Stupid doodles

chasing fountains

[fives x afab!reader] it's so easy to forget that the man you love is war incarnate. and maybe that's exactly why he can't be yours.

warnings: nsfw, angst, breakup sex, cunnilingus, unprotected vaginal sex

w/c: 2.6k

a/n: wrote this while listening to the reverb edit of good days by sza and definitely didn't cry idk what you're talking about

"Are we gonna be adults about this, or are you gonna give me the silent treatment until I guess what I did wrong?"

Fives's tone is no longer a novel sound in the dark walls of your apartment, a jagged sneer sawing through the silence as he sets his helmet down hard on the countertop. It's the kind of sound that doesn't cut deep but cuts wide, leaving a broad swath of gnarled scar tissue that will never heal quite right. (The worst kind.)

The holodrama in front of you drones mindlessly over the midnight channel.

You tell yourself that you've grown used to it, the cold and bitter thing that found home between you after the rosy light he flooded into the room faded away leave after leave, tour after tour. It helps you cope. But your body remembers what your mind tries to forget—memories of first leaves in months and boyish glee as Fives swept you into his arms and kissed you breathless in the narrow berth of your kitchen—and you flinch anyways.

"Isn't it obvious?" you sigh. It's a labored thing that crowds the bottom of your lungs up to your collarbones and chokes your throat with what's left of your straining heart.

You don't think it's anger.

It's something muted, something like the ache of a rusted plasma turbine sputtering out what last dregs of fuel it has left, numb and rote but the only thing it's ever known before it careens off the side of a landing bay and into dark waters. It happens, disrepair, discord. But the fact that it happens somehow makes you feel even worse, makes it feel like it was bound to happen.

"No, cyare, it's really not," Fives frowns.

You can hear the scowl in his voice.

"You forgot to call," you mumble, shifting your arms tighter over your chest, and you aren't sure whether the pressure in your chest is anger or the desperate claws of sorrow trying to remind you that you used to care. That he used to care.

"Cyare, I'm sorry I forgot to call, but I was in an active warzone. I can't just call you whenever to tell you goodnight because I'm usually writing condolences to the training squads of the men I bury."

You can hear the anger tearing at the fine threads of his restraint, his voice rising and rising until it's another sound away from a full-bodied yell. Before now, that sort of volume, that sort of presence, had been exclusive to late-night speeder bike joyrides and chasing fountains of youth over sandy dunes—the types of adrenaline rushes that felt good. You wonder if it's now become resentment or regret or a combination of both.

"You forgot to call for our anniversary," you say at last. Maker, you can't believe how pathetic you sound.

"I'm sorry, but I almost lost my entire squadron out there. I have to prioritize... differently, on the field," Fives says after a moment's pause (so he really did forget), his voice soft again but no less cold, no less tired of raising hellfire and being greeted with an impassive glaze over your eyes.

Silence settles through the room again, thick enough that the holodrama playing before you is reduced to a low buzz, and you tell yourself that your fingers feel numb because you always let the air conditioning run colder when Fives was on tour.

"Look, I'll try to make it up to you next time, cyar'ika," Fives murmurs, picking across the threshold and dropping down onto the couch beside you.

You aren't sure if there ever will be a next time when Fives only exists because of this endless war that cracks open the earth and swallows battalions whole. But when you drop your head onto his shoulder; when he tugs you close and cradles your head with a rough, warm palm; when you both pause and breathe the same breath together, you can pretend for just a moment that things are good again.

"'m tired," you mumble.

"What can I do?" It's the most earnest his voice has been all night, seeking gaps in the armor, places where he can reach in past the stony impasse and to that pearlescent light you've long since hidden from him. It's the closest to an apology you'll get.

"Take me to bed," you say.

Fives gently untangles you from around him, clicking off the holo before he secures his arms beneath you and carefully lifts you into his arms. Bittersweet memory, fragrant and dusted from months of disuse, floods your tongue as you loop your arms around Fives's neck and feel him press a kiss to your temple.

It's muscle memory, really. Nothing more. But it completes the little show of normalcy. It shifts you away from the hazy fugue of the present and back into better days when touch carried with it tender intent, more than ritual motion.

Fives presses a second kiss to your neck when you reach the bedroom door, mouthing his dry lips softly over your pulse. You cling to him and sigh. A third on your jaw, the next on your cheek, and another, another, another over your lips as he shifts you upright and lets you wrap your legs around his waist so you can tilt your head and push your tongue into his mouth.

It's muscle memory when, after he's thrown his armour off into the darkness of your room, you shift your hips down against his, gasping softly over his tongue as you catch the bulge in his blacks and heat floods your core. He groans into your mouth, fisting one hand in your hair and kissing you so hard it's almost crushing. It's muscle memory.

"Fives," you breathe, and it's becoming harder to tell performance from truth as something else hums in your chest.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips. "I'm right here, cyare. I'm always gonna be here." And the way he says it almost makes it believable.

You kiss him before he can say anything else, your teeth clacking against his as you swallow his words with a low moan, too afraid that if he says any more, you might actually convince yourself that this is more than an elaborately rewound memory.

Fives is no fool.

He knows, too, laying you carefully on the bed where he would usually toss you onto the mattress with a gleeful laugh and tumble in after you. In the darkness, you catch him hastily twisting out of his top, the low light catching over rippling muscle and warm skin before he rushes between your thighs and drops to his knees. He kisses the soft inner skin of your thighs like he always does, but this time, he does not linger instead kissing you for the sake of motion than playful desire.

This is choreography.

But performance as it might be, you do not need to pretend your pleasure when his heady exhale over your clit serves as a brief warning before Fives licks a broad, wet stripe over your cunt.

In the early days, you had been eager to chalk it up to the end of the gilded shimmer of the honeymoon phase, an entry into a stabler shared life that would be just as sweet. You're not certain what you've become, he and you, but it isn't that.

Whatever you are now, it has no concern in this moment because Fives still knows how to coax pleasure from your deepest parts, finding your softest, most vulnerable places and calling you to something better than a frigid spat to welcome him home.

You clap your hand over your mouth as Fives wraps his lips around your clit, pulling a raw euphoria from your heaving lungs that has you moaning louder than you have in too long. He groans your name into your own skin, gasps, and delves deep again.

"Fives, Fives," you plead, reaching down to grope for his head in your blind pleasure.

"Cyar'ika?" Fives pauses only to respond then plunges his tongue back into the saccharine wetness of your cunt, feeling you jump and spasm around him.

"Fuck me," you cry over a groan, knotting your fingers in his hair.

"You didn't come yet," he murmurs into your skin, almost irritated, his voice thrumming straight to your core as you cry out again.

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter," you chant. The intimacy will only prolong the ordeal of greed, will only make you want more when you're already drowning under the weight of what little remains now. "Need you inside me, please."

Fives hums his assent, curls his tongue into your cunt one last time, and leaves you with a ghost of a kiss pressed over your clit. He staggers up off his knees, hardly bothering to lick your slick smeared over his lips—to savor it with the mischievous delight he no longer shares before you—and cups the back of your neck to pull you into a crushing kiss that might almost be painful if you weren't so desperate to soak up every last touch he has to give.

"Tell me if it hurts," he says like he has every time he's pulled you into his arms and parted your thighs. Except this time, there is no lingering gaze, no silent professions of something more than physicality in a moment of heat. Fives only kisses you one last time before he buries his nose in the crook of your neck.

This is a performance, you tell yourself as you press close.

And then he's pushing into you, stretching you open around him and filling you in every way you forgot that you needed, in the way only he could as he cages you between his arms.

He sets a pace that is altogether the same and yet nothing like how you remember him. You're playing out something you had done before arguments lasted weeks and couches became occasional beds. Yet it feels just like the real thing, his thighs sticking to the skin of your ass as he plunges up into that spot that whites out your vision and curls your toes tight.

It feels so real that if you squeeze your eyes shut and release the tension coiled at the base of your neck, you can pretend that when you meet his eyes, Fives will flash you the smile that crinkles around the corners of his eyes and bubbles laughter from his chest.

Instead, he shifts your ankles from the base of his spine, his brows knit tight and his chest heaving as he hefts your legs over his shoulders. You sob as he fucks into you harder now, hard enough to nearly fold you in two and fill the bedroom with the sharp clarity of his skin pressing into yours. You wonder if it's to crowd you close, to mold himself as close as he may ever be and take one more fleeting taste of you.

"Fives," you cry out one last time, the flared ridge of his cockhead catching your clit as he pulls out.

Desire crests so high in your core you almost feel sick with want for more. You cling to the feeling, committing to memory what you will later try to scrub away: how you flutter around the ridges of Fives's cock, how he fucks you in the way only months of true, genuine desire would allow him to know, how when your legs jerk and he lathes his tongue your shoulder that you might have called this love.

It's ironic how that's the one thing that crosses your mind when you squeeze your arms around his neck and come with a strangled sob. His hips connect hard with yours, fucking into you in one swift motion that has your back arching off the sheets. You blindly kiss over the coarse stubble of Fives's jaw, and it crushes the air from your lungs as he takes your chin in his hands, all gentle and trembling restraint, and kisses you so sweetly it burns.

A few more sloppy thrusts, and Fives bows his head low and pushes deeper than he has all night. Groping over his shoulder for his hand, he frantically laces his fingers with yours, squeezing tight. And when you squeeze back, you hear him make something of a moan and a sob pushed into one as he finishes inside you.

He overwhelms you with one last gesture of him as you pulse around his softening cock, and you can't help how you look to him with stars in your eyes, just like before, just like how it was supposed to be. He notices—opening his eyes to reveal something forgiving and warm—but before whatever it is drags you both into its inescapable orbit, he takes you into his arms and collapses onto his side.

Fives pulls out of you with an obscene noise, something you might have laughed at before the thorns of distance had grown long and sharp between you. You only sigh at the slow drip of his come sliding over your skin and pooling over the sheets as he pulls out.

For a while, you lie there, the sheets kicked to the foot of the bed and your cheek pressed to the sweat-slicked skin of his chest. You don't remember what you would do to fill the buzzing silence of afterglow, but you remember it felt better than what you're feeling, the slow descent of gilded curtains in a dark room, falling, falling.

Fives takes the guesswork out of it for you, though. There's a semblance of real tenderness when he kisses your brow and shifts away just enough that he can't meet your eyes but instead can keep you close enough to touch.

"When's your next tour?" you whisper into the quiet as he lifts his hand to your face.

"I have a week of leave," Fives responds. He traces his fingertips over the highest points of your cheeks and nose, memorializing in touch what the darkness tucks away.

"Where to?"

"Ringo Vinda." His fingers curl over your chin, cradling you to his skin before he slowly sweeps them up the edge of your jaw.

"That's far," you say.

"Not too far," he chuckles, hollow and weak as he runs his thumb over your ear. "I can still call you at night."

"You don't have to."

"I want to, y/n."

"Don't," you whisper, and you hear his inhale catch in his throat.

It's where this entire evening has been going from the moment he stepped foot into your apartment until now: one final, cresting movement pressed into the absence of space between you, impossibly wide and impossibly close all at once as Fives's hand stills over the skin just beneath your eye.

"Don't call?" He knows his answer, but he says it anyways, desperate rhetoric clinging to something that has already been gone for months.

"Don't," you manage to say over the heat in your eyes and the asphyxiating swell at the back of your throat. "Please."

There's still a part of you that wants him to fight. Wants him to rear back, raise his voice, and look you in the eyes to say horrible things to fight for the sum of you and him like he always has. Because it isn't right for it to end like this, a lonely blip over the comm channels that cries once then blinks out forever. It isn't right.

But you're tired.

"I'm sorry." Your calm breaks with a trembling sob.

And when pries his fingertips from your face to wrap his arms around your shoulders and pull you close, you know it is the last time you will fly this close to the sun; the last time you will bear witness to the glorious, warm light that had only soured in the time you shared.

"I'm sorry," you hiccup.

"It's okay," Fives's voice rumbles under your ear, backgrounded by tight, shallow breaths that only close the vice tighter around your throat. "I'm sorry, too."

And you let him go.

(He doesn't call.)

Stolen Dance | Part 8

Summary: “Maybe this was a pipe dream, a delusion you’d soon awake from or a phase you’d outgrow. You didn’t really care. For a brief moment in time, you were in love. That’s what you chose to care about. That what you made matter.”

The one where you’re a paramedic, he’s an FBI agent, and the time you spend together is borrowed.

Word Count: 4.8k

Song: Moving On - Kodaline

Warnings: a few parts of this chapter (mostly, a single scene) are pretty disturbing. It's nothing worse than what is mentioned in Criminal Minds, but it's graphic. If it gets to be too much for you, skip to this: *** (the scene will also start with this symbol if you want to skip it altogether). Take care of yourself <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

_____________________

Syria, 2014

“Are all girls from Colorado this rough, or is it just you?”

“Shut up, Austin.”

Austin laughed.

It was weird — soldiers buzzed around you like bees in a hive, but whenever you and Austin got the chance to talk, it was like you and him were the only people in the room. You just wished you could talk to him under better circumstances.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Austin continued. “The last guy you treated walked out of here looking like Frankenstein.”

“Without me, he would’ve been rolled out,” you retorted. You pulled at the sutures tightly, causing him to wince.

“Alright, alright,” he ceded with a chuckle, “I get it. But if you mess up my face, my mama will come after you.”

“I would never mess up a handsome face like yours,” you said sweetly as you worked at the cut on his cheekbone. “Why would I ruin a man’s only asset?”

“You wound me, Y/N,” Austin said, setting a hand over his heart. “You wound me to my core.” 

You snorted, laying a bandage over the sutures. You patted his shoulder. “You’re good to go, soldier.” 

Austin stood up from the gurney, grabbing his button-down digital camo shirt. He draped it over his arm, which you swore was the width of your head. As if that wasn’t enough, he towered over you: he was at least 6’4, and built like a tank. You once said he was the Army’s wet dream. You got a good laugh out of that remark.

Austin bowed slightly and tipped an imaginary hat. “Thank you, m’lady,” he said, accentuating his preexisting southern drawl. 

You shoved his shoulder with a smile. “Get out of here, Crow.”

He smiled, his white teeth contrasting his dark hair. “See you around, Y/L/N.”

“Hopefully not too soon,” you replied. 

“What, you don’t want to look at this pretty face?” He asked, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Not really, no,” you laughed. You cleared your throat. “Seriously, Austin: Don’t be a hero.” 

He nodded, respecting your change of tone. “Yes ma’am,” he agreed, before walking out of the triage tent and right back into danger.

You sighed, picking up and putting away your equipment.

Some days, you wished more than anything else that the two of you met under different circumstances. You wished he moved to Colorado with his family when he was a teenager, or that the two of you met in a small cafe in a big city. Hell, you’d even be okay if you met during Basic Training, the two of you fell in love, and he worked on a local reserve while you persued a different career. Really, you just wished you hadn’t met while serving in Syria, because no matter how you spinned it, it just wasn’t appropriate. 

Austin was a Staff Sergeant, which technically meant he ranked higher than you. However, the two of you worked in different areas; Austin was a combat soldier, while you were a medic. He fought on the frontline, you mostly worked triage. You took care of men like him. So, even though the Army may not forbid an affair between the two of you, that didn’t mean you thought it was okay. It felt like… corruption, like you were breaking the trust between you and your brothers. You didn’t want anyone for a single second to feel like they were less important to you.

So, you pushed your feelings aside. You savored the moments you spent with Austin, but you didn’t push it. You didn’t seek him out, you didn’t play favorites. You enjoyed the time you spent with him, but said time was brief, as it should be. 

You sighed again. He was a charming Texas boy with a heart of gold. How could a person not fall in love with him? 

“The longer this goes on, the worse it gets.”

You and Austin watched a new batch of soldiers go through training. They were already deemed fit for combat, so the next few weeks would be spent teaching them the ins-and-outs of living and serving in an active warzone. Today’s lesson? IEDs. 

“I know,” you agreed, voices low as to not distract. “It started as peaceful protests against a President, and now more than half a million people are dead.”

“70 airstrikes later,” Austin said with a sigh. “Sometimes… nevermind.”

“What?” you asked. When he didn’t respond, you nudged his shoulder. “Sing your annoying song, Crow.”

He smirked, but didn’t quite laugh; the sound he made was that of a scoff. “Sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m even doing here.” 

“Me too,” you said softly. 

_____________________

The two of you found some downtime; Austin wouldn’t be heading out with his team until later in the afternoon, and after a busy morning, your tent was hitting a lull. The two of you decided to eat lunch together in an empty triage tent lined with gurneys. 

You sat on the ground beside each other, boots sunken into the mix of dirt and sand that made up the ground. Austin sat cross legged, and his knee brushed against your calf as you bounced your foot up and down.

“You gonna use that cheese?” He asked, referring to a silver packet you set on the ground.

“No,” you said, dumping your chicken fajita mix into your cooked rice packet. “Shit’s disgusting.”

Austin picked up the packet and tore it open with his teeth. He spread the fake, overly yellow ‘cheese’ spread onto a weird, fake pork sandwich he was making. The bread looked more like play-doh than bread, and the barbecue sauce he used was almost black. MREs: the epitome of luxury dining.

“That is nasty,” you remarked.

“Sometimes, you gotta take what you can get,” Austin said. He picked up a packet of clam chowder that had been heating up in its bag for awhile. He opened it and stirred it around before taking a spoonful and plopping it right on over the cheese spread. He finally closed the sandwich and took a massive bite.

“I’m gonna gag,” you stated bluntly. 

He frowned. “Why?” he asked through a mouthful of food.

“That is vile, Austin,” you said. “You just put clam chowder on a sandwich! With barbecue sauce and cheese! That’s so gross!”

He offered you the sandwich. “Wanna bite?” 

You tucked your chin against your chest and leaned back, shaking your head. “Get that away from me.” 

_____________________

To say the night was busy would be more than an understatement; 4 men from the same troop were rushed to triage, all with similar injuries caused by IEDs. One of the men ultimately ended up a double amputee, one leg blown off above the kneecap and the other being so damaged that most of the calf had to be removed. Somehow, a man from the same troop ended up with only minor lacerations. War was strange that way; you step on an IED the ‘right’ way, and it’s something you can walk away from. If you don’t, you could die.

“Alright everyone, we have 6 more soldiers coming in!” Your Lieutenant Colonel shouted. “All non-emergent patients should be transferred. Let’s hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”

You helped ‘reset’ a few stations, making sure they were clean and ready. When the men still hadn’t arrived, you approached Colonel Todd.

“Colonel,” you asked, catching her attention. “What else do you know?”

“Best guess? Task Force 221,” she replied, signing a few papers when someone handed her a clipboard. “Crow and his boys were out patrolling, Folks don’t take too kindly to soldiers around here.”

Your heart sank.

The men from Task Force 221 came in at the same time, and they were loaded out of the truck and onto gurneys one by one. You got assigned to the first person, which happened to be Austin himself.

“Go, help them,” Austin protested, already trying to get off the gurney. “I’m okay, just help my boys!”

You pushed him down by his chest as you and two other people rolled him inside. 

“Can I get a dose of Lidocaine, please?” you instructed, cutting away Austin’s already torn pants. So far, you saw two GSWs: one to the left lower leg, and one to the right calf. You adjusted the light above you to get a better look. “Make it two doses.” 

“I’m fine,” Austin pushed, once again trying to stand up.

“Austin Crow, I swear to god, I will tie you down if I have to,” you threatened. “You’re not fine — you’ve been shot. Sometimes, to take care of your team, you have to take care of yourself first.”

He laid back with a sigh.

Three hours passed before you could properly speak to Austin. After pulling the bullets from both his legs, you ran around trying to help people wherever and however you could. Eventually, you found the sweet spot where no one was critical but everyone was still busy. You managed to slip away and pull the curtains around Austin’s bed.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” you hissed under your breath.

“...What?”

“I heard what you did,” you said. “Your lieutenants were more than happy to tell me exactly how you got shot.” 

“By doing my job?” Austin asked. 

“You put yourself in the line of fire!” you argued. “You ran right into danger!”

“To help someone,” he explained calmly. “No man gets left behind, Y/N. You know that.” 

“You could have died!” you said between clenched teeth. You were trying to keep your voice down, but his apathy was driving you crazy. “God, what is it with you? The same day I take out your stitches, you come in with two gunshot wounds. What’s next, Austin? You want me to plan your funeral? Write to your parents, tell them how you died a hero?” 

“Why are you so pissed at me?” Austin asked. He seemed more confused than angry.

The words fell out before you could stop them. “Because I love you!” 

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you. You laughed bitterly. 

“There,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Cat’s out of the bag.” You sighed, setting your hand down and looking him in the eye. “I think… I’m in  love with you, and I don’t want to see you dead.”

Silence fell. Austin looked away, looked back to you, looked away again, and clenched his jaw. You crossed your arms in self-defense, heart pounding as you waited for him to say something, anything.

Austin scooted over, then patted the space beside him. “Come here.”

You approached the bed, slowly and carefully sliding next to him. It was almost too small for Austin by himself, let alone with another person, so your weight ended up mostly on him. He didn’t seem to mind, though.

Austin’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to his body. He buried his face in your hair, taking a long breath. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll do better. I promise.” 

_____________________

This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

You were only covering for someone, a temporary replacement until a new combat medic was hired. Austin was hesitant; he wasn’t sure if you were cut out for the job. You assured him you’d be fine, that you went through the same training everyone else did, and that it wasn’t permanent.

You were an amazing combat medic. You tied every tourniquet tight, you took care of men until they could be shipped off the triage. The Colonel in charge of Task Force 221 commended you, said you could be a real fit for the field. 

Austin didn’t agree. The two of you had been secretly dating for about a month, and it was the first real fight the you got into. You said you were seriously considering accepting a job as a combat medic, and Austin disagreed. You could tell this fight wouldn’t be like the last one — you weren’t about to kiss him and tell him everything would be alright.

“What, only you get to do the dirty work?” you asked. “Only you get make some real change?”

“This isn’t about glory, Y/N,” Austin sighed, running a hand through his cropped hair. “It’s about keeping you alive.”

“Now you know how I feel!” you argued, laughing at the irony. “It’s scary, isn’t it, Austin?! You want more than anything to pull me off of the battlefield, put me somewhere in this godforsaken country were I can be at least somewhat safe?!”

He clenched his jaw and looked away.

“I’m gonna take that job,” you stated, “and I’m only quitting when you do.” 

Now, you were here, in a place you didn’t know, but you knew you didn’t like.

“Y/N?” you heard someone call weakly.

“Austin?!” you said, trying your hardest not to burst into tears. You couldn’t see anything, so hearing his voice was a massive relief. 

Your memory came back in pieces: you saw Austin walk ahead to secure the area, but he ended up stepping on and IED. Without even thinking, you ran ahead, despite the yells and other protests of the men beside you. 

“Hey, baby,” you said gently, looking him up and down.  It took everything in you not to gag or faint.

He stepped right on the edge of the IED, meaning his left leg was blown off to right below the kneecap.  The exposed muscle was shredded, and his bone stuck out like a morbid fence post.

“You’re gonna be fine,” you promised, taking out your tourniquet. Just like you had been instructed what felt like decades ago, you pulled it as tight as you physically could to stop any more blood loss. 

Austin moaned in pain and mumbled a few words you couldn’t understand. When you looked up to call for help, the butt of a gun connected with the back of your head, effectively knocking you out. 

You woke up here.

“It was a trap,” Austin said, voice rough and quiet. 

“We’re gonna get out of here, okay?” you promised. “Half of the fucking Army is probably looking for us right now.”

After what felt like hours, someone came in to remove your blindfold. You could finally get a good look at Austin, and it made your heart pound in your ears. He didn’t look good. Things would get ugly if he didn’t get proper medical attention soon. 

“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you,” you said immediately. “Just let me help him.”

A man dressed in all black began to yell at you in Arabic. You could only make out a few words — work, plan, and money. He paused, most likely to give you time to answer. When you didn’t, he punched you across the face.

“No,” Austin said weakly. “Stop it.”

You spat some blood onto the floor, your entire head throbbing. “Don’t worry,” you said, then looked to your attack. “I can take it.” 

_____________________

Present Day

“They didn’t get anything out of me by punching,” you said, staring at the light above your bed. You sounded detached, like you were talking about a movie you watched rather than recalling the worst day of your life. You supposed that’s how you coped with it — you pretended it wasn’t real, that it never really happened. “Even when they brought in someone who spoke English, I didn’t talk.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You adjusted the bed to a sitting position awhile ago, but you still felt vulnerable.

“You can stop,” Spencer offered, gently taking your hand. It was taped up and gloved, as it was the hand they put an IV in, so his touch was more delicate than usual. 

You shook your head. “I want to tell you everything,” you promised. “It’s just hard to think about. It’s hard to remember.” You took in a breath. “When the punching didn’t work, they moved on to whipping. And when that didn’t work…”

_____________________

***

Syria, 2014

Your back stung and your head throbbed. You hoped that eventually, you’d pass out, but unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Either your pain tolerance was too high, or the breaks they took between the methods of torturing were enough to keep you conscious.

“Get her on the ground,” one man growled. 

You groggily put together that there were three men in the room, all of them equally pissed. They probably thought you’d be easy to crack. 

The fresh wounds on your back hurt even more when they connected with the dirt; you could practically feel the infection in your skin forming. You gritted your teeth, barely able to refrain from making noise. You didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. 

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, someone began to pull down your pants. In that very moment, you prayed for a heart attack, for your body to give out completely. This, on top of everything else? You wouldn’t be able to take it.

“That’s enough!” Austin shouted, so loud that it practically shook the walls. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just get the hell away from her.” 

Austin gave up the location of the base, as well as other details they wanted, like what patrols and other missions had been scheduled. Apparently, all they wanted was to get the upper hand, strike before Austin or anyone else’s task force could. It made you wonder what they did when information was time-sensitive.

They slammed the heavy door behind them, and immediately, you burst into tears. You rolled onto your side and curled into a ball, shirt in shreds from the whipping. You stayed in that position for so long that your arm and legs fell asleep, but you didn’t really care. You wanted to feel nothing right about now.

“Y/N,” Austin called, for what was probably the millionth time. You tuned out everything around you, only the sound of static filling your ears.

You sat up lifelessly, a blank stare on your face.

“Come here,” he said.

You crawled over to Austin, your concern for him trumping both the physical and mental pain you were in. It had only been a few hours at most, but he already looked worse. His face was pale, lips dry, and despite the tourniquet, he seemed to have lost quite a bit of blood. 

“What do you need?” you asked. 

“Can you take off my shirt?” He asked.

It was a weird request, but you obliged. You lifted up the hem of his shirt, and carefully, you pulled it above his head. You managed to get it off without having to lift his arms too high.

“Put it on,” Austin instructed.

You smiled through a few new tears. 

It was damp with sweat, meaning it was entirely sanitary, but more than anything, you appreciated the sentiment. You slid it over your head, slipping your arms through each hole. Unsurprisingly, it was massive on you — the sleeves were technically short, but they almost hit your elbow. 

“Sit by me,” he said, tilting his head to the empty space beside him. 

You did as you were told, careful not to lean back and inflict more pain.

“Closer.”

You laughed, wiping your nose as tears streamed down your face. You scooted closer to him, lifting one of his arms and slinging it around your shoulders. You curled into his chest, and despite the sweltering heat, you found comfort in his warmth. 

“Hey, Y/N?” Austin asked, voice raspy.

You looked up. “Yeah?”

“I’m in love with you too.”

It didn’t occur to you, but ‘love’ hadn’t come out of either of your mouths since the night you first admitted it. You spent countless hours in each other’s presence, but it hadn’t come up. You didn’t Austin to say a word in order to prove how much he cared about you — he showed it. It was implied.

And now, it was over.

_____________________

***

Present Day

“It took them 18 hours to find us,” you said. A few tears made their way down your cheek. You wiped them and continued on. “I think Austin died halfway through it.” 

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; you thought Spencer was afraid to even breathe. 

“I stayed by his body until someone found us,” you said. “I managed to fall asleep a few times, and every time I woke up, mice were eating his skin. As if his leg being blown off wasn’t bad enough.” you paused. “I think his blood started to spoil. Is that possible? I don’t know. I think the heat was cooking him, though. It didn’t take long for his skin to start rotting.”

Your face contorted, and you stifled a sob. “I wanted to save him, Spencer,” you cried, clutching his hand. “I really did. They just wouldn’t let me.” 

Almost immediately, Spencer joined you on the bed. He pulled you against him, arms tight around you like a barricade. You gripped his shoulders as you cried into his chest.

“None of this is your fault, you hear me?” Spencer said. “None of it is your fault.” 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that. Eventually, you stopped sobbing, but the occasional tear still rolled down your cheek. Spencer held you throughout it all.

Eventually, you felt Spencer lift his head from the pillow. You looked up to see the team standing at the nurses’ station. Any other day, you would have pushed him aside and invited them in. Today, though, you just sniffed and moved closer to him. 

Spencer kissed your hair and continued to hold you close. They’d get the memo.

_____________________

The hospital kept you overnight for observation, but by daylight, you were discharged with a clean bill of health. Sometime during the night, Emily and JJ swung by to drop you off a change of clothes, which you were eternally grateful for. 

Spencer didn’t leave your side the entire night. He waited outside the bathroom when you changed, he held your hand as you took the elevator ride down to the lobby, and he sat in the middle of the backseat on the cab ride home. You stared out the window the entire time, but you kept a hand on his knee. 

As you stared at the multi-colored, almost bare trees, you realized something: life goes on. People were waking up and heading to their 9-5, and their biggest concern was what to make for dinner later that day. Some of them had a violent or traumatic past, just like you did, but that wasn’t how they lived their life. You and everyone else alive did the same thing: you woke up, and you tried your best. Sometimes, that’s all anyone can do. And that’s enough. 

“The rest of the team is going over to Rossi’s tonight; he’s making spaghetti,” Spencer said as the two of you entered the apartment. “We can go, if you want. Or we can stay here all day. We shouldn’t have a case until tomorrow. Even so, I’m sure Hotch would understand if you took some time off.”

“Spencer?” you asked.

“Yeah?”

“I’m okay,” you promised. “Everything I told you is something I’ve been reliving for the past 2 years. Talking about it didn’t dredge anything up. Actually, if anything, it helped. It’s like… I don’t know, a weight was lifted off of me. I feel like I can start to move on, finally.” 

He smiled faintly. “Good,” he nodded, “I’m glad.” 

You set your arms on his shoulders. “I’d love to go to Rossi’s for dinner,” you said. “But first, I need your help with something.” 

“Anything.” 

You played with your hands. “Ever since I got back, I’ve been thinking of visiting Austin’s family. It took me 6 months to go back to work after what happened — I can’t imagine what it was like for them to lose a child. I thought they needed some time before I brought everything back up. I think I’m ready now. At least, I’m ready if they are.”

“And that’s what you need my help with,” Spencer concluded.

You nodded. “I don’t know how to get in contact with them. Honestly, I was just gonna start by googling them.” 

“Over 45 million members of Generation X use Facebook,” Spencer said. “I think we should start there.” 

_____________________

“I swear, I am never letting you go,” Garcia said as she hugged you. For someone who was normally so soft, in that moment, she could crush all of your bones. 

“Come on, baby girl,” Derek chuckled, “we all get a turn. And Y/N needs to breathe.”

With a pout, Garcia let go of you. JJ, who was standing next to her, extended her arms. You pulled her into a short but sweet hug. Spencer wasn’t joking: this team was a family. 

“We didn’t get to see you in the hospital!” Emily exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around you. 

“I wasn’t there for long,” you said, pulling away. “Besides, I wasn’t really in the mood for visitors. No offense.” 

“None taken.” 

Derek hugged you next. His massive arms wrapped around you, and as you briefly relaxed into his chest, his chin rested on top of your head. A small, warm smile crossed your face. He was like the older brother you never had. 

“Hey, can I talk to you?” He asked as the two of you parted. 

Though surprised, you nodded. “Yeah, of course. You wanna step outside for a sec?” 

Derek nodded. 

“Don’t be too long!” Rossi called from the kitchen. “The show’s about to begin!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you promised. 

As you followed Derek onto the porch, you noticed Spencer talking to Hotch. You gave him a small wave, which he returned with a look of confusion. You raised your index finger, a silent way of telling him you’d be just a second.

“What’s up, Derek?” you asked, closing the door behind you.

“Are you okay?” He asked. “And I mean really okay, not the ‘okay’ that gets you out of a conversation.” 

You took a few steps, resting your arms on the porch railing. “I think I am,” you said, looking over your shoulder. “Why do you ask?”

Derek moved to stand beside you. He pressed his palms to the smooth wood. “Maybe you didn’t see us at the hospital, but we saw you,” he said. “I’ve never seen someone who was so sad to be alive.” 

“It wasn’t that,” you promised. “I mean, it was for awhile, but not anymore.”

“What’s going on?” Derek pressed, bumping you shoulder with his. “Something’s eating at you. I can tell.” 

“I lost a friend,” you said simply, “when I was in Syria. I watched him die.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, setting a hand over yours. “That’s awful.”

“It was,” you agreed, “and ever since I got back, I’ve been trying to figure out why I’m alive and he isn’t. He had a set of happily married parents and two beautiful sisters to come home to. I’m an only child, and my father was six feet under. He had so many people that cared about him — the only person who would have really missed me was my mom. It didn’t seem fair, ya know?”

He nodded. “I know. Believe me, I know.” 

Derek shifted his footing. You nudged his shoulder.

“Something’s eating at you: I can tell,” you joked.

He chuckled softly. “Fair enough.” He paused. “I watched my dad die. One day, he picked me up early from school. I asked him if we could go to the convenience store. When we got inside, there was a woman being robbed.  My dad was a cop, so he stepped in,  hoping he could diffuse the situation. The robber shot him.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “How old were you?”

“10,” Derek answered. “It took me a long time to move on; I was lost without my father. I thought if  I had toughed it out until the bell rang, maybe my dad would still be alive. The older I got, though, the more I realized that it didn’t matter. What matters is what I do about it. So, I shaped up. I started solving problems instead of creating them. Maybe I’m biased, but I like to think I did an okay job.”

“You did an amazing job,” you said with a smile. “You’re a good man, Derek Morgan. Your father would be proud of you.”

“So would yours,” Derek returned. He slung an arm over your shoulders, pulling you close to kiss the top of your head. 

_____________________

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Time Heals......Chapter Forty-Seven Pt. 2

“Question, Christopher?” Robyn said as she swallowed a bite of her food.

“Yes?”

“Did you rent this place out or something? I haven’t seen anybody else come in.”

Chris smirked and Robyn threw her napkin at him, “you weren’t even gonna tell me.”

“Does a magician reveal all their secrets?”

“That is not what I mean and you know it. You told me everything else.”

“I had no choice or else you’d think I used to mess with Abby. Everything about this night was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Do you actually own a part of this restaurant or?”

“I am not an owner but my plan was to give you a tour of my art kind of like a showing.”

“I would love that.”

“Good.”

Robyn leaned into Chris’s arm as he led her around the main dining room, showing her all the paintings he did. She stopped him in front of a painting of men against a background of distorted lands, “what’s this one about?”

Chris looked up then looked down and shook his head, “I didn’t even know they used this one.”

“Did you not pick out which ones to give them?”

“Nope. I just painted for like a month and gave them all to Jonathan to choose. He decided to keep them all and wrote me a check for them.”

“Wow. So what’s this one about?”

 Chris took a deep sigh as he stared up at the painting. A few moments passed of him still not speaking and Robyn pressed her palm against his cheek, “Babe, are you ok? I’m sorry if I asked you something difficult.”

Chris shook his head, “it's not that. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“When Jonathan asked me to create the paintings, he asked for something that was representative of our lives and I remember when I gave him this one he was a little confused about my point but he could still feel something when he saw it.”

“Well what was this based on?”

“Me.”

“Wow.”

“My first year overseas, I met a guy who had a stop over before deployment to the Middle East. He was older than me, divorced but had two children. We talked about life, our goals after our military careers were over and stuff. He was a good guy. Jeremy Arias. He knew I was pretty new and hadn’t been to a battlefield or anything like that. In fact, he told me to avoid the battlefield as much as I could. Me being my arrogant self, I thought he was making it seem like I couldn’t handle it until he took me around to speak to more veterans who had been there. Robyn, I had never met most of them prior to Jeremy introducing us but even I could sense the change in them. There’s a hardness you develop after seeing death just to keep yourself sane. The sad part is that hardness doesn’t work well outside of the battlefield. Many of them were divorced or had never gotten married simply because of the job and it was nerve racking for me. Me and Tiana had only been married a year, you know? Would I change like that if I ever saw war? Would me and her make it if I did? It’s hard not to think about your future when it’s staring back at you.”

“Sweetie, I never knew.”

“Nobody really did. I mean I stayed in England for most of my career and I was never deployed to battle but so many people I worked with were and watching some of them never come back shook me to the core.”

“What happened to Jeremy?”

“He was killed by IED in Iraq. There was nothing left of him to give back to his family. Luckily they found his dog tags but that was it.”

“Wow.”

“I think what made me paint that was as much as I was sad about his death, I couldn't relate to it. I don’t think anyone can until they’ve been out there. I felt a part of the branch but having never stepped foot into a warzone, all I had was a second-hand view.”

“A distorted view.”

“Exactly.”

“Were you more upset about being discharged because you never got to see battle and felt somewhat insufficient or because you had to leave essentially what had become a part of your family?”

“Honestly, I never thought about it like that but a little bit of both. You know when you’re 18, 19 years old, you want action for the adrenaline but as you get older, you want the peace just so you don’t have the hauntings that so many come back home with. I did my part working in different departments, training and practicing but it’s nothing like having to put that training and practicing to work. It comes with more than just a sense of accomplishment.”

“So the painting is about that disconnect for you. Like you went into the military and part of you feels like you didn’t get to do what you signed up for.”

“Yea,” Chris said lowly as he turned to stare at Robyn, “you know, nobody ever caught on to the meaning that quickly.”

“I doubt you explained it to them like you explained it to me.”

“Nobody ever really asked.”

“So is this all the paintings you did for Jonathan?”

“No, it was like 20 in total to be honest.”

“You were doing like one painting a day then.”

“Something like that.”

“Why?”

“I needed something to pass the time. When I wasn’t working on base, I was home. Tiana wasn’t really there much. She had friends and stuff to run around town with so I was by myself a lot but it was cool.”

“How much time did you actually spend with her outside of your bedroom?”

Chris chuckled, “not a lot. Sex was where we could level with each other. Outside of that, we were civil but we lived completely separated lives. My only connection to her life was the fact I financed it.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Why you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to laugh.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Yes, you would.”

Robyn pressed her face into his arm and giggled, “anyway, what else do you want to show me?”

“What else do you want to see?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be seducing me?”

“And part of that is giving you what you want. So what else do you want to see?”

“Ok, I would love some dessert.”

“From here?”

“Nope but I know the perfect place to get my favorite thing.”

“Then let’s go.”

                                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where did you find this place?” Chris asked as Robyn fed him a slice of ice cream cake.

“I was pregnant with Twins. I can smell good food anywhere.”

Chris laughed, “very true.”

“And I developed the worst craving for this rum ice cream cake.”

“I can see why. It’s delicious.”

“I made a good choice?”

“An excellent choice. So I have one more thing I would like to do with you before you make a decision about the week.”

“Is it something physical because I am gonna finish this cake and probably not gonna be able to move?”

“It’s not super physical. Just walking.”

“I have on heels.”

“I know. Don’t worry about it.”

Robyn raised her brow at him, “Chris, what are you up to?”

“You’ll find out,” Chris replied as he dug into his slice of cake and took another bite.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No Christopher.”

“Yes Robyn. Come say hi.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“If you’d touch, you’d know I’m not kidding. Come say hi,” Chris replied as he grabbed her hand. Chris pulled her forward to the man holding the reins of a horse. 

“How much did this cost?”

“Don’t worry about it. Robyn, this is Javier. He owes a carriage business and he’s gonna be taking us for a ride through your favorite part this evening.”

“Hello Javier.” 

Javier smiled and tipped his head at her, “Hello. These are my horses, Snowflake and Pilar.”

“They are beautiful. Where do you keep them?”

“I also run a stable on the outskirts of town. I use the carriage business to get them around people and teach people about horses. I mainly service weddings and such but when an old friend calls on you for a favor, who can say no?”

“You know Chris?”

“Yea, I’ve known him for-”

“How about we get going? Thanks J,” Chris interrupted. Javier chuckled as he brushed his hand across the nose of the nearest horse before climbing in the front seat. Chris helped Robyn step up into the back before sitting next to her. He entwined their hands together and kissed the back of her hand, “you ready?”

“Yes, I am.”

“We’re ready J.”

Javier nodded in acknowledgement and soon they started to move.

“You did pretty good. I wasn’t expecting this,” Robyn said as she turned to face Chris.

“That was the point.”

“What made you think about the horse carriage?”

“It’s something very romantic that I know you usually wouldn’t go for so I figured I’d give it a try.”

“How did you get him to do this so late at night?”

“Robyn, it’s not even 10 yet.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. We’ve been out for about 3 and half hours.”

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

“Time flys, huh?”

“You got friends in all kinds of places, huh?”

“I have my connections. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I know you got some friends somewhere that I haven't met.”

“Actually no. I spend more time at work or with the girls than anything. Prior to you coming back around, I never really went anywhere.”

“My mom told me that you would go out when you left the girls with her.”

“That’s what I told her. I used that time to rest more than anything.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“No, just a little surprised.”

“That was not a surprised tone. You can give it to me straight, I can take it.”

“There’s nothing for me to say that I haven’t said to you already. You need to stop working so much and take some time for yourself.”

“I wish everybody would stop assuming that I’m not taking time for myself. What do you think I do when the girls aren’t home?”

“Sleeping all day and eating ice cream is not taking time for yourself.”

“According to you.”

“I’ma start popping up on you again.”

“I don’t remember you ever stopping.”

Chris gently nudged her and Robyn laughed, “I’m gonna get you back for that.”

Robyn leaned up and kissed his cheek.

“What was that for?”

“That was my answer.”

“Is that a yes?”

“That is a yes. I have been successfully seduced.”

“It gets better.”

“What else you got for me?”

“Something I think you’ll love.”

“Dick.”

“Other than that.”

Robyn laughed as she ran her hand along the curls at the nape of his neck, “other than that, what else is it? Do I have to get naked?”

“No. Put the freak on pause, Ms. Fenty. We’re not going there tonight.”

Robyn pouted, “but why?”

“Because tonight is not about that. I said without sex, that goes for the whole night.”

“Even after I said yes.”

“Even after you said yes.”

Robyn huffed, “Ok. I guess.”

“We got all week, Ms. Fenty. Don’t worry.”

“Well since it’s not sex, can you tell me what it is?”

“It is a present.”

“Big or small.”

“Big.”

“Ooh is it a car?”

“No but do you want a new car?”

“No, I’m just guessing.”

“You got me a little nervous.”

“There’s nothing to be nervous about. I promise.”

“I’m trusting you.”

“Good.”

Chris leaned and kissed her lips before wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his chest. Robyn wrapped her arms around his waist and continued to enjoy the ride with a smile on her face.

A midsummer night

Submission for the DEFCON 28 Safe Mode Story Contest.

You can also read it here

*makes a joke about JS*

11:49 <cjunior> Going to post it on #memes when it's a bit populated.

11:49 <voldemort> 😂

11:50 <cjunior> gonna go go and write a psychological thriller set in cybre one day with $skywalker as main.

11:50 <grid_lock> psych

11:50 <cjunior> where he shouts at vold.

Ren knew what his car looked like and probably had his car license number clearly up in his photographic memory, so he had no trouble in finding Benji's car from the parking lot. The clock would tick past about 11 at night when Benji gets back home from his work. Ren knew that too, that's why he was already here in the parking lot at around 10:45, in his sky-blue Porsche 911, listening to Johny Cash on the radio, slowly rocking his fingers to the lovely rhythm on the wheel, while his palm rested on the gear knob. It was all like an '80s film. 'It's almost 11, mate, where are you', He said to himself. He was impatient. The Johny Cash song moved to a one from the Stones. The distorted voice of Mick Jagger gently caressed the car and the good night. It was warm, and it was summer. Which meant, the clouds were gone and the sky was clear again. A night as serene as it can get, with the luminous moon gleaming and the white twinkling stars giving their special harmony on the black, but well-lit sky. Finally, a tall, lean guy came walking from the office building. He looked western and clearly like a follower of the bohemian ways. Dressed like 1994 and 1974 together, with a jacket, that'd instantly make him the hippiest person in the room. And with a pair glasses, with which one could probably see through the afternoon Delhi smog. The Porsche caught his eye, indeed, but he casually walked to his car, a yellow convertible, put his laptop bag in, and drove out of the lot. Everybody loves a game of cat and mouse, he must've thought to himself. He hadn't had turned the car into a sedan, and the warm breeze swept through his long, brown hair. Yes, it was summer. But it felt like it could rain. It was a Friday night and Benji felt like he should put the pedal to the floor and try to make that trouble inside his head go away. The breeze was almost soothing, almost like breaking free, but barely escapism. He sighed deeply and drove on through the freeway. On the rear view mirror, he saw Ren and his Porsche, clearly following him. He sped up, and took a hard right turn to the upcoming exit to the suburbs, that would've shocked anyone passing by. But, there was no one. It was just Benji and Ren and the dull streetlights. Benji raced through the twisted curves. The only thing that stood still to him was the sky full of stars. He drove about a mile, and settled. The dust still hadn't settled. Yet, the summer breeze refused to take them away. Ren walked cross to Benji's, still seated comfortably in the driver's seat, through the choking dust, looking like a hero, and put his elbows on the windowsill. "We need to talk." --- At Benji's, everything was as cypher-punk as it can get. Dark, with cables laying all across the floor, old routers with their hoods off and broken Game Boy boards. Benji poured a drink to a glass and placed it in front of his guest. Then, he settled on his armchair, placed his arms on the sides of the chair, leaving an impression that he would soon have the whole world under his command. Still maintaining eye contact, Ren slowly held the glass to his nose and smelled it. "You prefer gin to tonic?", he said, breaking the silence of the night. "Yes, Ren. Old habits", he replied after taking a seat and pouring a glass for himself. "I know about you picking Johny Cash and vim over anything, now gin over tonic?" Benji shrugged, helped himself with his glass and sat back. Probably after reminiscing about the good breeze he had just drove through, Benji quickly pulled his mind together. "The purpose of your visit?" "Lately, I have some trouble sleeping." Things weren't looking good from the start of the year. First, there was the reformation. The major part of the members of the team demanded equality amongst all the sub groups. It was all for the good, it was the sign on the times. Now there are team meetings before each CTF, more communication and more growth. As the head of the team, he embraced the transition and welcomed to take more power and stress off him and onto the team. It was like the beginning of a new era. But, as responsibilities became more distributed, performance withered away. The numbers weren’t looking good after Volga. Cyber was pushed into the top 100s in that one. It wasn’t so great in the other one either. It was like all something went wrong. It was almost like the decline of Roman empire. "And you know, Benji, there are some nights where I even feel like there's no point in carrying along with it." "You know about weeds, mate?", Benji replied, with a very serious, yet funny look on his face. "Weed?" "Yeah, there are some species, no matter how hard you trim them or poison them, they continue to grow back?" The air over Benji's hung very low, concealing everything the two men spoke. "You have to plough up the top soil and pull out the taproots", he said, giving his undivided attention to the man in front of him. A bit befuddled, Ren took his eyes off to his watch. The watch read 11:45 PM. He looked outside through the window. The suburb lay inebriated with the subtle star shine, with city lights at the far horizon. Ren got up and walked to the door, after seemingly finding answers in that view, but his mind was still disconcerted. "And get some sleep!", advised Benji, as Ren turned the front door handle. --- That night, midsummer, Ren came rushing in to the Cyber lab. The stars were now concealed with dark bellied clouds threatening to shower down at any instant. The sky seemed to be replicating his state of mind. He was running, or it appeared that he was. His hair smelled of sweat and dust, moreover sorrow, in an overwhelming extent. His face was red with his brows sunken and covered with layers of sweat, from running and his thoughts. He wiped his sweat off from his brow, opened the big wooden door and walked in. ‘Finally, the Cyber Lab!’, he must’ve thought. All of his sadness, anger and his urgency seemed to dissolve away in the subtle tranquility of the Cyber Lab. Where the binaries get spaghettified; the warzone. Although, there were other people and his mates in the lab, at the moment, he felt like he was alone. All of the times he walked through the dark corridors of the Cyber Lab alone at night, he had always felt a certain kind of feeling, like in no place else. It’s peaceful and quiet. Like there’s a spirit who watches all of us from above and leads Cyber through hard times, through the right path. More of like a community server that anyone worthy can make use of, but magical; Community-spirit. A spirit that always pushes you forward. The Spirit of Cyber. Taking in his presence and the feeling, he continued walking, to the far end, where the Cyber Lab’s main hall laid brimming with silence and darkness. Him walking through the corridor, this late in the night, under the series of lamps, over and over again must’ve made him feel like a ghostly spirit. Meanwhile, sky had started to break down with sound of thunder which echoing through Cyber, scattered and eventually dissolving away into the mystery that surrounded it. Cool wind was rushing in. Ren stopped near the long table, just by the ESP8266 which collects the attendance data. Beep. Beep. Imperion was there, grid_lock was probably there, zer0k was definitely not there; Usual Cyber. And the lab grew cold, eerie. Somebody from the end of the table, where he usually sits, leaned back, in a familiar gesture, as he was expecting him, but was met with no reply. That was Balthazar. To him, it looked like this was going to be one of those late rainy nights with CTFs; Late nights with nightmares.They'd buy biscuits, chips and rarely, a drink to keep them contained and usually Balthazar gets over the line first. "You know, I'm something of a Raja, myself. You can link me to the old dynasty of the coastal city." And then he'd talk on and on about how would've been powerful if the times hadn't changed, totally drifting off from the purpose of having the drink, which was to help himself in solving the challenge. A part of Balthazar thought and wanted it to happen that night. Ren must've went through the same thought too when he shot a good look at everybody. He could see the feeling on Balthazar's face. He carelly looked upon his mates and then at his hands. That’s when one of his mates saw that he had been holding a can of a sports drink, in his hands all the time. Something you don't normally see. But there he was, Ren holding a drink and the whole lab became spontaneously became madly silent and restrained. He was still looking at the can, now like his whole life depended on it. Mad images rose and fell in his mind. So did anxiety. He increased his grip on the sports drink, trying to contain his anguish, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate, just before he threw the can at the wall next to The Room Of The Beeping Things, where the can exploded like a bomb, with the drink reaching as far as the Operating Systems Security Lab, and the sound reaching much farther. Nobody moved a muscle, and silence echoed through the dim walls again. It was confusion. And the team looked at him in awe. The rumbling sky made way to a wonderful shower. Little droplets rained down, dissolved and slipped away. At that moment, Ren had a wonderful fantasy. What if the river was flowing right through the window? All the fish, sting-rays and the mud would all flow through the window and he would be able to watch it just from his station. And what if there's a river flowing through the Room Of Beeping Things? You could watch the river swell during the monsoon and maybe try your luck in fishing, just from his station. Watching the muddy water flow away, Ren would call "Benji!". He wasn't calling. He was a screaming. While the cool wind continued to rush in, to that midsummer night. The sky seemed to be replicating his state of mind. The silence and the darkness got intertwined and melted away into ether, eliminating all individuality and bestowing the team with absolute focus. With the sound of thunder, every once in a while. Still, the man’s face was distinct in the shadows. Everyone could clearly see the spark in his eyes and the gleam of his glasses. “You call this productivity? You call this… a team?”, he bellowed in a voice very powerful, like one possessed. He had never took his voice so high. It was the beginning of something Cyber hadn’t yet seen, well at least the present Cyber. “This isn't what Cyber is about.” He looked around. His voice was now almost getting buried in the thunderous clatter of the rain. He took his glass off, sat down, took a moment for himself and began. The thing Ren does best. It was about to happen. Few rain drops slowly rolled down the windows and immediately fell away. The sky seemed to be replicating his state of mind. I knew that I was going to hear something I’ve heard people say a million times to me, again but this time, its going to lay a deep impression within me. Perhaps, it’s in the way he was molded. He was never the one for hollow thoughts. The word on the street was he was in the Olympiad or something similar when he was young. What puzzled everyone the most is the infinite karma in settling in this place helping people, after thousands of adventures, while patiently waiting for the moment of great reckoning to arrive. It was like in those American movies, where the head coach walks into the locker room, delivers a speech that lifts the hearts of everyone in the room in order to go that extra mile and achieve the impossible. Climbing higher and back down, blending into everything Ren said that night. And that’s what had happened. It truly was. Maybe it was a prophecy, or The Spirit Of Cyber, who knows. Now, I remember his glasses and his grin, right before he ended. I remember his voice, now a distant murmur, waiting to come back into my mind on the cold rainy monsoon nights, when I need it the most. And in those nights, the words will come back and envelop me again. “You are as useful as I am. You are just not aware of how useful your contribution to the society that sacrifices you, is.” It’s a reminder. To walk on with your tensed jaw and clenched fist till the very end. To fight in the beaches and the landing grounds. To go till the end. Until you feel your nostrils dilate with the smell of sweat and blood. And feel liberated.

La fin :3

Art theraphy (OMOMTRTA)

(This is a story about the latest shall we date game Obey me! One master to rule them all. I don’t own the game just the Oc I made to be the MC Also if you haven’t played the game..back out the hell now.cause SPOILERS LINK TO THEM IN THE BIOOO)

Lucifer was minding his own damn business when he noticed a box. it wasnt a scam box,or the latest weeb, it was a box loaded with art supplies. he knew who it was so he picked it up bending with his knees and took it there. and when he placed it down he began texting.

Lucifer: Christina...Did you order anything?

Christna: Oh yes! I ordered some art supplies to help me with my theraphy. Did they arrive? Ill go get them.

Lucifer: No need they are at your door now. And if you tried to lift them you might hurt your back.

Christina: Thanks Lucifer! Youre the greatest!

This did make Lucifer blush. He did like it when Christina praised him. It was like when Lilith did when she was around all those eons ago. He smiled seeing her door open and her squealing excited at the box and quickly scanning her room for a box cutter. when she found one she was extra careful opening it and began inspection on each item. "Lets see..1 set of scented ink in the colors of the rainbow..check. Water colorss..check. chinese paintbrushes and brushes in a pinstripe tip with a metal case to match..check..Sketchbooks that can tolerate ink and water color..and books on the weather of Devildom...check and check...400 Grimm well spent on theraphy." Lucifer almost cringed cause Mammon and Asmo and their spending habits but,if this was for theraphy and the shopping itself wasnt theraphy he will stomach it. "May i help you with this 'Theraphy' of yours?" He asked. Chrissy made a happy gasp and nods cause the point of it was talking out your emotions while drawing them.

Lucifer sat down and saw her put the things about happily humming and looking at a prompt list on the internet. "So you do this to make you happy? When did it start?" She hesitated and went silent.. "Lucifer...Lord Diavolo has punishments in each area right? The places i cant go i mean." She asked. Lucifer nodded not knowing where she was going with it until she asked "Where do abusive fathers go? I know ive seen people like me here in phases of hell. cause you and your brothers have..fun with them or to me..curse my name being the meaning of purgetory.." she laughed making Lucifer chuckle a bit. "Okay how about as your drawing you tell me what you saw around my brothers. and ill tell you where your father might go." Whoever this dirtbag was he was gonna judge him himself. Didnt he know what a gem he had. Who does he think he is Henry the 8th?! "Welll Asmo gets alot of fan visits...and he has no respect for the thickness of the walls...or the floor..." "NEXT" Lucifer said facepalming. He knew their was gonna be a boom soon no thanks to him. No wonder poor chrissy gets creeped out by him.  "Well Beels football team will do somthing nice when i bake cookies to help fund the team. They buy all by cookies before Beel eats them all.Somthing about Dining hall being a Warzone." Lucifer realized she only comes to the house to eat and not the dining hall. Thank hells she didnt see the last food fight. "Oh but you know that Mammon got a job right?" This was a small surprise to Lucifer and looked at her. "It was only for the day..we worked at Hells kitchen for a while..I was a waitress with Belphie and Mammon was a Fry coo-" That did it...Lucifer was laughing..good thing Chrissy was the only person listening. "I-im sorry continue.." Chrissy nodded "Now um i was wondering if my dad can go there since he robbed me,,,treated me like crap...malipulated me..." she went on and on about her abuse and not know Lucifer..even though was listening and was calm..and didnt know jack about this man..wanted to end his BLOODY LIFE.

That was then and nowadays the place was quiet and the men were mopey..Mammon did steal but not that much. Even levi was lonely. That was until their phones were ringing

The house of Lamentation(7):

Chrissy: Hey guys did you miss me?

Mammon: CHRISSSSYYYYY*crying*

Levi: How is it in the human world? You are collecting mangas for me right? And the latest Kpop stuff?

chrissy: I missed you guys too and yes Levi im keeping my promise.

*Shows a picture of her library and there was her normal books and her whole collection of manga and her fairy garden full of minitures*

Satan and Levi: So...many...books.:heart:

 Chrissy: And most of them are autographed with notes from the authors and or voice actors. I can give you a tour of my house?

Everone: YES PLEASE

Thus began the video call. so in the call they saw each part of her room starting with well the house and outside.  It was an domed roofed Eco manor on 10 acres of land , featuring solar pannels,Silo for her animals food, a inground pool, a nearby lake, a circular driveway with some oddly  burned in treadmarks, and a stable. She began getting passionate about her horses and comparing some of them to the brothers. Alll of them wondered if they could they can get her to breed with one of their Hell horses..just to see what would happen. Then she showed inside where they are in her living room/kitchen area. It has leather couch,her gaming systems in a heart shaped cabinet, a flatscreen television and her bass guitar, and is open to the second story with a balcony overlooking the floor below in the living room area.The kitchen had two ways to get in from the living and dining area from the looks of it, a kitchen island, a rainbow of cake spactulas, cooking supplies and more. Beel was loving this room just as much as Levi loved the living room.There was even a Yogurt and cupcake machine!Lucifer was just happy she was following her Keto diet seeing the Keto cookbooks.then they saw Angel, her service dog, and her cat Sir snowball and her trying to calm them. They all did laugh at that and then mammon got excited seeing a beaut of a Mazda decaled with an angry unicorn in space on it. He could also tell it had carbon fiber hoods and roofing. She was MADE to race!

Chrissy: Mammon stop drooling over Winter..

Mammon: But shes beautiful!

Chrissy: And i dont want you Crashing her.

As the tour continues She showed her mermaid themed bathroom with 2 tubs 1 tub for the pets and 1 jucuzzi sized one for herself, A walk in shower raised on a platform, a freestanding hairdryer and a small electric fireplace in the corner that changed color.Asmo was getting ideas but it was cut off by a "Dont you think about it" from chrissy. Asmo pouted. All that was missing was a mini nail salon.   Then the best part for all of them..her ROOM. Where she was sleeping for sometime. It features a large loft bed, freestanding mirror, fireplace and 3 full-length windows overlooking the ground below. The walls are decorated with all of her paintings and photos of them in poses she asked them to do which made them have the Feels. Cause they realized in almost every room there were these types of paintings and photos. And they saw her walk in closet that had some clothes all off them gave her and her vlogging gear. She did claim about having guest rooms  but they were mostly storage at the moment. In the end of the tour she showed her editing room, Art room and smiled at them sadly when she said she had to go. Most of them whined but lucifer said. "Dont worry guys. she will call back at least we know her theraphy is making her feel alright." Then Lucifer was shocked when she asked "You guys will visit right?" they all nod and Chrissy hung up excited to show them around

{January Collection} #11

America Loves Me

Theme: Familiar Fridays

Familiar Friday~ Means Marvel and romance, because home is where the heart is. ♥

“Package. Sign here.”

Monica blinked in surprise at the stocky deliveryman that was sticking a clipboard in front of her face.This wasn’t her usual deliveryman and as she took the clipboard between hesitant fingers, she tried to get a good look at this new guy...but the brim of his hat was down too low. He was tall, though, and had she already thought stocky? Because he was; he filled out every inch of the delivery uniform and then some, leaving some of the khaki fabric straining over a broad chest and back, not to mention biceps that would crush a watermelon and legs that could likely propel him over the nearest skyscraper. She’d definitely never seen this guy before; she’d remember.

So distracted as she by his presence that she barely glanced at the form she was signing, handing it back only for him to hand her a rectangular box.

“All good?” The man asked; his voice was rough but not exactly unappealing, and Monica blinked.

“Huh?”

“I said, all good?” The man tapped the top of the box with two gloved fingers--so roughly she almost dropped it. “This is for you, right?”

Why the hell was he asking her? Wasn’t it his job to know that? But Monica of course didn’t say that; she nodded. “Y-Yes, thank you.”

“No, thank you, darlin’,” came a drawl Monica recognized--not the man, but the region it was from. New York’s lower east side. It wasn’t unusual, they were in New York, but this man sure had a distinct way of talking--it matched his looks, as he finally lifted his head to wink at her. Definitely never seen this guy before, but he just smirked and tipped his hat. “Be seein’ ya.”

Monica didn’t even know what to say as she stepped inside her apartment, slowly closing and locking the door. Was he...flirting with her? And what kind of delivery man had such crazy scarring on his face? He’d boasted a star-shaped, deep scar on his left cheek, and there were other knicks taken out of his face near the right side of his jaw, cheek, and even his eyebrows. Had he...maybe been in a warzone?

Well, didn’t matter, this was New York and she’d probably have a new deliveryman next time, because nothing ever stays the same in the city that never sleeps. Monica glanced down at the package in her hand; she’d signed for it, but she didn’t remember ordering anything recently. She made a thoughtful noise as she set the package on her kitchen counter, moving to collect her scissors from the knife block a few feet away. In the background, the TV droned on noisily but she ignored it; it was another news report about superheroes in the Big Apple, though what about this time she’d missed. Really it was just background noise; she didn’t need other people’s opinions on superheroes. She had her own.

The box was opened easily enough but even as Monica pulled back the sides, she still didn’t recognize what was inside. It was very obviously a shirt, but not one she’d ordered--she wore black, not white, and as she slowly lifted it from the box, she became even more confused.

“Captain...America loves me?”

“You sound surprised by that revelation; the rest of us already know it’s a fact.”

Monica froze, attention snagged by the man who just ducked out of her bedroom. Not only did she have an intruder in her home, but he was very obviously a super villain; the mask that covered his face was that of a skull, with a white hood tossing intimidating shadows over the garish grin of bared teeth. The man had spoken and those teeth had clattered together, betraying this was more than just a mask--a mask designed to intimidate and it definitely did that. His eyes were boring into hers, further nailing her to the spot, and it was all she could do to lower the shirt and meet his gaze as he stalked further into the room.

“I-I...W-What are you doing i-in my house?”

“Sweetheart, don’t be naive. You’re far too pretty for it.” The closer he got, the more Monica had to come to terms with the fact that there was a reason superheroes were needed to fight men like this--this man was tall and he was insanely well-built. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with the task at hand, she might have compared him to the deliveryman she’d met earlier. The intruder came to stand on the other side of the counter, towering over her even with the barrier between them. He was obviously sizing her up. “...You’re far too pretty for Captain America, while we’re on the topic.”

“I-I don’t--?”

But before Monica could make sense of what was happening, a second intruder made himself known--in a very obvious and not at all subtle way.

Bang!

Monica jumped with a surprised squeal, dropping the shirt back onto the open box as her front door was kicked in and nearly off it’s hinges; the old deadbolt stood no chance against the boot now planted firmly in her kitchen. This second intruder was definitely stockier than the first, but there seemed to be a theme happening--the mask this guy wore had a skull painted over the black fabric. It wasn’t an actual skull, like the first man, but it was a skull.

What the hell was going on?

“Subtlety really ain’t your strong suit, is it?”

“What? It’s New York, no one’s gonna come investigate.”

The exchange was brief, as Monica watched the first intruder snipe at the second, who just griped back as he wedged her front door shut so tightly she’d probably never be able to open it again. And on top of that, the problem was, this second intruder was right.

“W...What’s...going on?”

Both men turned to stare at her and she immediately regretted opening her mouth. These men were tall, built like tanks, and she didn’t trust the look in either of their eyes--the skull theme wasn’t helping, either.

“What, you ain’t told her yet?” The second intruder gestured with one gloved thumb. “You in here monologuing at her or somethin’?”

“Of course not,” came the indignant response from the first. “You didn’t even wait for your cue. You’re early.”

“You was just takin’ too long. I hate when you do that, especially when the captive’s a pretty girl.”

Monica was at a loss for words. In a city, a world full of superheroes, anyone can catch themselves imagining what it would be like to be a hostage, to be rescued by a superhero--Monica was even lucky enough to have been saved by one, once! But when one imagines being the captive of a super villain, waiting for the masked hero to arrive and save them...well, Monica didn’t exactly want to be rude, but she didn’t think these two were typically who came to mind.

“Settle a bet for us,” the second intruder came around to Monica’s side, and she was dwarfed immediately by the sheer muscle mass of him. “Tell me exactly what Taskmaster said before I got here.”

“Taskmaster?” Monica glanced at the man across the counter from her, who was staring at her with those eyes of his, again.

“Yeah, that’s Taskmaster. Pretty stupid name, if ya ask me--”

“What, like Crossbones is any better or more original?” Taskmaster took the opportunity where he saw it, because he wasn’t going to be made a fool of in front of their pretty captive! ...And he was damn tired of people making fun of his name. It was a good name!

“Crossbones is a fuckin’ badass name.” The second intruder, now known to Monica as Crossbones, threaded his arm around her waist to rest against the counter by her hip. He had to crane his neck down to meet her gaze. “Tell him you like my name better, darlin’.”

That drawl and that term of endearment and Monica realized instantly the man now invading her space was the same delivery man from before. She couldn’t see his face for his mask, now, but that voice was distinctive.

“It’s you.” Monica’s voice was a little dumbfounded, and it 100% had to do with the situation she found herself in. “The deliveryman.”

Crossbones winked at her. “In the flesh.”

“Why are you winking at her like being a deliveryman is somethin’ to be proud of?” Taskmaster groused. “And you gave away your identity?!”

“It ain’t like I put my real name on the uniform badge or nothin’!” Crossbones shot back. “Don’t be jealous ‘cause she remembered me!”

“It’s been five fuckin’ minutes since she last saw you, you idiot.” Taskmaster sniped right back, but that was only because Crossbones was right. He was jealous. He should have been the deliveryman that Monica recognized. “Why did you even bother puttin’ your mask on if she can recognize your face? And why did you let her see your face in the first place?!”

“Just ‘cause she knows what I look like don’t mean she knows who I am!” Crossbones defended, swallowing the second half of the truth--that he’d really wanted this pretty young thing to know who he was and what he looked like.

“I d-don’t...mean to interrupt, or anything,” Monica squirmed a little in Crossbones’s hold, but any attempts she made to put distance between them were countered by his unflinching strength. She stayed where she was, locked to his side against the counter. “B-But who...are you guys? Why are you in my apartment?”

Taskmaster and Crossbones exchanged glances, but it was Taskmaster who spoke.

“We need you to get your boyfriend here.”

Was it Monica’s imagination or did Taskmaster’s voice tighten when he spat out the word boyfriend?

“M-My who?” Monica looked between Taskmaster and Crossbones. “I don’t...I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Sure ya do,” Crossbones reached out, black gloves dragging the forgotten t-shirt a little closer to Monica.

Monica blanched. “C-Captain America?” She glanced between the men. “You think...Captain America’s my boyfriend?”

“Ain’t he?” Crossbones picked the conversation up easily, not noticing Taskmaster’s eyes were narrowing in his direction. “We’ve all seen ya, smoochin’ on TV.”

Monica’s cheeks flushed red, and she completely missed Crossbones’s arm tightening around her, lost in her thoughts at the reminder. Monica had her own opinion on superheroes because she’d been saved by one, before--yes, the Captain America. He’d rescued her from a burning building a few weeks ago and had personally seen to her being treated by paramedics, and they...may have shared a kiss that was captured by all the news crews covering the fire. It had all happened so fast! There was just a lot of adrenaline involved with being rescued and he was just...so handsome. Monica wasn’t even sure who had made the first move but while it was true she had shared a kiss with Captain America, nothing had come from it other than a few jealous looks she’s received since it happened. Were people really blowing this into a relationship? Or...was it just these two?

“Captain America i-isn’t...my boyfriend. He only saved me that one time.” Monica tried to explain and she was grateful her voice was soft due to being intimidated by the two men, because she didn’t want to risk setting them off. Was it a mistake to tell them this? It seemed like it took away any leverage she had, but...it was the truth, and she didn’t want to be the reason Captain America walked into a planned ambush.

“But...ya signed for the T-shirt.” Crossbones gestured to it again. “I even asked ya if this was for you, and it said right on the form you signed, what the shirt said. Why would ya sign for it if it wasn’t true?”

Monica couldn’t help it, the words slipped out before she could stop herself. “That’s your proof that I’m dating Captain America? That I signed for a T-shirt?”

Taskmaster’s silent anger was growing by the minute, but Crossbones remained oblivious.

“I mean...that an’ you guys had that kiss, right? And it was a for real kiss, like it lasted at least a minute.”

“It wasn’t a minute!” Monica objected, cheeks darkening. “It...It was just a kiss.”

“Nobody kisses like that and it don’t mean anything.”

“You...said you had this all worked out,” Taskmaster’s tone was quiet, but sharp enough to stab a man--one man. Crossbones. “You told me you had this part of the plan all worked out. I trusted you to do this much, and what do you do? You fucked it up.”

“I didn’t fuck anythin’ up!”

“She just explained away the entire center of our plan!” Taskmaster gestured toward Monica, but his eyes were glaring holes through Crossbones. “The entirety of our plan centered around Captain America comin’ to rescue his girlfriend. And I have to find out, from her, that not only is she not his girlfriend, but that you based our entire plan around a fuckin’ T-shirt that you had custom-made online.”

Monica couldn’t help it. She could not stop herself from giggling at the image of Crossbones sitting in front of a computer, ordering a custom T-shirt with the phrase, “Captain America loves me,” on it. She put her hand over her face, half-hiding it, but the giggling still escaped and it drew the attention of both men immediately.

“Are you...laughin’ at me right now?” Crossbones wanted to be mad, he really did, but this girl was damned adorable. All it made him was horny, not angry.

“Of fuckin’ course she’s laughing at you, who wouldn’t?” Taskmaster was in the exact same boat as Crossbones; he wanted to be mad, in fact what he wanted was to shoot Crossbones right in the dick, but he was having trouble maintaining his temper with Monica’s adorable giggle in his ears. He sighed, resting his gloved palms on the countertop. “This plan is full’a holes and I can’t fuckin’ believe I trusted you.”

“It’ll still totally work!” Crossbones argued. “You’re tellin’ me if we go through with the kidnappin’, that Captain America won’t come to save her?!” Crossbones cupped Monica’s cheek in his gloved hand, a little roughly, forcing her to look at Taskmaster. “Look at this fuckin’ beautiful face and tell me you wouldn’t drop everythin’ to come get her?”

Taskmaster raised his head and stared at Monica, making her squirm under the full weight of that stare. She couldn’t imagine what his face looked like under the mask; his eyes alone were unreal.

“You...have a point.”

“Goddamn right I fuckin’ do.” Crossbones tipped Monica’s face up, pressing a masked kiss right to her mouth. “An’ thank you for bein’ so fuckin’ gorgeous. You saved my ass, sweet cheeks.”

“You’re not out of the woods yet--will you stop kissing her?!” Taskmaster about leapt over the counter and onto Crossbones, who seemed fully distracted by the feel of Monica’s mouth over his with solely the mask between them. Crossbones actually made a thoughtful sound before he pulled back., and Taskmaster narrowed his eyes “Give her to me, an’ you go back a bag for her.”

“Why don’t you go pack her bag? All yer gonna do is bitch at me for not packin’ it right.”

“You’re right, I probably will,” Taskmaster didn’t want to admit the reason was because he wanted a turn holding Monica. It wasn’t fair. “But you owe me for fucking up our plan so royally.”

“Then I’ll buy you a round once Cap’s dead.” Crossbones shot back, arm tightening around Monica. He had no intention of letting her go.

“You’re going to be doin’ a lot more than that, pal.”

“What the hell does that mean?!”

“I...can pack my own bag.” Monica didn’t...know what she was saying, this entire day had gone completely off the rails, but some part of her felt compelled to stop them from arguing. They were just...such bad partners. They needed help. “How...long should I pack for?”

“Forever.”

Both Crossbones and Taskmaster answered simultaneously, and Monica had to wonder if she hadn’t just made a huge mistake. They seemed perfectly in sync when it came to her, which was by far the scariest and most confusing part of a scary and confusing day. She only just managed to untangle herself from Crossbones embrace, starting for her bedroom to...pack a forever bag. Whatever that meant.

“Oh, an’ don’t count this shirt as an outfit,” Crossbones called after her retreating form. “You ain’t ever actually wearin’ this.”

“I don’t see why you spent so much time workin’ on that goddamn shirt if you’re never plannin’ on letting her wear it,” Taskmaster turned to whisper angrily at Crossbones, who threw the shirt in Taskmaster’s face.

“Will you shut the hell up about the fuckin’ shirt already?! I get it, you hate it, but don’t take it out on me ‘cause you’re jealous that Cap might actually love this girl.”

Taskmaster yanked the shirt off his masked face. “Based on what, exactly? Your expert research?”

“The fact that you obviously fuckin’ fell for her!”

Taskmaster drew back as if he’d been struck, before his gaze narrowed. “...Yeah, well, so did you.”

“Exactly,” Crossbones didn’t even bother trying to hide it, he just wasn’t that kind of guy. “So why don’t we just skip callin’ Cap and just keep her?”

Taskmaster drew up to his full height, and both men turned to stare at Monica’s open bedroom door.

“Why don’t we, indeed.”

#Stitchers Season 3 Episode 6 "The Gremlin and The Fixer"

The episode starts with Kirsten and Camille talking. They make up, Kirsten tells her about Cameron, and Camille suggests talking to Maggie breaking off both feet in Cameron’s butt.

Cameron and Linus talk too, and while Linus understands that Maggie is scary, he rightly points out that Cameron still broke Kirsten’s trust.

When Linus comments that “women are from Venus and men are from Mars,” the scene shifts to someone dying on Mars.

Kirsten talks to Maggie and gets nowhere.

The dead guy’s name is Jake Rowland and he was shot in a Mars simulation chamber at Aero Velocity Research Institute, where he worked.

During the briefing, Linus gets a text from Ivy.

Rowland was shot while leaving work, but he goes back inside to write something in the sand. Unfortunately, it’s too close to the death memory for Kirsten to tell what it was.

Because Kirsten has joined Camille on the “I hate everyone” train, Cameron tries to get Maggie to tell him where Kirsten’s mother is, but she doesn’t.

Linus and Ivy kind of talk, but she doesn’t really tell him anything, which is unfortunate because one couple on this show should actually communicate.

Kirsten takes Fisher to AVR because she still isn’t talking to Cameron. The man in charge says that Rowland turned off the Mars communication satellite before he died and they have 48 hours to figure out how to fix it or they have to blow it up. Rowland’s job was to mess around with the simulator and he was called a gremlin.

He worked in tandem with a fixer, Kenny Lee, who doesn’t appear to get along with anyone. Despite Rowland’s job, the boss can’t think of any reason that he would turn off the satellite. Kirsten offers to send Linus to help.

Kirsten and Cameron go check out the auto place Kirsten saw in the stitch and Camille and Linus go to AVR. The only reason Kirsten doesn’t drag Camille or Fisher with her instead is that Cameron is a competitive video game champion and has the pics to prove it.

Besides not wanting to go with Kirsten, it’s unclear why Camille is at AVR. Linus; however, assuages at the least boss’s doubts by saying very sciency things I don’t understand and being awesome.

Maggie has had a PI following Ivy and has pictures of Stinger “visiting” her. She shows them to Fisher and tells him to tell no one else. This is purely an adult table thing.

Linus and Camille fight, for the same reasons they’ve been fighting almost all season. Hopefully, they’ll stop that soon.

Cameron and Kirsten find the auto/underground video gaming place. They see Zelda, the girl Kirsten saw in the stitch and the organizer, also from the stitch. Cameron’s in awe and not paying attention, so Kirsten goes to the back room, copies files off the computer, and leaves.

Cameron talks to Zelda, and she volunteers him to the organizer to play. The video game is called Warzone, it isn’t available to the public, and no one knows who created it. Cameron wins but is very calm for someone who has never played the game before. The guy that loses punches him in the face. Cameron punches back, and the entire room gets involved.

After it’s calmed down a bit, Cameron and Zelda talk. She didn’t like Rowland very much even though they played against each other a good bit.

The organizer asks Cameron to come back but asks Zelda to spy on him after he leaves.

Ivy calls Linus that she’ll be there in a few, her visiting being what Camille and Linus were arguing about earlier, and then someone approaches her. From the look on her face, you would think it’s her father.

It’s actually Fisher and he and Maggie interrogate Ivy. They show her the pictures and then let her go? I’m sure there’s more to it, but not that we currently know about.

Linus is still working on the satellite, now by deconstructing equipment. Camille walks in with the M.E. for professional business reasons and it’s not super awkward or anything. This is the last episode she’s on the show, so that must be that then.

Even though she’s mad at him, Kirsten’s still worried about Cameron’s war wounds.

Rowland had a copy of the game on his computer at work.

The M.E. finds out what Rowland wrote in the sand. It’s a symbol of no apparent importance.

Cameron and Kirsten talk and he says the one thing I’ve been thinking for a while now. “We can’t keep doing this to each other. Me being mad at you. You being mad at me.” They aren’t fully made up, but she not actively hostile to him anymore.

Kirsten remembers Rowland’s secret computer and they find out that Jake created the game. Linus finds out that there is something hidden at the end of the game and that the satellite wasn’t off. It just wasn’t pointed towards Mars. It was pointed at the warehouse, next door to where Rowland had set up a satellite.

Back at the video game lair, Zelda steals Cameron’s wallet and finds out he’s NSA. She tells the organizer who is super going to kill him.

Kirsten, Linus, and Fisher show up and Kirsten tries to explain what’s happening. What it boils down to is that Cameron needs to win the game to unlock the code Rowland left at the end, a la Chuck versus Tom Sawyer.

Zelda warns him that the organizer guys knows, but Cameron’s gonna see this through to the end. Zelda’s kicking his butt, so Cameron lets her in on the plan. She lets the computer take over and plays as him to beat it. She unlocks the code which itself is unlocked by the symbol the M.E. found earlier.

What is unlocked is a message from Rowland. The organizer blackmailed him to play and rig the games.

He tries to use a gun to leave, but is knocked out by the guy who lost to Cameron earlier.

Kirsten and Cameron talk. Neither of them know what to do, but they’re going to try.

Ivy shows up at Kirsten’s house and they drink wine. She still doesn’t say much.

I liked the plot of this episode and it feels like pieces are being put in place for the rest of the season. 7.5/10