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smurphyse · 2 years

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I Know What You Did

Masterlist

Chapter 28 of Over Your Shoulder

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Jasper Donnelly Keaton (Long Lost Love AU)

Word Count: 6813

Warnings: Angst, violence, heartbreak, unwanted advances, military extractions

Summary: We find out what happened the night that Jasper thinks Spencer cheated on her!

Somewhere Over China - Almost 15 Years Ago

Jasper sat in an MH-47 Chinook as they made their way to Camp 22 in North Korea, feeling pretty good about herself at that moment.

A maximum security prison, also known as Kwalliso, it was completely isolated from the outside world. A desolate concentration camp filled to the brim with some of the worst prisoners in the world, Jasper felt good about taking this particular prisoner there.

Eli sat hooked to the floor via the clasp on his restraint jacket to keep him in place on the bumpy ride. Jack and Jasper sat in bucket seats on one side of the plane, while Frank and Clyde sat on their own on the other.

Sitting with his back ramrod straight, Eli watched Jasper, and she watched him back. They had just come from Afghanistan, arresting Eli at Camp Leatherneck in front of the entire base on drug trafficking and smuggling charges for his business moving heroin and opium out of the country.

Had it been up to her, she would have driven him out to the desert and put a bullet in his head for all he put Jack, Frank, her and all the other Church recruits through. She'd been ready to, but Clyde and Jack stopped her, citing some bullshit reason of not committing murder in front of a base of Marines.

"There'll come a day, Sugar," he called out above the noise from the blades of the plane. "You'll see just how much of a colossal mistake this is."

"Shut up," Jack grunted, kicking Eli sharply in the side. Eli winced and tried to dodge it, but his restraints held him in place, and he took the full force of Jack's boot.

"You too, Jackie boy," he glowered, giving Jack a look that five years ago would have made them both cower in fear. "You think this place can hold me? First thing I do when I get out is rip you to pieces, and I'll make Sugar watch."

"That's not my name," Jasper told him stiffly, and he just chuckled darkly.

"You think because I let you have that name it encompasses who you are? You think you can just exist as Jasper Donnelly after all you've done? You're still that little girl covered in blood I pulled from a prison cell," Eli snarled, lurching forward, and unfortunately Jasper flinched. "You have always been a monster, Sugar, you always will be. I just taught you how to be a better one.

"When I'm done with Jack I'll come for Dr. Reid-," he began, but Jasper launched from her seat.

As her fists connected with his face, blood spattered across her knuckles. Jack and Frank jumped from their places and pulled her back by her shoulders, snarling and kicking. The metal floor scraped painfully against her backside, but she kept fighting anyway.

"Don't you dare say his name!" she screeched, teeth baring as she struggled under the men's grip, but they were much stronger than her and she was too pissed off to think of a way to get away from them.

Eli laughed brightly even with the streams of red pouring down his face, "You love too deeply, pet. That has, and always will be, your weakness. I'll take each and every person you care about away, and you'll be left with only me.

"How's he gonna feel when he knows all those dirty, awful things you promised to do with me if I let him live?" he asked, and Jasper’s heart fell through to the floor.

If Spencer knew what she'd agreed to to save his life, it would just kill him. The guilt would eat him alive.

Jasper hadn't had to do them as just the promise of subjugation was enough for a man like Eli. The constant threat of it was enough to keep Jasper in line…or so he'd thought.

"You're nothing but a pathetic, abusive piece of shit," Jack spat, holding onto Jasper with a death grip. His fingers dug into her shoulders, as if he was holding himself back as much as her.

"You think way too highly of yourself, Eli," Frank growled back, "you think you're smarter than you are and that's how we caught you in the first place."

"I trained all of you, I know you and all those dark secrets you want to keep hidden," Eli said quietly, with measure and weight that made them all still. "You belong to me, you're mine. I own you, your lives are mine to take or spare."

He stared Jasper straight in the eyes and broke out in that grin that always made her skin crawl, "If you let me live, I promise you this; one day I'll find you and I'll strip your entire life of anything good. I'll make it my sole mission to take everything away that you hold dear, I'll brand you with me, and I'll do so until you beg me for death."

Clyde stood abruptly from where he'd been watching with little interest. Walking over to Eli, he took out his pistol and pointed it between his eyes.

"You'll be the easiest to break, Easter," Eli laughed, "You've always been a weak coward, and I'll-."

Clyde turned the pistol to hold the barrel and without a word backhanded Eli with the grip. His head snapped to the side, his body going limp in the restraints as he was knocked unconscious.

Frank, Jack, and Jasper all relaxed, the fear and rage they all felt exhaling in a relieved breath.

"Now that that's done," Clyde grunted in annoyance, "let's get some sleep before we get to Kwalliso."

Jack helped Jasper off the floor and deposited her roughly into the bucket seat. She muttered a thanks and rubbed at the fresh bruises on her arms from them restraining her. Spencer would no doubt have something to say about it when she got home.

They'd been fighting so much lately, and she had been looking forward to their getaway in New York. They still had a few days left on Spencer's leave time from the FBI, they could probably still spend a bit of time up there. Spencer had never been to New York, and Jasper wanted to show him around.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, sighing slowly. After they handed Eli off, she was out. The deal was set, her pension in place, her pardon already signed and ready to go. Finally, after five years she was going to be free, she could start her life.

She was going to finish school, get a good job teaching instead of going back to government work. She was tired of this life, of carrying a gun and knives. Looking forward to hanging them up and never going back, Jasper smiled to herself.

Spencer was waiting for her at his apartment. She knew he had his grandmother's ring hidden in his dresser, she knew one day he was going to ask her to marry him.

Jasper knew she was going to say yes.

Shaw's, Washington DC, USA - Present Day

Sitting at the table at Shaw’s with the team was the highlight of Jasper's year, apart from reuniting with Spencer. Among these amazingly talented people, having a great time laughing and drinking, albeit water, Jasper was in her home. This team, this family, her family.

She was happy.

Luke was telling a story about some crazy thing she did in Iraq, and Spencer was actually smiling about it, laughing along with everyone.

"...she climbs onto the roof with this gun that looks like a shotgun mixed with a handheld gatling gun," Luke continued while Jasper embarrassingly shook her head. "And she fires a single shot at this giant fucking truck thing coming at us."

Luke made an explosion sound with his mouth and clapped his hands, "The thing explodes! And she doesn't even flinch as it flies up into the air. We're all scrambling to get out of the humvee, and she just walks down the windshield and onto the front of the car and pulls out her Desert Eagle and keeps firing."

"What the hell kinda ammo were you using?" JJ asked with wide eyes.

"Frag-12," Jasper admitted sheepishly, scrunching up her nose and her gaze flicking over to Spencer.

He used to get so upset hearing about anything regarding her being in danger, so she'd rarely told him anything about her mission work even though she had wanted to share some of that with him.

But now he grinned at her from the other side of the table, a look of pure reverence and love in his eyes, and she knew he finally understood her for who she was.

Jasper thought all along that she was just a murderer, unsavable and unworthy of redemption, but looking at Spencer, at the love of her life, she knew what she really was.

She was human, not the monster Eli and her father convinced her she was. Human, which meant sometimes she was beautiful. Human, which meant sometimes she was grotesque.

Jasper was just Jasper, and for once that wasn't terrifying. It wasn't a painful glare into the looking glass and hating what she saw, it wasn't an ugly misshapen tortured thing looking back at her.

It was Jasper, she was Jasper, and that was all she needed to be here around these people who loved her.

"Jesus!" Emily giggled, nearly spitting out her drink. "Those rounds are like mixing a 12-gauge shotgun with a grenade!"

"It was awesome," Luke praised her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her in for a rough hug.

"I really liked that gun," Jasper sighed, shoving Luke away with a playful push. "Jack tore me a new one for doing that, though. I think I sat there nodding for an hour while he yelled at me about my recklessness."

"But you just know he thought it was sexy as hell," Tara chuckled, taking a long drag off her drink. "Otherwise he wouldn't have married you."

Jasper made a face and shrugged, as if saying true. "He was like Spencer, preferred it when I wasn't putting myself directly between a bullet and a hard place."

Stephen shot Spencer a mischievous grin, "You seem to like her crazy shit well enough now."

"Uhh," Spencer sputtered as his cheeks heated up. He dragged a hand across the back of his neck while Jasper watched him with barely retained glee at his awkwardness. "Yeah, I always liked the crazy shit she did. Made things interesting."

I love you so much, she thought as she chuckled into her water, hoping he could hear her.

Jasper glanced up to say it with her eyes, but they latched onto a familiar woman walking into the bar. Wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt instead of her old mini skirts and dresses, Alyssa stopped dead in her tracks as she spotted Jasper.

Setting down her drink harder than she meant to, Jasper muttered, "Holy shit."

Spencer's brows furrowed, and he turned to see what she was looking at. She couldn't miss the way his shoulders tensed, or the look of pure fear he shot her as he turned to look at her again.

Memories flashed through Jasper's mind, ones that she had been trying to bury since getting back together with Spencer… of his damp hair and angry gaze as they argued about the bruises on her arms… of Alyssa walking out of Spencer's bedroom wrapped in only a towel, and the same look of fear taking over his features back then that he had now.

"Jazz," Alyssa breathed as she cautiously approached the table. Jasper's blood boiled in her veins the closer she got, her body coiling dangerously with each step.

Spencer leaned back toward the table and gulped. The bourbon in front of Jasper called to her, and all she wanted was to down it and race out of the bar, but she knew if she got within spitting distance of Alyssa she'd lose all cool and break her nose.

"Spencer," she smiled, and Jasper's grip tightened on the plastic cup in her hand. It splintered under the force.

Water erupted from the cracked plastic, and Jasper jumped out of her chair as it poured over her lap. Luke and JJ rose with her, frantically grabbing napkins to wipe as much of it up as possible.

Alyssa stepped forward to help, and Spencer quickly pulled himself from his seat to get away from her, nearly tripping as he did so. Alyssa's arms shot out to grab him, gripping his forearms and pulling him upright.

"You always were a klutz," she laughed as Spencer ripped his arms from her hands and wiped them down the front of his shirt.

"Uhm," Spencer hummed, glancing back worriedly at Jasper.

Jasper watched with a glare as Alyssa flashed another awkward smile, and she began to speak, but the blood rushing through Jasper's veins drowned it out as she set a hand on Spencer again.

"I've wanted to talk to you guys for so long-."

Without any real conscious thought, Jasper found herself launching forward. Glasses and plates skittered across the table as it was turned onto its side with a loud crash. The team jumped from their seats and rushed to make a barrier between Jasper and Spencer and Alyssa, but it only made her angrier.

The thought of Alyssa ever touching Spencer again sent a rage ripping through her that Jasper had been trying so desperately to leave behind.

"Jasper!" Spencer yelled, stepping in front of Alyssa to block her, while Luke and JJ's hands were suddenly gripping onto her tightly and dragging her back to the other side of the table.

"Fuck you!" she growled back, struggling against the team's hold on her.

"Just listen," Spencer begged, holding his hands out as he pleaded, "Nothing happened-."

"Fuck you both!" Jasper snarled, jerking her shoulders in an attempt to get free. She didn't want to hurt the team, but the red hot wrath barreling through her wanted to break Luke's arm first and then punch JJ in the gut and finish what she started.

"Jasper, calm down," Luke grunted, and had Jasper been in a better state of mind she would have elbowed him in the groin and pulled free.

"I know what they did!" Jasper growled, trying and failing to shake them off as Rossi and Walker stepped in to help JJ and Luke hold her back. She caught Spencer's eye and bitterly, tearfully, unbelievably pissed off said, "I know what you did! The other day and fifteen years ago, I know what you did!"

Spencer's face blanketed in shock as he turned white as a sheet, taking a nervous step away from her and bumping into Alyssa. He jerked away from her like she was hot to the touch, watching Jasper desperately, but she didn't care.

She had been prepared to let it go, but the sight of this woman… again on the day that Jasper put in for retirement… for a life, for Spencer, for a life with Spencer. The grief and pain was overwhelming, and suddenly the flash drive was a bigger resentment than it had been that morning.

"You can't fake nonchalance, Stick, you never could," she said simply, and he nodded.

"Jasper, please," he implored, his voice strained and in obvious agony, but Jasper had been wrecked that night so long ago when he broke her trust for the first time… but not the last.

"I keep trusting you," she panted, her body going limp as she descended into the pained pool of memory.

"Please."

Washington DC, USA - 15 Years Ago

Jasper grinned as she waltzed down the street without a care in the world. She’d dropped her stuff off at Jack’s, had her pension deposited into an offshore account, her official pardon signed by the Director of Intelligence, and she was free.

As the Functional Manager for Intelligence and cryptologic activities, which encompasses the Marine Corps Intelligence Surveillance and Reconnaissance Enterprise, he had the unique ability to sign off on her being a gun-for-hire for the United States Marine Corp and Intelligence communities. The original signatory for the Church Program, Ellis Michael had signed her right to live her life in exchange for five years of service and Eli Rodham’s head on a platter.

She tugged her keys out of her pocket, flipping through them to find the one to Spencer’s apartment. Wearing his CALTECH sweater, she felt safe and secure, wrapped up in his scent and his warmth. She was so excited to see him, to touch him, to hold him in her arms and know that she was going to spend each and every day doing that.

Jasper was a little nervous, too, as the bruises on her biceps and wrists had turned into dark welts, but they’d get past it. It was the last time she’d ever have a bruise, Sam’s wish for her was finally coming true.

Bouncing on her feet, she slid the key into the lock with a dopey smile on her cheeks. She opened the door and stepped inside, but Spencer wasn’t anywhere to be found.

Jasper deflated, tossing her purse on the counter and pouting. She clocked a noise from his bedroom, and out came Spencer, grumbling to himself and tugging on a t-shirt over his slacks. He stopped as he laid eyes on her, smiling softly and rushing up to her.

His hair was damp, the wetness along his neck seeping into the collar of his shirt. The scent of his shampoo washed through the apartment, and he grinned from ear to ear as he made his way over.

Spencer’s arms wrapped around her waist and he lifted her up, spinning her around and chuckling, “Oh, you’ve been gone way too long!”

Jasper giggled as he let her down, scooping her up again immediately into a firm, passionate kiss. She moaned happily into his mouth, both of them grinning against one another’s lips. When he pulled away he went to grip her arms, but Jasper winced and stepped back toward the door.

“What happened?” he asked quietly, running his fingers along her bruises in horror.

As always when she came home beat to shit and exhausted, Jasper sighed and looked up at him through her lashes, ashamed of herself and what she put herself through for the sake of a government that had mostly taken from her and given little in return.

“It’s okay, Stick, I promise. It’s never gonna-,” she started, but Spencer groaned in frustration and ran his hand down his face.

“What?” he asked sharply, his brows furrowing. “It’s never gonna happen again? It always happens, Jasper!”

“I’m out, Spence!” she insisted, trying to keep up the blissful happiness she’d felt just moments ago. “I’m no longer a member of the clandestine ops unit of MARSOC as of two hours ago. I have a few months left on my bit with the Marines, and then it’s all over.”

Spencer stilled, leaning back a bit and watching her carefully. His chest heaved as his incredible mind processed her words, that robot brain of his nearly shorting out at this news.

“You’re out,” he murmured, his smile cracking across his cheeks once more. “You’re… you’re out? You won’t get hurt anymore?”

“Nobody's ever gonna hurt me again, Stick.”

“You’ve got some great water pressure, Spence, I wish I could shower here all the time,” a voice came from the direction of the bedroom, and both Spencer and Jasper’s heads swung on a swivel to see who it was.

Alyssa, clad in only a towel, stood in the doorway. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her skin glistening with the water that had yet to dry. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, the water trickling down her neck and landing between the soft valley of her breasts.

Jasper’s gaze shot to Spencer, who was now watching her with wide eyes, struggling and failing to find words. She expected rage, white hot anger and wrath as virulent and strong as the seas. Instead she was confronted with something much more painful… betrayal.

Her chest clouded with pain, her once dead heart that Spencer helped bring back to life shriveling up and clenching tightly. She couldn’t breathe as the floor swayed beneath her, and she clutched onto the counter for support.

Her hair was wet… and so was Spencer’s.

“Jasper-,” he stammered, holding his hands out like she was some feral animal he had to fend off. “It’s not what-.”

“What did you do?” she gasped in agony, covering her chest with her other hand. It landed on the red CALTECH letters, and they scratched the underside of her palm.

“Nothing, okay? Nothing happened, just hold on a moment and listen to me,” he begged, and he took a step forward.

Jasper’s instincts kicked in, finally unrooting her from the spot. She tripped over her foot as she backed toward the door. Jasper landed harshly on her backside, crashing into the floor.

Spencer moved to help her up, but Jasper let out a wounded snarl and he backed off, his eyes wide with hurt. Scrambling to her feet, Jasper caught Alyssa’s eye as she grabbed her purse off the counter.

She leaned on one hip, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched the two of them fall apart. She… smiled, and it all hit her in one painful blow.

“You cheated on me,” Jasper whispered, and Spencer shook his head frantically.

“Listen, I would never do that, okay? She came over, she spilled some food-.”

“She spilled some food?” Jasper yelled, her face contorting with the rage that had finally broken free of her emotional sorrow. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Jasper, please, I love you!” Spencer cried, still holding his hands palm up as he took another step forward.

“I don’t believe you,” she whimpered, trying and failing to hold back the choking sobs in her chest as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Jazz, sweetheart, please,” he said again, and this time when he moved toward her Jasper’s instincts took over, and she found herself delivering a swift shove to his chest.

Spencer tumbled to the ground with a pained oof, and Alyssa let out a shocked gasp. Jasper shot her a look of pure venom and malice, “I see you again, and I’m beating the shit out of you both.”

Without another word, Jasper stormed out of the apartment. She heard Spencer coming after her, but she was trained and much faster than he was. Slipping behind a dumpster in the alley, Jasper huddled between the wall and the concrete, shuddering with her hand clasped over her cheeks to stifle her sobs.

“Jasper!” his voice came from the dark, the rotted scent of garbage filling her nose keeping her grounded. “Please, Jazz! Just talk to me!”

He'd cheated on her, taken her pathetic trust and ripped it apart. Jasper was prepared to change her entire life for a future with Spencer, a future she never expected to have.

"Nothing happened Jasper, I promise! Please!"

How childish she'd been to think she could have such a thing.

After twenty minutes of begging and walking past the dumpster where she hid like a coward, Spencer finally went back inside, back to her. Stumbling down the street and holding back her tears, Jasper pulled her phone out of her purse and dialed a number.

“Staff Sergeant Donnelly,” Clyde Easter’s voice came through the speaker. “Retirement already boring you to tears?”

“You said last week there was a posting in Mosul,” she panted into the receiver, her voice shaking as she tried to hold back her grief. “I want on the next ride out.”

“Mmm,” Clyde hummed, and she could see the frown on his face. “You don’t sound so good.”

“I’m about to be drunker than a skunk, Clyde, yes or no?”

She could hear his breathing on the other end as she stomped down the street. He was thinking about whether or not this was a good idea, but she didn’t care about what he thought.

“I’ll do anything, Clyde, just get me the hell outta here.”

“I have this job… but it’s gonna take a while and I won’t lie, you could use Jack to get it done. You’ll be in the Middle East for three years at the least.”

Walking away from Spencer and the life she was prepared to live with him, Jasper straightened up and sniffled hard. She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand and took a deep breath, then turned to head toward the liquor store.

“I’ll get Jack on board.”

Clyde laughed through his nose, “Deal.”

“Deal.”

Shaw's, Washington DC, USA - Present Day

“You cheated, Reid?” Emily gasped, and Spencer’s chest heaved. He shook his head frantically, flicking his gaze from Jasper to Alyssa to the team and their shocked faces. JJ and Garcia flashed him looks of concern and sympathy, while Luke glowered and crossed his arms over his chest.

“No, no!” he insisted, holding out a finger to defend himself and ward off the snarling glare from Jasper.

She watched him with tears in her eyes, hanging limply in JJ's, Luke's, Walker's, and Rossi’s arms as they all watched him in disbelief. Spencer's heart tore itself to pieces in his chest.

Please don't leave me, he thought desperately, not again. Not again.

"I never cheated on you, Jazz," Spencer begged, shaking his head pleading with his eyes. "I would never do that. I tried to get her to leave an-."

"I don't believe you!" Jasper snarled, lunging forward again. The team struggled to hold her back as she tried to dive over the table to likely kick his ass, but she didn't stop.

"I would never hurt you!"

"Fuck you!"

"It's true," Alyssa said, and all eyes turned to her.

She wrung her hands as Jasper stilled in their arms, her little scarred chest heaving as she squinted at Alyssa in confusion and rage.

"I… I was young and stupid," Alyssa murmured, her gaze traveling between Spencer and Jasper nervously. "I wanted him, and… I didn't care that all he wanted was you."

Washington DC, USA - 15 Years Ago

"That was fantastic," Alyssa said perkily, pushing away a box of moo shoo pork and patting her tummy. "We need to do this more often. I miss you, Spence."

They were sitting on Spencer's couch, eating takeout from down the street. Alyssa sat just a little too close for Spencer's comfort, her hand occasionally resting on his arm or his shoulder, and he stiffened every time.

He was nervous. Spencer had never really cut someone out of his life before, but he was ready to say goodbye to Alyssa forever. He didn't really like her very much in the first place, found her and her advances annoying, and he wanted to tell someone besides his mother of his plans.

Hopefully she'd be happy for him.

"Yeah, about that " he started, but Alyssa scooted closer and brushed back some of his hair.

"Somethings bothering you, baby," she murmured, and Spencer leaned away from her a bit. He hated when she called him that. "You and Jasper still fighting?"

"No, uh, actually we're going to New York for a few days when she gets back."

"It must be so hard, having her leave you all the time," Alyssa pouted, and even though Spencer coiled in anxiety she brushed back his hair again, leaning in and flicking her gaze from his eyes to his lips.

"Well, she's not always gone," he stammered, frowning at her. "She works hard, and she's good at her job so they want her as often as they can get her."

"You deserve someone who stays for you, Spence," she murmured, and suddenly she was too close, her nose brushing his as he sat stock still on the cushions.

Her hand wandered up his thigh, featherlight and inching further up. Spencer covered her hand with his and shook his head.

"I want Jasper, Alyssa."

Alyssa pouted again, looking up at him with big blue eyes and while she was pretty, he missed Jasper's big brown ones, how they glittered in the morning when she first opened them. He wanted to see them every day for the rest of his life.

"You need someone to take care of you," she whispered, and Spencer gulped heavily as she squeezed his thigh. "I can take care of you in ways she's never thought of, Spencer."

Without warning, Alyssa was straddling him on the couch, caging him in with her thighs. Her short dress rode up her legs as her chest pressed against his.

"Whoa, no, Alyssa c'mon," he stuttered, trying to goad her off him without having to touch her. "I'm, I'm not interested in this-."

"I just wanna make you feel good," she said softly, grinding down on his lap.

"Stop, okay?" he grunted, "listen to me, I'm marrying Jasper!"

Alyssa leaned back in shock, her eyes wide and hurt, "You barely know her, Spencer, we go way back. She's gone all the time and when she's here all you do is fight!"

"Because you won't leave me alone and she wants nothing more than to kick your ass every time you pull shit like this!"

Spencer grunted in frustration, finally picking her up by the waist and hoisting her off his lap. The takeout box that had been sitting by his side on the couch caught his elbow, and it splattered noodles and brown sauce all over her dress.

Alyssa glared down at her ruined clothes with a sigh. Spencer stood from the couch and half heartedly wiped what he could off his own.

"I don't want you in my life anymore," he said in frustration. "You need to leave."

"Can I at least shower before trekking halfway across DC? Get this shit off me?"

Knowing it was probably a bad idea, but not wanting her to be uncomfortable even though he was pissed, Spencer nodded, "Fine."

"You have noodles in your hair," she muttered as she stood, picking off pieces of food from her dress and dropping them into the takeout box.

Spencer led her into the bathroom, snatching his shampoo from the edge of the tub and shooting her a bitter look as he went out.

Spencer washed his hair in the sink, trying to get the sauce and noodles untangled from his messy head.

"Fucking Alyssa," he grumbled to himself as he used a paper towel to blot his locks. This was not the way he wanted tonight to go.

Spencer sighed, trying to release some of the tension in his shoulders. Jasper was going to be back soon, when exactly he didn't know, and all he wanted was to scoop her up and kiss her until she couldn't breathe.

Heading back into his room for a clean shirt, Spencer felt a little better knowing he was going to do exactly that when she came home. He was going to ask her to move in with him, and sooner rather than later to marry him.

They were going to be happy, they were going to be a family. Jack would probably walk her down the aisle, give her away, and even though Spencer was still more than a little bitter about him telling him to let her go, he would be happy to have Jack in their lives. Jasper loved him, and a part of Spencer did too.

He'd send Alyssa home and give Jasper the good news when she got home. Things were going to get better, and they'd have the rest of their lives to figure it out.

Shaw's, Washington DC, USA - Present Day

"After he couldn't find you, he yelled at me for about an hour," Alyssa sniffled as Jasper's heart barreled through her chest with the other side to the story that changed her life. "He drove me home, barely let me get out of the car before he went back out looking for you, and I never saw him again."

Tears dripped down Spencer's cheeks as he stared at his shoes, the memory obviously clouding his mind. Jasper wanted to run over to him and wrap her arms around his waist, but she couldn't seem to move.

"I wanted to apologize, I wanted to for a long time… I've felt so guilty for so long but I couldn't face either of you after what I did."

Jasper watched Spencer while she hung limply in the four sets of arms keeping her at bay. Her whole world shifted underneath her feet, guilt clawing its way through her belly in a white hot tear of regret and pain.

She got Jack back into clandestine work just to get out of DC… she got him hurt because he followed her when she asked… he died trying to save her when she didn't want to be saved… because he loved her no matter what.

Jack died because she couldn't communicate with someone she loved more than anything in this life. Taqib had his head blown off instead of living out his life in a white collar prison… all because Jasper got her feelings hurt.

"But," Alyssa offered as the whole team stared at her in shock and nerves, waiting for the next bomb to explode. "You're still together, you made it work even though-."

"We didn't stay together," Spencer said, interrupting her and looking up. His eyes were dark, angry, full of a rage Jasper had only really seen in the mirror. "She left me… for fifteen years."

Alyssa’s mouth opened and snapped back shut, as she looked between them, "O-oh, I… I'm so sorry."

"You're sorry?" Spencer snarled, and Alyssa flinched away from him. He waved his arms as his voice raised, the vein on his neck standing out, "She married someone else, Alyssa! You took her from me, so she left me and married Jack!"

"I didn't… I didn't know, I didn't see him so I just assumed," she stammered, backing away from him and his anger. "I hope you're happy, Jazz."

"He's dead," the team said in unison. Alyssa let out a pleading sigh as she looked at the army of people who now hated her like Jasper and Spencer did.

Jasper couldn't move, couldn't do anything but think about all the horrors and atrocities she'd committed in the name of her grief. She'd thought she'd been betrayed by the one person she trusted besides Jack… and she ruined something good in the process.

"He's dead," Spencer growled, baring his teeth as he advanced. Alyssa backed up until her legs hit a table, watching him with wide eyes.

"Reid, calm down," Tara said, placing an attempt at a soothing hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off.

"You have no idea what she went through, what she lost as a result of your actions!" Spencer screeched. The man that followed Alyssa into the bar finally made his way back over to them, and Jasper kicked back into gear. "Look at her! We both went through Hell because you split us apart!"

She struggled to get out from under the team's grip, but as the man lumbered over to an unaware Spencer, Jasper elbowed Luke in the stomach and rounded the table.

"What is going on here?" he asked angrily, stepping chest to chest with Spencer. He poked him with a finger, "You don't speak to my wife like that."

"Your wife?" Spencer scoffed as Jasper finally reached him, poking the man back. She knew it was only a matter of time before he said something to get himself punched, but it seemed the poking was enough.

The man's fist lashed out, and Spencer made no move to stop him. Jasper’s instincts kicked in, and before anyone knew it she had him on the ground with his hand twisted behind his back and between his shoulder blades.

He struggled beneath her strong grip, so Jasper leaned down and snarled, "Touch him again and we're gonna have similar scars, you hear me?"

He nodded, and Jasper let him go. As he stood, Alyssa helped him up, using his body to protect her from the wrath of Spencer and Jasper combined.

"You need to go," Jasper said steadily, "I don't wanna see you again."

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, but she tugged the man out of the bar. As they stepped through the threshold, the team let out a collective breath of relief.

"Spencer, look at me," she whispered, tugging on his jaw to move his gaze from the empty spot Alyssa had stood.

"She took you from me, because of her you went through-."

"No," Jasper said firmly, and Spencer turned to look down at her in confusion, those stupid eyebrows of his pinching together. "You can't think like that."

"Don't you grieve where we might have been if she hadn't…" Spencer cut himself off, sniffling hard as his chin wobbled.

Jasper cupped his face in her hands and forced him to keep his eyes on her. "You have no idea what could've happened. I could've died a week after I got back, you could've gotten killed on the job. Who knows what may have happened?"

"Without her I would never have gotten to spend those seven months with Jack that I got," she murmured softly, and his gaze clouded with undisguised hurt. "You wouldn't have gotten that time with Maeve."

"They might still be alive," he whispered tearfully.

"They're not," Jasper said simply, and he nodded. "They're not, but we are. We have our entire future together to make them proud of us, honey."

His eyes lit up at her pet name for him, but he cocked his head, "But, the flash dr-."

"It doesn't matter."

Spencer watched her carefully, and she worried he might pull away, but after a moment his arms wrapped around her waist. He pulled her hips to his, and she rubbed her thumb along his cheekbone.

"You're gonna marry me, aren't you?" he asked quietly, hope surfacing in his cracked and tired voice.

Jasper nodded, tears flowing down her cheeks, "Yeah, Stick, of course I'm gonna marry you. I always was."

"Okay," he said with a grin.

"Okay."

"Wait," Emily yelled, and Jasper and Spencer pulled apart to look at them all in shock. They had forgotten the team was there. "You two are fucking?!"

"Uhh," Spencer stammered, glancing at Jasper, who shrugged.

"Did you just propose?!" JJ asked, grinning at them both.

"And did you just say yes?" Tara asked next with barely contained glee.

"Uhh," Spencer said again, looking at Jasper once more, but this time she didn't shrug. He smiled at her, "Yeah, I did just propose."

"And I said yes," Jasper said softly, biting her bottom lip as she grinned big and wide at the love of her life.

"Well, now that that's cleared up, can we get back to drinking our Thanksgiving dinner?" Rossi asked, and everyone laughed.

"We're gonna talk about this later," Emily scolded them as they all worked together to turn the table back on its feet and clean up the shattered glasses. "But I'm happy for you."

"How long have you been seeing eachother again?" Walker asked, smirking at them both. "I wanna know who won the bet."

"The bet?" Jasper asked, glaring at Luke. He was still rubbing his tummy from where she elbowed him and glared right back.

"To see how long it took you two to hook up again," he grumbled, plopping down in his chair.

"So?" JJ asked, bouncing in her seat, "how long?"

Spencer and Jasper turned to each other to share a look. She shrugged, and he shrugged back.

"About a week," she said simply.

Garcia and Luke laughed as everyone pulled out their wallets but Tara, who gleefully took their money with a laugh.

"I had five months! Pony up, bitches!"

"You couldn't have waited another month?" Walker asked, glaring at them.

"I think we've waited long enough," Spencer said, smiling down at Jasper and wrapping his arm around the back of her chair.

When they kissed, the whole team broke out in a round of applause, making them both blush. Jasper kissed him again, pressing her lips to his slowly and closing her eyes. When she opened them again, Spencer gazed down at her softly, his eyes full of love and reverence for her.

I love you, she thought, saving the unnecessary confession for later when they were alone. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.

“Yeah,” Jasper agreed, looking at him and then to the team, to her family as pride blossomed through her chest. “We’ve waited long enough.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Notes:

o.O

Please tell me all of your thoughts! It REALLY keeps me going, you really have no idea.

CM Forever Tag: @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner

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spencers-dria · 3 years

Text

ANNOUNCEMENT TIME

I officially have a mood board for my next story! I have had the idea for almost as long as I have been writing STS but I was worried if I started it I wouldn’t finish STS… but anyways this was to help me get motivated and inspired and hopefully get some of you excited as well!

Get ready for Spencer and Reader with a bit of Bonnie and Clyde…

Content/Trigger warnings: mentions of sexual assault, murder, blood, gun and knife violence, sex trafficking, bdsm themes, sexual themes (will continue to update these)

Coming soon

#thrill of the chase #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #mgg #spencer x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer x fem!reader #Bonnie and Clyde

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falling-solar-system · 3 years

Text

I swear as a person who has never received flowers from anyone. Reading about my favorite character bringing me flowers in fanfics makes me want to cry from how cute it is.

#clyde logan x reader #spencer reid x reader #ron weasley x reader #flip zimmerman x reader #fanfic #george weasley x you

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

Text

There’s A Heart On Your Sleeve (I’ll Take It When I Leave)

Summary: Spencer is no Clyde and you are no Bonnie, but why can't you just run from it all?

Content Warning: Spencer's prison arc, mention of narcotics, and Spencer being drugged.

Pairing & Category: Spencer Reid x Reader (She/Her) & Angst with a bittersweet ending

Word Count: 3,450

Note: This is based off Run (Taylor's Version) (From the Vault) with Ed Sheeran. It was one of my favorites from the vault immediately. Their voices sound beautiful together! Technically this can be considered a part 2 to this fic, but it's more like they take place in the same universe. I like doing parallels or callbacks to older fics (P.S. it's the one when they get married in the field of flowers with flower rings). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this & there's more vault fics to come!!

Latest Fic | Masterlist | Thoughts? Ideas? Vault Requests?

There's A Heart On Your Sleeve (I'll Take It When I Leave)

When he realizes what’s happening, all Spencer can hear is people yelling. His head hurts too much to think. All he can do is sit there in the cell and hope that the spinning stops. In his head, he pictures how the dust settled as the lights in the rear view flash before his eyes. Everything hurts. His hands, his head, his chest. It feels like his heart is going to explode from his chest.

Anytime when the world gets to be too much, Spencer will try to ground himself. He’ll think of things in his surroundings that remind him of the good in the world. But, hundreds of miles away from home with blood caked into his nail bed, he struggles to find the good. He reaches into his pocket, looking for the small piece of good that he has left. Your gold and red locket is heavy in his shaking hands. He hides it in his hand, keeping it safe. But he wonders, who will keep it safe from him?

The guard comes to the cell waving his hand to get Spencer’s attention. He stands up, hoping that someone will finally tell him what happened. No amount of clarity will help Spencer understand why there is blood crusted under his nails and why he feels like he is flying. All he feels is shame, though. After years and years of staying clean, after crawling out of his own grave time and time again, he’s watching it crumple like a piece of paper tossed to the side. His head hurts too much to think about that.

“I need to call Y/N,” Spencer whispers to the guard, “I need to call my wife,” he says, hoping for some mercy from this stranger.

“You're gonna need a lot more than that,” the man says, his eyes scanning across Spencer’s face. He doesn’t have a mirror, but he doesn’t need one to know he looks like he’s been through it. From his blood-caked nails to his dirty hands, Spencer, himself, knows he looks anything but innocent of whatever it is that he’s in here for.

“What’s going on?” Spencer says, desperate for answers that he doesn’t have. He’s not used to not knowing. He’s used to having all the answers, but now he’s in the dark without a flicker of light in sight, “What am I doing here?”

“You tell me,” the man says, “You tell me what you’re doing flying down the road high out of your mind. Where’s your identification? Your passport?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer says, his voice growing timid with defeat, “I-I…Something’s wrong. I can’t remember anything. I need to call her. I need her,” he says, his desperate pleas going ignored.

“What’s your name? What happened to your hand?” he asks, making Spencer look down at the bloody gash on his hand. How did he not see this before? How did he miss this? He never misses things like that, it’s not like him.

As the man stares at him through the cell bars, your locket burns into his skin. He wants to curl up on the cot a couple feet away and pretend that this is all a nightmare. The rest of the room bustles around making Spencer’s head spin.

“Doesn’t that seem like something a person would know?” the guard says, the sarcasm in his voice not lost on Spencer, “And you Americans don’t understand. You don’t get a phone call,” he adds, the bitterness stinging Spencer more than his bleeding hand.

“I don’t know, I don’t know what’s going on,” Spencer says, bringing his bloody and dirty hands to his hair. When he’s stressed he tugs on his hair like it will help him suddenly understand what he needs to do. It never works.

What works is you.

“Well, what if you help me understand why you had narcotics in your possession? Maybe then, I’ll help you get that call,” the man says, bargaining with Spencer. So many times Spencer’s been on the opposite end of this conversation, offering someone a deal for a piece of information. His head hurts too much to think straight. It looks like the man has three heads and maybe four floating eyes.

“You forgot about that didn’t you,” the guard chuckles, a twisted smile spreading to his face, “If I were you, I’d start talking,” he suggests, leaning forward to whisper through the cell bars, “Start from the beginning,”

His mom. The treatment. The car. The woman. The blood. It all comes rushing back.

You follow in behind Luke and Emily. The station where Spencer was brought to is a place you know you never want to be in again, but you know you’ll return in your nightmares. The flight down was silent. Neither Emily or Luke wanted to admit to you they had no idea what to do to help Spencer, but you knew it anyway.

Luke, despite not being on the team for long, seemed to have taken on the burden of making sure that Spencer is okay because he reaches the cell before you can. When you approach him, Spencer’s eyes darken with shame. He refuses to meet your eyes in embarrassment or humiliation, you’re not sure. Whatever it is, though, you never want to see it on his beautiful face again.

“I’m going to run some tests. Try to figure out what they got you on,” Luke says softly, his genuine care for Spencer making you believe that somehow you’ll be able to get through this, “We’re all here for you, man,”

“Thank you. Helpful,” Spencer mutters, holding the cell bars as he rests his forehead against the metal. All you want to do is reach out and fix his hair, “You came,” he whispers, his eyes, for the first time, meeting yours.

Everytime he looks at you, you fall in love all over again. His golden brown eyes melt as he looks at you. With one look, you’re transported back to all those sweet memories with his arms around your body holding you steady. Now it’s your turn.

“Of course, sweetheart,” you say, “I love you, Spencer. I love you no matter what happens,” you tell him like it’s the last time he’ll hear it because it might be.

“I love you,” Spencer says, tears streaming down his face as he reaches out between the bars for your hand. He grips onto you, holding you steady as your shake with fear and anxiety, “forever and always,”

“Forever and always,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. He looks away, swallowing his fears for your shake. You want to kick yourself for letting him be the brave one again.

“We’re having a hard time finding this Dr. Rosa,” Emily says, sifting through the paperwork in her arms. She hands Luke a thin file of the information they collect from Garcia, “Can you tell us anything about her? A last name, maybe? Why were you going to Mexico to see her?” Emily asks, glancing at Luke.

Their silent communication makes you feel a little uncomfortable and totally useless. There isn’t much you can do, but hold Spencer’s hand through the cell bars and try not to cry. You know they don’t mean to purposely leave you out, but your desperation to see Spencer free outweighs the way it stings.

“I’m trying to remember,” Spencer says, his gaze moving down to his shoes. You recognize that look, the shame of it. What you would give to take all his pain away. You want to bottle it all up and toss it away into the ocean, far away from Spencer. He’s had so much to try to strip him of his goodness, it will be a tragedy to see it wilt away yet again, “I don’t know. I don’t know anything,” he repeats, his words slurred as he speaks.

“My agents chased you near the border. My best guess is you planned out crossing it,” the man from earlier says, appearing from the left near the officer’s desks. Emily and Luke make eyes at each other again, the communication lost on you, “Is that true?”

“No, I don’t...I, uh,” Spencer says, stammering through the words. He brings his hands to his head, the blood dried around the wound. It looks like it hurts, but from the way he talks you’re not ever sure he remembers his name, let alone feels any pain, “I think I was chasing someone,” Spencer says.

“My officers believe you were too,” he says, looking at Emily and Luke, “But they didn’t get any information on that person,”

“I think I’m being framed,” Spencer says. You suck in a breath, even though you knew he was innocent the whole time, you wonder how he got himself into this mess in the first place, “I didn’t hurt anyone. I would never hurt anyone,”

“I know, baby,” you whisper, “I know you wouldn’t” you reassure, wishing you could do nothing more, but hug him so tight he forgets all about his terrible day.

You pinch your skin, hoping foolishly that you’ll wake up cuddled up next to Spencer’s sleeping body under your warm sheets and golden sunlight. But you don’t wake up. Your skin hurts from the pinch, but it’s nothing compared to the pang in your heart.

“Who would do this Spencer?” Emily asks, “We put so many people away, but this, this is something different,” she gathers, sharing looks between Luke and Spencer.

“It’s not looking good, Reid,” Luke says, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I’m trying to get our counterparts to release you to us. It’s going to take some time, but we’re going to do our best to get your home,”

Spencer nods, thanking his co-workers for their unyielding loyalty. They really are good people, you think. If you would be able to have it your way, you would have broken him out of here guns blazing. You would have been in the getaway car on the open road with responsibilities in the past and possibilities in the future.

“I want to talk to Y/N,” Spencer says, his voice threatening to break as he says your name, “I need to say somethings,”

“Spencer, baby, I’m right here,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady for both of you, “I’m not going anywhere,”

The man from earlier returns with a partner, maybe the second in command. He walks over to Spencer’s cell without a word, unlocking the cell. Spencer’s cuffed hands don’t make for an easy hug, but neither of you care. Spencer doesn’t smell like his normal coffee and mint shampoo. He smells like bleach and sweat, but, again, you don’t care. His metal cuffs cut into his skin and he lets you hug him. You know that you want nothing more than to put his arms around you and pretend that this day has never happened.

“No touching!” the partner shouts angrily, making you jump and remove Spencer from your embrace.

Spencer’s pale face looks more ghostly than ever. His hallowed cheeks and wild eyes look nothing like the gentle, golden, and good man you know and love. But somewhere, under the caked blood, bloodshot eyes, and dirty skin is the man you married. He’s still him, even though you don’t recognize the lifeless stare he wears.

“I’m not weak, I’m not weak, I’m not weak,” Spencer whispers, rocking on his feet slightly as he tries to soothe himself. You want to reach out to him, tell him he’s the strongest person you know, but the words don’t come. It’s like you’re paralyzed by it. The reassurance that lives on your lips falters into nothing.

“You have five minutes,” the man says, dismissing his partner and himself as they walk away towards the direction they came in.

Emily and Luke share another pointed look, communicating silently as Spencer continues to mutter under his breath. Now that the police are gone, you rush to Spencer’s side. First you inspect his wounds. The bleeding on his hand has stopped, but looks really painful. His head is bruised too and his lips are puffy. Whatever has happened to him has left as much of a mental scar as a physical one. You were forced to leave your purse at security when you first arrived, but it’s not like it would have been much help anyway. Afterall, bandaids don’t fix bullet holes, or in this case, grazings.

“I’ll be okay,” you tell them, wanting a moment alone with Spencer before you lose the chance. You know, without a shadow of doubt, that he’s innocent. But, unfortunately, it’s not for you to judge. And, like Luke said himself, things aren’t looking in Spencer’s favor right now, “Five minutes,” you confirm, smiling a tight-lipped smile as they follow the police out the door and into their offices.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” you say, “come sit,” you tell him, directing him to the metal bench against the wall, “I don’t have any bandages or anything. I just—”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Spencer says, holding your face in his hands. You lick your lips, a nervous tick you’ve always had. You don’t know what to say. Was this a confession? No it can’t be, “We shouldn’t be in this town,” Spencer whispers, wiping the tears that fall from your eyes, “I’m so sorry, I fucked this up for you too,” he says, resting his forehead against your forehead in a moment of profound tenderness.

“I just—Spencer, tell me. Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me what you were doing here,” you say, hoping to get some answers from him, whatever they might be.

“I—I came here because Rosa has this experimental medicine that’s going to save my mom. I needed to save. I have to take care of her,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut as the memories of the last three days flood through his mind.

“Your mom?” you ask, you know her condition and Spencer’s anxieties surrounding it. He’s always had this intense sense of responsibility for his mother, “Spencer, whatever I have to do I’m going to get you out of here. I will do anything for you,”

“I know,” he whispers, his lips ghosting across your lips. They are chapped and rough as he kisses you. It’s not much of a kiss, more like teeth clashing against teeth in a passionate and frustrated mess. You’re skin and bone, fated to get through all the challenges that life throws your way, “I love you. So much. And I fucked it all up,” he whispers, his voice breaking for the first time.

You kiss him to silence his worries, even though it’s only temporary. This one is much sweeter, less desperate. Spencer lets you set the pace. He loses himself in it, kissing you like it’s the first time and last time he’s kissing you.

“I have something for you,” he whispers, his lips moving against your cheek. He breaks the kiss to reach into his pocket. He pulls out your locket, the gold and red necklace that he gifted you for your first anniversary together. Spencer puts it around your neck; the cool metal resting against your skin, “Take it with you. I’m sorry I swiped it from you, but I needed a piece of something good when I left,”

You told yourself the whole plane ride here and car ride to the station that you’d have to be the brave one. You know that doing that was a long shot, because when it comes to seeing Spencer in pain you’re automatically a mess. Gently, Spencer wipes the tears that glisten your cheeks. You hate yourself for the split-second that you doubted him.

“Spencer, you’re the good thing,” you tell him, hoping that he knows just how good he is. He might not believe it, but you’ll believe it enough for the two of you, “You’re always the good thing,”

“You always had more faith in me than I could ever understand,” Spencer says, kissing your knuckles as you lower your hands to your lap, “I’ll love you forever, but you don’t have to love me forever, whatever happens to me, Y/N, I never want it to stop you from being happy,”

“Shut up, Spencer,” you say, almost mad that he would suggest that, “I’ll break down any jail with my bare hands before that happens,” you promise, looking him in the eyes so he knows you’re serious. He smiles sadly, kissing your forehead as you melt into him.

“I wish we could run away,” you say into his shirt. He wears his old plaid green shirt. The one he wears when you do yard work together or go apple picking in the fall. You wonder if he’ll ever be able to wear it again without it being tainted by today. Or if he’ll wear anything besides a very different uniform, “Let’s run, Spencer,” you offer.

He sighs deeply, knowing that you know you can’t run. No matter how much Spencer wants to see your sweet home again, he knows that he can only do it with the law on his side.

“Tell me a story,” Spencer asks, hoping to change the subject. You feel him tense under your touch, but you can’t help yourself.

“We can go where our eyes can take us,” you say, hoping to convince him, even though you know you can’t, “Darling, let’s run,”

“Remember that time we went to that little field and got married, it was the best day of my life, Y/N. I remember your vows, they were the most beautiful things that I have ever heard. You were the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. You are the most beautiful person I’ve seen,” Spencer says, continuing on his train of thought.

“We can run like we’re running from the law,” you say, kissing his shoulder. Maybe that’s the key to get him to agree; he can never resist your kisses, “It’s a shot in the dark, Spence, but we could do it,”

“And my vows, you made me recite them for weeks and weeks,” Spencer continues, “I can say them now, if you want?” he offers.

“Please,” you say, forgetting, for a second your determination to run, “Please,” you say again.

“On February 14th, 1990— years before you and I met— Voyager One captured our first picture together. It’s not a great picture, it’s really fuzzy and hard to see. It’s just a pale blue dot in a sea of grainy grayness…But we’re all in it. All of us. And, uh, I’m not the best with words, Y/N. So I’ll like Carl Sagan say it, ‘Everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every superstar, every supreme leader, every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there--on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam,” he recites, perfectly remembering his speech from all those years ago.

You mouth the words as Spencer says them. You’ve been married long enough to have them committed to memory. He continues as you cry into his arms, wishing that things could have been different.

“Say you’ll never let them tear us apart,” you whisper into his shirt, squeezing Spencer so tight that maybe you’ll mold into one and you’ll be able to take him home with you, “Please, Spencer,” you beg, hating yourself for sounding so desperate.

“We’ll go where no one else is,” Spencer promises, kissing your head as he sighs again. You look up at him, bridging the gap between your lips.

“Darling, let’s run,” you say, hoping he’ll believe you this time.

He kisses your eyes, doing your cheeks, your nose and under your neck. This isn’t his I Love You Kiss this is his Goodbye kiss. Your skin is like Braille and he’s doing everything he can to memorize you. He commits to memory the way that your skin feels against his lips, the sighs of peace you make when he finally connects your lips to his lips, the feeling of your eyes on him. He kisses you like it’s your last kiss, a kiss you never thought you’d get. Of thousands of kisses it has to be your best one, even though it’s the one you hate the most.

“Darling, let’s run,” Spencer repeats, but there’s no promise in his voice, only defeat.

TAGLIST

@pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @fandomfriend33 @folkreid @@the-chaotic-cow @muffin-cup @reidslibrarybook @jswessie187 @fbivestreid @emilyprentisswif3 @doctorspenceryeet @alexrosex99 @alexontheinternet @itendswithns @cncos-baby @reidslovely @shemarmooresfedora @strawberryspence @drayshadow @navs-bhat @mimischaos @nomajdetective @xoxospencerreid @gspenc @ssa-uglywhore27 @alexxavicry @simmonsmilf @spencerreidat3am @reidsmilf @reidsacademia

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #boldlyreblog #spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader

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wqbytop100 · 1 month

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WQBY

Top150 for the week ending April. 28, 2024

Weight of the World --Bonnie X Clyde -1

Jet Plane --R3HAB, VIZE, JP Cooper -2

What If We Met --Ali Gatie -9

Sleep Tonight (This is the Life) --Switch Disco, R3HAB, Sam Feldt -4

Kissing Strangers --USHER -13

Lighter --Galantis, David Guetta, 5 Seconds of Summer -10

Love & Pain --Enrique Iglesias' -21

Make Me Your Mrs. --Mae Stephens -6

Young & Foolish --Loud Luxury f/Charlieonafriday -3

Reckless Child --Milky Chance -5

Before You Go --Seeb -8

When I Wake Up --Lucas & Steve, Skinny Days -7

Low Again --Bakermat -12

Without You ---Disco Fries, Lavish Life -18

Beat of your Love --Ownboss, LAWRENT feat/Ekko -20

Feel This Way --Victoria Nadine, R3HAB -17

Waterslides --Tiesto, Rudimental, Absolutely -15

Monster --A7S, ALOK -11

Lonely Dancers --Conan Gray -16

Heaven Or Not --Diplo, Riva Starr, Kareem Lomax -47

Outlaw Love --Brooke Eden (Dave Aude Remix) -14

Hell Together --David Archuleta -25

One, Two & 3 --Galantis -26

Slide Out --Life on Planets -19

She's on my Mind --Romy -22

Never Be Friends --Jost, Minogue -24

Cutting Loose --Disco Lines, J. Worra, Anabel Englund -27

The Afterhours --Kyle Watson -23

The Moves --NEIKED, Muni Long, Nile Rodgers -31

Anyone --Morgan Page -30

Electricity --FAST BOY, R3HAB -32

Save You A Seat --Alex Warren -34

Monster --Don Diablo, Felix Jaehn -35

One On One --Robin Schulz, Oaks, Topic -36

Houdini --Dua Lipa -28

Lil Tune --Gus Dapperton, Electric Guest -38

Dirty Desire --Vicetone -29

Triumph --Bishop Briggs -40

Take A Moment --ATB, David Frank -37

Mas Que Nada --Oliver Heldens, Ian Asher, Sergio Mendez -44

Don't You Cry --Sunday Scaries, Discrete -46

Weak --Vintage Culture, Maverick Sabre, Tom Breu -33

Shipwreck --Mount Kimble -43

Murder on the Dancefloor --Sophie Ellis-Bextor -45

Do You Feel It --VAMERO, Cyril M. Mougleta -39

Loose Ends ---Lucas Estrada, Syn Cole -52

Home --CamelPhatt, RHODE (Vintage Culture Remix) -66

Everyone Know I'm High --SHAED -48

Forever (Stay Like This) --Armin Van Buuren -49

We Ain't Good At Breaking Up --Brothers Osborne -50

Fantasy --Cosmo's Midnight feat/Frank Moody -70

<>Public --Mike. -(re-entry)

<>What Do You Do For A Living? I Do My Best --Iamnotshane, EMME -(re-entry)

Soultrain --Triplism, Nandu, Radeckt -76

Good For You --Dimtri Vegas, Chapter & Verse, Goodboys -122

In Your Arms --Jess Bays, Jem Cooke -74

<>Lead Me On --Fletcher -(re-entry)

Come With Me --Claptone -91

You Know It --Gorgon City -61

Underwater --Dubvision, Afrojack -60

Give Me --Will Clarke, BURNS -41

I Don't Wanna Worry --NEEDTOBREATHE -42

Fire --Alan Walker, YUQI, JVKE, (G)i-DLE -51

Raccoons --Caravan Palace -96

***Fallin Luv --Gordo, Jeria -(new)

Same Drunk --Walker Hayes -51

***Enhancer --Northeast Party House _(new)

***Karma --JoJo Siwa -(new)

Business As Usual --Eliza Rose, MJ Cole (Night Shift Mix) -101

Lie To Me --Jubel, KIDDO -54

Addicted --ZERB, The Chainsmokers feat/INK -80

Good As It Gets --Blanco Brown -107

Count Me Out --Vicetone -73

Kettle's Up --Mahmut Orhan, Axelax, Botin -74

***Eyes Closed --Imagine Dragons -(new)

Bad Blood--Theresa Rex -72

Out Loud --Cage the Elephant -77

Lose Control --Teddy Swims -78

Yes, And? --Ariana Grande -69

Mine --Micheal Gerow -111

Spicy Margarita --Jason Derulo, Michael Bublé -57

Mr. Useless --Shygirl, SG Lewis -58

Some Kind Of Static --Neil Francis, Alan Braxe -63

Keep Your Head Up --We Are Messengers -113

I Hate You In The Morning --Otha -114

Never Ending Song --Conan Gray -108

In The Cards --Jamie Miller -118

Lil Freak --bbno$ -104

***Buscando Money --TWENTY-Six, Tayson Kryss -(new)

The Weekend --Anti-Up -106

***Undone --Forest Blakk -(new)

Level Up --Wolfgang Gartner, Scrufizzeer -87

***Eat the Bass --John Summit -(new)

20 Something --Jessica Baio -103

Sweet Love --Myles Smith -112

Me Voy Acostumbrando --Enrique Iglesias -86

***Wish I Never Felt --Nate Smith -(new)

***Yellow --Jxdn -(new)

Can't Stop Us --Regard -71

I Got Time --Brittney Spencer -64

Human Nature --Yot Club -115

Close Your Eyes --Lucas Estrada -55

You're Hired --NEIKED, Ayra Starr -56

Graveyard --A R I Z O N A (Shoffy Remix) -59

Texas Hold 'Em --Beyonce -60

Kill Anyone --Two Feet, Ari Abdul -61

It's Love (If We Get It Right) --Anthony Russo -62

Me Before You --Bleachers -68

Anthem --Diplo, Shram, Pony -88

Regret the Morning --SILK, Mali-Koa -89

Love Me --INNA -90

Everything You Do --AFROKI, Afrojack, Steve Aoki, Aviella -92

One On One --The Knocks, Sofi Tukker -82

All Fckd Up --Kapuzen -81

Both --Tiesto, 21 Savage, BIA -83

Flex --Tony Dark Eyes -84

Feels Like Us --GT_OFICE, ALWZ SNNY, Robbie Rosen -85

ADHD --Mae Stephens -93

Kiss Me Better --Julie Bergan -116

Say It Right --Dubdogs, Farfetch'd -117

My Favorite Drug --Justin Timberlake -102

Without Your Love --Deorro, TELYKAST, Catello -123

Can i Have This Groove --Kenyon Dixon -124

Outside Of Love --Becky Hill -125

Higher Ground --Purple Disco Machine, Roosevelt -126

Nothing Ever Changes --Vintage Culture, MAGNUS -127

Dreams --Ali Farben, Maurice Lessing, Emma Wells -110

My Body --Illusionize, Y&M -105

Beautiful Things --Benson Boone -94

Rusty --Layto -95

Progressive Heart --Pat Premier (Dave Aude Remix) -97

Diamond Therapy --Diplo, Walker & Royce, Channel Tres -99

Dizzy --Sick Individuals, LOUI LANE -100

Heart Still Beating --Nathan Dawe, Bebe Rexha -98

Cutting Through The Country --Medium Build -109

She --Karin Ann (Benny Benassi Remix) -119

Fire In My Soul --Yulia Niko, Carn Crua -120

Need Your Love --Ikay Sencan, KALUMA, Adam Woods -121

Next Years Light --Elliot Moss -128

Life Goes On --HU -130

Premedicated --FETISH -131

Good In Goodbye --Frank Walker, Trivecta -129

Broken By You --Alexander Stewart -132

Never Be Lonely --Jax Jones, Zoe Wees -135

Gravity --Matt Hansen -138

More Baby --Chris Lake, Aluna -134 >>>

Body Moving --Eliza Rose X Calvin Harris -145 >>>

***Dance Alone --SIA feat/Kylie Minogue -(new)

***Whatever --KYGO feat/Ava Max -(new)

***Better Me --Michael Schulte, R3HAB -(new)

***12 new on the chart this week and <> 3 re-entries <>#52 Pubic <>#53 What Do You Do For A Living? I Do My Best <>#57 Lead Me On #65 Fallin Luv #67 Enhancer #68 Karma #75 Eyes Closed #89 Buscando Money #91 Undone #93 Eat the Bass #97 Wish I Never Felt #98 Yellow #148 Dance Alone #149 Whatever #150 Better Me

>>2 OFF

#alwayshappymusic

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forabeatofadrum · 2 years

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WIP Wednesday

Thank you @martsonmars @facewithoutheart and @urban-sith for the tags.

This time, I’m doing something different than a new snippet of Paradiso and I’d cry a river just for you. Welcome to the WIP Wednesday Hospital Ward. This is inspired by @facewithoutheart’s WIP Wednesday Graveyard, where she laid her WIPs that she will not finish to rest. I really, really liked that idea, but I quickly realised that I have the intent of finishing my WIPs and I will finish them. That’s a threat. To me.

(Besides, I don’t look back to my abandoned fics. Oops. Not even a funeral!)

So instead of a graveyard, I welcome you to the (long-stay) hospital ward where my 10 patients will be waiting for me until I can tend to their needs.

Please mask up, wash your hands, and leave your names at the visitors’ list @quizasvivamos @coffeegleek @captain-aralias @redheadgleek @dragoneggo @crissmastrees-and-candyklaines @esperantoauthor and other possible visitors!

Get ready, it’s a big hospital ward. I have... a lot of WIPs.

Patient no. 1 is a fic that I started writing before the release of AWTWB, so before we knew that Baz isn’t immortal. In this AU, Simon dies during his showdown with The Mage and Baz lives on on his own. (EDIT: I should maybe add that Simon’s still in this fic as a Visitor! Baz lives his immortal life, living for the moments that he gets to see Simon, which happen every 20 years.)

I almost did not go to the funeral.

In the end, I decided to go there to support Bunce. I wonder if I will ever forget the image of her screaming and clinging to Simon’s lifeless body. I don’t think I ever will.

It was short and, well, sweet. It was a private funeral. The entire World of Mages could mourn their Chosen One, the Greatest Mage who sacrificed himself to defeat the Humdrum.

We mourned Simon.

Patient no. 2 is a fix-it that I started recently after watching the glee episode A Wedding. Long story short, the Klaine and Brittana wedding is stupid, my boys and girls deserve better.

“But... But what?” Kurt asks, desperate to make some sense out of this situation.

“But... not like this,” Blaine squeezes Kurt’s hands. Kurt blinks, and he looks shocked, so Blaine starts to feel the panic rise. They just got back together and now he’s messing it up all over again.

In a rush of panic, he starts rambling. “I love you, so, so much and I do wanna marry you. You know I do. I asked you to marry me and I still want that for us, but our time apart made me realise that it’s okay to take things slow-”

“Blaine.”

Patient no. 3 once got mentioned in a Myosotis sylvatica author’s note, and that’s the last we heard of them. It’s a Kitty x Roderick fic called Drive Darling. Yes, it’s glee. Yes, these are glee characters. No I don’t blame you if you stopped watching before they appeared.

Alistair immediately kisses Spencer when he gets in.

“Only Roderick left!” Madison says happily.

“Oh, we gotta make a group photo for Myron,” Alistair suggests and Kitty still has troubles believing that Alistair is capable of talking. He’s incredibly shy, but Spencer makes him feel comfortable.

“We can do that at Roderick’s place,” Madison suggests, “He has a big garden.”

“You’ve been to Rod’s?” Spencer asks. It’s not a weird question. They barely hang out at Roderick’s place.

“A couple of times, yeah,” Madison answers and Kitty feels a pit in her stomach. She’s jealous. She knows where this feeling is coming from, but she tries to push it away.

Speaking of underrated ships, I’m not going to tell you what fandom patient no. 4 is from. If someone knows, please tell me. I will send puppies.

“Okay, whatever, why did you need to talk to me?”

Luke takes a deep breath. “So, before I met you, I asked Clyde about girls, so he taught me about girls.”

“I heard about that,” Rani waves it away. In fact, Clyde has told her everything, since he thought it was rather amusing that Luke got his first kiss in front of his mum.

“Now, I need you to teach me about boys.”

My longest running WIP is A rip in time, a Doctor Who universe crossover. I hope to have patient no. 5 discharged before the 13th Doctor leaves us.

All four Doctors are in their respective TARDISes and the companions take their time to explore the four space ships.

“I really like the addition of books,” Sarah Jane browses through the bookcases in Twelve’s TARDIS.

“Keep looking, Sarah,” Twelve says.

“For what?” Sarah Jane asks again. All Doctors seem to believe that one of the TARDISes has the key to the way out.

“Just… keep looking,” Twelve doesn’t sound convinced, but what else can they do.

Sarah Jane also sees a bookcase filled with old VHS tapes. She picks one up. “Marco Polo?” she reads out loud, “What do you mean, Marco Polo?”

“Oh, just one of my missing adventures. I call them my missing episodes,” Twelve says nonchalantly, while he’s reading the TARDIS’s scanner. He apologises to his ship before banging his fist against the monitor. “Come on, old girl, help me out.”

Patient no. 6 is a Zimbits Instagram influencer fic with a strong Lardo and Jack friendship.

“Cool. So, can I borrow that? I’ll buy you a beer.”

“I don’t drink,” Jack says and he holds the camera closer to this body.

Larissa notices and she raises an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to borrow it, do you?”

Jack slowly shakes his head. This woman, Larissa, has no idea what she’s asking of him. She doesn’t know what this camera stands for. She doesn’t know how this camera and Jack’s love for photography have brought light into his life after years of darkness.

She doesn’t know that this camera replaced his hockey stick.

I woefully admit that I forgot that patient no. 7 existed but I was going through my general Glee fic Word document and I came across Met hoeveel letters spel je dat, which is the unofficial second version of my abandoned Amsterdam die mooie stad, which has been a fic idea that’s been in my head since 2013 or something. Now that I’m writing Klaine in the Netherlands, I laughed when I found this. This patient has been on this ward for a long, long time.

“Stel Je Voor Draken,” Koen says, “It’s a small Amsterdam-based band. They’re really good. They mostly sing covers, but recently, they started playing some original songs.”

“Stel Je Voor Draken?” Kurt asks, “That name sounds ridiculous!”

“I know! That’s why they are so amazing,” Koen says excitedly, “Come on, Kurt. You’ve gotten better at understanding Dutch. What do you think Stel Je Voor Draken stands for?”

“Draken… dragons,” Kurt starts translating, but it’s difficult. He knows that je or jij means you. “Dragons… you… what do stel and voor mean? Stel… for. Dragons for you?”

“I’m gonna make it easier for you. What is voorstellen? There are two options. The first one is ‘introducing’, but the second one…” Koen trails off, waiting for Kurt to continue.

“See in front of you,” Kurt tries, “Im-Imagine. Imagine dragons?”

“Exactly!” Koen makes a small twirl with his bike, which is probably not a safe thing to do in the middle of the street. “It is an Imagine Dragons cover band.”

I’m riding the Dutch train for patient no. 8, but this isn’t a story that only takes place in the Netherlands. It’s a glee x Sense8 crossover that takes place in New York, San Juan, Jacksonville, Dublin, Amsterdam, Cebu City, Ljubljana and Melbourne. I don’t think I am ever going to fully write this fic. Maybe I’ll just post random snippets without it being a cohesive story, but I did publish an introduction to the Sensates here.

Artie sighs and he turns around and he sees that he’s stopped right in front of a body of water. That shouldn’t be here.

“You were about to dive right into the canal,” Puck says, “I had to stop you. Welcome to Amsterdam.”

Puck is right. Artie’s seen photos of Amsterdam, so this is definitely it. It’s dark outside and the air is chilly. They’re no longer in Melbourne.

“Am I contact high?” he asks Puck.

“I’m sober,” Puck tells him, “At least, I am now.”

“But… this is Amsterdam? This is really Amsterdam?”

Puck grins when he sees the excited look on Artie’s face. No one understands what just happened, but if he’s really in Amsterdam, then that is pretty amazing.

“Amsterdam, die mooie stad…”

“... met hoeveel letters spel je dat?” Artie finishes.

“You speak Dutch?” Puck asks in amazement.

“No.”

Puck pats Artie’s shoulder. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Artie answers. Then, embarrassed, he asks: “But, uh, can you wheel me to the Red Lights District?”

Puck laughs loudly. “Tour de la Hoer, here we come!”

Truly, both don’t understand what just happened, but they can think about that later. This might not even be real, so Artie decides to enjoy it for as long as it lasts.

Patient no. 9 has been here for a while. It’s a Zimbits timetravel fanfic.

“Jack, calm the hell down. What has happened, has happened, and there is no way to change it. Besides, I wouldn’t change it for the world.” He holds up his left hand.

Jack looks down on his left hand. He will marry this man one day, and all because they met at Samwell.

Maybe that is why his future self doesn’t want Jack to know what is going to happen to him. What if future him remembers it wrongly? What if Jack wakes up in 2009 in four days, and he knows what is going to happen at the draft, and he will change his future?

Maybe his future self is just securing his life with Bitty.

“Oh.”

And lastly, patient no. 10 and I am so sorry to this fic, since my computer tells me that I haven’t opened this document since 2018. It’s once again a glee fanfic and it’s about Asian identity, diversity and intersectionality. Tina, Mike, Blaine and Wes are the main characters. Tina’s story is about being adopted into a white family, Mike’s about moving to America as a young child, Blaine’s about being biracial and Wes’s about being the child of immigrants.

Glee sometimes made their identity the butt of the joke (or they erased it in Blaine’s case) and this is me trying to give the jokes about Asian camp and Asian online forums a place.

There’s so much diversity in the Dalton Asian Union. Wes hates it when people all lump Asia together and basically call it China. Wes grew up in a traditionally Chinese household. His parents moved to America to flee the Cultural Revolution and Mao’s dictatorship when they had the chance. At home, Wes speaks Mandarin with his parents, but English slips in every now and then. Sure, they changed their last names in order to have a better chance of getting a job, but that’s not because they hate being Chinese. No, America is just racist.

In the DAU, there are a lot of students who can relate to that. There are other Chinese students, but also Vietnamese, Korean, Japanese, Thai, and so on. Just like Wes, they all hate the fact that people immediately assume everyone’s Chinese. Asia isn’t even South East Asia only. There are also Pakistani and Syrian students in the DAU, because that’s Asia!

Outside the DAU, Wes is also part of the Ohio Asian Forum and he has two internet friends. Tina XxGothGirlTayTayxX, who is Korean, and Mike AsianDancer, who is Chinese as well. He’s never met them, but that is the beauty of the internet. He has told them about Blaine and they both agree that Blaine should be able to join the DAU.

Wes has tried telling Blaine that, but Blaine is sure he won’t join.

“I’ll never feel fully at ease, Wes,” he’d said and Wes was angry about that. The DAU is diverse. There are already other Filipino students in the DAU, so why can’t Blaine join?

Or better yet: why do they still give Blaine the feeling he can’t join or that he doesn’t belong? It basically sends a message to white-passing students that they’re not Asian enough.

Wow, that were 10 patients! If you’ve made it to the end, thank you for paying all of them a visit. Feel free to leave flowers.

#WOW THIS GOT LONG #wip wednesday #edit: i bolded the fandoms for easier browsing #tagged in

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 55 - Utter Fixation

Title: Irreverent Pt. 55 - Utter Fixation

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~14K

A/N: This one is a doozy lols. Solnyshko is Russian for sunshine.

Men of Irreverent: Casting

Irreverent Series Masterlist

"Nice shot." You hug Spencer, his bony frame shaking just slightly as he laughs at your comment. "Bet you don't make fun of my marksmanship again, huh?" he jostles you as the two of you stand off to the side while Derek and Aaron wrap up with the SWAT team leader and ensure that both Novak and Cavanaugh are set on their way to the hospital, with appropriate protection in place while they await their CIA handler. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen," you smirk, before looping your arm through Spencer's as he leads you out to the car. As you pass by Agent Novak in a gurney, he nods at you in thanks. You offer a smile back, trudging through the field surrounding the warehouse. Spencer doesn't say much else and you know he's trying his best not to overwhelm you. You'd seemed shell shocked when Derek had gotten to you and it was only now, when the adrenaline was seeping out of your system, that you felt more capable. You lean against the car with Spencer, your mind fogging up as you careen through everything that had happened. You hadn't seen Clyde yet, so you imagine he's at Quantico. You'll have to ask Aaron about that. It's a wonder they'd managed to actually find you, but you'd never really doubted the team, no matter how much the odds had been stacked against them. Aaron had been the one to take out Ramos. He hadn't trusted any of the SWAT guys to do it. Not when it came to you. He wouldn't trust anyone else with that. Not that he had told you, but you had known even before you got to him. You see Derek and Aaron walking towards you, Derek pulling you into a quick hug before getting into the front driver's side. You expect Aaron to go around to ride shotgun, but he follows you in as you enter the back of the car, leaving Spencer to go sit up front. When you're buckled in, you look over to him. His eyes can't seem to leave you and you're struck by the thought: he'd been genuinely scared. The car rumbles to life as Derek pulls off onto the road and with one quick glance forward to ensure that neither Derek nor Spencer are paying you much mind, you close the distance between you and Aaron in the back. You press up against him and claim his mouth, a silent reassurance that you are indeed alright. He knows what you're doing and he lets you kiss him, the silent ambient noises of the car drowning out the two of you in the back. If Morgan or Reid noticed, they wisely kept their mouths shut and their eyes trained on the road in front. He can taste you – taste your apology, your regret. He feels your shoulders relax under his touch as his hand comes around to hold you to him. As you withdraw for a breath, he can't help the curve of his mouth from slipping into a small smile. "Does this mean we're back together?" he murmurs against your lips. He's not expecting a response beyond a laugh or agreement, but instead he sees confusion flicker onto your face as you move back to look at him properly. "What are you talking about?" He explains then. How Strauss had come to his office with the paperwork. How he'd seen your signature on the first page and she had expected he would sign the second. How he had indeed signed it, trusting that you had your reasons.

You feel your breath leave your lungs in utter disbelief. He'd thought…he'd thought you'd ended it. Just like that. He had signed it out of sheer faith and then gone home to Jack and pretended like nothing had happened. You can feel the pinprick tears in your eyes as you come to understand some of what he too must have gone through in the last couple weeks. You shake your head in disbelief, your mouth dry as you sniffle and clear your throat. "I – I didn't know," you tell him softly, your hand grasping his in the darkness. You'd never known he would have to sign something too. You'd only been shown that first page. You thought that would be it. That just you telling Strauss would be enough. Had you known – "Oh honey, I am so sorry." Your whispered apology is followed by your mouth on his once more, lips ghosting over his face, pressing to his skin. Physical atonement for the agitation and concern and worry you had no doubt caused him. Had you known that he too would have had to sign something, you would've spoken to him. Would've forced yourself to explain what was going on, as much as you could've. Perhaps you should've known better but back then, fresh after the day Clyde had taken you, your mind had been in disarray and you'd acted on instinct alone, doing your best to shield both him and Jack against any blowback from your assignment. You'd acted out of fear. Aaron only nods, drawing you in closer, tucked so close to him, you're practically in his lap. He's reacting to it a lot more calmly than you'd expected. No berating at you not thinking things through, because of course he would have to sign something too, and why wouldn't you just talk to him. Maybe, implicitly, he understood how much of a mess you'd been back then, trying to do whatever you could to remove the trail leading from you to him and Jack. Making sure that if anyone were to come after you, they would be safe.

You can feel his lips at your hairline as you push closer into him, running your fingers down his back, finding that pressure point that has him relaxing entirely under your touch as he holds you. The silent understanding that this – the two of you – was unshakeable. You'd left him and trusted him to find you. He'd let you go and trusted you to return. *------------* Clyde thought you were the mole. That you've been planted at the Bureau under your father's orders. Aaron and the others had filled you in on that as you'd neared Quantico, with Aaron still fretting that you needed sleep and rest before dealing with any of this. If it were up to him, he'd have you hooked up to an I.V. and put on bedrest. As it stood, it was not up to him, so now you're sat in a glass conference room, awaiting the rest of the team. The second you had arrived back at the Bureau, a couple agents had met you all in the parking garage and the four of you had been led past McKinney's office and to this room. You imagine the rest of the team will be joining you shortly, as you all had been the closest. It's really starting to sink in – Clyde thinks you're the mole, he'd talked to McKinney, you were escorted here by agents. You'd tried to protest when they'd met you in the garage, but one look from Aaron had you silent. He wants you to go along with this and not cause problems as long as possible. Buy time to figure out what was going on and what Clyde's angle was. It's only been a minute since you all were let into the room, Morgan and Reid were sat in chairs around the large table while Aaron stood leaned against it. He watches as you look out the glass walls, your eyes squinting, and he can tell you're thinking through what to do next. Aaron finds himself uncharacteristically calm regarding the situation – now that you're back, it shouldn't take much to convince McKinney just how ridiculous the entire notion of you being a mole really was. He isn't being naïve. He's aware that Easter potentially could have a case, given everything you've told him about your deal with your father. However, as it stands, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that it isn't the truth, and he can't imagine any proof that would show otherwise. "Can I borrow your phone?" Aaron starts at your sharp voice, your hand reaching out towards him almost impatiently. Brow furrowing in confusion, he's about to ask why, but the urgency on your face has him handing the device over before he can. He watches as you move away to the opposite side of the room, unable to step outside with two agents still standing guard. He shares a look with Morgan, who only shrugs as the two of them await the end of the call. With your head turned away to prevent Reid from watching, there isn't much more that they can do. You wrap up your call quickly, unsure how much time you have before Clyde and McKinney arrive, when you hear the door opening behind you. "Hey Cap." Your heart stops. No. It wasn't – You turn slowly, eyes widening as you see him standing in the doorway, a smile on his face, eyes crinkled at the corners. A soft gasp escapes you as you take him in. Then before you know it, you've barreled over to him, arms wrapped tight around his waist as his encircle your shoulders, tucking your head into his chest. Only one word comes to your mind, making its way down through you and settling against your ribs – Solnyshko. John presses a kiss to your hairline and you can feel the tears threatening to fall. Because if Aaron's arms were home, then John's were the lake house growing up. The one you think of fondly with the rose tinged glasses of nostalgia. Back to warm summers and too much sticky sweet ice cream dripping down your hands. To the thrill of jumping off the pier, scared and screaming and thrilled all at once. To the soft touches and gentle kisses shared on the patio with boys whom you would move on from but always remember. To the child you were, wide eyed and curious, wanting to have it all. He's a different kind of home. "We thought we could use an extra hand." You turn around at Aaron's deep voice coming from behind you, and there's a smile on his face that you're not sure how to interpret just yet. You can feel tears clouding your vision as you look at him, John's warmth still surrounding you, his arm still holding you near as he keeps you by his side. He'd called him. He'd called John. For you. Of course he had. Thank you, you mouth at him, catching just the hint of a second smile on his face before you're tackled by Penelope, who shoves John to the side. Behind her, you can make out Emily, JJ, and Rossi entering the room as well. "Oh my goodness, sugar! You're alright! I mean of course you are. We knew you'd be alright. We never doubted it, did we?" she asks Derek frenetically, whom you assume is behind you, but doesn't wait for a response before continuing her frenzied inspection, her hands running over your arms and hair, making sure nothing was out of place. "But you're alright, right? I mean when we saw what Easter did to you on that video – so, so awful. Who would waterboard someone? I mean, sure, you can learn anything on the internet, but that is still abhorrent. But don't you worry because I'm hunting down the other guys that were there with him, so we'll take care of them and of course the Director already knows, because Hotch showed him, and – " You break away from Penelope, trying to keep pace with her mile a minute voice, trying to understand everything she'd just said, trying to figure out what video… There's a sharp inhale that you hadn't realized was your own. Your lip quivers, eyes wide as the sinking, dreadful realization reaches you. In the background you can just barely make out John's voice asking what video she's talking about. You can't do anything but shake your head in horror. No. No. That's not. No. Aaron. No no no no no. He's looking at you and you know. He knows. No. You can't breathe. You can feel the air leaving your lungs but none seems to be making its way back in. Through the din you can make out Penelope and Derek moving towards you to make sure you're alright. John is still standing right where he'd landed when Penelope had pushed past him. Aaron. He'd seen. He knows. Oh God. Behind you, the door opens once more. You don't turn around to see who it is. Not yet. Aaron watches silently as you freeze, your shoulders tensing. He'd stopped himself from grabbing you right as the door opened, not wanting to give any visual to McKinney and Easter alluding to yours and his personal relationship. He knows better and he allows the part of him that knows the political play here, to overrule the part begging him to go to you. To seize you into his arms and draw you away from this room, this building. Take you home where none of this could touch you. No one could hurt you. Instinctively, your hands graze over your stomach, stopping momentarily before continuing up to your face and wiping away at the tears that had fallen. He sees you take a deep breath. Then another. Lips pressed tightly. Hands made into fists. It's like watching a metamorphosis in reverse – the unbridled, frantic panic and fury slip away, replaced by a cocooned version of you, held tight and wound together, guarding your soft spots within. "If everyone could please take a seat." Director McKinney enters the room after Easter who had already made himself at home near the front, a stack of folders and a tablet in his hands, his eyes curiously looking over the lot of you inside. You, still turned around and facing the other way, and every other person in that room, holding their breath and waiting for you to turn back. At the sound of McKinney's voice, you push through, forcing your mind to shut out the pieces of information that were not helpful in the moment. Aaron had already talked to you on the way up about not doing anything to get on McKinney's bad side right then, and you know that refusing to acknowledge his presence while you had a breakdown in the corner wouldn't earn you any brownie points. So, simply put, you didn't have the luxury to absorb it all. You couldn't think about the fact that they knew – that Aaron knew – about what Clyde did, why you had gone to Strauss, the baby. Your baby. His baby. Your baby. You didn't have the time to let it sink in, to take him aside, to give you both the time to fall apart. You couldn't. Not now. Later. First this. Later. With that, the steel trap clamps down, caging it all away. Turning, you grab the first chair in front of you, while everyone else who had been crowded near the doorway shuffles in. Aaron quickly settles down to your left, a brush of his hand to your shoulder and a softly muttered Later that was meant for your ears alone, but was caught by John as he claims the chair to your right. As you look up, you see Gladys trotting in after McKinney, a righteous look on her face as she carries what looks like a bundle of cloth and a mug into the room right behind her boss, and walks over to set both items down in front of you. With a quick motherly brush of your hair, she leaves as quickly as she came in, defiantly avoiding McKinney's eyes. It's quiet as everyone settles in, the shuffling of clothing and people, accompanied by the groan of government budget issued chairs. You reach out for the bunched up fabric on the table in front of you and unravel it to reveal a regulation F.B.I. crewneck. You're quick to slip out of the stiff leather jacket you still had on from a day prior, revealing a strappy top beneath, which you cover up, basking in the warmth the sweater provided. Gladys had also brought you a mug of hot chocolate from the kitchens and you reach for it gratefully, taking a quick sip, the hot liquid burning a molten streak down your throat in the best of ways.

From the corner of your eye you can see the regret in Aaron's posture as he sees you enjoy the most basic of comforts offered by someone else. Something he should've considered. You're able to offer him only the slightest of assurance with your eyes – he'd found you, that's what was truly important. *------------* "Who is this?" McKinney asks, gesturing towards John once everyone was seated and Clyde was preparing to speak at the front. You exchange a look with Aaron and John both, realizing that perhaps John's presence wasn't entirely Bureau approved. "I am exercising my right to retain private counsel," you speak up before either one of them could. "That –," McKinney begins, only to be interrupted by Spencer, " – is allowed per Section 56 Code 19 of the Employee Handbook. All agents retain the right to employ private counsel in the event of accusations levied against their person as a function of their role within the Bureau." Reid rattles it all off quickly and not for the first time, you find yourself jealous of his eidetic memory. Yours was good, but not nearly like his. You shoot Spencer a grateful smile, before meeting McKinney's eyes once more. "You're paying him?" The question comes from Clyde, eyebrow raised, in a tone so derisive that you have to wonder if he had ever liked you at all, or if the man had spent the past number of months that you two worked together, silently seething at your very existence. You don't have to look at Aaron to know that he's already pulled out his wallet, when he hands you a twenty dollar bill. You slide it across the table, over to John, never once turning away from Clyde's critical look, your own unwavering under his scrutiny. He had no idea who he was going to war with. McKinney looks between you and Clyde, before sighing and nodding his okay. "Very well." He turns towards Clyde to give him the floor. Your eyes narrow as you take a sip of the hot chocolate again, careful to not show any discomfort outwards. Beneath the table, you can feel Aaron's hand resting against your thigh, the heat of it reminding you that you aren't alone. McKinney had let you have them all here with you, likely in reaction to that video, if Aaron had indeed showed it to him. He had the kindness to not make you be alone with the man who had tortured you. If Clyde was going to be accusing you of anything, he'd have to do it front of everyone. On your other side, you feel John shift, his knee skimming against yours before settling down to be right against it, a silent pledge – he's there too, and he isn't leaving. *------------* "I believe we all know why we are here," McKinney starts, his hands interlaced together on the table, a serious set to his brow. He's doing his best to keep this entire procedure civil. You know he's doing you a favor by allowing you to be there when Clyde offers up his accusation formally. He's offering you the opportunity for rebuttal before any of it is written down and documented. Saving you, potentially, from an entire formal review. Part of you wonders who that is meant to protect however – you, Clyde, or McKinney himself? You nod to indicate that you understand, meeting McKinney's eyes. Walter McKinney – as you'd come to learn – was a fair man and his rise in the Bureau had been no fluke. He knows that the reason you'd brought in the BAU at all was because you hadn't trusted anyone – not even him. You have to believe that when the two of you do eventually speak alone, that he would understand why. Clyde clears his throat, turning everyone's attention to him and the screen. Him, you were extremely wary of. You had been immediately after he'd tortured you, of course. However, he'd managed to convince you, that for him, that had been standard operating procedure. He'd been able to use your own fear and insecurities to convince you to go along with it. Were he not sitting across a table, gearing up to accuse you of treason, you might have allowed that one act to pass – he had simply been trying to make sure you were prepared for the worst. Not anymore. "I would've preferred this meeting be held behind closed doors," he begins, tilting back in his chair and keeping one eye trained on you at all times as though he thought you'd try and pull a disappearing act, "However, no matter. I will be walking through the evidence gathered against Agent L/N, proving that she has been a plant working against the Bureau since the very beginning." His declaration is followed by silence from everyone else in the room, and were it not for the seriousness of the accusation, you might've laughed. The screen at the front of the room flickers on, and a black and white surveillance quality photo of an airstrip appears. You're disembarking with your father at your side. You're eighteen, your hair up in a ponytail, John's Columbia Law School hoodie, rumpled from far too many hours on an airplane. Beside you, you feel him tense as he too realizes exactly how old this photograph is. How young you were in that. It's from that summer, so very long ago. When he and Julian had gone on that trip, just the two of them. You'd gone with your father. There's a man standing by a car at the foot of the steps leading down from the plane. For the first time in over seven years, you set eyes on Volkov again. "For those of you who may not be aware, the man in the photo is Alexander Volkov. Volkov is wanted by many Eastern European governments, and is notoriously on the books for the Russian government, despite no official ties. If you recall the bombing in Sokovia, five years ago, you're looking at the man responsible." Easter had been part of Olympus. He hasn't confirmed it, but that was the only thing that made sense. You look around and know that at least both Aaron and Emily had reached a similar conclusion. Nothing else would explain him having surveillance photos of you from a decade ago. In the wake of Clyde's explanation, you can feel Aaron's eyes on you from your left, but you don't dare look at him. The rest of the team is taking his lead and not saying anything in response either, for fear they might say the wrong thing. Ultimately, it's John who speaks up. "She's eighteen there, practically a child. What exactly is the purpose of showing us this?" Clyde's eyes narrow as he realizes that this won't be quite as easy as anticipated. If he'd expected Aaron or the others to display any shock or revulsion at his revelation…well, he really didn't know your team that well, did he? "It sets the foundation," Clyde counters, his hand once more on the controller. "A pattern of behavior, indicative of less than honorable intentions, bad company, and plenty of opportunity." With that, he clicks a button on the remote, replacing the photo with another one. This one is of just you, exiting a building on Harvard's campus. You have to be in your second year – your hair is dyed because Matthew liked it better that way and you'd given in to his request. You're carrying books in your hand as you walk, hair whipping around in the wind. It's you, but it looks nothing like you. With a deep internal sigh, you sink in further into your chair. You had a better idea now of where this was going. "This was taken outside the Lowell Lecture Hall. You were seen entering and exiting the building the entirety of the Fall semester, right in time for the Math 55 lecture," Clyde announces, his eyes issuing a challenge at you to explain this away. Unfortunately for him, his jab doesn't quite land with the audience, as Rossi raises an eyebrow at him. "What does a Math class have anything to do with this?" However, instead of Clyde, it is Reid who answers him. "Harvard, oddly enough isn't known for its advanced math program but it is known for one particular class," Reid explains quickly, his eyes flitting over you with some curiosity. "When you're good at math - good enough to get into Harvard - you take a math class called "Math 15". When you're better than that you take "Math 25", but when you're the best, the absolute best, you take "Math 55": Honors Advanced Calculus and Linear Algebra. Graduates are immediately employed by the U.S. Government because they're too dangerous to work anywhere else. More specifically, they're employed at the NSA." Reid's spiel is met with mixed reactions. Rossi shifts back in his seat, hands crossed in front of him, an oddly smug look on his face. The rest of the team looks mildly surprised as they process what Reid had said. Aaron sits beside you, unshaken, and John of course had already known you had attended the class. Clyde clears his throat, shifting forward in his seat. "Thank you, Agent Reid," he says to Spencer in a clipped tone that has you bristling in reaction. "Doctor." He looks up at your interruption, brow quirked in question. "It's not Agent. It's Dr. Reid," you clarify, your lips pursed, jaw tight. "You took this class?" McKinney asks, finally breaking his silence since Clyde had begun. You swallow, meeting his eyes. He was still your mentor. What he thought about you, still mattered. You can feel the attitude you'd just given Clyde waning ever so slightly. "I audited it. For all anyone knows, I would've flunked out." "No, you wouldn't," McKinney replies quietly, his gaze appraising. His dark eyes holding all the knowledge on you that he'd amassed in the past year of being your closest supervisor within the Bureau. He has no doubts when it comes to your capabilities. "Why didn't you just enroll in it?" You shrug nonchalantly, the large crewneck shifting off your shoulders slightly as you do. "It's a large commitment. I didn't want to be beholden to every assignment. I already had a lot on my plate." It wasn't a lie. Not exactly anyways. McKinney looks like he doesn't quite believe you. You thrive with having too much to do. "Is that the only reason?" he digs, his eyes firmly on you, watching for anything, any sign. You let out a short breath of exasperation which you manage to disguise, deciding to just give them what they wanted. "I didn't exactly want to be on a list of people considered dangerous by the US government. I wouldn't have said yes to working for the NSA. I wanted to be a lawyer." Your eyes cut to John and he meets them, because you both know – you had wanted to be a lawyer because he was. It had been part of the plan. Your plan with him. Your justification is met with some more silence and you can tell, that for McKinney, the deck is slowly starting to stack against you. He now viewed you as intentionally deceptive regarding your abilities and usefulness to the government. As ex military, to him, that was on par with avoiding the draft. "Attending closed session classes that you weren't actually enrolled in wasn't the only thing you did in college. You also made quite a few friends, didn't you? You aren't exactly a stranger to relationships of convenience." As Clyde speaks, the screen changes once more behind him and a photo from the ill fated engagement shoot that Matthew's mother had insisted on pops up. Your hair is curled, you're wearing a long burgundy gown, standing beside Matthew in front of Lippman House, where the two of you had first met. You're smiling, both of you. On your hand sits an incredibly prominent ring, the stone shining brilliantly in the sunlight. This time, both John and Aaron tense, and your mind, unwanted, goes back to the video that he'd seen. There's a chance – if they'd caught what you said to Clyde's lackey towards the end. There's a chance that Aaron knows about Matthew. About what he'd done. You can't look at him. Instead, you look across to Derek, who's shifted forward in his chair, his fists tightly balled up on the table in front of him, his brow furrowed and body tense as he looks from the screen, to you, and then to Aaron beside you, before meeting your eyes again. He doesn't have to say it. The way his eyes go from Aaron and then you and back to Aaron, says it all. Fuck. "My personal relationships are not up for discussion," you assert slowly, the feeling of all eyes on you causing your skin to break out with goosebumps. "You don't get to decide what is and isn't relevant here," Clyde rebuts, venom in his voice. "Is this how things are done at Interpol? Because in polite society, we don't simply ambush people." John's tone might be light but his posture spoke to how much he was holding back in making just that small comment. You know, that if you gave the go ahead, he would obliterate Clyde. "Don't worry Mr. Hawthorne," Clyde smirks. "I'm certain over the course of this discussion, we will arrive at the matter of you as well. Pretty sure I saw some your face in the stack as well. Or, is your objection to the fact that you were never anything official – just used and tossed aside when it was convenient?" This bastard. The fury you feel at him talking to John in that way. For him to insinuate that he knew anything about you and John. For him to talk down to John like that. You open your mouth to tell him off, but before you can, you feel the dig of John's fingers at your thigh and you look up to see him shake his head. He knows that you wouldn't let something like that about him simply pass. He's telling you that he knows what you were, and that Clyde – well, Clyde could go fuck himself. John didn't want you tossing your cards down just for him. Hold on to them. You're going to need them. You press your lips together tight and bite your tongue, your hand reaching for his under the table, fingers intertwining with his. He squeezes your hand gently – once, twice, thrice – just how he used to, before letting go. Aaron watches the interaction between you and John, before turning his attention back to Easter, who waits for a beat more, trying to bait you into lashing out, before he moves on. The screen changes once more, to be replaced with a photograph of you with three boys. You're on what appears to be a yacht, the blue ocean spanning out endlessly behind you. You're seated on the shoulders of a tall man with short, dark hair and light brown skin, his hands wrapped around your thighs to hold you steady atop him. Your hair is back to its natural shade and it cascades past your shoulders, hitting the top of your bikini clad breasts, your white bathing suit stark against your sun-kissed skin. Beside the two of you, are two other men – one with darker hair, standing nearly as tall at the first while the other – a stocky blond – sits atop his shoulders. The four of you are grinning, smiles carefree and happy as can be. The kind of loose joy that is really only found amongst college students indulging in spring break a little too much. "You know, Clyde, just because you don't have friends of your own for show and tell, doesn't mean you can use mine." The smartass comment is out of your mouth before you could hold it back and you know you'll pay for it later as Clyde elects to ignore it in the moment. From your left you feel Aaron's eyes on you briefly before darting back to the front. Well, you were definitely going to pay for it in one way at least. "Patrick Kane," Easter's laser points to the stocky blond man, before the screen changes to reveal just a photo of him. "His father is part of the Irish mob and runs their international businesses out of Europe. He himself now owns leadership of the faction out of London." Kane was going to love that he had been part of your indictment with the Bureau. He was sure to get a particular kick out of it, considering the number of times he got in trouble because you and Ricky decided to burst into his classes and stage a kidnapping. But well, it was usually warranted. Impromptu trips to the Hamptons took precedence over Psych 101.

From the corner of your eye you can see Penelope appraising Kane with some interest and you have a feeling you're going to be talking to her about all the boys afterwards. The screen changes again to reveal Ambrose Hastings - Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome himself. However this time, the photo of him is shown only briefly before its replaced with another one that has your breath catching. Hastings is seated with you in his lap, your lips slotted against his, a large hand wrapped around your back, holding you close to him. "Ambrose Hastings and his father own the largest weapons contracts internationally, for those of you who many not know. Just friends, huh? " Clyde's taunt has your eyes flashing with rage. How on earth had he gotten this photograph?! You know for a fact that this wasn't posted anywhere. It's from the trip to Monte Carlo for your twenty first birthday. You're wearing the black dress with the deep slit up one side, a tiara sitting at the crown of your head. Ambrose's large hands splayed across your thigh and his lips keeping yours warm, as was your pattern anytime you and Matthew were on a break. John has come to the same realization as you. This is not a photograph that you or anyone in the group would've leaked. Which meant that Easter had acquired it himself. There's a grim set to his shoulders as the two of you exchange a look, before he speaks. "What did you do, pay off the waitstaff for that?" When Clyde doesn't say anything in response, you have your answer. He had. He had set up someone on the yacht to get anything they could on you. The feeling of revulsion that crawls through you at that realization – he had been watching you, even in spaces where you should have had the assumption of privacy. "This is a cheap ploy," John continues, now that he had the confirmation on exactly how far Easter had gone to gather his so-called evidence against you. "You think you can slander Agent L/N and make inappropriate digs to provoke Agent Hotchner. However all you've accomplished thus far is displaying your inappropriate invasion of privacy into the life of a young woman, which would normally be grounds for a harassment suit." The barely veiled threat is in John's words. If Clyde doesn't have anything real to share, and soon, he will bury him. Before Clyde has a chance to say anything more, there's a knock at the door, and Gladys peaks her head in to interrupt. "Excuse me," she starts, her hand against the door to hold it ajar ever so slightly, "There is a call from Director Richards." "See if I can return the call later today," McKinney tells her quickly, before turning back to the table to continue the discussion. "Actually sir, the call is for Agent L/N," she clarifies, her eyes meeting McKinney's firmly before shifting over to you. You can feel the sharpness of McKinney's gaze on you as he wonders why Richards is calling you directly. With a quick look around, you stand with a nod towards Gladys. "I'll take it outside, thank you." With that, you quickly walk around the table and out the door, following her to McKinney's office, where she's routed the call for you. In the wake of your departure, the room is quiet. John turns to Aaron, one eyebrow raised in question. "Director Richards, as in – ?" Aaron looks quickly towards McKinney, whose eyes are fixed on the door where you'd left, before he nods at John in confirmation. Director Richards, as in, the director of the CIA, had called and asked for you personally. *------------* You're gone for ten minutes which might as well have been an hour, for as long as it stretched out. Easter tried to engage McKinney into a side conversation twice, before giving up and sulking at the front. Prentiss and JJ's eyes flit from the door, to Easter, and then one another, the two of them engaged in a silent conversation he wasn't privy to. On his right, Aaron can see John and Garcia engaged in a hushed conversation as she types away at her laptop, seemingly looking up something for him. Aaron meets Rossi and Morgan's eyes, both of them carrying the same question that was in McKinney's stalwart gaze that had locked on the door you'd left through and not wavered in the ten minutes since. Why on earth was the director of the CIA calling you right now? How did he even know you? Despite your offer from the CIA, Aaron can hardly imagine that the Director himself would be involved, so even that kernel of knowledge that he has over the others doesn't offer any clarity in the moment. At just past ten minutes, you can be seen making your way back, quickly bypassing the two agents still standing guard, one of them opening the door to let you in. You're met with McKinney's pointed look as soon as you enter, demanding some sort of explanation. You clear your throat and offer a polite smile. "Both Agents Novak and Cavanaugh are recovering well," you reveal, standing demurely in front of Director McKinney, who eyes you with a guarded look, no doubt simmering at the notion of one of his peers deigning to circumvent him and go directly to one of his agents. "Director Richards asked that I pass on his gratitude for the Bureau's role in the rescue and recovery of his agents. He will be reaching out to you again, later, in order to thank you properly." McKinney nods slowly, giving you permission to return to your seat, despite knowing that that had hardly been everything Richards had spoken to you about. A thank you did not take ten minutes. A mere thank you, would not have gone to you directly. Not if you didn't have some sort of personal relationship with Richards that he wasn't privy to. There is a palpable shift in the room as you reclaim your seat, making a show of taking your time to settle back in properly, leaning forward to grab a bottle of water from the center of the table and then unhurriedly opening it, taking a delicate sip, closing it, and then setting it back on the table before shifting in your seat to where your elbow rests on the arm of the chair closest to Aaron. Your posture is slouched, where before you had been a stiff board. As you lean closer to him, deliberately tilting your head to appear that much more near him, Aaron gets a whiff of that smell that is undoubtedly you. You, without a proper shower, but still you. Yes, it is quite obvious that you and Director Richards had spoken far beyond a simple exchange of gratitude. The tides have changed. *------------* Easter attempts to continue as though nothing had transpired, resuming his position at the helm, the image of you and Hastings kissing – which Aaron had carefully avoided looking at for the past ten minutes, because far be it from to judge you on your past, no matter who it was with – replaced by one of the final boy. "Ricky Costello, part of the Costello family. Son of Frank Costello." Easter doesn't bother expanding further. There wasn't an agent on the eastern seaboard that wasn't familiar with the Costello family. So this was the kid who had punched van Doren in the face. Aaron liked this one. He liked him a fair amount more than Hastings, that was for sure. Across the way, he sees Rossi's eyebrows raise with some surprise, a glint of recognition in his eyes. He isn't entirely surprised by that. He'd always known that Rossi had ties with the Italian crime families. Easter clicks another button and a series of surveillance photos replaces Costello. They are all black and white, with the date on the corner indicating that they are all from last year. You're getting into your car, with Costello helping you in, the two of you smiling at one another. "Would you like to explain what you were doing, speaking with Ricky Costello last year? This was after you started working on Atlantis." You remain nonchalant, taking another sip of the hot chocolate that was bound to be cold by now, but you'd never deny yourself chocolate in any form. You casually smirk up at Easter's question, answering it only with a shrug. "Were you giving Costello information regarding Atlantis?" Easter probes, his frustration with your changed demeanor highly evident. He had preferred when you were at least somewhat taking this seriously. "Is a connection with the Costello family all it takes to accuse someone of treason nowadays?" you drawl, eyeing Easter from behind the rim of your mug, before leaning forward and setting it down on the table. "In that case, there might be some other people you want to have a talk with." Aaron is fully expecting you to be hinting at Rossi with that line, though why you'd throw him under the bus was a mystery. However, he watches as you stare resolutely ahead. Except, you aren't looking at Easter. You definitely aren't looking at Rossi. No, you're looking at McKinney. McKinney who, if Aaron isn't mistaken, looks just the slightest bit uncomfortable in the wake of your statement. McKinney who shifts in his chair ever so slightly, his eyes darting down and to the left imperceptibly quickly – something that might have gone unnoticed otherwise, but unfortunately for him, he happened to be seated in a room full of profilers. Huh. "Let's move on, shall we," McKinney instructs Easter, avoiding your eyes and everyone else's in the room. Easter's mouth falls open in disbelief at the turn of events. Your presence, which you'd kept buttoned up for the first half of this meeting, now permeated the room, and Aaron is reminded all over again of your interview. How he had initially sat back, waiting for you to stumble. How you'd gone one by one, getting to or through to each of them. How you'd called out even his bluff. You were commanding, charming, and serene all at once, and he'd marveled at how one person could possibly embody all those things at the same time. "You shot me!" Easter accuses, grasping for something, provoked by your calm attitude, and believing that to be his hole in one. The one thing that could not be denied. His one piece of evidence against you that couldn't be brushed aside, threatened away, or dismissed. "Yes, you got me there," you chuckle lightly, and Aaron almost feels bad for Easter. Almost. Across the way, Morgan has a smirk on his face that likely matches his own. You shift forward, placing your hands on the table in front of you, your eyes trained critically on Easter and Easter alone. "I shot you twice, actually. Once, two centimeters above the center of the heart and another to the left, one centimeter below the fifth rib. Both shots take advantage of the portions of the vest designed to be thickest and also are far enough away from any major arteries to avoid you bleeding out to death in the event that the vest isn't enough. Even if both shots had made it to their destination, you would have had at least thirty five to forty minutes, at minimum, before you were in any real danger of not recovering. If you don't believe me, I suggest you ask a doctor." With that, you lean back once more, giving both Easter and McKinney the opportunity to offer a response in opposition. After a few seconds, when neither one is forthcoming, you sit up straight once more. "Why were you dismissed from Project Olympus?" *------------* You watch, your eyes directly on Clyde as he falters under your gaze. You can tell that your question had caught McKinney by surprise as well. McKinney, who had looked at you differently ever since the call with Richards. You would have to thank the man later. His call could not have come at a more opportune time. With Clyde unable to answer the question, you decide to answer it for him. "Is it because you wasted resources and defied orders by continuing surveillance on me because you were convinced that I had something to do with my father's business?"

“How would you know that?” McKinney asks, though his eyes say that he already knows. He is merely confirming in order to have your answer on the record.

“Director Richards was on Olympus as well,” you answer. “He was highly surprised when he learned that Agent Easter was overseeing the investigation into the Atlantis disappearances.”

McKinney nods, having expected that, you’re sure. You already know he’s trying his best to piece together what little he could about your conversation with Richards. No doubt, it’s something he’ll question you about in more detail when it’s just the two of you later on.

You both turn back to Clyde expectantly, still waiting for him to chime in with an explanation. Director Richards’ word would be taken at face value and McKinney wouldn’t question it. Not for this. "Anyone who paid the slightest bit of attention – every single person on that assignment – they should've seen what I saw,” Clyde seethed, pushing up from the table and standing up, his body trembling with caged fury. “He took you along to meetings. He introduced you to his contacts. You were being initiated, tested. Of course I kept an eye on you! It would have been negligent not to." You shake your head in disbelief at exactly how unhinged he sounded. How incensed. This wasn’t a man who had proof. This was a man who had believed his theory for a long time, and was unwilling to part ways with it. "And what did you see?" you ask, crossing your arms across your chest. "I saw a girl who was making connections - with everyone. Sons of the mob, the mafia, and the cartels. Saudi princes and daughters of Russian tycoons. Up and coming Chinese heiresses. If there was a single person with even the slightest of pull on that campus, they knew your name. They considered you a friend. You're telling me that's the move of someone who wasn't establishing themselves to take over the reins?" "What can I say? I'm a friendly person."

It wasn’t clear to just you. It was clear to everyone that Clyde didn’t have proof. None to speak of. "If you'd spent even half as much time and effort into watching her father that you did into watching her, maybe you would have learned enough about him to know that he would have never made her his plant in the Bureau. A plant is someone dispensable. You don't put what is potentially your best asset in the hands of the enemy. Far too much danger of them turning," John declared, his face betraying how astonished he felt at Clyde’s obsession with you. Of all people, he’s had some experience in men who become unhealthily attached to you. It never ends well for them. "Not to mention the fact that you cannot possibly think very highly of me,” you continue from where John left off. “If you think my grand plan was to bide my time within a faction of the Bureau with minimal ties to core operations, wait four years to enter into a relationship with a Unit Chief, compared to whom, my clearance level is actually significantly higher,” you state, before turning to place a hand on Aaron’s arm. “No offense honey.”

Aaron barely conceals his amused snort at that, the smirk that had taken residence on his face ever since you flipped the tables on Easter, firmly in place. "That's true,” John agrees, and you can tell that he’s enjoying the return to your typical repartee that the two of you have always had. The one that most outsiders find intimidating to keep up with. “If you'd wanted to infiltrate the Bureau, that role in White Collar was much better suited.” "You’re right,” you nod. “And it would've taken me only a couple of months to get everything I need. Agent Barton would've been an easy mark. I'm just his type."

Aaron watches as Easter appears to regroup and the Director looks deep in thought as he works his way through the quick back and forth performance you and John had put forward. From the corner of his eye, he sees John lean in to you, hiding his mouth behind his hand as he whispers something into your ear. You lean back sharply, your face the picture of disbelief as you think through whatever it was that he’d said to you.

Clearing your throat, you nod towards Garcia. “Agent Garcia, could you please pull up the first case I ever logged? It would have been during the third month that I was a trainee.”

From the front of the room both McKinney and Easter’ brows furrow, along with the rest of theirs, wondering what you were getting at. It’s Morgan who voices what they were all thinking. “What does your first case logged have to do with this?”

Your eyes flit from Morgan to Easter, barely stopping at McKinney, before you wordlessly direct Garcia to proceed with pulling up the case. “My third month while I was a trainee, someone broke into my apartment. Nothing was taken, but I could tell that someone had been there, so I dusted for prints and logged it. I ran it against the system but it didn’t turn up with anything then. The thing is, trainees only have access to the domestic IAFIS database.”

At that, your eyes flash dangerously towards Easter and the implication of what you’re saying has Aaron’s hackles raised. Easter sits straighter, just the slightest bit tense as Garcia pulls up the case and then runs them against Easter’s fingerprints.

The blaring negative result for a match has your jaw tightening and Easter sporting a smug smile that Aaron truly can’t wait to have wiped off of his face forever.

You take a breath, knowing that running it against the entire system would take far too long. Eyes narrowed, you look towards Easter once more. “You don’t really like getting your hands dirty yourself, do you?” you muse, your voice low and contemplative as you appraise Easter’s reaction to your conjecture.

“Garcia, compare the prints against Eli Black, Harold Woodshire, and Stefan Dupont.”

Garcia starts to pull up the prints of the Interpol agents you’d provided, when McKinney jumps in. “Agent L/N, don’t you think you are perhaps being just a little paranoid?”

Garcia looks between you and McKinney, the two of you engaged in a standoff that he was unlikely to win.

“Run it,” you instruct, knowing that Garcia’s loyalty to you far outweighed anything that McKinney could say to her in that moment.

The entire room waits with bated breath as Garcia runs the prints against the names provided. It’s tense as Easter’s eyes flit nervously between the screen that Garcia had commandeered away from him, and both you and McKinney, still looking at one another, your gaze staunchly defiant.

The system blares, stopping at Eli Black – a 100% match. They all look to the screen and Aaron’s stomach clenches as they look at the face of the man who had beaten you and strapped you down in the video, his eyes just as pale and emotionless in his Interpol I.D. photograph as they’d been when he’d put his hands on you.

There’s a tight smile on your face, your eyes shifting away from McKinney’s without comment, fixed on Easter once more. “I didn’t actually go to law school, but we happen to have two lawyers in the room right now. Remind me,” you say, a quirk of your eyebrow in John’s direction, “what’s the fourth amendment, again?”

John has a dark smirk on his face as he realizes you’re finally giving him full permission to do whatever he wants to, and in that moment, Aaron can quite easily see how he had the highest conviction rate in the entire New York state D.A.’s office. “The Fourth Amendment strictly prohibits unreasonable searches and seizures,” he states, the forced calm of his voice just barely masking the thundering rage that was coming off of him in waves, his chest expanding as he sits at his full height, towering over the table.

“How much you want to bet, that wasn’t a sanctioned search?” you quip, mirroring his expression, your tone hinting that this wasn’t the first time the two of you had paired up to dress someone down in prime fashion.

“Easy enough to find out. All we’d have to do is pull up the logs on warrants,” John replies, his eyes locked on Easter, daring him to say or do anything to further paint himself into a corner.

There’s a beat while Clyde seems to process everything that had just happened. Absorb how the script had been flipped around on him. McKinney was looking at him with a great deal of concern and you know that Clyde can see it on the Director’s face as well – any credibility that Clyde might have had with him was quickly dissipating. The combination of that video and everything that had come forward, along with the lack of concrete proof and now this, had McKinney finally arriving at a decision regarding the validity of Clyde’s accusation. "Then why?” Clyde asks, sounding as though he couldn’t quite believe anything that had transpired. “Why would someone of your pedigree and connections ever deign to be a federal agent?”

You close your eyes for a moment, having put together the final piece that had always plagued you. You don’t have to guess at whether or not you’re right. You know you are.

“Because you knew. People like you, knew. You knew that he murdered Julian and you chose to look the other way. Pinning him for killing some kid didn’t matter to you. Not when you could potentially be the people to bring down him and his empire. Why settle? Because you knew, and the second he decided to turn on me, you’d let him get away with that too. Because I refused to be yet another casualty of my father’s greed.”

You can feel the tears glistening in your eyes and you’re quick to blink them away while Aaron finds your hand on the table and grasps it firmly in his, his thumb caressing your palm comfortingly. He hadn't known that you'd truly feared this level of retaliation from your father, and your desperation to get onto the team takes on a new layer of meaning for him.

You clear your throat before continuing, taking stock of every single person seated around that table that was here because of you. JJ, smiling at you kindly while throwing her dirtiest looks at Clyde. Spencer, who had chimed in repeatedly and who you knew was about to pester you about Math 55’s coursework endlessly afterwards – after all, there had been a reason you’d never told him about it. Rossi, smugly claiming you as his own, his gaze proud as can be. Penelope, who was still wordlessly apologizing for bringing up that video earlier, and who you knew was going to ruin those guys’ lives because of what they had done to you. Emily, who was glaring daggers at Clyde and likely planning out the various ways she could torture him right back. Derek, who would have your back in any situation, any circumstance, no matter what. Aaron, whose hand was warm against yours and who had let you handle this yourself because that was your guys’ agreement. At work, you were your own person and he would allow you to navigate and deal with everything by yourself, until you asked for his help. Aaron, who would go out of his way to do anything for you at home, who would go to the ends of the earth to make sure you were alright.

“Because, you’ve seen what this team does in order to protect our own. Joining them ensured that I couldn’t just disappear.”

*------------* There’s a long silence, during which all you’re really aware of is the seconds hand on the clock ticking away. Clyde isn’t looking at anyone. McKinney is switching between looking at you and Clyde both and you can feel him assessing everything said and shown. Weighing the proof or lack thereof. Thinking through the implications of Richards offering up the information on Clyde’s dismissal to you personally.

Beside you, Aaron has shifted and dragged your hand back with his, placing both in his lap so he can hold onto yours tighter. You can’t help but feel your heart tremble ever so much as his thumb drags itself back and forth over your palm, paying extra special attention to the deep indentations that have been left over the past couple of days, and especially the past half hour.

When you’d said that this team protects its own, what you’d really meant was Aaron. Of course the rest of them would protect you too, in a heartbeat. But Aaron protects differently. He does what needs to be done. Not what you ask him to do. Maybe at the time, you’d resented him for lying about Emily’s death. Over time, you’ve come to realize that he had done whatever needed to be done to make sure that she would be safe. He’d known the team would hate him for it and he’d done it anyways, because who cared if you were upset with him or not talking to him as long as it also meant that Emily was safe and alive.

To your other side, John has shifted so he’s leaning closer to you, his elbow on the arm of your chair, and you know that he – out of them all – had known how truly afraid you’d been in New York. How you’d lived in constant fear of your father finding out what you and him were doing and turning the full brunt of his fury towards you. You wouldn’t have survived that. Not then.

After a few more minutes, McKinney stands, and you know he’s arrived at a decision. “There remains the matter of the actual mole,” he states, bypassing any discussion on anything you or Clyde had said. With that one statement, he was declaring your innocence while electing to ignore everything else. You shouldn’t have expected any different from him. For him, all that mattered was ensuring the sanctity of the Bureau.

You squeeze Aaron’s hand before your hand away, back to the table, and with a nod at McKinney, turn to Clyde. “Where’s my locket?”

However, instead of Clyde, it’s Aaron who answers you. “I have it.”

You turn back towards him and watch as he shifts to bring out the chain and pendant from the inside pocket of his jacket and set it on the table in front of you gently.

Why Aaron had the locket instead of Clyde, was something you’d have to ask him later. For the time being, you focused on answering the Director’s question.

“When I was with Jansen, he revealed some details regarding the mole which were enough for me to create a preliminary profile,” you divulge, reaching and picking up the locket. “Rossi, can I see your wallet?”

Rossi gives you an odd look, but leans into his pants pocket and retrieves the wallet, tossing it to you from across the table.

You flip it open and search though, looking for the thick metal card, while everyone’s eyes are on you. When you find what you’re looking for, you fish it out.

“I just need to double check a couple of details, but if I’m not mistaken, I think I know who in the Bureau is the mole,” you say, as you latch the metal card into the bottom two prongs of the pendant, and with some leverage from the table, manage to flip them open.

Aaron looks at you and you mutter a quick Sorry, honey to him, before sliding the stone out of the setting to reveal a black memory card behind it.

Everyone watches as the memory card is taken out of the base of the pendant, having sat there behind the deep emerald stone, unbeknownst to them all. You slide it over to Garcia, who eagerly takes it off your hand.

“When we started looking at everyone on the project team for Atlantis,” you start again while Garcia is working on getting the information in the chip loaded to her computer, “we tracked financial statements primarily, to see who was receiving or had funds available to them which they shouldn’t. Additionally, I did an assessment of assets – mostly real estate and artwork – as that is often used to hide illegal assets. Most people checked out, others had some assets that were questionable but nothing that rose to the threshold that we were using for our assessment. However, during my conversation with Jansen, he told me that the mole in the Bureau was effective because he didn’t take monetary payment.”

“What kind of payment does he take?” McKinney asks curiously, now leaning in across the table. He’d seemed mildly taken aback when you’d broken the pendant to take out the microchip you’d hidden, and now that you were being forthcoming about your suspicions, seemed more than willing to listen to what you had to say.

Clyde sat sulking at the front.

You clear your throat, a grimace taking form as you recall your conversation with Jansen. “Apparently, little girls make for compelling payment.”

JJ has a sharp inhale and Garcia momentarily stops typing as your words sink in.

“Once Agent Garcia is able to fully read in the data, we can reassess the real estate holdings. We’ll be looking for property which could be used to easily conceal the presence of children.”

When Jansen had told you how his plant was paid, you’d had the bone chilling realization that your late night excursions over a month and a half ago had not been a mere coincidence. What you’d feared had come to fruition. The smell of smoke still lingers in your brain.

“Who do you think it is?” Rossi asks as you toss his wallet back to him.

“Alexander Pierce. He’s the only one that fits the profile of a child molester.”

McKinney appears beyond shocked. Pierce was at the level directly below him. He’s the favorite to take the reins of the entire Bureau in the upcoming decade. They’ve worked together for years and are at least friendly. Yet, he doesn’t question you. He doesn’t tell you that you might be wrong. Instead, he turns resolutely towards Rossi.

“Dave, due to the changed circumstances, I ask that you oversee the investigation and if warranted, subsequent arrest of Agent Pierce.”

Rossi nods, so McKinney continues as he sweeps up his files from the table and stands, buttoning his jacket as he does, effectively drawing your indictment to a close.

“Agent Easter, I will be speaking with the Interpol Director regarding your actions and composure on this assignment. I believe the three of us will have much to discuss together. Agent L/N, you have the entirety of the BAU, with Agent Rossi, to assist you in closing this out. Ideally, the two of us will sit down on Monday and discuss your role in all of this as well, beginning with the disclosure of classified information to outside parties without requisite clearance.”

You sigh internally, squeezing Aaron’s hand once more as he opens his mouth to likely speak up against McKinney still trying to read you the riot act. You’d expected as much. He wasn’t the type to let that slide – especially not with you rubbing his nose in Richards calling you directly.

"Yes sir," you nod.

Having said all he had to say, all of you watch as McKinney takes his leave with a sweep of the room, the door shutting behind him.

*------------*

In McKinney’s wake, everyone looks at Easter, who appears incredibly uncomfortable and looked to be assessing whether or not he was meant to stay. He seemed to have reached a conclusion, as he stands and makes his way towards the door.

“You know,” you speak up as Easter approaches the door, and Aaron watches as you break the man down with your gaze alone. “For someone who thinks I’m capable of any number of atrocious things, you sure didn’t seem to have a problem with pissing me off.”

Your words are said with a casual overtone as you remain seated, the perfect air of ease about you, designed to draw a rise out of Easter, who had one hand on the doorknob, having turned around at the sound of your voice.

At your words, he scoffs. “What is that supposed to be? A threat?” He raises an eyebrow at you and tilts back into his quietly assured self.

Your lips purse ever so slightly and your eyes flash, before your mouth widens into a smile. The kind of smile that would have grown men running for the hills. “No. That wasn’t a threat,” you clarify, shifting to sit up straight once again. “This is. You come near me or mine again, and you will find out exactly how much I learned from my father.”

Easter looks like he’s ready to dismiss your threats, rolling his eyes and turning around.

“Передай от меня привет Даниэлю.”

He turns sharply, his face paling at whatever you’d said to him. His eyes search yours for any doubt, any hesitation. He appears to have seen the staunch truth in them, as he only swallows, his Adam’s apple protruding, and if Aaron wasn’t mistaken there was a slight tremor in his hand as he once again opens the door, and this time, manages to exit the room.

You close your eyes, your shoulder slumping, a deep sigh workings its way through your body. When you open them, all eyes are on you.

“Pen, once the files are available, you’ll want to start with Pierce’s properties in the countryside,” you instruct softly. “Anderson is already watching him,” your eyes cut to Aaron and he realizes who that phone call you’d made earlier had been to. You had asked Anderson to go and watch Pierce while you dealt with Easter and McKinney, knowing you needed to reestablish your credibility with the Director before you could make any accusations of your own.

Garcia nods and the rest of them remain silent as you turn to Rossi. “Can I have twenty minutes?” you ask, the fullness of your voice hinting at just how exhausted you must be.

At Rossi’s nod, you push up from the table, and with a squeeze to John’s shoulder, make your way out of the room with Aaron at your heels. He knew to go with you. You didn’t have to ask. Not with him.

*------------*

As the team watches you and Hotch leave, Morgan turns to Emily, eyebrow raised. “That was Russian, wasn’t it?”

She nods, however Hawthorne also agrees with a quiet Yes.

At that, her eyebrows raised at him in some surprise. He was a New York State District Attorney. Language skills weren’t exactly a part of the job description. “You know Russian,” she asks, the lilt in her voice hinting at her surprise.

He chuckles, a smirk on his face as he looks up at her with those ocean blue eyes, amusement dancing in them. “Who do you think taught her?” All at once, Emily can entirely see how you and him had once worked so very well together. It had been clear since the moment they'd entered the room, Hawthorne wrapping you up in his arms. There was a quiet electricity to your interactions with him – a palpable connection which easily transcended everything else. There was a casual ease to your demeanor with Hawthorne that you and Hotch rarely allowed yourselves while at work, and Emily has to once again admire how well Hotch had maintained himself throughout the entirety of the meeting. He'd allowed you and Hawthorne the lead in retaliation against Clyde, knowing that drawing any additional attention to you and him wouldn't help your case. He'd bided his time, biting back any number of choice words he must've had for Clyde, letting you take the reins on it all, because it was your meeting, your case, your indictment. Anything she might have believed about Hotch when it came to him being controlling and overbearing had fallen apart, having witnessed exactly how well he took a backseat when it was important for you that he do so.

“So what did she say to Easter,” Rossi asks, drawing both of their attention away from one another.

Emily takes it upon herself, even though she had no idea what your words had actually meant. “Say hello to Daniel for me.”

“Who’s Daniel?” Morgan asks, his brow crinkling, gaze fixed on where you’d sat next to Hawthorne.

They both shrug.

“So um,” Garcia starts, shifting everyone’s attention to her as she looks hesitantly between Rossi and Morgan, who raises his appraising look at her next, compelling her to just spit it out.

“When John and I were looking into that other location – the one that burned down with the triple homicide – I saw that the same night, three kids were left outside the Philadelphia precinct. All three were young girls around eight to ten years old and they said they were being held somewhere by bad men.”

At Emily’s prompting, she continues, “The thing is, when asked how they got away, the kids said that they heard some fighting and then some lady came and got them and dropped them off near the police station. All of their descriptions of the person who saved them...they match Y/N.”

There’s a stunned silence before Morgan decides to speak up. “Baby girl, are you saying she took down three guys all by herself, snuck those kids out, and then burned the entire place down without leaving a single strand of DNA or anything else behind?”

Garcia shrugs, an uncertain expression on her face. However, they can all tell that that is exactly what she believes happened. “If anyone could…,” she trails off as they all look at one another before turning to face Rossi.

Rossi sighs, his face torn for a momentarily, before arriving at a decision. “Well, like you said, the Philadelphia police already called it a case of gang violence and shut it down. I don't suppose it is our place to go and create problems where none exist."

At his words, Emily meets Morgan and Hawthorne’s eyes, realizing that perhaps out of everyone in the world outside of herself, Hotch, and Morgan, Hawthorne was the one most likely to understand that you could and would do exactly that, and get away with it.

*------------*

You make your way down the stairs with Aaron at your side. You just needed twenty minutes. Twenty minutes. That was it. Aaron knows not to say anything. You don’t want to talk. Not then.

You make your way down to the locker rooms before you turn and speak. “You mentioned you’d brought my other bag.”

“Yeah, it’s in my locker,” he confirms, watching you with apprehensive, yet loving eyes.

There was no one else in the locker rooms owing to the lateness of the hour. With a quick look around, you begin to take off your shoes, undoing the buckles on the boots and toeing them off, before sliding the pants off of your hips and then quickly removing the sweatshirt along with the rest of your clothing.

Aaron is quick to shuck off his own clothes as you walk into the shower and turn it all the way to the left. He can already see the steam rising off of your skin when he slips in behind you, picking up the shampoo bottle from the ledge in the corner and dumping some out into his hands.

The hot water felt like baptism by fire, but it was the only thing helping you feel clean, as two days worth of dirt and grime slid off of you and swirled its way down the drain. You can feel Aaron behind you as his bare chest rubs against your back when he leans for the shampoo and then works it into suds in your hair, allowing you to simply be.

The slip and slide of his hands, as he takes soap and scrubs against your skin. His large hands gliding against your shoulders and back, down your legs, making sure to get every inch of you clean. You let him. You can feel the exhaustion seeping through you as your mind slips into a fog, leaving you aware only of the heat of the steam, the water, and him.

Once Aaron has ensured that you’re as clean as can be, he shifts so you’re fully under the stream, the last of the shampoo leaving your hair. That’s when you finally feel the weight in the pit of your stomach turn to lead.

You allow that steel trap to open ever so slightly as you lean back against him. The fact that he'd had to see you go through that, had to find out from a video of you being tortured, that you'd been pregnant and lost the baby. It was far too much for him to have gone through on his own. Your heart breaks at the thought of him sitting with the rest of them and watching that. Having them all find out at the same time as him, when he should've been the first and only one to know.

Your tears mingle with the water from the shower, your shoulders shake and your body quakes and slumps, held up by his arms alone, holding you tight across your chest and waist, tight to him as the sobs wrack your body. You can feel his lips against your shoulder as he dips his head down to slot his face against yours. He’s hard and warm and all around you, the only thing standing between you and total collapse.

*------------*

The two of you had gotten dressed slowly, taking far longer than the twenty minutes you’d asked Rossi for. Your eyes are red rimmed and glassy still, your hair falling to your shoulders in damp tendrils as you grasp his hand and the two of you make your way back upstairs using the elevators.

“There’s a chance McKinney still fires me,” you mumble, leaned against him and the back of the Elevator wall both to hold yourself up.

Aaron shakes his head, looking down at you with his warm brown eyes. “He isn’t going to fire you,” he insists, despite not fully believing it himself. He too had caught what McKinney had said to you prior to his departure.

You aren’t appeased by his words, but he hadn’t expected you to be. The elevator continues to climb back up the floors slowly. Right before it reaches its destination, you worm your way away from him and hit the emergency stop button, halting the elevator and plunging it into darkness.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, feeling his way around the elevator until he finds you again.

“If I’m getting fired on Monday,” you whisper, leaning up so your mouth is right against his ear, drawing a shiver through his entire body, “then there’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

With that, your lips find his, insistent and soft, begging his open with your tongue running along the seam of his mouth. With a moan, he gives in, hands finding your waist and pulling you up further against him. He can feel the smile in your mouth, mixed with everything else – the fear and fury, the regret and pain undercutting everything else.

If this is what you wanted before you were potentially fired – then well, of course he’d give it to you.

*------------*

By the time the two of you make it back to the conference room, the team is well situated, with Rossi and Morgan engaged in conversation while the rest of them crowd around Garcia. John was in the corner, just getting off of a phone call and Reid had managed to find some pretzels it seemed like – or he merely always had them on him – because he was munching away, leading to Aaron becoming incredibly aware that none of them had eaten since that sandwich the day prior. Hell, he wasn’t sure when the last time you’d eaten at all. His eyes must’ve lingered on the pretzels for a while too long, because JJ had leaned into her bag and lobbed a package of chips towards him.

Aware of your return now, the team turns to you and Aaron, with John being the one to break the silence with a soft smile. “Mom says hi” he says quietly, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Aaron can see the flash of guilt in your eyes. "I'll call her," you promise. When you'd left John, he hadn't been the only one you'd left.

He smiles and nods. "She'd like that."

With a glance around, and with no one else saying anything else, he continues, his smile morphing into a wicked grin. "So, you and Hastings, huh?" His voice teasing in that manner that only truly good old friends can get away with.

"Matthew and I were on a break," you clarify primly, shoving at his arm. His grin remains unchanged, causing your eyes to narrow, before a realization seems to hit you as you groan and slump back into your chair. “Don’t tell me you and Julian had a bet on that too,” you grumble, though Aaron can tell you aren’t really annoyed. You’re merely playing along.

“I won, if you must know,” John grins wider. “Seeing as you’re his next of kin, you owe me twenty.”

You scoff. “This better be written down somewhere. I’m not signing off twenty thousand to you just because you said so.”

Behind John, Aaron can see Morgan and Garcia’s jaws drop as they realize that twenty dollar bets were not the norm in your circles. You played for much higher stakes. Always had.

“Oh you’ll get your proof,” John winks at Prentiss, hinting at some sort of inside joke between the two of them while you and him both settle in, you stealing some chips from the bag in his hands, before swiping the bag entirely with a sweet smile that he was in no condition to refuse, ever.

“Hey,” Prentiss asks, drawing your attention away from John, “who’s Daniel?”

Aaron watches as your face turns dark ever so slightly, your eyes hardening as you meet Prentiss’s gaze, and Aaron realizes that the quietly enunciated Danielyu that he’d caught when you’d spoken to Easter in Russian had meant something more.

“Mr. Have-No-Attachments has a son,” you tell her, your jaw tight.

They’re all quiet as your revelation sinks in. You’d brought up Easter’s son while –

“You threatened his kid?” JJ asks, slight surprise on her face as she looks at you, her eyes flashing with the concern that they all always had. Their children being dragged into danger because of their line of work.

“He threatened mine.” Your retort is quick and to the point and if Aaron was being honest, he really really didn’t care that you’d threatened a child at this moment, because you were right. He had threatened yours.

When no one says anything further, you nod at Rossi and then turn to Garcia. “Let’s get to work.”

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