to work on your sketch. Little did you know, they were printing it out on fancy photo paper and putting it in a frame for your birthday. Jay had also swiped your necklace one day when you had taken it off to go swimming and had taken pictures of what your mom and dad looked like. Then, he and Hailey each took one parent and worked on making their faces through the CPD's sketch software.

"Now what the hell is this?" Jay asked as he held up a big board that Hailey had laying out in front of her as well.

"That, Jay, is so we can stick the back of the frames to it so that we don't have to give the three of them to her separately. Then, she can just take them off from it and place them wherever she wants in her room."

"You're smart. Maybe you should've gone to law school."

"Haha, very funny, Halstead. But then I wouldn't have met you."

"Eh, I beg to differ. You'd probably end up being some prosecution or defense attorney and then I'd have to testify, and after getting yelled at by you on the stand, I'd end up making an ass of myself and ask you out for a drink."

"Is that so?"

"That is very much so."

He walked up to her and grabbed her by the waist and she gave him a peck on the lips. "Hails," Jay whined. "Why'd you phone it in?"

"Because we have presents to wrap. Now, sit your ass down on the carpet and help me."

"Yes ma'am. But, damn, you're really going to be the death of me."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

***

"Before we do cake everyone, me and Hailey have one more gift for Y/N," Jay announced by tapping a fork gently against his champagne glass. Yes, the adults were drinking champagne because they were celebrating your first birthday with them as their kid. No, they wouldn't even give you one sip...but you didn't care and you didn't ask.

You had gotten spoiled all day. Will had taken you out for breakfast where you had gotten chocolate chip pancakes with all the toppings. Then, he took you to the sporting goods store where you bought an FC Madrid jersey and to Barnes Noble where you bought a few new books.

Then, when you got home, you were surprised to find everyone from Intelligence there along with some people from Med, and firehouse 51. Emilia, Mouse, and Makayla were there, and your friend, Rosa, whom Emilia had introduced you to earlier in the year at her welcome home party since Rosa was one of Emilia's little cousins.

You had gone outside and played a huge soccer game. And, when you got sick of playing soccer, Emilia busted out a makeup kit she had bought for you. And you, Makayla, Emilia, and Rosa did each other's makeup. While the four of you were doing makeup, a soccer tournament had broken out where Intelligence played Med, and then the winner of that game played Firehouse 51. Intelligence won against Med...mostly due to Jay. But, then they played 51 and they got creamed.

"Here you go, nena," Hailey said as she passed you the gift. Hailey had started calling you nena since Jay had a nickname for you, cariña, which you learned now meant sweetheart in English. So, she decided to call you nena, which meant honey. And, you and Hailey had thought it only fair if you came up with a nickname for Jay. So, the one you decided on was quite fitting in your mind: pecas...which translated to freckles. And, Will, well Will calls you Osa because your favorite animal is a bear. It's probably one of only three words he knows in Spanish next to hola and adios.

The gift was long and hard...like a piece of wood. You slowly opened the gift, wondering what else you could have possibly gotten.

You bit your lip as you finished tearing the paper off and flipped it over. "Mamí, Papí, Illiana," you whispered as you held back tears. "¿Cómo lo hicisteis?" you asked. Seeing as Jay and Hailey had been working very hard on their Spanish for the past nine months, they could understand you and could sometimes explain an English word to you in Spanish if needed.

"We didn't really need to test out the drawing thing," Jay answered. "We just needed a picture of Illiana. And, I got the pictures of your parents from the locket."

At this, you started to cry harder, remembering that day when Jay had to cut your necklace off of you in the back of the Med truck in Spain.

You stood up and hugged both Jay and Hailey at the same time. Now, you had both of your families watching over you: your biological family from in heaven and your parents in the here and now. And, your biological family now had no doubt in their mind up there that you would never, ever forget them.

"You remember what she called us that night?" Hailey asked.

"How could I forget? It was the first night she called us mom and dad. I still remember her exact words when I told her we weren't trying to replace her biological family: Son mi familia en el cielo y en mi corazon, pero vosotros sois mi familia aquí."

"They're my family in heaven and in my heart, but you are my family here."

"Exactly."

"Oh my God!" Hailey laughed. "She wrote sixth-grade: I cheated on a literature test and Mom had to come to pick me up and I got in trouble. And then, Dad went full-on dad-mode."

"No fucking way," Jay laughed as he brought the laptop closer to him and looked for the sixth-grade section. "I can't believe this is what she's going to write about!"

"Well, in her defense, it was the first time we had to ground her and the first time you went full-on, overprotective, my daughter can do no wrong dad-mode."

"Pretty sure the next time I'll do that is when she gets asked to the homecoming dance later this year."

"Jay! You will not! You will not scare the boys away from our daughter!"

"Well, they should be scared!" Jay argued. "We're both cops, babe. We can make their death look like an accident."

"Jay, what you're talking about is murder and I shouldn't have to remind you that that is illegal. If so, I am going to the Ivory Tower tomorrow to get you stripped of your sergeant title."

"Fine, fine. The next time I'll do that is when she gets her driver's license."

"Hey, on the bright side, we wouldn't have to pick her up from the principal's office then," Hailey pointed out. "She could just drive herself home."

"We wouldn't have to figure out which of us should go pick her up like last time?"

"Exactly. And I'm pretty sure she was thankful that it was you and not me who picked her up in sixth grade."

"Miss Halstead," your literature teacher said as she stalked over to you from the other side of the classroom. "Care to tell me what you have under your sleeve?"

"My arm?"

"I don't like being disrespected in my classroom. We both know you have your phone in there. And, lying to me will just make this worse."

"I-I needed it," you stammered, not wanting to have the whole class hear how stupid you were.

"For a test? You know the rules: no cheating. Principal's office, now. Grab your stuff. And, I'll be calling your parents as you walk down there."

You grabbed your backpack and started your walk to the principal's office. It's not like you had a choice...well, you did have a choice. You could've just not used your phone on the test. But, after that last grade you got on that essay and how weirdly worded the questions were, you basically had no choice but to use your phone. It's not like you were using it to look up the answers per se, but you were using it to try and understand the questions because there was no way you were going to ask that teacher.

"Mrs. Halstead, right this way," you heard the office secretary say as they led Hailey to the principal's office. Your phone was sitting on the principal's desk, the tab you had been using to cheat open and you were fiddling with the strings of your hoodie. You had thought about deleting your search history, but knew it wouldn't be of any use because Jay and Hailey would just be able to look it up with whatever police software crap that Intelligence had access to. You knew you'd be in more trouble if you deleted it and they found out that you were lying, so you decided you wouldn't delete it...even though you were regretting that decision as your phone screen stared back at you.

"May I ask why my daughter is in the principal's office when I thought she should be taking a test?" Jay and Hailey knew all about your literature test that day as you had read the book twice to be ready for it.

"That's exactly why she's in here, Mrs. Halstead," the principal told Hailey. "She was trying to cheat on her literature test."

"She wouldn't do that!" Hailey defended you. "She studied so hard!" She looked between both you and the principal, but your gaze stayed trained on the floor.

"Just take a look."

He passed Hailey your phone and she looked at the search history and the timestamps of said history. "Y/N, is this true?"

You nodded. Hailey sighed. "I'm assuming she's suspended?"

"Since this is her first academic infraction, I'm not going to suspend her. She does need to go home for the rest of the school day, though."

"Thank you. C'mon Y/N, let's go."

You hung your head as you left the middle school, Hailey holding your phone and still trying to figure out why you did this. But she knew that one thing was for sure: the minute Jay got home, he would not be happy.

***

"You're kidding me, right?" you heard Jay ask Hailey in the kitchen.

You were currently in your room, but the kitchen was right down the hall, so if you were quiet and focused enough, you could hear their conversation.

"I wish I was, Jay," Hailey said. "Just...here, take a look."

You assumed that Hailey was handing Jay the phone and he was looking at your search history.

Jay took a deep breath and restrained himself from shoving the chair into the kitchen table.

You heard his heavy footsteps coming down the hall and quickly locked your door and then sat back down on your bed.

You heard the doorknob jiggle as Jay tried to open your door.

"Y/N! ¡Abras la puerta inmediatamente!" (Open the door immediately!)

You were in deep shit if he was yelling at you in Spanish.

You didn't move from your bed.

"¡Ábrelo ahora!" (Open it now!)

"¡Estoy viniendo! ��Calmáse!" (I'm coming! Calm yourself!) You got up from the bed and opened the door.

"Do not ever, ever tell me to calm down ever again! Do you understand me?" Jay asked angrily as he flung open your door after he had unlocked it. You nodded. "Now, I understand that you were caught cheating on a test. Care to explain that to me?"

"Not really," you sighed as you sat on your bed.

"I'm giving you one more chance to explain to me why you chose to cheat. And I suggest you tell me the truth, kid."

You looked up to be met with Hailey standing in the doorway. She nodded to you as if to say you better listen to your dad.

"Well?" he asked as he crossed his arms across his chest.

"I needed to cheat!"

"Nobody needs to cheat!"

"Well, I did!" You dug through your backpack and found the paper you had to write for the class that your teacher failed you on. "Because of this!" You threw the paper on your bed. "And because my teacher is a puta!"

"You do not call your teacher a bitch, young lady!" Jay yelled.

"Jay!" Hailey yelled. "Take the paper, go to our room and read it and calm down!"

"So Mom can tell you to calm down but I can't?"

Jay turned back to you, but Hailey grabbed his arm. "Bedroom Jay. Now." He left the room and Hailey turned to you. "As for you. You're grounded from your phone for the foreseeable future. Sorry, nena. Now, we'll be back to talk to you after we've read whatever it is you threw on your bed."

***

"We read the paper," Jay said as he and Hailey entered your room again fifteen minutes later. "And, I'm sorry for yelling. I know me and your mom are both detectives, but it'd look better if you told us why you cheated instead of leaving us to put the pieces together."

"I'm sorry, I really am. It's just, I failed that paper. And, I worked really hard on it. And, she said it wasn't a real tradition."

The paper topic was to write about a family tradition and you wrote about the Spanish tradition of eating grapes on New Year's Eve. With twelve seconds left of the year, you'd put a grape in your mouth for every second that passed. You'd try to get all twelve grapes in your mouth, but that was really hard. You wrote about the last time you did it with your family and your papí almost got all of them in your mouth while you only got three in your mouth since you were only three years old at the time.

One of the grading criteria for the paper was that it had to be a real tradition.

"She said that it wasn't a real tradition, Dad. She said that because she had never heard of it and that it sounded weird to her, that it wasn't real. So, she failed me. I also put some Spanish words in there, but I put the translations next to it. I thought it would make it more...what's the word? It's kind of like real? Like it'd make it more real to read? You know that word for it?"

"Authentic?" Hailey asked.

"Yeah, that. I thought it'd make it more authentic to read. And, I knew the material of the book. But, the questions were so confusing and I didn't want to ask her to clarify because she's mean."

"So you googled the questions to try to figure out what they were asking?" Hailey asked.

"Yes. I'm sorry. I really am. I just didn't want you to be disappointed in me and think that I've been here for four years and not know English."

"Oh, cariña." Jay crouched in front of you. "We'd never think that. I promise. And I know Mom would never think that either, right?"

"That's right," Hailey agreed.

"Now, I have to go make a phone call."

"You went off on that teacher, Jay! I don't think I've ever heard you that angry when you weren't in interrogation!" Hailey laughed.

"Well yeah! That teacher's logic and grading criteria were seriously flawed. And, you read that paper. It was really good. As Y/N put it that day, she really was a puta."

Hailey rolled her eyes.

"Wish for the future," Jay read aloud. "I wish that I could figure out why Los Rebeldes came to the orphanage and killed Illiana."

"I think that's enough snooping through her stuff for the day, babe," Hailey said, beginning to feel uncomfortable reading this. "Let's just go to bed."

"Yeah, I'm just gonna take a quick shower and I'll be back, okay? I love you." He gave Hailey a quick peck on the lips and made his way to the bathroom to take a shower.

"I love you, too."

But, Jay barely heard her. He was so lost in thought about how to get answers for you, for his daughter. Hell, he wanted those answers just as bad as you. What kind of sick bastard would come into an orphanage heavily armed and just kill innocent civilians and innocent children?

***

"Mouse," Jay said as he entered the bullpen the next morning, "I need your help with something."

"Jeez, Jay, you're late," Ruzek commented. "Where's Hailey?"

"It's her RDO. And, I promised Y/N a frappuccino because she had to wake up early for school and had to go to bed late last night because we were working a case."

"Does Hailey--"

"No, Adam. Hailey does not know that I gave our fourteen-year-old daughter sugar-laced coffee this morning. And, if you so much as say the words frappuccino, Jay, and Y/N in the same sentence, I will bump you back down to patrol so fast you won't know what hit you."

Jay started to walk towards the tech area where he assumed Mouse would be. His voice carried, so he hoped he'd heard him when he'd said he needed his help.

"Whose idea was it to give Jay all this power?" Adam asked rhetorically. "I think it's going to his head."

"I heard that Ruz!"

"You needed something, Jay?" Mouse asked as he turned around from his laptop and took a sip of his coffee.

"Yeah, can you do something off the books for me?"

"You don't even have to ask anymore, man."

"Just need to make sure you don't assign a case number to it."

"I can do that. Now, what do you need?"

Jay pulled out his phone and pulled up a Spanish newspaper article from two weeks ago. He laid the phone in front of Mouse. "This. This is why I need you."

Mouse looked at the phone and back up at Jay with raised eyebrows. "I'm gonna need you to translate that. I don't speak Spanish."

"Says that the guy who killed everyone in the orphanage that Y/N was in is meeting with his lawyer about an appeal. That son of a bitch. And, it's happening on Monday."

"He's meeting with his lawyer on Monday or you'll know if he won the appeal or not on Monday?" Mouse asked.

"He's meeting with his lawyer on Monday."

"And you need me because...?"

"Think you can hack into Spain's maximum-security federal prison system?"

"You cannot be serious."

"I am dead serious, Mouse."

"Why don't you just wait to hear the news?"

Jay sighed and took a seat next to Mouse. "Y/N has to write a paper and was using my laptop. It was this narrative thing for her senior project, so it's due in a few years. But, I'll spare you the details. Y/N had to write what one of her wishes for the future was and she wrote that she wants to know why the guy killed everyone in the orphanage. Not who, because we already know that it was Raúl Rodríguez. She wants to know why."

"That guy's the one who told them to attack the orphanage? The one that killed her sister, right?"

"That's the prick."

"Okay, I'll see what I can do. I'd know that if it was my sister or my kid that I'd want to know."

"Thanks, man."

"Video and audio?"

"Yeah. I'm probably gonna get Emilia in on this too to translate."

"Why? Don't you and Hailey speak Spanish?"

"We do, but they're gonna talk really fast and I probably don't know law lingo except for the word lawyer."

"Fair enough. I'll get to work."

***

"Hails, Hails," Jay shook Hailey awake.

"Jay? Why are you home so late?" she asked as she rolled over and opened her eyes. It was almost 11:30 and she had gone to bed half an hour ago...she thought Jay would've been home by 11:00.

"Paperwork," Jay answered honestly. He instantly regretted his decision of waking Hailey up knowing her history of insomnia. "But, I shouldn't have woke you up. I'm sorry, babe."

"No, I'm awake now. What's up?" She sat up in bed and turned on the lamp to see Jay changing out of his clothes and into his pajama pants and an old t-shirt. "You don't have to sleep with a shirt on you know."

Jay smirked. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? But, don't want our daughter to walk in on me shirtless."

"She's spending the night at Rosa's," Hailey informed him.

"In that case..." Jay trailed off and took off his t-shirt along with his pajama pants so that he was just in his boxers. "Better?"

"Much better."

Jay pulled back the covers on his side of the bed and slid in next to his wife. She cuddled into his side and he wrapped an arm around her.

"What'd you want to tell me?" she asked.

"How do you know I wanted to tell you something?"

"You had that look in your eye, Jay Halstead. Now, tell me."

"So persuasive." He rolled his eyes playfully.

"Shut up."

"You love it, though." He gave her a quick kiss on the lips. "You know how Y/N's biggest wish was to know why Raúl Rodríguez attacked the orphanage?"

"Mhmm," she mumbled.

"Well, I'm gonna find out why."

She pulled away from him. "What? How? You're going to Spain? To interrogate him? You know the CPD doesn't have jurisdiction there even though you were a ranger there, right?"

"Hails, I'm not going overseas to find him. I promise you that."

"Okay." She settled back into his embrace. "Then what are you doing?"

"Having Mouse see if he can hack into the prison system so that I can watch the lawyer talk to him."

"And you're going to be able to understand everything they're saying?"

"No, but Emilia will."

"You called her and told her your plan before you told me?"

"No! The only person who knows is Mouse. I figured I'd call Emilia tomorrow. Like I said, I was just at the district late doing paperwork."

"Okay, I believe you. And, we're not going to have her in the room with us, Y/N that is? We're going to tell her why he did this so she doesn't have to hear it from him?"

"Precisely. Now, am I right in assuming that since Y/N's gone for the night that we can be as loud as we want?"

"You are very much correct in that." Then, he gave her a kiss...and this time, he didn't phone it in at a peck.

***

You were sitting in the breakroom Monday afternoon trying to do some American history homework. There was so much reading involved, but it was okay because you liked history. And, there were pictures in the textbook...it wasn't like you were reading Romeo and Juliet like you had to do in English class.

You knew Emilia was here because she had brought you some fries, much to your mom and dad's dismay since your mom had packed you a few extra snacks. But, Emilia said she had to hold up her reputation as your cool aunt...even if she wasn't related to you whatsoever. And so far, she was holding it up.

You didn't know why she was here, but you assumed it was because Kim was in the field and they needed someone to translate audio. Sometimes Jay would call in Emilia if he knew that she wasn't working to do some translating so he didn't have to deal with calling up a patrolman. You also knew from hearing some of his conversations with Will that Will wanted to ask her out.

And, you hoped she say yes. You wanted Emilia to be your actual aunt. Apparently, she had a thing for doctors according to Jay's side of the phone conversations you'd heard, so you hoped it'd work out if your uncle Will ever got the balls to ask her out.

All of a sudden, Emilia came into Jay's office and he took off running. Hailey saw this and she started following them.

"What?" you asked yourself.

They always would tell you if they had to leave and they'd always be sure to tell you they loved you before they left.

You quietly walked out of the breakroom and towards where you had seen them running to. You assumed they were in the tech area because of the direction they ran in and the fact that whenever Emilia was here, she was most likely in the tech room.

As you got closer, you started hearing Spanish.

Someone talking about an attack...an attack on an orphanage.

A man said it was in the Tabernas Desert.

You peeked your head around the corner to see that on the screen there was a man in a nice suit and someone sitting at a table with handcuffs on.

"Anything we don't already know?" Hailey asked.

"Not that it sounds like right now," Emilia answered. "They're just talking about the orphanage Y/N and Illiana were in and where it was."

So this is the guy who did it. This was the guy--no, the monster--who led the attack that killed your sister.

"The lawyer just asked Rodríguez why he did it," Emilia said.

"And?" Jay asked

"Jay, I need to be able to hear them talk, so shut up."

Jay held his hands up in a sign of surrender.

"The lawyer just asked if it was something personal, something like Rodríguez being an orphan and he didn't have a good experience there so he attacked it, something that would tug at the board of appeals heartstrings essentially." There was a pause as Emilia continued listening. "He said no." She paused again. "Oh my God."

"What?" Jay asked frantically. "Why did that prick kill innocent children?"

"He said he ordered the attack because the orphanage was receiving aid from the US, for things such as food, clothing, and basic necessities."

"Un-fucking-believable." Jay wanted to punch something, but he restrained himself. "So, because our country was helping those who couldn't help themselves, this prick went after them?"

"That's what it sounds like. I'm sorry, Jay."

"Hails, how are we going to tell Y/N?"

"You guys don't have to tell me," you said as you made your presence known. "I heard the whole thing."

Jay sighed. "I'm sorry cariña, really I am. I'm sorry that this happened to you. That you had to find out this way. That this was the reason for what that monster did. I'm sorry."

"Dad read my outline?" you asked, turning to Hailey.

"Yeah, nena, he did. It was just open and you know him, he couldn't stop himself."

"Because he's a detective before he's a sergeant, just like Nancy Drew," you said, bringing it back to the books you'd used to read with your dad every night when you had just come over to the states from Spain and were working on your English.

"This should never have happened," Jay said softly as he walked over to you and brought you into a tight hug. "People that do these kinds of horrific acts shouldn't have the right to be born, much less to live."

"But if that wouldn't have happened you wouldn't have found me. And I wouldn't have found my forever Mom and Dad."

A/N: I wrote over 6.5k words to get this posted today! That's a new personal record for me! Also, my neuroscience class is kicking my butt right now, so if I don't update as frequently, that's why. Hopefully, I'll get one out every week or every two weeks at the latest. Please like/reblog and comment because I love getting feedback and it keeps me motivated to write. If you want to be added to the taglist, just tell me and I’ll add you!

taglist: @theambracer88 @virtualreader @kelelas-life @celyndavies @brookerz122493 @musicismyescape27 @anotherfan07 @thexplosivegirl @dreamingwithlens @xoxmariaxox @onechicago18 @iamasimpingh0e

#jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #will halstead #ranger! jay #chicago pd #writer #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd fanfic #chicago pd fanfiction #jay halstead fanfiction #jay halstead fanfic

102 notes · View notes

asterekmess · 4 years

Note

Laura gets sent a funky letter and goes back to Beacon Hills. Now, we have a lil more confusion (i’ve got a whole buttload of issues with the timeline, but let’s not get into that now) // *puppy eyes* Please talk more about the timeline? *puppy eyes intensify* Pretty please?

oohhhmygod. oohhhhmygod. What issues don’t I have with the timeline?

Listen, I know I mention this is every post I make, but I’m doing a full series rewrite of this show. Which means I need to know when things happen. And TW? Nothing makes SENSE.

I’ve said it before, it’s complete bullshit that a show about werewolves refuses to give two fucks about the moon cycle. It’s so fucking simple. The first full moon is on a Friday. The second full moon Must Be on a Sunday. Is it? NO. It’s on a MONDAY. They’re at SCHOOL all day! I had so many issues trying to get the timeline to play nice here, you’ve no idea. In the end, I just ended up sticking with the stupid concept that a moon cycle is 31 days instead of 30.

But no, let’s go even further back, huh? To the Pre-show timeline. Laura Hale, everybody. She shows up (How long is she even in Beacon Hills? If the deer was what warned the Argents and made them head back, they should’ve arrived before she died. How did she do all that investigating in so short a time?) and gets ganked by Peter. He claws/bites her to death. Then, the story goes that the Argents cut her in half and used her as bait to catch Derek. BUT. We know Kate wasn’t the one to do it, cus’ she wasn’t in town. And Chris, Victoria, and Allison hadn’t even arrived yet. We find out in S3A that Allison was IN the car that nearly hit Scott when he walked out of the woods after getting bit and finding the top half of Laura’s body. So who the fuck cut Laura’s body in half? (I Have other issues with this, actually, and the entirety of the Peter stuff, so XP fuck you davis.)

Then there’s the thing with the bus driver. Scott makes this claim that he knows the guy, bc he drove the bus Scott rode “when I lived with my dad” but Scott never lived with his DAD. His dad is in fucking NY or whatever. And the guy’s only been a bus driver in the last five years, so it’s not like it’s from when he was little or something.

I’m not even gonna mention the whole “The fire was ten years ago” “Wait, the fire was six years ago” thing cus...wtf? ALSO. If they wrote the show and intended for Derek to be NINETEEN at the start, but then said the fire was TEN YEARS AGO??? DEREK WAS NINE???? They wrote that storyline intending for Derek to have Been NINE? WTF? And if they didn’t intend for him to have been nine, then what the hell is wrong with them and not thinking these things through? That’s so fucking basic.

How about the part where Derek gets shot with a bullet that’ll kill him in 48 hours, but he shows up the next day and nearly dies after less than 24? Did he spend a whole day alone? Scott knew Derek was shot for an entire day and that he’d been poisoned, and didn’t think to check on him??

This show is so allergic to having actual dates for their shit bc they don’t wanna get caught out for their pathetic timeline, they don’t even have a Valentine’s Day episode with Allison and Scott. According to the timeline I’ve worked out, Valentine’s day? Yeah, it happens on Scott’s second full moon. The day he and Lydia make out. Love it.

That whole thing with Allison in the car and the crying and the flashbacks to her seeing Derek getting tortured? Yeah, Noah’s part in that makes no fucking sense (yeah, I know no one calls him noah, I joined the fandom too late to care about calling him john). We see Stiles getting his dad drunk that night. Royally drunk. Then, suddenly, he’s on duty and pulling Allison over? What? Or did Allison wait a night to start freaking out about it?

Allison’s mother gets bitten at the rave, which is like a week away from the full moon bc it’s at the start of spring break and Lydia’s birthday happens at the end of Spring break (actually, since Lydia goes to the fucking School to see Jackson, HOLDING A BACKPACK, I’m pretty sure it happens after they get back to school). Scott’s bite healed the day after he was bitten. You’re telling me Victoria didn’t heal that whole week? Even if she had the whole ‘guilt trip=no healing’ thing going on, she would’ve been shifting throughout the week and Derek said they can’t keep themselves from healing while they’re unconscious (or are we just completely disregarding that? Oh, we are? Okay, sure, fine.) so why don’t her eyes change color/why doesn’t she show any wolf signs until the moment she dies?

Lydia’s birthday is supposed to be on the Worm Moon. Which is the full moon that happens in March. But we’ve already had three full moons. January, February, and March. We’re halfway through fucking April right now, TW. What are you on?

Then throughout S3A & B we have a blatant disregard for how long the nighttime lasts. Erica and Boyd are out running around BH early enough that children are playing in the woods and Chris is getting groceries. But then Derek holds them in the boiler room for like two minutes and suddenly it’s dawn? Dawn shouldn’t be coming until around 6:30 in the morning. That’s hours of being down there with them.

Plus all the Oni stuff where nighttime happens about twenty minutes after they get out of classes and then lasts the entire episode, while still somehow not taking long enough because the episode runs in current time, so only like an hour has passed, but now the sun is up! Woo!

Y’all know my expertise doesn’t go v far into the later seasons. But come on. It’s not that fucking hard to pick a timeline and then stick to it! Stop putting things that should be happening on the weekend in the middle of the week! Stop jamming a week’s worth of scenes one after the other and then pretending it all happened in one night! They got all fucking worried about running out of material around Season 5B or whatever, but if they’d just taken their time in the beginning then they could’ve gotten like two more seasons out of this show. Two good seasons. Hell, every other season would improve too, just from not being so bunched up and getting the chance to actually explore the entire plotline they set up.

Plus, just overall, there’s the part where they fucking skipped four months between S2 & S3A? Four months, not three. They still had like two weeks or so of school left after the warehouse scene that we never got to see. PLUS THE FOUR MONTHS before S3A.

I get that they wanted to go for a seasonal thing, where the show happens when they’re in school. But you can’t just skip four months of character development and then give us nothing about anyone except Scott! Derek getting an apartment is not enough! What the fuck were they doing for four months? Why did it take them so long to find Erica and Boyd??? What happened with Jackson? What did Stiles do all summer? (I’d normally make a joke about ‘other than derek’ here, but like, I don’t actually ship them at that point in the timeline? The whole ‘summer fling’ thing never worked for me. Bonding, yes, fucking, no.)

AND they skipped the entirety of winter break between S3B and S4. What HAPPENED at Christmas time? Did Malia get to make snow angels? Did Stiles go to THERAPY?

AND FOLLOW A MOON CYCLE YOU ASSHOLES.

#personal #meta ramblings #go for it #anti-scott mccall #rant #Anonymous

75 notes · View notes

thetriggeredhappy · 4 years

Note

Hi! I love your fics and i was wondering if you would you write a speeding bullet fic where the sniper for some reason cries and scout is a good boyfriend and comforts him? Your writing is a life saver honestly

sometimes people other than scout get hurt and need comforting ok there's nothing strange about that, nothing at all

(warnings for mild swearing and, well, crying)

For maybe the first time in his life, Scout took a second to shut up and take stock of the situation before he jumped into it.

Sniper sat at the cramped little table in the camper, elbows on the surface, face in his hands, crumpled forward like weathering a dust storm. He didn’t look up when Scout entered, just told him “Bugger off, bad time” in a voice that was a bit more hoarse than usual, a bit more fierce.

The lights were off in the camper, leaving it almost dark with only a small amount of light filtering through the curtains on the windows with the approaching sunset, and there was what looked like Sniper’s dinner in the process of being made, half-done and left sitting there on the meager countertop space unfinished.

And Scout blinked, confused, seeing one more detail that was out of place—Sniper’s shooting glasses, there on the floor of the camper, broken, lenses shattered and frame badly bent.

Scout carefully shut the door behind himself. “Snipes, what happened?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“I said it’s a bad time. Bugger off,” Sniper repeated, more vehemently, but his voice was rough around the edges in a way that made Scout’s brows furrow further.

“...I, Snipes, I’m not gonna do that. Clearly something’s up,” he said outright.

Sniper sunk further.

Scout shifted on his feet, looking down at the shades again. “I mean, what happened to those? How’d they break?” he asked.

“Had ‘em hung on my shirt, they fell off, I stepped on them,” Sniper said, tone extremely snappish. “And now I’m—I’m in a bloody temper, so you ought to bugger off before I start yelling at you.”

Scout carefully sidestepped the mess to stand next to Sniper, putting a hand on his shoulder, wincing a little at the way Sniper crumpled further under the weight of it. “Well, before you yell could you maybe talk?” he asked, voice quiet.

“It’s—it’s just—“ Sniper started to say, then exhaled heavily, shakily. “It’s just a pair of glasses, it shouldn’t have me this bloody upset. None of this should be making me upset.”

“None of what?” Scout asked, confused, getting that feeing that somewhere along the line his brain had skipped over a few words and suddenly couldn’t see the picture, except this time he wasn’t sure it was his fault.

“This! Any of this!” Sniper snapped, gesturing jerkily towards the camper and, Scout suspected, the larger world, then his head was in his hands again. “I’m making a big bloody fuss over absolutely nothing. Just little nothing sorts of things.”

“What things specifically?” Scout asked.

“Breaking my glasses, making a fool of myself every now and then on the field, the blokes switched the coffee back to this garbage we used to drink and stopped drinking because it’s awful, sand in my boots, sunburn, you bloody well name it,” Sniper listed, tone clipped. “And all the yelling on the field and the—the shrapnel and explosions, and, and everything is—this shouldn’t get to me. None of it should.”

“Well... maybe it’s not that none of it should,” Scout said slowly, “but all of it does.”

Sniper finally looked up at him, confusion writ across his face. His eyes were a little red.

“Like, you can only put up with so much bullshit. Stuff keeps whackin’ at you again and again and, I dunno, it just... eventually with enough stuff goin’ wrong, it’s...” Scout trailed hesitantly, “I just, I guess somethin’s gotta give.”

Sniper looked at him, and there was the slightest shift in his expression, in a direction Scout hadn’t really seen it take before.

Scout looked down at the broken shades on the ground, back over at him. “Y’know, sometimes when this kinda stuff happens to me I try and feel better by just, like, really leaning into being pissed about it,” he tried. “Think that would help?”

Sniper looked a little confused again. “...How d’you do that?” he asked outright.

“Like...” Scout said, looked down at the shades again. “Like, man, it’s complete total bullshit that those got broke. What the fuck, man. That’s so stupid.”

Sniper seemed to catch on, because he looked down at the mess too and spoke a second later. “Made a bloody mess, gonna take ages to clean up. Bloody nonsense.”

“Yeah,” Scout agreed, putting a little more enthusiasm behind it. “Fuckin’ bullshit. Who the hell do those glasses think they are? What, we get shot on the daily and we’re totally fine, but these—these little bitch glasses just gonna fuckin’ break because you drop ‘em?”

“And step on them,” Sniper added.

“Aw, fuck that, we get stomped all the time! Just, like, less literally. Fuckin’, get your shit together, glasses.”

“Grow up, glasses,” Sniper agreed, and he was starting to grin a little.

“Grow up! Y’know what Heavy would call those glasses? And be totally right about? He’d say they’re babies. These glasses can fuck off.”

“Bugger off, glasses. Who needs you anyways?” Sniper said firmly, and he was grinning in earnest. Scout nodded.

A beat of silence.

“This feels silly,” Sniper admitted, expression falling.

“Yeah,” Scout shrugged. “But hey. Do you feel a little better?”

Sniper hesitated. “A little. I feel... less... less stuck.”

“Yeah?” Scout prompted.

“I...” Sniper kneaded at his palm with the thumb of his opposite hand, dropping eye contact for a moment. “...I think I’ve just been...”

Scout waited for Sniper to sort through his own head enough to speak.

“...I’ve just been stressed is all,” he murmured. “And... can’t...”

Sniper’s exhale a few moments later was shaky, and Scout wasted no time pulling him to his feet and into a hug, tucking his chin up into Sniper’s shoulder, Sniper automatically slouched a bit further to allow it.

His next few exhales were shaky too, and he squeezed Scout pretty hard as he returned it. “Bloody... ridiculous thing to get upset over—“

“Hey,” Scout cut in, quietly but firmly. “It’s okay.”

“I’m a grown adult man—I make money assassinating people for a living—and here I am getting this frustrated over nothing—“

“It’s not nothing,” Scout assured, squeezing tighter. “It’s like, eight hundred things at once. And what’s wrong with being upset anyways?”

Sniper was quiet.

Scout exhaled, thinking carefully to find his next few words, well aware that they would be important. “You... you know I don’t care. All that—that dumb shit people would say, it don’t matter to me. You don’t gotta be tough or serious or any of that dumb shit when you’re with me. I’m not gonna laugh at you or make fun or whatever. Because I’m your boyfriend, and that means you’re my boyfriend, and I love you. Even the messy parts. Especially the messy parts. I’m not dating you because you’re some big cool assassin dude, I’m dating you because you’re a real person, and—and I love you.”

He felt tension having slowly risen in Sniper’s shoulders, his breathing shaking a little bit. Finally, as he stopped talking, he felt Sniper’s shoulders jump, hitch, as his breath caught for a second on an inhale.

“It’s okay,” Scout assured quietly.

That’s when Sniper started crying, and even with Scout’s assurances it was a choked, messy sort of thing, Sniper clearly trying to wrestle it down despite himself, the instinct too deeply ingrained to resist. Scout just held on tight, rocked him slowly enough to keep from being distracting, inhaled, exhaled.

Somewhere, quietly, between gasps like a drowning man and choked noises from the back of his throat, Sniper managed to say an “I love you” back, and Scout squeezed him just to make sure he knew he heard.

It took about fifteen minutes to get it all out of Sniper’s system—the only reason Scout knew that was because the clock was in his line of sight and he found himself watching it tick over Sniper’s shoulder. But even after Scout was pretty sure the worst of the tears were over, Sniper kept holding on to him, for long, silent minutes.

He heard Sniper start gearing up to say something, head shifting slightly, breathing shifting slightly. He cut in before he could get to it.

“Snipes, if you start apologizing I’m gonna kill you,” he noted.

“...Right,” Sniper said, and was quiet for a bit longer.

Scout went to pull back, and Sniper didn’t let go for a few moments, wiping off his face on his sleeve before he let Scout get a look at him. Once he’d pulled back, Scout immediately leaned up and gave Sniper a peck on the cheek, ignoring the fact that it was still damp. “Feel any better?” Scout asked.

Sniper nodded sheepishly, glancing away, as uncomfortable with eye contact as ever. “A good bit,” he agreed.

“Good,” Scout said, giving him a smile.

Sniper glanced down at the broken glasses on the ground, and his expression fell a bit, then at the dinner he hadn’t gotten to properly making, and it fell further. Scout tried to think fast.

“If you wanna pick up the glass, I can do dinner,” he suggested. Sniper nodded, looking a little relieved.

Twenty minutes later, halfway into eating, Sniper’s eyes were less puffy and his expression less wiped, and he continued to look better as he continued eating. Scout worked really hard not to smile and point it out, but his mood had improved enough that Sniper brought it up himself.

“...Think one reason I got that upset was just that I was hungry,” Sniper said out of the blue, and Scout pretended to think about it for a second before nodding and making noises of agreement around his mouthful. “Didn’t think I was that hungry, didn’t, er... notice I s’pose.”

“Tired too?” Scout asked gently.

Sniper took stock of himself for a few moments, glancing off to one side as he chewed. His eyebrows furrowed. “...Yeah, actually. A bit,” he confirmed.

“Wanna just fuckin’, turn in early?” Scout suggested. “Like, nine PM bedtime?”

“I’m not that old yet,” Sniper scoffed. “Besides, I’ve... got laundry and whatnot, all sorts of chores I’ve been putting off.”

“I’ll help you with ‘em, I’m all caught up and you always help me out anyways. And, hey, it can make up for how I always make you stay up late all the time,” Scout shrugged, grinning. “This time you gotta go to bed early or else.”

“Or else what?” Sniper asked, quirking an eyebrow, the motion much more trackable with his face bare.

“Or else, uh... I won’t help you with chores tomorrow.”

“Oh no,” Sniper said, tone deadpan sarcastic.

“...Or else I... I dunno, I’ll think of something later.”

“Will you? You’re sure you won’t just forget?” Sniper drawled.

Scout huffed, pouting a little. “C’mon, Snipes, please?” he asked, and maybe he put a little bit of puppydog eyes into play, but only because it worked, and Sniper nodded a few seconds later.

Scout ended up cleaning up their plates as well, and did his best to give Sniper all kinds of hugs and pecks on the cheek and on the mouth as they got ready for bed, Scout once again just stealing one of Sniper’s shirts to wear (“Just buggering keep a pair of pajamas over, you bloody menace,” Sniper chided for the hundredth time, but his shirts smelled like him so once again Scout just shrugged and said he’d try and remember). Then they were there getting comfortable in the bed, and Scout moved to hold Sniper close despite Sniper idly complaining that they’d both get overheated and sweat to death during the night.

Before he managed to drift off, Scout did take a minute to prop himself up and look down at Sniper. Sniper blinked his eyes open and looked at him, having also not quite fallen asleep, curious but otherwise neutral.

“I meant it,” Scout said. “I wasn’t—all that stuff I said earlier. I meant it. I wasn’t just saying all that because you were upset or whatever. You can talk to me about whatever, and I love you. Seriously.”

Sniper’s lip quirked, and he looped an arm up over Scout’s shoulders to pull him down into a kiss, and just like he did every time—the dope that he was—Scout absolutely melted into it. When they parted again, Sniper didn’t let him get far, pressing their foreheads together. “I know,” he said. “Love you too.”

#sniperscout #speeding bullet #tf2 #team fortress 2 #my fanfiction #shut up me #everybody talks #also thank you for the kind words #vaguely unrelated but ive noticed that formatting has been like A Thing lately and i apologize if there's been weird mistakes and all that #oh tumblr; working social media platform and all that

51 notes · View notes

killshield · 3 years

Text

they’ve become quite the paradox. shield, unironically, and spear; unstoppable force and immovable object. two incompatible premises with an uncanny ability to piss each other off.

the intel that had fallen into ward’s lap two weeks prior would have been inconsequential to anyone else. it was an easy connection to make: one of sunil bakshi’s close associates, a low - ranking member of old hydra, apprehended by SHIELD agents during a routine sweep of a former base of operations. ward harbored no delusions as far as allegiance went; what he’d done to bakshi was enough incentive for anyone to flip. no coincidence that this follows so closely on the heels of roman briggs’ jailbreak. coulson needed the excuse, and ward’s schedule happened to have an opening.

a change in the very air between them as soon as they’re alone. charged; alive, like the air before a storm.

alone. curious, ward notes, that coulson doesn’t hide behind deathlok this time.

he holds up a photograph, a full - color freeze - frame printed off the footage from a surveillance camera. not an accident: a challenge.

“nice glamour shot,” he says dryly.

ward smiles. “should’ve had it framed. not my best angle, but —”

“c’mon, ward.” what curves the line of coulson’s mouth isn’t amusement. “let’s skip the pleasantries. we both know you’re not that modest. you wanted my attention? congrats. you got it. now tell me what you want with briggs.”

“it’s funny,” ward muses, disregarding the second half entirely, “you say that like i ever lost your attention in the first place. and here i thought you had bigger fish.”

“it’s a wide net.”

“is it.”

“you exposed yourself to break him out of a secure facility crawling with agents, most of whom would kill to see you back in a cage. why?”

again, the question is ignored. “you tried that. didn’t work out so well.”

“you wanna know what i think?”

“not really.”

another tiny, humorless uptick. coulson leans forward on the table, wary, measured where ward is relaxed.

“i think you might be just deranged enough to believe you’re actually doing him some sort of favor. that in your own backwards, twisted way, you’re setting him free, when all you’ve really done is take away his only chance at starting over.”

deranged. deluded. same song, ward thinks disinterestedly; different verse, albeit only by a key or two, if that. his brow arcs.

“right. a clean break, no more looking over his shoulder — sounds familiar. it’s a good speech. almost had me fooled the first time around. second time, not so much. don’t patronize me, coulson. SHIELD was neutralizing a threat, nothing more, nothing less.”

“and you took it upon yourself to willfully unleash that threat,” coulson says. “so i’ll ask again — why? i’m sure you did your homework. roman briggs is an unknown variable, a powder keg ready to go off. some might say he’s a liability. i know you, ward. you’re way too calculated to bet on that kind of horse.”

“see, that’s the difference between us.” ward cants his head a fraction of an inch to one side, arm poised, elbow bent, along the back of his chair. “where you saw a wild animal that needed breaking, all i saw was potential. an opportunity.”

“an opportunity for what? don’t tell me loyal henchmen are in such short supply these days that hydra’s resorted to bargain - hunting from SHIELD holding cells. oh, speaking of —”

“henchmen, or shopping trips? sounds like a date.”

“loyalty. you’re already slipping. how do you think i managed to track you down?”

“educated guess — ? bakshi’s guy folded like a cheap suit the moment you promised him protection. how’s he enjoying SHIELD custody so far?”

“you’re good.”

“and you’re predictable. you didn’t just come here to talk about briggs, and you definitely didn’t come without backup.”

a grim smile, peppered with skepticism. “but i’m supposed to believe you did?”

“well — yes and no.” something almost metallic flickers behind ward’s eyes, a hollow - point spark. slow pull to draw a cellphone from his pocket, his opposite palm mildly raised at the spasm of movement across from him: coulson, on reflex, twitching toward a weapon. ward regards him with another scant raise of brows and connects the call with the successive press of two buttons, then a third to put it on speaker. still watching coulson, he says, to the receiving end, “how are we looking?”

roman’s voice. calm, steady. “target secured. ready to move on your signal.”

coulson boomerangs his focus; ward, down to the phone, up again to ward.

“good. hold position and wait for the green light.” the way his mouth curves at each corner isn’t a smile, not even the facsimile of one. it’s a quiet taunt, preceding the ghost of something thoughtful that falls short of sincere. “you know, SHIELD still has a surprising number of active safe houses, and most of them really aren’t that hard to find. couldn’t have been fury, he was too cloak - and - dagger for that. so it must’ve been your call, huh? pretty careless, director. seems you’re already slipping.”

a muscle tic. the flare of both nostrils. otherwise, coulson is composed; ward will give him that. “quit screwing around, ward — what did you do?”

“yeah, i don’t screw around, you of all people should know that. and i haven’t done anything, at least — not yet. if he doesn’t hear from me in the next fifteen minutes, though,” he gestures with each hand, a blown out breath, mimicking an explosion. “different story. you’ll be down half a dozen agents, just like that. good people, too. i checked. so, the question is, are you willing to make that sacrifice just to take me in? you know you won’t be able to hold me. you never could.”

“you’re bluffing.”

“like i was bluffing with may’s ex - hubby? c’mon, coulson. maybe it’s been a while since we’ve exchanged christmas cards, but things haven’t changed that much.”

no. they’re past that.

“okay.” aside from the shadow that crosses his gaze and the barely perceptible curl of his lip, coulson maintains neutrality. or what passes for it. "then answer me one thing.”

a beat. ward waits, unmoved.

“what’s randall prescott have to do with any of this? what was so important that you and briggs went all the way to portugal to murder a guy who’s been off the radar for years? i’ve seen briggs’ file — they were in the same orphanage, back in the day, but after that, it’s quiet. no connections, or none that left a paper trail. so what is it about him? what’s the significance of executing a defected hydra agent and his wife in cold blood? on their anniversary, no less, but you probably knew that.”

“they had a falling out.” in deference to coulson’s look, he elaborates, “prescott and briggs. wanted to reconnect, dig right down into the roots of their true feelings. i’m not a shrink, but i really think they made some progress.”

“ah — so that’s what this is.” the look shifts from uneasily perplexed to comprehending, disparaging. “a revenge kick, just like you manipulated agent 33 into. figures. i mean, after you shot her to death, you were a clyde without his bonnie. should’ve known it was only a matter of time before you found yourself a replacement.”

the first slip of emotion — visceral, raw, but securely contained, effectively distilled — comes out in the brusque undercurrent of a scathing tone. “and what about you, coulson? you find your replacement yet, or can you still not shake the memory of rosalind bleeding out in your arms?”

a mirrored response. “i’m not the one who slaughtered her, you sick son of a bitch.”

“but she’d be alive if it weren’t for you. let’s skip the pleasantries.” ward’s jaw works at the curve, hard and sharp. the hint of a sneer. “as for what happens next, you have two choices. i get up, and i walk out, and you tell your reinforcements to stand down — or, six SHIELD agents pay the price. they’ll die quick, which is more than i can say for you. so what’ll it be? we’ve got about,” he tips his wrist, checks his watch, “nine minutes left. and trust me when i say, he isn’t the ‘no news is good news’ type.”

“you’re not walking out of here, ward. i won’t make that mistake again. it’s over.”

“shoot me, then,” ward invites, arms spread as he rises to a stand. “end it, right here, right now. you’ll still lose some of your people, but ...”

“i’m never gonna stop,” coulson levels out, as he, too, gets to his feet; levels, although emphasis catches on every word like his tongue is serrated, “you do know that, don’t you? that for the rest of your short, miserable life — no matter what you do, ward. no matter where you go, or how far you run, i will always be right behind you.”

“and that’s just it, coulson.” ward lowers his arms and smiles. no warmth reaches his eyes, nor the deep well of shadow around them. “you’ll never be able to catch up.”

he moves, and almost anticipates coulson to follow.

he moves, and almost expects an icer to the back. maybe a real bullet. maybe they’re past that, too.

he moves, and coulson stays.

at the door, he pauses to catch coulson’s eye one last time.

“give my best to the team,” he says. “you know — for old time’s sake. i’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”

#debrief.#au / a hybrid signal: both shelter and warning at once.#this is a mess but it's fine #mythscar #coulson tag.

1 note · View note

lovemesomerafael · 5 years

Text

No One Else Chapter 1: Back In The Day

The bullets are flying and Sonny Carisi has no idea how he’s gonna get out of this one. For that matter, he’s not entirely sure how he got into this one, but that question is less pressing right now. There are four of them, all armed, and one of him, and he’s not sure how much ammunition he has left. He sees one of them crouch-run behind some cars, and shoots, but hits nothing but one of the cars. Although he has taken one of the shooters out of action, the point isn’t really to hit them, it’s to keep them pinned so he can get the hell out of here somehow. But he’s not sure how, exactly, he’s gonna accomplish that. And it’s really starting to bug him that he forgot to start counting his shots. He’s gotta be getting low and, of course, he doesn’t have a spare clip on him. Why would he? He just came here to interview a witness.

He really has to get out of Homicide. Assuming, of course, he doesn’t become one today.

He’s in a detatched, open garage full of junk stacked haphazardly, across an open yard from four piece-of-crap cars parked one behind the next on a gravel driveway that goes to a big old house. The house has been subdivided into several crackerbox apartments, one of which supposedly houses a guy who witnessed the murder he’s investigating. But, for some reason, as Carisi approached the house, shield in plain view around his neck, some asshole started shooting at him from the house, and pretty soon he was pinned down here in this garage and more assholes were shooting at him from behind the cars. Since his squad car is the fifth one in line on the driveway, it’s pretty clear he’s not leaving the way he came.

Another of the shooters makes a move. Crawling around between two of the cars, he tries to cower there and get a good shot at Carisi. Carisi aims and the guy goes down.

But Carisi isn’t the one who fired.

The shot came from behind him. Now he’s screwed. One of these assholes has crept up to the garage and is now behind him. Except why did they shoot their own guy? He’s trying to get very small and squeeze further between the stacks of junk he’s hiding in, since now he’s got shooters on both sides. It was probably not a good idea to skip Confession last week, because this is not looking good. He sees movement further back in the garage and thinks maybe if he can take this one out, and just have to deal with the three left behind the cars…

“Hey, can you hear me?” A female voice hisses.

“Come out!” Carisi shouts. “Show yourself!”

“Will you shut up? It’s not like they don’t know where you are, but you don’t have to help them. I’m Kinsella, Narcotics.”

“What?”

Carisi sees a dirty-blonde head pop up above a cardboard box, behind a Sig Sauer P226. He hears the shot, followed by a loud, whiny string of curses from behind the cars. The head and the Sig disappear back behind the box.

“My name. It’s Detective Kate Kinsella, NYPD. Narcotics.”

“Carisi. Homicide.”

“Well, Carisi Homicide, we got three down and three still shooting, and that’s about as good as it’s gonna get. We’re gonna have to shoot like hell and make a run for it.”

“Uh… That’s gonna be a problem. I’m low.”

“No extra clip?”

“I was comin’ here for a witness interview.”

“Shit. If my count is right, you got two shots left. Right?”

“Uh, yeah. Right.” She’s been counting my shots? Shit. Carisi didn’t think he could feel like more of a moron. Live and learn.

He realizes that she must have slipped in through the door on the other side of the garage, which means the shooters saw her. But they didn’t shoot at her, so she has to be undercover. Or, she was. The fact that she’s now shooting at them is gonna give these assholes a pretty big fucking clue that she’s not on their side.

He turns back to the cars. Seeing nothing moving, he picks up a broom with half the bristles missing and the others mildewed together in a clump, and waves it over his head. A series of gunshots erupts, including one that hits uncomfortably close. But he does see one guy peeking up over the hood of one of the cars. If he could get him to shoot again…

He takes aim and waves the broom again. The guy lifts up for a second to shoot and Carisi fires his last two bullets. The guy goes down, yelling, which means Carisi hasn’t hit him, but maybe he got some shrapnel in his eye or something. Good enough.

“All right, Carisi Homicide, that’s it. Let’s get outta here before something else goes wrong.”

Sonny holsters his now-useless weapon. “You got any ideas?”

“Head right, and run along the side of this building. It’s at an angle to the driveway, we’ll have cover. I’ll cover us. Ready? On three?”

More shots begin, and they’re hitting very close to where Carisi is. “Fuck that. Just start shootin’!”

She does, and Carisi jumps from behind the pile of junk and runs like hell straight toward the gunmen behind the cars to the front of the garage. He hears her fire several shots and sees her when he turns to his right and makes for the side of the garage. She’s shooting wildly, just to keep the assholes’ heads down, and running for it.

Carisi makes the side of the garage and runs about halfway to the back before turning around. He sees her come around the corner and flatten her back against the side of the garage. She’s tall, probably five foot eight or nine. She has disheveled dishwater blonde hair that looks like it hasn’t been washed in a while, spilling out of a knot low down on her head. She’s wearing torn, dirty fatigues and a ratty black leather jacket that looks a little too small. He can see what looks like a pink T-shirt where the jacket is unzipped.

“Don’t just stand there, find us a way outta here!” She calls to him, and turns to fire a couple more shots toward the assholes still left behind the cars.

“That’s my car, the black one at the end of the line.”

“Well, that’s clearly not gonna work. Think again,” she shouts over her shoulder.

Carisi looks around and says, “I got it. Keep ‘em occupied,” before disappearing behind the garage.

Kinsella is slapping a fresh clip into her Sig when she hears a car engine behind her and turns her head to see Carisi at the wheel of a barge of a vehicle. She fires several rounds toward the driveway, then turns and runs toward the long, low-slung old sedan, skirting behind it so as not to expose herself to fire from the assholes shooting at them. She struggles with the passenger door, finally getting it open with a grunt and a squeal of metal – the car has major body damage on that side and the door doesn’t want to move – and slides in, keeping low. Carisi puts his foot down on the gas, and the heavy car reluctantly begins to move. He heads the car across an expanse of mostly dead lawn to the street, where it thunks down the curb, bottoming out with a shower of sparks, and lumbers away from the house.

Kinsella is kneeling on the bench seat, trying to keep low but aiming out the back window in case they’re followed. She doesn’t think it’s likely, but those idiots can be unpredictable.

When it’s clear they aren’t being followed, she turns around and plops down onto the seat. She would put on her seatbelt, if this car had any. It’s gotta be thirty years old or more. It’s old fashioned Detroit steel, with bench seats that go all the way across in the front and the back and are as wide as couches.

Carisi is smiling. Smiling.

“What’s the smile for?” She asks.

“C’mon. You gotta admit that was a little bit fun. You know, now that we didn’t die and all.”

“Fun. You call that fun.”

“Yeah. Well, a little. Wasn’t it?”

Kinsella hesitates, but when Carisi looks over at her, her lips are twisted in a reluctant grin. “Maybe a little. I did kinda enjoy the part where you cruised up in this fucking aircraft carrier. What is this thing?”

“This? It’s a 1978 Mercury Grand Marquis.”

“Where did it come from?”

“It was behind the garage. I wasn’t sure it would start, it doesn’t look like it’s been driven since the Reagan administration, but I hotwired it and it started right up.”

“You hotwired it? How do you know how to do that?”

“Let’s just say I wasn’t always the paragon of law abiding behavior you see before you. But we gotta figure out where we’re goin’, because there’s not much gas in the tank.”

Kinsella sighs. “Turn right at the next light. Might as well get this over with.”

“Get what over with?”

“Telling my bosses I just blew the cover it took me three months to build. Which, by the way, why did I do that? Who the hell are you? What were you doing just walking up to a known BX9 house with your shield hanging around your neck like a target?”

“That’s a known BX9 house? Says who? How come we didn’t know that?”

“Good question. Which I’m sure you’re gonna get asked. Turn left at the next corner.”

Walking into the 92nd Precinct, Detective Kinsella is immediately greeted by a plainclothes officer with a shiny, shaved head and a wiry, compact frame who appears to have been heading out. “Kate – what the fuck?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Are you blown?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Cap’s gonna kill you. You probably should just start running. I’m thinking Venezuela?”

She shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose. “He in?”

“Yeah, he’s in. I’m coming with you. I wanna see this.”

“You always were a ghoul.” She turns to Carisi. “Ahmad Washington, this is Carisi Homicide.”

“Detective Dominick Carisi, Junior. Call me Sonny.” He shakes hands with Washington.

“Homicide, huh? Which house?”

“The 94th.”

“He’s the reason I got blown,” Kinsella adds.

Washington smiles and Carisi follows them to a stairwell and up to the third floor. At the back of a bustling, chaotic bullpen that comprises the entire third floor of the precinct, Kinsella knocks at the door of an office where, through a row of windows, they can see a huge, bullnecked man with a red face yelling into a phone. He sees her and, if anything, his face gets redder. He motions her in and shouts into the phone, “Look, I gotta call you back.” There’s a short silence while the person on the other end of the phone speaks. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take care of it. Quit bustin’ my balls. You’re givin’ me an ulcer.” He slams the phone down.

“Kinsella, what the actual fuck?”

“I’m blown, Cap. Not my fault. In fact, I’m not sure whose fault it is.”

“Well what the fuck happened? And who the hell is this?”

Carisi extends a hand to the Captain, who stares incredulously at it, but reflexively shakes it in a clammy grip that Carisi wasn’t expecting.

“Detective Dominick Carisi, Junior, Sir. I’m from Homicide.”

The Captain turns his disbelieving stare back on Kinsella.

“I was in the house, counting cash with Tamryn Fisher. I heard shots coming from the other room, so I went to investigate, and I found Eddie Andrews shooting out the window at someone running across the yard. You know that freestanding garage. The doors are always open, and he ran in there. I asked Eddie what he was doing and he said the guy was a cop. I asked him how he knew and he said the guy had a shield hanging around his neck. Next thing I knew, the Easton brothers and their buddies were running outside, taking cover behind their cars, and shooting into the garage. I had no choice, Cap. If I hadn’t gotten him out, he wouldn’t have gotten out. He was down to two bullets.”

Kinsella can hear Washington snickering behind her. This is the kind of shit that happens to Kinsella, and he lives for it. One of these days the Cap is simply gonna explode from stress, and Kinsella’s a big reason why. Washington hopes he gets to see it.

“That’s true, Sir. Your detective saved my life.”

The Captain starts yelling, and doesn’t stop yelling for the next forty-five minutes. Some of the time, he yells at Kinsella and Carisi. Then he calls Carisi’s Sergeant and yells at him, after which he gets transferred to his Captain and yells at him. Then he returns to yelling at Kinsella and Carisi again. By the time they slink out of his office, Carisi’s ears are ringing and they have a meeting with several levels of brass from both the 92nd and 94th Precincts at four p.m., which is in two hours.

Washington leaves, still laughing like he’s just been to a comedy show, and Kinsella shows Carisi to a break room. It’s messy and a little dirty, pretty much like every other Precinct house break room he’s been in. The coffee is just as bad as everywhere else, too.

“Still think this is fun?” Kinsella asks, taking off her jacket and flopping down on a couch upholstered in plastic with cigarette burns in it. The number of years since smoking has been allowed in a police station tells Carisi how old the couch must be.

“I coulda done without the ass-chewing,” he grins, choosing a metal folding chair from around a large table in the center of the room. He sort of folds himself onto it, long thighs splayed wide.

“Oh, trust me, that wasn’t the ass-chewing. The ass-chewing happens at four. But if we’re lucky, the brass’ll chew each other’s asses, and we can just watch. This wasn’t our fuckup. If the 94th didn’t know that house was BX9, and they sent you just walkin’ up the front sidewalk… That’s not on us.”

“If you hadn’t been there, I’d be swiss cheese right now.”

“Remember that, and say it at four. Because they’re gonna wanna say I didn’t have to break cover.”

“I will. Count on it.”

“You better, Carisi Homicide. You’re the only thing standing between me and being a resident cop at some middle school in Sheepshead Bay.”

“I wish you’d quit callin’ me that.”

“Sorry,” she smiled mischievously, clearly not sorry at all. “What’s your name again?”

“Call me Sonny.”

“Sonny. I’m Kate. And if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go take a shower and change for the meeting.”

Sonny thinks about her as he kills time reading outdated magazines and old newspapers in the dirty break room, waiting for it to be four O’clock. She’s cute, and he noticed when she took off her jacket that she has a nice rack. He likes her. He especially likes that she was willing to wade into a firefight and risk her own life to get him out of that garage.

At four O’clock, Sonny is sitting next to his Sergeant at a large conference table. He feels like he’s waiting outside the Principal’s office in elementary school, but he keeps reminding himself that this was not his fault. He was where he was told to go, doing what he was told to do. Somebody fucked up, but it wasn’t him. The meeting seems to be starting; everyone takes a seat, and it takes him a moment to realize that the woman across from him, sitting between her own Sergeant and the red-faced Captain, is Kate Kinsella.

She looks very different than she had earlier. Her hair is in some kind of a twist that’s professional as hell, and she’s wearing makeup, which she hadn’t been before. She’s more than cute, Sonny thinks. She’s hot. And the slacks and short-sleeved sweater she’s wearing do a lot more for her body than the fatigues she’d been wearing earlier. She’d been cute when she was dressed to fit in with the gang bangers at the house. Dressed as herself, she’s a knockout. She sees him looking at her and gives him a little smile.

Kate would have rescued a fellow cop in Sonny’s predicament no matter what. But as she looks over at him, with those blue eyes and that unruly brown hair, wearing a black T-shirt under a black suit jacket and his shield still around his neck, she thinks he is definitely worth rescuing. She wonders what his story is.

Sonny is as good as his word, explaining that he could not have survived the garage had Kate not come to his aid. Between the two of them, they quickly explain what happened and even Kate’s Captain agrees that she had to break cover. Anyway, the brass doesn’t seem to be interested in Sonny or Kate. They’re more interested in blaming each other for the fact that the 92nd had intelligence that the 94th did not. Soon, Sonny and Kate are able to sit quietly and try not to draw anyone’s attention, while shooting amused looks at one another at some of the heated exchanges that take place between their supervisors.

When the meeting ends, no one thinks to say anything to Kinsella or Carisi, which is fine with them.

The next day, Kate gets a small bouquet of flowers at work, with a card that says, simply, “Thank you. Carisi Homicide”. She’s charmed.

It takes Sonny very little time to use his fairly new detective skills to determine that Kate Kinsella is single and not known to be seeing anyone. He wants to see her again, but he can’t think of a single pretext, so he ends up having to just man up and call her. He invites her out to dinner, and she doesn’t do a very good job of trying to play it cool when she accepts. She’s elated that he called, and he’s elated that she’s elated.

He has to use his detective skills once again to find a place to take her in Brooklyn. Sonny’s from Staten Island and, although he’s been working in Brooklyn for a year, he still doesn’t know it very well. But he wants to take her somewhere nice, so he drives all his colleagues crazy asking for recommendations and finally decides on a nice Italian place that he can barely afford.

Kate’s roommate opens the door of her apartment and lets him in, leaving him standing awkwardly in their small living room / kitchen while he hears them giggling in what must be Kate’s bedroom. He hears the word “cute” and hopes that means he has the roommate’s seal of approval. He does.

Kate comes out in a little black dress that actually belongs to her roommate, and makes Sonny re-evaluate his opinion that Kate has a nice rack. In that dress, Kate has a spectacular rack, and he is suddenly tongue-tied and nervous, which makes him say all kinds of moronic things that will haunt him for days. She finds it irresistible. She finds him irresistible.

Which is why, after dinner, when he fumbles his way through asking her back to his apartment, she quickly agrees. And when he makes a move to kiss her once they’re there, she agrees to that, too. He’s a magnificent kisser. So good, in fact, that she revises her plan to do no more than kiss him on this first date. When he runs his hand down the front of her dress, she moans to encourage him, and when he slips his hand under the dress to caress her bare breast, she reaches back and unhooks the top. It’s a halter dress, so Sonny can just push the top aside, which he does. Pretty soon his shirt is off, too, and then his hand is under her skirt and then his fingers are inside her and she’s biting her tongue as she comes because the walls of his apartment are really thin. Which means good manners dictate that she undo his pants and make him come with her hand, too. So she does.

Their second date is kind of not a date; with their schedules, it’s hard to find an evening when they are both free, so they go to the firing range, as they’re required to do once a month, and get paid to spend time together. They’re competitive, or at least they pretend to be, so they both do pretty well. They also thoroughly enjoy themselves. On the way back to Kate’s Precinct, Sonny parks in the back of a liquor store parking lot and they thoroughly enjoy each other. Or at least, they do the best they can in an unmarked police car in broad daylight.

By their third date, Sonny is entirely smitten. They’re going to see a spy movie Sonny has been wanting to see, but what he’s really excited about is he’s pretty sure they’re going to have sex. He pays particular attention to his hair and worries so much about how much cologne to wear that he gets himself wrapped around the axle about it and ends up not wearing any. Kate doesn’t care. She thinks Sonny smells great, and she also thinks he’s about the cutest, sweetest man she’s ever met, let alone dated. Kate’s smitten, too.

When they get back to Sonny’s apartment after the movie, he’s made coffee-flavored panna cotta, which Kate thinks is adorable. It’s delicious and they feed each other spoonfuls which, of course, leads to kissing. Kissing leads to touching, and removing each other’s clothes, which leads to Sonny’s bed. He’s been thinking about this. He’s read or heard somewhere that women can’t usually have an orgasm just from intercourse, so he decides to go down on Kate before they actually have sex, so that having his own orgasm when they do have sex won’t make him a selfish bastard.

When she recovers from the out-of-body experience of getting oral sex from Sonny Carisi, Kate is astounded at his skill and creativity. She was planning to fuck him anyway, but after that, she’s on board for pretty much anything. They have sex a few times that night and the following morning, and by the time the weekend is over, they’ve agreed to be an official, exclusive couple.

The Carisi family falls head over heels for Kate, in large part because she’s so obviously head over heels for Sonny. His sisters freak Kate out a bit. She has sisters of her own, but they have boundaries. Still, the Carisi girls don’t take long to bash their way into Kate’s heart, and pretty soon she’s going shopping and to brunch with them, without Sonny, and she’s in their confidence as though she’s one of them. Kate likes Sonny’s Ma, too, with her obvious protective love for him and her equally obvious hatred of his dangerous career choice. She wants him to go to law school and, although she likes Kate well enough, she wishes Sonny woulda picked a girl who wasn’t also a cop. It’ll only encourage him. Kate’s favorite member of the Carisi family has to be Sonny’s dad. In a house full of nattering, shrieking, cackling women, he is an oasis of taciturn calm. He is as sweet, genuine, and funny as Sonny is, but he’s never gonna out-shout his women, so if you want to hear what he has to say, you have to come to him. He is also the voice of finality in the family. Everyone else can argue and rail to their hearts’ content, but when Dominick Carisi has rendered a verdict, the determination is final and everyone knows it.

Sonny and Kate spend the next year together and, somewhere closer to the beginning than the end, they realize they’re in love. Sonny starts thinking about what he wants, because Homicide is getting to him and the idea of law school is pretty attractive, but if he leaves Brooklyn, it’s gonna get tough to be with Kate. That’s the only reason he hasn’t asked her to marry him, because everything else is perfect. This, with her, is what he’s always wanted. He imagines the future with her because he can’t stand the idea of a future without her. She’s his best friend, the sexiest and most fun best friend he’s ever had, and he can’t get enough of her.

But Homicide is really getting to him. Kate tells Sonny to ask for a transfer. His sisters tell him to ask for a transfer. His Ma tells him to ask for a transfer and gives him some printouts about the night school law program at Fordham University. When his dad tells him to ask for a transfer, Sonny does. He also applies and gets accepted to Fordham Law. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s about to find his calling.

It takes six months, but he’s finally transferred to Staten Island SVU. Almost immediately, he knows two things. First, this is work he has a natural feeling for. He thinks he could be good at this. Second, living back in Staten Island and having a girlfriend he wants to spend every waking moment with (sleeping, too, for that matter) is not going to work. After two months, he asks for and is transferred to Brooklyn SVU. It’s a nightmare. He’s with Kate, but the Captain running Brooklyn SVU hates his job almost as much as he hates women. Sonny can’t take it. He’s already feeling like SVU is what he was born to do, and he cannot watch victims be marginalized, disbelieved and, worst of all, disrespected.

The asshole Captain also enjoys giving Sonny shit about looking so young, so Sonny grows a mustache. It is completely and utterly wrong on him, the dictionary definition of a pornstache, but everyone loves Sonny too much to tell him. Kate can’t support the ‘stache, but she totally supports Sonny when he jumps at a chance to transfer to Queens SVU. Big mistake. Both the lieutenant and Sonny’s partner take an immediate and active dislike to him and he lasts a week.

An Assistant Deputy Chief, who has always seen something in Carisi, steps in. She contacts Deputy Chief Dodds and talks up Carisi’s interrogation skills which, to be fair, are raw but very promising. She avoids mention of the mustache. Dodds is always looking to bank a favor, so he agrees to send Carisi to Manhattan SVU. He’s heard rumblings that the Captain in Brooklyn and the Lieutenant in Queens don’t like Carisi, but the Captain in Brooklyn is a cretin and the Lieutenant in Queens is a marginally competent whackjob, so Dodds figures that’s a point in Carisi’s favor.

Sonny likes Manhattan SVU right away. This is a unit where they take sex crimes and their victims seriously, he can feel it. He instantly sees the dedication and passion in everyone there, especially Sergeant Benson. He’s found a home, and it takes him very little time to recognize it.

All his dreams are about to come true. He’s halfway through law school now, and it’s long since become his ultimate dream to become an ADA and prosecute sex crimes. Manhattan SVU’s ADA, a smug smartass named Barba, is fast becoming Sonny’s idol. Barba doesn’t miss a chance to smack Sonny down for some reason, but it isn’t personal, just a bit of sadistic fun, and Sonny doesn’t mind it. Everything seems to have fallen into place for Sonny Carisi.

Except.

Except his job can be 24/7, and it’s in Manhattan. And he’s in love with a woman whose job can be 24/7, too, and it’s in Brooklyn. And all that is in addition to him being in law school. At first, Sonny and Kate just kiss and shrug and say they’ll make it work. But it’s not long before they’re stretched so thin their time together starts to feel like conjugal visits at Attica and he’s too exhausted sometimes even for that. She tries not to complain. There is no other man for her than Sonny Carisi, and she’ll accept whatever he can give her. But it’s hard. She misses him so bad sometimes she thinks she’ll die from it, and once he finally shaves off that fucking pornstache, she surrenders and asks about transferring to Narcotics in Manhattan. Except no one in her chain of command is willing to let her do it.

One of their all-too-infrequent visits hits her on a bad day, and she breaks down in front of him, something she has sworn not to do. She tells him how bad it’s gotten for her, and he says it’s the same for him. But they agree that they love each other too much to give up. They struggle on for a couple more months until, out of nowhere, she thinks she might be pregnant. She’s not, but it’s the beginning of the end, because it makes them face facts. All of the options for living together, being a family with their child if there had been one, involve one or the other of them giving up pretty much everything else. And as much as they hate the idea of doing that themselves, neither of them is willing to let the other do it.

Which is why, at this moment, Sonny is sitting on a stone bench in Prospect Park, crying in the arms of the woman he loves. He is helplessly in love with Kate Kinsella. He wants to marry her. And there is simply no way that either one of them can see to make it work when he’s in Manhattan with his wagon hitched to a star and she’s in Brooklyn making a name for herself. She’s about to go undercover for an extended period of time, maybe months. It’s time to give up on the idea that they can somehow find a way to be together. They can’t, and it’s time to admit that before their relationship gets battered into little pieces and they end up destroying something that is sacred to both of them.

It’s rough. They go back to Kate’s apartment – Sonny’s already given up his place in Brooklyn – and cry while they make love. They kiss each other goodbye and wish each other happiness. They’re not going to try to keep in touch. It’s too painful. It’s easier just to end it and be done. But oh, fuck does it hurt.

*****************

Kate always feels odd wearing a suit, and she thinks nylons are a misogynistic nightmare made to prey on women like her, who can’t figure out how to live a normal life and still keep a garment precisely one nanometer thick in one piece for an entire workday. She usually doesn’t dress up this much for court, but this trial is a big deal. The perp committed crimes in several Northeastern states, and those committed in New York were done in several different Precincts. With the FBI involved and national attention on the trial, the Brooklyn DA’s office wants the 92nd Precinct to make Brooklyn look good. Anyway, Kate’s all right. After all the undercover work she’s done, she’s used to playing dress-up. This is basically just a variation on a theme.

Today, the Judge is hearing a number of motions, one of which is a motion to exclude her testimony and all the evidence they gathered when her team busted into his room at a cheap motel. The reason is some bullshit having to do with her violating the perp’s Fourth Amendment rights during the search. The Judge has agreed to let the attorneys voir dire her outside the presence of the jury so that she can make a ruling. With no way to know in which order the Judge will want to hear the motions, Kate figures she’s in for a long, boring morning in court.

Until she sees him. Until she sees his tall, lanky frame enter the courtroom with that unmistakable walk and that hair that looks like no one else’s on the planet. Assistant District Attorney Dominick Carisi. Assistant fucking District Attorney Dominick Carisi. She’s mildly concerned that her heart has been stopped since he walked in, but she’s more concerned about the instant tears that threaten. Cardiac arrest won’t ruin her makeup.

He looks good. He looks so good. His hair has a lot of silver in it now, which brings home to Kate more than anything how many years it’s been. The Senior ADA says something to him and he smiles at her and Kate actually feels a physical pain in her heart. To say she’s missed him would be like saying the Hindenburg had a bit of a problem on landing. She’d cried on the day he graduated from law school and she couldn’t be there to share his accompishment. She’d looked for his name every time the Bar Association put out a list of those who had passed the bar exam, and she’d cried again when she saw it and knew that she hadn’t been there to celebrate with him. Kate now hopes the motion she’s here for will be called last, so she can just sit here, watching him live his dream. He’s beautiful. She’d forgotten how impossible it was to look away from him. She’d known she wasn’t over him. She’d known the men she’d dated since Sonny had all been unfavorably – and unfairly – compared to him. But until this moment, she hadn’t realized that he was still the only man for her.

He’s apparently sitting second chair for this trial. Kate doesn’t know where she gets off being proud of him, as though he still belonged to her, but she is. And when he addresses the court and she gets to hear his voice, she wants to clap and cry at the same time. Assistant fucking District Attorney Dominick Carisi. He’s wearing a nice suit and it fits him well, which gets her to thinking about his body so that now, not only is she overjoyed for him, shocked to see him, and freshly heartbroken again, she’s horny for him, too. Her testimony is going to be gobbledygook.

The motion to exclude that testimony is called mid-morning. She wonders whether he knew she was going to be testifying today, and figures he must have. She wonders whether he will acknowledge her. She’s not nervous about testifying after all the times she’s had to do it, but her rubbery legs and vibrating body tell her she’s very nervous about testifying in front of Sonny.

She takes the stand and doesn’t look at him as she’s sworn in. She’s glad to see that the Senior ADA is the one who stands up to question her for the People, but it’s time. They’re going to have to acknowledge one another at some point, and it’s time. She turns her eyes to him, and he’s looking at her. He gives her just the tiniest grin and then he fucking winks. In open court. From the Prosecution table. The tears threaten again, but she emulates his little grin and then turns all her attention to the ADA.

The Judge excuses Kate from the witness stand and she risks another look at Sonny. He’s looking at her again, or still, and this time their smiles are just a bit bigger. Kate sits and listens to the Judge rule that Kate’s testimony and the evidence are in. She’s glad. It means she can help nail the scumbag who’s on trial, and it means she’ll see Sonny again. She’s making plans to buy a new suit for the trial as she stands to leave the courtroom, expecting that Sonny will be very busy doing ADA things and won’t even see her go.

Those who had been watching the motions shuffle slowly down the aisle until, just before reaching the door, Kate steps aside behind the last row of seats. She’s promised herself one long, last look at Sonny before she actually leaves the courtroom. She turns around to look, and Sonny isn’t there.

He’s five feet away, waiting impatiently for people to move out of his way so he can catch her. When he knows she sees him, his smile is bright enough to scorch the air. He looks so happy she feels those damn tears again, only this time, there’s no way she can stop them. Fortunately, there are only a few, and she wipes them quickly away with her hand before he finally reaches her. His eyes seem a bit moist, too. He always did wear his heart on his sleeve. Oh, how she loves him. Still.

He takes her into his arms, lifting her off her feet, although she’s only a few inches shorter than he is.

“Kate, it’s so good to see you,” he says into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. He’s not going to cry, not here in the courtroom, but he could if he let himself. He’s been looking forward to this meeting for weeks. Imagined it a thousand times. She feels exactly how he remembers, only better because it’s been so damnably, unbearably long. He’s happy to feel that she’s squeezing him back, holding him close the way he’s holding her. “I’ve missed you. You’ll never know how much I missed you,” he murmurs, turning his head to inhale as much of her scent as possible. He doesn’t give a fuck who’s watching, or what they think. This is Kate. She’s right here, right now, and he isn’t going to miss a thing.

“Probably about as much as I missed you,” she says into his ear.

When he loosens his arms, he doesn’t completely let her go. He keeps his hands on her waist, just like he’d planned. His big hands could almost touch around her small waist. He’s looking down into her eyes, and they’re both smiling broadly and – what? Giggling, maybe? Oh, what the hell. This is a huge moment, and if they giggle through it, so be it. That is kinda them, anyway.

“Look at you! Assistant DA. You’ve come a long way, Carisi Homicide.”

“Got a long way to go, still, but I’m here.”

“I hardly know what to say to you. You look fantastic, and your family must be about dying with pride.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty happy. My Ma’s thrilled I’m not carryin’ a gun anymore, or gettin’ shot at.”

“Especially when I’m not around to save your ass.”

They smile at eachother and suddenly they’re hugging again.

“I saw you made Detective First Grade. Proud a’ you.”

Kate blushes a little and Sonny can feel that blush, way low down.

“I wanna see you. I can’t today, I’m neck deep, but sometime soon.”

Kate doesn’t know how to respond. She looks a little surprised.

“Please?”

“Shit, Sonny, of course I want to see you, I just, wasn’t expecting that is all.”

“We’re still friends, right?”

“Always.”

“You got a boyfriend or somethin’, you could bring him along,” he says, praying fervently that she will say she doesn’t. He has no right to, but he wants to break things at the thought of her with someone else. Especially because she’s become even more beautiful since he’s seen her last. She moves with an authority that becomes her, that probably stems from the success she’s had at Brooklyn Narcotics. She’s wearing her hair down, and it’s got a little curl to it, and he wants nothing more than to run his hands through it and then grab handfuls and pull her to him and kiss her stupid.

“I don’t, actually. You got a girlfriend?”

“Not me. I’m a little married to the DA’s office right now. So I guess it’ll be just us.”

“I guess so.”

“Can I call you?”

“Of course.”

They put each other’s current numbers into their phones and then it’s time for her to go. Court’s about to reconvene. They hug for the third time in ten minutes, and it lasts too long, but neither of them can let go. Sonny’s dick is definitely feeling Kate’s presence, which is eventually what makes him break the hug.

After she says goodbye and he watches her leave the courtroom, giving him a little backward glance, he swears under his breath. He’s still as much in love with Kate Kinsella as he ever was. He’s tried, but he hasn’t met anyone who can hold a candle to her, and he realizes that, somewhere in his imaginings about seeing her today, he had dimly hoped that she would be different. That he would feel nothing and realize he’d moved on. Nope. His heart still belongs entirely to her.

#law & order svu #law & order: special victims unit #sonny carisi #peter scanavino #ADA Carisi #Dominick Sonny Carisi Jr #Call me Sonny

19 notes · View notes

theonewiththefanfics · 6 years

Text

Never The Friend (one-shot)

Synopsis: The Reader has always been in love with Bucky, as he has been with her, but neither ever made a move. So when Bucky brings home a new girl, the Readers takes drastic measures to protect her already broken heart, but what will Bucky do to regain the person who he truly loves?

In The End (one-shot/ follow-up)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: SMUT (or my shitty attempts at writing it; first-timer, so please be gentle); unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, guys); swearing; brief crossover with Criminal Minds (aka, Spencer Reid is involved)

Genre: angst

Word count: 7349 (boy, this gon be a long ride)

“You gotta tell him.” “Tell who what?” “Bucky! You have to tell him how you feel.” Y/N’s eyes almost bulged out of her head. “Wanda I love you like a sister, but mention this topic once again and I’ll put your heard through a wall.” “If you don’t, then he’ll just start dating someone and you’ll be miserable.” “I already am and by the way- that is how crushes work. You fall for someone way out of your league, they don’t feel the same, you die alone with twenty cats and then they eat your body. Simple as that.” Wanda huffed, exasperation clearly evident in the puff of air, but there wasn’t anything she could do to make Y/N tell the man she was in love with how the girl felt. The Scarlet Witch had been watching her best friend pine over the man for far too long and she knew that Bucky was absolutely in love with the girl, yet he did nothing. So Wanda had hoped that maybe Y/N would gather up the courage and make the first move, but as it would appear, that would not happen anytime soon. “But, Y/N, he is crazy about you.” “Who is crazy about Y/N?” Bucky snapped the two girls out of their conversation as he appeared in the common room. “No one,” Y/N was quick to dispel any implications. She took a sip of her wine and threw Wanda a warning glance. “Okay then,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Anyways, I just wanted you to meet someone.” Suddenly the noise of clicking heels invaded Y/N’s and Wanda’s senses. A gorgeous brunette appeared behind Bucky. She wrapped her arm around his waist and he mimicked the action while a dazzling smile stretched his face. “Y/N, Wanda this is my girlfriend Diana. Diana, that is Y/N,” he gestured at the girl who had a tightlipped smile and a heart that was shattering in pieces, “my best friend and that is Wanda- a chick you really don’t wanna mess with.” He once again threw the girl that brilliant white smile, making Y/N’s heart clench even more.

“Yup,” the redhead piped up, scarlet swirls weaving around her fingers. “And just as a precaution- if you hurt anyone in my family, I‘ll end you.” Diana looked incredibly nervous, but she masked it with a nod of her head and a small laugh. “Duly noted.” “Come on, Wanda,” Bucky pulled the brunette’s body closer to his own. “Don’t be mean and make me regret introducing someone I care about to you bunch.” “Wan,” Y/N’s voice made her look over to the Y/E/C eyed beauty, hidden pain laced in her words and shining through her eyes. Pain only Wanda noticed as it wove its way through her heart and interlaced the broken pieces. “Be nice.” She turned her gaze to the woman. “It’s really lovely to meet you, Diana.” Y/N smiled, but the witch saw through the facade. And anyone else but Bucky would as well. “Thank you, Y/N. That’s why you’re my favourite.” The man smiled at the fellow Avenger. “Really? Are you gonna break Steve’s heart like that?” Y/N sipped on her wine, letting the bitter taste make its way down her throat and fill her veins. Bucky threw his head back in mock frustration. “Doll, come on.” He detached himself from Diana and leaned down by the sofa, grabbing Y/N’s palm in his. There was a sweet smile playing on the brown-haired beauty's face as she observed his interaction with the most important people in his life. “You know you are my number one. My favourite. My best gal. Steve- he has nothing on you. He means nothing.” Y/N decided to play along even though every word out of his mouth was like a knife in her already demolished heart. “I don't know, Buck. You two seemed pretty cosy yesterday. And watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine without me… that’s just the highest degree of betrayal.” “He made me, doll,” he kissed Y/N’s palm sending every atom in her body ablaze. No, she scolded herself. I have no right to feel that way. He’s not mine to love… “What about this- tomorrow, after me and Diana get back from our date, we rewatch every season and every episode?” “Sorry, I can’t. Clint, Na and I are going on a mission. Probably won’t be back for a couple of weeks at least.” “How- how come I didn’t know about this?” “You didn’t come to the briefing this morning.” The girl shrugged and chugged down the last of her wine. Wanda gave her a pitiful smile to which Y/N replied with a small shake of her head. The girl's hand almost shook as she reached for the dark bottle and refilled the glass. The liquid poured out like blood spilling from a body. The same way her heart was bleeding out. “Maybe next time, Buck.” Y/N didn’t even look at him as she said that because in truth there would be no next time. Not after this. Even looking at him had already become unbearable. She’d just have to find a way to avoid Bucky. Maybe even for good.

“It’s probably not permanent.” Nat tried to console the girl. They had just finished the mission and after almost a month of gruelling fighting and laying low they were on their way back. It had dragged to two weeks at first, then into the third one and then finally the fourth and last one, unpredictable complications making it way harder than it should've been. “Nat, have you seen the way he looks at the girl? It’s like she’s the reason the universe exists. She makes him happy. So why wouldn’t it be long term? Besides, it has nothing to do with me. He is a free man who can do as he pleases.” Clint glanced over his shoulder form the copilot’s seat, throwing his fellow assassin a look. “Guys, seriously. Stop it. He… he’s happy and that is all that matters.” “Yeah,” the archer stood up and went to crouch down beside Y/N pulling the first aid kit out and finding disinfectant, pinchers and a thread. “But he’s not with you.” “Can’t really help that, can I?” Y/N mumbled a reply before a hiss went through her clenched teeth. The metal dug deep into her skin as Clint fished for the bullet in her leg. With one fast movement, the cone-shaped piece was out and a white cotton rag to soak up the blood was placed on the wound. The two Avengers looked at the girl. Throughout the whole mission, she had definitely been off. It wasn’t the bubbly youngster that threw jokes at the most inappropriate times, competing even with Stark for the title of the biggest wisecrack. This woman was a dull version of who everyone loved. It was like her world was now in muted colours, and the vibrant sounds were distorted, but most importantly- her light, her Sun had gone out and the universe was doused in darkness. Y/N didn’t even flinch as Clint pushed the needle through her skin as if all the pain had gone to her heart and she could no longer feel anything else. “Y/N,” Nat pushed a strand of her Y/H/C hair away from her face. It was matted and covered in the same scarlet substance leaking from her flesh. But she just pushed the other woman away. “Don’t. Just, please, don’t. I need to get over him and you ain’t helping.” No one knew what to do. No one knew how to fix what Bucky had broken. It took them nine hours to get to New York. Nat decided to take a nap and Y/N tried to follow suit, but sleep didn’t come. It hadn’t for a month now. She laid in her bed, eyes trained on the ceiling and contemplating her feelings. How can one person turn someone’s world around so completely that when they find someone else who they fall in love with, it becomes like one’s soul has been ripped to shreds and laid for wolves to feast upon? When they landed, Y/N gently shook Nat awake and helped the sleepy Avenger out of the plane. At this point, she didn’t feel the burning of the bullet hole. But oh, how she wished, for it would’ve been better than seeing Bucky’s relieved face and feeling her heart clench with longing at the sight. “Oh thank, God, you’re okay.” His large arms swept Y/N up, engulfing her in a giant hug, their bodies moulding together like they were made for each other. The girl awkwardly patted his back, retreating to the cold nature she had decided to put on where Bucky was considered. “I’m fine, Buck. You didn’t have to worry,” quickly she pulled back and started walking to her room. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m tired and I wanna go to bed.” Bucky called after her, but the girl paid him no mind. The cut had to be swift, clean and easy, otherwise, she didn’t think she’d be able to keep it together.

And that’s how it started. She skipped out on their movie nights, rather spending time with Pietro and Wanda. She shut him down when he offered to take her out for pizza. Y/N even stopped recommending him books, leaving the man to his own devices. But as much as she pulled away, he seemed to be doing just fine, which Y/N supposed was a good thing for his and Diana’s relationship. They were now three months in and happier than ever. The girl wasn’t hogging his time anymore, so he was able to spend it with the woman he was in love with. To Y/N’s disappointment that also involved letting Diana come to the tower and hang out with the rest of the Avengers, but whenever that happened, there was this certain feel in the air, a wave of tension that rippled across. Y/N didn’t mention it, she didn’t say it, though after one night when Bucky had decided to walk Diana home, she stood up and gave everyone a talk. “I don’t need you guys to hate the girl. Did you see how uncomfortable she looked?” “So?” Tony piped up, a glass of whiskey in his hand. “So? Look, guys,” Y/N sat down, head in her hands, “Bucky is happy with her. And that is all that matters. Not me or my feelings. He does.” The girl looked over at Steve, who had his lips pursed as he did not agree with his friends choice. “He. Is. Happy. And what you’re doing every time she comes over makes me feel even shittier, because guess what- me and Bucky- we’re near gonna happen. He has made it clear by now that it won’t. He’s in love. And Diana seems really sweet. So please, don’t do this to them because of me. I’ll be fine. Eventually…” With that, she stood up and walked to her room. Throughout the whole thing, not one tear had rolled down her cheeks, not one night had been spent crying her heart out, but it would seem that that had come to an end. With a broken sob, she clutched a palm over her mouth and slid down the doors. She spent her whole night like that- arms woven around her waist and legs pulled to her chest, letting salty pearls slip down and dampen the carpet. When the first morning rays broke the black-blue sky, only then did Y/N gather herself, stand up and went to the shower. She turned it to the hottest setting, the water scorching her skin, and burning the tears away. She would cry no more, for it was her own fault she had fallen for her best friend.

Time passed but it didn’t become easier. Not one bit. Every time the couple was around, it was like he found more and more ways to shatter the pieces that once made her heart a whole. But the biggest punch wasn’t even that. It was when he forgot Y/N’s birthday. Yeah, she maybe hadn’t been the warmest towards him or the best friend he needed, but this occasion was the one thing she counted to have her whole family around, Bucky, hell, Diana included. But when his chair stood empty, plate and cutlery unused, Y/N simply stood up and walked out of the dining room. No Avenger tried to stop her.

Diana and Bucky had now been together for almost five and a half months. It was torture, looking at the man Y/N was absolutely and utterly in love with being happy with someone else. She was cuddled up with Pietro, the plasma TV playing the intro to ‘Friends’ as the pair just laid there. The speedsters fingers wove through the girl’s hair, a soothing motion that somehow did the trick of calming her mind at least for a bit. “You okay, princessa?” Y/N huffed, pulling Pietro’s body closer to hers, a hand wrapped around his waist, needing the comfort. “Honestly… no. I don’t know if I can take it much longer. It just… it’s too hard.” A single silent tear splashed onto his white T-shirt, instantly turning the material grey. He hated how withdrawn Y/N had become, despising the state Bucky had put her in. She had been there for the silver-haired man more than anyone, apart from Wanda, of course. He even saw Y/N as a sister now, the brotherly need to protect the girl kicking in. “You know, Fury was about to assign someone to take over the British branch,” Pietro gently slid his fingers through Y/N’s hair. “Maybe you could offer your expertise.” It pained him to say this, to think about the fact that she’d be an ocean away, but maybe that is what she needed. She patted the man’s chest and let her head rest on the flesh. “Maybe I should.” A sigh laced with pain and longing escaped her lips. “Why does this always happen? And why does it have to hurt so much?” “I don’t know, princessa, I don’t know.” Pietro’s own heart was breaking seeing the state of his friend. He wanted to punch Bucky across the room and break every bone in his body for making Y/N suffer so much. But right now, the girl needed him more.

“You’re leaving?” Y/N didn’t even bother looking up from her bags, stashing everything in them. “For how long?” “I’m taking over the leadership of the British branch. So I assume permanently.” Her tone was cold, calculated and professional. “You can’t do that,” Bucky countered back, the surprise still evident in his tone. “I can and I will,” she zipped up her suitcase and placed it on the ground. “I am an Avenger, with more than enough experience and I need a change of pace. Something a bit more relaxing.” “Leaving your home and friends behind is relaxing?” Y/N shrugged her shoulders, her facade of nonchalance on the verge of crumbling. “As I said- I need a change of pace.” He was just looking at her, staring with those piercing blue eyes, almost pleading for someone to tell him it wasn’t true. “Why?” Y/N hung her head, a tear rolling down her cheek. “You know why.” “No, I don’t. That’s why I’m here. Doll, what the fuck has been going on with you? Why are you so distant?” “I’m not,” Y/N mumbled back. “You haven’t talked to me in almost two months!” “You’re with Diana! So why should you care for me?!“ “What does she have to do with everything?” Y/N groaned, throwing her head back and pushing an angry fist in her hair. “You absolute, idiot! I love you!” Time stilled right after the words were out of her mouth. “And you're with Diana, I know. You’re always with someone. But it’s never me. I’m never the one you wanna be with. ” “No, doll, that is not true.” “Then how come you didn’t remember my birthday, Bucky?” He was stunned. How could he have forgotten about it? With the whole trying to figure out why Y/N wasn’t talking to him he had forgotten one of the most important days of someone he truly loved. “I-“ “Yeah. You. Bucky, I deserve more than to be remembered when I’m about to die or lying in a hospital or when I'm going on a mission. I’m worth more than that. Especially to someone who called me their best friend...” “Buck- oh, Y/N!” Diana’s sweet voice entered the scene as she slid an arm up Bucky’s bicep. “You are actually who I was looking for. Our six month anniversary is coming up and I wanted to know if you’re free next Saturday.” Her smile was so nice, so sincere it was like a thousand daggers to Y/N's heart. “I’m sorry Diana, but I can’t. I’m going to London.” “Oh, for how long?” She looked at Bucky, desperation evident in his eyes. “A permanent station. I’ll be taking over their SHIELD branch.” That seemed to take words out of Diana’s mouth. In truth, she had wanted to ask Y/N for advice on how to propose to Bucky. She knew about his nightmares and how he thought he was a burden, so the woman wanted to prove to him she was in it for the long haul. “You sure you ca-“ “Diana,” Bucky interrupted the girl as Y/N pulled the strap to her duffle bag on her shoulder. “Could you please give us a moment?” She could sense that something was happening between the two and quiet as a mouse, Diana retreated. Only once when she was out of earshot did one of them make a move. And it was Bucky. It took him less than a second to grab Y/N by her waist and pull her flush against his body, smashing their lips together. A gasp escaped her from the surprise and shock, which Bucky used as an opportunity to slip his tongue in. But for the brief moment Y/N had melted against him, for the brief moment she had responded with the same eagerness, she was even faster at recoiling. “What the fuck, Bucky! You- you can’t just do that!” “Stay, please,” he grasped her hand, “I need you. I can’t live without you. Doll, fuck I need you in my life.” Y/N shook her head. “No. No, you don’t get to do this to me. Not this time.” “Doll, ple-“ “No!” the pain her heart felt made her whole body tremble. It was so hard. “No. I’m never going to be your first choice. You’ll never love me the way I want you to love me.” Y/N took a final glance at the man as he now stood in her bare room. “So I need to get away from you, from all of it, to let my heart heal. Maybe someday it won’t hurt as bad, but for now....” She wiped a tear away. “Goodbye, Bucky.” He saw her form retreat, the only thing he could hear was his dull heartbeat echoing in his chest as the last words were put on replay in his mind. No, Bucky was not about to lose her. He didn’t deserve the girl, not after everything he’d put her through, but he just had to try one last time. His feet moved faster than he ever thought was possible, but it was as if karma had played a cruel joke on him because right when he entered the hanger, the jet that carried Y/N thousands of miles away disappeared from sight. Nat turned around, cheeks stained with what could only be remnants of tears, the same as the rest of his team, a scowl on her face. “Now you decide to do something.” She pushed past him, shoulder painfully slamming into his. No one talked to him, no one even looked at him as the family, one member less, made their way to the common room, a lab or somewhere else. Only Steve stopped by Bucky’s side, placing a palm on his shoulder. He opened his mouth, but in the end, even the Captain had nothing to say to the ex-Winter Soldier, so he just squeezed the flesh and went his way, leaving the man to stare at the empty sky.

The first month was hell for Y/N. She spent every night looking out the glass wall of her bedroom upon the lights of London- so similar to New York’s yet not even remotely the same. She cried every night and greeted the day with puffy cheeks. That is until a certain Spencer Reid from Quantico’s BAU got himself assigned as the lead profiler for their missions. He brought back a spark to her life. He was quick-witted and matched Y/N in every single way, becoming her best friend. As the director she didn’t get much time to talk to her ex-family back at the Stark tower and once she had realised that, the girl set herself on making a new one. Reid had become the first member. Slowly but surely he weaselled his way into her closed off persona, made her life a bit more fun. Then came Alexis- a young girl, full of ambition, that Y/N couldn’t help but mother and show how to take the reigns of the missions she was sent out on. Jordan came next, who surprised his new superior with a fruit basket. Albeit the fruits had been in a liquified version and alcoholic, but that had only made Y/N love him more. Now, a year later, the quartet was inseparable. Everyone cared for everyone and looked out for their wellbeing. Movie nights, unless someone was on a mission or needed at the base, were a given and copious amounts of pizza were eaten. Obviously, all of them would, later on, have to work the gained pounds off. But the mornings, when they were still in the food coma, bleary-eyed and tired, those were the moments they cherished beyond everything else. “Director Y/L/N!” Spencer called out as he entered her office and placed a Starbucks cup on her table. The iced coffee left condensation stains on the wood, but she couldn’t care less. “My genius!” Y/N replied with the same amount of enthusiasm before going to hug him good-morning. “So,” he propped himself on her table, “what’s on the agenda for today? By the way, Penelope says hi, and she can’t thank you enough for the bracelet.” Y/N chuckled. “Tell my nugget, that she is very welcome and for us,” she flipped her calendar, heart dropping in an instant. The girl had forgotten about the dreaded date, which seemed to be today. “For us,” she swallowed, “the, uh, the Avengers are flying in with Director Fury to check out our base. And to see how we could, umm, make collaboration overseas easier.” “Hey,” Spencer grabbed her palm, “are you okay?” Avengers meant that Bucky would come too. And even though it had been a year, Y/N wasn’t sure she was ready to face the man that had hurt her that bad. You’re the Director of SHIELD’S British branch, you can behave like an adult. “I’m great,” Y/N threw the agent a dazzling smile. “Let’s go greet our guests.” The second they stepped outside, all of the air got knocked out of her lungs. Because there he was. It seemed like time hadn’t passed at all. Still the same long chocolate hair, the same ice-blue eyes, the jawline so sharp it could cut diamonds in half and plump lips that had once kissed her. Almost subconsciously her fingers went to trail over her mouth before she caught on to what she was doing and steadied herself. “Director Fury, the Avengers. Welcome to our humble home.” “Oh, cut with the crap, Y/L/N,” Tony removed his sunglasses and opened up his arms. “And come and give me a hug. I haven’t seen you in a fucking year, so you best, believe me, I’ll kill you if you don’t.” “Oh, don’t be so overdramatic, Stark,” but without a second to spare the girl launched her body into his, the familiar scent of aftershave and what was undoubtedly remnants of Pepper’s perfume invaded her senses and for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt like she was truly home. “My turn, my turn, my turn,” Wanda’s accented voice rang out before she almost physically pulled the pair apart and latched onto Y/N. “God, I’ve missed you.” “I missed you too, Wanda. Every damned day.” Once Y/N detached herself from a very reluctant Sokovian and her twin brother, she gave out hugs and kisses to everyone. Last was Bucky, who got only a brief pat on his back before Y/N went into director mode and showed the people around. Most afternoon and day was spent in a briefing room, Steve, Tony, Fury and Y/N being the main people who conversed, talking about upgrades, what new developments Stark and Banner had made or simply how could they improve additional dispatch forces if they needed to be sent out. Afternoon turned into evening, which meant that sooner than anticipated the Avengers had to leave. The goodbye was hard, for everyone. Especially for Bucky. He had wanted to talk to the girl privately through the whole day, but work came first and she didn’t even spare him a sideways glance. When his nose had caught the whiff of her shampoo he was ready to clutch onto her body and burst into tears from happiness. He was there. She was with him. Yet at the same time, Y/N had never been further away from the man. And when it came time for him to return to New York, the realisation hit him like a ton of bricks. This might be the only time in years he’d get to see her. But it had been no use, as the team piled up in the jet his eyes caught Y/N’s retreating from down below where he was stood on the roof. Bucky looked on as she walked away, arms linked with a man’s whose hair was messy and the colour of sand and the other one with a bubbly young girl’s. “Buck, you coming?” He turned around and found a smiling Steve. “Or are you finally going after the girl of your dreams?”

Thunder rolled over London and bright flashes of light illuminated Y/N’s apartment. She turned to the other side, snuggling her face into the mountain of pillows, trying to block out the light. The woman was on the verge of sleep once more, when loud rumbles brought her out of the state. For a second she just thought it was another wave of thunder, but then it came again. It was rhythmic ramming against something wooden, something solid. Someone was at her door. Begrudgingly she pulled the warm covers off of her body and padded her way through the dark corridor. The silk pyjama shirt and shorts left little to no imagination, but Y/N was pissed enough that if it was someone who intended to harm her, they’d be dead before they could even catch a glimpse of what she was wearing. With a yank, she unlocked the door, and a gasp of surprise left her lips. There stood Bucky, completely drenched from head to toe, with his chest heaving as if he’d just ran a marathon. “Barnes? What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the fucking night. Wha- wait. What are you doing here in London? Aren’t you supposed to be on the je-“ “On the jet to New York? Yeah.” “Then why are you here?” He gulped down. “Because I left something behind.” “Oh,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “In that case why didn’t you leave a message? I’d send it to you tomorrow.” “You- you can’t pack, what I left and bring it to a post office.” He made his way closer, a trail of rain left in his wake, but Y/N didn’t really care. There was something in his gaze, that made her throw caution to the wind. “Cause that thing, I forgot,” his palm went to cradle her cheek, electricity shooting through every part of her body. “Yeah?” it was barely a whisper, no louder than a drop of water against the windowsill. “Was you.” And once again, like that time a year ago, his lips were on hers. He fit so perfectly against Y/N like his body was sculpted to mould against the girl. Like she was the question and he was the answer. A thunder with its lighting. Her thoughts were in a daze, as fingers wove through messy wet hair, pulling his face closer to hers. The pyjama got instantly stained and it wasn’t until she felt cold water droplets seep through the material and touch her breasts she pushed him violently away. “No, Bucky, no. We’re not doing this. Not after everything. I’m not going to let you break m-“ “I left her.” Y/E/C eyes snapped up to see his blue ones. In the dark, they were the tone of the night sky, though it might be the lust making its appearance as well. “What?” “Whe- aft-“ he pulled in a deep breath, gathering his thoughts and taking a step closer to the girl, while at the same time gauging her reaction. “The second you said that you’re leaving, I realised what mistake I had made. What I had given up. And I understand why you did it. God, I was such a fucking idiot. But when you said it was permanent, that you wouldn’t be coming back… it- it snapped something in me. I had been trying to push my feelings away for so long. I mean why would you want a monster like that- no, let me finish. And- and when you pulled on that duffel bag, when I looked around your room and saw the bare walls, saw that you’re leaving all the pictures you have of us behind… I realised I can’t live without you. And not in a friends kind of a way.” “When you said you loved me… it was like I had finally gotten everything I had ever wanted in life. Because you were mine and I was yours. And then Dia-“ “Diana,” Y/N finished the little word. “Yeah. I finally understood that I was just trying to fill out the void what the thought of never being with you had created. And after that mission, after you distanced yourself from me, I threw everything I had at her, but it wasn’t enough. I just didn’t feel that thing…” He was now standing right in front of her. Bucky’s nose brushed against Y/N’s, gentle palms gripping onto her waist as if afraid she’d disappear. “I didn’t feel my heart racing every time she laughed. I didn’t feel my mouth going completely dry every time I looked at her, cause I was at a loss for words from her beauty.” Water dripped down onto her chest and disappeared into her night attire. “I didn’t feel this unquenchable need to kiss her, to touch her skin,” a finger slid along her bicep, brushing a droplet up to her collarbone, sending a shiver down her spine. “With Diana, I didn’t have the want to wake up every morning with her by my side. Cause each day that she rolled around, all I could think was of you. How you would look with a bed head. How your eyes would glint as the morning sun shone through the windows. How it would feel to kiss you and whisper that I love you, making your day start off with feeling like you’re someone’s everything.” Y/N wasn’t breathing anymore. Her arms were still crossed over her chest, but Y/E/C eyes didn’t let go of Bucky’s gaze. “And when our six month anniversary rolled around, I realised what mistake I had made. The next day I broke up with her. I explained everything. She turned out to be surprisingly understanding, but by then the damage was already done. You were gone.” It was all too much. Y/N’s brain was having a hard time to comprehend what Bucky had just said, but what was a bigger mess was her heart. All this time of trying to push her feelings away, the futile attempts at mending the broken pieces, all of that had now been destroyed, by the same man who had caused her broken state in the first place. “And, umm,” she cleared her throat, a flash of lightning illuminating the conflict on her face, “what now?” “Now it's up to you. Whatever you choose, I’ll do it.” His metal palm gently cupped her cheek. “If you tell me to go, then I will. You’ll never see me again and I will never try to contact you. But if you’ll allow me to stay,” he took a Y/H/C piece of a strand and twirled it between his fingers. It had come out of the braid Y/N had made before going to bed and to Bucky, the messy state was the most gorgeous she’d ever looked to him. “I'll spend the rest of my life trying to regain your trust and love. I will spend my days showing you what you really mean to me. I’ll give my everything to you. All I ask in return is one chance to make things right, to show the girl who has my heart that I’m absolutely and utterly hers. And that there is no one else in the world, I’d want to spend my life.” Silence settled over them, Bucky’s heart beating in an erratic rhythm. He was sure he was going into cardiac arrest before Y/N answered, sending him soaring. “You get one try, Bucky and that is it.” He didn’t wait for a second more as his lips pulled in a brilliant smile and he pressed them against Y/N’s. He covered her face with kisses while wrapping his arms around her body and lifting her up. Through the daze he made his way to where he had seen was her kitchen counter and placed her there, standing between her parted legs. Bucky kissed down her cheek and moved on to the side of her neck. The man bit and sucked there until he found that one spot, that one place that made Y/N curl her toes, a moan escaping her lips. “Bed,” she rasped out, “now.” He didn’t need to be told twice. With her legs wrapped around his waist, he carried the girl towards a hallway, but not before pressing her against the walls multiple times. When they got to her room, Y/N was already bare, the silk ripped to shreds and lying in pieces somewhere across her floors. Bucky sucked right at the hollow of her neck, making the girl arch her back. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” and like the lightning that flashed across their bodies, illuminating them in a silver glow, Y/N had his jacket, scarf and shirt off in no time. Rough fingers wove through his wet hair, pulling Bucky flush against Y/N. He’d dreamt for so long to have her like this, passion completely clouded his head. Detaching from her lips, which was hard enough as to him there was no better taste than her mouth, he did want to explore other parts of her as well. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Bucky whispered out, gentle fingers gliding along her sides, sending shivers up and down her spine, goosebumps rising all over. His lips, soft as the touch of a feather, made their way down Y/N’s body. First, they latched onto one nipple, sucking and biting until he was satisfied with how much the girl was writhing underneath him before making his way to the other side. When he was appeased, looking up to see her body already flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering her glowing skin, he made his way further down. Bucky made sure he left purple marks all across, a beautiful string on her ribs and a perfect belt across her hips. Warm hands pushed her legs open and he slid his mouth across the insides of her thighs, grazing the soft skin there with his teeth. “Breathtaking,” Bucky pressed a sweet kiss right where Y/N wanted him the most, yet not giving her the full thing. “Bucky, please. I need you.” Her right hand was woven through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp. And although he wanted her to beg, for her to be almost in tears from his teasing and denial, there would be another time for that. In an instant his mouth was on her clit, sucking at it. Y/N’s back arched up from the bed, making Bucky use his metal arm to push her hips back down. A whine escaped her lips as her eyes almost rolled back into her head from the pleasure. He lapped and swirled his tongue around the sensitive nub, making the girl grasp onto his hair even more. Blue eyes looked up to find Y/N staring down at him, one hand clutching the sheets so hard there was a tear in the fabric and her knuckles were white. The man let go of the thigh he’d been massaging the whole time and instead interlinked it with Y/N’s palm. Her grip tightened as he removed the metal arm from her waist and inserted two fingers into her hot entrance. The feeling of the cold vibranium made her body lurch up as the two digits stretched her out and once they started the pace of moving in an out she was a goner. Nothing but white-hot pleasure existed and a tight knot started to form in her lower belly. Bucky could feel that Y/N was close. It didn’t matter that he was using the prosthetic arm, he could still feel pressure and with the way her walls were clenching around him, he knew she was teething right at the edge. Bucky made his fingers into a come-hither motion, hitting that spot deep inside, making a guttural moan escape her lips and with only a few more movements she was letting go, coating everything with her juices, the man drinking it up like he’d been starved for decades. Only when he was sure she had come down from her high, eyes still closed as stars exploded behind her lids, he sucked the excess off of his fingers and leaned down to kiss her. “Fuck, I need you,” Y/N moaned into his mouth, the taste of her on his lips intoxicating the girl even more. “You have me, all of me.” His drenched jeans were gone, shoes and socks hitting the floor at the same time, boxers following suit. Y/N’s fingers wrapped around his length and stroked it a few times, making Bucky’s abs clench in anticipation. She aligned him with her entrance and with a slow push he sheeted himself inside of her. Y/E/C eyes flew open at the feel of Bucky stretching her out so much. The girl’s nails dug into his back, some places drawing even blood, but there was no sweeter pain for the man. Ice blue eyes that had changed their colour to a stormy sea looked deep into that of the woman’s. She nodded her head as a signal for him to start moving, so Bucky slid out almost completely before burying himself inside once more. Connecting their lips in a searing kiss, he started a relentless pace. It was borderline brutal, but the love, the passion, the need to take care of her dispelled anything that could be angry about it. It didn’t take long for Y/N to feel that familiar tightness in her stomach. “Bucky, I’m gonna cum.” “Let go, doll. I got you.” Few more thrusts and she was falling once again. Explosions of pleasure rippled through her body, making every atom ignite and light aflame. Y/N thought that Bucky was right behind her, but his pace didn’t falter, instead, a hand snaked between their bodies and a cold finger pressed onto her clit. “No, Buck,” she shook her head as he assaulted the oversensitive nerve, “I can’t. No more.” “Just one more, baby. I know you have it in you.” Suddenly he changed the angle, bringing her to sit on his lap and bounce up and down. The new position pushed Bucky deeper inside of the girl, making Y/N full-on scream his name at the feeling of it. “Come on, darling. I know you can get there. I’m right behind you, just need you to- shit, fuck, you’re so tight!” He moved his thumb vigorously around her clit and tears streamed down her face as Y/N succumbed to pleasure once more. Her arms clutched around Bucky’s body, trying to hold onto something that was tangible and real, otherwise, she felt like the universe would rip her apart and she’d disintegrate into molecules. With three more thrusts, Bucky was spilling inside of the girl, holding onto her waist with the same amount of ferocity. It was like Y/N was his only lifeline and thread to the physical world. The pair’s chests heaved as they tried to catch breaths, foreheads pressed together, sweat dripping down onto the sheets. He pressed a kiss against Y/N’s damp skin. “I love you. So much. You’ve always been the one for me, yet I was too stupid to act upon it.” Her palm slid up to cup his rugged cheek and she pressed her mouth against his in a sweet brush of lips. “I love you too. Just next time, if you feel something similar, please say it before I move to a different country. “ Bucky chuckled at that, but soon enough he was full on laughing as he laid their bodies next to one another, never letting Y/N out of his embrace. “Trust me doll, I will never hesitate to tell you how much I love you. I learned my lesson.”

Tags (crossed out couldn’t be tagged, sorry loves): @thunderous-flower @who-cares-rn @palaiasaurus64 @lumelgy @projectxhappiness @callmebucky-doll @coal000 @killuaenthusiast @courtneychicken @sophiealiice @raquelbc2003 @nerissa98 @asguardiansoftheavengers

A/N: it’s almost 3 AM; I should’ve been editing my last assignments, but I regret nothing :DDD

P.S. tell me what you think :)

P.S.S. if you wanna be tagged in future stories or have any requests, please drop a message.

P.S.S.S. please don’t repost without credit :))

4K notes · View notes

chinatea · 6 years

Text

Ian/Baby G(Jiyeon), criminals, implied premeditated murder.

The party is so-so.

And yet, Jiyeon is here anyway, sipping his non-alcoholic cocktail, minding his own business and trying not to visibly gag at the vultures leering at him from the dim corners of the club. Most of them are his boyfriend’s cronies, and that’s probably the only reason he’s left alone to pout into his drink.

The criminal world is so, so dull, save for an occasional blood splatter on his lovely satin shirts. The travesty. Still, it’s another petty jibe to prickle his asshole of a boyfriend with. That fucking dipshit truly believes just because he doesn’t beat him, he’s some kind of glowing beacon of benevolence or something. Which is too bad. Jiyeon would rather take a punch to the face, something to make him so worked up he’d actually nut up and stab the guy in his sleep or something, and then take a bullet to the head from one of his lackeys, because he knows what happens to the rogue bitches of dead druglords - they bury them in the woods.

Or backyards, because gas prices are steep these days.

Stewing in his maudlin mood, he is startled to see a tall shot winding up in front of him, almost like magic, liquid like warm gold licking up the brims.

“I thought you might wanna have something stronger than whatever you’ve been having for the past hour, sweetheart.”

That’s...a long fucking sentence and Jiyeon’s brain breezed through most of it. There is only so much stimulation it can handle simultaneously and this man, whomever he is, is plenty stimulating. Visually so. He perches onto the stool next to Jiyeon, easy, suave and handsome - too handsome to be wasted in a jealous rampage, but what does Baby G care. All men are trash anyway. Including him.

He kisses his teeth, loud, just to let this hunk know how he’s not impressed - which is, actually, a coded signal for ‘I’m very much impressed. Please continue, honey, you’re doing great.’ And if the guy is not a total tool, he’ll get it. This is how Jiyeon filters out gems from trash.

(His boyfriend is pure trash, by the way. He never gets it.)

“And you’re, what, some kind of party police? I’m here and I fucking hate it, so there.”

Jiyeon’s upper lip curls into a snarl, right before he downs the drink offered, because he doesn’t have to explain himself to anyone.

“You wanna to talk about it?” the man says with a tranquil grin, eyes flickering down to his full lips - sinful as hell, Jiyeon is very much aware, as he swipes his tongue over them, a habit of his, nothing more. “I’m told I’m a great listener,” he then adds, eyes roaming his face, quite unabashedly, before meeting Jiyeon’s eyes, dragging him down into the deepest pools of black he’s ever seen.

Maybe Jiyeon likes him enough to skip all the pleasantries. Time spent on chitchat is time wasted, anyway.

“Do you wanna talk about it or do you wanna fuck me?”

The guy takes the cheekiness of his tone in stride.

“Can’t it be both?”

“As much as I like good ol’ chinwag for foreplay, I’d rather get fucked the marbles out of me, preferably before my boyfriend gets back from the backrooms, where he’d drilling some whore right now, and makes a scene. I’d give him about five more minutes. Can you do me in five minutes?”

Jiyeon, all business-like, checks his makeup in his compact’s mirror. If there is one rule he holds holy in this world without order, it’s to look flawless as he’s being railed through a wall, or something. Who knows what’s awaiting him on the other side of that wall. The world is unpredictable like that, but at least, his mascara doesn’t flake all over his face.

“I’d rather take you out for dinner, first. How does tomorrow sound?” the guy asks.

What a spoilsport, Jiyeon thinks, clicking his compact shut, as he stares at him, one perfectly trimmed eyebrow quirked in bemusement.

“Sure, I’ll just go ask my psycho boyfriend first,” Jiyeon says. “His name is Seunghee, by the way. I’m sure you’ve heard of the guy.”

“He won’t be a problem,” the guy shrugs, all blase about the name that makes even the old underdogs act like their buttholes are on fire.

“Wish I could say the same,” Jiyeon sighs as he tucks his fists under his chin. When he’s not having sex, he’s a mellow bitch, ready to cry his little heart out. “He’s been the pain in my ass, pun intended, ever since we met at some shady host bar. And I wasn’t even working there, you know. Got dragged in by a friend, but he saw me and...”

...harassed him into this fucked-up joke of a relationship. Sometimes Jiyeon can hardly believe he’s being forced to waste his youth being that asshole’s ragdoll. One of these days, he’s going to snap and kill the bastard, to hell with the consequences.

“Hey, there, we’re talking now,” the guy says, matter-of-factly, with the tiniest pinch of a taunt. As if he knew not to provoke Jiyeon with faux sympathy. Smart move. “Wasn’t so bad, was it. Tell me more.”

“What’s there to tell? I hate his guts and wish him dead. End of story.”

Jiyeon finishes his own drink, the non-alcoholic gin and tonic, before hopping off the barstool, ready to be on his way. If he’s not getting dick tonight, then what’s the point.

“But thanks for asking, yeah?” he smiles, brushing his hand over the guy’s shoulder. The guy who catches his hand and pulls him closer as he leans over to whisper intimately.

“What if I can make it happen. And you let me take you out for dinner. How does that sound?”

Jiyeon looks at him and then starts laughing. Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system, although he could probably douse himself in vodka and still feel sober afterwards, but the off-handed way the guy made the delivery was really fucking funny to Jiyeon.

“You know what,” he giggles into his palm. “Forget about that, I’ll fucking date you, if you kill him.”

He reaches out his tiny well-groomed hand to shake on it, all in good laugh, of course, and the guy takes it, bringing it to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss to his pulse point. For everyone else to see, but unbothered in the slightest, dark eyes trained at Jiyeon the whole time, unwavering and intense.

“Deal.”

And that was a week ago. This morning Jiyeon wakes up to an empty flat, meaning that scumbag didn’t return home last night, probably still stuck up some slut’s butthole. Meaning Jiyeon can have one peaceful morning all to himself. Bless the small mercies.

It’s almost nine in the evening when Jiyeon starts wondering, some very peculiar thoughts drifting through his mind, as he stares at his phone, blissfully silent the whole day - the possessive prick would send him a deluge of messages throughout the day, checking on him, and god forbid Jiyeon switches off his phone or something. Today, however, silence.

It’s twelve AM, next morning, that Jiyeon finally turns on the TV, from boredom, and it’s all over the news: the bomb in the penthouse, possibly an assassination, possibly drug-related, gang war(?), only one casualty. The former drug lord, Lee Seunghee. The police currently is investigating the suspects…

Jiyeon’s hands are shaking as he scrambles for his phone. One message, unread, time of the delivery - 2:45AM. Right after the bomb went off, according to the reports.

‘So, about that dinner tomorrow...’

And Jiyeon smiles.

---

So, who do u think Ian is? (Ya know, I’ve always wanted to write an au where BG is just as fucked-up as Ian is. So, I guess this is it.)

Some of you might notice a slight discrepancy with the timing, like if the bombing only happened last night, where was BG’s bf the whole day prior? I don’t know if I wanna explain it here without giving away who Ian is. Maybe in part two, then.

Now, I feel like I need to write a second part, or smth.

#i know i'm late to the party but Happy Birthday Angel #personas au

64 notes · View notes

queenzufufu · 6 years

Text

Soldier Boy (5/5)

Summary: Alfredo only had three main goals in life: earn money, keep his family safe, and to try and one up his parents and make it past the age of thirty.

The Fakes? He couldn’t be any further from that world. No doubt he’d love to be part of it but he knows it’s never going to happen. There’s just no way.

Until one night, and one heist gone wrong, finds him in the middle of a gang war that he finds he has no choice but to get involved in.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 AO3

It takes him a second to pick out who’s his closest target; he bursts through the door and sees so many armed individuals it renders him still for a second. Only for a second though, he’s jumping into survival mode the second after - shoots the first guy to notice him in the head before he’s even fully turned round. There’s an upturned table to his left, good cover to duck behind as more of the men notice his presence.

C’mon! You better fucking take down more than one.

He fires blindly. Rapidly shooting over the top of the table - glad that it’s made of thick wood, otherwise it would have shredded to pieces by now.

His heart’s pounding as he takes a chance and peeks his head out ever so slightly to take aim. He sees one is wounded, limping - takes him out quickly - and another one reloading, too slow, the gun drops to the floor and now there’s only one left. He doesn’t even wait for the man’s dying breath, just shoots, makes sure he’s down, and moves to new cover before more arrive, he’s bound to have alerted others close by even with all the racketing gunfire still aimed at the guys–

Suddenly he notices a pain shooting down his leg. A piece of wood from the table thankfully, not a bullet. Still, stings like a bitch as he yanks it out.

He steps forward now, ready to take the offensive even if he’s limping and he’s dripping blood with every step he takes. When he reaches up to wipe the dust of wood chippings from his face he feels the smear of warm blood it leaves behind, the wound from Dmitri’s knife still bleeding, albeit slowly.

Another man charges him from out of nowhere with a fierce yell, weaponless other than a piece of metal piping, and Alfredo braces himself and holds up his better arm to block the initial blow. It sends another white-hot flash of pain through his body but at least it’s better than getting his face smashed in. The combat is too close to give him time to fire his rifle, but he still has Dmitri’s knife - and as the man’s swinging again, and again, Alfredo ducks around him and digs the blade into his back. His grip on the hilt grows slippery with blood, and now both of his arms are in pain, but he uses all his strength to keep the blade firmly in and hold the man still as he yanks the knife up, the cries slowly dying out as he reaches the heart or lung, he doesn’t really care as long as he does serious damage–

The sound of bullets pierce his ears again, and he blocks the oncoming fire with the dead or dying body, and he sees that it’s abundantly clear everyone’s aware of his presence now.

A double set of doors have opened, revealing the main part of the upper floor where the majority of shooting has been coming from. Five - was that how many he’s taken out so far? It hardly seems like it’s been that little, he’s already exhausted, his injuries crying out for attention, and yet as he leaps to plant himself behind the wall he counts twenty, maybe more men in the main room. Breathing heavy, he crouches down as he feels the thuds of the bullets hitting the wall on the other side.

But this is what he wanted, he remembers, this is good, he tells himself. If they’re all focused on him now then that means there’ll be less attention on the others, providing of course, they hadn’t already been killed. No - he can’t think like that, his promise is far from over, he’s got their attention now he has to keep it for as long as possible. Something is riling up inside him, something both angry and scared, something desperate to save the others and desperate to survive himself. Doing both right now seems out of the question. But he can sure as hell try–

He fires off a round into a man approaching the doorway.

Another one into the guy trying to get the cross fire on him from the far corner.

Jumps to his feet and knifes one man who tries to rush him.

He’s running low on ammo, they are too but there’s so fucking many of them.

He spots a good place for cover inside the room and blindly runs for it, diving on the man currently firing at him from there. He presses his hands down on the man’s throat, his vision red and everything burning. For a moment he completely blacks out and the next thing he knows the man his dead with a knife in his neck. He almost throws up straight after, scared suddenly by how easy it’s become to kill–

He ends up lingering on it for a split second too long, for the next thing he knows there’s a cry of something in Russian, and then it feels as though a boulder has crashed into his side, knocking him forcefully to the floor.

“Get them!” He can hear yelling, someone American, across the room.

“Is too late! They go already!” a heavy Russian accent shouts back.

Blinking back the black dots in his vision, he tries to scramble to his feet, but some weight is still pushing him down. He stretches an arm out, trying to reach for his gun or the knife still in the man’s neck, but he can’t lift his head and he can’t see anything but clouds of dust and people’s feet running past. A foot stamps down on his hand, almost hard enough to break the bone, and he lets out a cry, feeling all the fight finally leave his body. He feels the weight on top of him shift and then the sound of a blade being pulled out of flesh right by his ear, warm blood splattering over him and onto his face, in his eyes, on his lips. He can taste it, hot and coppery and horribly too familiar.

“Don’t kill him!” That same American accent demands - and he feels the weight slowly leave him, although by now he’s too exhausted to even try to stand up.

Also, there’s no point. He knows he would only be pushed back down if he does and he’s content to not do anything for just a second or two, feeling strangely happy despite everything. They’re gone… That’s what he heard. They got out. Michael and Gavin, and Jack and Geoff, and Jeremy and oh-he-better-still-be-alive Ryan. That’s what he wanted, and somehow he’d made it happen.

He tilts his head and glances up, see’s a man so huge his breathing halts for a second. There's a burn scar across his face, and the man’s eyes are dark and he’s sweating and bleeding just like Alfredo is; but unlike Alfredo, he isn’t lying small and broken on the floor.

“This motherfucker–” the man begins, angrily, before cutting off abruptly as though silently ordered to, and letting out a half growl. “What would you have us do with him?”

How about we just shake hands and call it quits?

“Seeing as you and your men have spectacularly failed to guard what we worked hard to take from The Fakes, we’re going to steal something back. See if this doesn’t open up some new avenues for us.”

The voice, the American one, sounds so incredibly relaxed and business-like after everything that just happened, that it sends Alfredo’s mind into a spin. He doesn’t like the sound of any of that. But then he also doesn’t like the sound of dying right now.

Fuck me, he feels his heart pounding harder, what the fuck are they going to do to me? He’s struggling to stay in control now, scared and helpless and so very alone. He selfishly wishes one of The Fakes were there with him, somebody he could look to for reassurance during a situation he would never, ever have imagined himself being in when he was little and playing at being a legendary gangster.

In a way, it’s kind of a blessing they knock him out there and then.

“You did good today, lil’ man.”

Denny’s helping him take his shoes off at the doorway to their house. Alfredo frowns - wasn’t he just somewhere else? Somewhere scary? A building filled with big, bad people, and his whole body had been hurting. He looks down at his arms and legs. They’re fine, they ache a bit but that’s because of what Denny had been saying. He had done good today!

All thoughts of the bad place vanish as he tugs at his older brother’s arm eagerly. “I wanna come with you,” he claims - grinning as his brother grabs his hand and leads him inside.

“You can’t. You gotta look after grandma,” Denny explains patiently. Their grandma’s not home yet, she’s still at work - been taking extra shifts on ever since their dad had died three months ago. Alfredo still gets sad a lot - actually confused more than anything, wondering how someone who you saw every day of your life could suddenly not be there anymore. Denny didn’t get sad though and he always told Alfredo not to cry ‘cause that’s not what Dad would want’, and he’s started skipping classes to work for their crew more, even takes Alfredo with him at the weekends. Alfredo always wants to join him, even on school days, but Denny says he can’t because he’s five, not nine like his brother. Apparently nine was when you became a man - it also meant that you could start being a lookout during nights apparently, because that was what Denny had started doing too. Alfredo tried convincing his brother every night to let him come with him, and every night he said no.

“Grandma’ll be okay,” he tells his brother. “I can help you more than Grandma! I could do the looking out thingy too, real good. I’m small. I could hide. That’d be good cause no one would never see me and then I’d be really quiet!”

“You’re too little to help. It’s very hard work.” Denny says, sitting down on the couch and pulling him onto his lap, and Alfredo tilts his head back at him.

“I can do anything!” he replies brightly. “I’m strong like you!”

“Really?” His brother’s face can’t help but crack a tired grin, and Alfredo clambers off his lap. He goes to the kitchen, grabs a chair, and brings it back to Denny. It’s twice as big as he is but he manages to keep it off the ground and even lifts it above his head.

“Please let me come with you! I’ll help, see? I’m strong!”

“Fredo…” Denny’s half laughing, half shaking his head.

“I wanna come!”

“Put the chair down - just… put it down before you drop it on your head,” he says, and Alfredo lowers it to the ground, arms only shaking slightly. His brother holds out his arms and he climbs onto him again, head tucked under his brother’s chin. Denny wraps him in a hug and buries his head in his hair, then his tone changes.

“We can’t always be together,” he informs him.

Alfredo doesn’t understand - sure, his mom had gone not long after he’d been born, and now his dad too, but they were adults, and they were confusing at times. But he and Denny, they were brothers, and brothers always stuck together. They ate together, they played together, and now they worked together. He leans back and studies his brother’s face, eyes the same as his, skin the same shade, a gold chain he’d inherited from their father, the older boy looking strangely adult-like all of a sudden.

“But who’ll play games with me at night?” he asks, and his brother lets out a chuckle.

“You don’t need me to play anymore,” he replies. “You’ve got new friends, remember?”

“I do?”

“Sure you do! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten them already!”

“Umm, I don’t remember,” he begins, but cuts off in surprise as he spots the tears forming in his brother’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I’m not there, but you’ll be okay, okay? You’re strong, remember? You’re strong and you’re brave and you ain’t so little no more.”

“I don’t understand–” Alfredo breaks off and his brother shushes him.

“You just gotta hang on. They’ll come for you.”

“Denny, you’re scaring me…”

But it was like his brother was no longer listening to him - like there was a barrier suddenly between them.

“Be brave… they’ll come for you. The Fakes don’t give up that easily.”

Wait.

The Fakes?

“What do you–

Consciousness comes back slowly and rather painfully.

He lets out a whimper at the dull throbbing that seems to make up his entire body and wonders what on earth he did last night to make him feel like this.

He cracks open an eye, confusion settling in as he observes the metal walls and blue light. Was he in a cell? Has he been captured?

Ah, that’s right.

He’s not alone, he realizes, there’s someone in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall. Watching him.

Slowly, the shrouded figure makes it’s way forward, every step purposeful and precise, like a big cat stalking its prey. Only when he’s standing directly next to him does the light highlight the figure enough for Alfredo to get a good look.

It’s a man.

A man wearing a shirt and tie…?

He’s late forties maybe, dark grey eyes narrow and piercing, greying hair combed neatly back.

The man studies him for what feels like forever, before slowly raising his hand, holding a small thin object between his fingers.

It’s a syringe, some weirdly green liquid filling it, and Alfredo instinctively lurches away as he lowers it to his arm, only to find out that he’s not moving anywhere, his legs and arms tightly bound to the table beneath him.

The man expertly finds a vein and injects whatever the fuck it is into his bloodstream. Alfredo expects pain, maybe to be knocked out again, but nothing happens, at least not instantly.

The man seems to soak up the slight confusion Alfredo’s projecting. “Human minds are weak,” he explains. “They break too easily and cannot sustain heavy damage.”

A smirk forms on his lips. “How quickly will you break, I wonder?” He draws his finger across Alfredo’s right arm. “Seems like someone has already started on you, Dmitri I assume, always had such fondness for the blade. I bet it hurts.”

“Should see him now,” Alfredo retorts hotly, surprised by how dry his throat feels. Fear, no doubt he’s scared about his situation, and tired, and dazed, and his arm stings like a bitch and his head is pounding, but he also couldn’t care less. So this is probably the Bossman it seems, the one who started all this, and the one whose schemes he and The Fakes had fucked up. Hell, at least he’ll get the satisfaction of knowing he’d accomplished something before this guy undoubtedly had his way with him.

“I did see him as a matter of fact,” the man murmurs. “You made quite a mess of his face. I suppose, though, bullets tend to do that to one's appearance. In the end, you made his suffering very brief, didn’t you? Do you think that’s what’ll happen here?”

Alfredo feels his toes curl up at the threat but he scowls back all the same. “I don’t care. There’s nothing that you can do to me now that’ll help you. Face it, you lost.”

The man smiles at him. “Dear boy, this game that you say I’ve lost, why, you do not even know what we’ve been playing. You must be new. Or were you hired just for this job?”

Alfredo’s eyes widen at the reveal. So this guy thought he was one of The Fakes, or was someone they were paying to help them. He isn’t sure if him thinking that was a good or bad thing, but he presses his lips firmly together and turns his head away to make sure he doesn’t unwillingly give anything away by his expression. Whatever this guy wanted to know, whether Alfredo knew the answer or not; he wouldn’t speak another word. He wouldn’t betray his friends.

“I fear I’ve been ever so rude,” the man says after a pause. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Edgar.”

Alfredo doesn’t reply, but tries to remember if that name should mean anything to him. He comes up blank.

“Human minds are weak,” the man called Edgar reiterates. “Far weaker than the human body. You can put a human body through a lot more than a human mind before it finally gives out. And with that running through your veins, you will even more susceptible to breaking than most.”

If Alfredo had a bad feeling before, now it was rapidly descending into gut-wrenching.

“You see what I injected you with increases the response of your body’s nerve endings,” Edgar continues. “A little something I had specially made, all the way from Colombia. So you see, the body is much more aware of all sensations. If you’ll allow me to demonstrate…” He reaches forward and carefully picks up Alfredo’s right hand as far as it would go in his restraints.

He offers Alfredo another sickeningly polite smile. And then he bent his thumb backward.

What normally might have been a painful twinge, as the digit is moved in a way it isn’t meant to, is blinding pain and he screams in both surprise and agony even as the rational part of his mind pleads for him to realize that he isn’t actually hurt.

Edgar releases his hand and drops it back on the table with a thud that sends a white-hot pain up his entire arm.

“You have two options. One: tell me everything you know about the Fakes and I’ll let you go. Or two: don’t, and we’ll see how long you last,” he says. “Pain or no pain? Which shall you choose?”

He does not seem to expect an answer but Alfredo’s silence is one enough.

“I will keep this simple for you,” he says. “You answer my questions truthfully and you may have a sip of water. You deny me anything, and I can assure you, it will not be pleasant.”

Alfredo see’s Edgar’s face light up in a creepy grin, and he feels shivers down his spine. Even that small motion seems more intense than usual.

There is no way this can end well.

There’s no way out. You know there isn’t.

At least not with this asshole still in the room. Maybe you can wait.

That’s it, maybe you can hold out until he leaves. Don’t give him what he wants and he’ll give you a break eventually. Don’t be stupid, don’t say anything, you think you can do that no matter what he does? Sure as hell hope so.

Right now you feel false confidence. But he’s already given you a little taste and that was enough. But the others, you can’t let the others down. Not after everything.

They’ll come for you.

A good plan - but in reality is it really one that he can pull off? Someone who just a few weeks ago had barely stepped a foot out of his own few blocks, just a corner kid who spent his days evading the cops and dealing with other small crews. Now that’s all changed, now he feels like he’s someone different, like he could never go back to that way of living again. He doesn’t know if that’s scary.

What is scary, though, is the look on Edgar’s face as he pulls up a chair and sits beside him.

“Right then,” he says quietly. “I think it’s time we began, don’t you think?”

Alfredo glares defiantly, and sees the man smile again. He managed a small one himself - a small one, something close to mocking.

“Excellent!” Edgar declares, and picks up Alfredo’s wrist. His hand is very cold, and the touch makes his throat tighten uncomfortably. He focuses on keeping his breathing as steady as possible, and tries to ignore the way his heart lurches at the dangerous glint in the other man’s eyes. “Let’s start off easy then, how long have you worked for The Fakes?”

Worked for The Fakes? Just who did this guy think he was?

It isn’t a question he could answer properly even if he wanted to, but he keeps quiet all the same. If this Edgar realizes he’s a nobody he might be done with him even quicker than originally planned.

His captor observes him for a few long moments. Eventually, he rolls his eyes. “Perhaps a broader question to start things off,” he says. “Provide me information on everything you know about The Fakes. But I’m warning you,” he adds, “this is your last chance.” And squeezes Alfredo’s wrist a little bit tighter.

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. This guy isn’t actually going to physically hurt him. It’s all going to be in his head. He just has to breathe.

He doesn’t see it with his eyes squeezed closed, but he feels the hand grip even tighter again and he braces for the oncoming pain.

And well, at least he isn’t disappointed. His thumb is bent back again but he may as well have broken it, burned it, and injected it with a volt of electricity all at the same time. His screams echo in the otherwise quiet cell, that dissolve into quiet gasps for air as he works to get his breathing back under control. But once he’s somewhat calm again, Edgar repeats his words. “Tell me everything you know about The Fakes. About Ramsey. About Free. That new little driver they’ve got themselves. Everything.”

“No.” Alfredo tells him out-loud this time, although he keeps his eyes averted and refuses to look at the man, like when he and Denny were little and he’d had a nightmare. His brother would always tell him to close his eyes, hide under the covers. If you couldn’t see the monsters then they can’t see you.

His index finger is twisted this time. He bites down hard on his tongue to keep himself from screaming so instead gets a mouthful of blood and an insane stabbing pain of his own doing, as what should have been a brief stab of pain feels like he’s just chopped his own tongue off.

Edgar actually chuckles at that. Of course he does, Alfredo thinks. This guy is a sick bastard. It only serves to make him even more determined to not say a word.

Things repeat for a while then, as each moment of silence or rebuttal earns him agonizing pain for a few seconds and Edgar would repeat his query with the same cadence as before. Alfredo supposes he ought to be grateful he isn’t actually hurting him, because that would hurt much, much more. He can only hope it continues that way.

His body feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder, even though logically he knows it’s practically the same as it had been when Edgar started this whole thing. He's begun counting each torture to try and give him a better timeline. He thinks they were on about the twenty-fifth ask now and Edgar generally allows him nearly a whole minute to recover.

Which means it hasn’t even been going on for an hour? Fuck me…

Despite the pain though, Alfredo’s still thinking clearly. He supposes that was part of Edgar’s plan, as he’s seeking information. But it was backfiring on him because Alfredo’s able to continue to remind himself that all of this doesn’t matter. They’re superficial wounds, therefore, he can continue to hold out and protect his friends.

The only thing that really hurts is his throat again as he's screamed it raw and every gasping breath only hurt it more. But otherwise he’s fine. Really. This isn’t so bad. He can keep this up for a while still. Maybe he’s more of a badass than he thought. Perhaps some of The Fakes has rubbed off on him over the past few days.

Eventually, Edgar’s going to have to take a break himself, right? So Alfredo should get a break then too.

As if summoned, he hears the door open and footsteps move towards them. Well, that’s quicker than expected but he’ll take it!

That’s until he makes out the face of the man who’s entered the room. It was the one with the burn scar who’d finally knocked him out back at the sawmill. He’d seemed very pissed back then. And he doesn’t exactly look any happier now.

“The men are asking for you,” the Russian says, large arms crossed over an equally large chest as his intense gaze moves between Edgar and Alfredo.

Alfredo glares at him and subtly flips him off with his untouched left hand, although the man likely neither see’s nor cares as he and Edgar seem to be sharing a look. It makes Alfredo feel better though. He’ll take his small victories where he can right now.

“Very well, I will address them,” Edgar says after a few moments, releasing Alfredo’s abused hand.

Alfredo struggles to hide his relief. Finally!

"Continue for me, Arkady." What? No!

“Permission to give him my own treatment.”

“Superficial wounds have been causing him great pain, but so far to no avail. If you wish, you may increase the intensity, but only minimally. I want him lucid enough to answer questions.”

The Russian smiles, showing nearly a full set of gold teeth. “I understand.”

Edgar sweeps from the room without a sound, leaving the remaining two to stare at one another. Alfredo’s mind is racing as he tries to figure out what increasing the intensity would involve. He bets The Fakes would know instantly and they’d be able to mentally prepare somewhat. All he has is a sinking feeling he doesn’t want to proceed to any higher level in this screwed up torture.

Arkady picks up the same hand that Edgar’s been toying with. Although where his hand was just about Alfredo’s size, this man's dwarfed it. However…

Alfredo lets out a small, uncontrolled laugh that had the Russian’s face going from anger to confusion. "Your… your shirt…" Alfredo manages, trying to pull his hand away with zero success as a giggle works its way out. “It’s got bird shit on it.”

For the most brief of moments, the Russian looks like he doesn’t know how to reply to him, just stares down at the mark on his shirt with surprise, but it does not take long for him to compose himself and his face moves back to a dark countenance within seconds. "Do you know who I am?" he asks, grip tightening on Alfredo’s hand in a painful manner.

Alfredo loses the grin at the renewed pain and presses his lips together firmly. He isn’t going to be answering any questions, unless this man reveals he’s secretly working with The Fakes and he’s here to get him out. That would be pretty awesome. Please let him say that, Alfredo silently pleads.

"I am Arkady, my brother and I were born killers" he continues as Alfredo winces at the continued pressure that’s rapidly beginning to approach an all too familiar and painful threshold. "And now, I am the only one who remains. My brother, Dmitri, was killed by some pathetic boy.”

And that prayer just took a suicide jump out the window. Alfredo gives a small whimper as his hand is practically crushed now to the point where black dots appear in his vision. Arkady’s unnerving gaze bores into his, who for the first time since he's been injected with the whatever the fuck that stuff had been, feels actual fear rather than just pain.

Part of him feels sad for the man. He knew what it was like to lose family, and he supposes the two were close. But there’s no real sympathy there, it was this man’s brother who had actively been trying to cause havoc for his crew and who murdered his own brother. And he really doesn’t think saying "sorry" is going to cut it. Not when he’s the one who had literally pulled the trigger.

"I will show you what real pain feels like," Arkady promises. "Now suffer.”

He doesn’t even ask a question. He just takes Alfredo’s index finger between his hands and bends it. But unlike Edgar, he doesn’t stop as the knuckle contracts back. And Alfredo can only seize with horror as his bone is snapped in two.

He realizes he must have blacked out as he comes to, his injured limb still throbbing and showing no signs of stopping. He happens to meet Arkady’s eyes and blanches at the look of absolute fury that fills them.

Arkady snarls back and grips his thumb. And just like before he does not ask a question or demand an answer. But he does break the digit.

Somehow this time Alfredo remains conscious, even as he prays to black out - because his entire body’s on fire and his hand is screaming at him and he realizes somewhere that hands can’t scream so that must actually be coming out of his mouth. His back arches off the table as far as it can go, which only chokes him from the binds over his throat and turns the scream into a terrible sounding cough as he gags for air.

He couldn't believe he was even thinking this, but where was Edgar? He needs to come back now! Seconds pass and he lies twitching and gasping on the table, his hand still encased in Arkady’s and the pressure alone on his broken fingers making him want to throw up. Tears leak down his face, blurring his vision, but he can still make out the fury etched on the other’s face.

"You are weak," the man spat. "I cannot believe this is a member of The Fakes.”

You’d be right.

But somehow Alfredo’s mouth moves without his consent as years and years of sarcastic comebacks between rival crews decide now is a good time to say something to show that he hasn’t given in. Not yet. "S-strong enough to… to beat y-your brother," he gasps out.

If Arkady had been projecting fury before, it moves beyond that. With a roar of primal rage, he yanks Alfredo’s arm up, choking him as his entire body jerks against the restraints.

"W-wait," Alfredo stutters as he realizes what’s going to happen. “D—"

The ‘don't' dies on his lips as the man twists his wrist until the bones inside crack into two and blinding white agony overtakes him.

The last clear thought he has as comforting blackness takes him away is that he’s going to die here. Right now. And despite his earlier conviction to do what it takes to protect his friends even if it meant taking himself out of the equation, he finds he doesn’t want to die. He wants to live. His mind and body scream at him to survive no matter what.

And that terrifies him.

When Edgar returns he is none too happy with Arkady’s handiwork, because apparently he ‘wasn’t ready to move onto such measures’ yet.

Alfredo’s barely awake when they’re arguing. The pain - if having his finger simply bent backward was horrific, having an actual bone snapped was indescribable - he’d kind of half passed out after the first break. He doesn’t know the exact damage. He just knows he’s even more injured than he was before but his mind’s so fuzzy he can’t even remember what injuries he’d already sustained anyway. He’s scared that what Edgar said will come true - that his mind was weak, that it would break - and he’d give up something he shouldn’t. Though he’s still amazed Edgar hasn’t realized just how useless he actually is, that he’s no member of The Fakes, just someone who got caught up in all this shit a week ago.

Edgar steps forward and eyes Alfredo’s face. He’s sent Arkady on his way. The entire room seems to grow in size without the hulk of a man inhabiting it anymore but it doesn’t make him feel any deal safer.

The man inspects his messed up hand with more annoyance than concern. Like a man who’s come back to find his car with slightly scratched paintwork. To Alfredo, it feels like his whole hands on fire, no one pain discernible from the rest, and his whole body in general feels bruised and tired, turning stiff and sore. It kinda hurts to breathe in too deeply. In hindsight, he probably should have focused more on shooting rather than hand-to-hand combat during the sawmill fight. He wasn’t the best when it came to brawling and his ribs hadn’t been quite a hundred percent yet, but god damn the adrenaline he’d felt at the time had pushed him through it. No adrenaline was coursing through his veins now though, only something far deadlier.

Edgar takes a step back again and sighs. He’s still got the look of a businessman; all groomed, still wearing a crisp button-up shirt and tie. Alfredo wonders who he is - who he was to The Fakes - someone from their past with a hefty grudge.

“Well it seems we’re going to have to continue with Arkady’s methods,” the man says finally, when Alfredo takes in a breath and ends up coughing painfully instead.

“I still won’t tell you anything,” Alfredo replies. “I’ll never betray them.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure you’ve got all these images of heroism floating around in your head, mark my words, that won’t last long, especially now,” Edgar almost says with a hint of regret, and Alfredo’s eyes narrow.

“You almost sound upset,” he mentions as so.

“Oh, I am,” Edgar replies sincerely. He turns away, and oh God, please don’t let that be what he thinks it is. His body jerks in reflex to seeing the syringe being prepped once more - bile rising in his throat, and eyes widening, unable to look away as Edgar returns to his side. “I do so love to get to know my subject a little better before their minds are too far gone.”

“I don’t need any more,” Alfredo rushes, panicked. “First dose is working just fine, case you hadn’t noticed.”

“No,” is Edgar’s eloquent response to that. “You see, dear boy, it simply doesn’t work that way. My work is precise, methodical - I start by merely picking at the surface, gently prodding to see what’s underneath the skin. I would have done so more if that Russian oaf hadn’t disobeyed my orders so hot-headedly. The only way from here is further down, I’m afraid.”

For a moment, Alfredo thinks he might pass out there and then. But his brain’s still in overdrive desperately trying to think of a way out of this situation.

“You need me alive, right?” he replies, trying to keep the shake from his voice. “How do you know giving me too much of that shit won’t kill me?”

“A valid point,” Edgar chuckles, and holds up the syringe for Alfredo to see better, who physically recoils back into the table at the sight. “But one I’d already considered, see? Half full, this has been proven a safe dosage in the past, you’ll be fine… well, you know what I mean.”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Alfredo retorts immediately. “You’re like messed in the head or something. Like you keep saying all this shit about how human minds are weak, think that’s just cause yours fucked off a while back,” he adds, glaring with every ounce of anger and contempt he held for this man, who merely raises an amused eyebrow. Apparently it’s possible for him to look even creepier. Alfredo thinks a smile on this man’s face is ten times scarier than the anger on Arkady’s.

“Well, we’ll see who’s the more sane one at the end of this session,” he tells Alfredo. “We will be continuing as before - a question and an acceptable answer will grant you a moment's rest, an unacceptable answer or silence will result in a punishment. Rather more severe this time, like I said, can’t be going back on the work that’s already been done.”

“Fuck you,” Alfredo cries, because there’s nothing left to say. “Just fucking do it already! Get it over with!”

Edgar nods politely. And he injects more of the poison into his arm.

“Tell me,” he begins, “who are the current main members of The Fakes? I know Geoff is still in charge, and little Gavin is bound to still be there too, but who else?”

“Yeah,” Alfredo replies. “Scooby doo too, they’ve turned their hands to mystery solving in recent years.”

Edgar grabs his broken hand, his fingers putting pressure on bones that Alfredo swears he can hear screaming, makes him grit his teeth so hard it feels they might crack too.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Edgar says, and reaches out and cups his hand over Alfredo’s kneecap instead. “I’d forgotten that one had already been dealt with.” And with that he pushed down with both hands onto the joint, as hard as if he were performing CPR, expression not changing as he watches Alfredo as there’s a horrible popping sound; uncaring about putting on a cool front, Alfredo lets out a scream of pain that sounds more animal than human, and Edgar steps back and folds his arms while he studies his prisoner writhing in his binds.

“Sixty seconds and then we’ll try again,” Edgar says patiently, and he emphasizes the point by tapping his watch face.

“Fu… fuck you,” Alfredo murmurs, in between harsh breaths, half blind from the tears in his eyes. He doesn’t know what state his knee is in, whether it’s actually dislocated or not, might as well have had a hammer taken to it with the amount it hurt according to his brain.

“Such foul language, youth of today. Blame the parents though, I say.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d make a great father,” Alfredo retorts, even though it’s getting harder to breath let alone speak by the second. A sudden wave of terror rushes over him - the thought that this psycho may very well have children; his dad hadn’t been the best father and most of his friends parents growing up hadn’t been role model parents - and nearly all of them had been kids themselves when they’d been raising them and he knew he kinda lucked out getting brought up mainly by his grandmother who had another twenty years experience over most of the other parents, someone who’d already been there, done that. But, however young and immature the parents of his generation may have been, they still had one thing Edgar was clearly lacking, an actual sense of care, an idea that there was value in another human’s life.

Alfredo doesn’t think this man could care less if he killed a human or a fly, everything was just seen as a plaything for his sick little games. His vision swims, and he has to shut his eyes, to block out everything for a moment even though in the darkness it feels as if he’s suffocating, sinking into an abyss with no way out.

Perhaps he did actually black out for a second. The sharp prick in his arm, a pain he wasn’t even ready for, brings his awareness back to him, has his eyes snapping open in time to see Edgar - tucking away a small, sharp needle - like a workman with his tools always at the ready for every scenario.

He stiffens up as Edgar reaches a hand out again, this time placing it on his shoulder. Just the simple touch sends sparks of terror down his spine, a reflex reaction now. He’s trying his best not to cry, can’t bare to break down any more the necessary in front of this asshole, and he wants to stay optimistic. To believe that no matter how shit things may seem now, that there was still a hope that he could get out of here, that someone might come for him. Michael hadn’t wanted to leave him. None of them had, he thinks. They’d just been in an impossible situation.

He had to believe that they wouldn’t just forget about him.

Taking in a deep breath, he sets his mouth firm as he looks up to Edgar with an expression of determination on his face. He forces himself to appear defiant, even if he’s actually exhausted.

“Go on then,” he says. “What’s your next question?”

His bravado doesn’t seem to surprise the man, but strangely, a look of uncertainty has suddenly crossed his face. “Why you?” he asks softly. “Why you? The Fakes, they cherry pick their guys so why, of all the people in this god damned city, why would they have some kid like you working for them? What makes you so special?”

“I dunno, cause I ain’t special. Far from it,” Alfredo replies, and Edgar scowls.

“You’re lying,” he replies, but doesn’t stop watching as Alfredo cracks his first small smile in a while.

“But I know something,” he says, biting back a groan as the grip on his shoulder tightens. “I do know they trust me, that they… that they put their trust in me,” he continues, grin widening as he feels the truth in his own words. “So you’ve got another thing coming if you ever think I’d betray that trust.”

His answer actually renders the other man silent for a moment. There was a brief flash of anger, even if he’d never admit it. But then the eyes and face relax again, and he settles his grip on Alfredo’s shoulder firmly. “No. That’s not it.”

“It the truth!” Alfredo argues. It was! That one actually was!

Edgar’s having none of it. And this time instead of forcing the joint in the wrong direction he pulls out a pocket knife, and cuts with precision a moderately deep line across the top of his arm. “Liar. I cannot abide liars,” he hisses in Alfredo’s ear.

The questions seem to come quicker and quicker after that… a certain frustration added to them too. Something he’d said had rubbed Edgar up the wrong way, in that he was no longer bothering with the facade of being some polite, respectable gentleman. Now he was just a torturer, plain and simple.

Alfredo refuses to speak anymore, not only because it ended up badly the last time but also because he’s worried what he might say if he does start talking. He knows he doesn’t want to give Edgar any information. That the man’s still barking up the wrong tree if he believes Alfredo can truly be of any valuable use to him, but still wanting to make sure he gives him nothing all the same. Just in case. But each answered question leaves him in more pain than the last one - how many had it been now? Was he even paying attention to them anymore? What if he’s said something without even realizing it? He’s seen the dumb stuff people say when they get high or drunk. He wondered if the same counted when you were in so much pain you could barely think.

How much more? How much more of this could he take?

Please, he thinks, and finally gives up on trying to keep the tears in, not caring if Edgar saw him cry now. He body needs to use every outlet available to it in order to express the pain it was in. The cuts feel even worse than the broken bones, like he can feel the metal blade sliding through and ripping up the flesh, and Edgar latches onto that, keeps on using it.

Now he’s so out of it his own screams sound foreign. His body’s still reacting as violently as before to the pain being inflicted on him… but his mind’s another story, it’s locked itself away, putting up the barricades to shelter from the hurricane that raged outside. He knows he won’t be able to keep it up for long, that eventually that hurricane would break through and be left to wreak havoc, but he’ll take the respite while he can, and in a really fucked up way he’s glad of it. At least with his mind closed off from the current reality he doesn’t have to worry about letting slip something about The Fakes - the pain is all there is now, nothing else, there’s nothing else in his world other than pain.

And then eventually, thankfully, everything goes dark.

You’re gonna die here is the thought that runs through his head constantly now.

It sounded fucking morbid, didn’t it? But it wasn’t him being hysterical or pessimistic, it was simply a fact he’d come to accept.

He’s gonna die here, either from one of Edgar’s torture sessions or simply from starvation and dehydration. Whichever comes first, at least he’ll know he kept his promise and didn’t break despite all of the bullshit about how his mind was weak and fragile. Maybe he was the exception but as far as Alfredo’s confused, his body was weak and broken, but his mind? His mind was pissed off. Pissed off and smug at the realization that he was actually starting to get to Edgar. That his consistent silence was not something the man had expected to be kept up for so long.

It’s his… fourth day here, he thinks. And he’s still able to drift to the back of his subconscious while he’s being broken and cut. Still able to separate that part of his mind, the part that is the most vulnerable.

It won’t last.

Each time; every new bruise or wound he gains, he can feel it slipping, and he knows it won’t be long before he’s too far gone, but he’ll just have to last - would rather die than go insane.

But yeah. He might be feeling proud of himself for having held out for such a time, doesn’t mean everything sucks any less. He wants his grandma, misses her, worries that she’s worrying about him. Wonders what’s happening with The Fakes, if they’ve been in contact with her, if Ryan was okay.

It feels weird that up until two weeks ago he was no more than a drug dealer, a corner kid making his money by selling to the down and outs of their neighborhood - no worries at all, not really, nothing more than any other guy his age living the life he had been. Nothing at all like the past week, certainly. And to think, he muses - it all would never have happened if he’d simply let that burning continue burning and carried on his way. He didn’t know what would have happened, but not this, he would never have gotten involved with his childhood heroes.

You’d think that maybe he’d regret ever stepping a foot into the lives of The Fakes, but if he was truly honest with himself, he didn’t regret it one bit. Sure, he wishes the tale could have had a happier ending, but who knows, he might have been long dead already, killed in some pointless squabble between his crew and Dmitri’s thugs.

He’s happy he’s met The Fakes. That he got to see them for who they are as people, not just the characters he had created inside his head since he was a child; no matter how brief, he was glad he’d made that connection.

But he wishes there could be more time.

I mean, he doesn’t really have any friends, most of the people he spends his days with are teens, and he just doesn’t have anything in common with them. There’s his grandma, but even though he always feels like he can talk to her about anything, it was hard for her to understand what he was going through sometimes.

He’d felt something - with Michael especially, but Gavin too, and Jack. Geoff was also the first person he’d ever met who commanded respect rather than demanding it.

He thinks maybe, if he’d had that little bit more time, he could’ve been good friends with them. Maybe even Ryan.

Edgar enters the room while he’s in the middle of thinking.

There’s no greeting. No mocking remark. It’s simply down to business.

But as always - Alfredo won’t say a word.

It’s night when things kick off, or at least that’s what it feels like; truth be told Alfredo has no bearing on what time it is, all he knows is that he’s woken from a fitful slumber by the sounds of multiple shouts and gunshots. If he were a doctor (which, when he’d been four years old, he actually thought he was going to be) he’d say he was most definitely ‘fucked up’.

He can’t remember how long he’s been held captive but it’s been long enough for him to gain a handful of broken bones, even more cuts and lacerations, and too-many-to-count bruises. It’s only in times like now, when the effects of the drug have finally worn off, that he can do a realistic survey of the damages, otherwise beforehand it literally feels like his whole body is being torn to pieces.

He’s beyond confused when all the noise starts up. He’d had no idea how big the building was - only ever known this one room, but from the sounds of it it’s pretty big, the original echoes so quiet that he wonders if he’s imaging them. There’s a fight going on, Alfredo knows. Those were not the sounds of target practice, it was too frantic.

The sounds get louder and closer until eventually the door busts open, spilling bright white light into the room, and Alfredo instinctively flinches away at the silhouette of a figure standing tall in the doorway, too accustomed to associating that image with further pain.

“Oh thank fucking God,” the figure says eventually, and Alfredo’s ears prick up. He’d recognize that accent anywhere. “The fuck did they do to you? Oh, I’m gonna rip their fucking faces off, you can be sure of that.”

“Michael?” Alfredo murmurs, squinting as the figure crouches down beside him and works on cutting his binds. The sounds of gunfire still haven’t died down, but they’re getting less frequent, and this room feels calm all of a sudden. Still, he can’t quite believe his eyes, scared that this might be some new cruel drug Edgar is testing on him. “Is that really you?”

Michael finishes untying him - but Alfredo, having been in the same position for so long, feels unable to move. There’s a hand in his, his good… well, better one, and Michael’s fingers brush lightly against his forehead.

“We have to stop meeting like this, Alfredo,” he jokes, though his voice is tight, and he swallows hard before speaking again. “You able to stand?”

“I - I dunno… I think so.”

“Alright,” Michael reassures him gently. “That’s alright - hey, get in here dickhead, give me a hand!”

“He okay?” a new voice asks, one Alfredo doesn’t recognize.

“No. But he’ll be okay. Won’t you - remember what you told me? You’re a soldier, Alfredo. Come on now, we’re just gonna sit up slowly, that’s good, boy.” He doesn’t break off his comforting chatter as Alfredo sits up; he almost passes out, just that simple movement sending his head spinning and his whole body screaming, but he’s determined and above all he’s relieved. They actually came for him, they actually came to rescue him, and they were doing it and now he was getting out of this hell.

“Who’re you?” he mumbled, looking bleary-eyed at the new person as they maneuvered him to the edge of the table.

“Name’s Trevor,” the man simply replies.

Trevor.

He’s the guy who’d been following Hanson around, right? Another member of The Fakes then. Huh - pretty cool.

“Oh…” Alfredo blinks, eyelids heavy. “Nice to meet you.”

The man lets out a small chuckle. “Yeah, nice to meet you too.”

“Alright kid, come on, let’s try this,” Michael says, and tries to pull him up under his shoulders. Apparently, Alfredo’s having none of this, as he lets out an unintentional cry that has Michael blabbering out apologies and Trevor hurriedly asking what hurt.

Everything. Everything fucking hurts, he tries to say, but fuck - even talking seems like too much effort now.

“What in God’s name is going on in here?”

Geoff?

“We were seeing if he could stand, and well, it didn’t work. He’s in pretty bad shape.”

“I can see that. Why’d you try to make him stand anyway?”

“Well… he said he thought he could and–”

There’s a muffled thud and Michael shuts up. Meanwhile, Alfredo’s struggling to focus his vision as Geoff leans over to look at his face. A warm hand cups his cheek and runs a finger over the bruises Alfredo knows are there. “Sorry, but I can’t see you walking outta here, buddy. Trevor, go and make sure the guys are ready to leave asap. I’ll get Jack in here to patch up what he can and –”

Alfredo slips away while he’s still talking, allowing himself to fall into the darkness, happy and relieved, but most importantly, safe. It’d be okay. They’d come for him. Everything would be alright now.

“How bad do you think his grandma is gonna kill us?” Someone is speaking. Alfredo’s face contorts as he tries to concentrate, utterly disoriented for a few moments, trying desperately to remember where’d he’d been before he’d apparently fallen asleep - and what was that about his grandma killing someone?

Everything all comes back rather quickly, and rather painfully. He lets out a pained groan, opening eyes that feel like they’ve been superglued shut. He’s met by two extremely concerned faces peering down at him - ones that only reboot his memory even faster - but their eyes are lighting up at the same time.

“Hey, buddy,” Michael greets, in a whisper - looking as normal and laidback as ever as he grins down at him, perhaps his hair slightly more tousled than before, the bags under his eyes a shade darker. Other than that he looks exactly like Alfredo remembers as he pushes Gavin into view too so the other man can meet his gaze.

“You remember what happened?” Gavin asks first; Alfredo nods but then pauses, not only because the motion makes his head hurt but because he only remembered what happened up to a point. “You’ve been unconscious since we brought you here, but that’s nothing to worry about. Jon says you just needed your sleep after everything.”

Alfredo stares at him, struggling to process all the words. He’s tired, and he still feels like he’s just finished running five marathons, and most of his limbs are tightly constricted by what he assumes are bandages, but he manages a smile anyway. Wants to let them know that other than all that, he’s okay.

“Hey!” Michael exclaims suddenly. “I just realized something! Every time I’ve met you, you’ve been lying on the ground. At least you’re in a bed this time, right? And there’s no big motherfucker squashing you.”

“Hey,” Alfredo says, his cheeks warming - despite everything they’d been through, he’s still easily embarrassed in front of these guys, unable to quite rid himself of the idolising nature he’s carried for so long, that made it seem like he was meeting his heroes every time one of them spoke to him. “You making fun of me?”

Michael reaches out and squeezes his shoulder gently, and gives Alfredo a cheeky grin.

“Well, you have to admit, Alfredo - it was pretty fucking funny.”

“Saved your life asshole,” Alfredo mumbles, blinking heavily.

“Nah, I think I was good.”

Alfredo sighs, supposing it’ll take a while to live that one down. Michael lets go of him and leans back laughing. Gavin rolls his eyes and gives the other man a nudge, reaches out and brushes his fingers through Alfredo’s hair.

“Leave it off Michael, he’s still half out of it,” he says softly - eyes gentle as he gives Alfredo a once over.

Michael takes a deep breath, gathering himself. He winks at Alfredo. “He knows I’m only kidding,” adding, “How you feeling? You in pain at all?”

“No,” Alfredo begins, “nothing bad anyway. Jus’ tired.” He shuts his eyes, and finds he’s unable to open them again.

“Alright, tired’s good… we’ll stop bothering ya,” Michael replies hesitantly, like he’s unsure about leaving.

Alfredo doesn’t really care what they do. He just wants to go to sleep.

“C’mon, Michael, he’ll be fine.”

There’s silence, and then a stiff, “I know.”

“Then let him rest,” Gavin coaxes.

Another moments silence, and then a sigh. Alfredo feels a hand card through his hair in his half-awake state.

“Get better soon kid, I’ll see ya on the other side.”

“Mm not a kid,” he manages to mumble, and that brings out a laugh from Michael.

“I don’t care. You’ve only just entered the hazing faze.”

They leave then, and he’s quick to drift off - just one thought in his mind.

What did that mean?

The next time Alfredo wakes up properly he’s greeted by someone he would never in a million years have expected to be keeping watch by his bed.

Ryan’s looked better - in his very short time of knowing him this is definitely the worst Alfredo has seen him - physically-wise. His surprise must be evident on his face because Ryan’s first reaction is to smirk as he hobbles closer to the bed. He’s alive!

Somehow that feels like Alfredo’s greatest accomplishment. This man, Ryan, he was the whole reason Alfredo had gone and played the hero, because Ryan had gone and got himself shot. But who cares about the past, Ryan’s alive, he’s alive, they’re all good.

Ryan stands there for a few moments, shuffling awkwardly on his crutches, unsure what to say. When he’s finally had enough of being silent he settles for sighing instead and clicking his tongue in a way that makes Alfredo feel like he’s about to be told off by a teacher.

“You,” Ryan eventually says, and something passes across his face, something a mix of annoyed and confused and relieved. He stares down hard at Alfredo. “You - do you have any idea how stupid you are?”

“I’m uh… I’m sorry, I – ”

“Now I’m gonna owe you for the rest of my life,” Ryan bursts out. Once it’s out, the rest seems to follow more naturally. “You’re gonna need to get yourself kidnapped again or something - just so I can rescue you by myself!”

“Umm…” Alfredo says, confused, and Ryan begins hobbling back and forth in a kind of awkward pacing march.

“Also, you forced us to call in Fakehaus to help even though I still hadn’t forgiven James after he scratched up my bike last time!”

“I don’t –”

“You don’t think! Cause you’re stupid and young and… stupid… and I am very not happy with you.”

Alfredo bites back his grin. Suddenly, Ryan doesn’t seem so scary.

“Okay, I get it. I’m stupid,” he admits, smirking a little.

“Yes,” Ryan says.

“And I didn’t think before I acted.”

“Yes.”

“And I saved your life.”

“Ye –” The word cuts out short, and Ryan finally stops his penguin shuffling. “Yes, you did,” he says quietly, eyes softening.

Their eyes meet. And Alfredo doesn’t need to be a mind reader to see the gratitude expressed in the blue orbs - an emotion Ryan might not be able to express in words easily, but showing his true feelings nevertheless. It’s Alfredo who breaks the spell first and smiles, Ryan quickly following suit.

“Sorry, I’m… sorry. It’s been a stressful couple of weeks,” he mumbles, wincing as he takes a seat next to the bed.

“How’s your leg?” Alfredo asks, stifling a yawn.

“Annoying. Though, could be worse. Jon says I need to use these bastards for another month,” he scoffs at the crutches, giving them a glare as if they were the things that actually shot him. “He’ll be lucky if I stay in them another week.”

He shakes his head, stretching his arms out. “I shouldn’t be bothering you. Just wanted to say… well, I don’t really know what I wanted to say other than… thanks. Thank you, Alfredo.”

Some part of Alfredo’s mind leaps with excitement. That’s the first time he’s called you by your name! The other part however, was ready for some answers.

“Before you go,” he begins, “can I ask you something?”

Ryan nods. “Go ahead.”

Alfredo swallows, an unpleasant chill settling on him just at the thought of the man, but he pushes through it, determined. “Who’s Edgar?”

The older man freezes up, a huge look of guilt washing over him. Alfredo sees the whites of his knuckles as he tightens his grip on the crutches.

“Edgar,” he says slowly, a dark tension rising in him.

“Edgar,” he repeats. “He used to roll with us back in the day. We worked with him a couple of times anyway, very good at what he did but… well, you’ve seen yourself what sort of man he became - wasn’t as bad back then, but heading in that direction. We tried to make a deal, he didn’t want to hear it. We tried to cut him off, that only pissed him off. We tried so many fucking way to get rid of him and it - it ended badly. We thought he was dead. We saw his car go up in flames and –” He shakes himself, breathing slowly, only looking to Alfredo once most of the tension has been rid of. “Well, it’s a story for another day.”

Alfredo regards the man. He feels a horrible lump form in his throat as the memories resurface, and he hears echoes of his own screams in his ears, but he swallows it back, and instead offers Ryan a small smile.

“Promise?” he says. He has a right to know. No matter how unpleasant, he deserves to know more than anyone about whatever shit went down to make a man like Edgar so hellbent on destroying other human beings lives.

Ryan studies him carefully. “Promise,” he says eventually, and Alfredo knows he’ll keep it.

Still, he can’t help himself. Must be the meds…

“Pinky promise?” he asks, lifting his little finger as far as it could go, which was barely at all due to that hand being tightly wrapped up.

Ryan’s expression is one of bemusement, but his face relaxes, and he reaches out with an eye roll. “Pinky promise,” he says, linking their fingers together briefly.

He struggles to his feet then. Cheeks slightly reddened, from the heat of the room or from what just passed between them, Alfredo’s unsure - but it suits him, he thinks, a man who wears embarrassment well.

He doesn’t say another word until he’s nearly out the door, and even then it’s a last minute decision, an afterthought. He looks to Alfredo, serious again, and speaks softly. “You don’t need to pretend everything’s okay. You don’t need to be strong or brave or whatever you think you should be.” Something flickers in his blue eyes, something not too far off from sadness. “Believe me I know what scars a man like Edgar can leave behind, so if you ever want to talk…”

He trails off, and they spend a few silent moments just watching each other. After a few more, Alfredo gives a small nod and a smile, grateful for the offer.

Ryan appears relieved, back straightening as he composes himself to look like the man in charge again. “Alright, when you next see me I’ll be free of these monstrosities,” he says, confidently, whacking the wall with one of the crutches, chipping some of the paint off.

The man’s eyes widen a little at the dent in the wall he’s made, and he glances back to make sure no one else saw.

Alfredo smirks, deciding he very much likes this new Ryan he’s slowly getting a glimpse of. “I’ll hold you to that.”

It’s not until his eighth day that he’s finally allowed to leave. He’s still got his left hand wrapped up tightly as well as a brace on his knee, coupled with multiple bruises that have yet to fade, and cuts that are still healing hopefully not to scar too bad, but other than that he’s good - wants to just get out of there anyway, there actually being not a hospital but a building near a hospital belonging to the man he’d heard Michael and Gavin fondly refer to as “The Fuck Doctor.”

The man, Jon, seems nice enough to Alfredo, and he’s looked after him well enough, so he isn’t quite sure where that name came from, but he’s also beginning to realize that if you weren’t being insulted by those two, they probably didn’t like you that much.

“Idiot,” is one of the first things Gavin says to him, to back that theory up. “When Jon said take things slow I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean almost knock yourself out straight away.”

“It’s not my fault, it’s a stupid place for a shelf,” Alfredo grumbles, batting the other man’s fingers away from his head.

“You’re bleeding,” Michael points out. He reaches out a hand to wipe away the few specks of blood from the reopened wound on his eyebrow. He shakes his head like a disapproving parent - Alfredo suspects it was one of the reasons Michael and his grandma had got on so well.

He takes a step back.

“It’s fine. Once we get outside it’ll dry up again, real quick. C’mon don’t make me wait any longer. I ain’t seen outside in forever, I wanna go.”

“Alright, alright, we’re taking you for walkies, calm down.” Gavin ignores the glare Alfredo sends his way, striding off with a small smirk. “Actually, we’re getting straight in a car, but then Geoff… Geoff wanted to see you and walk you the rest of the way home.”

Gavin reaches out a hand and grabs Michael’s.

“Let’s get out of here, boy,” he says, jerking his head for Alfredo to follow them, which doesn’t need repeating, Alfredo’s raring to leave. It’s not a long walk to the exit but he can already feel his knee starting to ache a little when they finally do get outside.

“Feel good?” Michael asks.

“Yeah, real good,” Alfredo replies, tilting his head back to the afternoon sun. “I’ve never wanted to be outside so much in my life.”

“Bet it won’t last long,” Gavin pipes up. “This city is too damn hot. I can’t stand it.”

“You’ve had fifteen years to leave,” Michael retorts, grinning. “If you hate it so much I’m sure we can find you a nice little desk job with air-con to keep you happy. I’m sure Trevor would be more than willing to fill your spot. He’s better looking too. Probably be even better at sweet talking all these assholes - probably get a raise, probably become boss one day–”

Gavin cuts him off by launching an empty water bottle at him. Michael doesn’t blink as it bounces off his forehead with a dull thump and onto the concrete below, rolling a little before coming to a stop at Gavin’s feet.

“Well, that was pathetic,” Michael remarks, and laughs, sauntering over to a nearby black van. “Fredo, you’re riding shotgun. Let the sweating British child sulk in the back.”

“Sounds good,” Alfredo agrees, grinning ruefully at Gavin’s affronted expression. Damn, it feels like he’s known these guys for years.

Being himself around these two just felt easy, natural. Joking about seemed like a second nature. But it was more than just the banter - it’s the sense that they truly do enjoy having him around, that he’s not just some kid they’ve been forced to babysit. Michael especially has always done his utmost to make sure he doesn’t feel like an outsider.

He hops into the passenger seat. Quite literally, he hops in, slightly annoyed that he’s already starting to tire. Jon had warned him that might happen, that he’d need to give himself time to get muscle strength back, and his knee was stuck in a brace for another few weeks.

He understood where Ryan was coming from. At least he didn’t need to carry himself around on crutches that seemed more hindrance than help at times. He hasn’t seen Ryan since that talk they’d had, but the man had sent a message via Michael. ‘Hi.’ That had been it. Apparently, that was rather talkative for the man.

“Okay,” Michael says after they’ve been driving for ten minutes. “Be on the lookout for Geoff. He’ll be wearing a black hat, black shirt, black pants, and black boots. He said he’ll be on this street somewhere and yeah, think he’s just gonna walk you the rest of the way home. Fond of a good old walk and talk, is our Geoff.”

Alfredo watches out of the window - wonders how much he’s gonna hurt by the time he gets home. He’s certain he’ll be able to make the walk but he’d been hoping to show his grandma how completely, one hundred percent fine he was. He’s already got multiple tastes over how overbearing she was going to be during her visits every day. Ah well, she probably would have seen through his guise anyway. No, scratch that, she definitely would’ve.

It’s Gavin who spies Geoff leaning against a brick wall, basically invisible in the shadows, so much so that it takes a moment for Alfredo to find him even after Gavin had called it.

“This is you then,” Michael says, pulling up by the sidewalk. He leans across and hugs Alfredo tightly, who hugs him back, pressing his face into Alfredo’s hair for a second before letting him go.

“I’m gonna miss ya, buddy,” he says. “Text me later tonight, okay?”

“Will do,” Alfredo promises, pulling a face as Gavin reaches forward and ruffles his hair in his own way of saying goodbye.

“Stay out of trouble, Fredy-do,” he tells him, putting on a funny voice.

Alfredo wriggles away from his hand and opens the door. He looks over his shoulder and it hits him then that this might be the last time he’ll be seeing them in a while - if he ever does see them again that is - because they’re not just any guys, they’re gonna be fucking busy, trying to fix whatever destruction Edgar had wrought upon them. Maybe they’d never have the chance to meet up again. Perhaps this was just a thing where they’d drift apart until the past few weeks felt like a distant dream. For now, though, Michael still wants Alfredo to text him, so that’s something. And so, with one last look at the two, he steps out of the car, and does his best to stifle a laugh as Michael drives away, Gavin pulling stupid faces in the window.

He hears a sigh and turns to see Geoff shaking his head. It’s not the first time he’s seen Gavin do that, he surmises.

Why am I not surprised?

He walks beside Geoff comfortably, his knee only twinging slightly, letting the older man lead the way both in pace of conversation and walking. The man seems to be taking things extra slowly for his sake - casting concerned gazes his way every so often - keeping the tone light by making joking remarks about what Gavin and Michael had been doing to annoy Ryan while he’s been bed-ridden, making Alfredo chuckle when he admits he was scared of his grandma.

“Here we are,” Geoff says, as they reach Alfredo’s street.

“Here we are,” Alfredo replies, and glances around, wondering how many of the kids hanging around would have actually noticed he’d been gone for nearly three weeks. “Are you uh… are you gonna talk to my grandma?”

Geoff shakes his head, a little hurriedly. He honestly does seem quite flustered by the thought, Alfredo muses. He knows she’s become well-acquainted with Geoff and Michael especially over the past two weeks, mostly her giving them orders, and telling them they needed to stop by the salon she worked at. It’s a strange sight. The leader of the most renowned gang in the city’s history getting nervous about the idea of having to deal with a small, aging Filipino woman.

A cry of his name as him spinning. There’s a smile on his face as he sees who it is, a familiar face from a life that almost didn’t seem like his anymore, carefree and boyish as ever as he kicks a soccer ball down the opposite side of the street with a few other teens. His lieutenant, Angel, is another reminder that soon things will be going back to normal, that these streets would be his again to watch by tomorrow.

“So… this is your empire.”

“For as long as I’ve known.”

“It’s not as bad as I expected.”

Alfredo laughs.

“Yeah, this if five-star drug dealing right here,” he says, and Geoff also laughs.

“Before I let you go home there was something I need to talk to you about. Something important.” He spots Alfredo’s expression and laughs again. “It’s nothing bad, don’t look so worried.”

Alfredo still feels uncertain. “I promise I won’t say nothing about –”

“I know, I trust you,” Geoff quickly assures him. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about, it was more… it was about what you want to happen now because,” he takes a deep breath in before continuing. “Because what you did? That takes more than just sheer guts. That takes something more. And I don’t wanna hear any of this ‘I’m just a soldier’ bullshit. What you did, for my crew, for my family. That took heart. Good, strong heart. And as you know, that’s kinda hard to come by in my line of work.”

“Oh… well, it never felt like a choice to make,” Alfredo says, sincerely, and Geoff’s forehead crinkles in confusion, so he does his best to explain. “What you guys had right there? What you guys have together - what I seen anyway. That was real and honest and good. And like you said yourself, Sir, that shit is hard to come by. So for once in my life I wanted to feel like I contributed to something good and worthwhile, not just because I felt I had to, but because I wanted to. I wanted to help keep you guys together… glad I did. Honest.”

“So you know… about us,” Geoff says, reading between the lines. “How’d you work that one out?”

Alfredo feels his cheeks heat.

“I saw um, Jeremy and Ryan and then… it just made sense more than it seemed crazy,” he stammers. “I don’t mean to be rude or nothing.”

Honestly, until Geoff had actually said it himself, he’d been unsure if he had been crazy. Ryan and Jeremy he knew, but all of them? That had only ever been a gut feeling. Makes him feel even more certain that he did the right thing by sacrificing himself back at the sawmill.

“Well, I shouldn’t be surprised, you’re a smart kid,” Geoff says softly, but Alfredo can see in his face that he is shocked; of all the things The Fakes try to keep private, their relationship must be the number one thing. He’s not sure if this changes anything - feels good to air it out in the open, although he hopes Geoff keeps the part about Alfredo seeing Jeremy and Ryan to himself. Also that he doesn’t ask for any more details because Alfredo knows fully well he overstepped his boundary by listening in on that intimate conversation for far too long.

Geoff looks around resolutely, and Alfredo tries to follow his gaze, turning to see the rundown houses and kids who should be in school rather than hanging about on street corners. He looks until he hears Geoff clear his throat.

“This isn’t where you belong,” Geoff says, both unsure and determined at the same time. He’s reaching into his pocket and pulling out something small and shiny, tossing it to Alfredo who catches it with his good hand. “That’s why the boys and I wanted to give you this.”

“What’s this?” Alfredo asks, staring at his hand, wide-eyed.

“Keys to your car,” Geoff says simply, and Alfredo’s knees almost buckle under the surprise. “We thought you could do with one if you’re gonna be moving on up in the world. Not gonna tell you how to live your life, so if you want, you can use it to get outta here, even if it’s just for a short time. Experience the world beyond these few blocks. Also, of course, it could be useful for your line of work.”

“I don’t need a car for my work…” Alfredo murmurs, unable to stop staring at his hand.

“You honestly thought we’d let one of us go around on some damn push bike?” Geoff says. He watches Alfredo seriously, before the grin pushes itself onto his lips. “Fredo, my boy, welcome to The Fakes… That is, if you want it?”

Alfredo’s speechless.

He did. Shit, he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything more in his life.

He wants to say so but his mind and body have completely frozen over. In the end, all he can muster up is a small nod, looking up to Geoff excitedly before a thought crosses his mind that he thinks might be one important detail they hadn’t considered.

“Oh, uh…Sir… Geoff, I uh…” he mumbles. “I can’t drive.” Well, he could drive, kinda. He could probably drive a car down the street if it was required, but it wasn’t like he’d ever taken lessons. The most he’d ever spent in a car was when he was younger and one of his friends would hot-wire an unsuspecting vehicle, taking the group of wild boys for a spin until the cops pulled them over.

But he doesn’t think he’ll be safe to drive a new car without doing damage to something or someone.

Geoff doesn’t react in any negative way, just smiles fondly, like he half expected it.

“Do you want to learn?” he asks, and Alfredo looks up eagerly.

“Yeah, I do.”

Geoff nods, rubbing his hands together. “Jeremy can see to that, and hey, you’ll already be one up on Gavin.”

He isn’t quite sure what that means, but there’ll be time to learn. Time to learn more about these guys, to truly know who these incredible, kind-hearted, selfless men were.

He just wishes Denny could be here to see this, but he knows, wherever his brother his, that he’s proud. You better not fucking waste this opportunity, that’s what he would tell him. Oh and give me a proper fucking funeral too now everyone knows I’m dead. I want this shit to be dope, gotta have a ton of flowers, damn good tunes, and plenty of pretty girls crying. Alfredo knows exactly what his brother would want.

After a moment, Geoff reaches out and rests a hand lightly on Alfredo’s shoulder; Alfredo looks up at him, regarding a face he has come to trust so much, and who he has so much to be thankful for, and he leans into the touch. Geoff pulls him close then, Alfredo’s head resting on the man’s shoulder. It’s a comfortable touch, doesn’t feel too dissimilar to what he and Denny used to have together, and Alfredo closes his eyes, Geoff’s warm weight against him reassuring him that everything was going to be okay.

Maybe he did still have that little bit of hero worship still installed in him, it didn’t matter.

When Geoff releases him eventually, there’s a different feeling around the two. And it’s one that makes Alfredo feel he’s healing twice as fast and the sun feels twice as warm on his skin, and he can’t help the massive grin he sends Geoff’s way, one which is returned, sharing a mutual thought in silence. Neither of them can deny it.

This is gonna be a wild ride.

#my fic #ah fic #this is under read more #but i bet it's gonna fuck up on mobile again

1 note · View note

starrywinters · 7 years

Text

What’s Crackin’ — College!AU w/ Wanna One Hyungs

requested by anon!

genre: comedy??

purely random things I’ve had written down at 2 in the morning. im sorry

“Hey, what’s nine plus ten?” “I will kimchi slap your face if you answer that question.” “TwEnTy OnEeEEEE”

On a very bright and sunny day, you were walking around with your best friend with the same major, Jisung. Passing by the quad, you distinctly hear music playing and what sounds like someone screaming. Dragging Jisung with fORCE, you two went to check it out (Y/NNN, sROP DRAFGING MEEERE)

Reaching the quad you see a boy under a giant tree playing on his guitar ‘is hE DYING?? Why does he sound like a dying sEAL??’ once again, im sorry i love you, pls don’t hate mE

“Let the skyf-AAAAHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAH-LL,

When it crumbles,

We will st-AAAHHH-nd t-AAAHHAHAHAHHAHAAAAA-LL” pls help me

“JISUNG MY EAR HURTS, WHY IS MY EAR HURTING??!?! WHY IS THAT BOY SCREECHING??”

“Oh! Wait, I forgot. I want to introduce you to my friends. C’mon, lEt’s go.”

TIME SKIP

“Yo, GeeGeeSung, you sure this is the right place?? Looks dangeRoUS.”

“Not sure, my friends picked this place.”

“You must have some sketchy friends then.”

Walking into the cafe, you noticed the inside looked way and i mean waaaayyyy better than the outside. Looking around in awe, you accidentally bumped into someone, thinking you’d fall over you prepared yourself. BUT someone caught you, oho.

Just kidding, you did fall, but not backwards-

You fell forWARDS tbh me, looking up you see a guy with a cute face and three moles forming a constellation on his left cheek.

“HeY YOU, WHY DIDN’T YOU CATCH ME?!?11”

“Because I wanted you to fall for me, and it obviously worked. Seeing as you’re on the floor right now.” smirk smirk, wink wonk

Harrumphing, you walk away towards the cash register to order a cool drink to cool down. You see aNOTHER cute looking boy, ‘He looks so squishYYY’

“Hello! My name is--”

“SQUISHY BEAN” you did not just say that

“Squishy Bean, what can I do for you to- Wait, wha-” oh my god, you did.

“Hi! Sorry I was uh talking about the marshmallows behind you-”

“But there are no marshmallows behind me??”

“You know what, I’ll just take an iced lemonade, thanks. Here -hands him the money- keep the change.” you walk away so embarrassed.

You find Jisung, sitting with two other boys (one of them you bumped into a while ago), laughing at you at the table especially close to the cash register, ‘ah dang it, he heard everything.

“Okay! Let’s meet my friends, two of them are on their way here, but let’s just start!”

Right when he gets ready to speak, squishy appears with your iced lemonade, and your faces starts to burn (it) up again. Oh hey, guess what? Squishy is Jisung’s friend and his name is actually Sungwoon. He points at the other guy at the table and says he’s Minhyun. Then he points at the guy you bumped into, says his name is;

“CONSTELLATION MAN!!!11!”

“No, Y/N. No. His name is Seongwoo, nOT constellation man. Who would even have that kind of name??? hELLO???”

Just then two other guys appear,

“IT’S PEACH AND SCREECH!!1!” im sorry i love you jaehwan jfjsd your voice is amazinG

…..insert awkward silence…..

“Who the heck is Peach and Screech??!? I’m Daniel and he’s Jaehwan, we’re Minhyun’s friends.”

Oh, ohh Daniel. “DAAAMNNN DANIELL!”

Minhyun speaks up for the first time, “Hey, Y/N. Do you like Wanna One or Wanna Two?” reference to Guanlin jfbjsskk

“Wait, wait. Why did you call me screech?!!??” screeches exclaims Jaehwan.

“Because you were screeching when I saw you at the quad???”

“I WAS SINGINGG?? WHAT-”

“Oh, ok suuree, ‘singing’.” Sounded more like a mating call to me

Ongniel decided it’d be fun to start acting like teenagers do; yk the

“WATCH ME WHIP, NOW WATCH ME NAE(NAY??) NAE”

Minhyun and Sungwoon didn’t agree to it. You found out Minhyun works at the library, maybe this is why he’s so quiet. And Sungwoon...he just doesn’t want to get fired man-

Jaehwan decides joining in with Ongniel was fun; they make Ongnielhwan - the beagles.

Jisung just non-stopped(?) chatted with Minhyun, Sungwoon escaping with the excuse of having to go back to work.

Minhyun getting tired left at the last straw;

Daniel: “Hey hey, Jaehwan”

Ong: “What’s nine plus ten?”

Minhyun: “If you guys say what I think you’re going to say, I will kimchi slap you so hard, you’d hate seeing, eating, and thinking about kimchi for the rest of your ding-dang liFEE.”

Jaehwan: “Uhh, nineteen??”

Ongniel: “No, its.. “TwENTy onEeEee.”

Minhyun slams his hands on his table; “THAT’S IT, I’M DONE.”You: Stop being a party pooper Emperor Hwang.”“YOU KNOW WHAT. CASH ME OUSSIDE HOW BOUT DAH.” and does his signature hip wiggle dance out the door.

im sorry i failed at making this funny

i wanted to try bullet point form and i tried too hard im sorry;;;

ahhhh, i didnt know how to be funny on text???

like this is just bullet points full of word vomit and the crazy thoughts that go through my head-

but anyways, i hope you like my cancerous humor;; ^^ ♡

#wanna one #wanna one scenarios #wanna one fanfiction #wanna one imagines #hyung line #hwang minhyun #kang daniel #kim jaehwan #ong seongwoo #yoon jisung #ha sungwoon #this is so cancerous #im crying #comedy?#weird humor

66 notes · View notes

asterekmess · 4 years

Text

S3A - E1

Okay, instead of making like massive reblogs of thoughts as I have them for the episodes, I’m gonna just make a massive bullet point list that I’ll add to throughout the episode, so you get One post per episode instead of “Like all nine million of them.”

I put Read-More’s because I care.

Thoughts (of which I have far too many):

I’m in the first ten seconds of the fuckin episode. Why the fuck is Braeden electrocuting Isaac? Like, look, I wanna like Braeden. I have issues with her entire moral system, but I still wanna like her cus’ she saves Isaac. But...how am I supposed to do that when the literal first thing she does is electrocute my boy??? He’s knocked out, not DEAD (not that that’s how shocking someone’s heart even Works) and it’s not like she needs to trigger the healing process. He’s already got Gaping slash wounds on his chest. He’s hurt enough. ALSO. “Be quiet”?? R U Serious? You’re electrocuting him. YOU try being quiet with fucking jumper cables on your chest.

The CGI...is so bad. Oh my god. What the absolute fuck. it looks like Sharkboy & Lavagirl. And why aren’t Ethan & Aiden’s claws doing anything to the bike?

I AM CONFUSION. If the twins don’t have to take their pants off to do the Transformers shit, why do they have to take off their shirts? Can...can I just skip that? Make the big bad werewolf wear an ugly hybrid of two of their stupid ass sweaters? Or do Ethan and Aiden really just like being shirtless that much? (I wouldn’t put it past them)

What is with Braeden and the electricity?

The writing in this show, what the fuck? “I thought I told you to hold on” EXCUSE ME, ma’am. He literally just passed out. His bad I guess.

Guess who has to add the anti-scott tag to this now? Anyway, I hate that Allison’s bit in the intro is her kissing Scott and then drawing the bow. Like, they’re broken up. They don’t get together in this season. Why are they kissing in the intro? That had to have Totally pissed off Scallison fans.

There’s my boy, holding up lizard tattoo designs. Pls tell me he took a pic and sent it to Jackson with the caption “It’s YOU.” Like, yes, way too soon, but man it’s fuckin funny.

This tattoo artist is a good-ass salesman. However, p-sure he’s not a good-ass artist if he had to wrap Scott’s arm up That badly. Like...they have stuff for that. Fuck, the one I got on my ankle, they used SaranWrap and Tape. Just needs to be kept out of the open air for a bit. You don’t need like eight layers of gauze. I do feel for Scott tho. That tat probably cost him like $50-75 before the tip. Oof.

Eyyy, time to be salty. Ya’ll know I love Allison, but does it get any more clear that she totally bailed on everyone after the warehouse? She went to France! She doesn’t even know what happened to Jackson after he got cured. ALSO. Lydia says “Derek taught him the werewolf 101.” Not Scott. Derek. XP

Lydia, honey, leave Allison alone. If she doesn’t want to go on the double date, go alone and make it an orgy. Fun, right? Wait, no. Don’t. You’re 16. Don’t do that!

When exactly did they “agree to give each other the summer”? She said “I’m breaking up with you.” he said “I’ll wait” and then she cried into her dad’s arms. Like...why didn’t we get to see this apparently incredibly important conversation? (maybe because it didn’t happen??)

I fucking LOVE the “I’m just gonna say hi. HEYYYYY! You know....they probably didn’t see us.”

The most horrific thing about that moment was the bad CGI.

I WANNA POINT OUT how cute it is (in a like, sad way cus’ she’s terrified) that Lydia is close enough to Stiles now that she immediately goes for his side and they like insta connect with the eye contact. Not in like a Stydia way, but like, they’re close. she trusts him and goes to him when she’s scared, even though he’s human and you’d wonder if she shouldn’t go to Scott instead, since he’s the werewolf.

SCOTT WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING THE DEAD DEER. Your ability to smell chemosignals/sense emotions has nothing to do with touching. Stop poking the dead animal.

Wait, WHY is there a full moon in that shot? The full moon isn’t for like a week! I COUNTED.

...what? Why the fuck does Braeden think Scott’s an Alpha? Why tho? Like, seriously? WHY? He’s not an Alpha yet. Nowhere near it. And if she knows bc Deaton told her (i think he was the one who hired her) then shouldn’t she know he isn’t one yet? IF SHE KNOWS that she can tell Melissa abt werewolves, WHY doesn’t she know that Scott’s Melissa’s son? Where is the LOGIC?

Scott’s morning routine is giving me Legally Blonde vibes. ~my perrrfectt dayyy, nothing standing in my wayyy~

I can’t tell. did Allison get highlights, or straight up dye her hair brown?

This sweet moment between her and her dad. Yes. Pls.

I will admit, I like getting to see each of their mornings.

Lydia...who are you fucking? Honey, you’re sixteen. Why isn’t whoever the fuck is in bed with you also getting ready for school? What.....the fuck?

Completely different Beacon Hills High School set. I really can’t blame the writers for that.

Wtf Davis? You list Erica and Boyd as being 17...since when? They’re supposed to be entering their Junior Year of high school. They would be 16 GOING ON 17. ANd what the hell do you mean Erica’s birthday is August 16th? She said in the last season that she’d “Just turned 16 a month ago” that was Spring semester. ???? Come on, guys. Seriously. Writing 101, getting to know your characters. I don’t know anyone writing a novel who doesn’t know the exact birthday of their characters. Plus, they cut 2 in. from Gage Golightly’s actual height, while adding an inch to Sinqua’s (according to google, which isn’t always reliable) Whatever. Boooooo.

Uh...that principal was threatened by the Argents. Victoria herself promised to torture him if he didn’t resign. Why does he look so surprised by the fucking sword in his office? For that matter, why is he at the school at all? He KNOWS the Argents attacked him. This should cause problems!

Honestly, Lydia, I love you. Like, go for it. Nothing wrong with not wanting to date and just wanting to have fun. My issues stem from YOU BEING 16. Yes, teenagers have sex. But this is ridiculous. Why is there so much sexualization? I knew a grand total of like....two teenagers who had sex at 16? and like one who did at 15 (which they say in canon she and Jackson were banging before her birthday). Like, it’s not nearly as common as y’all are making it out to be. Knock it off.

WHEN DID MELISSA MEET ISAAC PROPERLY? WHEN did that HAPPEN?

....so why didn’t Derek answer the phone? They literally never explain? He shows up, so...why didn’t he answer?

I’m SO InCredibly Disturbed by Jennifer having everyone’s phone numbers. HOW? In What Way is that REMOTELY appropriate? WHY did no one question it? Why didn’t STILES or LYDIA question it?

So tiny, bugs me so much. He didn’t turn his phone off. He turned his screen off...is it that hard to have him do the right one?

uhhh. Werewolves can smell other werewolves. Wanna tell me why Isaac can’t tell a werewolf just walked in the room? An ALPHA no less?

why TF are Kali’s iris’ and pupils so fucking massive?

So...what was the deal with the birds? Don’t they say later that Jennifer like summoned them? So they aren’t from the Alpha pack scaring animals? And also, how would the Alpha pack be scaring animals if they’re like, in the middle of town? They said in S1 that “wild animal sightings are up” like what 75% or something? “As though something is scaring them out” but that made sense, bc we knew Peter was running around in his full-shift (it’s a fucking full shift, it’s just fucked up) in the woods. But these Alphas aren’t, they’re integrating. So is it Jennifer that the animals are afraid of? Like, does she have sPoOkY aura or something?

More bad CGI.

WHy is no one responding to the woman stumbling around in nothing but a hospital gown?

ONCE AGAIN. Werewolves can Sense Werewolves. SCOTT you sensed Isaac in a BOYS LOCKER ROOM. DUKE IS RIGHT THERE. WHT THE FUCK?

angry smoker doctor “Why don’t you wheel this joker out of here?” “I’m gonna go smoke” Grrr

Sir. clearly your mask wasn’t tied on appropriately. it shouldn’t just Fall Off when you touch it. there are Protocols! STOP THE SPREAD. also, someone wanna tell me why none of these alphas can keep their claws in? A lil flashy flashy red eye would’ve done the trick just fine.

Okay no, seriously what the FUCK is up with these contacts, you guys? THEY”RE MASSIVE???

Ugh, can I just *swoons* “I’m an Alpha!” slice “So am I.” That is just so fucking smooth. Woo. I feel so safe ohmygod. PLUS. Derek KNOWS Ennis. I can’t imagine how satisfying that had to be.

Uh, Derek, honey. You’re Isaac’s legal guardian. You can just Sign Him Out of the hospital. With clothes and everything. What are you doing?

Honey, what do you mean the county took it over? If they were gonna do that they’d have done it six fucking years ago. Unless you gave it to them, it’s still yours? I did the research. Like HOURS of it.

What do you MEAN there’s a magic healing herb that helps with Alpha wounds? Since when do Alpha wounds need extra healing, I thought they just took a lil longer? ALSO why is it growing INSIDE your house???? SCOTT. Isaac is fucking UNCONSCIOUS. Can your tattoo fucking WAIT A MINUTE?

I have so many questions. WHY does Braeden know who Allison is? If Lydia’s immune to magic, WHY is Braeden able to bruise her? WHY can Braeden DO magic? and WHY is Chris allowed to take Lydia out of school?

ALLISON you had Geometry LAST YEAR why are you holding a GEOMETRY BOOK??

ohhhhmygod, Derek. Derek. DEREK. Your eyes are pretty on a normal day. That little Blink and ruby reds thing? Ohmygod. I just. I wanna take a picture and just stare at it BUT. how tf does this whole red eye thing work? You can see in the dark....but now you also have x-ray vision? You know, I could believe it was thermal vision...maybe? If Scott was still healing for some reason maybe the tattoo would be brighter? Otherwise I have no idea what is going on.

BUT SCOTT”S NOT 18??? He’s Still fucking 16, or even 17, but not 18. WTF? He needs parental consent in the first place (i should’ve mentioned this in the other note abt the tattoo)

uhh...seriously? When someone breaks up with you and tells you not to talk to them anymore...why do you need a reward for doing as they asked? Like, yeah, you’re sad, I feel that. But making it a ‘reward’ sounds kinda weird. You know what makes it really easy not to text the ex that doesn’t wanna talk to you? Delete her number.

WHY THE BLOWTORCH? SOMEONE WANNA EXPLAIN? Peter’s not covered in tattoo from when he was literally burned alive, why the FUCK would a blowtorch create a black tattoo on Scott’s skin?

DEREK. HONEY. Why would Stiles be able to hold Scott still??? Scott’s a werewolf.

All this bullshit to explain away Posey’s tattoo that he got. Like, damn dude, we all like tattoos, but you have a job that needs bare arms on the regular. That was kinda rude.

Where did braeden get clothes? I forgot to ask.

uhhhh. Ephemeral might technically work in that sentence, but that’s still really awkward.

WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DESTROY HIS DOOR? YOU FUCKING ASSHAT. And WHY the instant fucking grr face? “why’d you paint the door?” uhh, leave him alone? He can do what he wants? It’s his house? Also, don’t get all fucking rude about the alpha pack. He told you it was a rival pack.

KALI. PUT SOME FUCKING SHOES ON. JESUS.

Why exactly does Scott see the symbol and INSTANTLY put together that it’s got anything to do with the Alphas or the animal attacks? Where is the logic jump there?

What exactly was the POINT of popping your claws if you were gonna kick her in the face???

UH, Melissa? Why didn’t you tell Scott that there was a whole other person with Isaac?

What is with the face touching, Duke? I’ve never known a blind person who actually wanted to rub their hands on my face to ‘find out what i look like?’

Really not a fan of all these weird jumps and camera angles with the awkward reflecting.

WOah WOah. Allison gets to PAINT her APARTMENT? Wtf kinda BULlshit is that? My landlord won’t let me do that. Rude.

I know they’re imprisoned and it sucks, but they’ve been there for four months, they had to have gotten bored. Do you think they broke into any of the security deposit boxes to see if anything was left behind?

Last thoughts: They really went for it with this episode. I have plans to change a lot of it. Hopefully I can mesh the changes with the general plotline.

#personal #TeenWolf-Rewatch #anti-scott mccall #for safety reasons

19 notes · View notes

some-guy-writes · 3 years

Text

FTB: CH 3.

Fifty Tungsten Bullets: Chapter 3. Forty-Six

Summary | Start | Prev

Sebrum might have been a hellish place day time, the only hell Spiv had ever known, but at night, it was downright gorgeous. More stars than the concept of numbers could fathom and the unmistakable figure of the Milky Way stretching as far as the eye could see. The same Milky Way every man, woman and child slept under. Immortal, cripple, rich folk or poor, each and every one squandered their days under ancient light from the same distant stars. If there was any fairness to be found in this life, it’d be that. The desert landscape itself looked a field of stars too, come nightfall. Luminescent foliage littered the sparse hills and valleys with blues, greens, reds and yellows. Soil on Sebrum was poorer than a bum on his last kollar, more so in the outback. Much of the bush had taken up luring whatever happened to wander by. More than a few species could snip a finger off if you weren’t careful. Always best to poke a shiny with a stick first, lest it be a clever snapping plant.

The sun crept over the horizon like a golden spear thrust forth by some ancient god, touched by a deep sulfuric blue. Spiv thought for a minute the old pantheons of Earth might have been wise to a thing or two. Something as magnificent as the azure sunrise of Sebrum was far too great a feat for a single deity to conjure, no matter how all powerful. Mornings of the like made Spiv forget it was just natural gasses burning in the upper atmosphere. Some days, he hoped never to remember.

The air was still cool by the time the crew rode onto the main street of Jepsum. Quaint little town about half the size of Bakersville. All six of them had paid their visits many times on scouting ventures.

“If we’re gonna do this thing, we’re gonna do this right,” Spiv said, rising and falling with each wide step of his mount. “And to do that, we’re gonna need supplies and info. Jersey, Carolina, K.C, you’re on hound duty. Snuff out any deets you can gather about the Faceless Gang. Where they perused, what business they might have here and where they may be headed. Hudson, Kit, you’re with me. We’ll hit up the bounty boards to raise some funds and get some target practice.”

“We ain’t never been bounty hunters,” K.C. spoke as if she had a pill bug rolling around in her mouth.

Spiv and K.C. rode side by side, but neither took their eyes away from the road ahead.

“True as that may be, we are in dire need of money and experience. If we can’t take out a few measly outlaws ourselves, what hope do we have against the Gang?”

“Just don’t wanna make a habit of roundin’ up folks we know nothing about.”

“Even if them’s scoundrels?”

“The scoundrel I know can bake for all I care. But the one I don’t ain’t a scoundrel to me.”

“Suppose you’re right. As always,” spiv chuckled. “Can’t claim to be a righteous man who don’t give reasonable doubt when it’s due. Tell ya this, I won’t be offending no one until we deem the bounty on their head is warranted.”

“Quite reasonable by the sounds of it,” K.C. said before splitting towards the pubs. “A righteous man you may yet be. Just don’t be going the way o’ the martyr. Stay safe, Spiv.”

Martyr, huh? Had to admit, ‘Spiv the martyr’ had a nice ring to it. That being, if his name wasn’t Spiv. ‘Saint Spivenson the martyr,’ more like. Though, on account of martyr’s being dead and all, Spiv was well inclined not to become one any time soon. Not until the deed he set out to do was done.

The Sheriff's office wasn’t much farther ahead. Smack dab in the center of main street. Now, Sheriff wasn’t a particularly conventional term in most independent townships. No such thing as cop or a governing body of any kind, except for the mayor and town council and often not even that. What Sheriffs did in these parts was collect funds for bounties from the townsfolk. A quick wit and an even quicker trigger could make a decent living going place to place, catching folks with ill intent and making them chew on lead. Many a tall tale sprung up from a lone gunslinger going toe to toe with a legendary outlaw. Word in Bakersville was that Spiv’s pa was one of the best. Took out the entire Green River Gang in the east single handed in his youth. Went on to fight for the independence of the entire region. Only one to survive in his platoon nine times over. Spiv’s ma was mighty fond of the old coot. He came around to Bakersville every chance he could just to see her. Did every bounty on the board, and when there was none left, he skipped town until tell of there being more. Then one day, while ma was expecting little Spiv, he never showed. Bounty boards piled up month after month, but still no sign of him. Not long after Spiv saw his first sunrise, his mum took a strider ride and went the way of his pop. Wasn’t a word on where either of them were in the better part of two decades. These days, even if there was word on where his parents went, Spiv didn’t much care to hear it.

Spiv, Kit and Hudson locked their striders by the feeding trough. Hudson unclipped the feed bag from his and dumped it in the trough for the bipeds to gorge themselves. Mix of all sorts of crap. From beetles, to corn, to hay, to manure. Gourmet cuisine or shit in the literal sense, didn’t make a difference to striders.

The office was a rickety old house scraped together from seeding ship hulls. From the second or third migration, Spiv reckoned. Likely one of the first shacks to be set up in Jepsum. Inside was lively. All sorts of unsavory types who didn’t look too unlike outlaws themselves. Wouldn’t be uncommon to find a bounty hunter in one town had a bounty on their head in the next.

A large, flickering screen displayed three posters above the Sheriff’s booth. One big one, and two smaller to the side. The larger of the three had cracks running all over it to the point that reading the text was nigh impossible, and three bullet holes from which every crack on the screen sprang. Petty bounties were listed all over the room. A thousand kollars here, two thousand there. Disorderly conduct, larceny and the like. Most of the folks around perused those. The competition consisted of some plain looking fellows, a few that weren’t far off from drunkards on a good day and even one guy wrapped head to toe in bullet belts and hand guns. The belt boy looked a might ridiculous and, to some degree, intimidating. One of two ways about it: either he was a fool about to die a fool’s death, or a professional good enough to not give a damn what others thought. Coin toss as to which. While Spiv was known to be a gambling man, he preferred odds better than fifty.

One lady had her sights on the prize. Stood right in front of the Sheriff’s booth without looking away from the board above. Dressed in lamb leather duds to boot. Plain enough aesthetic from a distance, but upon closer inspection, the remarkable craftsmanship was evident.

“Wouldn’t expect nothing less than lambskin from someone peering at the dead or alive type bounties,” Spiv said to her. He was a good twenty years her junior. Though, if she were in the bounty hunting occupation long, might put that at fifteen. Days in the heat of Sebrum’s star would put years on a face like nothing else.

“I have expensive taste,” she replied, giving him a quick side eye. “Might add I like a man with an insight for quality.”

“In the business of knowing a curiosity’s worth, miss. Or, used to be, I should say.”

“Only folks who get in the business of hunting bounties are folks with nothing to lose or something to prove. And if you still got something to lose, then I suggest you stick to your curiosities.”

Spiv chuckled. “Think myself the latter. But I got a mind to make sure no one else has to lose anything neither.”

“Aye, also been known to enjoy a garnt of reefer on occasion,” the woman laughed.

Spiv didn’t heed that comment. He knew right from wrong and that’s all there was to it. Right being whatever was best for his crew and wrong being whatever wasn’t. And if someone messed with him or his associates, well, that was mighty wrong of them. That perspective did give him a tid bit of sympathy for those who had been messed with, and a whole lot fewer for those who did the messings.

“What say you about the fellas in the center there?” Spiv asked. “Worth a hundred K for all three of ‘em.”

The lady in leather grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “Won’t have to worry about me competing for your bounty. That’s all I’ll say.” She proceeded to the Sherif’s booth to download specs to her deck.

Front board bounties typically offered the highest reward. On account of being the most troublesome. And troublesome often meant the subject didn’t have to come back with the hunter. High pay didn’t necessarily mean most dangerous, just the largest investment for seeing them gone. If a veteran wasn’t willing to take a bounty, it simply wasn’t worth their time. Up to interpretation as to why. That being as it may, no matter which way Spiv spun it, a hundred thousand Kollars would go a long way to taking down the Faceless Gang. Might even be able to find a hired gun or two to tag along. And, well, if there weren’t going to be anyone else after these guys, he couldn’t contemplate a reason not to try.

Spiv returned to his crewmates. “One in the center, front board. Don’t reckon it’ll be easy, but a hundred K is a hundred K.”

Hudson nodded. He went up to the Sheriff’s booth to get the specs.

Kit’s eyes drifted around the room. Soon enough, her feet began to follow.

Spiv plopped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

Kit frowned something nasty, but resigned herself. “You know what I smell?” she asked.

“Moonshine?”

“Yeah,” she retorted. “Half the pricks here can’t barely stand straight. E-a-s-y money.”

Spiv shook his head. “Not looking for pocket change. If we’re ever in a pinch, I’ll let you scam suckers until the fourth moon rises. But for now,” he said through his teeth, leaning, “stay out of trouble.”

“Fine,” Kit said, folding her arms. “But next sucker I find, you’re not getting a cut.”

“What’s the deets?” Spiv asked as Hudson returned with his deck.

“Looks like a threesome of bandits hiding up in the hills along the road to Jepsum. Raid anyone who comes by. Estimated thirty or so dead, fifty injured. Whole town hasn’t gone a mile near the place in months.” He looked up from the text. “You sure about this Spiv? They’re mechanists from Third York. All accounts say they got armor.”

Spiv patted the gun at his side. “Ain’t no armor on Sebrum enough to stop what we’re packing. Caution be warranted, but I do believe the odds are in our favor.”

The day was still young as the three of them set out. The climate was temperate, but began to have a dry and dusty bite. The hills were a day's walk out from Jepsum and in traditional times, an essential route from the northern cities to the southern townships. And where money flowed, bandits gathered. Like strider herds at an oasis.

Spiv dug his spurs into Jeffery’s sides. The strider’s meandering gait accelerated into a dead sprint. Kit and Hudson weren’t far behind. The crew laughed at him back in the day for buying the runt of the litter off K.C.’s pop. Spiv couldn't pass up half off a strider pup, runt or not. Six year later, he had the fastest biped mut in all of Bakersville. Many folks tried to get Spiv into racing thinking he had an intuition for striders. Those folks soon came to the realization Spiv just had keen sense for inexpensive breeds. A lot of people lost a lot of money after listening a little too closely to his thoughts. But one or two got steal of a deal on thoroughbred racing striders.

It was only an hour or so into the expedition before the trio came to the hills outside of Jepsum. Striders were fine beasts when it came to traversal. In the wild, they’d run for days on end to get from one watering hole to the next.

“Reckon this is the place,” Spiv said as Jeffery strutted to a stop.

“Reckon so,” Hudson replied.

Spiv squinted. Something not far up the road was reflecting the star’s light mighty sharp. “Think that a shiny or an ambush?” he asked, pointing to the object.

“Well,” Hudson said, “If I were bandit lookin’ to rob some folks, that is exactly where I’d be.”

“Only one way to know for sure.” Spiv handed Jeffery’s reins to Hudson and dismounted. His spurs jingled as his boots hit the ground.

As he approached, the sun’s glare lessened to reveal nothing but a periscope sticking out of the dirt. Before Spiv could take another step, the sand in front of him erupted forth to reveal two hulking suits of rusted armor. Both stood nearly twenty feet tall. The larger of the two, round and burly with thick sections of jagged plates covering its innerworkings, pointed a large, gun-laiden arm directly at Spiv.

Spiv clicked his tongue. He was right to leave Jeffery be. Sand scorpions were natural enemy to bipeds. So, naturally, bipeds got spooked by whatsits coming out of the ground.

“Leave yer strides and belongings and ye can leave with yer lives,” an amplified voice echoed from the larger machine.

“You’re them bandits from Third York, right?” Spiv said, taking off his hat. He cupped his hand over his brow to shield the sun. “How many folks you rob now? Kill?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“There be a hundred thousand kollar bounty. Wanna make sure I bring the right carrot cocked potato fuckers justice.”

The suit bellowed a heavy, unhealthy laugh. “Yer got ten seconds before I blow ya to shit.” the armor suit boomed. “ten, nine, eight-”

“Wouldn’t recommend it,” spiv said. “Got something mighty valuable on my person. Be in your best interest to keep it intact.”

“six, four-”

“Five comes after six.”

“Shut the fuck up cunt!”

The hydraulics squealed as the mech took a step forward. Spiv looked at his wrist. There wasn’t anything on it, but he liked to imitate the fancy folks from old world movies sometimes.

“five, three”

“Say, Hudson!” Spiv shouted behind him. “Where you thinkin’ them pilots are positioned?”

“Dead center beneath the chest piece,” Hudson called back in a manner atypically calm of him.

Nervous or complete faith? Spiv couldn’t tell which. But he knew what he would put money on. He grinned like the devil.

Armor was slow by drawing standards. Most folks could react in about a quarter of a second. Processing through mechanized armor over doubled that. With the penetration of Jeeb’s weapon, Spiv couldn’t lose.

“Two, one-”

In a flash, Spiv drew his gun. Before the cloth he kept it wrapped in even hit the ground, he took a shot directly at the thickest chestpiece of the suit of armor before him. He deftly let the recoil swing the revolver around his middle and index finger, hooked in the trigger guard. He caught it as the sights came over the smaller unit and fired again. This time the momentum carried his hand skyward. The spotless silver metal gleamed in the sun. Both suits of armor wobbled where they stood, with two large, bloody holes directly through the center.

Hudson whistled in the distance. “Actually managed to pull off the double switch blade with that thing,” he hollered.

“Reckon you owe me twenty kollars!” Spiv shouted back.

“Reckon so.”

Spiv chuckled. He’d practiced his trick shots the entire way to Jepsum. Not much else to do. Hudson didn’t think he’d ever be able to use one in a real fight.

Spiv holsted his gun and spat. “Now where was the third,” he muttered. He turned around, eyes darting every which way. But nothing stuck out. Hudson didn’t call any snipers either. Lord knew that man had vision like an eight winged hawk. Sometimes Spiv wondered if Hudson could see infrared. All experiments so far were inconclusive.

“You killed them!” a child’s voice screamed from the larger mech. “You killed muh ma and pa!”

Spiv couldn’t quite discern whether it was a girl or a boy. Right then, it didn’t much cross his mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the armor jitter back to life. It didn’t shoot, but it did stampede directly for him. He hadn’t considered that. Having a copilot wasn’t unheard of. One to handle movement, the other to handle gunnery. But what made this case unique was the lack of indication of such from the outside.

“Run Spiv!” Kit screamed at the top of her little lungs. “Run!”

Her voice was soon over powered by the rumble of mech armor and the wails of the child piloting it.

Hudson fired a couple rifle rounds at the armor, but those plinked off like feathers in the wind.

Spiv sprinted for the hills as fast as he could. He was making good ground. The armor began to slip away. He glanced behind and did a double take. The armor had ignited a rocket and was now rising beneath a column of black smoke. It arched over the road, stalled, then came crashing down. Directly on top of Spiv. He didn’t even try to shoot back. The second chair in a custom built, dual pilot mech could have been anywhere inside. Miss, and Spiv was good as dead. Not to mention a bullet wouldn’t do much good against several tons of metal in freefall. But a few of the tungsten variety might do some later down the line, even if he wasn’t there to fire them. Spiv undid this bullet belt and holster. He leapt, tossing them as close as he could to Hudson as the mech came careening down.

The mech sent a wave of sand washing over Spiv as it made impact. The gun landed at the feet of Hudson’s strider. Spiv let out a sigh of relief. Odds were good the suit’s legs collapsed when it hit the ground. And a mech that couldn’t move or shoot was about as useful as biped without feet. Spiv tried to picture that. What he had in mind was something like a very tubby worm.

All of a sudden, the rocket ignited again. Spiv could hardly breathe from all the smoke. The child inside screamed bloody murder as the armor slid forward through the sand.

Spiv clawed at the dirt as quick as mortal body would allow. “Oh f-” he began as the armored hull slammed into his chest. He clung to the gaps in the plate for dear life as the mech took him along for a ride. Large, sharp rocks deep in the sediment bashed his legs. Spiv heard bones shattering. He did not let go.

The armor slid to a stop, pinning Spiv by the knees beneath it. The child’s tantrum didn’t wane a minute. The suit raised the one good arm it had left, ready to squish little Spiv beneath it. Spiv watched, eyes wide open. If he was gonna die, he wanted to see it coming.

Hudson picked up Jeeb’s gun. He stepped behind the mech, pulled back the hammer and fired. The child fell silent. Hudson angled the shot so the over penetration missed where Spiv lay. The impact still half buried him in dirt. The mech teetered to a halt, arm still raised above Spiv.

Hudson rubbed his wrists. “Gonna be sore in the morning, I’ll tell you that,” he said.

“Kicks harder than Kit on a particular day of the month,” Spiv groaned.

At those words, Kit proceeded to kick him in the stomach.

Spiv coughed. “See.”

He didn’t feel it though. Spiv didn’t feel much of anything to be perfectly honest. High as a kite on endorphins without a thought going through his head. Because if he thought for a moment what happened to his legs, he’d lose his mind in an instant.

Hudson looked down at Spiv. “You okay?”

“Just peachy,” Spiv winced.

“Lemme grab a shovel. We can dig you out,” Kit said.

“Don’t bother.” Spiv hissed. “Legs are caught between a boulder and I’m pretty sure my foot got lost a hundred feet back.” He could see a bit of the wake the armored suit left and a trail of red sand in the middle of it. Spiv only hoped it wasn’t his.

“Shit...”

“Kit,” Hudson said, “grab your medical knife.”

“Bout the only option I can think of,” Spiv said with shaky breaths. Those words sent a chill down his spine. Half because of the excruciating pain beginning to come to his senses. The other half because it was about to hurt a whole lot more.

Medical knife made the thing in Kit’s possession sound a whole lot more clinical than it was. The correct terminology was heat blade. A knife that ran a current of superheated plasma as its edge. The one Kit salvaged could chop down a forest, six inches at a time. While heat blades were mighty useful pieces of tech to have, just about all anyone in these parts used them for was amature surgery.

“Want me or Hudson to do the cutting?” Kit asked, blade in hand.

“I trust Hudson’s steady hands with my life, make no mistake,” Spiv said. “But someone who can win every game of find the marble under the cup has the hands of a surgeon.”

“Glad you think highly of me for something,” she replied in a morbid tone.

“Don’t pretend I don’t,” Spiv said through clenched teeth. “Just don’t much value the words out of your mouth or the thoughts in your head. Rest of you ain’t so bad.” He was expecting a swift kick in the shins, but it never came. Not that spiv could feel his shins at the moment.

Hudson fastened some twine around Spiv’s legs, just above the knee. He undid his belt, looped the thing in on itself a couple times, then stuck it in Spiv’s mouth.

Spiv clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. The whole ordeal was less than ten seconds. The searing sting and smell of his own roasted flesh made it feel like eternal damnation. If there were ever a description of Hell to make him step foot in a church, this’d be it.

Kit and Hudson hoisted a whimpering Spiv onto Jeffery. Spiv couldn’t even laugh at the fact that Hudson’s pants were falling down and his knickers were showing. Hudson tore the shirt on his back in two, doused both pieces in ethanol and wrapped them around Spiv’s new stubs. Spiv screamed in agony as the alcohol made contact with his cauterized flesh. It took the crew a whole month to brew that much. They were saving it for a good haul. Spiv would have shed a tear in another circumstance. Currently, he was shedding plenty.

Since Hudson’s shirt was now in use as Spiv’s makeshift boots, Hudson had taken to wearing his poncho. It only rained for a week a year in this part of the world, but for that week, you’d be cursing yourself for not affording a poncho when you had the chance.

“For the record,” Spiv said in a shaky voice as they rode back to Jepsum, “I have some qualms about shooting an orphan.”

In another life, Spiv wouldn’t have been in a position much different from that kid. Though, the knowledge that said kid may have been complicit in the deaths of thirty others lessened the guilt a little.

“Well I got some qualms about you being the one who orphaned him,” said Hudson.

“Hey, better an orphan than dribble from shit stain parents,” Spiv said.

“Better dead than an outlaw,” Hudson replied.

Spiv frowned. “Don’t know if I agree with that, but I ain’t gonna argue it.”

“Sides, it was either you or him. I chose you.”

“Grateful for that I am.”

Spiv looked to Hudson. “Don’t tell K.C.?”

Hudson nodded. “Don’t tell K.C.”

“What’s that you chewing?” Kit asked Spiv.

“Nothing much,” Spiv grumbled.

Kit squinted at him. “That ain’t opiate gum, is it? ‘Cause if it is, I’ma be mad.” She rode up to Spiv and began snatching air in his direction.

Hudson squeezed his strider between the two of them.

“I haven’t found a scrap of opiate gum in all of Baskerville in months,” Kit whined. “Gimme some!”

“That’s ‘cause we let everyone know you’re addicted and told them not to sell you any,” Hudson spoke. “It’s for your own good. We need to save it for situations like this,” nodding at spiv.

Kit wasn’t listening. Her face got redder and her eyes narrower by the second. “You bastards,” she growled. “You goddamn bastards. Where are you hiding it?”

Hudson grinned. He didn’t say a word.

“Just give her some,” Spiv said. “Don’t think I wanna be molested in my sleep when Kit gets curious.”

It took a minute, but when the implication finally dawned on Hudson, he shuttered. He reached deep into the seat of his under pants and took out two packs of opiate gum. “Fine,” he said, tossing one pack to Kit and the other to Spiv. “But Spiv gets half. He’s the one who needs it.”

Kit’s pack didn’t even last the rest of the road back to Jepsum. She was half asleep as they entered town. If they were lucky, she’d forget all about Spiv’s supply by tomorrow. Hudson tied up her strider. As well as her to it so she didn’t fall off. He then hoisted Spiv upon his back and waltzed into the Sheriff’s office and up to the booth. The sheriff himself was a scruffy looking old man whomst reeked of too much booze and looked of too many pastries.

“Center board is clear.” Hudson said. “Head up to the hills anytime if you wanna look for yourself.”

“Evidence?” the sheriff rumbled.

Spiv slid to Hudson’s side, with one arm wrapped around his shoulder and the other supporting himself against the booth’s counter. Hudson slipped the sheriff his deck.

“Fine work,” the sheriff said, flipping through the photos. “Color me impressed. Your reward is in order.” he disappeared into a backroom.

“That’s some quality snuff,” the belt covered boy from earlier hissed from an uncomfortably close distance.

Hudson looked him in the eye. “Fifty kollars and the photos are yours.”

The two of them exchanged goods and currency, then belt boy went on his merry way. Spiv couldn’t do nothing but frown at the whole series of events. He had qualms about what just transpired. A number of qualms indeed.

“Don’t you look a wreck,” the lady in lamb leather chuckled.

Spiv turned over his shoulder with a scowl. He was not in a jolly mood and had no tolerance for anyone who was. The woman had two men bound at her waist by rope and two pistols pointed in their backs. Spiv almost felt sorry for them. Though, he felt considerably more sorry for himself. As well as anyone else who happened to lose a fine pair of calves this morning.

“Wait your turn, hag,” Spiv grumbled. “Once we get our money then you can have yours.”

The sheriff returned with a strider hide case. Spiv and Hudson opened it immediately, without a care as to who pavlov-ing saw.

“This is only twenty K!” Spiv shouted. “Where’s the other eighty!”

The sheriff cocked his greasy head to the side and leaned back in his seat. “Sheriff’s tax. Been on the board for four months. Sheriff takes 20% per month.”

Spiv slammed his hand on the booth counter and leaned in close to the gross little man, dragging Hudson with him. “I got my fuckin’ legs chopped off and now you’re saying I only get twenty of my hundred grand? What say you about me putting this as bounty on your head and see how fast it gets separated from your body? You corrupt three chromosomed spawn of your sister’s diseased cunt!”

“Aye, ye could do that I suppose,” said the sheriff. “But unless the township appoints a new sheriff, be no one to pay it out.”

The old woman put a hand on Spiv's shoulder. “Told ya I wouldn’t be trying to take your bounty,” she said. “Rough day rookie. Remind me of myself once upon a time.” She lifted up the leg of her pants. Beneath the leather was a finely proportioned prosthetic. “Lost this leg three times over, and the other two and half. Hit up Third York. Look for a mechanist by the name of Jose and tell him Debbie sent ya. That said, if you do take this sheriff out of commission, I’ll be short of ninety grand and it’ll be comin’ out of your pocket.”

“Well heeded,” Spiv said. “Apologies for the inconvenience.”

Hudson loaded the cash into a sack. The two of them hobbled out the way.

“Before you go,” Debbie said. “Heard your crew was after the Faceless Gang.”

The sheriff glared at her. “Speak your mind woman, but know Jepsum had no part in it. We don’t want no trouble.”

The lady smiled. Spiv would have killed to see that face two decades prior. Jersey would have killed to trade places so he could see it himself just as it was.

“Won’t get a word out of these chaps,” Debbie said. “Gang keeps them all tongue tied. But thems being borg twats, they all gots to come around Third York sometime. Keep an ear out ‘round those parts and I’m sure you’ll hear something.”

“Mighty considerate of you,” Hudson said. “Till we meet again.”

“With your friend’s luck, I wouldn’t bet on it. But you never know.”

There was some commotion as Spiv and Hudson were about to step out the door, followed by a gunshot. Spiv glanced to see one of Debbie’s captures free from his rope, falling to the ground with a hole in his back.

“Aw, shit.” Debbie turned to the Sheriff. “He’s still kinda breathing, so I expect the full bounty!” She turned around to look at the profusely bleeding man. He most definitely wasn’t. “Blood’s still warm. Seventy five percent and I won’t be any trouble.”

Hudson readjusted Spiv’s position and continued on his way.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Spiv whispered to Hudson. “Would prolly be dead right now if I’d set out on my own.”

“Ain’t no thing.” Hudson said. “Cause I know you woulda done the same for me in a heartbeat.”

“After this, damn right I would. Owe you a real one. But I can’t help feeling guilty for dragging you all into this.”

“No shame in walking away,” Hudson spoke. “None of us would blame you.”

“But I would,” Spiv sighed. “Wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing there’s an immortal faceless bastard out there doing the devil knows what, and I didn’t do anything to stop him. This is something I gotta do.” Spiv already walked away once. He had a mind never to again.

#fiction #writing #scif #science fiction #story #original story #space western #writblr #writerscommunity #Fifty Tungsten Bullets

0 notes

jobethdalloway · 7 years

Text

Prompt: we’re both prefects and we broke up a food fight in the great hall, but it got messy and dungbombs were involved, and now we’re both disgusting and in immediate need of a bath, and it’s okay, we can both use the prefects’ bathroom at the same time, i promise i won’t look

(btw, heads-up for a Brooklyn Nine Nine reference!)

"What the hell...?"

"Rizzoli!"

"Isles!"

"Get your house in order!"

"Don't tell me what to do! Get YOUR damn house in order!"

Maura dodged a large spoonful of mashed potatoes from one of the Weasley twins, which wound up smacking Vincent Crabbe square in the face. Jane saw a mischievous glint flash through the anger in Maura's eyes, and Jane flared up.

"You wanna go? Throw something at me, Queen of the Dead, bring it on!" When Maura did nothing but continue to glare, Jane said, "I'll even strike first!" and she grabbed a turkey leg and threw it at Maura.

Maura whipped out her wand and silently halted the turkey leg mid-air before letting it fall to the ground. "You'll have to wake up earlier in the morning than that, Rizzoli, if you want to-"

This time, Jane grabbed a handful of mashed yams, and Maura learned the hard way that a freezing spell was not very effective against less solid food. It splattered not only her face but her pristine clothing, and for several moments she was frozen in shock.

"I think you broke her," Angelina observed. "Well done!"

Jane wanted to laugh, but couldn't tell if Maura was still angry and thus if laughter would be cruel. Her face was covered by too many yams to be able to read her expression. In the blink of an eye, she magicked an enormous bowl of Brussel sprouts at Jane, where they pummeled her as painfully as paintball bullets. While Jane was distracted trying to fend them off, Maura picked up a spinach quiche, walked over, and smashed it in her face.

"How's that?" Maura asked, yelling over the food fight intensifying around them.

Though she was laughing, Jane sputtered, "Well I hate spinach and I don't love quiche, so..." She wiped the gooey green substance out of her eyes and tried to blink.

Maura moved close enough to whisper in her ear: "Oh, that's too bad." She ran her finger down Jane's cheek and sucked the quiche off. "I really love it." She winked before she walked back to her table, leaving Jane rooted to the spot.

The food fight had gotten so loud and out of control, nobody - not even Jane's friends - had noticed one of Slytherin's prefects coming on so strong to one of Gryffindor's.

Maura jumped when something wet was sloshed against her backside; she turned to see Jane holding the now-empty bowl of yams, which she promptly dropped as she walked to the Slytherin table.

"D-do you like yams?" she asked, her hand wavering near Maura's waist. "I could clean that up for you if you want."

Maura pursed her lips, trying to fight off a smile. "Big, bad, brave Gryffindor," she murmured.

They had been dancing around a mutual attraction for weeks, and this was the most direct Maura had ever been with her. Jane was so warm, she felt like she was on fire - which she soon realized she was. She jumped and looked around for something to douse her robes with, and then remembered her wand. She was about to put it out with a charm, but Maura had acted first, dumping a vat of mulled apple juice on her robes.

Jane meant to thank her, but then she saw a chafing dish at the floor near her feet. "Did one of your heathen students throw that at me?"

"Is one of those awful ginger twins about to throw a dungbomb?!"

Most of the teachers had filed out of the Great Hall before this all began. Dumbledore contended that a food fight was a healthy way for the students to exhaust themselves of nervous energy, and he was too absorbed in his magazine to pay much attention to the goings-on. The only remaining faculty were the heads of houses, on hand in case any of their students got dangerously rowdy.

"Oh, I think I've seen quite enough!" snapped McGonagall, leaning over Dumbledore to look at Snape. "Gregory Goyle just threw a chafing dish and the fire under it at Jane Rizzoli!"

"Don't work yourself into a dither, Minerva," he said, not returning her gaze but rather staring out into the melee with boredom. "Rizzoli may be muggle-born, but I believe after more than four years of magical education, she ought to be up to the task of completing a simple dousing charm - or are you worried your prefect isn't capable of such a simple-"

There was a small explosion, and almost the entire student body fled the Great Hall. George's dungbomb had gone off, a new prototype he and Fred had developed over the summer which was more powerful and painful than any other on the market. When the rotten-egg-smelling smoke had cleared, Jane and Maura were revealed to be the only students left in the hall. Both were trying to locate the dungbomb with the intent of vanishing it.

McGonagall and Snape approached, looking none too pleased; both appeared to have conjured a full-body of a Bubblehead charm, which Jane and Maura assumed was intended to keep the dungbomb’s stench from sticking to them.

"I would have hoped for better behavior from prefects!" McGonagall said, eyeing the food splattering both girls' clothes. "Would either of you care to offer an explanation for this disaster?"

Out of devotion to their students and a desire not to be a tattle-tale, neither spoke at first.

"Miss Isles?" Snape prompted her.

"Well, Harry Potter started it by throwing a turnip at Draco Malfoy," she said. "But-"

"Potter, hm?" said Snape, shooting McGonagall an unsurprised look.

"That's only because Malfoy called his friend a mudblood!" Jane protested. Glaring at Snape, she missed the sympathetic expression on Maura's face. "If you ask me, Malfoy's lucky it was a turnip and not a hex!"

"Such tolerance in Gryffindor house," Snape said with a sneer. "If you truly believe hexes are the answer to name-calling, perhaps you would be better-suited for Durmstrang, rather than the office of a Hogwarts prefect."

Jane looked at McGonagall incredulously, and her head of house did not disappoint: "You would do well to ensure your students know the difference between name-calling and blood epithets, Severus," she said. "And that goes for you as well, Miss Isles. It would behoove you and Miss Rizzoli to learn how to better de-escalate inter-house tension."

"Yes ma'am," Maura said, staring resolutely ahead.

"Which class are you off to?"

"Defense against the Dark Arts."

McGonagall's nostrils flared at the thought of her students, especially the beloved Jane Rizzoli, being subjected to the awful woman posing as a professor for that course. "Yes - well, as punishment for failing to meet our expectations as prefects, you will both be one class behind your classmates."

"What's that now?" Jane asked in confusion.

"In case you have failed to realize it, Miss Rizzoli, the pair of you smell worse than a squid ruminating on spoiled beets," McGonagall went on. "Subjecting your classmates to this stench would no doubt be a dark art of its own, and I insist you both take this next period to bathe and cleanse yourselves. I will speak with Professor Umbridge about your absence; rest assured, this is a house matter."

Snape merely nodded his consent, and Jane and Maura turned to leave the Great Hall together.

"I feel like McGonagall kind of gave us a break back there," Jane said once they were far out of earshot.

Maura looked tense. "Normally the thought of skiving off class would give me hives, but I have to admit I doubt we're missing anything by skipping Umbridge. What a joke."

"What a jerk, more like," Jane scoffed. "We're probably on the brink of war any day now, and she doesn't want us getting any practical experience!"

"An utter embarrassment. I've taken to practicing spells myself between classes, since she's so useless. I even give myself homework sometimes," she admitted with a small laugh.

Jane chuckled too. It was easy to picture Maura holed up in a classroom, teaching herself hexes and spells on her own. She seemed like a solitary person, which Jane could only imagine was by design. After all she was a beautiful, intelligent pureblood in Slytherin; Jane was sure there must've been dozens of kids in that house dying to be her friend. Jane was tempted to tell Maura about Dumbledore's Army, because surely defense against the dark arts was best practiced with other people. But she wasn't sure how thrilled the others would be with a Slytherin joining the group.

"How come you're nice to me?" Maura asked out of nowhere.

"What?"

"Most Gryffindors wouldn't buddy up to a Slytherin if their lives depended on it."

"Most Gryffindors are stupid that way. Don't tell them I said that, though." She smiled when that got Maura to chuckle. "What about you, Isles? You're in Slytherin, but you don't seem to be a muggle-hater or otherwise a dick."

Maura laughed again, but this time it was sour. "You know what I am?"

"Hot?"

Maura stopped in her tracks, as did Jane, who looked horrified that the word had slipped out. After a few moments of painful awkward silence, Jane cleared her throat and kept walking.

"Do you think so?" Maura asked, sounding pleased.

"What were you going to say?"

Maura smiled, deciding to leave it for now and show that Slytherins could be nice. "I am ambitious, I’m resourceful, I’m determined, I'm intelligent, I'm loyal but prefer to work alone, I'm very hardworking and I take pride in my accomplishments. I'm also a pureblood," she added as an afterthought.

"So it's kind of like a rectangle-square thing," Jane said.

"A what?"

"It's like Slytherins and bad people. How all rectangles are squares, but not all squares are rectangles." When Maura did nothing but frown, Jane sighed, "this is why wizards need to teach their kids math. It's basic geometry."

"I get your intended point, I just think it's a flawed syllogism," Maura snapped. "You're saying that because you know me, you know not all Slytherins are bad. And believe me, I know, my house has a reputation. But with your analogy, all bad people are Slytherins?"

"Well...that's just a thing people say, isn't it?" Jane asked awkwardly. "There's not a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin?"

"What half-baked, prejudiced first year did you overhear saying that?" Maura balked. "You really think that every person who was ever sorted into Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw or Gryffindor has gone on to be a total angel?"

It was hard to imagine any Hufflepuff going rogue, but Jane had to concede Maura had a point. After all, hadn't Harry Potter himself said in their first DA meeting that the wizard who helped Voldemort come back had been a Gryffindor? She shivered at the thought.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "That was stupid of me, you're right."

Maura was silent for a few moments, then muttered, "You sound just like my parents."

"What?"

"My parents went to school here, but moved to France after they graduated. That’s where I was born and where I grew up - and where I learned geometry, by the way,” she added snidely. “I was invited to attend Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, but my father had just accepted a position at the Ministry, so we moved to England. All of that is to say, I grew up outside of the anti-Slytherin culture produced here, and I think my parents just took it as a given that I would be a Ravenclaw like they were, so they never discussed the houses much with me. I was so excited to be sorted, and wrote them at once to tell them about it."

"What'd they say?"

Maura chuckled mirthlessly. "I can tell you word-for-word, because the reply was so short: 'We are surprised to hear you are in Slytherin. Good luck with classes.'" She sighed and shook her head. "I went home for Christmas and overheard them arguing one night. One of my aunts refused to visit while I was there. She didn't want her young kids consorting with a Slytherin. That's how I found out I was adopted, actually," she added. "It came up in their fight. My dad implied my birth parents might've Slytherins."

Jane was stunned. "Were they?"

"I don't know, I've never tried to find out anything about them. I just heard my mother mention their pureblood status and then I left. I didn't want to hear anymore. Given my dad's comment and his feelings about Slytherins, though, I'm not sure they're people I want to know." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, that was the last time I went home for Christmas. I don't want to cause any unnecessary family drama just by showing up."

Jane followed Maura to the prefects' bathroom as if in a daze. Coming from such a warm family herself, it was mind-numbing to imagine Maura's could be so distant. Her mind was buzzing, trying to come up with something comforting to say as Maura gave the password for the bathroom ("fizzy lifting drinks") and turned on the nearest faucet for the pool-sized tub.

"Do you wish you'd been sorted into Ravenclaw?" Jane blurted out, desperate for the silence to end.

Maura frowned, undoing her robe. "The Sorting Hat considered putting me in there," she said. "And who knows; maybe if I'd been aware of the deep-seeded mistrust of Slytherins in our society, I'd have asked for Ravenclaw. The Hat could tell I was indecisive and said it thought I could..." She blushed, fumbling with her tie, not wanting to sound conceited. "It said I could really distinguish myself in Slytherin, like I could really be someone special and go far." That had been a very attractive promise to a lonely child desperate to make her neglectful parents proud. "Is it weird that I feel bad for letting down a Hat?"

"Are you kidding? You didn't let anyone down! Except maybe your dipshit parents, but they're dipshits," Jane said, getting Maura to laugh a little. "Come on, seriously. I think you ARE distinguishing yourself. In Ravenclaw, you'd just have been another brain. In Slytherin, you get to be this amazing, intelligent, unique prefect who actually cares about helping out. That food fight may not have been a great example, but most of the time I feel like you have my back. I think you change the way a lot of people see Slytherins."

"Aw, Jane."

"Hm?"

"That's really...that's really sweet!"

Jane tried to act nonchalant. "Yeah, well..."

"Take your clothes off."

"What?!"

Jane's eyes widened when Maura calmly unbuttoned her own shirt and took it off. "Get undressed. Did you forget we're here to rid ourselves of the combined stench of rotten doxy eggs and Stinksap?"

In all honesty, Jane had forgotten. She'd been so swept up in Maura's history that she hadn't been paying attention to where they were going or why they were going there. It wasn't like her to get so preoccupied and oh God is she taking off her bra?!

Maura couldn't contain a giggle when Jane twisted away from her. "Are you getting shy on me, Rizzoli?" she asked, letting her bra slide down her arms. "Or is the thought of having to look at me disgusting to you?"

Jane whipped around to confront this notion- "you know that's not true!" - but quickly finished the full 360 because now Maura was topless and taking off her skirt.

"You weren't planning to bathe clothed, were you?" Maura asked. "I mean, you knew we were coming here."

"Yes, I just wasn't ... thinking this far ahead," Jane said, taking off her tie. "Because I’m stupid. Incidentally, the Hat didn't offer to put me in Ravenclaw."

Maura laughed and walked over to the faucets (Jane pivoted as she moved to avoid seeing her), then turned on one that would leave a thick layer of bubbles over the water. "You were raised in America, weren't you?"

"Yes..."

"Hm, that explains your attitude."

"Oh, ha, ha, the American is a Puritan, very funny."

"What's a Puritan?"

"Never mind."

"Well don't worry, I'm not interested in making you uncomfortable," Maura said (though Jane strongly suspected otherwise). "These bubbles are very dense; you can't see through them. I promise not to look when you get undressed."

Jane took the extra precaution of doffing her clothes behind a large sculpture of a merman. Once completely undressed, she peeked around the side of the statue to make sure Maura wasn't looking. Maura's back was to her, and Jane nimbly stepped into the enormous tub. At the sound of the water shifting, Maura turned around at once.

"There, now was that so bad?"

"This just feels weird."

"Why?"

"Because I like you and I haven't even had the chance to ask you out yet and now we're like wet and naked and only eight feet apart. And no, I can't convert that to meters but you get the idea."

Maura was smiling, but didn't say anything for a few long moments. "So you like me."

"I...I wouldn't have said that if I wasn't pretty sure you liked me too," Jane said, already feeling her resolve might crumble. "Please, don't make fun of me, just be honest with me."

Another long pause, this time with a smile that was harder to read. "How well do you think you know me, Rizzoli?"

Was she about to extend a sultry invitation to get to know her even more? Oh God please yes - God please no - this is exhilarating and terrifying and why am I feeling so dehydrated all of a sudden??

When Jane failed to answer (from nerves but also because she thought it was a rhetorical question) Maura went on, "If you knew me well you'd know I would never make fun of anybody. And as far as the question of whether I like you, I'd say it took you damn well long enough to notice. I've been flirting with you for the entire year."

Although it was what she'd been praying for for the last several months, Jane couldn't believe what she was at last hearing. Her heart felt like it was going to leap out of her chest when Maura swam closer. The water was lukewarm but she was starting to feel red hot - and, unfortunately, it showed.

"You're blushing," Maura observed. "I'm sorry, am I making you nervous?"

"I'm - no, you're not; the situation is," Jane stammered. "I mean, you're really cute and I don't imagine this is embarrassing for you - not that I looked," she added quickly, sure to keep her gaze fixed on Maura's eyes. "But you do look good. I mean, duh. I mean - oh, God..."

"You are so cute," Maura chuckled. “I mean don’t get me wrong; on a physical level, you are sexy as hell.” The fact that she could say this so simply, as if it was an objective certainty instead of a subjective compliment, was a little odd for Jane to process. Maura went on: “But your demeanor, that’s very cute. And I hope that doesn’t sound condescending; I mean I find it... kind of endearing. Given your conduct on the Quidditch pitch and the occasional bravado I’ve seen you put on, I used to assume you’d be cocky. A lot of Gryffindors can be cocky, though, in my defense.”

“Yeah, well. Feeling like you have a moral high ground can do that to a person,” Jane agreed. “So you watch the Quidditch games, huh?”

“I used to prefer taking the time to study, because it basically guaranteed that the common room - or any room - would be empty. But then I learned the Gryffindor team had a very cute Chaser, and I decided I had to check out at least one game.”

“Hm, Johnson? Bell?”

“Are you really going to tease me after I promised not to tease you?”

“I...sorry,” Jane said, averting her gaze. “Humor’s my defense mechanism.”

“What do you need to be defensive about?”

“My own nerves, I guessssshhhhiiit....”

Jane had turned to look at Maura, who was leaning sideways agains the wall of the pool to face her. Maura had innocently let her elbow rest on the edge of the tub, letting her head rest against her fist, and this had resulted in one of her breasts rising above the layer of dense bubbles. After letting herself look a second too long, Jane almost snapped her neck turning it to look away.

“I’m sorry!” Maura squealed, bringing her arm back into the water.

“God, I’m sorry! I feel like a skeeze!”

“You’re not a skeeze, Jane. If I was worried about the possibility of you seeing me, I’d be on the other side of the pool and not letting anything but my head and neck above the bubbles. And you’d be a skeeze if you saw my discomfort and actively tried to make me show myself. Would you be this skittish if you were in here with someone else?”

“Someone I didn’t like, you mean? Probably not.” When Maura started backing away, Jane reached blindly for her hand underwater. She skimmed Maura’s waist before catching her wrist. “Don’t go, though!”

Maura smiled at the gesture. “I was going to distance myself so I don’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No, that’s okay, this is a good kind of uncomfortable.”

“Hm. I didn’t know there was a good kind,” Maura mused. “Discomfort always makes me feel I’ve done something humiliating, or that I ought to hide myself away. What’s the good kind like?”

“Well, it pushes you to do something. Something you’d want to do, but would usually be too shy or too scared to do.”

“And you’re scared to take a bath.”

“Scared to take a bath with you!” Jane said, joining Maura in her laughter. “See, bravery means different things to different people. Sure, for Harry Potter it means fighting off Death Eaters. I’ll get there someday. Right now I’m working on the bravery required to be naked in front of a girl I like before I’ve even asked her out.”

Maura’s immediate response was, “Would you like to go on a date with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not worried about being seen cozying up to a Slytherin?”

Jane paused to make sure she gave an honest answer. “We’ll kind of be like a Hogwarts Romeo & Juliet. Or, hm. I don’t know what the wizarding equivalent of that would be. I mean-”

“I get the reference,” Maura said, not unkindly. “Shakespeare was the focus of our literature unit in Muggle Studies this fall.”

“You take Muggle studies?”

“Yes, I think it’s fascinating. I’m not surprised by your surprise, though; I’m the only Slytherin in the class and Professor Burbage told me she doesn’t generally get a lot of us,” Maura admitted.

“Oh. Huh. I hope we don’t end up like Romeo and Juliet, though.”

“You don’t?”

“Well, no. The play ends with their double suicide.”

“What?! It does?! Why do people like it so much?! Gah...never mind. What I should’ve said was, yeah, I’m sure some people might give me some guff about going out with a Slytherin, but I don’t give a flying bowtruckle fart about that. I’d be proud to be out with you, no matter what house you were in.”

Maura smiled so wide, Jane couldn’t help reflecting it. “Would it be a good or bad uncomfortable if I kissed you?” Maura asked.

“Here? Right now?”

“I can wait.”

“No, no, now’s...that’d be fine. That’d be great. That’d be--”

Jane shut up when Maura took gentle hold of her face. Her gaze dipped from Jane’s eyes to her lips and back again, then she leaned in and kissed her. Jane felt almost suffocated by immediate excitement, overwhelmed by the softness of Maura’s lips and the intensity with which her heart was pounding. The pounding was matched elsewhere when Jane instinctively brought Maura closer, pulling their bodies together. Jane was shot at warp-speed into new realms of pleasure, feeling as dizzy as if transported there by portkey. But within moments, the reality of what she was doing registered with her and she all but vaulted away from Maura, a stream of obscenities tumbling out of her mouth as she turned bright red.

“I concur,” Maura said breathlessly.

Heart still beating rapidly, Jane glanced over at Maura and saw her smiling. “That was... wow. That was wow,” Jane said. “Judging by your expression, I guess I don’t need to apologize. That was just a ... a heck of a lot more than I intended to do.”

“I know,” Maura said, treading a small distance away. “I just can’t wait to come back here with you sometime after you’ve been dating me for a while.” She laughed when something occurred to her. “Maybe I can get some extra credit for my-”

“Don’t say it.”

“-Muggle studies!”

“You dork!” Jane laughed, splashing her.

“Well, as the Bard said: but soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is a dork.”

That one got a genuine laugh out of Jane. She couldn’t wait to see what else Maura had up her sleeves.

#rizzles #jane rizzoli #maura isles #rizzoli and isles #hogwarts #hp au

69 notes · View notes