briqnne

The apartment is too quiet.

You don't notice it at first.

Not really.

It's just one of those long evenings where the city feels farther away than usual, where the traffic outside sounds muted beneath the steady rain tapping against the windows.

Frank should be home in an hour.

Maybe two.

You glance at the clock on the microwave for what feels like the hundredth time.

9:17 PM.

The pasta water bubbles lazily on the stove. His favorite. You smile despite yourself. The man could survive on military rations for six months straight, but put a bowl of pasta in front of him and suddenly he's acting like you've personally invented happiness. Your phone lights up. Frank. Immediately, you grab it.

FRANKIE Running late. Don't wait up for dinner.

You roll your eyes.

YOU Too late. Already made it.

The typing bubble appears.

Disappears. Appears again.

FRANKIE You're stubborn.

A smile tugs at your lips.

YOU Says Frank Castle.

Nothing for a moment.

Then:

FRANKIE Love you.

The words hit just as hard now as they did the first time he'd said them. Your chest warms.

YOU Love you too.

The typing bubble appears again.

FRANKIE Lock the door.

You snort. You glance toward the front door. Locked. Deadbolt engaged. Chain on. Exactly the way Frank likes it.

YOU Done.

A few seconds pass.

FRANKIE Good girl.

Heat blooms instantly across your cheeks.

"Asshole," you mutter. The smile never leaves your face. You set the phone down and return to the stove. Outside, thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance. The apartment creaks softly around you. Old building. Nothing unusual. You stir the sauce. Check the clock again.

9:24 PM.

Still too quiet. The realization prickles at the back of your neck. Normally, you don't notice sounds here. The pipes. The neighbors. The elevator. Tonight, it's like the building is holding its breath.

You frown. Then shake it off. Rain. That's all. The rain is drowning everything out. You reach for a glass from the cabinet. And freeze. A sound. Very faint. Metal. A tiny scrape. Your head turns toward the front door. Nothing. Silence. You stand there for several seconds, listening.

The apartment settles. The refrigerator hums. The rain continues.

You're about to laugh at yourself when— Scrape. Again. This time louder. Coming from the front door. Every muscle in your body locks. The glass slips slightly in your grip. You stare down the hallway. The deadbolt is locked. The chain is on.

Frank is still an hour away.

Another scrape. Slow. Deliberate. Like somebody is trying very, very carefully not to make noise. Your heart drops into your stomach. And then the doorknob moves. Just once. A tiny test. Someone is on the other side. Someone who definitely isn't Frank. Fear strikes your chest so hard, and you back up slowly, your chest heaving. What follows next makes you want to gag. You hear a gun cock.

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

A gun shot echoes through the walls, and the deadbolt comes flying clean off. You dive for the cutlery cupboard, you hand wrapping around the handle of the biggest kitchen knife you can find, before spinning on your heel and running as quietly as you can to the bedroom.

Your socks slide against the hardwood as you sprint down the hallway.

Behind you— A crash. The front door slamming into the wall.

Someone is inside. Your stomach drops. You reach the bedroom and throw yourself inside, shutting the door as quietly as you can.

Don't lock it. Frank taught you better than that. A locked door tells them exactly where you are.

Instead, you duck into the closet, dropping low to the floor, and locking that door.

Your phone. Where's your phone? Kitchen counter.

Of course. Of fucking course. Tears sting your eyes. The knife shakes in your grip. You force yourself to breathe.

Think.

Think.

Frank. You need Frank.

The apartment falls silent. Then— Heavy footsteps. Not rushed. Not panicked. Slow. Methodical.Whoever it is isn't worried. Which means they either know you're alone— Or they don't care. The footsteps move through the living room. You hear drawers opening. Cabinets. The sound of something crashing onto the floor. Your pulse pounds so hard you can hear it. The bedroom door remains half-open. From where you're crouched, you can see only a sliver of the hallway. Nothing else.

Another crash.

Then silence. A long silence. Too long. The kind that makes your imagination do terrible things. You grip the knife tighter. Your palms are slick with sweat.

And then-- A voice. Male. Deep. Close.

"Come out, Frankie !" Your blood turns to ice. "I know you're here, scumbag ! Come out." Your whole body is shaking, your hand clamped over your mouth. "What ? Don't wanna come say Hi to your good pal Billy Russo ?"

Billy Russo.

The name means nothing to you.

But the way he says it— Like a joke. Like a grudge. Like he genuinely expects Frank to answer— Makes your stomach turn. You clamp your hand harder over your mouth.

Don't make a sound.

Don't.

The apartment creaks. Rain taps against the windows. And Billy laughs. It's a terrible sound. Warm. Friendly. The kind of laugh that belongs at a bar between old friends. Not inside a stranger's apartment with a gun.

Your foot hits something soft, and you look down.

A duffel bag ?

Oh thank god, a duffel bag.

Shifting your weight side to side, you maneuver the bag into your lap, clammy palm still clutching the knife as you open in, wincing at the loud noise the zipper makes.

Your eyes scan the contents, your chest heaving.

Emopy gun, no bullets. His vest with the skull on it. Boots, a few shirts and-

Oh thank god.

A burner phone.

Your hands shake so badly you almost drop it. The burner phone slips against your sweaty fingers.

"Oh my God." The words never actually leave your mouth. You don't dare. Outside the closet, Billy keeps moving. You hear the bedroom door creak open. Then footsteps. Slow. Unhurried. The sound makes your stomach roll. He's looking. Searching. The burner phone feels like salvation in your hands. Please work. Please.

You fumble the power button. Nothing. Your heart stops.

No no no—

Then the screen flickers. A dim blue glow illuminates the darkness around you. You nearly cry from relief.

Your thumb shakes as you scroll through the contacts. There aren't many. Just numbers.

Micro. Curtis. A handful of names. Then— FRANK. You almost sob. Outside, a drawer slams. Billy whistles softly.

"C'mon, Frankie." The footsteps move closer. Your pulse skyrockets. You press call. The phone begins ringing. Once. Twice. Three times.

Pick up.

Pick up.

Pick up.

The ringing stops. Your heart leaps.

"…Yeah?" Frank's voice. Low. Distracted. Alive. For one terrible second you can't speak. You just sit there clutching the phone with both hands. Breathing hard.

"Hello?" His voice sharpens immediately. Because he hears it. The panic. The fear.

"Who is this?" The knife nearly falls from your fingers.

"Frankie." The whisper breaks. A sob escapes before you can stop it. The change on Frank's end is instantaneous.

"Baby?" No distraction anymore. No softness. Pure focus. "What happened?" You hear movement. Fast movement. A car door slamming. The roar of an engine. Your throat closes. "Why are you whispering, baby ?" You whine out a silent breath, gulping.

"F-Frank." You gasp, looking at the gaps of light shift as Billy traipses across the room.

"Baby, fuckin' talk to me."

"Someone's here."

"What ?"

"Frank, someone's in the house."

"C'mon, Frankie." His footsteps move again. Slow. Casual. You can hear drawers opening in the bedroom now. The scrape of wood. The rustle of clothes. Your clothes. Tears sting your eyes. Frank's voice is gravelly when he answers.

"What ?"

"Someone's here. B-Billy Russo. He shot the deadbolt off the door. Frankie, i'm scared." You whine, sobbing quietly. Another thud echoes so hard you flinch.

"Thought you'd have a better hideout than this." Another drawer. Another laugh. "Though I gotta admit…" A pause. "This is cute." Never expected you to wear a lacy red thong. Your blood freezes. Cute. He's looking at your things. The photographs. The blankets. The life you've built together. You bite down on your fist to stop a whimper. The mattress shifts. Billy is sitting on the bed. "Oh, wow." A low whistle. "You really went domestic, huh?" The knife nearly slips from your sweaty hand. He's close. Too close. Only a few feet away. You can hear the springs of the mattress creaking under his weight.

"Baby, you need to breathe."

"I-I'm in the closet. Frank, he's in our room." You choke. "Hes in our room." For a second, all you hear is the engine. Then—

"Okay." Frank's voice changes. Not softer. Not calmer. Focused.

The way a knife gets focused.

"Listen to me, sweetheart." Another creak from the mattress. Billy is still sitting there. Like he owns the place. Like he's got all the time in the world.

"I need you to keep breathing." Your chest heaves. You nod even though he can't see it.

"I can't—"

"Yes you can." The response is immediate. Absolute. "You can." Outside the closet, Billy chuckles to himself.

"Never would've guessed it." Silence. Then— The bedroom door clicks shut. Your heart jumps. Why did he— The closet handle rattles. You stop breathing. Once. Twice. A testing movement. The lock holds. The silence afterward is so complete it hurts.

"I'm on my way, mama." Frank huffs. "I need you to hang up."

"No, Frank-"

"Baby, if he finds you with a phone, he'll hurt you." He gulps. "More than he already might."

"Please, Frank—"

"Baby, listen to me." The engine on his end roars louder. You can hear him driving far too fast. Can hear the strain in his breathing. The fear. Frank Castle is afraid. Not for himself. For you. The realization makes your throat close. "Sweetheart." His voice drops lower. Steadier. The way he talks when he needs you to listen. Really listen. "I need you to put the phone on silent." Your hands shake.

"Okay."

"I need you to keep whatever weapon i know you got on you." You look down at it. The blade trembles violently in your grip.

"Okay."

"And I need you to stay hidden." The closet handle rattles again. Harder. You choke on a sob.

"Frank—"

"I know." His voice cracks. Just for a second. Then it's gone. Covered by steel. "I'm coming." Outside the closet, Billy sighs dramatically.

"Y'know, Frankie." His voice carries through the room. Casual. Amused. "I always hated these closets." The blood drains from your face. The handle rattles again. This time accompanied by a soft chuckle.

"Too obvious." Your pulse thunders. Frank goes deadly quiet. The engine revs. Tires scream somewhere on his end. Then—

"Baby." The word comes out rough. "Hang up." You squeeze your eyes shut.

"No."

"Sweetheart."

"I don't wanna be alone." The confession slips out before you can stop it. Raw. Terrified. Honest. For a second, neither of you speak. Then Frank exhales. Long. Slow. The kind of breath someone takes before jumping into freezing water.

"You aren't." Your eyes sting.

"Frank—"

"You hear me?" The closet door shudders. Billy testing it. Playing with it. Like a cat. "You're not alone."

Another shake. Wood groans. Your eyes dart toward the sliver of light beneath the closet door.

Nothing moves.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Then— A soft knock. Three taps. Right beside your head. You nearly scream.

"Oh, sweetheart." Billy's voice is right outside the door. Warm. Friendly. Terrifying. "Frankie's not home." Your heart stops. Another tap. "But I know somebody is." The engine on Frank's end suddenly cuts. A car door slams. Hard. Frank's breathing changes.

No longer driving.

Running.

Fast.

"Baby." His voice is a command now. "Do not answer him." The closet door creaks. Billy leaning against it. Close enough that you can hear him breathe.

"Y'know." His voice lowers. "I've always wondered what kind of woman could convince Frank Castle to play house." You bite down on your fist. Hard. The taste of blood fills your mouth.

"Now I get it." A pause. Then— "You're exactly his type." Frank makes a sound on the phone. A sound you've never heard before.

Please. Please walk away. Please— Another rattle. Harder this time. Your pulse explodes. Billy goes quiet. On the other side of the door. Thinking. Listening. Your eyes squeeze shut. You can practically feel him standing there.

Then— A soft chuckle.

"Well." The voice is right outside. "Who do we have hiding in here ? " Terror floods every nerve in your body.

He knows. Of course he knows. Frank would've kicked the door off its hinges by now. Would've put a bullet through the wall. Would've done something. You are not Frank. And Billy Russo knows it. The closet door suddenly shudders beneath a heavy impact. You gasp. The phone slips. Clatters against the floor.

"Oh." Billy laughs again. "There you are." The sound tears through you. Another slam. The entire closet shakes. Wood splinters somewhere near the frame. You scramble backward on your hands and knees, pressing yourself into the farthest corner.

"Please—" The word escapes before you can stop it. Silence. Billy stops moving. On the other side of the door. For one horrible second, neither of you breathe. Then his voice comes. Different now. Softer. Almost curious.

"You're his girl." Not a question. A statement. The realization in his voice is worse than the threats. Because suddenly you matter. Not because of who you are. Because of who Frank is. Another long pause. Then-

"Well." The gun cocks. Slowly. Deliberately. "I bet that'll get his attention."

"Baby ? What the fuck's going on ? Baby, answer me !" You can hear Frank yell over the phone. You're clinging the knife to your chest, your eyes blown wide, trying not to cry as the closet door shatters inward. A boot comes crashing through the wood, landing right on the burner phone, shattering it.

"Well. There you are." Your chest squeezes pathetically when a face peeks through the shattered closet. "Wow. You're prettier than on the picture."

You don't answer. You can't. Your entire body is locked up with terror.

The knife shakes so hard in your grip it rattles against your wrist. Billy notices. Of course he does. His gaze drops.

"Aw." He sounds almost amused. "She's got a knife." Your breathing comes fast and shallow. The closet suddenly feels impossibly small. Too small. Too hot. Too close. Billy grips the ruined door and yanks. The remaining wood tears away with a horrible screech.

Light floods the space. You scramble backward instinctively. There's nowhere to go. The wall presses against your spine. Billy crouches slightly. Studying you. Like you're an animal he found under the porch.

"Easy." You nearly laugh.

Easy? Easy?

The man who shot your front door off its hinges is telling you to relax. Your fingers tighten around the knife. Billy's eyes flick to it again. Then back to your face.

"Frank tell you to grab that?" You don't answer. "Yeah." He nods to himself. "That sounds like Frank." A step forward. You jerk the knife up immediately.

"Stay back." The words come out shaky. But they're words. Billy actually pauses.

Then— He smiles wider.

"There she is." Another step. Your heart hammers.

"Don't."

"Or what?" His tone isn't mocking. That's somehow worse. Like he genuinely wants to know. You swallow hard.

The knife trembles between you. Billy looks at it. Looks at you. Then sighs.

"I really don't wanna hurt you." The lie lands like poison. Because he's already hurt you. He's standing in your home. He's terrified you half to death. He's holding a gun. And somehow he still sounds reasonable. Like you're the difficult one.

"Stay back." Your voice cracks. Billy takes another step. Your survival instinct finally snaps. You lunge. It's sloppy. Panicked. Nothing like Frank would've taught you. But it's enough to surprise him. Billy jerks sideways. The knife flashes through empty air.

"Oh, shit."He actually sounds impressed. Your shoulder slams into him. Both of you stumble. You try to pull back. Try to run. Billy catches your wrist. Instantly. The knife hand. Strong fingers clamping down. You cry out. The blade falls. Clatters across the hardwood.

"No!" You wrench against him. Adrenaline flooding every muscle. Billy's grip tightens.

"Easy—"

"Get off me!" You slam your free hand into his face. Not hard. Not enough. But enough. His head snaps back. Enough to make him lose balance for half a second. Enough.

You twist violently. Your wrist slips free. You don't think. You run. Bursting out of the closet. Billy swears behind you. The bedroom blurs. The shattered door. The overturned drawers. The ruined phone.

And there— The knife. Lying on the floor. A few feet away. You throw yourself toward it. Fingers stretching. Billy lunges. His hand catches the back of your shirt.

Fabric tears.

You hit the floor hard. Pain explodes through your shoulder. But your fingers skim near the knife. Relief crashes through you. Billy sees it. His expression changes. The amusement disappears. His hand wraps around your ankle, and he drags you forward before you even have the chance to grab a hold of the knife.

"Oh, no you don't." The world jerks. Your stomach slams against the hardwood as Billy drags you backward by the ankle. You scream.

Not from pain. From panic.

The knife is right there. Right there.

And getting farther away.

"No!" You claw at the floorboards, nails scraping uselessly against the wood. Billy laughs. Not warm anymore. Not amused.

Mean. Cruel.

Like he's enjoying every second of this.

"Jesus Christ, Castle really picked a live one." He yanks harder. Your body skids across the floor. You twist violently, kicking with your free leg. Your heel catches him somewhere in the ribs. Billy swears. His grip loosens. Just for a second. You wrench forward.

The knife is inches away. You dive. Your fingertips brush the handle— And then a hand buries itself in your hair. Agony explodes across your scalp. You shriek. Billy hauls you backward so hard your shoulders slam into his chest.

"Gotcha." His arm locks around your waist. The knife slips away again.

"No!" You elbow backward blindly. Connect with something. Billy grunts. Not enough. His grip tightens.

"You know," he pants into your ear, "Frank always had terrible taste in apartments." You thrash harder. Every survival instinct screaming. His hand leaves your waist. For one horrifying second you think he's reaching for a weapon. Instead he grabs your jaw. Forces your head forward. Makes you look at the knife lying a few feet away.

"So close." Your stomach turns. Billy shoves you forward. Hard. You hit the floor again. Your cheek slams into the hardwood. Stars burst behind your eyes.

Then he's on top of you. Not fully. Just enough weight to keep you trapped. His hand catches your wrist before you can crawl away. Pain shoots up your arm. You cry out.

"Stop moving."

"No!" You twist. Kick. Fight. Billy's patience snaps. His hand slams against the floor beside your head. The sound cracks through the room.

"Stop." The friendliness is gone now. Completely gone. You see it in his eyes. Cold. Violent. Unstable. The look of somebody who might genuinely enjoy hurting you. Fear hits so hard it steals your breath. Billy sees it. Smiles.

"There it is." You hate him. You hate him so much. And somehow that hatred gives you strength. You jerk sideways. Hard. Unexpected. Billy shifts to compensate. His grip slips. Just enough. You tear your wrist free. Scramble. Crawl.

The knife.

The knife.

The knife.

Your fingers close around the handle. Relief floods you. For half a second. Then Billy's hand crashes into your forearm. The knife doesn't leave your grip. But suddenly both of you have it. His hand over yours. Your hand clinging desperately to the handle. The blade wavering between you.

"No!" You pull. Billy pulls harder. Your shoulder screams. The knife jerks upward. Downward. Sideways. Neither of you has control anymore. The struggle becomes frantic. Wild. Your hands are slipping. His hands are slipping. Everything is sweat and panic and desperation.

"Let go."

"No!" The blade twists. Billy grabs your wrist with his other hand. Tries to wrench it away. You fight harder. The knife swings between your bodies. A dangerous blur of steel. For one second both of you pull in opposite directions. Then Billy suddenly shoves forward. At the exact moment you yank back. Everything happens at once. A stumble.

A slip. A collision of momentum.

And then— Both of you freeze. The knife has stopped moving. Billy's eyes widen. Not much. Just enough. You don't understand why. Then you realize. The blade isn't between you anymore. It's buried.

In his chest.

Silence. Complete silence.

The room seems to stop breathing. Billy looks down. Then back up at you.

For the first time all night— He looks genuinely surprised. Your fingers release the handle instantly. You scramble backward on hands and knees. Horrified. Billy presses a hand against the wound. Stares at the blood on his palm. Then slowly lifts his eyes to yours. The look there makes your blood run cold.

Not pain. Not fear. Anger.

Pure, terrifying anger. The kind that promises consequences.

"Well." His voice is very quiet. Very calm. Which somehow makes it worse. He stumbles to his feet, coughing up blood. You push yourself back on your hands and heels, gasping in fear.

You have no more weapons.

Nothing to protect yourself with.

"P-Please." You gasp, shaking your head. "Please. Don't." Russo coughs up more blood, clearly actively dying- but still coming for you.

"You..." He heaves through the blood in his lungs, "Little... slut." He falls forward. Right in front of you. His heavy body thuds on the hardwood, blood pooling around him like some sick blossoming flower.

For a second, you can't move. Can't breathe. Can't think. Billy's body lies sprawled across the hardwood between you and the bedroom door. Blood spreads beneath him. Too much blood. Way too much.

"Oh my God." Your voice sounds far away. Like someone else's. Your hands are shaking so violently you can barely see them.

"I didn't—" The words die in your throat. You choke on a sob, staring down at your hands.

Your blood covered hands.

You stumble away from the pool of blood you realise has reached you, covering most of your lower body and clothes in deep crimson red.

You curl up into a ball, sobbing into your knees as you try not to stare at the dead body in your bedroom.

The dead body you left there.

The apartment falls silent. Not normal silent. Not the kind of silence that exists when nobody's talking. This silence is wrong. Heavy. Like the entire world has stopped to stare at what just happened. You curl tighter around yourself. Your forehead pressed against your knees. Your body shaking so violently your teeth chatter. The blood on your hands is drying.

Sticky. Real. Every time you look at it, another wave of nausea crashes through you.

"Oh God." The words come out broken. A whisper. A prayer. A plea. You don't know how much time passes. Ten. An hour. It all feels the same. You sit there on the floor while rain taps against the windows and blood spreads slowly across the hardwood.

Waiting. Listening. Certain every sound is Billy getting back up.

Certain every creak means he's standing behind you. Certain if you look up you'll see him staring.

You never look. You can't.

Then— A noise. Far away. The front door. Your entire body locks.

No.

No no no.

Your heart launches into your throat. You scramble backward until your spine slams into the wall. Another sound. Heavy footsteps. Fast. Running. A man's voice. Muffled. Distant. Then louder.

"Baby!" Your breath catches. The voice sounds wrong. Far away. Like you're underwater. "Fuck, sweetheart- Where the fuck are you !"

Frank. It's Frank.

He's home. Relief should come. Instead panic hits.

Fresh and sharp. Because now he has to see. The ruined apartment. The blood.

Billy. You.

Covered in all of it. Footsteps thunder down the hallway. Closer. Closer. Then stop. The bedroom doorway fills with a silhouette. For one terrible second nobody moves. Frank stands frozen. Taking it all in. The shattered furniture.

The closet. The blood.

Billy. And then finally— You. Curled into a ball in the corner. His face changes. You watch it happen. Confusion. Shock. Fear. Pure, naked fear.

"Baby." The word barely leaves his mouth. You burst into tears. Not crying. Not sobbing. Breaking. Completely.

"Frank." He crosses the room so fast you barely see him move. Suddenly he's kneeling in front of you. His hands on your face. Your shoulders. Your arms.

Checking. Searching.

Making sure you're real. Making sure you're alive.

"Look at me." You can't. You physically can't. "Baby." You shake your head. A fresh sob tears loose.

"I didn't mean to." The words tumble out immediately. Over and over. Like you've been holding them in for hours. "I didn't mean to, Frank. I didn't—I wasn't trying to—I just—"

"Hey." His hands tighten. Not hard. Just enough to ground you. "Hey." Your eyes finally lift. The second they do, Frank's expression shatters.

Because he sees you. Really sees you. The blood. The terror. The guilt. The fact that you're still shaking. "Shit, sweetheart. I need you to fucking listen to me." His voice breaks. Actually breaks. "Are you hurt ? Did he hurt you ?" And that somehow makes everything worse.

"I killed him." Frank immediately shakes his head.

"Baby."

"I did."

"Stop that." The response comes harder. Sharper. "You hear me?" You stare at him. Tears running freely down your face.

"He was gonna kill me." Your voice is tiny. Childlike. Lost. "He was gonna kill me." Frank closes his eyes. Just for a second. When they open again they're shining. Not with tears. With rage. The kind you've only seen a handful of times. The kind reserved for people who've hurt someone he loves. His gaze flicks briefly toward Billy's body. Then immediately back to you. Like Billy doesn't matter. Like nothing matters except you.

"You defended yourself." You shake your head.

"It doesn't feel like it." Frank's jaw tightens. Then he reaches forward and pulls you into his lap. You go willingly. Boneless. Exhausted. He wraps both arms around you. One hand cradling the back of your head. The other pressed firmly between your shoulder blades. Holding you together.

"I got you." You bury your face in his neck. The familiar scent of him finally breaking through the nightmare. Soap. Rain. Gun oil. Frank. Home. And for the first time since the gunshot blew the lock off the door— You believe you might survive this.

"I was so scared." The confession dissolves against his skin. Frank's arms tighten immediately. Painfully tight.

"I know." His voice is rough. Raw. "I know, baby." Another shudder wracks your body. He huffs out a heavy breath. "He can't hurt you anymore, my love. He can't." You sob into his shoulder.

He-He pinned me down." You rasp, shaking your head. Frank's entire body stiffens. He pulls back, cupping your cheeks.

"What was that, baby ?"

"He pinned me down." You rasp, shaking your head. "D-Dragged me across the floor." Frank goes very still. Not the calm stillness from before. Something sharper. Dangerous in a different way. His hands stay on your face, but his thumbs stop moving. The air around him seems to change—like the temperature drops a few degrees.

“Say that again,” he says quietly. You flinch.

“I—he—” Your voice breaks. “He dragged me. Across the floor. Frank, I tried— I tried to get away, I swear—”

“I know.” His voice cuts through yours immediately. Firm. Controlled. “I know you did.” But his eyes have gone dark. Not at you. Never at you. Over your shoulder. Toward the body on the floor. Billy. Frank exhales slowly through his nose. One hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you back into him like a reflex—like he can’t stand the idea of you being even an inch away right now.

“Did he touch you anywhere else?” he asks. The question is careful. Measured. But there’s something underneath it that makes your stomach twist. You shake your head quickly.

“No. No—just that. I swear.” Frank nods once. Once. Like he’s filing it away somewhere very far away from you.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay. Good.” His arms tighten again around you, almost protective to the point of pain.

“You did good,” he says, softer now. “You hear me? You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”

“I killed him,” you whisper again, like if you say it enough times it might turn into something else. Frank’s hand slides up your spine, steadying you.

“No,” he says immediately. “You stopped him.” Your breath stutters.

“I didn’t— I didn’t mean— I just— it happened—”

“Hey.” Frank tilts your face back to his again, forcing you to look at him. “Look at me.” You do. You don’t have a choice. His expression is still intense, still burning with something you don’t fully understand—but his voice is gentle when he speaks again.

“This is not on you,” he says. “You understand me?” Your lips tremble.

“But he’s—he’s—”

“He’s done,” Frank says flatly. A beat. Then, quieter:

“He’s done touching you. Done looking at you. Done everything.” Your throat tightens. Frank glances past you again for half a second, jaw flexing like he’s physically holding himself in place. Then he focuses back on you instantly. Like it’s effort. Like you’re the only thing keeping him anchored. You choke on a sob.

"Where were you ?" You wail. You hate the fact that it sounds like you're putting the blame on him, but your chest aches. "You were supposed to be home. You were supposed to be here." His grip on you tightens instinctively, then immediately softens again, like he’s afraid of holding you too hard in this state.

"I know- Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." His lips are everywhere, pressing them wherever he can reach, his hands smoothing over your sides. "But you did so good. You did so fucking good." You hiccup on a sob and he sighs, pushing your hair away from your neck before pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. "Can you walk ?"

"Hmm- What ?" You sniffle.

"Can you walk, mama ?" He asks again. "I need to get you out of here." You choke on a sob.

"Please, please, get me out of here." Without second guessing it, Frank stands up with you still clinging to him like a baby monkey, side stepping around Billy.

"I called Madani the second the call dropped." He hums. "Homeland'll be here soon. With NYPD." You nod, burying your face in his neck, refusing to look up from him. You hear the sirens getting closer, the sound of the street, the sound of people shouting and Frank telling them to go upstairs. You don't even realise you're somewhere else until Frank is lowering himself into his car and the door closes behind him.

The sudden quiet feels wrong. Not peaceful. Just… muffled. Like the world has been wrapped in thick blankets. You blink slowly.

The interior of Frank's car comes into focus piece by piece. The worn dashboard. The scent of leather and gun oil. The rain streaking down the windows. Frank. You're practically folded into his lap in the driver's seat, still clinging to him with both hands. Neither of you says anything for a moment. You can hear the distant chaos outside.

Sirens. Radios. Doors slamming. People moving around your apartment building. But it sounds far away now. Like it belongs to another world. Frank reaches up and carefully brushes blood-matted hair away from your face.

Not his blood. Not yours.

Billy's.

The realization makes your stomach lurch. Immediately, Frank notices. His hand cups the side of your neck.

"Hey." Your eyes squeeze shut.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Make me think about it." The words come out broken. Small. Frank's face softens instantly.

"Okay." No argument. No lecture. Just okay. His thumb strokes slowly beneath your ear. You realize he's checking you again. For bruises. Cuts. Anything he missed. The realization almost makes you cry. Again.

Frank notices that too. Of course he does.

"You hurt anywhere?" You shake your head. Then pause.

"My shoulder." His jaw tightens. "From when I fell." A beat. "And my wrist." Another beat. "And my—"

"Sweetheart." His voice is gentle. You stop immediately. Frank exhales slowly. "You don't gotta apologize for bein' hurt." Fresh tears spill over. Because somehow that's worse. The kindness. The concern. The fact that he isn't angry. Isn't disappointed. Isn't looking at you differently.

"I killed somebody." The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Frank goes quiet. Not cold. Not distant. Just careful. Outside, red and blue lights flash across the windshield. He studies you for a long second. Then reaches up and cups your face.

"You didn't." You choke on a sob.

"I did, Frank. I pushed that knife into his chest, I-"

"Baby." He rasps, his voice low and dangerous. "He signed off on his own death the second he went into our apartment. If you hadn't done it, I sure would have- and trust me when I tell you it wouldn't have been a slip of a hand." His hand reaches up into your hair and slolwy massages your scalp. "You wanna know what I see?" You don't answer. Frank continues anyway.

"I see my girl." Your breath catches. "I see somebody who was alone." His thumb brushes away a tear. "Somebody who was scared." Another tear. "Somebody who fought like hell to stay alive." Your lower lip trembles. Frank's forehead touches yours. "And somebody I almost lost." The last words come out rough. Raw. Like they hurt him to say. For the first time since he arrived, you realize something. Frank is shaking too. Not visibly. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But you're pressed against him. You can feel it. The tiny tremor running through the hand holding your face. The slight unevenness in his breathing. The way he keeps touching you. Like if he stops, you'll disappear.

"Frank…" His eyes close. Just for a second.

"You scared the fuck outta me." The confession slips out before he can stop it. When his eyes open again, they're shining. Not tears. Close. But not tears. "I got there and all I could think was…" He swallows hard. His voice drops lower. "I was too late." Your chest caves in.

"Frank…"

"I thought he killed you." The words are barely audible. Honest in a way Frank rarely allows himself to be. You make a broken sound and immediately reach for him. His arms lock around you so fast it's almost desperate. Like he was waiting for permission. "I thought Billy Russo took away my family again."

The words hit you harder than everything else.

Harder than the blood. Harder than the fear. Harder than Billy.

Because Frank doesn't say things like that. Not easily. Not often.

Your face crumples immediately.

"Oh, Frankie…" The nickname breaks apart halfway through. His eyes squeeze shut. Just for a second. Then he's pulling you closer. Closer. Like he can't physically get enough of you against him.

"I walked into that apartment," he says quietly, his voice rough against your hair, "and I saw all that blood…" His hand slides up the back of your neck. "You weren't answerin'." A pause. "I couldn't find you." Another pause. His breathing goes uneven. For the briefest moment. The kind of crack only somebody holding themselves together by sheer force of will would make.

"And I thought…" He swallows hard. You feel it. "I thought I was gonna have to live through that again. I thought I was going to have to pick your cold body off the floor like I did with Maria. And my babies." Your chest caves in completely.

"Frank." His arms tighten.

"No." The word comes out instantly. Like he doesn't want comfort. Like he doesn't want you apologizing for something that isn't your fault. "You don't gotta fix it. You don't gotta fix me." His hand cups the back of your head. "You don't gotta do anything right now." Another kiss presses into your hair.

Then another. And another. Small. Absent-minded. Like he can't stop himself.

"I'm just glad you're here." The confession is barely audible. You start crying again. Not the violent sobbing from before. Just tears. Quiet ones. The kind that come when the danger's over and your body finally realizes it survived.

Frank lets you. Doesn't rush you. Doesn't try to stop it. He just holds you. One hand slowly working through your hair. Massaging your scalp in slow circles. Patient. Grounding. The way you'd do for somebody after a nightmare. After a long while, you feel him press his cheek against the top of your head. His beard scratches softly against your hair.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that. He was in there, looking for me." He sighs. You sniffle.

"It's not your fault."You mutter. He groans, running his hands down his face.

"I should've protected you more. I should've- fuck." You lift your head enough to look at him. Frank rarely looks lost.

Angry? Sure.

Tired? Constantly.

Haunted? Every day.

But lost? Almost never.

And right now he looks like a man standing in the wreckage of something he can't fix with his fists.

"Frank." His eyes stay fixed somewhere beyond the windshield.

"I knew this was a possibility." The words come out rough. Like he's confessing something. "I knew anybody close to me became a target." Your chest tightens.

"Frank—"

"No." His jaw clenches. "I should've moved you." A bitter laugh escapes him. "I should've put you somewhere safer." His hands flex uselessly. "I should've—"

"Frank." Stronger this time. Enough to make him finally look at you. You reach up and grab his face. Both hands. Forcing him to focus. The same way he'd done to you earlier. Immediately, his eyes soften.

"Baby."

"No." Your voice wobbles. But you keep going. "If you keep talking like that, I'm gonna get mad at you." A tiny huff escapes him.mNot quite a laugh. Close.

"You gonna get mad at me?"

"Yes." His mouth twitches.

"That's scary." You glare at him through your tears.

"Frank."

"Okay. Okay." One of his hands settles over yours. Big. Warm. Steady. But you can still feel the tension in him. Still feel the guilt. Like a living thing.

"I mean it." His gaze drops briefly. Then comes back.

"I know."

"No, you don't." You sniffle. "Wanna know what would've happened if you'd been there?" Frank raises an eyebrow.

You point vaguely toward the apartment building.

"You would've gotten shot." His expression actually softens a little.

"Maybe."

"No."

"Maybe."

"Frank." Another tiny twitch of his mouth. You know he's doing it on purpose. Trying to get you to argue. Trying to get you out of your own head. You know all his tricks. Unfortunately.

"You absolutely would've gotten shot."

"Well." His shoulders lift. "I do that sometimes." Despite everything, a tiny laugh escapes you. Frank immediately latches onto it. A real smile appears this time.

Small. Tired. Beautiful.

"You got a cute laugh."

"Oh my God."

"There it is again." You shove weakly at his chest. Frank catches your hand before it gets very far. Brings it to his mouth. Presses a kiss against your knuckles. Then another. Then just holds it there. For a long moment neither of you speaks. Rain continues tapping softly against the roof. The flashing lights outside paint brief streaks of red and blue across Frank's face. Eventually his thumb brushes across your wrist.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like he's reassuring himself you're still here.

"I don't know what I would've done." The words are so quiet you almost miss them. Your breath catches. Frank stares at your joined hands.

"If I'd gotten there and…" He swallows. Doesn't finish. Can't finish. You don't make him. Instead you slide closer. Until you're moulded to him. Frank immediately wraps both arms around you. Like breathing. Like instinct. Like he can't help it. You tuck your face into his neck. Feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

Still too fast. Still scared. Just like yours.

"Frank?"

"Yeah, baby?" You close your eyes.

"I'm really glad you're here." For a second, he doesn't answer. Then you feel his arms tighten. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to say everything he can't quite get out loud. A kiss lands against your hair. Then another. Then another. And when he finally speaks, his voice is thick. Warm. Full of something fierce and aching.

"Yeah." His nose brushes your temple. "Me too, sweetheart." Another kiss. "So fucking much." You look up at him, kissing your way up his throat and jaw, sniffling.

"You're a good man, Frank Castle. You came to save me. Even if you were a little late." You mutter. He snorts, shaking his head at your attempt to loosen the mood, his hand softly squeezing your ass. Frank snorts. A real one this time. Low and rough. The sound vibrates through his chest beneath your cheek.

"Oh, is that right?" You nod solemnly against his jaw.

"Absolutely." His hand gives your hip a squeeze.

"Little late, huh?"

"A little."

"A little." You pull back enough to look at him.

"Maybe if somebody wasn't workin' himself into an early grave—"

"There it is."

"—and maybe if somebody answered his texts faster—"

"There it is."

"—and maybe if somebody actually listened when I told him to take a day off—" Frank's mouth finally twitches into a proper smile. Small. But there. You haven't seen one all night. The sight of it makes your chest ache.

"There she is," he murmurs. You blink.

"What?"

"My girl." His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching another tear. "The one that bosses me around." You roll your eyes.

"I do not boss you around." Frank actually laughs. The nerve of him. The absolute nerve.

"Baby."

"I don't."

"Sweetheart."

"I don't."

"You absolutely do." You poke him in the chest.

"You carry military-grade weaponry."

"Mmhm."

"You break into buildings."

"Sometimes."

"You have approximately seventeen concussions."

"Probably more."

"And somehow I'm the problem?" That earns you another laugh. Warmer this time. The kind that makes the tension in his shoulders finally ease. Just a little.

"You know," he says, pulling you closer again, "you stabbed a guy tonight." Your eyes widen.

"Frank!"

"What?"

"You can't just say that!" A grin flashes across his face. Gone almost immediately. But it's there. For a second. And somehow that's enough.

"Pretty sure I can."

"Oh my God."

"I'm just sayin'." You hide your face in his shoulder. Mortified. Traumatized. Exhausted. And somehow still arguing with him. Frank presses a kiss into your hair. Then another.

"You know what else?"

"No."

"You were scary." You let out an offended noise.

"I was not."

"Baby."

"I wasn't."

"I found a dead Billy Russo." Your mouth falls open. Frank raises an eyebrow. "I think that qualifies." Despite yourself— Despite everything— A laugh escapes you. Small. Broken. But real. Frank immediately closes his eyes. Like hearing it physically relieves something inside him.

"There it is." You smack his shoulder weakly. He catches your hand. Kisses your palm. Then laces his fingers through yours. Holding on. Like he's been doing ever since he found you. Like he can't quite stop. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just sit there. Curled against him. The sirens outside quieter now. The nightmare finally beginning to feel distant. Not gone. Never gone. But farther away.

Frank rests his forehead against yours. His eyes half-lidded. Tired. Relieved. Still a little scared. You can see it now. The fear he keeps trying to hide. The one he felt when he thought he might have lost you.

"You okay?" he asks quietly. The question is ridiculous. You both know it. But you understand what he means.

Are you here? Are you safe? Are you still with me?

You look at him. Really look at him. At the man who drove like hell to get back to you. The man who's been holding you together for the last hour. The man who still looks like he might break if you let go of him. And your heart softens.

"Getting there." Frank nods. Accepting that answer. Then he presses one last kiss to your forehead.

"Good." His arm wraps tighter around your waist. Keeping you tucked against him. Exactly where he wants you.

"And sweetheart…" His voice drops lower. Softer. " It's okay, if you're not. Because i'm not." You sniffle agaonst his chest.

"Wow, who are you and what have you done with my husband ?" You mutter. He laughs, shaking his head.

"You wanna know why it's okay ?" He asks, pushing your hair away from your face. You nod, your eyes wide and brimming with tears. "Because as long as I'm holdin' you, I can deal with the rest."

taglist !

As it usually fucking is, the rain in New York is hammering down. It pounds against the rusty metal roof of the safe house you and Frank have been taking shelter in, and drips noisily through the cracks in the bricks. Besides the rain, the only other sound is the wind howling through the alley below. The air smells like damp concrete and has a faint metallic smell of iron that never quite washes out of places like this.

You lean a shoulder against the damp wall of the safe house, shifting your weight enough to take the pressure off your left side. You stand there, squinting your eyes in pain as your chest heaves and you try to breathe, acting like nothing’s wrong.

This is how it usually goes with you and Frank Castle. You’re partners in the shitty work no one else will do- the work that leaves scars on both your skin and soul. You move through the city like ghosts, making sure those people who deserve it are brought to justice. You watch each other’s backs, patch each other up, and sometimes when the adrenaline drains out of your bones and the silence is too loud, you end up tangled together on whatever lumpy mattress the safe house has, seeking that ephemeral pleasure without thinking about the next morning.

There’s no labels. No promises. You’re just two broken people who understand eachother’s work and can find a little bit of relief in the other’s presence.

And every time- whether it’s on the job, or even when you’re just talking about plans with a map spread across a table, you try to be the one in control. You straighten your back, keep your voice sharp and clench your jaw like you carry the same weight he does. You yell sometimes, and even push back when he barks orders at you.

And when you’re fucking- when he can feel how close you are around him, you lean in first and act like you’re the one holding all the power. Like you’re in charge of it all.

Frank sees it. He never says anything directly, but you catch the way his eyes follow you. You can see the knowing tilt of his head, and the way he lets you take the lead even when he knows you’re faking it. You haven’t got much, but being in charge is one thing you can have control of.

He knows you’re not as tough as you act. He knows you wear the defensiveness like armor, just like he does, to keep you safe. The difference is, his armor has been welded shut like metal for years- but yours is just painted on, and it cracks the second you’re alone. He doesn’t want you ending up like him, angry at the world.

Tonight, that painted on armour cracks before you even make it through the door of the safe house.

The job was actually supposed to be quite simple. There was a small group moving weapons through a warehouse in Queens, only three maybe four men with light security. It was an easy in and out, and your plan was quite simple. But plans never go right, and tonight especially made you know that.

You and Frank split up to cover the exits. He takes one side of the building, and you take the other. You hear shouting, then the crack of gunfire, and instead of sticking to the plan you both came up with an hour ago- to wait for the signal you both agreed on- you react on your impulse. You quickly jump over a stack of wooden planks, throw yourself over the fence line, and rush into the open space, thinking you can take multiple of them out before they turn their guns toward Frank.

But you misjudge the angle, and don’t see the guard posted behind you until it’s too late. A loud shot rings out, echoing off the concrete walls and vibrating through your head. Something slams into your side, and before you know it, your breath is knocked right out of your lungs. You stumble, catching yourself on a crate and bite down so hard on your lip you taste blood.

Still, you don’t cry. Don’t even make a sound.

Hastily, you raise your weapon and fire twice, watching the guard go down with a thud. You press your palm tightly against the spot thats burning from the bullet, and force your legs to keep moving. You have to keep moving, you can’t let Frank see your hurt otherwise you’re not in control anymore.

Frank joins you seconds later, checking the corners before he looks over at you with that same expression he always has. “All clear?” he asks, his voice rough and low, focused on the mission.

“Mhm, all clear,” you repeat back, and your voice comes out firm, a little unconvincing. You turn away before he can see the way your fingers are pressing harder and harder, the way your head is spinning a little. “Let’s get out of here.”

By the time you reach the safe house, the pain has settled into something that radiates out with every heartbeat. It feels like someone’s jammed a shard of glass into your ribs and twisted it. Your jacket sticks to your skin, heavy and damp, and you tell yourself it’s just rain. You tell yourself it’s just a graze, that it’ll stop bleeding soon enough. But you can feel that sticky, warmth of blood. Still, you’ve taken worse. It’s not like you can’t handle it.

Either way, you have to handle it. If Frank sees you hurt, if he sees you’re not in control, he’ll start treating you like something fragile. He’ll take over, and you’ll lose the ground you’ve worked so hard to hold- the ground that says you’re equal, not someone he has to protect. Because you’re fed up of it, feeling weak and unable.

So you keep your head high. You walk in first, flicking on the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, and start stripping off your clothes like you always do. Acting like everything’s normal.

Frank trudges in and slams the door shut behind you, and it clicks into place with a heavy sound. He yanks off his vest, tossing it onto a chair and runs a hand over his face, that familiar frustration already building in his posture.

“That was reckless,” he says, not looking at you yet, but his tone is sharp. “You went in way too fast. You know what happens when we throw the plan out the window?” The disappointment oozes out of every one of his words. You hate it, especially the fact that he’s not even wrong.

You pause, your fingers hovering over the zipper of your jacket as you listen to him. You swallow hard, pushing the wave of dizziness back down. “I had it covered. Plus, they were turning toward you. I had to do something?”

“No, you guessed they were turning,” he snaps, finally turning to face you. His eyes are dark and his jaw is tight, like he’s holding himself back. “That’s gambling with your fuckin life- and mine too. That’s how people end up dead. You understand?”

You feel heat rising up your neck, and cross your arms over your chest, the movement sending a fresh jolt of pain through your side. You flinch, almost invisibly, but you hide it quickly by shifting your weight again. You push the pain down, focusing instead on proving your point, on showing Frank you know what you’re doing,

“Look, I said I had it,” you repeat, your voice sharper than you meant it to be. “I didn’t get hit, did I? Everyone’s alive and the jobs done. What else do you fucking want?”

Frank steps closer, and the air between you feels much heavier- it’s between conflict and something strangely more intimate. “I want you to stop acting like you’re bulletproof. Stop thinking you gotta prove something every time we step out that door. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

His words hit you harder than even the bullet fucking did. Because he’s right, and you hate it. What you hate even more is that you can’t let him see how much it hurts- both the wound, and his words. You want to yell back, to tell him you know what you’re doing. But when you open your mouth to speak, the pain spikes again, and your breath catches in your throat. You’re barely able to keep yourself standing straight.

You try to take a deeper breath to steady yourself, but the world suddenly tilts sideways. Your knees go weak, and you reach out blindly for the wall behind you, your bloody palm slapping against the brick to stop you from collapsing.

“I’m speaking to you.” he spits out, eyebrows furrowed. “Always thinkin you know better.” You can’t do much but shake your head and scoff, the pain in your side is stopping you from even thinking straight. Frank runs a rough hand over his face, frustrated at your lack of communication. “That was a really stupid fucking thing to do.” he says lowly, with a sigh.

You just close your eyes, trying hard not to physically wince at the burning pain in your side. You can hear him of course, but you’re using all of your energy to simply stand straight.

“Hey,” Frank’s voice changes a little, shifting from anger to warning. “You listenin? Don’t stand there acting like you can’t hear a word I’m saying.” He can’t stand when you’re like this, stubborn and proud, not accepting responsibility for anything.

“I’m listening,” you manage to say, but it comes out as a gasp, not the firm tone you wanted. Your hand slips down your side, and when you glance down, your stomach drops. The dark stain on your jacket isn’t small anymore. It’s spreading fast and soaking through the thick fabric of your jacket.

You try to pull your hand away and hide it behind your back, but Frank’s eyes are already there. He sees the way you fold, and the way your face goes pale, sweat beads all along your hairline despite the room being cold. Then his gaze drops to your side, and the color drains from his own face.

For a second, there’s no sound at all. Not the rain, not even your own breathing. Then he moves quickly, with purpose. “Oh shit.”

He crosses the room in three big steps, his hands coming up to your shoulders firmly- but not rough, not annoyed like before. “Lemme see,” he says, and the bite is gone from his voice, replaced by concern and panic.

“Frank, I said I’m-” you start, but your voice breaks. You can’t even stand straight anymore. Both your legs feel like jelly, and you can’t help but lean into his touch to steady yourself. “Fuck” you wince.

“Stop lyin to me,” he says, and his voice is softer, there’s no anger left, just urgency. His fingers find the zipper of your jacket and then pull it down carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you. When he pushes the fabric aside, he sees the rip in your shirt and the glistening blood soaking through the fabric you tried to wrap around it earlier. Your skin is already bruising purple around the wound, and if you don’t treat it, it’ll only get worse

Frank freezes. His breath hitches, and his hands hover for a second before he pulls them back to look at your face. The familiar mask he wears every day shatters completely, and his eyes widen, then his jaw goes slack. All the frustration and lecturing vanishes in an instant, and they’re replaced by something raw.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “You’re hurt bad…”

“It just grazed me,” you whimper, but even you don’t believe it anymore. The pain is so intense now that its became hard to think, or to focus on anything but the throbbing in your ribs. “I thought it was nothing. Didn’t really want to-”

“Didn’t wanna what?” Frank cuts in, but his voice is full of guilt more than anger. He slides an arm behind your back to support your weight, and the other one comes up to cradle your shoulder. He holds you steady against him, the expression on his face like one of a disappointed parent. “Didn’t wanna tell me? Didn’t want me to know you’re hurt? What the fuck were you thinking?”

He sounds helpless, and the truth is, that’s how he feels. If he could’ve done something he would’ve, but you never listen to him, and now he feels like it’s his fucking fault that you’re hurt like this.

“I didn’t want you to think I’m useless, okay?” you cry out, tears finally spilling. They’re not even from sadness, but from pain and the frustration of him seeing you this vulnerable. However much you tried to bury it, you’ve still ended up bursting. “I try so hard to be equal to you, and if I say I’m hurt- you’ll treat me like I can’t do it anymore. I have to be in control, Frank. I have to.”

He pulls you closer, trying carefully not to press against your injured side. He lowers his head until his forehead rests against yours, and you can feel the tension rolling off him, the regret pouring out of him.

“Control don’t mean hiding what hurts,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “And you ain’t gotta prove shit to me, alright? You never have. I should’a seen it. Should’a known something was wrong instead of standing here yelling at you while you were bleeding out in front of me.” He swallows hard, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, wiping away the tear trailing down your face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean a word of it- I was just scared. That’s on me, not you.”

He guides you carefully towards the sagging couch against the far wall, and lowers you down slowly, propping a pillow behind your back so you’re sitting up. Every move he makes is gentle, nothing like the rough way he moves when he’s fighting.

“Stay there,” he murmurs softly. “I’ll go get the kit.”

He turns around and begins rummaging through the cabinet in the corner, pulling out the metal first-aid box. His hands are steady, because he’s done this a hundred times for himself and others. But you can see the way his jaw is still tight, and how his eyes flick back to you every few seconds like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he looks away.

When he comes back, he kneels in front of you, resting his knees on the cold concrete floor to look up into your eyes. You can tell he genuinely feels bad for being so angry with you, especially now that he knows you were hurting through it all. “This is gonna sting, but I gotta clean it out right. You can squeeze my arm, do whatever you need. Just don’t try to be tough now, okay? I’m here.”

You nod, unable to speak, and reach out to grip his forearm. His skin is warm and rough beneath your fingers, and it feels like the only solid thing in a world thats spinning out around you right now.

Frank works quickly. He cuts away the torn fabric around the wound and starts cleaning the area with antiseptic. You flinch and gasp, even dig your nails into his arm, but he doesn’t rush. He talks you through it the whole time, with his firm voice, and it makes you think about why you have such a soft spot for him.

“Easy,” he says. “I gotcha. Just breathe, that’s it. You’re doing so good. I’m right here.” He nods his head as you breathe, letting you know you’re doing well.

Once the wound is clean, he begins threading a needle. You feel the tugging at your skin, it's sharp and it stings- but eventually, the pain starts to settle into a duller ache, and the sound of Frank's voice keeps you calm. He doesn't rush the stitches, instead, he makes sure each one is neat before covering it with ointment and wrapping it tightly with a bandage.

Finally, he's done. He leans back on his heels, resting his hands on his knees, then lets out a shaky breath. His head is tilted downwards but his expression that's heavy with regret is unmistakeable. Your heart pangs. You know Frank is one rude bastard, but he genuinely is just trying to look out for you.

"Shoulda checked you first," he says quietly, staring at the bandage like it's his fault you're hurt. "Should've seen how you weren't moving right and fuckin helped. But no, I lectured you while you were trying to stand fucking straight. That's not how partners act, I don't wanna be like that with you."

You reach out, your blood stained hand trembling a little, and rest it against his cheek. He leans into your touch immediately, turning his face just enough to press a soft kiss into your palm. Despite the hard front he puts on, he's human too. He's sensitive, he's kind.

His stubble grazes the palm of your hand and your breath hitches, because it feels so domestic. Like you could maybe live a life together outside of this chaos.

"I wanted to be strong," you whisper. "I wanted to be the one leading, instead of needing help. It's stupid, I know"

"It's not stupid," he days softly, furrowing his brows.

Slowly, he shifts to sit beside you, careful not to hurt your side. He takes your hand and envelopes it in both of his calloused ones. “I know what it’s like to think you gotta carry everything alone. But that’s not how it works. Strength is knowing when you can’t do it alone and accepting help.”

He pauses, his thumb brushing back and forth over the back of your hand as his voice grows softer, more vulnerable. It’s something you rarely get to hear.

“You think I don’t notice?” he asks, a sad smile on his lips. “You try to push me away, act like you’re running the show. And I let you. Cuz I know it’s your way of showing you’re still fighting. But I also know the way you look at me like you’re waiting for me to decide you’re not enough.”

He leans in a little closer, his forehead resting against yours again, as his voice drops to a murmur that’s meant only for you.

“You are more than enough. You don’t have to be the tough one to show that. You can be whatever- even if that means you’re hurting, even if it means you need me to take care of you. I don’t care who’s in charge. I just care that you’re here, and you’re safe, and you’re mine.”

His words wrap around you like a warm blanket, and for the first time all night, you stop trying to hold yourself up. You let your head fall onto his shoulder, as your arm curls loosely around his waist. You let out a content sigh, all the tension and fear draining out of your body.

Frank shifts a little to wrap a strong arm around you to support your weight. His other hand rests lightly over your bandaged side, but firm enough to let you know he’s there. He rests his chin on top of your head, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear.

“From now on, we talk.” he says softly, rubbing his thumb along the bandages. “If you’re hurt, or scared, you say so. If you need me, you tell me. No more hiding behind this tough act. Not when it’s us.” He tilts his head softly, like he’s waiting for you to agree.

“I promise,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Hey, it’s okay baby,” he replies, pressing a kiss to your hair, then another gentle one onto your temple. His lips then press against your cheek gently, as if to feel your skin. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t. That’s on me, not you.”

For a long time you stay there, just listening to the rain and the quiet sound of Frank breathing. The pain is still there but it feels muted by the warmth of his body and the comfort of his arms. He brings you water in a chipped mug, helps you sit up straighter when you shift, and keeps checking your bandage like he’s afraid something will go wrong if he stops watching.

As the hours pass, you start to shiver. Frank grabs the thick wool blanket from the chair and drapes it over you both, even tucking it in around your shoulders carefully. He doesn’t leave to go sleep in the other room, or even on the floor. He stays right there with his arm still around you, his body anchoring you into reality.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks softly, his voice nothing like what it was a couple hours ago. His question is genuine though, he knows you’re a strong woman, and that you always get back up.

“Yeah,” you murmur quietly, fighting to keep your eyes open. You’re exhausted after everything that went down tonight of course. “I am now.”

“Good,” he says, a small smile on his lips again, like he doesn’t want to admit to himself you have that effect on him. “Cuz I’m not letting you go anywhere for a while. You’re stuck with me.”

You grin slightly, exhaustion wearing you out. You move just enough to look up at him, and for the first time, you don’t feel the need to pretend to be something you’re not. You let him see you how you really are- hurt and tired.

“Either way,” you whisper, letting your eyes close slowly, “I still think I’m pretty good at being in charge.”

A gentle huff of laughter leaves Franks lips, and he brushes a lock of your hair back from your face, moving it behind your ear carefully. “Okay baby,” he murmurs, amused by your stubbornness. “You can be the boss tomorrow. Just let me take care of you tonight. Deal?”

You nod, eyes already drifted shut, feeling safe with the knowledge that you don’t have to wear your armor anymore. Not here, with Frank.

As the phone rang, part of you hoped he wouldn’t answer. When he asked you about it the next time you saw him, you’d wave it off as a butt dial and he’d be none the wiser.

“Hello,” he said through the phone, leaving your plans quashed.

This was awkward, you had been on four dates with the guy over the span of two months, and now you were calling him in the middle of the night. “This isn’t a booty call,” You blurted, cringing inwardly and banging your head back on the passenger door of your car.

Spencer laughed lightly, “I didn’t think it was, what’s going on?”

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” You asked, his job had a lot of long hours, and you didn’t want to bother him if he was catching up on sleep. If he was even home, “Wait, where are you?”

There was a rustling on his end of the call, “No, I wasn’t asleep, I’m at work. We just got off of a case.”

You let out a sigh of relief, at least you weren’t being a total nuisance. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you. I just… my tire blew out on the highway and my jack broke and no one else is answering their phone,” you told him, verging on rambling.

“You’re kind of cutting out, where are you?” He asked, he sounded concerned, and if there was a moment where you weren’t sure you still had feelings for him, it was fleeting.

Looking to either side of you for a mile marker, you stood up, looking at the ground so you didn’t step on any metal, “I don’t really know. There aren’t any signs, I’m somewhere on 28, I think?”

Spencer cleared his throat, “Do you have your location on your phone?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I have enough service to check it,” you said, all you could see were trees.

You could hear him talking to someone, holding the receiver away from his mouth, “That’s fine, I’ll have someone look, just stay on the phone.”

It would seem that dating someone in the FBI does have its perks, “Oh, cool.” You overheard Spencer explaining your situation to someone, hearing the other person in the room say something about Reid’s girlfriend and you couldn’t help but smile. The two of you were very unofficially official.

“Hey, I’ll be there in half an hour,” An elevator dinged in the background. “Is that alright?”

You hummed, leaning your hip against the front of your car. “I mean, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Another ding of the elevator, “Will you do me a favor?”

In exchange for this? You’d do just about anything within the realm of legality, “Name it.”

“Get in your car and lock the doors,” he responded. “Turn your hazards on because right now you’re a sitting duck. If someone doesn’t see your car, they could hit you.”

As a favor, he was asking you to make sure you’re safe, “Okay, I’m getting in now, should I leave the car running?”

You heard the sound of a car lock disengaging through the phone, “As long as the cooling system on your car is in good shape, it shouldn’t be a problem to leave it running while you wait. Just remember what I told you about the hazards.”

Nodding despite the fact that he can’t see you, you got in the car, turning the key in the ignition before pushing the button for your hazard lights, “Okay, I’m in the car.”

“I can’t drive and be on the phone at the same time, but I’ll be there soon. Don’t unlock the doors for anyone except for me,” he told you, and you thanked him for his help before hanging up and settling yourself in your driver’s seat.

You pulled the hoodie you kept stashed in your car over your head, your school mascot—a panther—proudly displayed in the front, and made sure your car doors were locked. If you said you weren’t a little unnerved, you’d be lying to yourself.

Spencer had a worrisome job; it was something you were aware of before he ever asked you on that first date. It became alarmingly obvious to you when he revealed that he’d been shot a few months prior, which was an appropriate second-date conversation with an FBI agent. It made sense to you that he’d be concerned about you, in your idle car, on the side of the road, but you wondered if there was a case that he was thinking of. Someone with a flat tire who had met an untimely demise.

Shuddering, you turned up the heat in your car, flipping through radio stations until someone knocked on your window. You jumped at the noise, hitting your head against the roof of the car before looking outside to see Spencer. Sighing in relief, you unlocked your car door, and he opened it for you, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Is your head alright?”

You peered up at him, casually leaning over your car door. “You cut your hair,” you observed. You’d seen him just last week, where his hair still touched his shoulders, and now it was considerably shorter.

Self-consciously, he reached up a hand and thumbed one of the tendrils, “Yeah, it just got too long—and heavy.”

Resisting the urge to ruffle his hair, your head bobbed, “I like it. Did you do it yourself?”

“You can tell?” He asked, following you around the back of your car to your busted tire. Spencer sets his tire jack down before looking back at you, putting his hands on his hips.

Grinning at him, you shrugged, “I teach kindergarten, I’m basically a professional at noticing DIY haircuts.”

On a towel that you had previously set out, the two of you sat along the side of your car, and you tried to ignore the fact that Spencer still had his weapon holstered. It made sense, he’d come straight from work, but you wondered if there was a reason he didn’t leave it in his car. “Where’s your lug wrench?”

“I can change it myself,” you insisted, “I just needed a different car jack.” You gestured to the pieces of yours that were now all over the side of the road.

Alarm flashed on Spencer’s face, “Nothing fell on you, right?”

You shook your head, “No, just a cut from the metal.”

Holding out your hand, you let Spencer take a look at the cut on your palm. “When was your last tetanus shot?”

Blinking rapidly, you frowned at him, “Uh, when I was in college?”

“That might need stitches,” he responded, letting you take your hand back. “I’ll change your tire, I don’t want you using that hand for anything,” he informed you, pushing the hydraulic jack beneath your car.

Butterflies swarmed in your stomach as you watched him take your old tire off, muttering under his breath about how your old jack was practically an artifact, seeing how it literally fell apart under pressure. “How was your case?” You asked softly, fully aware that you were likely opening a can of worms by asking about work.

Spencer’s movements faltered slightly at your question, “It’s closed. We were in Boise,” he answered tactfully, leaving out any case details and cluing you into the fact that he didn’t want to talk about it. “What are you doing out here?”

You sighed, leaning back on your hands and watching him work, “I had a meeting with the other schools in our conference. It’s annual, and this year they happened to pick the school furthest away from mine.”

“Well, I suppose it worked out well that your tire blew out so close to me, then,” Spencer said, swapping out the busted tire for the donut and looking over at you. There was something nervous in his eyes, and you didn’t know if it was related to work or you.

Humming, you tried to watch the tire rather than just watching him, “Is there something bothering you?”

He was tightening the lug nuts on the spare tire, “Are you driving home after this?”

You furrowed your brows, “Yeah, where else could I be going?”

“It’s almost a two-hour drive to your place from here,” he reminded you, his tone laced with concern. “You won’t get home until almost one in the morning,” the displeasure in his voice was plain, but you don’t have anywhere else to go. “Plus, you really shouldn’t travel that far on a spare tire, they’re not made to travel far distances.”

Crossing your arms in front of your stomach, you let your shoulders slump forward, “So, what do you suggest I do? Get a hotel?”

Spencer mumbled something inaudibly, trying to finish tightening the bolts on the tire before sighing, “You can stay with me,” he blushes, a swipe of pink across his cheeks.

Your lips parted in surprise, “Uh, I don’t… I’m not…” you faltered. Utterly failing to come up with a good enough reason to tell him no, “I don’t want you to feel inclined. This isn’t what I was looking for when I called you for help.”

He let the car down, staying quiet while the two of you cleaned up, and Spencer swatted your hand away when you tried to pick things up. “So, you can come back to my place tonight. My work-issued first-aid kit has your name all over it,” he told you, eyes flickering down to the cut on your hand.

“Okay,” you breathed, unable to conjure a reason to refuse his hospitality.

He was grinning at you, hair just barely brushing his eyebrows, “So tomorrow, maybe we can get coffee and drop your car off to get a new tire?”

You smiled back at him, “That sounds great, date number five.”

“You know where you’re going, right?”

“Yeah,” you’d been to his place once to pick him up, “Hey, Spence?”

He turned around, fishing his car keys from his pocket. He looked ready to respond to you, but you pressed your lips to his before he had a chance to speak.

You kissed him softly, whispering against his mouth, “Thank you for coming.”

He chuckled lightly, gently resting a hand on your waist, “Thank you for calling.” 

“You planning on manifesting a trauma by over-preparing?” Jamal, her partner asked her from the driver’s side of the rig. She huffed softly. “I like knowing what I have before I need it.”

Jamal grinned at her answer. He moved like someone who’d learned long ago how to stay calm under pressure.  He’d spend years as a Navy corpsman embedded with SEAL teams had taught him that much. He’d seen chaos up close, learned how to function inside it, and then walked away before it hollowed him out completely.

The tones dropped before he could reply.

“Ambulance 122, additional medical support. Engine 118 on scene.”

(Y/n)’s head lifted instantly. Jamal caught it. Of course he did. “That your sometimes-house?” he asked while he popped his head around the corner to sound more audible to her. She slid the clipboard into its place and climbed into the rig. “One of them.”

(Y/n) was one of the floater paramedics at the LAFD, she was moving between stations wherever she was needed. She’d never really felt called to any house, although there were a few houses she found herself returning to more often than others.

Lights cut on and the sirens followed. The drive was short. Too short to talk herself out of the flutter in her chest as they approached the scene. 

Engine 118’s lights painted the street in red and white, smoke was still curling from the blackened shell of what had once been a small apartment kitchen. Fire was still roaring inside the apartment building. 

(Y/n) stood beside the gurney with Jamal, gloved hands resting on the rail as they waited for orders. “Victim coming out,” someone called. She shifted automatically, eyes tracking the movement at the doorway as a firefighter emerged from the haze.

She stepped forward, professional instinct taking over. “We’ve got her,” she said, reaching for the patient without looking up. The firefighter carefully transferred the woman onto the gurney, movements controlled even though the obvious strain in his posture.

He reached up, took his helmet off and tore off his mask.

(Y/n)’s breath caught in her throat.

Buck’s hair was damp with sweat, curls escaping where the helmet had pressed them flat. Soot streaked his face, a dark smudge along his cheekbone, smoke still clinging to him like a second skin. His chest rose and fell hard beneath the open turnout coat.

For a heartbeat, the noise around them faded. His eyes lifted and he found hers.

The look he gave her was quick, but something warm and grounding, like an anchor thrown without thinking. He gave her a silent nod, and maybe even a small smile.

Her world narrowed to the familiar lines of his face.

“(Y/n).” Jamal’s voice cut off her thoughts, sharp but calm. Her head snapped toward him. “Sorry,” she said automatically, and was already moving. “Check her vitals,” Jamal said, slipping his stethoscope into his ears as he leaned over the patient.

She nodded, hands steady now as she palpated for a pulse, counted respirations, checked oxygen saturation. Training smoothed over the moment like it had never happened at all.

Jamal listened carefully, brow furrowing. “Breath sounds are diminished on the right.” he concluded. “She was exposed to smoke for several minutes,” (Y/n) replied, voice even. “Let’s get her on oxygen.”

Behind her, Buck lingered for half a second longer, eyes still on her, before Bobby called his name. He turned back to his captain without another word.

The gurney rolled forward. Jamal guided it toward the rig, one hand steady on the rail. As they reached the back doors, he glanced at her — not questioning, not prying. Just acknowledging.

“Let’s bring her to First Presbyterian,” he said, already climbing in. (Y/n) locked the wheels of the gurney, took one last breath and closed the backdoors. While stepping into the driver’s seat, she glanced into the side-view mirror one last time, hoping to spot his face. But he wasn’t there anymore.

___

“Two minutes out!” she called towards the back where Jamal was treating the patient. “Copy that” Jamal replied while continuing his tasks.

The ambulance rolled to a stop right in front of the ER entrance. Within moments the back doors of the ambulance opened and Jamal wheeled the patient on the gurney while nurses gathered around. (Y/n) stepped out of the drivers side, and moved towards Jamal to assist whenever he needed her to. 

They drove the victim through the ER doors, and Jamal gave a smooth report as they moved. “Female, mid-thirties. Pulled from an apartment fire. Smoke inhalation, mild respiratory distress but stable during transport. Pulse is one-oh-two, BP is one-forty over ninety. Oxygen saturation ninety-four on high-flow O2.”

The nurses nodded, taking over as they wheeled the patient further down the hall. Jamal was already moving towards the nurses’ station to fill in paperwork. 

“Your turn.” Jamal said after a few moments of silence and hearing only the sound of a pen scratching against the paper. He was holding out the clipboard. (Y/n) sighed, this was most definitely the worst part of the job. Paperwork. Everyone hated it, so Jamal and (Y/n) made the deal to take turns on it.

Jamal rested his forearms on the counter beside her as she was filling out the form. “You know that firefighter,” he said as he scanned the waiting room of the hospital. (Y/n) kept her eyes on the paperwork. “Which one?” she asked. 

“The tall one who brought the patient out.” he added then. She finished the line she was writing before answering. “Hm, yeah. His name is Buck. Why?.” she asked as she just casually continued with the form. 

Jamal nodded once. “Buck,” he repeated, slowly. Like he knew there was something to it. 

A small beat of silence passed.

“You two a thing?” he asked. Just like that, (Y/n) stopped writing and huffed. softly under her breath. “Not exactly.” 

“That sounded like a yes with extra steps.” Jamal said, looking to his right, trying to make contact. She gave him a look. “We’ve gone out a few times.” she admitted, shrugging her shoulders and finishing the last sentence on the form.

Jamal tilted his head slightly, “Okay.” he said, and with that, he turned on his heels and left the nurses station. (Y/n) handed the form back to the nurse behind the station and followed her partner. “Wait, that’s it?” she asked.

He shrugged, “Hey, I’m not interrogating you.” His tone stayed easy. “Just keeping tabs.” he explained as she caught up to him, now walking next to him. She frowned faintly. “Tabs?”

“You’re my partner,” Jamal said simply. “Kind of my job to know who’s in your orbit.” (Y/n) snorted softly. “Partner for the day,” she corrected. “Let’s not get too attached, Morales.”

Jamal glanced at her, unimpressed. “Twenty-four hours is plenty of time to evaluate your life choices.”

(Y/n) blinked once, surprised by the straightforwardness of it. “Look, I’m not interested,” he added quickly, reading the thought before she could voice it. “Before your brain goes there.”

That earned a quiet laugh from her. “Good,” she said. “Because that would be awkward.” she laughed. “Extremely.” Jamal said. “But if this Buck guy ever turns out to be a problem,” he added, “I like to know what he looks like.”

(Y/n) shook her head, while they stopped walking and waited for their gurney to be returned. “Don’t worry. He’s not a problem.” she answered. 

“Good.” 

___

The fire engine pulled to a stop in the bay of the 118. The smell of diesel filled the air, mixed with sweat, a bit of smoke and antiseptic. Buck jumped down the engine, and was already tugging off his turnout coat, placing it onto the doorhandle of the engine. His hair was stuck up in damp curls, messy from the helmet and sweat. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to flatten it but only succeeding in making it curl in every direction.

Chimney was already in the kitchen, trying to continue the “perfect grilled cheese” he was about to make before the call came in. And Hen was laughing, carrying a stack of towels to the laundry room. Buck lingered by the engine after he got out of his full turnout geat. He was checking a piece of equipment, but his mind wasn’t on the routine task. “You’re staring.” A familiar voice cut through the haze of his mind.

Buck jerked his head up. Eddie leaned against the side of the truck, arms crossed, eyes sharp and knowing. “I’m not staring,” Buck said too quickly, forcing a casual shrug.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie replied and a small smirk appeared on his face. Buck shut the compartment door, hoping it would look like he had somewhere important to be. But Eddie was still leaned against the truck, and looking at him. “What?” Buck asked as he realized that Eddie was still there.

“That ambulance,” Eddie said, pushing himself off the truck and taking a step closer. A grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Buck froze, his chest beat a little faster than normal, but he tried to not let it show. “Uh, what about it?” 

“You didn’t even hear Bobby talking when it left the scene.” Eddie said, calm but pointed. “I did too,” Buck mumbled, though his stomach twisted.

“Buck.” Eddie’s tone sharpened, it was patient but firm. Buck rubbed the back of his neck, feeling heat creep up into his ears. “…Okay, you got me alright? Maybe… Maybe I was a little distracted.” he admitted.

Eddie’s smirk widened. “Was that your paramedic?” Buck hesitated, but he couldn’t lie to his best friend, “…She’s not my paramedic.” He hated how weak that sounded, even to himself.

“But…” Eddie pressed. Buck ran a hand through his hair again and sighed, “But we’ve gone out a few times.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Aaand?” Eddie asked, trying to gather more information. Buck sighed again, folding his arms, “She floats between stations. That makes it… complicated.” 

Eddie tilted his head, “Why’s that a problem?” Eddie asked curiously. Buck’s chest tightened. “Because she’s not always in one place. I never know when I’ll see her next. I don’t get to plan anything… and I don’t know if she’s thinking about me the same way I’m thinking about her.”

A small pause hung between them. Eddie studied him, letting Buck’s words settle. Then another grin tugged at the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “And yet,” Eddie said, shaking his head slightly, “you still try.”

Buck looked up, a slow smile creeping onto his face despite himself. “Yeah.”

There was a quiet beat. The open bay doors showed the city outside, the faint smell of rain beginning to drift in. Buck’s heart felt lighter, if only a little, because admitting it out loud made it feel real.

“You had a pretty specific look when you realized she was there,” Eddie added, smirking. “Oh my god,” Buck muttered, burying his face in his hands for a moment before straightening again.

“Look, I’m just saying…-” Eddie started, but before he could even finish his sentence, Buck cut him off. “You’re even worse than Chimney,” Buck shot back, half amused, half embarrassed.

“Not even close,” Eddie said. Buck laughed quietly, shaking his head. That flutter of warmth in his chest returned. That one feeling that always made him think about her longer than he should.

He let his gaze wander toward the street outside. Somewhere out there, (Y/n) was still on duty, still moving between calls, probably unaware that he’d been thinking about her all day.

“She looked good,” Buck admitted quietly. “You like her.” Eddie noticed immediately. Buck hesitated, heart thudding in a way that was hard to control. Then he nodded slowly, as if saying it out loud made it real. “Yeah,” he whispered.

Eddie clapped a hand to his shoulder, “Then stop overthinking it.” Buck exhaled, running another hand through his curls. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It is,” Eddie said simply. “Ask her out again.” Eddie pushed, and Buck considered that for a moment. Eddie nudged him slightly with his shoulder. “Before it’s too late.” he added. 

Buck glanced at him, “Okay, now you’re being dramatic.” Buck stated. Eddie shrugged, “Maybe.”

______

The locker room was quiet for once, the team had split up over the entire firehouse doing chores. A few voices faintly sounded down the hallway, while Buck was sitting down on the wooden bench in front of his locker.

He had his phone balanced loosely in his hands, Eddie’s words kept replaying in his head over and over again. Ask her out again.

Buck exhaled slowly and opened their chat. Her name sat at the top of the screen. The last message between them was from a few days ago. Something easy, casual, about schedules and maybe grabbing coffee if their shifts lined up again.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard as he thought about what to write down. 

“Hey, I saw you today-”  He stopped typing mid sentence, and deleted it.

“Want to grab dinner sometime this week?” He read the question, and once again he deleted it.

Buck leaned back slightly, dragging a hand through his hair. The curls jumped back into place immediately. Why was this, sending a simple text, harder than running into burning buildings?

He stared at the blank message field again. There were a hundred things he could say, but none of them felt right. 

Finally, with a frustrated breath, he pushed himself to his feet. “Okay,” he muttered to himself. “New plan.” he sighed as he tapped her contact and lifted the phone to his ear as it rang.

He waited patiently for her voice to fill his ear, but after three rings, her voicemail picked up. Buck hesitated for half a second, whether he should hang up or leave a message as the voice told him the number he was trying to reach. 

The beep sounded, and he just started to talk. “Hey… uh- hey, it’s me.” He laughed softly at his sudden stress reaction and the way he sounded. Great start. “I just..” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner sometime. Or coffee. Or.. whatever. If you’re free.” A small smile appeared on his face, “Anyway. Call me when you get this.” and with those words he ended the call and stared at the phone for a moment longer.

Then he slipped it back into his pocket and grabbed his duffel bag from his locker. The station hallway was warm and loud when he stepped back out. The smell of pasta drifted through the air.

Chimney was standing at the stove, spatula in hand. “There he is!” Chimney said. “Thought you fell asleep in there.” he commented as he started stirring the pan in front of him. 

Buck grinned, slinging the duffel bag over his shoulder. “Just needed to take care of something.” Buck answered. 

Hen sat at the table scrolling through the tablet while Eddie leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “You heading out?” Hen asked as she stopped scrolling. “Yeah,” Buck said. “Early shift tomorrow. I’m covering for someone from C-shift.” he added as he repositioned the duffle strap on his shoulder.

Eddie stood up from his chair, aiming for the kitchen, but instead he made a brief stop at Buck. “Call her?” he whispered, making eye contact with Buck. Buck shrugged, trying (and failing) to hide the small smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe.” Eddie nodded once, satisfied, and continued his way towards the kitchen. 

“Goodnight, Buck,” Bobby called from across the room. “Night, Cap.” Buck waved once to the rest of them before heading down the stairs and towards the exit of the firehouse.

Outside, the evening air was cooler than normal, and the sky filled with dark clouds,  threatening with rain.

He tossed his duffel bag into the passenger seat of his Jeep and climbed behind the wheel. For a moment, he sat there, glancing down at his phone again. Still no response.

He started the engine anyway. He knew (Y/n) was probably still on shift. He’d hear from her later.

The rain had started pouring just as Buck arrived on the freeway to make his way home. 

It wasn’t heavy, but it was just enough to make the asphalt slick and reflective under the endless stream of headlights moving along the freeway.

Buck kept both hands on the steering wheel as traffic moved around him. The wipers swept back and forth in a steady rhythm, clearing the thin layer of water from the windshield.

His phone buzzed suddenly in the cup holder. Buck glanced down and he saw her name lit up the screen. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Finally,” he muttered. He looked down once more, to see what she texted him back, but when his eyes switched back to the road he could see the truck ahead of him lost control. 

It happened in a heartbeat. The semi’s trailer began to fishtail violently across the lane, tires screeching against the wet pavement as the driver fought to correct it. Buck’s head snapped up. The trailer swung sideways across the freeway. Cars slammed their brakes. Horns blared through the sky and red brake lights lit up the freeway in every direction. 

Buck jerked the wheel, trying to avoid the spinning trailer.

The Jeep hydroplaned. For one terrifying second the tires lost all grip. Metal crashed against metal with a deafening explosion of sound. The front of the Jeep slammed into the side of another car as the trailer clipped the rear of his vehicle, sending it spinning across two lanes of traffic.

The world became a blur of lights and violent motion for Buck. The airbag exploded in front of him. The Jeep spun once, twice and then slammed hard into the guardrail.

Finally, everything stopped. Buck didn’t move for a moment. Rain tapped softly against the shattered windshield, but the only thing Buck could hear was a loud beep in his ear due to the impact of the airbag.

Pain bloomed through his chest and ribs like fire. The smell of burned rubber and deployed airbags filled the air inside the car.

He tried to breathe, but the air caught painfully in his lungs. Buck’s vision blurred and got taken over by darkness that crept slowly into the edges of his vision. Not long after that, everything faded. 

_

The rain had started about twenty minutes earlier. It wasn’t a storm, it was just a steady drizzle that painted the roads in shimmering reflections of headlights and taillights. Traffic moved slower because of it, engines humming steadily. 

(Y/n) sat in the passenger seat, one elbow resting against the door while she watched people trying to seek shelter because of the rain. The radio crackled quietly in the background as Jamal drove beside her, with one hand on the wheel.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, she pulled it out of her pocket and a notification lit up the screen. Her eyebrows lifted slightly when she saw the name attached to it. 

One missed call - Buck

One new voicemail - Buck

For a moment she just stared at the notification, curiosity flickering across her face. Then the corner of her mouth lifted before she could stop it.

Jamal noticed immediately.He glanced sideways at her, catching the expression that was written down her face. “Alright,” he said casually, eyes still on the road. “What’s that smile for?”

(Y/n) huffed out a quiet breath through her nose, still looking at the screen. “Nothing… uh, no one.” she said. 

“Uh-huh.” Jamal smirked faintly. “People don’t look at their phones like that for nothing.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile didn’t completely disappear. “It’s just a voicemail,” she said.

“From?” he immediately asked. “Do you need to be told everything?” She said, one eyebrow lifting at the sudden nosiness of her partner. He just looked her dead in the eye, waiting for an answer. She hesitated for half a second before answering, “It’s Buck.” she admitted.

That made Jamal glance over again. “Oh.” he reacted, “That Buck?”

(Y/n) shook her head, already tapping out a quick message. “Don’t start.” she said, and her thumbs moved quickly over the screen.

Saw your voicemail. I’m on shift right now. I'll listen to it later.

She hit send before she could think about it too much. The message was delivered almost instantly.

Jamal watched her tuck the phone away again. “So…” he said after a moment, breaking the sudden silence. (Y/n) looked out the windshield again. “So what?” she said, her eyes wandering back to the driver’s seat. 

“Nothing,” he replied innocently. “Just interesting that a voicemail from him makes you smile like that.” he teased. She gave him a sideways look. “I was not smiling like that.” she said, a bit offended. 

Jamal grinned. “Sure you weren’t.” She shook her head, muttering something under her breath as she leaned back in her seat. Then the radio suddenly crackled sharply to life.

Her head snapped up immediately. Jamal reached for the radio without hesitation, “This is ambulance 122, go ahead” he answered, and waited patiently until dispatch crackled through the speaker again. 

“Please respond to the multiple vehicle collision on the freeway. Possible entrapment. Several callers reporting serious injuries.” The dispatcher said on the other side of the line. 

(Y/n)’s stomach tightened slightly at the call. Freeway crashes were rarely simple. But these were the calls where the paramedics and firefighters needed to work tightly together as a team. 

 “Ambulance 122 responding.” Jamal said, and placed the radio back into its place. He flipped on the lights and siren, guiding the ambulance into traffic as cars began pulling aside.

“You ready?” he asked, glancing to his right. “Always,” she said automatically, already reaching for gloves.

But something about the call made the air feel heavier. The closer they got, the worse it looked. The rain had turned the freeway into a mirror of red brake lights and flashing emergency strobes.

(Y/n) stepped out of the ambulance and the cold air hit her immediately. The sharp smell of wet asphalt and burnt rubber was floating through the air. Sirens echoed across the lanes, bouncing off the concrete barriers while firefighters moved quickly between the scattered wreckages.

Her boots hit the pavement, she got her medic bag from the ambulance and just like that, she was already moving. 

Several vehicles were all over the place, but their lane. A sedan crushed against the guardrail. Another car sideways across the shoulder.

Then she saw the Jeep. Something in her chest tightened before she even reached it. She looked through the window and located a victim inside. She tried to open the passenger door of the Jeep, for a moment it looked like it was stuck. But then, it gave in and opened for her. 

Without a second thought, she placed her left knee onto the passenger seat and her right feet on the floor of the car. “Sir, can you hear me?” she asked, as her hand touched his shoulder.

And that’s when her world stopped spinning. Buck.

For a fraction of a second everything inside her went still. The rain, the flashing lights, the noise of the freeway, it all seemed to fall away. 

Buck was slumped behind the wheel, the airbag deflated against his chest. The front of the Jeep had folded inward from the impact, the dashboard pushed back enough that it pinned his legs in place. The driver’s side door was crushed tight against the guardrail, completely inaccessible. His head tilted forward in an unnatural angle.

Her pulse thundered once in her ears. But then, instinct slammed into place. “He’s breathing,” she said, her voice steady despite the sudden pressure she felt in her chest. “Shallow respirations.” she concluded. She reached for his neck carefully, fingers searching for a pulse.

It was weak, but there. “Pulse present.” she said as she searched in her bag for a c-collar. Jamal arrived beside her a second later, his eyes moved from her face to the patient and recognition flashed across them. “Oh hell.” he said.

(Y/n) didn’t look at him, she found the c-collar in her bag, and took off the plastic. Her hands were already working, supporting Buck’s head, guiding the c-collar into place, checking his airway again. “Possible chest trauma,” she murmured, half to herself, half to the people around her. “We need him on oxygen.”

Jamal watched her for a moment. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her breathing had shortened slightly. But her hands were steady. Her voice was calm. She was being professional. Still, he lowered his voice. “(Y/n).” he said. 

She didn’t turn, “I’ve got him,” she said quietly. Jamal studied her for another second. “You sure?” he asked, trying to get eye contact with her. Her eyes flicked to him briefly. Just long enough for him to see the emotion there. The fear she was fighting to keep buried beneath layers of training and control. “I can do this,” she said.

“Medic! We need a medic over here!” Someone's shout echoed from somewhere further down the freeway. Jamal glanced toward the sound. Firefighters were gathered around another vehicle, someone kneeling beside a patient on the ground.

He hesitated, then looked back at her.

(Y/n) was already sliding an oxygen mask over Buck’s face, adjusting the strap carefully behind his head. Her hands didn’t shake. Jamal exhaled slowly. “Alright,” he said, “I’m trusting you on this one.” he added. 

She nodded once, “Go, I’ve got him.” she told him.  Jamal gave Buck one last look before turning toward the other call. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

(Y/n) kept one hand steady against his shoulder while the other worked quickly through her kit. Her fingers moved with practiced efficiency as she wrapped the tourniquet around his arm, feeling for a vein. Even in the dim interior light she could see how pale his skin looked.

“Come on Buck, stay awake for me.” she muttered quietly. And the needle slid in clean. She secured the catheter and connected the line, taping it down quickly before hanging the fluid bag from the grab handle above the passenger door, where the IV line dripped steadily. 

Behind her, boots splashed across the wet pavement as more firefighters approached. (Y/n) barely looked up, she was checking Buck’s pulse again when a familiar voice cut through the noise.

For a moment, no one spoke. Three figures stood just outside the open passenger door.

Eddie was the closest, his helmet dripping rainwater as he stared into the vehicle. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. His eyes were locked on Buck like he was trying to process what he was seeing. Behind him, Chimney exhaled sharply.

Bobby stepped forward last, and the moment he saw the driver’s seat, shock flickered across his face. It was quick, but unmistakable.

Then it was gone, his posture straightened slightly as training and years of command snapped into place. “Alright,” he said firmly.

Firefighters nearby immediately shifted their attention. Bobby stepped closer to the door, taking in the wreckage with a quick, practiced glance, the crushed driver’s side, the dashboard pushed inward, the position of Buck’s legs.

He searched for her last name that was written on the back of her turnout coat. Then he looked to her,  “(Y/L/N)” he said. “What do we have?” he asked, he switched so easy between emotionally involved and professionalism.

(Y/n) didn’t stop working as she answered. She adjusted the IV line and checked the flow while her other hand briefly returned to Buck’s neck to check his pulse again. “Male, mid-thirties,” she said. “Unconscious on arrival but breathing on his own.”

She reached up to reposition the oxygen mask slightly. “Pulse rapid. Respirations shallow.” she added. Her eyes flicked toward the dashboard, “Both legs pinned under the dash. Possible chest trauma and head injury. IV is in, fluids are running.” 

Bobby followed her line of sight toward the crushed interior of the Jeep, and he nodded once. “Alright.” he said, and stepped back, shifting his attention to the crew around him. 

“We’ll handle the extrication.” 

(Y/n) didn’t argue. That wasn’t her job. Her job was keeping Buck alive until they could get him out.

Behind Bobby, Eddie still hadn’t moved. His eyes were locked on Buck’s face. Bobby glanced toward him, “Eddie.” he said, and the single word snapped him back to reality.

Eddie blinked, like he’d just come back to himself. “Yeah,” he said quickly. “Yeah.”

“Get the ram ready,” Bobby ordered, Eddie nodded and turned immediately, heading toward the truck to get the equipment. Chimney crouched beside the passenger door, leaning slightly inside the vehicle. “You good in there?” he asked quietly.

(Y/n) nodded, “For now.” She glanced around the cramped front seat. Once the crew started cutting and lifting the dashboard, there wouldn’t be space for her here.

She looked back at Chim. “I need to move to the back seat so they can work.” she said. He nodded immediately, “Need a hand?” he asked. (Y/n) shook her head, “I’ve got it.”

Carefully, she shifted her weight, keeping one hand steady on Buck’s shoulder while slowly backing out of the passenger side. The rear passenger door had already been forced open, giving her just enough room to slide into the back seat. Once there, she leaned forward between the seats, reaching around the headrest to check on Buck again. Because in moments like this, the status of a victim could change dramatically fast. 

From here, the firefighters had room to move. Outside the Jeep, tools roared to life. Metal clanged as equipment was positioned.

Boots splashed through puddles as the crew surrounded the wreck. Bobby’s voice carried clearly over the scene, “Stabilize the vehicle!”

“Eddie, get ready for the dash lift!”

(Y/n) barely registered any of it, her focus stayed on Buck. She checked the IV line once more, then rested two fingers against his neck again.

His pulse was still there. It was fast, fragile but he was still fighting.

Metal groaned as firefighters moved into position along the passenger side, the rain hissing against hot machinery. Someone wedged cribbing blocks beneath the frame to stabilize the vehicle while others worked the spreaders into the door seams.

Inside the car, (Y/n) barely moved. She leaned forward from the back seat, one arm braced against the headrest while her hand kept Buck’s head steady, fingers firm against the cervical collar. “Easy,” she murmured quietly, more for herself than for him.

Outside, the passenger door tore free with a loud metallic crack. Bobby’s voice cut clearly through the chaos. “Alright Eddie, get the ram set under the dash.” He ordered. 

“On it, Cap.” Eddie moved quickly now, the earlier shock replaced with focused precision as he positioned the hydraulic ram beneath the crushed dashboard.

Chimney leaned in slightly from the open side of the vehicle, glancing toward (Y/n). “Vitals?” He asked. 

She checked Buck’s pulse again. “Still tachy,” she said. “Pulse is weak but holding.” She updated him. His chest rose shallowly beneath his jacket and the oxygen mask fogged faintly with each breath.

“Okay,” Chim said quietly. “Hang in there, Buck.” he said, maybe more to himself than to the unconscious Buck. 

Bobby stepped closer, watching Eddie secure the ram into place. “Ready?” Bobby checked, Eddie nodded at the question, “Ready.” he said as he waited for the signal from his captain.

“Go slow.” Bobby reminded him. And with those words, the ram came to life. The metal frame groaned loudly as the dashboard began to shift forward, relieving the pressure on Buck’s legs. Buck’s body jerked slightly with the movement.

(Y/n)’s hand tightened instinctively against the back of his neck. “Easy,” she whispered. The ram pushed further, and the dashboard lifted just enough to free the pressure trapping Buck’s legs.

Eddie glanced toward Bobby. “That’s it, cap! Legs are free!” Eddie called out to over take the sound of the ram. “Good,” Bobby said. “Let’s get him out.” 

Chimney immediately grabbed the backboard from beside the vehicle. “Alright,” he said. “Board coming in.” Carefully, Chim and another firefighter slid it through the open passenger side, maneuvering it behind Buck’s back as best they could in the cramped space.

(Y/n) shifted slightly to help guide it into place without moving Buck’s neck too much. “On my count,” Bobby said as rain dripped from the edge of his helmet. “One…two…three!” Buck was carefully lifted, his body guided onto the board as the crew worked around the tight interior of the Jeep.

(Y/n) kept her hands firmly stabilizing his head the entire time. “Watch the legs,” Eddie warned as they eased him free of the crushed dashboard. Then slowly, they slid the backboard through the open passenger side.

The moment Buck cleared the vehicle,(Y/n) got out of the Jeep. She moved fast and clean, grabbing the fluid bag from the grab handle above the passenger door. 

The waiting stretcher rolled forward as they moved towards the gurney too, meeting each other halfway. “Lowering,” Chimney said. The board settled onto the gurney, and straps were secured quickly.

She hung the fluidbag on the stretcher pole and walked alongside the gurney as it was being pushed towards another ambulance. “Male, approximately mid-thirties,” she said. “Driver in high-speed MVA. Found unconscious on arrival.” 

One of the paramedics nodded as they were checking Buck’s pulse.  “Airway?” he asked then. “Maintained with oxygen mask,” she said. “Spontaneous respirations, shallow.” she nodded towards the IV line. “Single IV established, fluids running. Pulse tachycardic and weak. Possible chest trauma, head injury, and bilateral leg entrapment prior to extrication.”

The paramedic nodded again, “Got it!” he said, and they continued rolling the stretcher quickly toward the waiting ambulance. The back doors were already open as they arrived, the gurney with Buck was lifted inside. 

(Y/n) followed just long enough to see Buck inside the ambulance, alive, before she moved to the back doors of the ambulance.

One paramedic moved towards the driver’s side and the other paramedic climbed in the back with Buck. She closed both back doors with a heavy thud and took a step back. She raised her hand and banged firmly against the back of the ambulance, to signal the driver that he was ready to go. 

The ambulance engine came to life, tires spraying water as it pulled away from the wreckage. Red lights flashed across the wet freeway as the vehicle merged through the blocked lanes and disappeared into the rain and traffic.

(Y/n) stood there for a moment, staring after it. He was alive. Those words repeated in her head like a fragile promise. But the moment the ambulance vanished from sight, the tension that had been holding her together began to crack.

Behind her, the freeway scene was still loud and chaotic, firefighters shouting to one another, tools clanging, another medic calling for supplies. The crash hadn’t stopped just because Buck was safe and on his way to the hospital.

She suddenly needed distance from it. Without saying anything, she turned and walked toward the edge of the freeway. The guardrail that ran along the side of the road was covered with rainwater and reflecting the flashing emergency lights behind her. She stopped there and braced both palms against the cold metal, leaning forward slightly.

Her head lowered, and the noise of the scene faded behind her. For a few seconds she just stood there, breathing.

But then the first shaky breath escaped before she could stop it. She tried to suppress the sounds by placing her hand up to her mouth. She pressed her fingers harder against her lips, trying to keep the sound contained, shoulders tightening as the emotions she’d held back through the entire call finally surged up.

Her eyes squeezed shut as rain slid down her face, mixing with the tears she couldn’t stop now. All she could see was Buck’s pale face on that stretcher. All she could feel was the weak rhythm of his pulse beneath her fingers.

Eddie had just finished sliding the hydraulic ram back into the compartment, back where it belonged, when he looked up. “Eddie,” Chimney called from near the engine. “We’re gonna need-” but before he could even hear what Chimney needed, he automatically replied with “Yeah” as his voice faded. 

Eddie noticed a familiar figure walking away from the scene. It was (Y/n).

She moved toward the guardrail slowly, like someone trying not to draw attention to themselves. Eddie watched her stop there, leaning forward with both hands on the metal barrier.

Something about the posture made his chest tighten. Then he saw her lift a hand to her mouth, but he knew she was crying by the way her shoulders tightened. He didn’t hear the sob from this distance.

He glanced briefly back toward the crew still working around the wreck. Bobby was directing another team farther down the freeway, Chimney kneeling beside another patient.

No one else had noticed her. Eddie closed the compartment door and then walked toward the guardrail. The rain fell from the sky and the flashing lights painted colors across the asphalt.

(Y/n) didn’t hear him approach. Her shoulders were shaking now, her hand still pressed tightly against her mouth as she tried to keep the sound from carrying back to the scene.

Eddie stopped beside her and for a moment he didn’t say anything. He simply stood there, looking out at the dark freeway beyond the guardrail.

He knew this feeling, the moment after the adrenaline left your system. The moment when the reality of the call caught up to you all at once. Especially when the person on that stretcher was someone you cared about.

Then he reached out and rested a hand gently on her shoulder, the touch made her flinch slightly. But (Y/n) turned her head.

Her eyes were red, tears streaming down her cheeks and mixing with the rain that soaked her hair and uniform. Her hand slowly lowered from her mouth, though she immediately bit down on her lower lip, trying to hold back another cry threatening to break free.

For a second she just looked at him, like she was trying to apologize for falling apart. Eddie met her gaze quietly. He didn’t ask what was wrong, He didn’t tell her it would be okay… All he did was give a small, steady nod.

The kind of nod that meant I know. The kind that meant you did everything you could.

His hand squeezed her shoulder once, firm and grounding, before he looked back toward the wreck scene.

Behind them, the chaos of the freeway crash continued. Sirens wailing, shouted orders, tools clanging against metal. But for a brief moment beside the guardrail, the noise seemed far away. 

It was strange how quickly a night could change. One moment everything felt normal, and you were waiting for the next call. And the next moment, everything was torn apart.

______

The city had settled into that strange, quiet rhythm that only came in the middle of the night. But it wasn’t quite the same as other nights.

Streetlights slid past the windshield as the ambulance cruised through the mostly empty streets of Los Angeles. The tires hummed softly against the asphalt, the engine sounded softly inside of the ambulance.

two hours had passed since they had left the freeway scene. They’d transported another victim from the crash to a different hospital. The victim had minor injuries, nothing life-threatening. 

The kind of call that normally would fill the drive back with routine conversation or quiet paperwork. Tonight, neither of those things were happening. But it wasn’t a normal night after all.

(Y/n) sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. The glow of passing lights reflected faintly in her eyes, but she wasn’t really seeing any of it.

Her mind was still back on the freeway. With the crushed front of Buck’s Jeep, the feeling of his weak pulse beneath her fingers and the moment the ambulance doors had closed. It all played on loop over and over again in her head.

Beside her, Jamal drove with one hand resting on the wheel. Every now and then he glanced over. It wasn’t obvious, they were just quick checks from the corner of his eye.

She hadn’t said more than three words since they cleared the scene. Her posture hadn’t changed either. Shoulders slightly hunched. One hand resting loosely near the door handle, fingers absentmindedly rubbing against her sleeve.

He’d seen that look before.

Finally, Jamal broke the silence. “You know,” he said casually, eyes still on the road, “first time I ever had to treat someone I cared about was overseas.”

(Y/n) didn’t respond, and he expected that. “Back when I was still running with the teams. One of our guys got hit during an op,” Jamal continued. “Nothing cinematic. No big explosions. Just wrong place, wrong time.” 

He gave a small breath through his nose. “I remember kneeling next to him thinking that’s my brother right there. Not just my teammate.”

(Y/n)’s eyes shifted slightly, but she still didn’t look away from the window. But Jamal kept talking anyway. “You train your whole career to treat strangers,” he said. “But when it’s someone you actually care about?”

He shook his head slightly. “That hits different.” he said. The silence stretched again for a few seconds.

Then he glanced over at her. “I know how you feel,” he said simply. “Trust me.”

(Y/n)’s jaw tightened faintly as she avoided eye contact with him. “I’m fine.” She said. 

Jamal huffed softly. “Yeah,” he muttered. “You keep telling yourself that.” 

Another silence filled the inside of the ambulance. Her fingers stilled stopped moving against her sleeve. “You definitely feel something for him,” Jamal said after a moment, breaking the silence once again.

That made her turn her head slightly. “What?” she sounded almost offended as he told her that.

“You heard me.” Jamal daid, and nodded toward the road ahead. “You care about the guy.” He continued.

She looked back out the window immediately, avoiding him. “That’s not-” she started, but got cut off. “…wrong?” Jamal finished her sentence for her. 

She didn’t answer and Jamal let out a slow breath. “So I made a call.” He started. That made her frown slightly. “What call?” She asked. 

He reached forward and picked up the radio from the console. (Y/n) turned toward him now, “Jamal…” she sighed. 

He pressed the speaker button. “Dispatch, this is ambulance 122.” Static crackled briefly, and a dispatcher on the otherside of the line answered. “Go ahead, ambulance 122.”

“Ambulance 122 going out of service for the remainder of shift.” he spoke. (Y/n) sat up straighter. “What are you doing?” she whispered as she walked him with the back of her hand.

“Copy that, 122. Out of service.” And with that, he set the radio back in place. (Y/n) stared at him. “You can’t do that.” She told him. 

“Well, I can. And already did.” He said. “There’s only a few hours left in the shift,” she argued. “I can make it through.” she added, sounding determined. 

Jamal shook his head once. “No, you can’t.” he started. Her mouth opened to protest again, but then she realized something. She hadn’t been paying attention to the route. Her brows pulled together slightly as she looked out the windshield.

“Wait. This isn’t the way back to the station.” She noticed. Jamal didn’t answer. The ambulance slowed as it turned into a brightly lit entrance, automatic doors and the emergency bay she has seen a million times.

(Y/n)’s stomach dropped. The rig rolled to a stop beneath the overhead lights. She turned toward him, confused. “Why are we stopping at another hospital?” she asked. “We just dropped someone off.” 

Jamal finally looked over at her. His expression was calm. Certain. “This is the hospital they brought Buck to.” he revealed. 

The words settled quietly in the cab. He nodded toward the doors. “Figured you might want to check on him.” 

For a moment, (Y/n) didn’t move. The words hung in the quiet cab of the ambulance, heavier than the silence that had filled it before.

Her eyes drifted toward the brightly lit entrance ahead of them. The emergency bay was busy even at this hour… orderlies moving stretchers, a nurse pushing through the automatic doors with a clipboard tucked under her arm.

Her chest tightened. “You didn’t have to do that,” she murmured. Jamal shrugged slightly, leaning back in his seat. “Yeah,” he said. “I kinda did.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him for the first time since the freeway. “You said you wanted to focus on the job,” he added gently. “Well… right now this is your job, and I’m telling you, as your PIC to do your job.”

(Y/n)’s gaze drifted back to the ER entrance. The sliding doors opened and closed every few seconds, spilling warm light onto the wet pavement outside.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the doorhandle. “What if-” she started, but the thought died in her throat.

Jamal didn’t press her to finish it. Instead he nodded toward the doors. “Go check on him,” he said quietly.

She hesitated one more second, but then she pushed the passenger door open.

The automatic doors slid open with a soft mechanical hiss as she stepped inside. The emergency department was harshly bright after the darkness outside.

Monitors beeped somewhere deep down the hall, voices carrying faintly from behind closed doors as nurses moved quickly through the room.

(Y/n) stepped up to the nurses’ station, trying to steady the tightness in her chest. A nurse looked up from her computer. “Hi,” (Y/n) said, her voice a little tight. “I’m looking for a patient that came in from a freeway MVA earlier tonight. His name is Evan-” 

A chair scraped against the tile behind her. She turned instinctively. Eddie was already standing. For a moment their eyes met across the waiting area.

Behind him, the rest of the crew sat scattered through the waiting room. Bobby leaning forward with his hands clasped holding something in his hands, Chim with his elbows on his knees, Hen sitting upright with her arms folded. They had all looked up the moment she walked in.

“Oh-” she murmured, turning back to the nurse quickly. “Thank you, I think they’ve got me.” she said. The nurse nodded, already returning to her screen.

(Y/n) stepped away from the desk and walked toward the group. Eddie met her halfway. “How is he?” she asked immediately, the words coming out before she could stop them.

Eddie exhaled slowly. “They took him into surgery about an hour ago.”

Her stomach dropped.

“They found internal bleeding on the scans,” he explained. “Possible spleen injury. Couple broken ribs. His legs took a hit too from being pinned.”

(Y/n)’s mind immediately started retracing the call.

“I thought his pressure was dropping,” she said quickly, almost to herself. “I started fluids but I didn’t want to overload him before imaging and I—” she looked up, swallowing the tears that were about to fill her eyes, away. 

Her hands had started shaking again. “I should’ve pushed more before transport,” she continued, panic creeping into her voice. “Or maybe I should’ve-” she stopped mid-sentence.

“Hey.” Eddie’s voice cut through the spiral. Eddie stepped a little closer, his tone calm but firm. “You’re the reason we got him out of that car alive.” he said. 

Her breath caught slightly. “I stabilized him before extrication but..” Eddie stopped her once again. “You kept him alive,” Eddie repeated.

For a moment she just stared at him. Rainwater still clung to the edges of her hair, the fluorescent lights catching the slightly redness in her eyes.

Behind Eddie, the rest of the team watched quietly. “You did your job,” Eddie added. “Everything you said you did? That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

Her lip trembled faintly, but the panic in her breathing eased just a little.

Eddie gave a small nod toward the chairs. “Come, sit with us.” he said.

(Y/n) hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Okay.” She said softly, and they moved back toward the waiting area.

Hen shifted slightly in her seat to give her space, Chim offering a small, tired nod of acknowledgment as she sat down.

No one asked more questions. The steady hum of hospital lights filled the silence of the hospital waiting room, as the hours of waiting began. 

The waiting room had grown quieter as the hours passed.

The adrenaline that had carried everyone through the crash had faded, leaving everybody exhausted and with an uneasy silence. 

(Y/n) sat near the end of the row of chairs, her hands loosely clasped together, staring at nothing in particular.

Scattered across the waiting room, the 118 waited too. They were also still in turn out gear, dried up sweat stuck to their faces and a bit of ash faded on some people’s skin. 

Bobby leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees, hands folded together, it almost was like he was holding something in his hands, but (Y/n) couldn’t quite see it. Sometimes he whispered to himself with his eyes closed, but later she realized he was praying.

Chim sat beside him, occasionally glancing toward the hallway doors that led deeper into the hospital. Between Hen and Chim were a few seats, she had her arms crossed loosely, one foot bouncing slightly against the floor.

Eddie stood, he hadn’t sat down once. Every now and then he paced and then stopped to lean against one of the walls. 

The automatic doors at the end of the hallway finally opened again. Everyone looked up at the same time. A surgeon stepped into the waiting room, pulling his surgical cap off as he walked toward them.

Bobby was already on his feet and the rest of them stood almost automatically, gathering behind him.

“Captain Nash?” the surgeon asked. “That’s me,” Bobby replied, putting up a small hand. 

The doctor gave a small nod before continuing. “Evan Buckley is out of surgery.” The surgeon spoke. 

Every muscle in (Y/n)’s body went still. 

“The procedure went well. We were able to stabilize the internal bleeding. Mr. Buckley sustained significant trauma to both legs. He had a fractured femur on the left and multiple fractures in his lower right leg. We stabilized the bones with surgical hardware. But for now, he’s stable.”

“Will he be able to walk again?” Bobby asked. The surgeon nodded at his question, “He’ll need physical therapy and some time to heal, but we expect him to make a full recovery.” 

A breath escaped the room, several at once. He was alive, he was going to recover, he was going to be okay.

“He’s still coming out of anesthesia,” the surgeon continued, glancing between the firefighters. “But you’re welcome to see him. Just, not all at once. Two people at a time.”

Chim huffed a quiet laugh beside her. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” he muttered.

The surgeon sent a small smile. “He may wake up at any point. For now, he’s in recovery.” Bobby nodded, gratitude written clearly across his tired face. “Thank you, doctor.” He said, and shook his hand, with that the surgeon left. 

For a moment, nobody moved. Then Bobby turned slightly. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Two at a time.” 

The visits began slowly after that. Bobby and Eddie went first. They disappeared down the hallway while the others waited in the waiting room, the quiet stretching again. 

“He’s hanging in there.” Bobby said as he gave the remaining people a quiet nod. 

Next Hen and Chim went. But, (Y/n) stayed where she was, she wanted to give the team, the people who stood closest to him, the first chance to see him. So, she told herself she would wait until they were all done.

Time went by, eventually while Bobby was grabbing a cup of coffee. Hen and Chim were with Buck. Leaving Eddie and (Y/n) alone in the waiting room, he was sitting across from (Y/n).

“How is he?” she asked quietly, breaking the waiting room's tense silence. 

Eddie hesitated, it wasn’t in a cruel way. He was just trying to be honest, but also trying not to scare her. “He looks rough,” he admitted.

The words made her stomach drop, her eyes immediately wandered toward the floor. Eddie noticed. “But that’s normal,” he added quickly. “Surgery, tubes, machines… it just looks worse than it is.”

She nodded, though she wasn’t sure if his words helped. “You should go in there.” He said simply.

(Y/n) looked at him, caught off guard by how direct he was. Her hands tightened together in her lap. “I… don’t know if that’s a good idea.” she said with a doubt in her voice.

Eddie frowned slightly. “Why not?” He asked, eyes locked on her. She hesitated, then gave a small shrug, “What if he doesn’t want me there?” She said uncertain. 

For a moment Eddie just stared at her. Like the thought that she had, it seriously didn’t make sense to him. “I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” he said.

She looked down again. “You don’t know that.” 

Eddie leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms loosely. “I kind of do.”

Her eyes lifted again. He shrugged, like he wasn’t trying to make a big deal out of it. “The way he looked at you earlier,” Eddie said.

She blinked, “What?” She asked, a bit confused. So much had happened this shift that she forgot about this morning. 

“Back at that call this morning,” he clarified. “When he brought out one of the victims and saw you.” 

(Y/n) felt her stomach flip slightly at the memory. Eddie tilted his head thoughtfully. “Look, I’ve known Buck a long time,” he said slowly. “And I’ve never seen that kind of look on him before.” He explained.

Her breath caught slightly. Eddie leaned his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. “I’m pretty sure he’d want you in there.”

For a moment she just sat there, staring toward the hallway that led to Buck’s room. She let her gaze wander back towards the waiting room. Eddie tried to make eye contact with her, and when he did have contact, he gave a small nod toward it. “Go.” He told her. 

(Y/n) took a slow breath, and then she stood. The hallway outside Buck’s room was quieter than the waiting area, at least that was how it felt. 

Every now and then when she passed a room she could faintly hear the sound of machines beeping. (Y/n) reached the door of Buck’s room, she stood outside the door for a moment, her hand resting lightly on the handle.

She wasn’t nervous around patients, she never had been. But this wasn’t just a patient, she realized during the chaos that she cared more about Buck than that she was aware of. 

She pushed the door open. The room was dimmer than the hallway, lit mostly by the soft glow of the monitors beside the bed. The steady rhythm of the heart monitor filled the silence in the room.

Buck lay in the bed, he was still unconscious. Seeing him like this was different than at the crash scene. Out on the freeway everything had been chaos. Rain, flashing lights, crushed metal, shouting voices. There had been no time to think, only to act. And here… the stillness made everything seem more real.

The bruising across his face was slowly transforming into dark purples and reds. A line of stitches disappeared beneath a bandage along his hairline. His shoulder was wrapped and his chest was rising slowly beneath the hospital blanket.

There were tubes, IV lines and monitors. It looked worse than the surgeon’s calm words had sounded, Eddie wasn’t lying to her.

(Y/n) swallowed and stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her. She got closer to Buck’s bed and pulled the chair that was standing next to the bed, closer. Careful not to bump any of the lines, she sat down beside him.

For a moment, she just looked at him. “You always did have terrible timing,” she murmured softly. Normally Buck would’ve given her some stupid, cocky reaction. But this time, Buck didn’t move.

Her hand hovered for a moment before she finally reached out, carefully taking his hand that was placed on the blanket. His skin was warm, his fingers relaxed and still.

Her shoulders dropped slightly as some of the weight that was on her shoulders finally faded away. “I mean it,” she continued quietly, her voice barely louder than the monitor beside him. “A freeway pileup? Really?”

She let out a tired breath as she watched him. “I don’t know if you remember any of it…” she said softly. “the crash.” she added. Her thumb brushed lightly against the back of his hand. “You were pinned pretty bad,” she admitted quietly. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?” The words slipped out before she could even realize. 

She sighed, looking down at their joined hands. “I wasn’t even supposed to be there,” she mumbled softly. “We were just the second unit dispatched.” She shook her head as she continued talking to him.

Who was she even talking to? He wasn’t even awake, people must think she might be some kind of crazy person, talking to an unconscious person like that. 

For a while she didn’t say anything else, the only thing that was audible in the room were the equipment and machines in the room.

Then something clicked in the back of her mind. Her phone. She had been so caught up in the crash, the hospital, the waiting room… she had forgotten about it completely. 

She reached into her pocket and pulled the phone out, the screen lighting softly in the dim room. The notification was still there. The notification of Buck’s voicemail.

Her hand was still wrapped around his when she pressed play and lifted the phone to her ear. “Hey… uh- hey, it’s me.” Her lips curved immediately, he almost sounded nervous. A soft chuckle came through the speaker.

“I just… I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner sometime. Or coffee. Or… whatever. If you’re free.” Her smile grew, a tear slipping down her cheek before she even noticed. Her eyes wandered towards his face as she listened to his voice. 

“…Anyway,” his voice finished quietly, “call me when you get this.” and with those words, the voicemail ended.

(Y/n) lowered the phone slowly, staring down at the screen for a moment as the room fell quiet again. “You idiot,” she murmured under her breath, a small smile tugging at her lips while her thumb brushed lightly over the back of his hand. “You couldn’t just ask me in person?”

She wiped the tear that had escaped down her cheek and leaned back into the chair. For a moment, nothing moved.

Then Buck’s fingers twitched, just slightly. A small movement on the blanket, which (Y/n) didn’t notice. Her gaze had drifted back to the phone in her lap, her mind replaying his voicemail and the soft chuckle he’d let out in the beginning. 

Another twitch happened. But this time his fingers shifted against hers. That was when she noticed it. Her head snapped up instantly, her eyes dropped to their joined hands. “Buck?” she said softly.

His fingers moved again, weaker this time but unmistakable. Her chair scraped softly against the floor as she leaned forward. “Hey,” she whispered, her voice suddenly more alert. “Hey, easy…” she told him. 

Buck’s brow furrowed faintly as he woke up. His breathing changed, growing slightly at the pain in his body. His eyelids fluttered, then slowly, his eyes opened. They were unfocused at first, drifting across the ceiling and the lights. 

Finally, they landed on her. Buck blinked slowly, his eyes still heavy with sleep as he tried to focus on the face beside him. For a moment he just stared at her, like his brain was still trying to catch up to what he was seeing. “…(Y/n)-…?” he mumbled, his voice sounded rough and dry.

A breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding finally left her chest. “Yeah,” she said softly, leaning a little closer. “It’s me.” she said, while squeezing his hand softly to let him know she was there with him.

His gaze stayed on her, blinking a few more times as his vision became more clear. “You’re… here.” he said. She smiled and nodded, “I’m here.” she confirmed.

Buck swallowed, his throat clearly dry. His eyes drifted away from her face for a moment, scanning the room slowly. He noticed the monitor beside him, IV lines that ran from his arm and the unfamiliar ceiling lights glowed faintly above him.

His brow furrowed at the intake of all these details. “What… happened?” he stumbled. “You were in a car accident,” she said calmly. Her voice had slipped naturally into the steady tone she used with patients, though her hand still held his. “Freeway crash. You’ve been in surgery, but everything went well.” she explained.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, processing that. Then fragments seemed to return from the crash. The rain. Headlights. The guardrail. Buck sucked in a shallow breath as he pieced the puzzle together. “T-the Jeep…”

“-Is definitely not okay,” she immediately admitted. A small huff of breath left his mouth that might have been the start of a laugh, but it faded quickly. His attention shifted again, his body attempting a small adjustment in the bed. He wanted to reposition himself, but that’s when Buck froze and the brow furrowed more.

Slowly, cautiously, he tried to move his legs, but nothing happened. His breathing changed immediately, it was getting quicker. “Hey,” she said quietly, noticing the shift before he even spoke. “Don’t try to move yet.” she told him. 

But Buck tried again. Why was nothing happening? His eyes widened. “What..-” His voice cracked, panic creeping in almost instantly. “Why can’t I-?” he choked on his words as he tried to figure out what was happening.

His hand tightened weakly around hers. She leaned closer. “Buck. Look at me.” she said, as she gave his hand a slight squeeze again to gain his attention. His gaze snapped back to her face. “You just came out of surgery,” she said steadily. “They gave you a nerve block and anesthesia. Your legs are supposed to feel numb right now.” she explained.

His chest rose and fell quickly, “I can’t feel them.” he said, his voice uncertain. “I know,” she said gently. “That’s normal right now.” 

He shook his head slightly against the pillow, still trying to process what was happening. “What did they do?” he asked. “You had fractures,” she explained softly. “Your left femur and part of your right lower leg. The surgeons repaired everything and stabilized the bones. But you’re going to need time to heal.” she told him.

Buck stared at her, “…Am I gonna walk?” he asked quietly, almost scared to ask the question because of the answer he might get. Her grip on his hand tightened just slightly, “Yes,” she said firmly. The certainty in her voice made him hold her gaze. “You are,” she continued. “Recovery, physical therapy… it’s gonna take some time. But the surgeon said they’d expect you to make a full recovery.”

Some of the panic faded away from him, it wasn’t completely gone, but most of it. Buck exhaled slowly, letting his head sink back against the pillow.

For a moment the room fell quiet again, then his eyes drifted back toward her.

His brow furrowed again, like he was trying to dig for another memory to come up. “…I heard you.” he said, softly. She blinked and was caught off guard,  “What?”

“At the crash,” he murmured, his voice still rough. “I remember… someone talking. Telling me to stay awake.”

Her chest tightened, “That was me.” she said, barely audible. His eyes focused on her again. “You were there?” he asked, almost worried. 

She nodded slowly, “My unit got dispatched as a second ambulance. I assessed you when we got there.” she explained. Buck stared at her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his expression. “You were my medic?” he asked, to get things clear. “Yeah.” she whispered softly. 

Silence took over the room for a bit. But then the corner of his mouth twitched, “…That explains why I listened.” he said, with a small smirk on his face.

She huffed a quiet laugh despite herself, “Don’t get cocky. You were barely conscious.” she said, as she flicked his upper arm with the back of her hand. 

Buck smiled at her. His tired eyes softened slightly, as the smile on his face eased. Then another thought seemed to occur to him. “Wait.” he said. 

She raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“…Did you get my message?” he asked. 

The question caught her so off guard she just stared at him. Then she let out a quiet, hesitated laugh. “You just woke up from surgery and that’s your first concern?” she shook her head, he really was something else.

Buck gave the tiniest shrug he could manage. “…It’s been bothering me all day.” he said. Her smile softened as she looked down briefly at their joined hands. “Yeah…” she said quietly. “I got your message.” she continued

Buck watched her carefully. “And?”

She hesitated for a moment, not knowing how to answer. Then she looked back up at him. “You know how sometimes you don’t realize what something means to you until you almost lose it?” she said softly.

His expression grew more serious. “That crash tonight…” she continued, her voice gentler now. “made me realize… that I think I subconsciously developed some certain…” Her fingers tightened slightly around his. “feelings for you...” she continued, and a small emotional smile appeared on her face.

She almost felt like a teenager again, “I guess what I’ve been meaning to say is: I care about you, Buck. Like… a lot.” 

The words settled quietly between them, Buck looked at her for a long moment. Then he sent her a squeeze back. “…Good,” he murmured, a smile appeared on his face. “Because that voicemail would’ve been really embarrassing otherwise.” 

A quiet laugh escaped her mouth before she could stop it.It started small, almost disbelieving, and then softened into something warmer as she shook her head. “You almost died and you’re worried about your voicemail being embarrassing,” she said, brushing a stray tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “Your priorities are incredible.”

Buck’s lips curved into a faint, tired grin. It didn’t last long, but the humor in his eyes lingered. “Hey,” he muttered. “That voicemail took courage.”

“Oh, did it?” she teased gently. “Because it sounded more like a nervous breakdown.” He huffed out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh.

They both smiled, and for a moment they just looked at each other. The room was quiet again, his hand was still wrapped loosely around hers, his fingers warm but weaker now as the fatigue was taking hold of him.

Buck studied her face for a moment longer. The smile faded from his face, and made place for something more thoughtful. “Are you okay?” he then asked. 

Another question that caught her off guard, she blinked at him. “What?” How could he ask that  when he was the person that was hurt?

“I mean…” he said quietly. “You were there. At the crash.” His gaze softened slightly as he searched her face. “That kind of thing… messes people up.” he explained.

She held his eyes for a moment. The images of Buck being pinned in the car, the blood trickling down his face and the full scene flickered through her mind again. The fear, the adrenaline and the way her hands had refused to shake until the ambulance doors had closed behind him, it all went down in a flash. 

Her chest tightened slightly, but then she smiled, at least.. she tried. “Ask me tomorrow?” she said, with more of a painful smile. Buck watched her for a second longer, like he understood there was more behind the answer than she was willing to say right now.

He nodded, his grip on her hand loosened slightly as the medication pulled him deeper into exhaustion again. His eyelids were already starting to drift closed.

“Hey,” she said quietly, giving his hand a small squeeze. He rolled his head to the side and his eyes opened again just enough to look at her. “You should rest,” she told him gently.

Buck blinked slowly, then his eyes wandered down towards their hands. “…You’re not leaving yet, right?” 

She shook her head, “I’m right here,” she said, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. And that seemed to be enough. His eyes finally closed again, his breathing settling back into the slow rhythm of sleep.

(Y/n) stayed in the chair beside the bed, her hand still wrapped loosely around his. For the first time since the chaos of the freeway, the night felt quiet.

______

A few weeks later.

Buck stood in the hallway outside her apartment frontdoor, shifting the small bouquet of flowers in his hand as he checked the number on the door again. Apartment seventeen. 

He adjusted the sleeve of his jacket, rolling his shoulders slightly like he was preparing to take a sprint. His legs still felt different than before the accident, sometimes they felt stiff, maybe a bit slower but he could walk again. The doctors had cleared him a few weeks ago, but Bobby still gave him sometimes a careful look on shift.

Buck gathered his confidence, he had been looking out to this moment for weeks, months. It felt so surreal after everything that happened. But he lifted his hand and knocked.

He waited, while inside, he heard something clatter. That turned into hurried footsteps “Coming!” her voice called from the inside of the apartment. Not a second later, the door opened. 

(Y/n) stood there in a bathrobe, in the middle of putting one earring through her ear, while the other dangled loosely from her fingers. Her hair was half-done, and she looked slightly breathless like she had been racing against the clock and losing that battle.

Buck blinked, “You’re not ready,” he said, a grin forming onto his face as he took in the sight of her. She gave him an apologetic smile, still fiddling with the earring. “I’m almost ready.” she said. 

His eyes dropped to the robe, then back up to her face. “…Almost?” he chuckled. She laughed softly at his comment but stepped aside to let him in. “Come in” she said. Buck stepped inside, offering the flowers as she closed the door behind him. “Sorry, time got away from me.” she apologized. 

Buck turned on his heels to face her again, and send her a smile. But then he realizes he was still holding the flowers he brought in his hands. “Oh, these are for you.” he said. 

Her expression softened at an instant, “They’re beautiful.” she said. He handed her the flowers, and she leaned forward to give him a hug. While on her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders for a quick hug. Buck slipped his arms around her and steadied her at her waist, smiling as she balanced there for a moment before pulling back.

“Just give me two minutes,” she said as she created a little space between the two of them. He nodded with a small smile on his face. (Y/n) parked the flowers on her kitchen table, and then Buck watched her disappear down the hallway, towards the bathroom.

The apartment felt warm and lived-in. A soft lamp glowed in the corner of the living room, and a faint scent of something floral lingered in the air. Buck took a few steps inside, glancing around at the small details of her apartment. Books were stacked on a side table, a jacket tossed over a chair, and a few pairs of shoes stood near the door.

“So,” he called toward the hallway, “do you make all your dates wait in your living room while you finish getting ready?” he asked as he noticed a shelf with a few picture frames placed on it. Her voice drifted back from the bathroom, “Only the ones I like.” she answered.

He inspected the few pictures, and then made his way back towards the kitchen. He leaned casually against the kitchen counter, as he waited. “That’s reassuring.” 

He could hear her footsteps over the hallway, drawers opening, the quiet rustle of fabric, the clink of jewelry.

“You nervous?” she asked from her bedroom now. “Me?” Buck scoffed lightly. “Never.” She laughed at his answer. And not much later she appeared in the kitchen again.

Buck forgot almost how to breathe for a second as he laid eyes on her. She was wearing a dress now, it was simple but elegant. And heels that made her just a little taller as she stepped into the kitchen light.

Buck straightened slowly. There was a silence for a second or two. “…Wow.” 

She stopped halfway across the room. “What? Is it too much? It is… isn’t it?” she began to doubt her choices. He pushed himself off the counter and walked toward her, his eyes taking her in like he was trying to memorize every detail. “No, no, it isn’t that.. You just.. You look…” He stumbled over his words, and shook his head slightly. “You look incredible.” he finished his sentence.

A soft color touched her cheeks, “Thank you.” she said. Buck stopped in front of her, close enough now to notice the faint scent of her perfume. For a moment neither of them spoke. The quiet took over the scene, but this felt different. It was charged with something that had been building between them for weeks.

“I can’t believe we almost didn’t get this,” she said softly. Buck’s expression shifted slightly. “Yeah,” he murmured, almost inaudible. Without thinking, his hands settled lightly on her waist. “Me neither.” he added. 

The distance between them closed slowly. Then not so slowly. He lifted her easily before she could protest, setting her gently onto the kitchen counter. She laughed in surprise, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance. “Buck-” she stumbled. 

“We could cancel dinner,” he said, his eyes wandering back towards hers, locking eyes now. Her eyebrows lifted, “Oh?” she said, her hands lightly placed on his shoulders. 

“Stay here instead...” his voice was low. Her smile widened slightly, “That sounds suspiciously like a better plan.” she said, her eyes flickering between his eyes and his lips. 

Without a second thought, their lips met, warm and eager after weeks of waiting. Buck deepened the kiss slightly before pulling back just enough to look at her again.

His hands wandered over her legs, ready to lift her again. But that’s when (Y/n) pushed lightly against his chest to stop. Their lips parted, “Hey- no.” she said. 

Buck blinked, almost thinking he did something wrong. “What?” She nodded toward his legs. “You shouldn’t be carrying me around yet.” she said, worried about his leg. 

He sighed while dramatically throwing his head back. “You’re starting to sound like my sister.” he commented. “The doctor cleared you, sure…” she said with a laugh, one of her hands on his cheek, rubbing her thumb over his soft skin “but I just don’t want you to-” Her sentence cut off when Buck leaned down, brushing a slow kiss against the side of her neck.

His voice dropped slightly, warm against her skin. “You should probably stop talking,” he murmured between breaths. 

Her hand that was on his face, was now on the back of his head, as the fingers of her other hand curled into his shirt as she laughed softly, the sound fading as the evening settled around them.

It’s strange how quickly everything can change within the snap of a finger. One moment you’re on the scene of a freeway pile up, nothing else but sirens, rain and screaming orders from captains. The next, you’re standing in a kitchen, kissing someone you almost lost. 

And suddenly the world feels steady again.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

distance makes the heart grow fonder | eddie munson

“steve, i think he hates me.”

you audibly groaned, throwing yourself onto the hood of steve’s precious beemer. steve winced at the imagined dents you were leaving and pulled you to your feet, “that man does not hate you. good god, i could think of about a thousand other words for what eddie munson feels about you, and over half of them wouldn’t be appropriate.”

you glanced at him with a huff, “he isn’t answering his phone and he hasn’t called me.”

“have you considered that maybe he’s busy?”

that was not what you wanted to hear.

“for three days?”

“have you considered that maybe he’s an idiot?”

a glare. steve winced— he was not good at this…

“or maybe… he likes you so much that it scares him and instead of talking to you, he panicked and is distancing himself.”

that did sound like eddie…

“did he call you?”

steve snorted, “no... like i said, men are idiots.”

“maybe there’s someone else.”

you flopped down on his hood again and steve cringed, “for godssake— he’s spent the last three months drooling over you, making an absolute fool of himself whenever he tried to talk to you and has made it his life mission to get in your pants.”

“gross—“ there was at least better wording…

“you’ve gone out with him– what?— like six or seven times… and every time he looks at you, its still it’s the first time he’s ever seen you. it’s definitely my thing… —haven’t you kissed him? like a lot?— haven’t you done way more than kiss him?”

“….maybe. that’s irrelevant!”

steve just sighed and pulled you off his car again. “just call him… and quit climbing all over the beemer.”

you scoffed, rolling your eyes, “eddie doesn’t care when i’m on top of his van. in fact—“

“nope.” steve held his hand up, “do not finish that sentence. i am not eddie and i am not your boyfriend, so you do not get to climb all over my car.”

you huffed, standing up again and crossing your arms, “do you wanna do something?”

“with you?”

you snorted, “no, just by yourself. i’m trying to make plans for your sad, pathetic, boring life.”

steve glared at you and you briefly wondered if he was starting to hate you too. he sighed, shifting his keys in his hand, “yeah, alright…” he unlocked the beemer and you climbed in his passenger seat. “want to go see a movie, or something?”

“sure, why not…” steve sounded like he was bored enough not to argue or drive you straight home so you didn’t continue to talk his ear off.

“what even is playing?”

“no idea… want to just pick the first one we see?”

“as long as it’s not lame.”

“fair enough…”

you followed steve through the mall, chewing mindlessly on your slushie straw. “hey, steve—“ steve sighed quietly, turning around slowly to look at you. he didn’t exactly get tired of your questions, he just didn’t know how you had so many and could keep talking without ever running out of things to say. you and robin should never be left alone together.

“do you think i annoyed him?”

steve sighed, this time expression softening and stopping beside you, “no. i don’t think you could annoy him… you’re perfect for each other. the questions, the rambling, the never shutting up…”

you looked at him crossly, waiting for him to get to the point. steve tossed his empty cup in the trash and turned to look at you again, “you said it’s been how long since you’ve seen him?”

“three days…”

“and you haven’t gotten ahold of him? he hasn’t called?”

“nope…”

“has he stopped by your house?”

“i— no? should he have?”

“i really don’t know what kind of relationship you two have.”

eddie didn’t know why the hell he had gone to the mall. dustin had baled on him with a rather pathetic excuse, so now he sat in the parking lot with a soda and the least greasy thing he could find in the food court. eddie mindlessly sipped his drink in peace, until his eyes fell on you. you, climbing out of harrington’s beemer, talking his ear off like you should have been doing with him. eddie nearly dropped the cup and all his food as he scrambled to his feet and slid off the roof of his van.

eddie hadn’t seen you in three days, since what he thought had been a rather perfect date and end of the evening— and then morning… you didn’t exactly look like you were on a date, though; steve looked like he was tolerating you, occasionally laughing and rolling his eyes. why harrington was with his girl at the mall, eddie couldn’t comprehend any possible reason for.

so, rationally, he followed you.

eddie had been by your house and was told politely that you weren’t there and were probably on your way home from work. so he waited; an hour passed, and he was knocking on the door again and your mother politely suggested that he try the mall. you didn’t particularly like the mall, but eddie was getting desperate at this point.

so, to see you at the mall, with harrington, was rather perplexing and mildly distressing, indeed. eddie trailed behind you, not trying to be sneaky or subtle, not particularly caring if he came off as a stalker. had he done something? as far as he knew, he had been sober and of sound mind every time he was with you or thinking about you. and he was never the kind of person to cheat or even have the slightest desire to have wandering eyes. you were it for him and he had assumed it was mutual…

eddie was still mildly confident that it was mutual.

you continued to chew your straw as you leaned back against the wall, watching steve try on the sixth pair of identical sunglasses. you huffed, mentally noting that eddie was not this materialistic and that he would never have you waiting around for him while completing ignoring you for sunglasses— just…apparently waiting around for him to show proof of life and ignoring your calls…

“harrington?”

you jumped at the voice; empty cup tumbling right out of your hand like you had been electrocuted. steve turned slowly, spine tensing at the tone.

“oh, hey—“

you were on your feet instantly, immediately noticing the change in both of their expressions. it was like rushing to separate feral cats that accidentally invaded each other’s property. eddie stood toe to toe with steve, who held his jaw tight, anticipating, wishing they could skip this unnecessary step.

“what’cha doing here?” eddie’s false friendly, curious tone sent alarm bells blaring in your head. “with her?”

you tensed, now gritting your teeth in irritation. now he cared? now that you were out and about with another guy?— a guy you had only ever seen as a friend and felt nothing else for.

“she was helping me pick sunglasses.”

curse steve harrington and his need to be the bigger asshole.

“is that right?” eddie glanced at you, mildly betrayed and slightly amused. you put a hand on eddie’s chest, pushing him backwards with an irritated glare. eddie smirked at your hand on his chest, glancing down at you with a tight expression, “aww, she does remember who i am! how sweet… here i was worried that you forgot all about your dear boyfriend.”

eddie calling him your boyfriend made you pause slightly, heart skipping in a way that was entirely inappropriate for the circumstances.

“what the hell are you talking about?”

“i think you know exactly what i’m talking about, sweetheart…” eddie was still glaring at steve and you swore that if they were dogs they would be circling each other growling, with their teeth bared. you grabbed eddie’s arm and pushed him out of the store, dragging him with you to an empty corner, “please enlighten me on what the hell has happened in your world in the last three days?”

eddie laughed bitterly, “you mean other than you ghosting me and disappearing off the face of the earth? i went to your house! you weren’t there! your mom said to try the mall; i thought, oh she hates the mall but i may as well! she doesn’t seem to be anywhere else in this entire goddamn town!” you glanced around, pushing him further into the corner and wishing he would lower his voice just slightly.

“then again i also thought, oh, we’re pretty great together. surely she would never stab me in the back and then rip my heart out and step on it. but here we are! at the mall! with good old stevie…”

you crossed your arms, now just staring at him, trying to fathom when eddie possibly could have hit his head this severely. “have you had your head checked?”

eddie looked like he had been slapped. perhaps it was the way you weren’t even denying it, or the way you had just insulted him while not denying it, but eddie snorted regardless, “excuse me?”

“when in the last three days did you develop such serious brain damage?”

oh this was rich…

“or maybe you tried some new hard drug and didn’t realize that the main side effect was hallucinations!”

eddie held his mouth open slightly, feeling his jealousy and hurt bubble to anger. “hallucinations!? are you or are you not here with steve harrington currently?”

“currently, i am not. currently i am standing in an empty corner yelling at you for being a goddamn idiot!”

if eddie wasn’t so furious and hurt, he would have vocalized how much he enjoyed you yelling at him and how under any other circumstances, he may have done something drastic.

this time you put your hands on his chest and shoved him and it had entirely the wrong effect on him, “i called you! every day! several times! no answer! i thought you just decided that was it and didn’t bother telling me!”

the words hit eddie like a truck. all the anger and jealousy and possessiveness fizzled out and popped in a bubble, right in the middle of his chest, “what?” it was almost a whisper.

“where were you!?” another shove and eddie didn’t bother defending himself this time.

“i fucking missed you, you idiot! i thought you hated me or something! i thought—“

shit.

“my phone…. the phone line, it—“

you just crossed your arms, staring at him furiously, tears now forming in the corners of your eyes.

“oh, fuck— i’m so sorry—“

oh, god, he truly hated himself.

“you thought i just…. slept with you and—“

you glanced down, now embarrassed and mortified and wishing you were anywhere else.

“fuck.”

“you already said that.”

“i’m sorry… i’m so sorry, i— holy shit, i didn’t even think to check…”

you just looked at him, jaw tight, lip trembling slightly, tears now spilling down your cheek.

“you know i would never do that— you know i’m completely insane, out of my mind crazy for you— hey—“ eddie grabbed your shoulders and forced you to look at him, bending just slightly so he looked you in the eyes, “i’m an idiot. probably the biggest one there ever was…”

the corner of your mouth curled up just slightly, wiping your cheek and glancing up at him, “maybe.”

“and i don’t actually think you would ever cheat on me with steve…. or anyone. i realize we never actually decided on anything official, i just—“

“boyfriend, hm?”

eddie cracked the slightest, shyest smirk, “well… only if you..think… or want..me..still. despite my…idiocy…”

you tilted your head, crossing your arms again, “of course i want you, you idiot. i was distraught. i think i may have given steve a bald spot…”

eddie’s knees nearly gave out in relief, “oh, thank god… i– well not about steve’s hair— but… well, you know—“

you snorted, shaking your head slightly, “what am i going to do with you, munson?”

eddie sighed, giving you his puppy eyes and tilting his head slightly, “hopefully forgive me. and maybe kiss me a little bit… and not hate me for saying how fucking hot it was when you were pushing me and yelling at me.”

ah, yes. your boyfriend, the walking hormone. even in a fight that’s where his mind goes…

“done… and..not here… and—“ you tilted your head slightly, biting your lip as you looked up at him, “i had a few thoughts while you were all jealous and possessive and about to fight steve— mostly, oh god no, he’s just being a reluctant friend— but then, also other things that i can’t say here…”

eddie put his hands on your hips, pulling you against him with that damn dangerous, wicked smirk that you loved so much. “perhaps you can tell me some of them later… while i apologize—” eddie yanked you against him, his thumb brushing against your jaw and down your throat, intentionally pushing against you so you knew just how sorry he really was. his eyes dropped momentarily to your pressed together pelvises, then slowly raking his gaze back up your body. he stuck his lip out, bit it, then brought his eyes back to yours, “profusely…”

oh, god. you had to remind yourself you were in a very public place. and how to breathe.

your lip twitched up, mouth slightly agape, practically drooling over his lip tucked between his teeth, trying to envision what it would taste like after he—

“we’ll see…”

“Are you okay?” you sigh, tipping your head till your forehead meets the wallpaper. 

“I’m sorry— I’m fine. I just, can you bail me out please.” 

“What happened, Eds?” 

“Just a stupid fight. Nothing serious, I promise.” He pleads like you won’t believe him and doesn’t give you a chance to press for details, “There’s cash in a shoebox on the top shelf of the closet. On my side, all the way in the back.” 

You want to scold him but you're still kneading sleep from your face, irritated now that you know he’s okay. You bite your cheek, considering the possibility of an argument. Knowing that it shouldn’t take place through a phone. 

“You’re sure? It’s enough?” 

“Swear.” 

“Okay, on my way.”

He apologizes again before the line clicks. 

You shuffle through the band tees he’s grown out of and have since been neglected to the back of your shared closet. You make a mental note to remind him to drop some off at Goodwill. Under a stack of vinyls, you locate the box with a rolled wad of twenties held together by a rubber band. You snap the band, biting your lip. It’s enough to buy something expensive, really expensive. You jam your heel into a laced sneaker and do not bother to change out of your pajamas. The money is pushed deep into your pocket along with the house keys. You shake away arising questions as you start the van. 

Cold air smacks your bare arms as you push open the station door. You blink rapidly at the fluorescents. An officer hands you a clipboard, you sign two dotted lines, and fork over most of the cash. He retreats to a separate room without a word, presumably to retrieve your boyfriend, leaving you alone in the lobby. 

Your arms pillow your head on the counter until a familiar set of steps rounds the corner. His eyes, big and sorry, find yours instantly. But your attention quickly shifts to the marbled purple and blue highlighting the arch of his cheek. The stern speech about bar fights and bail payments you’d rehearsed on the way flees your throat. He brushes past the counter to hug you and you spot a split lip too. Your shoulders deflate as you meet him halfway. 

“Thank you,” Eddie mumbles into your crown. 

You give his waist a quick squeeze before pulling back. His hands chase the goosebumps from your skin as you scan his face. His curls are frizzy which is typical but more disheveled like he’s been running his hands through them. Your nail traces his lower lip where it was clearly cracked open but is now glazed over with a layer of dry blood. “Lose any teeth?” 

He smiles, pearls still intact, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad. His breath smells faintly of alcohol as he says, “You look tired.”

“I am so tired,” you admit. 

He grits his teeth guiltily, “I’ll make it up to you.” 

An officer clears his throat and passes Eddie a brown paper bag with ‘Munson’ scribbled on the front. He snatches the bag with a wink. The man offers nothing but a blank stare, maybe mild disapproval as Eddie pivots and jogs toward you, already at the door. He fishes for his lighter from the bag, kissing and pocketing it as you step outside. 

“Can I drive?” Eddie reaches for the keys in your hand. You always let him drive. 

You snatch the carabiner to your chest, elbowing his side, “Are you trying to get a DUI too?” 

“I had one beer,” he scoffs as you unlock the door. 

You believe him but pretend not to as you hop in the driver's seat. “You’re a criminal now. Can’t be trusted!” You yell playfully before slamming the door as he jogs around the hood. 

“Very funny,” he mutters as he climbs in. 

You sling your arm over his seat to back out. The streetlight accentuates the bruise when you glance past him. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Hmm?” 

You point at your own cheek. 

“Oh, no. It’s fine. Should’ve seen the other guy,” he chuckles. 

“We’ll ice it when we get home,” you pull out onto the main road before settling your gaze back on him. “So who was the other guy?” 

His eyes roll in your peripherals, “So Shelly Watkins was there—“ 

“You hit Shelly Watkins?” 

“Jesus! No! Her stupid boyfriend Rob Perry.” He groans in disgust. “You remember him? He was such a dick in high school!” 

You shake your head, trying to recall. 

“He’s a couple of years older I think. Well anyway, Shelly was blabbing her big mouth, as usual, about Robin and her new girlfriend.” 

“What was she saying?” You interrupt, curious but inferring already. 

“Nasty shit. And she’s talking so loud the whole bar can probably hear. I mean, I couldn’t not say anything, babe. And hey,” he throws his hands up in surrender, “All I said was ‘Seems like what other people do in their spare time isn’t your business.’” 

You smirk, knowing it was not as polite as he made it out to be. 

“And Rob is all ‘What did you say?’” Eddie teasingly lowers his voice, foot hiked up in his seat to face you with a finger curled under his nose like a mustache. 

You steal glances from the road to watch the theatrics as he retells the story, making sure to emphasize when he punched Rob square in the nose so hard it broke. 

“Did you win?” You ask, attempting to hide your proud grin by checking your blind spot. 

“Oh yeah.” Eddie crosses his arms, accidentally nicking the wound on his lip with his nail as he retracts the faux finger stache. He winces, tapping the cut to assess the damage. Fresh blood coats his finger; he’s quick to press his whole hand over his mouth as he fumbles through the glovebox with the other. A deck of fast food napkins you’d organized spills out. You catch one before it falls, crumpling it into his free hand and swerving back into your lane. He replaces his hand with the thin sheet, wiping his fingers on another napkin off the floor as you pull up to a stoplight. 

He tips his head like a puppy when he catches you staring. You lick your thumb, smearing a stray drop crawling down his chin. Your palm lingers on his skin, rubbing circles behind his ear as the light flicks green. 

It’s not long before you pull into the driveway and unlock the front door. Eddie holds a third napkin to his face. You consider going to the ER for stitches as you toss the keys on the counter and snatch a Ziploc bag from the cabinet. 

Two lines of light form a skewed L in the hall from the cracked bathroom door; A silent message that you are allowed to come in. It squeaks familiarly loud on its hinges but Eddie doesn't acknowledge you. 

He focuses on his reflection as he peels the napkin away hesitantly. The blood has stopped but his lip looks swollen and angry. You hook a finger through his belt loop, tugging him until he turns. You nudge the bag of ice to his cheek and he flinches grasping your hand to pull it away. 

“‘s cold.” 

You tug the hand towel off the sink and wrap the plastic, pushing it back to his cheek. You hold it there caressing his lash line with your pointer. He leans into the touch, rubbing his eyes with ringed fingers. Eddie pulls the thick silver off one by one, setting them on the counter. 

“Sit,” you tell him. 

He perches on the edge of the toilet lid obediently. You pick a washcloth from the drawer and run it under the sink. He parts his knees as you approach him, hands snapping into place at your hips. You cup his chin, pushing up until he tilts it toward you. Cool water cleans his lips where you brush. He doesn’t flinch, even when you accidentally dig too hard. You progress down to his jaw, where blood is smeared dry, and flaky. 

 “Think I’ll have a cool scar?” His breath fans your chin as you work cautiously. 

“No,” you say. He toys with the strings on your pants, happy to be taken care of. “But you don’t need it. You’re cool already.” 

The corners of his mouth lift fondly. He fights the urge to smile, hoping you’ll work longer if he sits still. You swipe in slow strokes, also secretly loving the time and touch. 

You give his face a once over before tossing the rag to the counter. He searches your expression for a diagnosis. But words are slow to find your mouth, too enraptured with the long lashes that bat his cheeks sweetly. “I love how eager you are to stick up for the people you love,” you start. 

“But?”

“But, we can’t afford you getting arrested over something like this.”

“I know,” he groans and headbutts you gently in the stomach. His hands cup the backs of your thighs and his hair drapes around his face like a curtain. You comb a handful of it over his neck and he tilts his head so you can see his eyes. “I don’t regret what I did, though. He’s always been such a bully. He deserved it, you know?” He sighs, gaze drifting away, “I felt like I could finally stand up to him after all these years.” 

Your fingers trail down his shoulder to smooth out the tee riding up his back. “I don’t doubt that he deserved it. I know you just want to do the right thing. But still, he can probably afford it, we can’t.” You hesitate to ask, “Where did you get that money anyway?” 

He hugs your middle, muttering into your belly, “Been saving.” 

“For what?” 

He shrugs and says what you believe to be, “Something special.” You are curious but lean on your trust rather than insecurity. He most likely intended to surprise you with something if you didn’t know.

“Sorry, you had to spend it.”

“Not your fault.” He peers up at you as if to ensure you know that and you brush his bangs back. 

“Still, sorry.” 

He blinks slowly up at you like a cat waiting for more pets. Then, he shoots up, back stiff, eyes wide. “You have work tomorrow,” he realizes out loud. 

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” you pull his arm until he stands. “I actually have come down with a real nasty cold,” you force a cough into your fist. 

“Oh yeah?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, not only that but there's this criminal that won’t leave me alone. Think I might have to file a report at the station tomorrow.” 

He laughs, flicking the light off as he follows you to the bedroom. The ice pack is left to melt in the sink and the stained washcloth to dry on the counter, a mess for tomorrow you’ve decided. You’re quick to crawl under the covers and he’s even quicker to shed his clothes and join you. 

Eddie pecks the sliver of collarbone poking out of your shirt, making his way up in a dotted line. He presses gently to your lips, and you break away mindfully, aiming for the corner instead. 

“You know?” Your eyes are closed but you feel his stare. 

You hum.

“I think it’s kinda sexy when you call me a criminal.” 

“Oh my God!” You throw an arm over your burning cheeks, “You are so horny.”

He laughs into your wrist but moves it aside to cradle your cheeks firmly. He pulls one eyelid open gently with his thumb when you refuse to engage. You release the smile you’ve been keeping. He mirrors it, teeth bright in the moonlight spilling in. “Think about it, I already have handcuffs so you can play bad cop and—“ 

You grope for a pillow to push into his face and then another when he chucks it off the bed, giggles overlapping. 

“I’m going to call the police on you, have them arrest you again. Take you to horny jail.” 

“Now you get it,” he releases his grip on your wrists to sit back on his heels and in a voice that is not his own he fawns, “Oh, officer! I promise to be a good boy from now on!” 

You roll over, groaning wildly into your pillow. “Go to bed!” 

Rude customers weren’t new. Hell, Eddie practically expected them. But today had just been something else entirely. It had started with the older woman who took one look at him. tattoos, rings, wild hair pulled back haphazardly, and decided she already knew everything she needed to know. Her mouth had pursed, her words sharp and clipped as she questioned his prices, his professionalism, his very presence behind the counter.

Then came the younger customer, all lingering looks and saccharine sweet laughter, leaning a little too close as he worked. She’d laughed at his jokes a little too hard, brushed her fingers against his arm like it was an accident, made it painfully clear she thought it might buy her a discount. When he shut it down, her smile curdled into something sharp, her voice turning clipped and nasty. She paid without another word and walked out without tipping, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the windows.

By the time he was cleaning up, counting the minutes until he could lock up and disappear, the universe apparently decided it wasn’t done with him. An older man pulled in just before closing, engine sputtering. Eddie had taken one look under the hood, already running through possibilities, when the man started questioning his competence. Each skeptical comment scraped against Eddie’s patience, wearing it thinner and thinner until he was gripping the edge of the hood just to keep himself from snapping.

Now, sitting in the van with the day finally behind him, all of it pressed down at once. The exhaustion, the frustration, the quiet, simmering hurt of never quite being taken seriously. Eddie dragged a hand over his face, smearing grease across his cheek, and exhaled slowly. He was home. Barely holding it together, but home nonetheless. Climbing the steps of the trailer felt like wading through wet cement, each creak of the metal stairs echoing louder than it should.

Normally, it was a motion he barely registered, muscle memory carrying him up without thought. Tonight, though, his legs felt heavy, like they might give out at any second, every step a reminder of just how wrung out he was. By the time he reached the door, his hand lingered on the handle, knuckles sore, breath slow and uneven. The door swung open with a familiar groan, and the dim, amber glow inside wrapped around him like an old blanket.

Wayne was right where he always was, slouched into the corner of the couch, eyes heavy from an earlier shift at the power plant. The TV murmured low in the background, some rerun Eddie wasn’t paying attention to. His eyes were already drooping, exhaustion from the power plant etched into the lines of his face, but they softened just a little when he saw Eddie step through the door. “Hey, kid.” Wayne called out, voice rough but warm.

Eddie didn’t trust himself to answer right away. He toed off his boots by the door, letting them thunk against the wall, shoulders still wound tight like he’d forgotten how to let them drop. Whatever irritation he’d been holding onto all day clung stubbornly to him, written plainly across his face. “There’s leftovers on the counter,” Wayne continued, nodding toward the kitchen. “Your girl came by. Dropped off your favorite.”

That did it.

Eddie’s stomach growled loudly enough to embarrass him, the sound cutting through the fog in his head. His gaze snapped to the counter, and sure enough, there it was. A plate of your famous homemade lasagna, wrapped in foil, waiting patiently like it had all the time in the world. The rich smell of tomato sauce and melted cheese hit him instantly, and his mouth watered despite himself.

He crossed the trailer in a few long strides, snagged a fork from the drawer, and dug in without hesitation, not even bothering to heat it up. He didn’t care. Warm or cold, it tasted like salvation. He ate standing there, leaning against the counter, fork moving almost mechanically as his body reminded him just how long it had been since he’d last eaten any real food that wasn't from a vending machine.

The shop had been slammed all day, customers stacked back to back, and somewhere along the line he’d completely blown past his lunch break. Each bite settled something in his chest, even if only a little. Still, the relief was bittersweet. Oh how he wished he’d gotten off early. Even just an hour sooner would’ve meant seeing you, your smile, your voice, the way you always made the trailer feel brighter just by being in it. Lately, your schedules felt like they were working against you on purpose.

His days were swallowed whole by the shop, late-night D&D campaigns, and even later nights playing at the Hideout. Yours were just as bad, with overtime shifts at Family Video stretching long past closing time, and on top of that, those ever-present college assignment deadlines. It gnawed at him more than he wanted to admit. Hell, at this point, even Steve Harrington had spent more time with you than he had.

The mere thought left a sour taste on his tongue that had nothing to do with the lasagna. He stabbed at another bite, jaw tightening as a flicker of jealousy curled low in his gut. He trusted you, completely, but it still stung, knowing someone else got to see you laugh, got to hear about your day, while Eddie was elbow-deep in engines and taking crap from strangers who didn’t know the first thing about him.

He swallowed hard, forcing the feeling down. Leaning back against the counter, fork resting on the edge of the plate, his eyes drifted toward the empty doorway of his room. Somewhere between the grease, the exhaustion, and the ache of missing you, the weight of the day finally began to settle. And for the first time since pulling into the driveway, Eddie let himself feel just how damn tired he really was.

“Night, Wayne,” Eddie muttered, the words leaving him in a long exhale, like even speaking required more energy than he had left. He didn’t wait for a response, already turning down the narrow hallway toward the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment he just stood there, forehead tipped forward, hands braced against the sink as he stared at his own reflection, tired eyes, shadows beneath them, jaw still tight with everything he hadn’t let go of yet.

The shower was quick and scalding. Water beat down against his shoulders, carrying grease, sweat, and frustration with it as it spiraled down the drain. He scrubbed until his skin felt raw, like maybe if he washed hard enough he could erase the day entirely. When he stepped out, steam clung to the small bathroom, mirror fogged beyond recognition. He pulled on his pajama pants and didn’t bother with a shirt, bare skin prickling as the cooler air hit him.

He moved on autopilot toward his room, exhaustion tugging him forward. More than sleep, his body craved comfort, something to quiet the static in his head, something to make his chest feel less tight. Normally, that comfort had your name written all over it. Tonight, he’d already resigned himself to the alternative. Weed would have to do. Slipped into his room he didn't bother flipping on the light, knowing every inch of this place by heart.

His feet navigated around clutter effortlessly as his hand reached for the spot where he kept his personal stash, fingers closing around the pre-rolled joint. Habit carried him forward as his other hand searched for his lighter on the nightstand. And then, he froze. His breath caught sharply in his throat as his shin brushed the edge of the bed, and his heart slammed hard enough that he nearly dropped everything in his hands.

There, sprawled across his lumpy, unmade mattress like she belonged there, because she did, was you. Nestled deep into his pillow, cheek squished adorably against the fabric, lips parted just enough as soft, steady breaths escaped you. Your chest rose and fell in a slow, peaceful rhythm that felt completely at odds with the chaos that had been rattling around inside his head all day.

Eddie rubbed his eyes hard with the heel of his palm, a shaky laugh threatening to escape as disbelief flooded him. He blinked once. Twice. You were still there. Still breathing. Still very, very real. You were dressed in his Hellfire shirt, the fabric worn thin and soft from years of use, hanging off you just right. Your legs were bare, clad in those barely-there shorts he loved, skin warm and familiar even from a distance.

The sight hit him square in the chest, knocking the air from his lungs in the best way possible. Everything inside him shifted all at once. The anger drained first, then the irritation, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming wave of relief that left his knees feeling weak. The day, the customers, the looks, the comments, all fell away like background noise. All that mattered was that you were here. You’d crawled into his bed when he wasn’t even home, made yourself comfortable in his space like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Immediately, he set the joint and lighter down, not even sparing a glance to where they landed on the cluttered desk. They made a soft, hollow sound as they hit wood, forgotten the second his attention snapped back to you. The craving in his chest shifted instantly, no longer a restless, jagged need to numb himself, but something gentler and far more powerful pulling him forward. He moved slowly, like the slightest wrong step might shatter the moment.

The mattress dipped as he carefully climbed onto it, muscles tense as he navigated around your sleeping form. You’d somehow managed to claim nearly the entire bed, limbs loose and unguarded, like this was exactly where you were meant to be. Eddie smiled despite himself, something soft and fond tugging at his mouth. As much as he told himself to let you sleep, to just lie there and soak in the fact that you were here in his space, the need to touch you was overwhelming. It was instinct. Muscle memory. Survival, almost.

His fingers hovered for half a second before they made contact, brushing lightly over your bare thigh. His breath hitched as his hand slid upward, slow and reverent, slipping beneath the hem of his own shirt you wore. His fingertips traced the curve of your waist, then settled against your ribs, feeling the gentle rise and fall beneath his palm. Further proof that you were really there. A breathy exhale slipped past his lips before he could stop it, tension bleeding out of him in one quiet rush.

He froze when your foot nudged against his calf, heart jumping into his throat. For a moment, he stayed perfectly still, barely breathing, afraid he’d woken you too abruptly. “Eds?” Your voice was soft, thick with sleep, but the sound of it sent something warm and electric straight through his chest. Your eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused at first, then sharpening as they found him. Recognition bloomed across your face, followed by the faintest smile.

God, he could’ve cried right then.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He murmured, voice low and rough, like it hadn’t been used for anything gentle all day. His thumb brushed unconsciously against your side, grounding himself in the feel of you. You didn’t give him time to say anything else. You shifted forward, closing the small space between you, one hand curling into the fabric of his pajama pants as you leaned in. Your lips met his in a kiss that was soft but deliberate, unhurried yet full of intent, like you’d been waiting all night to do exactly this.

The world seemed to tilt slightly as his brain caught up with his body. For half a second, Eddie just stayed there, stunned, before instinct took over. He kissed you back with a quiet hum, one hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, the other tightening at your waist like he needed the reassurance that you weren’t about to disappear. The kiss wasn’t desperate, but it was deep with everything he hadn’t been able to say, how tired he was, how much he missed you, how the day had chewed him up and spit him out until he’d walked into this room ready to fall apart.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, noses brushing as your breaths mingled in the dark. Eddie let out a shaky laugh under his breath, exhaustion finally catching up to him now that he didn’t have to hold himself together anymore. You shifted closer, legs tangling with his, fitting against him like you’d always belonged there. Eddie huffed softly, the corner of his mouth tipping up despite himself. “You’re a little bed hog, y’know that?”

You smiled into him, the sound more felt than heard, and burrowed closer like you were determined to prove his point. Your cheek pressed against his chest, warm and familiar, and he felt the tension he’d been carrying finally give a little. You kissed his bare collarbone, slow, unhurried, then drifted lower to the faded black widow spider tattoo. “Your car wasn’t in the driveway,” He murmured, fingers lifting to tuck a rogue strand of hair behind your ear.

His movements were gentle, careful, like he was still half-afraid you might vanish if he startled you. “Thought I wouldn’t get to see you until the weekend.” You cuddled closer at that, fitting yourself against him like it was second nature. One hand slid behind his back, nails grazing his skin in that slow, absent-minded pattern you knew drove him a little crazy, grounding and soothing all at once. The other threaded into his hair without hesitation, fingers finding their place like muscle memory.

“Steve dropped me off,” You whispered, as Eddie practically melted beneath your touch. His eyes fluttered shut when your fingers grazed his scalp, the sound he made low and involuntary. “Guess he and Robin were tired of me moping around.” That earned a quiet snort from Eddie, his chest vibrating beneath your cheek. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to the top of your hair, lingering there, breathing in the faint trace of your perfume mixed with the familiar scent of his sheets.

It grounded him in a way nothing else could.

“Shitty day?” You asked softly, pulling back just enough to look at him. Your fingers brushed beneath his eyes, light and careful, tracing the shadows there. He sighed, long and slow, like he’d been waiting all day for someone to ask. “Yeah.” He admitted, voice low. You didn't push, only hummed quietly, sympathetic, your thumb brushing his jaw. Eddie let his eyes fall shut for a moment, leaning into the touch.

He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until now, until the adrenaline drained out of him and left only the ache behind. “But this?” He added after a beat, eyes opening to meet yours. “This helps. A lot.” You smiled at that, soft and sleepy, and settled back against him, head finding its place beneath his chin. Eddie wrapped an arm around you, holding you closer, like if he let go the day might come rushing back in.

Your breathing slowed first, evening out into a gentle rhythm that Eddie unconsciously matched. Every gentle inhale you took, every soft exhale that brushed against his skin, felt like permission, like the universe was finally giving him leave to drop the weight he’d been carrying all day. For the first time since pulling into the driveway, Eddie realized he could finally breathe without restraint, without that lingering edge of irritation and exhaustion gnawing at him.

Turns out, he didn’t need the joint tonight after all. The familiar haze of smoke, the escape he’d planned, suddenly seemed unnecessary. Right here, right now, with you pressed against him, soft and steady, filling every hollowed-out corner of his chest, he already had everything he’d been craving. All the comfort, all the peace, all the relief he’d needed was wrapped up in the warmth of your presence. And for Eddie, that was more than enough.

party of four | steve harrington

you knew exactly when it had happened. seven crawls ago. steve had been fighting with dustin— again— still trying in vain to pull him out of his grief and recklessness. it ended in a screaming match and dustin storming off, riding his bike home and not even caring about the crawl. sometimes you thought seeing dustin like this had a worse effect on steve than on you. steve was tense, short and snapping at everyone, blaming himself for dustin leaving, blaming himself for not being there for him more. he was doing all he could… he had never stopped reaching out or trying to pull dustin out of it. but now maybe dustin didn’t want to be pulled out, he wanted to push everyone away and continue to carry it all on his own. you had been exhausted. of the fighting, of the crawls, of the way dustin had turned into a completely different person. you had reminded steve again that it wasn’t his fault. he was doing all he could. he was reaching out and it wasn’t his fault dustin pushed him away.

the way he had kissed you had been messy. but it was desperate and needy and he clung to you that night like he never had before. even in the threat of the end of the world, with everything falling down around you, steve still relied on you for everything to be okay. for everything to feel normal and safe… the air was heavy with desperation. he needed a distraction, you needed to think about anything else… it wasn’t the first time you had done it in the back of the van. five years and not always a lot of time alone together had conditioned you both to be fast and intentional, clinging to each other and drowning out the world as if you had a normal relationship, under normal circumstances. this time had felt different… more urgent, more desperate, much more emotional… you were left breathless and smiling, watching with a smug smile as steve attempted to radio in an even voice, pulling his clothes back on like nothing had just happened.

five weeks later, the weight of that night hit you. missing your period had been usual lately; between running from monsters, losing sleep, constantly worrying if someone else was going to die horrifically, and steve and dustin’s relationship now being rocky at best… you hadn’t exactly been worried about your health at the end of the world. which is likely why you had forgotten all about that highly possible accident that night. the nausea was your first sign. twisting in your stomach and always feeling nauseous and on edge was another side effect of living in hawkins. however, when the nausea turned to throwing up and certain foods started turning your stomach sour, your stomach twisted and your heart dropped for a completely different reason.

the test was positive. of course it had been… the absolute last thing you could deal with right now, yet there it sat— clear as day. you don’t think you could have possibly timed it worse. truly in other universe, this could not have been a worse time. every day was spent fearing and anticipating a move from vecna, hawkins was all but boarded up and steve and dustin’s relationship had truly never been worse. supplies were already limited and scarce, and when you asked murray for a pregnancy test, he looked at you like he was leading you to your execution. his face paled, he hesitated, finally giving you the smallest, sorrowful, apologetic smile. you hated him for it.

three weeks later, you still had told no one. only murray, who had asked if you wanted a cake with congratulations on it either way. he had been joking, but when you started crying, he knew what the test had been. shockingly, he hadn’t acted like an asshole around you. he snuck you in more chocolate, always spoke to you in a pleasant tone and constantly checked in on you. as absurd as it was, you were happy he knew. he was good at keeping secrets and he was indifferent enough towards everyone to not bullshit. he would apologize, as if it had been something he had done to you. then pointed out that if anyone could have a kid right now, it would be you and steve. steve… you still hadn’t told him. god, you hadn’t even told dustin… murray had said that maybe this was a good thing. nothing would bring steve and dustin back together like their favorite person in the world carrying a baby. you would need extra attention and extra care and they would both fill their time with that, instead of trying to fight with each other.

you didn’t want extra attention or extra care. you didn’t want any of this, and as you were crying for the third time that day, the arguments started again. your heart sank, blood running cold as if there were a demogorgan nearby. you sighed, glancing between steve and dustin sadly.

“i’ll just go this way, i think. enjoy your treasure hunt! for the core— or whatever bullshit.”

you stopped abruptly, watching steve push away from dustin, stomach twisting, “steve—“ you stumbled slightly. he kept walking and tears blurred your vision. “dustin…” dustin just turned to face you, shaking his head slightly, “you deal with him. i’m getting sick of him—“ his tone was short and snappy and you felt like you had been slapped.

steve was sitting just around the corner, attention half focused on the rubix cube in his hand. “i thought you’d go with him…” you sat beside him silently, watching the colors switch and rotate in his hands.

“i need you both to stop with this.” your shortness startled him. he looked up, eyes soft. “i can’t do this shit anymore, steve… i really, really can’t.” steve stood to his feet, moving towards you instantly, “hey—“ you stood up, biting your lip, unable to meet his eyes. “honey, i’m… i’m trying.”

“no. neither one of you is trying. you’re both acting like selfish assholes—“ you didn’t mean it. you knew you didn’t mean it…

“dustin is grieving. he’s pushing you away and you’re letting him— i can’t do this without both of you! i can’t–“ you were crying now, starting to hyperventilate, overwhelmed from all the emotions you were feeling at once.

“hey… hey— sweetheart— hey—“

dustin had wandered back in, “i think we’re wrong about— what happened?” he nearly shoved steve aside to grab your shoulders, “what happened?” you were just crying, shaking your head.

steve pushed dustin back and you groaned, “i’m fine—“

dustin glared at steve, “you still think you know what’s best? you think she’s crying because of me? no. it’s because you’re being an insensitive asshole! you always have been, i don’t understand what she sees in you… eddie would never have—“

“dustin…” you pleaded in vain, massaging your head.

“ah.. eddie. that’s what all of this is about isn’t it? perfect saint eddie—“

“eddie was a hero! he was smart and—”

“stop—“ you moved to stand up and dustin put an arm out to stop you.

“eddie was an idiot and he got himself killed!”

your breath caught, eyes snapping to steve in horror and disbelief. dustin’s posture had tightened, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“i told him don’t be a hero. i told both of you! he didn’t listen and now he’s gone! if he’s such a goddamn hero and so goddamn smart, how come i’m the one still standing here?! he died for nothing! because he couldn’t listen!”

your mouth fell open, blood running cold. this wasn’t steve. steve would never— dustin was moving before you could. he dove forward and the scream died on your lips. steve was knocked backwards, dustin tackling him, screaming, swinging at his head and not pulling his punches.

you were screaming now. pleading, crying harder, begging them to stop. steve was yelling, but he didn’t lift a single hand to defend himself. he never once swung back, never once lifted a hand against dustin. you stumbled forward, sobbing, breath coming in rapid spurts. “stop— stop—“ steve had grabbed dustin now, holding him in more of a hug than a pin. dustin was crying, steve was crying— dustin threw himself backwards and steve went flying into the wall. he said nothing. he just stood up, tears in his eyes, not looking at you, “i’m done.” he started walking and you grabbed his hand, “steve—“

“yeah, you go… go find someone else to save…” dustin collapsed onto the floor, curling around himself in tears. you rushed forward, but steve grabbed your hand, “don’t… he doesn’t want comfort.” you jerked your hand away, “stop.”

“don’t you dare start with me… i’m about done with both of you, honestly.” you didn’t mean it. you were just exhausted. and terrified and lost without the usual dynamics… “i’m trying to keep it together, i’m trying to move forward and…” you kicked the chair that they had knocked over in their quarrel. steve flinched, dustin glanced up, eyes wide.

“i’m not doing this… i can’t do this. not like this… not with you two trying to fucking kill each other— i can’t… i can’t do it.” steve moved towards you, hand on your shoulders. dustin had stood up, staring at you like he was actually scared. “you’re not the only one who’s grieving, dustin. we all liked eddie… but this—“ you motioned between the two of them, “i’m done with this. i have bigger things to worry about.” you couldn’t see again because of your damn tears. your breathing was more rapid, bending forward to gasp for air, stomach twisting and chest constricting, “i can’t… i need—“ dustin and steve were both there then, eyes wide, easing you down into the chair, suddenly much more worried about you than anything else. you couldn’t breathe fully, the room was spinning, nausea threatened to take over again and you choked on a sob, “if i have to carry this baby without one or both of you, i—“ you didn’t want it to be like this… this is not how you wanted to tell them. this isn’t how you wanted anything to be…. “i can’t. i can’t do this alone, i can’t. i need both of you i need—“

dustin had stopped crying. steve had stepped back. they both just stared at you, faces pale, mouths slightly open. it felt like several minutes passed, steve and dustin had seemingly been frozen, chests falling heavier, color gone from their faces.

“i’m pregnant…” you stood up, letting the words settle in for yourself. you hadn’t fully acknowledged it until now. forcing it down until murray asked how you were doing. wishing you could ignore it or deny it away… but now it was out there. it sat heavy on your chest, twisted your stomach, made the room start to close in. “it couldn’t be at a worse time. it really, really couldn’t be at a damn worse time…..” you were talking more to yourself than anyone. you paced back and forth and glanced over your shoulder to see steve and dustin watching you. they glanced at each other, then back at you.

“if one of you could fucking say something that would be great….” the tears were starting again. the horrible realization sank over you that maybe this was the worst thing you could have done. steve may not have been ready to hear this. he may not have wanted kids any time soon… and dustin— having a neice or nephew to look after wouldn’t do a damn thing for his grief…

you shook your head, laughing bitterly, looking at steve accusingly, “you don’t have to say anything. forget i said anything… really. i’ll figure it out. i’ll…. i’ll—“ you would what? you would go home and eventually tell your mom and she would be more disappointed and shocked than she had ever been before. she would be happy, but she wouldn’t want this for you… your entire future— the possibility of being a single mom at twenty— unmarried in this age… you couldn’t breathe again. the walls were starting to close in and the room was spinning—

you took a step and there was a hand on your wrist. steve. he was still just staring at you, completely stunned and slightly pale. but he stopped you in your tracks. dustin moved first, rushing forward to hug you like he was trying to hold you together. you didn’t stay together, sobbing into his shoulder, while he just held you. “it’s going to be okay...” those words coming from him were almost believable. “i’m here. i swear to you i will be here. i’ll be better…” you couldn’t say anything to that, only crying harder. dustin just held you, glancing over to steve like he couldn’t decide whether to kill him or hug him.

steve moved finally, as you nearly collapsed forward. you fell forward, collapsing into steve’s chest, letting him be the only thing keeping you standing. “hey….” his hand was on the back of your head, stroking your hair. you knew by his voice he was crying. you didn’t dare look to see if he was happy or not. of course he wasn’t happy… “hey.” his hold tightened on you, “look at me.” you didn’t think you could…

“look at me…” he had his hand on your jaw, gently lifting your head, guiding you to look at him. “what would possibly make you think you’re figuring this out and doing it alone?” his expression was so soft that you only cried harder. you closed your eyes and shook your head, unable to look at him any longer. you felt guilty, you felt scared, you felt completely terrified and broken and angry. but part of you… part of you also felt excited. for this future. for this little unplanned sign that life was still moving forward, even as hawkins waited for and dreaded a move.

“i don’t…”

“no.” steve shook his head, voice now stern, “if i have ever done anything to make you think i’m not going to be apart of this, i have failed in every goddamn aspect that matters.”

“steve…”

“no, i’m not finished. look… i know things have been…” he glanced at dustin, who didn’t meet his eyes, “..shitty. i know that this is not the best timing. i know this is actually probably the worst possible timing we could have possibly had…”

you almost laughed, but the nausea wouldn’t allow it. “i know you’re scared… i don’t know how long you’ve been keeping this a secret… i understand why you didn’t tell me… but i’m sorry you didn’t. i’m sorry if i did anything that so much as hinted that i wouldn’t want this— that i wouldn’t be there every goddamn step of the way for you…” —you had already been crying enough, before he said this— “and look… i know this isn’t ideal… i know this wasn’t planned and that the timing is really not good… but isn’t that how we do everything else? our first kiss was after i had been knocked unconscious by billy, laying with my head on your lap in the back of my car, that max hijaked… our first i love you was in a russian interrogation room under the mall…”

you laughed weakly, sniffling, trying to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop, “i just didn’t know if you….would want this…right now…”

steve took both your hands and kissed them, “i want you. screw whatever else comes… screw literally anyone else… no matter what happens, i’m with you. this is the future you know i wanted… i don’t care if it’s here unexpected, a little early… what about this would i possibly not want?”

dustin quirked up his mouth, looking between you two softly, “if there’s anyone in the whole world that can become parents right now and not lose their shit, it’s you… i mean, hey… you’ve done a pretty good job with me. and i’m sure babies are easier than an asshole teenager…”

you pulled dustin in with one arm, kissing his head like he was still little, “you’re not an asshole.”

“i kind of was a little bit…”

“he was, a little bit…”

dustin shoved steve and you tensed. but they were both smiling and steve pulled dustin in for a hug. you bit back more tears, watching them with glossy eyes.

“you’ve got both of us.”

“always.” dustin hugged you again, putting a disbelieving hand on your stomach. he smiled, looking between the two of you, and for the first time in a long time you knew everything was going to be okay.

The first time you were mistaken for Steve’s girlfriend, you were in high school. It was a Friday night and the atmosphere in Hawkins was electric. The basketball team was about to play the championship game, and the whole school was crowded into the gym.

You dressed in a shirt you made with Steve’s number, 11, painted onto it, Harrington across the back. You used face paint to draw little 11s onto your cheeks. When you walked into the gym, Steve spotted you immediately, running up to you and wrapping you in a tight hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, a huge grin on his face. “Look at you, all school spirit-ed up!”

“Just for you,” you laughed. “Harrington’s #1 fan.”

Steve looked genuinely touched. He pulled you into another hug, holding you until his coach called for him.

“Harrington! We need you over here!”

Steve pulled back, hands on your shoulders as he smiled at you. “See you after the game. I better hear you in the crowd.” Then he turned and jogged back to where the rest of his team waited for him.

You were still smiling as you climbed the steps, finding a spot with a great view of the whole court. Carol and Tina gave you a strange look as you passed, but you ignored them.

The game started, and the crowd came alive. Your eyes were glued to Steve the whole time, watching as he expertly blocked the other team’s shots and made basket after basket. He was running the court, and you had never felt more proud.

The other team was not having a good time. One of their players in particular started getting rough with Steve, elbowing him and knocking him to the ground. You gasped, standing to get a better look, but he was fine. Jason offered him a hand and helped him up, and the ref called a foul.

Steve was awarded a free throw. He stood behind the free throw line, bouncing the ball a couple of times as he lined up his shot. He tossed the ball and it effortlessly flew through the air, swishing through the basket. He took his second free throw, once again sinking the ball in the basket. His teammates clapped him on the back as they got back to the game. Steve looked into the stands, spotting you immediately and giving you a smile and small wave that you happily returned.

The game was close. The clock ticked down the remainder of the fourth quarter, and the other team was just barely in the lead, 71 to 70. Steve got control of the ball, spinning around to face the net. The timer went on - 2 seconds, 1 second - and Steve took the shot. All of Hawkins held their breath as the ball flew through the air, seemingly in slow motion - and swished through the basket.

The crowd went wild. You stood, jumping up and down as you screamed your head off. The team surrounded Steve, lifting him high in the air as they chanted - “Harrington! Harrington! Harrington!”

You ran down the steps as fast as you could. Steve turned to you like you were the only person in the room, holding his arms out for you to run into. He scooped you up, twirling you around as you laid your head on his sweaty shoulder.

“That was incredible!” You exclaimed once he sat you down. “You were amazing out there!”

“Thank you,” he said, the huge grin plastered to his face. He was riding the high of the win, of being the star player of the Hawkins varsity basketball team. It was a well deserved pride.

Your moment was interrupted by Carol and Tina approaching. They gave you a look, eyes moving between you and Steve.

“So are you guys, like, dating now?” Carol asked, her tone bitchy as usual.

You opened your mouth to say no, you were just friends, but Steve beat you to it.

“Yeah, we are,” he said proudly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “We’ve been dating for a couple months now. She’s the best, isn’t she?”

You looked up at him in confusion, but decided to go along with it. “Oh, yeah,” you added. “Steve is just amazing. He’s the best boyfriend ever.”

Steve went on. “We’ve been best friends forever, you know, but I finally confessed my feelings and asked her out. I was terrified. But she said she felt the same, and the rest is history, as they say.” He chuckled. “Best thing I’ve ever done. She’s my dream girl.”

Carol and Tina both looked between you, their expressions judgmental as they chewed their bubblegum. “Well, good for you guys, I guess,” Carol said, before the two of them walked off.

When they were out of earshot, you turned to Steve, brows furrowed. “We’ve been dating for a couple months?” You questioned him, a laugh in your voice.

Steve shrugged, grinning. “Why not? It’s none of their business anyway.”

“You came up with a whole backstory.” You shook your head, laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

Everyone at school thought you were dating after that, and neither of you ever corrected anyone. When prom season rolled around, Steve asked you to go - just as friends. You went shopping with Robin and found the perfect dress - dark purple, sleeveless and with a poofy skirt. It fell to just below your knees. It made you feel beautiful, you had been looking forward to prom your whole life, never having an excuse to dress up like this.

Your older sister, Lori, came over, excited to help you get ready. You sat on the bench of your vanity, talking and laughing with her as she curled your hair, then did your makeup. She did your eyeshadow first, a smokey eye that went well with your dress. She painted your lips with a nude color. 

Steve picked you up that evening, knocking on your door and using his Harrington charm on your mom, who already loved him. She always told you that you and Steve should get married, and jokingly called him her son in law when he wasn’t around.

When you walked down the stairs and saw him, your heart skipped a beat. In reality you were just friends, of course, but he looked so handsome it nearly took your breath away. He was dressed in a black tux, a dark purple tie on to match your dress. He might have looked even better than you did, you thought.

“You look beautiful,” Steve said. He held a purple corsage in his hand, still in its clear box.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” You reached for the hall table and grabbed the matching purple boutonniere sitting on top.

Your mom took about a million photos as you pinned the boutonniere to Steve’s jacket and he slid the corsage onto your wrist. Then you were made to pose for another million photos. You didn’t entirely mind, and Steve sure didn’t - he was absolutely eating up the attention - but you were ready to get going when she was finally satisfied.

Steve held out his arm and you looped yours through his. Your parents and Lori watched you from the front door as you walked - and saw a limo sitting out front.

“Steve!” You gasped. “This is too much.”

“It’s not every day we go to prom,” he smiled. “I wanted to make it special.”

Steve held your hand as you climbed into the back of the limo, him right behind you. When the limo began moving, he reached into the mini fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne, holding it up on display and raising his eyebrows. “Want a drink?”

“Uh, yes,” you said, like it was obvious - which it was. Steve grinned as he grabbed two champagne flutes and filled them with the bubbly liquid.

You laughed together as you drank on the way to school, and by the time you got there you were both pretty tipsy. It was going to be a fun night.

Steve helped you climb out from the limo, escorting you inside. You stopped to take a photo together where Jonathan was running the booth. As you walked into the auditorium, Time After Time was just beginning to play.

Steve held out his hand - “Dance with me?”

You didn’t have to be asked twice. You took his hand and he led you to the dance floor, his hands sliding to your waist as your arms went around his neck and he held you close. You slow danced with your best friend, worried he could feel your heart beating against his own chest. The way he looked at you sent butterflies flying in your stomach. You almost thought he might kiss you.

But that would be silly, wouldn’t it?

After high school, you and Steve both got jobs at Scoops Ahoy. The uniforms were stupid and the job was mundane, but at least you got to work with your best friend. And Steve was pretty cute in the sailor outfit.

“I didn’t even know there were this many ice cream flavors in existence,” Steve said on your first day, looking down at the freezer in wonder. “It’s like…ice cream wonderland.”

You snorted. “Do you want some ice cream, Stevie?”

He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “Uh, yeah, I do. You’re telling me you’re not excited by free ice cream?”

“I guess it’s one perk of this shitty job.” You grabbed two of the sample spoons. “What flavor?”

Steve examined the freezer again. “Rocky Road.”

“Chocolate chip cookie dough for me,” you said, opening the glass door and scooping one of each flavor. You handed the spoon to Steve, who ate it right away.

Steve watched you as you ate the ice cream off the spoon, making you blush. You licked the delicious treat off the spoon, him watching you intently the whole time. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve said, shaking his head as he turned back to the cash register, acting like he was doing something very important as his shorts suddenly felt uncomfortably tight, the skin of his neck heating in a blush.

The two of you goofed around until the mall opened, then it was a steady stream of customers ready to cool down from the summer heat. It kept you busy, but some of the customers liked to talk.

“You’re such a beautiful girl,” one older lady commented one day as you scooped her mint chocolate chip. “Is that handsome young man your boyfriend?”

You started to laugh, “Oh, he’s-“

But Steve interrupted, putting his arm around you. Your heartbeat sped up, beating hard in your chest, although you didn’t know why. “Yeah, we’ve been dating for years. High school sweethearts. It was our dream to open this ice cream shop together. Now it’s finally come true, hasn’t it sweetheart?”

You looked at him. “That’s right babe. I’m just happy to be on this adventure, setting sail on the ocean of flavor, with you.”

Steve kissed you on the temple before he beamed back at the woman, who seemed to believe you as she took her ice cream, smiling at you both. “How cute. That’s wonderful. You remind me of me and my husband at your age.”

When she left, you and Steve busted out laughing. “Nice job, sweetheart,” he laughed.

“You’ve got to stop telling people we’re together,” you shook your head with a smile.

“Why? It’s fun.” Steve lifted his sailor hat to run a hand through his immaculate hair. You couldn’t help but notice his new sneakers he got to match his uniform. He would do something like that.

Steve was in the back when a group of familiar kids walked in. Before they could even ask, you turned. “Stevie, your kids are here!”

Steve came around the corner, hands on his hips. “Really? Again?”

“It’s Day of the Dead,” Dustin reasoned. “We can’t get in and we aren’t missing it.”

You wandered to the back, leaving Steve to deal with the group of kids using him to sneak into an R rated movie. You decided it was the perfect time to take your break, sitting at the table and grabbing your book from your bag, flipping to where you left off.

Out front, Dustin gave Steve a smirk. “So, that’s her?”

Steve’s head twisted around in a panic to make sure you were out of earshot. When he turned back to the kids, his expression was irritated. “Dude.”

“She’s pretty,” Mike commented. “I see why you’re so obsessed.”

“I am not-“ Steve looked around again before leaning closer onto the counter. “I am not obsessed.”

“Yeah, okay, man,” Lucas said, telling Steve he didn’t believe him for a second.

“You never shut up about her,” Max contributed. “We’re not dumb. It’s obvious you’re in loooove.”

Steve blushed furiously, looking down to hide the redness of his cheeks. “I am not…you know what, don’t you have a movie to catch?”

He quickly led them through the back, not giving a single one of them the opportunity to speak to you. He didn’t trust them one bit. He opened the door to the back hall and the kids all filed out, making kissy noises at him as they left.

Because Steve definitely wasn’t in love with you. You were just his best friend. Nothing more. He swears.

Your sister Lori had a baby girl 6 months after you graduated high school. She named her Annie, and she was really a perfect baby. Always so calm and well behaved, and she loved spending time with you and Steve.

You were basically volunteered for babysitting duty whenever it was needed, but you didn’t mind. You always loved kids, and you loved your sister and your niece. It was fun to play house for the day, go out in public and pretend you were a mom. It was especially fun when Steve tagged along, because, well, he made everything more fun.

When Annie was 1 year old, your sister left you in charge while she and her husband went to Indianapolis for the day. You and Steve decided to have a fun day and take her out to the children’s museum. She had just gotten walking down and always wanted to be independent now.

It took Steve an annoyingly long time to find a parking spot and it was making Annie fussy, so when he finally did, you were all relieved.

“Way too fuckin’ busy for a Tuesday,” Steve grumbled as he killed the car engine and started unbuckling his seat belt. You grabbed Annie from the back and got her buckled in her stroller, which Steve pushed to the front door. He bought three tickets from the counter and you all headed inside, Annie looking at the surrounding ocean exhibit with wide eyed wonder.

Steve was amazing with kids. It always made you feel warm and fuzzy inside to see him interact with them, and the way he played with your niece was no exception. He sat her on his shoulders as he walked through the museum, giving her the best view of anything she could want to see.

When you reached the mini grocery store setup, Steve sat the wiggling toddler down and she grabbed his hand, leading him through the fake store. She added all kinds of pretend food to her mini shopping cart, and when she was done, Steve manned the cash register and scanned her purchases.

“Having a cookout this weekend?” Steve asked as he scanned a pretend pack of hot dogs. “Beautiful weather for it.” When she was done, she walked off with her cart. Steve stopped her - “Ma’am! Your change!”

In the playground area, Annie found some toddlers her age and began playing with the blocks with them. You and Steve took a much needed break as you sat together on a bench with Annie in full view.

“Long day,” Steve sighed, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up the slightest bit, revealing a tiny bit of skin. Your eyes went right to it.

“Yeah,” you agreed when you wiped the drool off your chin. “You having fun though?”

“‘Course,” Steve smiled at you. “I love hanging out with my girls.”

His girls. The sentence made you feel giddy, like you weren’t just babysitting your niece and maybe had an actual family with Steve. A wedding ring, an adorable brown haired hazel eyed child. You let yourself entertain the thought.

The couple sat on the bench next to you turned your way, the woman giving you a friendly smile. “Is she yours?” She asked, pointing to Annie.

“Oh, yeah,” you answered. Steve leaned around you to look at the couple. “Her name is Annie.”

“She’s adorable,” the woman said. “That’s mine, Oliver.” She pointed to the little boy handing Annie a block. “Sorry if it’s rude to ask, but how old are you two?”

“We’re nineteen,” Steve answered for you. “Just graduated from Hawkins High a year ago.”

“That’s where we met,” the woman said, smiling at her husband before turning back to you. “You’re so young. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well,” you began, looking at Steve. “It’s definitely hard, but we always knew we wanted kids. Especially Steve.” You leaned on his shoulder, smiling at the couple like you were head over heels in love. “So we got an early start.”

“I’m 30 and I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing sometimes,” she laughed. “You two are doing great. You have a beautiful family.”

The comment made your heart soar, as if you hadn’t just completely lied to this woman and it wasn’t all pretend. You squeezed Steve’s hand, and he returned it.

When Annie started fussing and rubbing her eyes, you knew it was time to get her home for a nap. You just hoped the day’s excursion had worn her out enough to lay down without a fuss and take a good one. You put her back in her stroller, and Steve pushed it as you left the building.

“So I have to stop making up stories about us being together?” Steve whispered, teasing you for your earlier words.

You blushed. “It was just the perfect opportunity. She totally assumed we were together and Annie was ours.”

“She did,” Steve agreed. “But you surprised me, I didn’t think you’d go for it. I mean, I would have if you didn’t, but still.”

You burst into laughter. “I knew you were thinking it!”

Steve laughed, too. He shook his head, brown locks brushing against the collar of his shirt. “Of course I was thinking it.”

Annie was passed out by the time you got her back into her car seat. Steve was such a natural with her, it made your heart flutter in your chest. You thought about what it might be like if you were together, if Steve was really your boyfriend - or husband - and you had a child together. You knew he would be the best dad in the world. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind.

He played the radio quietly as you drove back home. Neither of you spoke, not wanting to wake Annie. She probably wouldn’t nap once you got home, so you wanted her to get as much rest as possible. But every now and then Steve would turn to you, giving you a soft smile that made your stomach do flips.

When he dropped you off, he helped you carry the sleeping baby inside. Your sister held her hand over her chest as she watched Steve with Annie, shooting you a knowing look behind his back that had you blushing.

“Thank you for taking her,” she told you both. She kept shooting you glances that were far too obvious for your comfort.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Steve said, usual charming smile on his face. “We had a good time.”

“Yeah?” Lori asked, smiling between you two like an idiot. You gave her a look that said please stop.

“Yes,” you answered for the both of you. You pushed Steve through the house and to your bedroom as he laughed.

“I like your sister,” Steve said, laughing. “I don’t know why you’re always trying to get away from her.”

“She’s embarrassing,” you muttered.

“She’s nice,” Steve said.

Yeah, when she isn’t trying to embarrass you in front of your friend. You shook your head. “You don’t get it. You don’t have any siblings.”

Steve kind of deflated at that, and you instantly felt bad. You knew Steve’s family was a touchy subject. His parents were pretty emotionally neglectful, never around, hardly cared what Steve did as long as he showed up to school and didn’t get himself killed. But he was lonely, and always had been. He’d wished for a sibling for as long as he could remember.

You put a hand on his shoulder. “You can have her, if you want.”

That got a smile out of Steve. He nudged your forehead with his own. “Nah. I’d rather just spend time with you.”

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Eddie asked excitedly, practically bouncing up and down as he cornered you, Steve, and Robin at Family Video.

“It is Tuesday,” you said, closing up a VHS box and giving Eddie a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Ed.”

Eddie was beaming as he turned to Steve and Robin expectantly. Steve had been leaning against the counter on one arm, watching you and Robin. With Eddie’s waiting gaze on him, Steve looked between you and him. “Well, I don’t go anywhere without her, so. Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“We’ll all be there,” Robin said. “Calm down.”

Eddie was practically bouncing off the walls. This was a big show for Corroded Coffin - not the typical Tuesday night crowd with five drunks. The rumor was someone from a label was supposed to be there. Eddie had been demanding you all come for moral support - and to make the crowd look at least a little bit better.

That night, you dug through your closet looking for something metal concert-appropriate. You didn’t have much to choose from. You ultimately decided on a black top that tied in the front and a tiny little matching skirt. Some tall lace up boots and tights pulled the look together.

When you walked outside to Steve’s car, you could see his eyes widen through the window. You had to pull your skirt down as you got in to keep from flashing him.

“Jesus,” Steve practically choked out. “You look-“

“Ridiculous?” you filled in for him. “Yeah, I know.”

“That…is not what I was going to say.” Steve shook his head, blowing out a long breath of air as he backed out of the driveway.

You picked up Robin next, who slid into the backseat behind you. Both Steve and Robin were dressed in their normal wardrobe - you felt kind of like a total fucking idiot. This wasn’t you.

You didn’t notice the way Steve kept looking at you, letting his gaze linger way longer than he knew he should’ve. Robin noticed.

At the Hideout, Steve put a hand on your lower back and led you into the crowded bar. It was packed for a Tuesday. Steve left you and Robin in a booth and took to the bar with his fake ID.

When he came back, he had three beers held in his hands. He placed them down in front of each of you and slid into the booth on your side.

There were a few opening acts before Corroded Coffin - no one particularly interesting. You were barely listening to the music at all as you chatted with Robin and Steve, laughing harder and harder the more drinks you got in your system.

When Eddie came onstage, the three of you cheered louder than anyone. He caught your eyes in the crowd immediately, smiling and waving back. The band started playing, and you nodded along to the music.

“I need another drink,” you said, hinting that Steve should get up to let you out.

“I’ll go get it for you,” he said, standing.

“No, I need to stretch my legs,” you said. You had forgotten just how tiny your skirt was until you stood and could feel the breeze on your upper thighs. “We can go together.”

Steve nodded, leading you through the crowd. You may not have noticed, but Steve didn’t miss the way every guy in the bar was looking at you, letting their eyes freely drop to your barely-covered ass. Steve shot dirty looks to all of them, staying close behind with his hands on you at all times.

You made it to the bar, leaning against it. It was packed, the bartender all the way at the other end. “This is gonna take forever,” you groaned.

“Wait here,” Steve said. “I’ll go catch him down there. Another beer?”

“And some shots,” you smirked, which Steve returned. You watched him go, disappearing into the crowd of people.

“That your boyfriend?”

You turned around, startled. A large man stood behind you, not entirely unfriendly looking, but you knew better than to trust strange men in bars. “What?”

“Was that your boyfriend?” the man asked, gesturing towards Steve. You looked back at him at the bar before turning back to the man.

“Yes,” you said on instinct.

The man looked like he didn’t quite believe you, like maybe you were just trying to get rid of him (you were). “How long you been together?”

“5 years,” you said easily, thinking of the day you and Steve had become official best friends. “High school sweethearts.”

“Oh yeah?” the man said, his little interest waning.

“Yeah,” you said. “Actually, he stole me from that guy up there.” You gestured up to where Eddie was going crazy on stage, and the man’s eyes widened. “We were together for a little while. But Steve? He’s the real rocker, if you know what I mean.”

The man looked thoroughly uncomfortable at this point. The sight of Steve coming back over from over your shoulder was enough of a push for him to get out of this interaction. “Have a good rest of your night.”

“The real rocker, huh?” Steve asked with a smirk, sliding up next to you and handing you a shot. He carried both your beers in his one hand. You tilted your head back and swallowed the shot with ease. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” you said. “I think he was gonna hit on me. Asked if you were my boyfriend.”

“And you said yes?” Steve asked teasingly.

“Well, yeah. I didn’t want to deal with that.”

“Nice story,” Steve said, and you blushed, realizing he had probably overheard more than you thought. “I’m the real rocker?” he repeated, like he had really gotten a kick out of that.

You shrugged. “It made him uncomfortable. I thought it was funny.” You took a second shot.

Steve looked at you - really looked at you. His eyes slowly trailed over your body, your outfit, taking in every inch of skin exposed by the tiny material. His heart thudded harder, harder in his chest. He opened his mouth to say something he’d probably regret when Robin came up between you, grabbing your arm.

“You guys took forever,” she said. “Now I need a drink.”

It had been a few years since graduation when Richard Harrington decided he was done torturing his son and gave him a job at his insurance company.

Steve’s first real Big Boy Job. A job where he had to dress in business casual, get up early to style his hair and iron his shirts. He did well there, rising up the ladder faster than expected - you knew it was on Steve’s own merit because his dad wasn’t exactly the charitable type.

You were a junior in college, studying education. Dean’s list, soaring grades, on track to be class valedictorian. Things were going well.

“Do you want to come with me to the company Christmas party?” Steve asked one evening as you were lounging at your apartment. He was still in his work clothes, button up shirt undone with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He’d come over right after he got off. Most days, all he wanted to do when he got off work was hang out with you.

“You want me to go?” you asked, sitting your mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said, like it was obvious. “I mean, it’s probably gonna be lame, but if you’re there-“

“I’ll go,” you said. “Do I need to dress up?”

“Uh…yeah. Probably,” Steve said.

“It’s fun to have an excuse to dress up sometimes,” you mused.

You couldn’t find anything in your closet you actually liked that fit the vibe of Steve’s fancy annual company Christmas party - so you dragged Robin and Lori out shopping with you. Lori was having fun, at least.

“How many dresses are you gonna try on?” Robin whined, running her hand absentmindedly through the rack of clothes. “I feel like you’ve tried on everything in the store.”

“I just haven’t found the right dress yet,” you mumbled as you examined a little black number on the rack. For some reason, this had to be perfect. You had to look perfect. It was important to you.

“You’ll find it,” Lori said. “It’s in here. I can feel it.”

It was an hour later, and Robin was dragging her feet. You were starting to feel bad - maybe you shouldn’t have brought her, but you missed her since you no longer worked together. You didn’t get to see each other as often.

“Oh my god,” Lori said, slowly pulling a hanger down. “This…”

You turned and saw your sister holding a glittering short red dress. It was stunning. It fit the Christmas/winter wonderland vibe perfectly. You took it from her, the material softer against your skin than you expected.

“Go try it on,” Lori encouraged.

You went into the changing room for what felt like the millionth time and shed your familiar clothes. You took the dress off the hanger, the fabric cascading across your skin like water. It was easy to put on, too.

You stepped out of the dressing room, and Lori gasped.

“Oh, finally,” Robin said.

Turning to look in the mirror against the wall, seeing yourself in the dress for the first time - it took your breath away. You had never felt particularly confident in yourself, but if anything was going to give you unbeatable confidence, it was this dress.

“You look so hot,” Lori said.

“Agreed,” Robin added. “This is the one. And I’m not just saying that because I wanted to get out of here 6 dresses ago.”

That night you dressed in your new gown. The hem went right to mid thigh, showing off your legs in a very sexy way. It showed off your cleavage just enough without it being too revealing for a company Christmas party.

You knew Steve was just your best friend, but you were about to knock him dead.

He picked you up right on time, the knock on the door coming at 6 on the dot. You opened your apartment door to the sight of Steve dressed in navy pants with a white and grey button up and matching suit jacket - a red tie around his neck that somehow matched your dress perfectly. He wore his glasses, which he hardly ever did. 

He had been standing there in his normal bored kinda way, leaning against the door frame as he waited for you to answer like he had much more interesting things to do. But once you opened the door and he saw you, he practically choked, standing up straight and nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Wow,” he finally managed to get out. “You- you look incredible.”

“Looking handsome yourself,” you smiled playfully, grabbing your black clutch from the hall table. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, ready,” he said, still distracted. Even with his mind reeling and actively trying not to look too hard at your body, he led you to the car with his hand on your back, opening the door for you and holding your hand as you sat down.

“Is this a date, Harrington?” you teased him as he got into the driver’s seat of his new car. “This feels kinda like a date.”

Steve laughed lightly. “Just trying to be a gentleman.” He thought for a second. “I guess you could be considered my date for the night. By some people.”

“Our first date,” you cooed playfully. “Cute.”

At the office building, Steve parked in his designated spot - close to the front. He helped you out and escorted you inside with you hanging onto his arm. You stepped on the elevator and Steve pressed the button for the 15th floor.

The doors closed, and you and Steve were left in the quiet, the only sound the rumbling of the ascending metal box.

Steve cleared his throat. He looked like he was trying to look anywhere but at you. It was starting to make you feel a little bad. “Do you not like my dress?” you asked softly, your earlier confidence being left behind in the ground floor lobby. “Are you embarrassed?”

“No!” Steve said quickly, almost a little too loud. “No, that’s not- I like it. I really like it. You look stunning. Actually…” he thought for a second. “Stunning,” he said again. “You’re gonna be the hottest chick there.”

You laughed, feeling a little better. You just couldn’t understand why Steve was being so weird.

On the top floor, it was much louder. Muffled Christmas music traveled down the bright white hall, and Steve led you down, opening the door for you.

A party had been set up inside, not huge, but pretty big. Lots of guys in suits dressed similarly to Steve, mingling with drinks in their hands and beautiful women on their sides. You were sure most of these women had rings on their fingers, however. Big, flashy rocks.

Steve was quickly wrapped up in a whirlwind of conversations with his colleagues. You were each handed a champagne flute that you sipped on while you listened to Steve talk about things you didn’t understand while smiling and laughing at the appropriate times.

But Steve kept his hands on you. If you weren’t holding onto his arm, his left arm was around your waist, or his hand on the small of your back. And you couldn’t help but notice how handsome and grown he looked. Steve never wore his glasses, but all of a sudden you wished he would more often.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you whispered to Steve just as he got waved over by another man.

He looked down at you. “Do you want me to take you? They’re just over there, but-“

“No, I’m okay,” you smiled. “Keep mingling. I’ll be right back.”

Steve watched you leave, the sway of your hips in the fabric of that dress near hypnotizing. When you were out of sight, he turned and walked over to Tom, the guy who had been calling him over.

“Hey, man,” Tom greeted, clapping Steve on the back. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, having a pretty good time,” Steve answered with a friendly smile.

“Was that your girl?” Tom asked, nodding in the direction you’d gone. And Steve wasn’t going to play the game tonight - he really wasn’t - but then Tom said, “Because I’ve been watching her all night, and she’s hot as hell. I was going to ask for her number if she’s just a friend. Or maybe you could set a guy up?” He waggled his eyebrows at Steve mischievously, and Steve felt like he could’ve punched the guy.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Steve said. He told Tom your name - and it had never felt quite so right rolling off his tongue.

“Lucky bastard,” Tom teased. “I hope you appreciate what you’ve got. Because that girl is-“

“Yeah, I get it,” Steve said, politely cutting him short. “I’m a lucky guy, believe me I know it.”

“How’d you two meet?”

“High school,” Steve answered easily. “She was, uh…she was my assigned math tutor.” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he recounted the memory. “Brought me from a D to an A in that class. I’d never learned so much in my life.”

“If my math teacher looked like that…”

Steve smiled, as if he was lost down memory lane. “We became best friends after that. Literally inseparable since. I haven’t gone a day without her in 10 years.”

“That’s sweet man, really,” Tom said, more genuine this time. “I’m happy for you. You deserve a nice girl. Just don’t be an idiot - don’t let her go.”

Don’t let her go.

The words rang around in Steve’s ears for the rest of the night. Even when you returned, back by his side while he made the rounds - he couldn’t stop thinking about what Tom had said. Don’t let her go. Don’t let her go.

Steve hadn’t realized how he felt about you until it slapped him in the face in that exact moment - out of nowhere, it nearly knocked him off his feet. He looked down at you, smiling and laughing as you sipped on your champagne and talked with his boss’s wife - and it nearly took his breath away.

How had he been so stupid all these years?

Sure, there had been times he was unbearably attracted to you - but he was only a man, and you usually happened to be wearing something unreasonably sexy when it happened. Like now.

But there was more. It was the way his heart clenched when you laughed. The way you made him smile like no one else. They way you made him laugh, kept up with his sense of humor, never made him feel stupid or less than. You befriended everyone - there wasn’t a cruel bone in your body. Friend of everyone, yet you never let anything get in the way of your friendship with Steve. You were his best friend.

And he loved you.

He had to get out of there.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked you, mid conversation.

You looked up at him, surprised. “What?”

“I think I’m ready to go,” he said. “I just think…I need to get out of here. Get some fresh air.”

You looked at him with your eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Okay. We can go.”

Grateful you didn’t put up a fight while Steve felt like he was losing his mind, he told everyone a quick goodbye and led you back to the elevator. The ride down was silent, and significantly more awkward. Steve couldn’t wait to be out.

The elevator dinged as it stopped at the lobby once more, and Steve speed walked off. You were running as fast as you could in your heels, trying to keep up. “Steve, wait up! Where are you going?”

He was outside now, the cold air whipping through his hair and making his nose burn. He knew you had to be freezing in that tiny little dress. He had made it to the large fountain in the courtyard when he turned abruptly, nearly making you knock onto his chest.

“Jesus,” you said, stopping. “What are you doing, Stevie? What happened in there? Are you okay?”

Steve didn’t answer any of your questions because he didn’t know how to. Instead, he took his suit jacket off and handed it to you. “Here. You’re probably cold.”

You looked at him strangely. But you were cold, so you took the jacket and slipped it over your shoulders. “Thanks.”

It was silent besides the running water sounds of the fountain. You and Steve just looked at each other, the only ones outside at this time of night. The party was still in full swing upstairs. You just stared each other down, both of you waiting on someone - the other or yourselves - to make the first move.

Steve finally took a step closer to you. He said your name, so gently it floated across to you on the breeze.

“What’s going on with you?” you asked. “I thought we were having a good time, and-“

“I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes went wide and you reeled back as if you’d been struck. “What?”

“You heard me.” Steve took another step. “I’m in love with you. I’m fucking in love with you. And I don’t think I can pretend I’m not anymore.”

You were in complete shock. The sounds of the rushing water filled your ears once again, and you gaped at Steve like a fish as you tried to come up with something to say. It felt like your brain had just completely short circuited.

Steve began to look defeated. His head dropped and he held intense eye contact with his loafers. “I…I just had to tell you. I’m sorry.”

More rushing water. Then - “Why are you sorry?”

“Because I think I just ruined the friendship,” he said. “I think I just ruined our fucking friendship.”

“No,” you said immediately. It was your turn to take a step closer. “You didn’t.”

Steve slowly looked up at you, taking his time meeting your eyes as if he were afraid. You’d never seen Steve afraid. “I didn’t?”

“No,” you said. “Because I…I love you too. I’m in love with you too.”

You just stared at each other. That damn fountain carrying the whole atmosphere. Steve took another step, and he was standing so close to you you could smell his cologne and aftershave. His head was tilted down, looking into your eyes like he was reading you from the inside out. “You love me?”

It took you a minute to get your bearings. Your heart was pounding now, and you felt like your body was filled with bubbles from the champagne. Light, bubbly, like you could float away or maybe just pop out of existence. You nodded shakily. “Yeah. I…I love you.”

Steve’s forehead came down to gently rest against your own. Then he slowly raised his arm - his hand finding its spot on the side of your neck, cradling your jaw. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice so low you could barely hear him. “And I’m in love with you. So, so in love with you. Think I always have been.”

“Steve…”

He shook his head just barely. “Just let me…”

He leaned in those last couple of inches, and then Steve’s lips were pressed against yours. 

When people talk about sparks flying during a kiss, you’d never believed them. It had certainly never happened to you, and you’d kissed plenty of people. But you had never kissed Steve.

He moved his lips against yours so softly and slowly. Like he wanted to feel and savor every second of the kiss, didn’t want to rush. He was hungry for it, but he could take his time. Your hands came to sit on his biceps as his free hand rested on your waist.

It felt so right. It didn’t feel like a first kiss - there was no awkwardness, nothing uncomfortable, just pure passion and love and desire. Steve was a good kisser, too. His tongue traced your lip and you opened for him, his tongue just barely brushing against yours.

Steve let out the slightest breathy moan, like he had finally gotten something he’d been longing for for so long. Your knees wobbled and his grip tightened on your hip, pulling your body closer into his.

“Don’t go fallin’ for me too hard, now,” Steve smirked, his voice so low and deep it gave you chills even though he was being his normal cheesy self.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Harrington,” you said, still breathless from the kiss. Steve only smiled bigger.

He kissed you again, shorter this time. A couple soft pecks against your lips, then a longer press, like he didn’t want to stop. “Be my girlfriend.”

“Are you serious?” you laughed. “How much champagne did you have?”

“Hardly any,” he said, “and I’m dead serious. Did you not just hear me tell you I love you?”

“You meant that?” you whispered.

“‘Course I did,” he whispered back, nudging your nose with his own. “I want you. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. All those shitty dates…my failed love life…” Steve laughed lightly. “And you were right here in front of me the whole time.”

Your expression softened, looking up at Steve with eyes that were somehow glittering in the night. Steve’s breath hitched in his throat - you were quite literally breathtaking.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Steve’s smile grew. His only reaction was to pull you in again, wrapping his arms around your body as yours went around his neck and he kissed you nice and slow again with all the love in the world, beneath the December stars.

“Can you help me with the potato salad?” Lori asked, already three dishes in her arms and Annie clung to her leg.

“Yeah, of course,” you said, jumping into action. You grabbed the bowl of potato salad along with the ice bucket and followed Lori out into the backyard.

The sun was shining, a perfect Memorial Day. The cousins were splashing in the pool, the older relatives talking as they sat in the warm sun with smiles on their faces and beers or lemonades in their hands. You and Lori put the dishes down on the buffet table. Lori was dressed in a one piece swimsuit with a sheer coverup on top, while you were in your red bikini top with short jean shorts over the bottoms.

“Finally,” Lori said. “I didn’t think the food was ever gonna get done.” She turned to you, hands on her hips as she caught her breath. There had been a lot of running around, and she was five months pregnant. “Thanks for your help.”

“Of course,” you said. “I couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself with the aunts.” Family had come from all over the surrounding states for this Memorial Day reunion, and it was…a lot.

Lori let out a groan. “Thank god for you.”

You squealed as arms wrapped themselves around your body and lifted you into the air. Lori just watched on with a knowing yet amused smile.

“Steve!” you scolded once he’d set you down. You slapped at his arm lightly.

“What?” he said. “I missed you.”

“It’s been like 20 minutes!”

“Tell me about it,” he said, pulling your body into his and kissing you.

“Get a room,” Lori teased, although she was still smiling as she turned and walked away.

“Are you enjoying the party?” you asked Steve as he picked up a deviled egg and popped it into his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said. He chewed and swallowed. “Your family is nice.”

“You weren’t scared to meet the whole family after only 5 months of dating?” You smiled, your hand running over his bare chest.

“‘Course not,” Steve said. “I’ve already been part of the family for years. The extended family didn’t scare me.”

You loved that about Steve. He was so confident and sure of himself. One of endless things you loved about him.

You heard a voice calling your name. Your grandma was approaching, her paper plate piled high with potluck food. “Is this your boyfriend I’ve heard so much about?” she asked with a sly smile as she reached the two of you.

You smiled, looking up at Steve. He beamed back down at you like he’d never been happier in his life, his hand gently rubbing your lower back. “Yeah,” you said. “He is.”

“Hi,” Steve offered her his hand. “Steve. Nice to meet you.”

“He’s a cute one,” she whispered to you, but Steve definitely heard. You were sure he didn’t need the ego boost. “Don’t let him go.”

You leaned your head against Steve’s shoulder, and he squeezed your hip.

Yeah. You didn’t plan on it.

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Wes is sitting across the room, his posture rigid as he runs a stressed hand over his hair.

Michaela is sitting on the floor, papers scattered around her and Laurel while Asher talks quietly with Bonnie in the corner- Frank and Annalise in the office, likely discussing who to kill next.

Or so that’s what you always assumed because of how shady the pair was.

Suddenly, the door opens, causing you to glance up and make eye contact with Annalise.

“Y/N.” She says, “My office. Now.”

You furrow your brows and glance at your boyfriend as his thumb stills on your leg, “I’ll be right back.”

He nods, but there’s a crease in his brow that shows he is worried about what is going to happen in that office.

Annalise backs in as you walk past her, Frank shutting the door behind you.

“This doesn’t leave this room.” She says, causing a worried feeling to flow through you, your stomach dropping, “Okay…”

Frank reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. It’s familiar in the worst way possible.

It’s Rebecca’s.

Your eyes widen, “You still have that?”

“Yeah, I took it off of her when we had her tied up to make sure she couldn’t call the police and she ran away without it.” Frank replies, holding it out to you.

“Okay and why are you handing it to me?” You ask in shock, backing away from the device like it was a bomb.

Annalise eyes you cautiously, “She’s missing, as you know, and this cannot be found. I trust you enough to keep it safe.”

“What?” Your throat goes dry as you try to process what she is asking you to do, “Where do you want me to keep it?”

“Not your apartment and not on you unless absolutely necessary. No one can find out you have it. Especially Wes and Connor.” Annalise says sternly causing you to scoff, “I can’t tell Connor? Why not just give it to someone like Laurel, then? She’s better at keeping stuff like this quiet-”

“Because I’m asking you.” Annalise interrupts, “Now can I trust you to do this or no?”

Not wanting to disappoint Annalise, and because you have a slight fear of what would happen if you say no, you reach out and take the phone from Frank’s hand, “Of course you can.”

“Good.” She smiles before it drops dramatically, “Now go back out there and act normal.”

You nod, turning and making eye contact with Frank- who gives you a warning look as you pocket the phone and walk out.

The house feels even quieter somehow, and you go back to where you were sitting previously. Connor’s hand is quick to find your thigh again, almost as if it’s second nature, “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You lie and the guilt immediately begins gnawing at you because of it.

-

About an hour later, you and Connor walk in your apartment- some of the tension dissolving from your body as you shrug your backpack off your back and set it next to the door.

Connor kicks the door shut after he walks in, grinning as he walks forwards and kisses you.

“You sure you’re alright?” He asks, “‘Cause ever since you’ve walked out of Annalise’s office, you’ve been distracted.”

“I’m good, just tired.” You say with a smile, planting a quick kiss on his lip before slipping out of his hold and plopping on the couch- not bothering to shrug your shoes off.

Connor quickly sits beside you, laying his head on your lap as he sighs heavily, “My mood instantly goes up whenever I get to leave that house.”

You look down at him as you laugh quietly, scratching his scalp absentmindedly as you think about Rebecca’s phone in your back pocket, “Mine too.”

Connor then sits up, patting your leg as he stands, “Want anything to drink or eat before we shower and head to bed?”

You stand up also, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers with his, “I’ll come with you to the kitchen. I don’t remember what we have.”

He smiles, kissing your forehead before he makes his way to the fridge, dragging you behind him.

As he opens the door, you wrap your hands around his waist, peering over his shoulder as you scan what you have.

Connor’s hands cover yours as he purses his lips, looking at the bareness that was your refrigerator, “Looks like we need to take a trip to the grocery store.”

You nod against his back as he shuts the fridge and turns in your hold, wrapping his arms around you.

You stand there for a second before his hands began to trail down playfully, causing you to slap his chest and pull away with a laugh as you give him a mock glare.

“What?” He asks with a smirk as you turn around and begin to walk to the living room, not even noticing his confused gaze as he watches you walk away.

His footsteps speed up behind you and you feel him grab something from your pocket, causing you to whip around, noticing he had Rebecca’s hand in his grasp.

“What the fuck are you doing with this?” He snaps as your eyes widen before you try to play dumb, “What do you mean? That’s my phone.”

“No.” He says, going over to your bag and grabbing your phone out of it, “This is your phone.”

And then he holds up the other one, “This is Rebecca’s.”

“Connor-” You begin, only to get interrupted, “This is why she called you into her office isn’t it? You’ve been acting weird ever since.”

You sigh, running your hand through your hair as you snatch the phones from him, “Yes, that’s why.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Since when did we hide things from each other?” Connor asked, not giving you the chance to reply before saying his next statement, “Why are you shutting me out?”

“I’m not shutting you out.” You mutter, chest tightening as guilt consumes you.

“Yes, you are!” He shouts, causing tears to rise in your eyes as you speak, “She told me not to!”

“And you just listened to her? I’m your boyfriend, Y/N! She’s just our untrustworthy professor who never tells us anything and is always acting shady.” He spits, his hatred for Annalise showing through his words.

You shake your head, “She’s just trying to keep us safe, Con. I admit she’s a bit shady, but where would we be now if we didn’t have her looking out for us after everything that happened with Sam?”

“Oh, so now you’re defending her?” Connor scoffs and you nod in response, your voice rising, “Yes, Connor! And you know why? Because I want to trust her. I’m tired of being scared every time I walk out the fucking door!”

“We should be scared! We murdered someone! How are you okay with that?” He snaps, lowering his voice for fear of neighbors overhearing.

“I’m not okay with that, that’s not what I’m saying! Don’t twist my words.” You shout, “Why are you turning this around on me?”

“Maybe because you have a missing girl’s phone in your hand!” He states as he points to the device, “How do I know you aren’t keeping anything else from me?”

“Because I’m telling you I’m not, okay? You just have to trust me.” You reply, which causes him to shake his head, “And how do you expect me to do that, huh? I don’t know how I’m supposed to trust you when you’re starting to sound exactly like her.”

“That’s not fair.” You reply, shaking your head as tears begin to gather.

“No.” He snaps as he steps closer to you, his finger lingering dangerously close to your chest, “What’s not fair is finding out my girlfriend is playing secret-keeper for Annalise while we’re sitting on a murder.”

You wince internally, weakly defending yourself, “She told me not to tell anyone.”

“And you listened.” He replies quickly, “That’s the problem.”

“Connor-” You begin, only to get cut off, “Don’t ‘Connor’ me like I’m being irrational. You chose her over me.”

“No. That’s not what this is, you’re taking this out of proportion!” You try, but he doesn’t want to hear it, “Then what is it? Because from where I’m standing, you decided that I couldn’t handle the truth.”

“I was scared of how you’d react, yes, and I didn’t want to tell you because I knew it would make things worse! I wanted to keep us from falling apart!” You reply, your voice rising.

He scoffs, “By lying? God, do you even hear yourself?”

“I wasn’t technically lying.” You spit back.

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t go all ‘lawyer’ on me right now. If that’s how you want to play it, fine. You weren’t lying- you were hiding. And that’s not better.”

You take a breath, trying to calm down and steady yourself, “Con, you know me. You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

“No. I thought I knew you.” He replies immediately, jaw clenched as he stares at you with the coldest look you’ve ever seen him direct your way.

His comment lands hard, making your chest tighten, “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t tell me what I mean.” He snaps, “Because right now, I’m looking at you and wondering what else I don’t know.”

“There is nothing else.” You tell him, desperation seeping through your tone, “I swear.”

He doesn’t soften at your tone and instead replies harshly, “That doesn’t mean anything to me now. I trusted you and you made me feel like an idiot for it.”

Your hands curl into fists, your nails biting into the skin of your palm, “I was trying to protect you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” He fires back, “And I don’t need you deciding what I can and can’t handle.”

You shake your head in slight disbelief, “Don’t let this ruin us, Connor. You’re being cruel.”

“I’m being realistic.” He retorts, “Because if you can lie this easily now, how do I know I can trust you when things get worse?”

“Things have been worse, and I didn’t let you down then!” You reply and he is quick to retort, “But you let me down now.”

“You think I didn’t want to tell you?” You finally snap in frustration, “I’ve felt sick and guilty since the second I left that office, but she asked me not to say anything!”

“That’s not enough! If you felt so guilty, why didn’t you just ignore her and tell me? And don’t spit out the same bullshit about you not wanting this to make us ‘fall apart’ or that you wanted to ‘protect’ me.” He replies immediately, his voice venomous- and it causes you to freeze, your mind going blank.

Why didn’t you just tell him?

As your thoughts take over, Connor decides you didn’t answer fast enough.

He scoffs, taking a step back, “Right. That’s what I thought.”

That’s when you decide that you’ve had enough and you pocket the two phones that started this argument as you take a step closer to him, “Look, I get that you’re mad, but you don’t get to suddenly rewrite who I am because you’re angry and scared.”

“Then don’t give me reasons to doubt you.” He replies.

You stare at him for a few moments, a tear dripping down your cheek, “So, that’s it? One thing and suddenly I’m… what? A stranger?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

A few more tears drip down as you nod, “Right.”

Then you turn and make your way to the door.

“What? So you’re just going to leave? That’s your solution?” He snaps and you pause, turning to look at him, “No. This is me deciding to give you space to figure out if you want to be with me anymore. You can take whatever time you need to decide if you actually trust me or if you just like the idea of me when I don’t complicate things.”

“Don’t walk out like this.” Connor says, anger creeping back into his tone, “If you leave now, you can’t expect me to pretend everything’s fine tomorrow.”

“I never asked you to.” You replied before opening the door and leaving, listening to the door click behind you before you walked off.

As you walk outside, you regret not grabbing a jacket- the cold air quickly running along your arms. 

As you walk along the street, not even knowing where your destination will be, you rub your arms frantically in order to warm up.

And you don’t even hear him coming.

A hand suddenly clamps over your mouth and something sharp bites into your neck, making your legs turn to jelly.

You gasp and try to scream, but it’s only muffled by the person’s hand as they drag you over to a vehicle and open the trunk. 

They easily lift you in and tie your arms together with something rough- which you deduce as rope- whatever they injected in you not allowing you to fight back.

More tears gather as you remain helpless, the person not saying anything as they shut the trunk and head to the drivers seat.

Your wrists quickly begin to burn as the rope rubs against your skin, but you know that now is not the time to panic and rather the time to focus as the car starts.

You slumped sideways against the trunk door and you force yourself to breathe calmly as you focus and listen.

Count. You think to yourself as the vehicle begins to move.

You swallow carefully, counting the time in your head in order to know how long it took to get to form your apartment to whatever destination your kidnapper is taking you to.

Whenever the vehicle turns, you feel it and mark it as a checkpoint in your head- thanking God for your memory since it could be something that saves you in this situation.

The car turns left.

You mark it. Keeping it locked away in your mind for later when you can hopefully contact someone- considering your phone is still in your back pocket and just out of reach.

Your heart pounds, but your mind stays sharp. Annalise’s voice echoes in your head, clipped and commanding.

Details matter.

You listen for clues- if the tires are on gravel or pavement and if the car goes over a bump- railroad tracks, maybe.

You count obsessively, anchoring yourself to it so that the fear doesn’t swallow you whole.

Five minutes.

Ten.

You don’t know where you’re going, but you do know how you’re getting there- and that might be enough.

Fifteen.

Finally, the car slows.

You tense as the vehicle comes to a complete stop and you force yourself to go limp, playing as if you’re unconscious before the trunk is opened.

Cold air floods in and hands grab you- rought and impatient- hauling you up and over their shoulder. 

Your head lolls, hair falling into your face as you let your full weight sag.

“Jesus.” A man mutters, “How much did I inject into you?”

You don’t recognize the voice.

And you can’t decide if that’s better or worse.

He slams the trunk shut and begins walking. Pain sparks in your ribs as your body bounces with each step, but you refuse to make a sound.

A door creaks open and you quickly act.

You flop out of his grip and catch the door before it closes, running as best as you can with your hands tied behind your back.

His footsteps echo quickly behind you and then you tumble to the ground as he throws himself into you and rolls you over before swinging, landing a punch clean across your cheek.

“Well.” He comments, “Guess I didn’t inject as much as I thought.”

And then he hauls you back up, keeping a tight grip on your bound hands as he brings you back towards the building.

But you feel that the ropes have slipped.

He holds you tight enough so that you can’t move and brings you to the basement before unceremoniously shoving you into a chair.

He grabs more rope and steps forward, “Cooperate and I’ll be a lot easier on you.”

And then he bends down to tie your legs, and you don’t listen to his instructions, kicking your leg out.

You make contact with his chest, but he quickly grabs your leg and pulls a knife from his back pocket, stabbing it into your leg quickly before pulling it back out.

That pulls a scream from you.

“What the fuck did I say?” He spits before roughly tying your legs to the chair.

He then stands up and holds his hand out, “Phone.”

You lift your head slowly, “No.”

The word is barely out of your mouth before his fist connects with your face again.

Your head snaps to the side, pain radiating across your cheekbone, hot and blinding. You taste blood from that second hit.

“Try again.” He says.

Tears spill despite your best effort to stop them and you grab Rebecca’s phone from your back pocket, leaving yours where it was, “Fine.”

Then you drop the phone on the floor behind the chair, since you can’t actually hand him the phone.

He quickly rounds the chair and grabs it, “Finally.”

Then he walks out, shutting the door behind him.

Your body collapses forward as soon as your alone, your breaths ragged as tears drip off your chin along with blood from where he hit you.

Your heart races as you listen to your surroundings.

Silence.

Then you hear a door shut in the distance and know that it’s time to move.

You grab your phone from your back pocket, slipping your hands from the ropes and pulling them in front of you.

You unlock it, eyes lingering on Connor’s name before drifting to the next one and clicking on that instead.

Frank.

It rings once.

Twice.

“Yeah?” Frank answers, voice slightly impatient as it echoes through the line.

You breathe a sigh of relief, trying to ignore the pain in your leg as you whisper, “Frank- I need help.”

“What is it?” He asks.

“I’ve been kidnapped. I don’t know by who- but I-” You reply, getting cut off by the man as his voice rushes through the speaker, “Where are you?”

“I- I don’t know.” You say, you’re voice trembling, “I-”

Footsteps.

You quickly cut yourself off, turning the phone down all the way as your blood runs cold, “He’s coming back- please-”

You shove your phone back into your pocket, slipping your arms back into the rope to make it look as if you’re still restrained.

A shaky breath leaves you as the pain radiates from your leg but you slump forwards, eyes half-lidded as your body goes slack.

The man walks in and stops in front of you.

“Already passed out?” He mutters before grabbing your chin and forcing your face up.

You don’t fight it.

“Y/N L/N.” He grins and you clench your jaw, “How do you know who I am?”

“I know a lot of things.” He replies, dropping his hand from your chin, “Like how you and your little group of friends killed Sam Keating.”

“What?” You ask, feigning confusing, “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play coy, Y/N. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He snaps.

You shake your head, “No, I don’t. I know nothing about what happened to him, just that he was murdered by Nate Lahey.”

The man is quick to backhand her across the face for that comment, his jaw clenched as he glares at her, “You’re gonna learn that lying to me gets you nowhere.”

“I don’t know anything!” You argue, the need to protect your boyfriend and friends overpowering any pain you felt.

His hand shoots forward, grabbing your jaw harshly, “Listen to me, girl. All you have to do is tell me what I want to know and then you’re free.”

He drops her face then, red prints imbedding in her skin from his harsh grasp as he smirks sarcastically, “It’s as easy as that.”

“So, I want you to tell me everything you know about Sam Keating.”

“He was my professor’s husband and he was a psychology professor, that’s all I know.” You reply, jaw clenched as you look at him with a fierce look in your eye.

He shakes his head in disappointment before leaning down and wrapping his hand around your stab wound- squeezing harshly.

You scream loudly, “I don’t know anything, I swear!”

And somewhere, hidden in your pocket, Frank Delfino hears everything.

You can only hope that he’s trying his hardest to find you.

-

As soon as Frank heard your situation, he knew he had to move quickly.

He was quick to get into his car and make his way to Annalise’s, staying on the line and not saying a word as he tries his hardest to pinpoint your location.

He drives fast, luck being on his side as he hits every green light.

Your scream suddenly rings through the speaker and he grimaces, “Jesus Christ.”

And he continues to drive.

-

Connor stands in the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist as a feeling of guilt flows through him because of how he snapped at you.

His thoughts continue to race through his mind.

Should I have been that cruel to her? 

Was I cruel enough? 

How should I have handled that?

As he gets dressed, his phone buzzes on the night stand.

Before he even picks it up, he has a feeling that something is wrong. He just doesn’t know what.

He grabs the device and sees a single text message in his notification box.

From Frank.

Where’s Y/N?

His stomach drops and he types back immediately.

I don’t know. Not here.

Three dots appear.

Disappear.

Then the phone rings.

Connor furrows his brows, answering the phone with shaky hands, “Professor Keating?”

“You need to get here now.” The voice orders, and Connor quickly realizes that it’s not Annalise on the line.

“What happened, Frank?” He asks frantically.

“Y/N just called me. She’s been kidnapped.”

Connor’s throat runs dry and he quickly feels like he’s going to throw up.

“What?” He croaks, “No- no. You’re lying, right?”

“I’m at Annalise’s.” Frank snaps, “Get your ass here. Now.”

The line goes dead.

Connor stands frozen in the apartment, his chest tightening as he runs a distressed hand through his hair.

“Oh my, God.” He whispers before grabbing his jacket and rushing out the door.

-

The man begins to circle you slowly as pain becomes your whole body.

“You people always think you’re smarter than you are.” He says lowly, “But someone always cracks.”

Your legs strain against the chair as he grabs it and yanks it closer to the center of the room. The scrape of wood against the concrete makes your stomach churn- though that could also be the nausea settling in.

“Let’s try this again.” He says, making eye contact with you, “What happened to Sam Keating?”

You shake your head weakly, “I don’t know.”

He laughs- short and humorless.

And then he is quick to send his fist flying into your stomach.

You sputter, gasping for air as it’s knocked out of you. Your ribs scream in protest as the pain blooms violently in your abdomen.

“What do you know?” He roars, placing both hands on the arm of your chair as he yells in your face like an interrogator.

“I don’t know anything!” You sob, voice hoarse from the previous screaming and the dehydration as you continue to bleed from the wound in your leg.

Another blow.

Then another.

Your body jerks violently with each hit, the chair shaking beneath you. Tears stream down your face in a continuous flow, mixing with your blood as your cheek and lip split from the force of his hits.

“You don’t get that close to Annalise Keating without knowing something.” He snarls aggressively.

You cry, not bothering to hold it back as you try to speak through your hyperventilation, “I swear… I- I don’t know anything. I don’t.”

Pain explodes once more- sharper than the others. You scream as the new knife wound on your arm begins to leak.

“Stop lying!” He yells.

“I’m not!” You scream back hysterically, “I’m not lying.”

Through all of your screaming and the hits, in the back of your mind, you’re aware that Frank is listening. He’s still there- trying to find you.

You cling to that.

-

Connor bursts into Annalise’s house, quick to notice that the others are already there as he speaks, out of breath due to panicking, “What happened?”

Frank doesn’t reply, and instead, hits the speaker button on his phone.

Your scream fills the room.

Michaela gasps.

Laurel brings a hand to her mouth.

Wes looks away from the phone as if that will stop the screams.

Asher runs a distressed hand through his hair.

And Connor stumbles forward like he needs something to grab onto before he collapses into the nearest chair, “Oh my, God…”

“So, you wanna tell me what you did?” Frank asks, lifting his eyes from the phone to Connor as he raises his brows, “She’d never call me over you, so what the hell did you do?”

Connor’s hands shake violently as he runs ones through his hair, “We got into a fight.”

He looks down then, ashamed that he let the fight get far enough that she felt the need to give him space.

Why didn’t he stop her from walking out the door?

Another scream rings through the line and the group can hear that she’s not telling the kidnapper anything. 

She’s being tortured and still keeping them safe.

“I can’t listen to this anymore.” Michaela speaks up, “Take it off speaker.”

Frank just looks at her, not doing anything as he furrows his brows in slight confusion, “What?”

“Turn it off!” She screams, and Frank finally does as asked, bringing the phone to his hear so that he can still hear in case you spoke again. 

“This is our fault.” Michaela adds, shaking her head as a tear runs down her face. “She got taken and is getting tortured because of what we all did-”

“We can’t think about that right now, okay?” Laurel speaks, trying to be the voice of reason, “It could’ve been any one of us.”

“But it’s her.” Connor chimes in, his jaw clenched as he looks from Laurel to Wes, “Everything is because of you, you know that right?”

Wes scoffs slightly, opening his mouth to speak, but Annalise’s voice fills the room instead, “Enough! You all played a part and now we have to deal with the consequences. Stop arguing, we have more important things to worry about!”

Her gaze goes to the phone and all of their expressions become ones of guilt at the fact that they were just arguing while their friend is actively being traumatized.

A few seconds goes by before anyone says anything.

“You’re tracking her, right?” Connor asks, his voice breaking as he speaks.

Frank gives the man a deadpanned stare, “What? Do you think I’m stupid or somethin’? I’ve been trying to land a signal this whole time- it should register soon.”

“This is my fault.” Connor mutters, “I blew up on her, I-”

Annalise is quick to interrupt him, “No. It’s my fault.”

She then turns to Frank, “Get that thing to land a signal. If we don’t find her-”

“I know.” Frank says with a grim expression on his face.

-

The man grabs your hair, yanking your head back so hard that your neck throbs.

“Last chance.” He growls, “What happened to Sam Keating?”

Your vision swims as blood continues to pool around you.

Everything hurts and you repeat the same answer you’ve been giving, “I don’t know.”

He hits you again.

You scream until your voice can’t do it anymore, the sound dissolving into hoarse and broken sobs. Your body trembles in pain and exhaustion.

Between blows, he continues to ask questions that you no longer answer.

“What do you know?”

“Who killed him?”

“What has Annalise Keating made you do for her?”

“Did she murder him?”

Each time, you give similar answers.

“I don’t know anything.”

“She hasn’t made me do anything.”

“I don’t know!”

Over and over.

Your defiance isn’t confident anymore. It’s quiet as your body shakes and blood pools.

But it holds.

It feels like hours between all of the screaming. Your body feels disoriented and wrong- some places feeling heavy while others are numb. You can feel the blood soaking into  your clothes as your head droops forward despite your best efforts to stay upright.

Finally-

“Fine.” He scoffs, stepping back as his hands shake with rage.

“You’re either useless,” He snarls, “or you’re too stupid to matter.”

He storms out, the door slamming so hard that the walls rattle.

You freeze, breathing as shallow as possible in order to listen carefully.

Seconds go by.

Then you hear a door open and close.

Silence.

Everything hurts as dizziness consumes you. You can barely hold yourself upright, but you know that now is your chance.

You’re still alive, even though your quickly getting closer to not staying that way.

With shaky hands, you fumble for your phone and manage to grab it, hitting speaker.

“Frank,” You whisper hoarsely, “He’s gone.”

“I know.” He replies immediately, “You did great. I know it’s dumb to ask if you’re okay, so how bad is it?”

Your eyes close slightly due to droopiness but you force yourself to stay awake, “I feel like I’m going to pass out… he-”

You take as deep a breath as you can possibly manage right now, “It’s bad. He cut me, Frank, I’m bl- bleeding a lot.”

“I’m getting your location, okay. I need you to hold on.” Frank tells you.

You nod, even though he can’t see you, “I counted.”

“What?” He asks and you can hear the slight confusion in his voice.

“The time. It took abo- about fifteen minutes from my apartment.” You inform, “I know the turns and everything too.”

Frank immediately asks you for them and you relay, hearing the scribbles of a pen as someone writes in the background.

You can also hear the others in the background, especially Connor as he tries to order Frank to give him the phone.

“Can- can I talk to Connor?” You rasps.

He doesn’t respond, but you know he listened to your request as the next voice flows through the line, “Y/N, I’m here, I- I shouldn’t have let you leave. I shouldn’t have said half of that shit. I was scared and I- God, that’s not an excuse, I know, but-”

He stops for a second, his shaky breaths echoing through the line, “Are you… are you still with me?”

“Yeah.” You whisper, exhausted, “I’m here.”

“Oka- okay.” You can see him shaking in your head, pacing the room as he talks to you, “Listen to me. You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to explain anything. I don’t care about the phone or Annalise or- any of it. I just need you to stay awake, alright?”

His voice drops, “Please don’t pass out.”

“I’ll try.” You mutter weakly and he is quick to respond, “I’m coming. Just hold on, okay?”

“Just come and bring me home.” You reply, a feeling of hope and relief flowing through you because you know that you’ll be safe soon.

“I’ll be there soon.”

-

Frank drives like he’s a street racer, his hands tight on the wheel as Bonnie reads off the directions to him from the sheet where they were written down.

“Left in one minute.” She tells him, her voice steady but clipped, “Another 2 minutes after that, you’ll make a right.”

Connor sits rigid in the backseat beside Asher, his knee bouncing so hard it makes the seat shake. His hands won’t stop fidgeting- one digging into his thigh while hte other grips the seatbelt tightly.

It was just them four, Annalise ordering the others to stay put while they brought you home.

Streetlights flash through the car in quick intervals, illuminating their faces and all the emotions that are displayed on them.

What the lights display is that Connor’s jaw is clenched, and his eyes are glassy and unfocused.

Asher notices.

He grips the fabric of his jeans, trying to ground himself as he deals with the stakes of the situation. Even though fear is running through him, he knows his friend is worse off. So, he looks at Connor, “We’re gonna get her, bro. She’s tough. She’ll be okay.”

The said boy gulps as he continues to shake, “I hope so.”

The words sound small and fragile, almost like they might shatter if anyone pushes too hard.

Asher sighs, “Connor-”

“No, I did this!” He interrupts, his knee beginning to bounce faster as he shakes, “I practically pushed her out the door. I said all that shit and then I just- let her leave.”

His voice breaks on the last word and he presses his lips together, breathing harsholy through his nose as if he can force the panic down.

“If I hadn’t snapped- if I’d just shut up for once-” He laughs weakly, it’s bitter, “God, I always do this.”

“Stop.” Frank orders from the front seat, looking at Connor through the rearview mirror, “You can spiral all you want later. Right now, we get her.”

Connor nods quickly, like he’s been scolded, his fingers curling around the door handle tightly. He forces himself to take a deep breath.

But the thoughts don’t stop.

I should’ve followed her.

I should’ve apologized.

His throat tightens.

I don’t deserve later.

The car turns sharply, tires running over gravel. Bonnie glances up through the windshield and scans the surroundings.

“This should be it.” She says, “Slow down.”

Frank does as told, his foot easing off the gas as he narrows his eyes, looking in front of them.

In the backseat, Connor leans forward slightly, heart beating harshly in his chest as dead coils in his stomach.

Please, He thinks, not exactly sure who he believes will hear it.

Please let her be okay.

“Shut the lights off.” Bonnie mutters to Frank from the passenger seat, the male doing as told as they pull up to a building that looks abandoned- other than the fact that there is a blue SUV sitting next to it.

Asher’s eyes are hooked on the vehicle, “That must be the guy’s car.”

“Yeah.” Frank replies while Connor clenches his jaw, hand on the door handle as he is ready to step out of the car and go get you.

His leg is no longer bouncing, his body going rigid as he thinks about how you’ll look when they find you.

“So, this is it? This is where he took her?” Connor speaks up, not gaining any response as Frank cuts the engine and reaches across Bonnie’s lap to open the glove box, pulling out a pair of black gloves and a gun.

He quickly slips the gloves on before looking at Bonnie and Asher, “Stay here.”

His gaze then flicks to Connor as he opens his door, “You too.”

Connor’s head snaps up, “No.”

Frank pauses, raising his brows as he looks at him slowly, “I wasn’t asking.”

Connor shakes his head, opening the door, “I’m not staying in the car.”

“Yeah, neither am I!” Asher argues as he opens his door.

“Fine.” Frank replies, jaw tight as he exhales sharply, “But you make sure you stay behind me. Don’t rush in and don’t play hero. Got it?”

“Got it.” Connor and Asher both reply as Bonnie then gets out and follows them in, not wanting to be the only one to stay behind.

They move quietly, the gravel crunching under their shoes as they approach the building. Frank checks the door, gently twisting the handle and cheering internally when it’s unlocked.

Inside, the air is damp and cold. It smells like rust, mold, and blood all mixed in to one scent.

Connor feels sick.

They hear you before they see you- a weak, broken sound that is a mix of a breath and a sob.

Connor’s heart slams against his chest as Asher inhales harshly at the sound.

“That’s her.” He whispers, beginning to move forward.

“Connor-” Frank warns, but it’s too late.

They reach the basement doorway just as the perpetrator steps into the hallway, a knife in his hand.

Frank doesn’t hesistate as he grabs Connor’s arm and tugs him back before firing one shot into the man’s head.

The man drops instantly.

Connor gulps, bile rising in his throat at the sight of the dead man, but he’s quick to swallow it down as he rushes down the basement steps- Bonnie and Asher in tow while Frank goes to take care of the body.

His eyes immediately land on you.

You’re slumped forward in the chair, hair matted to you face as blood continues to soak through your clothes. Your chest rises and falls slowly as you continue to weakly hold your phone in your grip.

“Oh my God.” Connor whispers, his voice breaking as he rushes towards you and drops to his knees to meet your drooped gaze, “Hey- hey, look at me. We’re here. I’ve got you.”

Your head lolls as you struggle to focus. “Connor…?” You whisper hoarsely, the phone falling from your grasp as he places a hand under your chin.

Relief hits him so hard he almost cries, but he’s too worried to cry right now.

“Yeah.” He replies quickly, hands cupping your face, “I’m here. You’re safe now.”

Asher is already moving, cutting the ropes while Bonnie shrugs her jacket off and places it on the wound that looks the worst- the one on your leg.

You cry out loudly as she puts pressure on the cut, falling forwards completely as Asher finishes undoing your restraints. Connor is quick to catch you, manuevering you into his arms with the help of Asher.

Frank comes down the stairs a few moments later and Bonnie looks at him, “Everything taken care of?”

He only nods in response before glancing over to you and then Connor, “How is she?”

“She needs a hospital.” He says, which causes Frank to look at him in disbelief, “No. We can’t.”

Connor’s jaw drops in shock, “She’s been stabbed and beaten-”

“And if she shows up to an ER like this, they’re gonna want to know what happened.” Frank interrupts, “That means cops. Statements. Reports. Do you want to explain why she was kidnapped?”

Connor opens his mouth and then quickly closes it.

Frank is right.

You whimper quietly in Connor’s arms as the pain flares and he looks at you instantly, “Hey, stay with me, okay? We’re gonna get you out of here.”

“Everything hurts.” You whisper, your eyes fluttering as you struggle to stay awake.

“I know.” He replies, placing a quick kiss on your forehead, “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“Let’s go.” Frank ushers, beginning to walk up the stairs- everyone following.

They get you to the car fast, Connor holding you against him as if you might disappear.

“Make sure she stays awake.” Bonnie tells Connor as she hops in the front seat while he gets into the back with her, laying her body across his and Asher’s lap.

“I will.”

-

He manages to do as told during the drive to Annalise’s, you having stayed conscious the whole ride.

Her house is lit up, cars filling the driveway as everyone waits inside.

Frank opens the backdoor, grabbing you from Connor’s lap and carrying you inside while he quickly follows behind.

Annalise opens the door, having heard the car pull up, and makes eye contact with Frank, “Take her upstairs and clean her up.”

The male nods and Connor doesn’t say anything as he trails behind him, Asher walking into the house slowly as blood stains his slacks- going to the living room where the others were rather than following you, Connor, and Frank upstairs.

Frank sets you the counter gently and looks at Connor, “Make sure she stays upright.”

Connor nods, lacing his fingers through yours as Frank moves with a calm precision of someone who has done this too many times- grabbing a few towels, antiseptic, and bandages.

“We need to get her out of her clothes.” Frank suddenly says, causing Connor’s eyes to snap to him, “What?”

“I need to be able to see her injuries.” He deadpans, rolling his eyes at Connor’s hesitancy, “I’m not going to check her out or anything.”

When Connor still doesn’t move, Frank stares at him like he’s an idiot, “Do you want her to bleed out or something or are you going to let me patch her up?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Connor mutters, beginning to strip you of your jeans and t-shirt carefully. You try to ignore the pain it causes, but you let out small groans of pain as he pulls the clothing off, Connor apologizing too many times as you do. 

Frank immediately gets to work on cleaning the worst wound- the one on your leg.

You wince loudly and Connor flinches like he’s the one being hurt. “Easy.” He murmurs, “Squeeze my hand if you need to, okay?”

And you do.

He doesn’t let go, even when your grip tightens painfully.

Frank cleans, stitches, and bandages- working quickly and efficiently as he looks up at you, “You’re lucky. He missed anything vital.”

You laugh weakly, “Guess he’s probably never tortured anyone before, huh?”

Connor didn’t laugh at that joke.

When Frank is done, he takes a step back, “She needs rest and fluids. Keep an eye on her.”

“I will.” Connor replies immediately, “I’m not going to leave her.”

Frank nods once and then gestures to the bedroom, “I’m sure there’s some clothes here that she can wear. Find her something loose fitting that won’t rub on the stitches.”

Connor nods and then Frank leaves, causing a silence to settle in the room.

Connor picks you up then, carefully carrying you to the guest room and laying you in the bed- tucking the blankets around you as his hands tremble slightly.

Once he’s done, he sits on the edge of the bed hesitantly, like he’s afraid that touching you will make you break.

You break the silence first, “You came.”

His throat tightens as he looks at you, “Always.”

You study his face weakly, eyes soft despite everything that has happened, “You were really mad.”

He swallows harshly before nodding, “Yeah.”

A beat passes before he speaks again, “I didn’t mean anything I said. I was scared and I- I guess I wanted to hurt you.”

You nod, hands inching towards his until you finally grasp it, “I didn’t want to hide it from you.”

“I know.” He says immediately before shaking his head and pulling his hand away, “I should’ve gone after you, I should’ve-”

You’re quick to interrupt, “No. Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. If it wasn’t me, it would’ve happened to someone else.”

He looks at you, “Am I a terrible person if I wish that it was someone else?”

“No.” You say with a gentle smile, “That’s just because you wish nothing happened to me.”

Connor returns the smile before letting out a breath, the smile dropping from his face, “I hate how I reacted earlier. I hate that I said all of those things.”

You squeeze his hand gently, testing. He doesn’t pull away this time.

“I wasn’t scared of Annalise.” He continues, “Or the phone. Or even the fact that it was Rebecca’s. I was scared because everything felt like it was getting out of control and I needed someone to blame.”

Your expression softens, “So you picked me.”

He winces, “Yeah. Because you were right there.”

“I don’t need you to be calm all the time.” You assure him, “I just need you to not turn me into the problem when things get messy, or scary.”

Connor nods, his eyes fixated on the floor, “I don’t want to be that guy.”

“Then don’t be.” You say, squeezing his hand and bringing his attention back to you.

He gives you a small smile, “I don’t know how you’re being this understanding. After everything.”

You shrug and grin, “I don’t have the energy to be anything else.”

That finally gains a small laugh out of him.

“And plus, it’s not like you’re at fault here. I should’ve never kept it from you in the first place, and I just want you to know that I won’t hide things from you in the future.” You add.

He smiles, bringing your hand up to his lips and placing a kiss on the back of your hand, “I know.”

He then looks at you with a soft gaze, “I don’t want to lose you to anything. Especially not this mess.”

And by mess he means all the murders, the lies, and anything revolving around Annalise.

“You won’t.” You reply, “Not today, and hopefully not ever.”

And though he doesn’t necessarily like the way that you worded that, he accepts the answer with a sigh and a nod.

“I love you.” He then says, squeezing your hand in his own.

“I love you too.” You grin and then gently shuffle over, grunting quietly as your wounds brush the bed underneath. You pat the space beside you, “Lay with me.”

He smiles and nods, pulling you onto his chest once he’s situated.

Connor then plants a kiss on your forehead, you releasing an exhausted and relieved sigh as he does.

And through all of the pain that happened today, and all of the things that are going to come tomorrow, you know you have him.

"If you must."

You don't have to look to know that the remainder of the bar is unoccupied, and there's no doubt as to why the man's bothered to sit beside you. You don't even bother to get a look at your new companion.

"Do you come here often?" He asks, and you can't help but scoff a laugh.

"Really? That's your opening line?"

"Technically, my opening line was 'is this seat taken'. This is just my second ice breaker."

"The fact that you need a second ice breaker is concerning."

"You haven't answered it."

"It wouldn't help you. I never answer that honestly."

"Why not?"

"In case you're some weirdo stalker."

"At least I'd be a weirdo stalker with money."

"You'd have to be. A damn gimlet costs $40 here. It's horrifying."

"It's Manhattan."

"I know bars where you can get a gimlet for a reasonable price."

"Why aren't you there now?"

"Because I'm meeting someone. He'll need that seat, by the way."

"He won't."

"No? And why's that?"

"You'll be too in love with me by the time he gets here."

"Well. He is late already," You eye the time before you finally lower your phone, turning to get a look at the man. He's smiling warmly at you, his dark eyes glimmering with mirth. Sweeping your gaze over his suit, and you find his tie just a touch askew.

"...I guess you'll do for now," You sigh forlornly.

"I'm flattered."

"You should be. I'm throwing a good man over for you."

"A late good man?"

"Not the first time, certainly won't be the last."

"Any man that leaves you on your own ought to be drawn and quartered."

"I don't mind some time to myself."

"Secure. I like that."

"Is that all you like?"

"Hardly, but we'll start there."

"Erm...Ma'am?"

The two of you turn your heads at the sound of the tentative interruption by the bartender. You arch a brow, urging them on, and they add, "This man isn't bothering you, is he?"

You grin, unable to help it, and knowing that Harvey's doing the same.

"Yes, but it's alright. He's my husband, so he bothers me all the time."

"Oh," They chuckle, nodding, "Is there anything that I could get you, sir?"

"Macallan, neat."

"And another for you, ma'am?"

"Please."

"Coming right up."

You reach out, straightening Harvey's tie. His gaze lingers on you, and he catches hold of your hand before you can pull it away.

"You're late," You admonish.

"I know, I'm sorry. A deposition ran over," He leans in, lips brushing yours, "And traffic was awful."

"Why don't you just take the train?"

"Mm."

"I know it has some issues, but Manhattan traffic, my god—"

"Would you shut up and let me kiss you?" He murmurs, the feeling of it buzzing your lips. You grin, raising your free hand to cup his jaw and press your lips warmly to his. He sighs softly, lowering his hand to your leg and sweeping his thumb gently over the exposed skin of your knee.

"Let's bag dinner," He mumbles, "I want to take you home now."

"Dinner first, Specter," You pat his cheek and turn back toward your phone. "I'm willing to bet you haven't eaten since this morning."

Harvey just grunts in annoyance, leaning in and brushing his lips against your neck, only drawing away as the bartender sets his Macallan down.

"Your table is nearly ready, Mrs. Specter," They add, smiling at you and setting down your fresh drink.

"Thank you."

You hear Harvey huff softly, and you turn, brow furrowing.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," He shakes his head, a fond smile on his lips as he lowers his drink. "I just never get tired of hearing that."

It wasn’t often these days that she needed to keep such late hours. And somewhere along the line, she’d become the one mentoring novice attorneys. She’d sent her own associate home hours ago, preferring to work through this particularly rough bit of research on her own. Once in a while, she liked that sort of challenge. Liked revisiting the grueling all nighters she’d once lived on a daily basis. 

And she could feel she was close now, the puzzle pieces in her mind’s eye nearly falling into place. Nearly…but there was something she was missing. Something blocked that she couldn’t quite work through. In a library containing thousands of volumes and a whole internet of answers, she just couldn’t find what she needed. 

Or, more likely, she couldn’t access it, her mind not making the right connections. 

She probably just needed to get some sleep, to look at things with a fresh mind, but that wasn’t in the cards tonight, not with an impending deadline. 

A short break would have to do. She just needed an influx of energy, a slight bit of distraction to pull her mind away from the issue just enough to give perspective. 

Pushing back from her laptop, she turned the volume on her wireless headphones up, letting the club hits she used to dance to during undergrad house parties soothe some part of her soul, almost as if the familiar beats unlocked something in her, loosening muscles she hadn’t even realized were tense. Not that it was a surprise. She’d been hunched over the table for hours, not even bothering to stop for dinner, taking only a few obligatory bites of the sushi Harvey had ordered for her while her eyes remained glued to her computer. 

She let her focus slip away now though, slipping off her heels and closing her eyes as she sang along to the song in her headphones. She imagined she was in another time, another place—far away from the library and the case, the music easily carrying her away. 

She started, eyes flying open as she danced into something solid, the scent of a familiar cologne tickling her senses as she stumbled. Harvey’s hand closed around her back, steadying her as she pulled her headphones off, letting them hang around her neck. 

Harvey smirked at the noise still blaring through the silent library from the headphones, a song he knew just as well as she did, the sound of it dredging up at least half a dozen memories—images of his own college days, images of the two of them on road trips, images of her cleaning the apartment, images of their wedding, images of a handful of other times he’d come across her in the firm’s library late at night…

“Hey fruitcake, what are you doing?” 

She rolled her eyes at the reference as she turned down the volume, allowing the memories and the music to fall away, her mind temporarily focused on finding the right retort, her mind gratefully sifting through Dirty Harry quotes rather than case law research.

Harvey watched her, letting the quiet stretch between them, some part of him gratified at the sight of her slightly disheveled appearance. Harvey liked something about the juxtaposition, of seeing her just slightly less put together than she usually was in the hallowed halls of their law firm, her blazer discarded on a chair, her shirt sleeves rolled, her feet bare, bright red toenails stark against the dark carpets. 

Not that he wasn’t used to seeing her like that. She was the type of girl who was almost always in sweats just minutes after arriving home. She’d actually been dressed that way when they first met, years and years ago in a different law library, in a different set of hallowed halls. 

Sometimes, especially times like this, it felt like it was just yesterday.

Harvey pulled his eyes back to her face to find her studying him, a certain eagerness lighting her eyes. His lips formed a fond smile again. 

“I thought you were hard at work down here?” he taunted, eyebrows raising.

“Well…” she started, leaning a bit of weight onto the arm that still lay snaked around her back, “for the past three-quarters of an hour, I’ve been sitting on my ass waiting for you.” 

Harvey smirked. It was one of the things he loved about her: that she could go toe to toe with him with most things—movie references, the law, a few choice other things…

Nevermind the fact that she’d emailed him requesting his ‘assistance’ mere minutes ago…

Harvey gently massaged her lower back with the fingers he still had splayed there before shifting his arm away, abstaining from letting his hand drift down to the aforementioned ass, another thing he loved about her.

Her lips pursed at the sudden absence of Harvey’s touch and she pulled her arms up to fold over her chest.

“I brought that help you wanted.” 

She refrained from smiling as she read the title of the paperback he pushed into the space between them—Law for Dummies—even as he smirked, giddy as a school child. She had gifted the book to him upon his law school graduation, and it had occupied a shelf in his various cubicles and offices ever since. 

She doubted it had ever been much help, but it gave them a good laugh from time to time, something which was like a balm to the harshness of life sometimes, a healing salve for the seemingly chronic stress of their lives.

“Very clever, Harvey.” 

“What?” he asked, gaze drifting from her unimpressed face down to the black and yellow front cover. “Isn’t this the book you wanted?”

Harvey’s voice sounded so innocent—so sincere—that she almost laughed. Christ, he was good. If law hadn’t worked out, he could’ve given acting a shot. Comedy, maybe. 

“Did my email say anything about a book, Mr. Specter?” she asked, taking the tome from his hands and tossing it on a nearby table with a thump.

Harvey hummed. “Come to think of it, your email was a little…vague. Left a lot to the imagination.” 

“Mhmm…” She nodded. “The details of the specific type of assistance I require of you is something I suspect neither one of us would want in writing. Wouldn’t want it read aloud in a court of law…” Her eyes traveled Harvey’s face, clocking the light in his eyes and the tug of his smile. “Or by the IT department,” she added as an afterthought, the briefest bit of alarm washing over her features at the idea. 

“You think Benjamin is reading our email exchanges?” Harvey asked. “That’s kind of—”

She pushed at his chest before he could get the word out—kinky. 

“Harvey,” she groaned, not because she didn’t enjoy the childish side of him. She did. She loved it, actually, but she had asked him down here for a reason…

“Yes, Mrs. Specter?” 

To most of the world, both here at the office and in the eyes of the U.S. government, she went by her maiden name. She had kept her own name, both professionally and legally, for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which being that she was not a man’s property, not even if Harvey Specter was the man in question. But between the two of them, it still thrilled her when he called her that, made her feel so thoroughly his—and him so thoroughly hers—that her toes curled into the carpet, a movement that Harvey clocked as he stepped closer, one arm wrapping around her as he used the other to guide her face up to him with a hand under her chin.

“What specific type of assistance is it that you require of me?”

Whatever she asked for…whatever she needed…Harvey would readily give her the world if she wanted it. If it would make her happy. If she needed it. He’d do anything.

It was a truth they both knew. And it was reciprocal. She’d do the same for him.  

But all she wanted—all she needed—just now was him. 

This.