This will be periodically updated as I add works to this blog. If a link isn’t working just let me know! Also, if gender hasn’t been indicated the reader is written as gender-neutral.
Broadchurch:
Better Already (Alec HardyxFemale Reader)
S1E6 One-Shot (Alec HardyxReader)
Criminal Minds:
Abducted (Spencer ReidxFemale Reader)
Bad Day and Comfort (Spencer ReidxReader)
Shaken (1) (2) (Spencer ReidxFemale Reader)
Doctor Who (10th Doctor):
Loophole in the Snow (TenxReader)
Good Omens:
Crowley x Reader Masterlist (Sorted by Gender)
Armageddon Puts a Strain on Things Doesn’t It? (CrowleyxAziraphalexFemale Reader)
Blue on the Fourth of July (CrowleyxAziraphalexAmerican Female Reader)
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"I really thought Wade was bullshitting me," the voice that emerged from the shadows was one Logan thought he'd never hear again.
"Angel," the nickname fell from Logan's lips like a gasped prayer. He whipped around. When his eyes landed on the face of the woman he'd loved and lost, he nearly buckled.
"It's uncanny," Her mouth screwed into a frown. A myriad of emotions swirled in her silver lined eyes, "Seeing you again after-" She had to clear her throat after her voice cracked.
That crack told Logan everything Wade had said about what had happened to this universe's Wolverine was true and what his relationship had been with the woman standing before him.
"I feel the same way." Logan had to make a conscious effort to keep his voice from shaking. The longer he looked at her. The harder it became to maintain the iron walls he'd constructed in his mind to keep out any emotion other than pain and rage.
"Wade said you'd lost me in your universe." Her eyes hadn't left him from the moment she'd stepped out of the shadows. This version of his lover's eyes left him feeling just as stripped bare as they had before in his world.
"I did. It wasn't just you either. I lost all of you. The entire team. Everyone." This time his voice cracked along with the walls that had kept him buried in rage and self-loathing for so long. His knees finally gave out and a choked sob wrenched from his throat, "It was all my fault."
"Clearly," Angel's voice was tender as she knelt in front of him. Her knees brushed his when she inched closer to take his face between her hands. She lifted his face to meet hers and he couldn't help but lean into her touch, "Some things are the same across the multi-verse." A sad smile pulled at her lips, "You are just one man, Logan. Not every cross is yours to bear. I don't know exactly what happened in your universe. What I do know is that it had to be a bigger threat than any you'd faced before to keep any version of me from coming back to you."
"Angel-" She cut him off with a firm shush.
"None of that bullshit, Logan," her eyes hardened ever so slightly, but her tone remained tender despite her harsh words, "I didn't let you get away with that self-loathing and penitential crap in my universe and I'm not going to start now."
Logan let out a laugh that caught in his throat. His hands came up to wrap around her wrists as she still held his face. His thumbs rubbed lightly across her warm skin. He couldn't help but notice how different it felt compared to the last time he'd held her.
His breath hitched as the memory of a blood soaked scene unfolded before him. There was so much blood. Everything was destroyed. A massacre. Furniture crushed. Walls scorched and riddled with holes. The damage was never ending. Bodies littered the halls of the mansion. Students and X-Men alike. No one was spared. Despite the carnage he'd held out hope to find her alive. Hope that was destroyed with the rest of the life he'd built with her when he found her broken and bloodied body.
"Hey," Angel's voice rang through the memory holding him hostage in his own mind, "Come back. Don't go there."
Despite having only just met this version of her other half, she knew what that look in his eyes meant the second they'd glazed over with terror. She'd only ever seen that level of fear in those familiar brown eyes once before and it was the time her Logan had thought she'd died.
"Logan, come back. What you're seeing is in the past. It's over. You have to keep moving forward. Come back. Please."
Logan gasped her name when he finally broke free of the memory.
"I'm right here," She pulled him into her arms and began rubbing circles in his back.
"I can't lose you again," Logan shuddered as tears pricked at his eyes.
"We don't get to make that decision, baby." She hugged him a little tighter before pulling away to meet his eyes.
Logan held her gaze for a few moments feeling a sense of resolve settle into his bones. He pressed a kiss to her temple before standing.
"Where are you going?" she called after him.
"I need to get to Wade," Logan pulled himself together, "I'm not going to let some jackass destroy your universe, Angel."
He didn't look back as he stalked towards the door but heard her race to catch up with him. He stopped when her hand caught his wrist.
"You're not doing this without me," Her eyes flared with resolve, "You're not leaving me behind. Not again."
It was in this moment it truly hit him. He recognized the same guilt in her eyes he'd seen so many times in the mirror. The same shame he carried for not being there to protect her in his universe, she carried as well for the Logan she'd lost in hers. They were two sides of the same coin in a way she hadn't been in his universe.
A wicked grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, "Show me what you've got then."
Warning: Spoilers ahead for Good Omens Season 2 Episode 6.
Description: Aziraphale makes a decision that will change the lives of the ones he loves most.
Note: This fic is written from the second person POV but features a female Half-Demon/Half-Angel OC of mine from this one-shot I wrote several years ago.
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"Aziraphale!" The angel heard the voice of his partner before they burst through the doors of the bookshop.
"Lia, you're alright," Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief seeing you already up and around after the injury you'd sustained during the demon's attack on the bookshop. Crowley had whisked you away to the home the three of you shared a few blocks over the second the demons were gone. You'd been in dire need of healing and rest you wouldn't have gotten in the chaos surrounding Gabriel and Beezelbub's revealed tryst. You of course had insisted Crowley return to Aziraphale's side the second you were patched up, "I have the most wonderful news."
"Zira," the crack in your voice made Aziraphale's heart stutter. He hadn't heard that sound from you in decades not since... no he couldn't bare to dredge up that memory, "Please don't do this."
Aziraphale realized Crowley must have already told you what happened between them.
"You can come with me," Aziraphale took a step towards you, and his face momentarily crumpled when you fell back a step in response and he saw the tears threatening to spill down your face, "The Metatron promised things would be different with me in charge. He told me that Crowley would be welcomed back and you would be permitted entry. We just have to convince Crowley-"
"You honestly believe that after everything the angels have put me through, put us through they'd just let a demon and a hybrid monstrosity walk right into their ranks with open arms?" you spat, every ounce of disdain and disgust you held against Heaven dripped from your voice like acid, "Do you not remember what they did to me? How they experimented on me? How they fucking hunted me like an animal for centuries because my parents were an angel and a demon? How they hunted and hated a child simply for being born?"
"It will be different now," Aziraphale's eyes pleaded with you, "I'll make things different."
"You honestly believe you can change a system that has quite literally been like this since the dawn of time?" Aziraphale hated the look in your eyes. The doubt and pain in them was a knife in his chest, "Zi, Crowley was cast out simply for asking questions. What makes you think they will welcome me into their sterile white paradise? I'm an abomination, remember? I'm below the demons in Heaven's hierarchy of trash."
"Please, Azalia," Aziraphale stepped forward to take your hands in his, and this time you let him, "I know they have hurt you. I was the one that pulled you out of that prison the angels locked you up in to do those experiments. I helped Crowley nurse you back to health. I may not have loved you as long as Crowley has but I love you just as much. You know that. Please tell me you know that."
"I do," you nodded.
"Good," Aziraphale brought a hand up to wipe away the tears now running freely down your cheeks. A small smile graced his lips as you leaned into his touch, your eyes closed, "I wouldn't have proposed this if I thought for a second they would hurt you. I will never let them lay a hand on you in Heaven."
"They don't have to lay a hand on me to hurt me," you whispered and opened your eyes to meet his, "Please, Aziraphale. We've worked so hard for the life we've made here. Why do you want to give it up? We're free here. Finally free after centuries of hiding who we are. In Heaven, there will be rules and expectations even you can't change."
"Azalia," Azirphale started but you cut him off.
"I know you believe in Heaven. That you believe they can change," you took the hand he held to your face in yours and squeezed it gently as you lowered it, "I wish I could believe in that as much as you do."
"Lia," it was Aziraphale's turn for his voice to crack, "Don't do this. I can't lose you, too."
"I'm sorry Aziraphale," you let your hands fall from his and began to back away, "I love you so much, but if you go back to Heaven... I can't go with you. Not after everything they've put all of us through. Not just me but you and Crowley. I know you can't see it yet, but Heaven has victimized you, too, and I can't forgive any of it."
Aziraphale was speechless as he watched you turn your back on him and walk for the door just like Crowley had. Hope fluttered in his chest as you paused upon the threshold of the shop.
"If you change your mind about all of this madness with Heaven," you didn't so much as turn your head as you spoke instead keeping your eyes fixed on the door as you held it, "You know where to find us."
Not me. Us.
As you pushed your way out of the bookshop and disappeared into the morning crowds, it hit Aziraphale that he'd lost both of you. You and Crowley chose Earth and each other over him. If the Metatron hadn't walked in seconds after the doors swung shut on your departure, Aziraphale would have fallen apart. He still might.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As you walked away from the bookshop and your partner inside, it felt like you were being burned alive from the inside out by holy water and hellfire all over again. That had nearly killed you nearly 5 decades ago. This might as well.
You might have fallen apart in the middle of the street if you hadn't found your other partner waiting down the block from the shop by his car. The second you were within arms reach of Crowley, he opened his arms to you.
A sob escaped your lips as you buried your face into his chest. The familiar scent of him was an immediate comfort as he wrapped his arms around you and rubbed circles on your back.
"I'm sorry, love," Crowley muttered into your hair before he rested his chin atop your head. He wasn't usually one for public displays of affection but today he made the exception.
"I tried," you whimpered, your face still buried in his shirt.
"I knew you would," you could hear the sad smile in Crowley's words.
Neither of you said anything more or moved for several minutes. Not until you felt Crowley tense.
You turned away from Crowley enough to face back towards the bookshop but your partner kept you tucked close under his arm. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw Aziraphale exiting the bookshop with the Metatron.
Aziraphale hesitated by the doors of the lift that would take him back to Heaven. Both you and Crowley held your breath as the angel you both loved so passionately stood on the threshold of a decision that would change your lives forever. If the thoughts of two people alone had the power to change the will of another, Aziraphale never would have taken that final step away from his partners.
"Let's go home," Crowley whispered after the doors to Heaven closed on the pair of angels.
He was the first to move and ushered you around the Bentley towards the passenger side. He kept his arm around you as he opened the door and only broke contact when you were seated inside the car.
Your thoughts drifted away from the Bentley as Crowley started the car and pulled away into the street to drive to the home you had once shared with the two loves of your life.
Now where it had once been three it would only be two hearts in that home.
You wanted to hate Aziraphale for forcing you to choose like this. You wanted to hate him for being blinded by Heaven and not seeing the truth in why you and Crowley couldn't go. You wanted to hate him for leaving both of you. You wanted to hate him for it all so badly but your traitorous heart wouldn't let you.
You'd loved the Angel of the Eastern Gate so much and for so long it wasn't likely the hurt of today would dim that any time soon.
One hundred years before the events of the first Avengers movie, you were cast out of Asgard. Adopting new names as time passed to avoid suspicion. You started working with Tony Stark a few years before he became Iron Man. You revealed your true identity after Thor was banished to Midgard and joined up with S.H.I.E.L.D. Now you’ve been reunited with an old friend but you’re on opposite sides of a war.
**Author’s Note: This is set during the events of the first Avengers movie. This fic takes place around the same time that everyone else is arguing in the lab.
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Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader (?)
Word Count: 4820
Warnings: depiction of a panic attack, blood, and injury to the reader
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You’d known Steven since he started working at the museum and always admired his enthusiasm when it came to the exhibits. You could spend hours listening to him talk about Egyptology. He’s always so enthusiastic as he gets lost in the stories of his special interest and when he gets happily lost in his stories, you get lost in the pure energy that radiates from him as he does. If you were being honest, you’ve always had a love for all things mythology. Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Norse. You name it and you’ve either spent hours lost in research, scouring hundreds of pages for any information possible related to the subject, or at least know the basics.
So when Steven asked you to the grand opening of their newest addition to the Egyptian wing of the museum, it sounded like the best date you could imagine, and enthusiastically accepted.
It didn’t take long for you to fall head over heels in love with him. He was a bright spot in your life that had become so dull and monotonous in recent months since your job had taken over. The time you spent with each other was the best part of both of your days. Steven was absolutely smitten with you.
As your relationship blossomed, you spent enough time with him to notice strange things happening with him. He would disappear for days on end and you also took note of the times you spoke with him and he seemed like an entirely different person.
Sometimes he would forget plans the two of you had made together and even entire conversations on several occasions. After a while, you brought it up and Steven confessed to you what he’d been hiding.
He had DID and had an alter named Marc. It took some time for you to adjust and fully understand what DID was and what that meant for your relationship with the system. You spent hours doing your own research and tried to be respectful with any questions you had.
Eventually, you officially met Marc, but you weren’t sure if you liked him at all. Sure he spoke to you, but he always ends up switching back with Steven or just not saying much at all.
When Steven fronted there wasn’t usually much quiet between the two of you unless you were doing something else together, like reading or watching a documentary.
Time alone with Marc was different. Despite how much time you’d spent with Steven, you weren’t sure what to do with Marc when he was fronting. He doesn't share really any of the same interests as Steven, so it was hard to start a conversation. That didn’t stop you from trying on so many occasions. You wanted to have a good relationship with the other most important person in your boyfriend’s life.
One night after Steven’s shift, he invited you to meet at his flat to watch a new National Geographic documentary that had just been released. He’d been messaging you all week until you both had time off work to watch it together.
Unfortunately, the day leading up to your date had been rather dreadful. First, you overslept and ended up with a flat tire before you were even halfway to work on your bicycle. Then you had to walk the rest of the five blocks to work which made you even more late. From there, your day did not improve. Rude customers, lazy coworkers, the list went on and on.
The only thing that got you through the day was the promise of relaxing and spending time with Steven. So when 8 o'clock rolled around, you found yourself eagerly awaiting Steven to open the door with snacks in hand. It only took a few seconds before the door swung open and Steven’s beaming face greeted you.
“You’re here! ” Steven exclaims, smiling wide as he gestured you inside his flat.
You gave him a quick peck on the lips as you passed by him, returning his bright smile with one of your own as you moved around the stacks of books and miscellaneous obstacles to reach the table to put down your movie snacks.
“You would not believe the day I have had!” you groaned, shaking your head as you flopped into one of the chairs and launched into the story of the day.
Steven leaned against the kitchen counter as he listened, nodding along to indicate he was actively listening to you.
After telling Steven about the bicycle shop’s criminally long waitlist for tire repair, you finally ran out of steam and sat back with a huff.
“Anyways, that was my day. How was yours?” you ask, just now noticing that Steven has had one hand behind his back the entire time you were venting.
“Oh, it was fine-” Steven trailed off, a smile creeping its way across his face.
He noticed your attention on his arm and made his way to the table before presenting his prize to you. His action elicited a gasp as he placed an intricate figurine on the table.
“It came?!” you squealed excitedly.
“Just this morning.” Steven was smiling even wider than before, “Pretty amazing, innit?”
“It looks amazing! Look at all of the little details!” you leaned forward to get a better look, “Absolutely beautiful!”
It was a hand-blown glass sculpture of the goddess Isis that the two of you had seen advertised in a news article about small businesses in London. It had an astounding amount of detail for something as delicate as it was, but it looked incredible in the ad. Steven had ordered it without hesitation the two of you had been anxiously awaiting its arrival ever since.
“I just cleared a place just special for it right before you arrived,” Steven pointed at a spot on a bookshelf near Gus’ fish tank, “I’d be rather upset if I knocked it over in the middle of the night.”
“I know you’ve been waiting for it to come forever,” you nodded, “It looks so much better in person.”
“Thanks, love. Hey, I’ll be right back, yeah? Just gotta use the toilet before we start the film. I won’t be long.” Steven says, stepping around the table and heading towards the bathroom.
You waved a hand towards him in response as you moved to pop the bag of popcorn in the microwave to get it started.
Once the microwave was going, you crouched down to start rummaging through the lower cupboards in search of the big bowl you traditionally used on movie nights with Steven. After a moment of looking you spotted it at the very back of the cupboard by the wall. You huff as you half-crawl into the space to get it out. Once the bowl is in your grasp, you jerk back up with a small cry of victory, thrusting the bowl up into the air like a trophy.
The sudden momentum throws you off balance and a sharp pain shoots up your elbow as you stumble back into the edge of Steven’s kitchen table. You barely have time to process the pain before the sound of shattered glass reaches your ears.
It feels like the blood in your veins turns to ice as you watch Steven’s new figurine break into dozens of pieces on the floor. In a panic, you scramble around the table. The sound of dropping the metal bowl in your rush causes you to flinch as your hands reach around on autopilot trying to do something, anything to fix what you'd done. Your heart pounds in your chest and you can feel your breath starting to pick up. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register the early signs of what's coming.
“No no no no no no…” you mumble as you rush to pick up the pieces. Your hands shook violently as your mind raced, trying to think of what to do before Steven inevitably returns.
“Please, please, please…” you beg under your breath, futilely trying to fit the pieces of broken glass back together.
The tears gathering in your eyes make it hard to see, but you can’t stop to do anything about it, you have to fix it. You have to. You don't have another choice. It's all on you. Steven was going to be crushed that you'd destroyed his new figurine before he'd even had a chance to properly enjoy it. It was all your fault. All your fault.
Your hands continued to tremble as an ache intensified in your chest, but you can’t think of the breathing techniques you'd learned and should be doing to calm down.
Steven’s voice calling your name cuts through your thoughts. Your head snaps up to see Steven standing by Gus’ fish tank, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“Love, what’s happened?” He asks, "You alright?"
Steven's eyes widen as he exclaims your name, rushing forward with his hands out. The panicked expression on his face jolts you into action.
Tears spilled down your cheeks as you can’t seem to find any words. Your mind races faster than you can keep up with and you don’t know what to do. Your hands still on autopilot try to hide the pieces of the figurine they have already picked trying to keep them out of Steven’s line of sight.
All you can think of is hiding the shards somehow until you can do something to fix them. The movement has the opposite effect of what you wanted and instead draws Steven’s attention to the mess on the floor.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry Steven, I didn’t mean it! I-I-I can f-fix it! I’ll buy you a new one I promise. I’m so sorry,” you manage to sputter, hot tears fall down your face and you try to jerk away from Steven as he gets closer.
You backpedal until your back collides with the wall. Your panicked mind clutches the pieces you'd tried to hide to your chest.
Panic has a vice-like grip on your entire body and there isn’t anything you can do. Everything feels so overwhelming as your senses are flooded by every sound, sight, and smell in the room. As you're sent over the edge into sensory overload, you fold in on yourself. A flood of apologies keeps falling from your mouth as it's the only thing your mind can fixate on.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Your chest feels like it is about to burst. You can’t catch your breath and through the tears can see black spots starting to float on the edge of your vision.
Suddenly a face fills your field of vision. It's blurred from the tears, but part of you recognizes it has to be Steven.
A gentle hand tentatively rests on your face and another tries to pull your hands away from your chest.
You can see his mouth moving, but can’t hear anything he is saying. The sound of your heart pounding in your chest is deafening and blocks out everything else. You try to blink away the tears to clear your vision and Steven’s face becomes more focused.
The first thing you notice is that Steven’s body language is completely different and his eyes are different. They lack their usual softness.
It finally clicks that it’s Marc kneeling in front of you, not Steven.
That realization makes you even more upset. Your brain assumes that Steven must be so angry he can’t stand to deal with the crying mess you'd become. The brief moment of clarity you had quickly vanishes and your crying dissolves into sobs.
You try to turn away, but Marc’s strong hand keeps a gentle pressure on your face, keeping it level with his. His mouth is still moving, clearly trying to say something. You know it has to be important. So, you direct every ounce of focus you can into meeting Marc's eyes, struggling to focus on slowing your breathing as you do so.
“Sweetheart...need…down…me…-stand…can…kay?” Marc’s broken sentence filters through the fog surrounding your mind.
After what feels like an eternity, your ears start to process Marc's voice. Bits and pieces of what's being said start to filter into your mind as they’re processed.
You have no idea what he’s asking but you’ll do whatever he wants. Whatever will fix what you’ve done and make Steven happy again. Anything to preserve your relationship with him.
Your silent response earns a smile from Marc as he nods with you. His hand that is still covering yours moves to gently guide them away from your chest.
When you look down you’re shocked to find blood covering both your hands and Marc’s. The glass shards must have cut your hands while you were in full panic and Marc’s became bloody while he held yours.
Panic swells in your chest again as your eyes dart back to Marc’s. Hoping he isn’t mad at you, too. You know that you couldn’t take it if both Steven and Marc were cross with you but Marc doesn’t seem to be. He just keeps nodding and pulls your attention back down to your hands. His own hand tries to gently pry open your fingers to remove the glass from your grasp.
Despite the numbness settling into your body, you manage to relax your hands enough for your fingers to uncurl. As they do, the pain finally hits you. A sharp hiss escapes your lips as the air hits the wounds and a stinging sensation fires across the cuts on your palms and fingers. After the hiss cuts its way through your tears it seems to be the reset you needed to pull a deep breath of air into your lungs.
You stare at Marc as he turns his attention to removing the glass and try to steady your breathing. Now that your focus is pulled to other things, your body seems to relax back into its normal breathing patterns. As your breathing slows and returns to normal, you can finally hear what Marc’s saying, and the tenderness in his voice surprises you. In all the time you’ve known him, you had never realized how soft-spoken and gentle he can be.
“That's good. Just like that, sweetheart. Just breathe. You’re okay, you’re safe.” Marc murmurs as he carefully works to remove the splintered glass from your flesh as carefully as he can, paying close attention to make sure not to cause more damage to the already torn skin.
Again, it feels like an eternity before all of the glass is removed from your hands, but in reality, it didn’t take more than a few minutes. Before moving on to the next step, Marc looks over your hands one last time to make sure all the shards are gone. Satisfied that he’s removed every last piece, he looks up at your tear-stained face with a gentle smile.
“You gonna be okay if I go get the first aid kit from the bathroom? It won’t take long but I need to make sure we get the bleeding stopped,” Marc’s voice was softer than you’ve ever heard before.
You nod silently. If you were being honest you could use a little bit of time to yourself.
As soon as he lets go, your eyes fall to your bloody hands. As you take in the sight, you can feel the shame and embarrassment creeping up your neck like a rash.
You couldn’t believe you’d just had a total panic attack in your boyfriend’s apartment over a broken figurine. You’d been pretty stressed lately and the kind of day you’d had been admittedly pretty shitty, but a having full mental breakdown wasn’t the way you’d expected to spend your night.
Your eyes slip closed as you try to avoid driving yourself into another panic attack. As long as you can keep your breathing under control and your heart can start to slow down you know you’ll be okay. Panic attacks aren’t anything new. You’d been having them for years at this point and one thing never changed. Coming down from them was almost the worst part.
“Hey,” Marc’s voice interrupts your thoughts.
You open your eyes to see him back with a first aid kit under one arm and towels in the other.
The way he was watching you was unlike anything you’d ever seen from him before. It was apprehensive and unsure yet concerned and gentle. A stark contrast from the blatant indifference he’d shown you before.
“I-I’m okay,” your voice was rough from the tears and harsh breathing pattern you’d experienced.
You could see he wasn’t entirely convinced but Marc knelt down in front of you again and began to remove the supplies he will need from the kit. He removes the bandages, tubes of ointment, and a small surgical sewing kit as well.
As Marc neatly organizes the supplies, you take in just how messy the floor has become. It’s littered with broken and bloody glass and stained by the droplets of blood that had dripped from your hands.
“I am so sorry.” you manage to choke out, tears start to prick at your eyes again seeing the mess you’d made.
“It’s okay. Really, everything is okay. The only thing that matters is that you’re safe,” He reassures you as he begins cleaning the blood from your hands.
“Besides,” He continues, “Do you really think I haven’t cleaned blood off of Steven’s floors before. Had to make sure he wasn’t going to be finding a bunch of mystery stains before he knew about me. Helped to have such dark carpet. You ever tried to clean blood out of a light-colored carpet? It’s a nightmare.”
You appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood but it didn’t do much to actually make you feel better.
A blanket of silence falls over the pair as Marc continues to clean the blood from your skin. Once it’s all cleaned away, he carefully inspects each wound. Looking to see if they need stitches. After a while, he moves on and begins disinfecting the cuts.
“The good news is that you don’t need stitches. Looks like most of the pieces were big enough not to get stuck in the cuts, but small enough not to cause enough damage to warrant stitches,” He reports, then mutters an apology when your hand jerks in his grasp as the alcohol stings the tender flesh.
“Thank you,” you whisper, unsure of what else to say.
As Marc starts to wrap your hands in clean bandages, you think about everything that’s led up to this moment. Still dwelling on the guilt you felt for breaking something Steven had waited so long for and had been so excited about. Your mind also shifts to the way Marc has treated you since he fronted during your attack. You’re starting to see that he’s not as cold and indifferent to you as he’s tried to make you believe.
Once he finishes wrapping both hands and secures the ends of the bandages, Marc starts packing away the first aid supplies. When everything is stored back in the kit, he sits down, leaning back to rest against the table leg behind him. You’re quiet as you stare at each other, both waiting for the other.
“Those are going to need to stay covered up for a few days to avoid infection,” Marc finally breaks the silence.
You answer him with a silent nod. Not quite ready to speak again.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Marc asks tentatively, “You don’t have to, but I know a panic attack when I see one. Steven and I get them sometimes.”
Your attention shifts to the fish tank across the room. Your eyes follow Gus as he swims around the tank. It’s almost hypnotic watching the goldfish glide through the water.
Marc doesn’t push you to answer. He’s comfortable waiting until you’re ready.
“I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder in high school,” you finally answer, “I thought I was dying the first time I had one. Th-they’re awful. Still are but at least I know now what’s happening. I don’t get them as often as I used to. Usually just when I’m stressed or scared.”
A beat of silence hangs in the air before Marc answers.
“Did we scare you?” he asks, his voice so quiet you almost missed the question.
“No,” your eyes widened in surprise, “Not Steven… or you. I just knew he was going to be upset about the broken figurine. Everything happened so fast and I panicked. It all just spiraled from there.”
Marc didn’t look convinced, so you sat up closer to him. “Honestly! I’ve just had a really crappy week and all these little things built up and then this one last thing was just the final drop in the bucket and I-” you paused, sitting back again. “Sometimes I just fall apart like a broken doll.”
Marc’s eyes flick from the stove next to you before looking back.
“Steven wants you to know that he isn’t mad at you. He was just worried. He didn’t mean to rush at you like that earlier,” Marc relays.
“He saw everything?” you winced.
“He saw the blood all over your hands and when you started to hyperventilate he felt lost,” Marc nodded, “He didn’t know what to do. He’s still up front but he thought I’d be able to help you more. He was worried.”
Marc paused for a second before asking, “Do you want him to come back?”
You weren’t sure how to respond. This is probably the most interaction you’ve ever had with Marc. Not to mention the feeling of embarrassment that was still settled in your gut. Even if Marc says Steven isn’t mad at you, part of you insists that he has to at least be partly upset that you broke his brand new figurine.
When your words fail you, you give an indifferent shrug, avoiding eye contact leaving the two to decide for themselves. Soon enough your eyes start to feel heavy and you have to fight back a yawn.
An attack this bad wipes you out enough for your to require a nap at minimum soon after. Since you’re far from your own flat and don’t have a bike to ride home on, you know you have to get up and go soon. Otherwise, you risk falling asleep on the floor right where you are. So you shift to a position that’s easier to stand from and Marc moves as well.
“I should get home,” you say as you try to stand up to leave.
When you sway a bit as you get to your feet, you have to brace yourself on the counter. This sends pain lancing through your bandaged hand comes as it contacts the counter.
It only takes a few seconds before a strong arm wraps around your waist, the warm limb steadies you and keeps you from toppling back to the floor.
“Easy, sweetheart. I don’t think you should be going anywhere tonight. Not in this state,” Marc says leading you over to the kitchen chair to sit down.
“But I have to get home.” you insist, your voice comes out a little more whiny than intended.
As you move to try and stand again, Marc's hands press into your shoulders and guide you back to the seat. When you look up, his face is firmer than earlier but holds another emotion you can’t quite place.
“No. You’re gonna sleep here tonight,” Marc decides, “You already walked here and it's too late for you to walk home now. I can’t risk you not making it home safe in this condition. Wandering the streets at night, half asleep with freshly bandaged hands is like a neon sign to every creep in the city. There’s no guarantee you’d make it home safe.”
“I’ve already caused enough trouble for you two. I’ll be fine,” you protest.
“No,” Marc said firmly, “If you don’t feel comfortable staying with us, I’ll get you a taxi or something, but I’m not letting you walk home tonight.”
“I don’t have money for a taxi, and I won’t let either of you pay for one either,” you argue, hoping Marc will just give up and let you walk home soon.
“Sweetheart, you have two choices.” Marc says, still holding you firmly in place, “Either sleep here tonight or let me get you a ride. I know what happens at night in this city. Khonshu has had me take care of more than enough bad people to know what will happen to you if you run into the wrong people out there while you’re vulnerable.”
If you weren’t so exhausted you’d put up more of a fight but you know that you don’t have the energy to push Marc into letting you leave on foot.
“Fine,” your shoulders slump in defeat, “but I don’t have anything to sleep in or wear tomorrow. I went straight to the bike shop after work then came straight here.”
“We’ve got plenty of clothes for you to wear,” Marc answers and lets you go to walk over to the wardrobe on the other side of the room.
You watch as he pulls out a set of joggers and a t-shirt. You knew the clothes were going to be too big but you were too tired to care. When Marc comes back and hands the clothes off, you take them with a nod of thanks.
“I’ll just go-” you motion vaguely in the direction of the bathroom before you head over to change.
By the time they come back out, Marc has set up a blanket and pillow on one of the armchairs in the sitting area but Marc blocks your path when you move to sit in it.
“Nope. You’re taking the bed. I’ll sleep here.” he turns you around by the shoulders before guiding you over to the bed. You protest weakly, but Marc gently pushes you over. You end up half sitting, half laying on the bed.
“I’m not pushing you out of your own bed,” you say as Marc moves toward the chair he has set up.
“Trust me, Steven barely sleeps in his bed as it is. I’ll be fine over here, you need to rest and you won’t get it sleeping upright all night,” Marc answers as he makes a few adjustments to his makeshift bed.
“I’m already stealing your clothes, don’t let me steal your bed,” you insist, “We’re both adults. We can share.”
Marc starts to stammer and stutter at the proposal but falls silent after a few moments when his attention is caught by his reflection.
“Steven can come out,” Marc says after a short time, “I don’t want to make you or him uncomfortable. You’re the ones dating each other. You like him… not me.”
He whispers the last part so quietly you almost miss it. That’s when everything falls into place for you. You suddenly realize why he’s been so short with you ever since he first met you. He didn’t hate you or resent you.
He was afraid to open himself up to you because he was afraid you’d reject him. Afraid that you only would be able to love Steven.
“Marc, it’s okay,” you pull yourself out of the bed, somehow making it to his side without stumbling at all, “If Steven’s comfortable with it… I’m okay with it. I’ve been trying to get through to you for months. It’s hard to know if I like you if you won’t open up.”
He was at a loss for words as your hands found his. He couldn’t believe that you were really truly even able to think about opening yourself to loving him, too.
“A-alright,” Marc said after he peeled his attention away from Steven’s in the reflection, “but if you feel uncomfortable at all-,”
“You’ll be the first to know,” you promised.
His thumbs brushed across your hands lightly as he contemplated his next action, “Come on. Let’s get you to bed. You’ve been up way too long.”
This time you let Marc lead you to the bed without protest. He peeled back the blankets and let you climb in before he went around the other side and climbed in beside you. He placed himself as far away from you as possible, still unsure of what he should do.
You knew this had to be challenging for him so you let him decide what he was comfortable with.
“Thank you,” you whispered as you curled into the bed and your eyes started to drift shut.
“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Marc whispered back, and part of you registered that was the fifth time he’d used that term of endearment tonight but you were too close to sleep to say anything tonight.
As you drifted to sleep, you decided that would be a conversation for morning.
Note: minor description using a feminine-ish hairstyle.
Word Count: 2165
WARNINGS: Mentions of blood and harm to the reader. Some light suggestive interactions.
Matt Murdock was not used to being on the other side of the fence when it came to being the one dating a vigilante. Usually, it was his loved ones waiting anxiously for him to come home late at night. Wondering if he would come home in one piece, broken and bleeding profusely, or if someone had finally put Daredevil’s reign to an end. That was not the case tonight. Tonight he was the one left wondering if his loved one would come home safe. Left wondering if you would come home safe and it was driving him crazy.
You and Matt had been seeing each other romantically for quite some time now and had been vigilante partners even longer. Daredevil and Halo had been striking fear into the hearts of the criminals in Hell’s Kitchen for years at this point. The two of you had been through hell together. Seen each other at the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Been each other's nurse what seemed like hundreds of times. The difference tonight was that until now you had always done those things together, side by side.
The night before on patrol, Daredevil had taken a particularly rough beating before being thrown out a third-story window. This series of events resulted in numerous broken ribs, several severe cuts and bruises, and a broken arm. So, for the next several weeks Daredevil was sidelined while Matt Murdock was healing. This left you going out on patrol as Halo alone, much to Matt’s displeasure.
“Matty, come on,” you frowned at your pouting partner as you were pulling on your black supersuit, the dim light glinting ever so slightly off the silver belts around your waist, “It’s hard enough going out on patrol alone without you sitting here acting like a lost puppy.”
“You could just stay home,” Matt suggested as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you toward him.
“God, you’re the devil,” you groaned as he pressed you against himself tighter, the cast on his right arm weighed heavily on your hip.
“That’s what they tell me,” he smirked as he lowered his hands to squeeze your ass.
“Hey! Watch those hands, Mister Murdock,” you protested halfheartedly, eliciting a chuckle from him, “You know I can’t just sit at home doing nothing any more than you can when you don’t have a broken arm.”
“We don’t have to just sit around doing nothing. I’m sure I could find something to keep us occupied,” Matt all but purred into your ear sending shivers down your spine.
“As tempting as that is,” you hummed as he peppered kisses down your neck, your body betrayed you by melting into his touch, “Those guys from last night are still out there and we have no leads. I need to keep on them while the trail is warm.”
“One night might not make a difference,” Matt said before continuing his attempts at breaking down your self-control, nipping at all the places he knows drive you wild.
“Might is not a good enough excuse for me, Matty,” you said, finally summoning the strength to pull away, eliciting a groan from your partner, “Would you please finish zipping me up?”
“Fine,” Matt sighed as you turned to give him access to your back.
He took his time feeling for the zipper to your suit. He’d done this hundreds of times so it wasn’t really necessary to drag his fingers along your skin as slowly as he did. He just took the opportunity to try and persuade you to stay home. He’d hope the goosebumps he sensed prickling your skin meant it was working but his hopes were quickly dashed.
“Thank you,” you said when you turned around to press a kiss to his cheek, “Now I really have to get going.”
Matt remained standing in the middle of the living room as you headed towards the fire escape, grabbing your hooded jacket off the arm of the couch as you passed by.
“Wait,” Matt said without turning.
“Matty, I’m not changing my mind,” you said firmly.
“I know,” Matt said, finally turning, “but you almost forgot your gloves.”
He swiftly grabbed them off the coffee table before closing the distance to hand them to you.
“I love you, Matthew Murdock,” you smiled, giving him one last kiss before pulling on your gloves and slipping out the window onto the fire escape. You paused briefly on the landing, looking back at your partner, wishing that he could go with you.
Matt could sense your unease as you stood on the landing of the fire escape. As much as he hated to admit it, the city did need you out on the streets tonight. He offered a small smile and a wave which seemed to settle your nerves a bit.
“I promise I’ll come home,” he heard you whisper before listening to the sounds of you securing your mask over the lower half of your face and lifting your hood to settle over the rest of your head. Once your identity was obscured, you ascended to the rooftops and into the night.
That entire exchange happened hours ago just after nightfall. Matt spent the rest of the night alternating between pacing the apartment and sitting as close to the windows as he could, listening for any sound that would tell him you were okay. Early in the night when you were close by it was easy. Unfortunately for the man waiting alone in the apartment you shared, the moment when he couldn’t separate you from the rest of the city came too soon. Something had sent you racing through the streets further and further away and out of his earshot.
“Angel? Is that you?” Matt called through the apartment. He waited a few moments before he swung his legs out of bed and padded into the living room your name falling from his lips.
A feeling of helplessness and unease settled into Matt, once he couldn't sense you. After a few hours, he resolved to get comfortable on the bed the two of you shared. That way he could at least be surrounded by your comforting scent. He tried to wait up for you but eventually, he dozed off.
He had no way of knowing exactly how long he’d been asleep but when a crash and the thick scent of blood brought him out of bed the sounds of the city outside his apartment told him the sun was likely just starting to rise.
When he didn’t get a response, he focused on trying to find any sign of your presence other than the metallic tang of blood that hung in the air. It was then that he heard your heartbeat by the window you’d used to access the fire escape earlier in the night. It took him only a second more to register that your heartbeat was erratic and you were bleeding heavily from several wounds on your torso.
“Shit!” Matt cursed before he sprinted towards you.
“You’re safe now, sweetheart,” Matt cooed as he worked, more to steady himself than anything else, “I’ve got you. Just hang on. You’re going to be alright. You’re going to be alright. I promise. Just… just keep breathing for me, baby.”
It only took him seconds to cross the room and slide to your side on his knees. Immediately upon reaching you, he began assessing what state you were in. He pushed away the fabric of your hood before rolling you to your back. As he felt for head injuries to the back of your skull, he noticed the crown of hair you'd braided earlier to keep it out of your face had become dishelved. When removing the mask from your face he noticed the gash on your cheek.
He could feel that the mask that had been whole when you left had been sliced open on one side, matching the cut on your cheek. Once your breathing was unobstructed, he got to work stripping away the heavy fabric of your suit. He needed you free of it so he could access and assess your injuries.
Matt continued to whisper soft reassurances as he worked. The entire time he was internally cursing all of the clasps and zippers that held you in your suit. After what felt like an eternity, you were finally free.
“What did they do to you?” Matt lamented as he started to gently feel your injuries.
By listening, Matt found four broken ribs. Then by touch, Matt cataloged three lacerations on your chest, in addition to the one on your cheek, and a stab wound on your stomach. The cuts were fairly shallow but likely very painful in the moment. It was the stab wound that caused him the most concern. He could hear how much blood was leaking from the wound. The knife that had stabbed you didn’t hit anything vital but the bleeding was enough to worry your partner greatly.
“I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” Matt promised aloud despite the fact that you were still unconscious. He disappeared into the bathroom to grab rags and the trauma kit Claire had insisted he keep in the house for moments exactly like this.
The second he was back by your side, he got to work cleaning away what blood he could and disinfecting. He decided to ignore the shallow cuts and broken ribs for now and focus solely on the stab wound. After what felt like yet another eternity, Matt had the bleeding under control and the wound stitched up.
He paused for a few seconds to take a few calming breaths before he got to work cleaning and patching the rest of your cuts. He cursed the cast on his arm more than once as it made his job harder and slower. Once the work was done he gently collected you into his arms and carried you towards the bedroom. He placed you gently on the silk sheets before he retreated to the bathroom to clean himself up. A few minutes later he returned to the bedroom and started digging through the wardrobe. He felt around for a fresh pair of soft underwear and one of his shirts that you loved to wear.
As he was dressing you, he heard a change in your heartbeat just before you whimpered, “Matty?”
“Yeah, angel, it’s me,” He smiled, relieved to finally hear your voice, “You’re home. You’re safe. I’m taking care of you.”
“I’m so sorry,” Tears pricked your eyes, “I should have listened to you and stayed home. I-I almost broke my promise.”
“Hey, none of that,” Matt said gently but firmly, “You came home. That’s all that matters. Okay?”
“But-,” your partner silenced you with a kiss.
“I said none of that, angel,” Matt told you when he pulled away, “I don’t care about all the what-ifs and almosts. What matters is that you’re here, right now. Got it?”
“Got it,” you whispered.
“Good,” Matt nodded, “Now, I’m going to go grab you a glass of water and some painkillers. Then we are going to spend the rest of the day in bed so that you can rest.”
“But you’ve got work,” you argued weakly.
“Benefit of being my own boss is that I set my own hours,” Matt shrugged, “Now, I don’t want to hear any more arguments.”
“You’re impossible,” a small smile graced your lips, wondering internally how you’d gotten lucky enough to have him.
“That’s why you love me, remember?” he laughed.
“I do,” your smile widened further.
“Good,” he grinned, “I’ll be right back.”
You closed your eyes while Matt was in the kitchen, listening to the sounds of him grabbing a glass from the shelf and filling it at the tap. Then the soft rattle of the pill bottle as he removed a dose followed by the click of the cap being secured. Moments later you heard Matt's soft footsteps enter the bedroom and you opened your eyes when you felt him settle back on the mattress.
“Open,” Matt directed as he held the pills by your mouth.
“Matt, I’m injured, not paralyzed,” you rolled your eyes.
“Just let me pamper you, angel,” Matt asked, “You don’t need to lift a finger for just a little bit.”
“Fine,” you allowed him to place the pill on your tongue and raise the glass of water to your lips for you to drink.
You were much more thirsty than you’d expected. Once you finished half the glass, you pulled away and Matt set the glass on the nightstand.
“Alright,” Matt turned back to you, “Let’s put all these pillows you insist on keeping on our bed to work and get you comfortable.”
Once you were propped up to keep the pressure off your injuries, Matt slid into the space he’d left for himself and pulled the covers up around the two of you. Without a word needing to be said, he snuggled ever so gently into your good side and draped an arm over your hip.
“Is this okay?” he asked to make sure he wasn’t putting any unnecessary pressure on your injuries.
“It’s perfect,” you sighed, breathing in his comforting scent, “I love you so much.”
“I love you more,” Matt smiled.
It didn’t take long for you to drift off. Once Matt heard your heartbeat and breathing even out, he allowed himself to relax and drift off as well. Sleep came easily to him now that you were home safe in his arms.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed my first go at writing for Matt Murdock! I've recently fallen into a bit of a rabbit hole watching Daredevil and the Defenders. There will probably be more Matt Murdock on the way so stay tuned!
Description: What if Agent Whiskey didn't lose everything the day his wife was killed?
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“Missy, will you please come back here, sweetheart,” the little girl heard her mother call from her place at the cash register where she was paying the clerk for her items “It’s time to leave.”
“Comin’ Mommy,” Missy chirped as she skipped down the aisle she had been entertaining herself in by messing with various items on the shelves.
“Thank you, Tom,” Julianna Daniels smiled at the clerk as he handed her the bags of her items.
“You’re very welcome, Miss Julie,” Tom’s eyes crinkled with a smile, “You and that little girl of yours take care and do tell Jack I said hello.”
“I will,” she took a step away from the counter with her items and turned to call for her daughter again, “Marissa Jane, I’m not gonna tell you again. It’s time to leave.”
“Sorry, Mommy,” Missy apologized as she skipped around the corner to her mother, she’d gotten momentarily distracted on her trek back to the front of the store.
Julianna gave her daughter a soft smile, “Let’s get back home, your Daddy’s probably wondering where we-,”
Julianna cut herself off when she heard an unnervingly familiar click and Tom gasp in fear. Instinctively she pushed her daughter behind her as she spun to face the source of the disturbance.
While the young mother had been distracted wrangling her daughter a couple of men had slipped into the store. It wasn’t hard to see that they were obviously high on something but one of them had their gun pointed at Tom and the other had their gun trained firmly on Julianna.
“Please, don’t hurt them,” Tom begged, “I’ll give you anything you want. Just leave them out of this. You wouldn’t want to hurt a mother and her-”
“Shut up old man,” the man closest to the register barked, “You’re gonna start by opening that register and giving me every cent in it.”
“Okay, okay,” Tom accepted the bag that had been shoved across the counter at him and started to empty the drawer into it.
Meanwhile, Julianna was standing rigidly with her daughter secured firmly behind her. For once, the little girl didn’t need to be told to be quiet. She remained silent behind her mother, her tiny hands wrapped in her mother’s skirt trying to stay out of sight of the scary men as much as possible.
“Is that it?” the one at the register snarled.
“It’s been a slow day,” Tom stammered, “There’s not been much business.”
“Then you’re going to open the safe,” the second man ordered.
“I’m sorry,” Tom said, “but I don’t keep a safe in the store. I usually only keep enough on hand for change in the register and whatever I make during the day.”
“LIAR,” the first one bellowed, “We know you’ve got more!”
“I don’t,” Tom shrank as the druggie’s arm started to flail wildly, “I swear.”
“Here, maybe this will help you remember where all that money is,” the second man said. He reached out and roughly grabbed Julianna by the arm and yanked her towards him.
“MOMMY!” Missy screamed as her mother was ripped away.
“Let me go!” Julianna growled as she struggled against his grip.
“Shut up, bitch!” the man smacked her across the face, the metal of the gun biting harshly into her skin.
“Mommy!” Missy cried again.
“Quiet you little brat!” The man kicked the little girl and the force of it slammed her into one of the shelves behind her. Her head smacked off of the hard metal surface and she crumpled.
Julianna screamed her daughter's name and she started to fight harder, but she froze when a gun was pressed to her temple.
“Good girl,” the man hummed into her ear and it made the mother’s stomach churn, as did the toxic smell of his breath.
“Now, where’s the money, old man?” the first man asked.
“I told you there isn’t any,” Tom’s voice was shaky, “Please just let her and the little girl go. They’re innocent.”
“Look, there-” Tom was cut off by the gunmen spinning towards the door as they heard the distant sound of sirens at the same time.
“You called the cops?!” the first one growled, “You stupid son of a bitch.”
“I suggest you just take your money and run,” Tom said.
“I’ve got a better idea,” the first man raised his gun and fired.
The second the gun had fired Julianna took the opportunity to slam her free elbow into the gut of the man holding her. The shock of it allowed her to slip free of his arms and kick him in the balls.
“BITCH!” the first man spun around as he heard the commotion, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
He started to aim the gun at Julianna but a small whimper caught his attention instead. With zero hesitation he pointed it directly at the little girl who had just started to stir.
“NO,” a mixture of pure adrenaline and maternal instincts kicked in and Julianna threw herself between the man and her daughter just as he fired. The bullet slammed into her chest and she crumpled to the floor in front of her daughter.
“Mommy?” Missy cried as she saw her mother lying on the ground, her little brain unable to process what was happening.
The man raised his gun to retake aim on Missy but he reconsidered when he heard the sirens dangerously close.
“Let’s get outta here,” he barked at his buddy who was still groaning on the ground.
The first man grabbed the bag of cash before he and his buddy scrambled out of the store.
By the time the cops whipped into the parking lot, the two assailants were long gone.
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Across town in a modest 3 bedroom home, a man was tending to various pots on the stove making sure they didn’t boil over while he waited for his wife and daughter to get back from the store with the last ingredients they needed to finish up the main dish for dinner.
“Where the hell are you two?” Jack Daniels asked aloud as he glanced at the clock. His family had been out far longer than it should have taken them to get the items they needed.
His attention was drawn towards the phone in the dining room as it started to ring.
The young man quickly shut off the burners on the stove, not wanting them to boil over while he took the call.
“Speak and be heard, you got Jack,” he said when he pressed the handset to his ear.
“Jack, this is Officer Carbone,” the voice on the other end of the line identified themself, “I’m down at Smith’s Grocery and I’m afraid we need you to get down here immediately.”
Jack’s stomach dropped, “Jorge, what happened? Are my girls okay?”
“This conversation would be better had in person,” Officer Carbone said but the tone of his voice did nothing to make Jack feel any better.
“I’m on my way,” Jack said before he hung up and sprinted towards the door, snatching his keys off the hook by the door on his way out.
Jack made it to the store in record time, breaking several traffic laws on his way but he didn’t care. His only concern was for his family and that concern only grew when he saw the swarm of emergency vehicles parked around the store. He slammed his truck into park as close to the police tape surrounding the front of the store as he could.
“JULES! MISSY!” Jack bellowed as he threw himself out of the truck and rushed towards the door. He had made it just a couple of feet from the door and what he saw through the glass chilled him to the bone. He could only see the legs of a body on the floor, but he recognized the shoes on the feet. He'd bought them for a birthday gift. His wife's birthday.
“JULES!” Jack screamed; his voice cracked with so much emotion that every officer on scene felt every ounce of pain in that cry. He tried to go into the store but Officer Carbone cut him off and pulled him away from the door and out of sight of the body.
“Jack, no, you can’t go in there,” the officer told him as he struggled to hold the man back, “I’m sorry but you can’t go in there, it's a crime scene.”
“That’s my wife on the floor,” Jack insisted, “We’ve gotta help her. We’ve gotta-”
“I’m sorry Jack but she’s gone,” Carbone told him, “She was gone before we got here.”
“No,” the man sagged against the officer, “No, she can’t- they can’t... she was pregnant, Jorge. She was… god. She was pregnant with our little boy. Oh god and… and-”
“Jack you gotta breathe,” Carbone shook the man a bit, “Your daughter needs you to pull yourself together.”
“M-my daughter,” Jack’s head snapped up, a sliver of hope blossoming in his chest, “Missy is-”
“Your little girl is alive, Jack,” Carbone told him, “She’s gonna need you more now than ever.”
“Where is she?” Jack pulled away from the officer, “Where’s my little girl?”
“She’s in the ambulance,” Carbone pointed, “She’s pretty shaken up and a bit bruised but-”
Before the officer could finish speaking Jack tore away from him and was sprinting toward the ambulance, “Missy!”
“Daddy!” he heard a small voice cry from the back of the ambulance.
His world had been shattered by one phone call but hearing that one little voice started to piece it back together just a bit.
“Missy!” Jack let out a sigh of relief when he swung around the back of the ambulance and his daughter came into sight. Just like Officer Carbone had said, her face was a little bruised up and the father caught a glimpse of the bandages over her ribs as the paramedic pulled her shirt back down over her head, “Thank god you’re okay, sweetheart.”
The paramedic let the father pull his little girl into his arms after he clambered up into the ambulance, “I’ll give you two some privacy,” they said before they hopped out.
“Daddy,” Missy hiccuped, “Mommy got hurt.”
“I-I know, sweet pea,” Jack’s voice shook.
“Where is she?” Missy asked as she nuzzled into her father’s chest, finding comfort in his familiar scent.
“Your Mama she… she had to go away,” the now single father tried his best to keep it together for his little girl.
“When’s she comin’ back?” Missy looked up at her daddy.
“I’m afraid that she won’t be, Bug,” silent tears began to fall down his cheeks, “They really need her where she went so she has to stay there forever.”
“What about the baby in her belly?” Missy asked.
“He had to go with her,” Jack said, “So it’s just gonna be the two of us now.”
Missy was silent for a while in her father's arms as he held her tightly, her young brain trying to process what her father just told her.
“I’m gonna miss her,” Missy whispered as she started to cry and Jack’s heart shattered once again.
It hurt him to the core that his little girl would grow up without her mother. That she would never get to be a big sister to her little brother.
Jack knew that there was going to be a long road ahead of them as they recovered from this loss. He would forever be thankful that he still had his little girl because if he didn’t he wasn’t sure what his future would have held for him.
*************************
A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this little AU story where Whiskey and his wife had a daughter years before they were expecting their little boy that we all know was lost along with Whiskey's wife before the events of Kingsmen 2. Let me know if you'd be interested in seeing some things from Missy being all grown up. She has a pretty interesting childhood and even more interesting adulthood. 🤠
One hundred years before the events of the first Avengers movie, you were cast out of Asgard. Adopting new names as time passed to avoid suspicion. You started working with Tony Stark a few years before he became Iron Man. You revealed your true identity after Thor was banished to Midgard and joined up with S.H.I.E.L.D. Now you’ve been reunited with an old friend but you’re on opposite sides of a war.
**Author’s Note: This is set during the events of the first Avengers movie. This fic takes place around the same time that everyone else is arguing in the lab.
Description: After a simple mission goes horribly wrong for Agent Whiskey and his partner, one is left gravely injured. Help arrives but is it too late?
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Ginger and Tequila were shocked when they discovered that you had been shot. They’d expected to find you and Whiskey at each other's throats. Instead, they found you unconscious and Whiskey hovering like a mother hen.
“Are the two of you gonna keep hovering in the door or are you gonna help them?” Whiskey barked as he felt your forehead to find you were burning up, “We gotta get them back to headquarters. It’s been 16 hours since they were shot and they’re running out of time.”
“Holy hell, Whiskey,” Ginger rushed forward to check you over, she peeled back the bandages on your front to examine the wound, “You cleaned this up pretty well. Unfortunately, it’s not the outside that’s a concern now.”
“I know,” Whiskey rolled his eyes, “I’m not stupid, Ginger. They were shot with a damn machine gun. I’d be a fool to not be thinking about the internal bleeding but there’s not much I could do about it in the middle of the woods.”
“How long have they been unconscious?” she asked.
“Only a minute or so,” Whiskey said, “They woke me up when they heard you two pulling up. I got up to see if it was trouble and when I turned back they were passed out.”
“Alright, let’s get them up and out of here,” Ginger said, placing the bandage back, “We have a helicopter waiting a few miles out. We’ll load up there and they’ll have us back at HQ in a few hours. Tequila, go open the cab up so Whiskey can carry Y/n out and load them up easily.”
“You got it,” Tequila tipped his hat and disappeared out the door.
Ginger started to follow after Tequila but Whiskey grabbed her arm, “Ginger. Please tell me they’re gonna be okay.”
“You did a good job patching them up, Whiskey,” Ginger placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, “We’ll have them back on their feet in no time.”
Whiskey breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank you.”
********************
The last thing you really remembered hearing before everything went dark was Whiskey saying, “We’re going home.”
There were a few other moments from the trip back to HQ you remember vaguely as you were in and out of consciousness. Most of them having something to do with Whiskey whispering barely audible promises of some sort and in all of them, he was holding your hand. Almost as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Because of that you really shouldn’t have been surprised when you woke up to find your partner sitting at your bedside in the private corner of the Statesmen HQ med bay.
“Goodmorning, Sunshine,” Whiskey gave you a lopsided grin when he saw your eyes flutter open.
“You’re still here,” you said as you tried to blink away the fog clinging to your mind.
“Of course I’m still here,” Whiskey said, “You’re my partner, Y/n. I’m with ya to the end of the line.”
“Alright Captain America,” you gave him a weak laugh, “So, how long have I been out?”
“Couple of days,” Whiskey replied, “You been kinda in and out the whole time but this is the most coherent you’ve been.
“Oh god,” you shuddered to think of what you could have said in your delirious state, “I didn’t embarrass myself too much, did I?”
“Oh I don’t know, you whispered some pretty explicit things in my ear,” Whiskey gave you a mischievous grin but when he saw you blush he laughed, “I’m just kidding, darlin’. You were pretty much incoherent. We couldn’t make out much of what you were sayin.”
“Thank god,” you sighed in relief.
“Now that you’re outta the woods and awake, I suppose I should get to catching up on the paperwork,” Whiskey sighed, “Champ’s been kind enough to let me off the hook while you've been out cold.”
“You really didn’t leave this whole time?” you were taken aback. You knew Whiskey was loyal to those he cared about. You just didn’t realize you were one of them.
“Of course not,” Whiskey got serious, “It’s my fault you were hurt, Y/n. I couldn’t very well leave you. Not until I knew you were okay.”
“Whiskey,” you frowned, “I know I was giving you a hard time about the turn the mission took but me getting shot wasn’t your fault.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, sweetheart,” Whiskey gave you a sad smile, “but if I had listened to you before the mission and made those changes to the plan, we never would have had to run through the forest like that and if we hadn’t had to run for our lives you wouldn’t have been shot.”
“Jack,” Whiskey’s heart soared when he heard you call him by name once again, “Even my plan had room for failure.”
“I guess we’ll never know,” Whiskey’s face dropped, “anyway, don’t let my own personal pity party bring you down. You’re alive and that’s a reason to celebrate! Once you’re back on your feet and off of those pesky pain killers, I’m going to treat you to a night out.”
“Jack, you don’t have to do that,” you shook your head, but a small smile crept onto your face.
Whiskey’s heart stopped when you reached out and grasped his hand he had resting on your bedside. He cleared his throat before speaking, “As much as I’d love to keep chattin’ with you. I really have got to get caught up on some work.”
“Why don’t you bring your paperwork here?” you asked, “I hate hospitals and this med bay is close enough.”
“I’m sure Ginger will want to run some tests and talk to you for a bit,” Whiskey shook his head, “But maybe I’ll take you up on that in a few hours.”
“Okay,” you sighed.
“Now don’t give Ginger too much trouble while I’m gone,” he pointed at you as he backed out of the room.
“You’re the only trouble here, Agent Whiskey,” you shot back as he turned to walk out normally and you heard his laugh just before the doors slid shut behind him.
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Description: What was supposed to be a simple mission goes horribly wrong for Agent Whiskey and his partner.
WARNINGS: Gun violence, Reader Injury, Blood
********************
You had tried telling Whiskey that his plan had far too many holes in it to be successful. He had waved off your concerns and hit you with a, “Don’t you worry, sugar, Jack’s got this all under control.”
Right then and there you had prepared yourself for shit to hit the fan.
Well… shit meet fan.
You and Whiskey were currently running for your lives through the snow down the side of a mountain.
“I fucking warned you this was going to happen, Whiskey!” you cursed as you tore through the forest trying to put as much distance between you and the compound Statesmen had sent you to for infiltration and extraction of information.
“You can tell me I told you so all you want to later, sweetheart!” Jack yelled from behind you, “but save your breath for right now!”
“I wouldn’t have to save my breath if you had listened to me in the first place you pompous asshole,” you shot over your shoulder.
“SHIT!” Whiskey swore as he saw a helicopter fly overhead and turn to its side in front of you revealing the gunmen ready to fire, “Get down!”
Whiskey being the one to spot it while you were looking back at him had a second longer to react than you did. You quickly redirected yourself into the denser part of the trees in search of cover and ended up slamming into your partner when something knocked you off balance. You landed with an OOF as you both hit the ground.
When you started to move Whiskey held you tight to him, “Wait,” he hissed, “Let them think they got us.”
“That’s not going to work,” you rolled your eyes, “They’re going to find a clearing to land in and circle back to confirm the kills.”
“It will take them a bit to find a clearing with the snow picking up like it is,” Whiskey pointed out, “We’ll make a run for it while they’re doing that.”
“Fine,” you agreed and remained still while you listened to see which way the helicopter was traveling.
“They’re headed west,” Whiskey said.
“Which means we need to go east,” you replied, still pressed against his chest, trying not to think about how good he felt under your body, “If this snow gets much worse they may cancel the search until it lets up. That would buy us time to find a place to lay low until an extraction team can make it to us.”
“Then let’s get up and get moving,” Whiskey said and started to shift, prompting you to pull yourself away.
“Gimme a second to get-,” you cut yourself off with a pained shout before collapsing back onto his chest.
“What’s wrong?” Whiskey asked, panic clear in his voice.
“My back,” you groaned.
“Okay, okay,” Whiskey calmed himself, trying to instill the same emotion in you, “You just hold still. I’m going to roll us over as gentle as I can to take a look at you. Okay?”
You nodded through the pain rather than speaking.
Whiskey did exactly as he said he would. He wrapped one arm around you and used the other to help roll you off of him and position himself in a kneeling position.
“Whiskey, you’re bleeding,” your eyes widened, “I swear if you got blood on me-”
“Sweetheart, this ain’t my blood,” Whiskey said as he felt his stomach and found no injury, “It’s yours.”
Oh.
“Shit,” you murmured, “I must’ve been hit.”
“That’s probably what knocked you off your feet in the first place,” Whiskey said as he carefully pulled up your shirt to get a look at your abdomen, “Yeah, there’s one and,” he rolled you slightly to feel your back, “and there’s another. You’ve got an exit wound and an entrance wound.”
“Great,” you said through gritted teeth, trying not to scream while Whiskey did his examination.
“I’m sorry sweetheart but we’ve gotta get moving,” he said as he ripped his scarf off of his neck and began tying it around your abdomen to stanch the bleeding, “We can’t stay here. We haven’t got any medical supplies and those bastards will be on us soon.”
“Just leave me,” you winced at the pressure the scarf placed on the wounds, “I’ll slow you down. Get you killed.”
“Not happening,” Whiskey said as he grabbed your shoulder and pulled you into a sitting position.
“FUCK,” you cried out, “Warn someone before you yank them around like that.”
“Sorry, dollface,” Whiskey apologized as he wrapped your arm around him, “but we can’t waste any time. We gotta get moving.”
You groaned as Whiskey pulled you to your feet, his arm holding you to him securely for support, “I’m just going to slow you down and we need to get this information back to-,”
“I swear to God above if you don’t quit your bitchin’ and get those feet moving a little quicker I’m going to kill you myself if we make it out of this alive,” Whiskey barked.
“Jesus you’re a prick sometimes,” you grumbled but did your best to pick up the pace in spite of your injury sending barbs of pain through you with every step.
********************
The two of you kept up like that for about an hour, the sharp wind stinging your faces as you pressed forward against the heavy flurries of snow.
“We’ve got to find shelter,” Whiskey yelled above the howling wind.
“No shit,” you tried your best to yell but your energy had been waning rapidly, “We shouldn’t be too far from some of the hunting cabins I saw on the maps when we were doing recon.”
“Hopefully the hunters left behind some medical supplies,” Whiskey replied.
Within a blessedly short time, the outline of your soon to be sanctuary was visible. Not wanting to waste any more time, Whiskey scooped you into his arms and started to hustle towards the cabin. You yelped as the action caused a fresh wave of pain to jolt through you. Honestly you were a bit thankful when you arrived at the cabin sooner than you would have if he hadn’t carried you.
Whiskey sat you down on the porch while he picked the lock. Once the door was open, he helped you inside and quickly escorted you to the kitchen chairs near the door. They would be easiest place to fix you up.
You let out a sigh of relief once you were settled onto one of the chairs.
“I’m going to poke around and see if there’s any medical supplies in here,” Whiskey said from his place knelt beside you.
Compared to the cold air in the cabin, Whiskey's warm hand on your shoulder felt like heaven.
“Can’t you light a fire first,” your teeth chattered as your body shivered, “Odds of them seeing the smoke are pretty low right now and I’m freezing.”
“I think I can manage that,” Whiskey nodded, thankful to see dry firewood sitting in the fireplace. Once the fire was roaring, Whiskey peaked back at you, “I’m going to see if I can find some bandages.”
You hummed lightly to acknowledge him, too tired to use words.
Whiskey said a quick prayer when he found an extremely well stocked med kit in the bathroom. He quickly grabbed it out of the cabinet and returned to your side.
“Whoever stocked this cabin was a saint,” Whiskey said as he hefted the kit onto the table, “There’s pretty much everything you’d need to keep someone alive after they’ve been shot until they can get to a hospital,”
You watched through droopy eyelids while Whiskey lined up the supplies he was gonna need to patch you up. You winced when you saw him pull out a suture kit and he looked up just in time to see it.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, you aren’t getting stitches tonight” he promised, “Just had to move them to get to the gauze.” He lifted up the bandages and gave them a little shake, “See. Though if I do say so myself I am pretty handy with stitches. Stitched myself up in the field a few years ago. I think they turned out alright.”
To drive home his point he lifted up his shirt and showed off the scar trailing across his stomach.
“You’re always full of surprises aren’t ya, Jack?” you murmured.
Whiskey was taken aback to hear you use his given name for the first time. He’d been trying to get you to say it for years. Though your partner wished he’d been able to hear it in better circumstances and under ones he wasn’t directly responsible for.
“Gotta keep you on your toes,” he joked lightly, “Now let’s get this damn scarf off of ya.”
Gingerly, Whiskey rolled up your shirt but when it kept sliding down and getting in the way he huffed, “I’m sorry, darlin, but I’m gonna need to get you out of this shirt.”
“Getting the coats off was one thing,” you whined, “but I can’t lift my arms high enough to get the shirt off.”
“Then I’m going to have to cut it off,” Whiskey held up a pair of scissors that had been in the med kit.
“Fine,” you sighed, you didn’t have enough energy to even think about the fact that your partner was about to see you semi naked for the first time.
If you had you probably would have blushed. You’d never admit it but you’d been harboring feelings for the older agent ever since you’d joined Statesmen.
“Alright, here we go,” Whiskey made short work of cutting off your blood soaked shirt and discarding it onto the floor with a plop.
Once the shirt was gone he moved onto the scarf. He considered unwrapping it but figured it would be quicker to just cut it off too.
Once the scarf was cut he carefully started to peel it away from the wounds.
“Fuck,” you hissed as it pulled on the dried blood.
“It’s alright, almost got it,” Whiskey soothed, “There!” he offered a comforting smile once it was gone but then the panic set in, “Shit, that’s a lot of blood.”
With the clothing removed from your torso, Whiskey got his first good look at the injury. It shocked him how much blood had seeped through the scarf while the two of you were running for your lives.
“That’s just what someone wants to hear from the man patching them up,” you said sarcastically.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Whiskey apologized, “Just took me by surprise is all.”
He reached around his back before he brought his hand back around to offer you something.
"What do you want me to do with that?" You raised any eyebrow as held up the handle for his whip.
"You're gonna want something to bite down on," He elaborated, "This is gonna hurt like hell."
He held it up to your mouth and reluctantly took it between your teeth.
He gave your leg a reassuring squeeze before he got to work cleaning the wound. You were loathe to admit it but he was right. You were pretty sure that you'd have bit your tongue off if the hard leather handle hadn't been in the way.
Whiskey offered soft reassurances and words of encouragement as he worked but very few of them actually reached you. You were to busy trying not to scream too much.
Once he was finished his dark eyes looked up to meet yours, “Alright the worst of it is over. I’m gonna put the bandages on now. Looks like this has even got some of that stuff that will help with clotting. Hopefully it will buy us some time so-”
“So I don’t die?” you raised an eyebrow slightly.
“You said it, not me,” Whiskey chuckled, “but yes. I’d hate to see you go. Training a new partner is a pain in the ass.”
You tried to laugh but the action elicited a pained groan instead.
“Easy, sweetheart,” Whiskey placed a hand on your shoulder to steady you as you had leaned forward as the pain shot through your body, “You’ve been through a lot today.”
“No shit,” you muttered, “Can I lie down now? I’m exhausted.”
“Why don’t you try to eat something first? It looks like there’s some dry goods on the shelves,” Whiskey said, “You need to keep your strength.”
“I’m not sure I-,”
“You need to eat,” Whiskey cut you off with a firm tone.
“Fine,” you sighed and Whiskey quickly crossed the room and started to dig around.
A few minutes later he came back with a bottle of water and some crackers, "Best I could do. Most everything needed some kind of prep and you don’t have enough time for that.”
“You’re probably right,” you said, “I’m already -”
Your head rapidly dropped and you started to fall forward but Whiskey’s hands caught you and pushed you back into the chair, “Hey, come on now. Don’t close your eyes. Stay awake for me.”
He patted your cheeks a few times to stir you, "C'mon, please stay awake just a bit longer, okay? Once you eat a few of these crackers and drink some water, I’ll take you straight to bed.”
“You been trying to get me into bed for years, cowboy,” you managed a half hearted joke as you pulled yourself away from the edge of unconsciouness, “What makes you think it’s gonna work now.”
“Very funny,” Whiskey smirked, as he held up a cracker for you, “Eat.”
“Fine,” you managed to eat a few of the semi-stale crackers before you couldn’t stomach anymore. When you denied the next one he offered he put it down and held up the water.
“Drink and then you can go to bed,” he held it out for you.
“Whiskey I don’t think I can hold the bottle,” you whispered.
“I’ll help then,” he held the bottle up to your lips and let you drink as much as you wanted before you pulled away.
“Happy?” you said.
“Yes, now let’s get you to bed,” Whiskey quickly but gently scooped you up and carried you toward the bed on the wall near the fire. He shifted you so that you were standing, but you still leaned heavily on him. The position allowed him to toss the covers back and help you into bed.
“Whiskey, wait,” you hesitated before letting him help you in, “Can you see if there’s any clothes hidden in here? My underwear are blood soaked and I’m pretty much naked otherwise.”
“Of course,” Whiskey kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. He sat you on the end of the bed, “I’ll go look.”
A few minutes later he came back with an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts, “This is all I could find.”
“Good enough,” you mumbled, “they’re not covered in blood. C-can you help me?”
“Are you sure?” Whiskey asked.
You nodded weakly, “I can’t do it myself.”
“Alright,” Whiskey swallowed hard.
He would never admit it to anyone but he had thought about undressing you for a very long time but much like hearing you say his name, he wished it were under better circumstances.
Whiskey helped you shimmy out of your underwear and then dressed you in the new clothes. His breath hitched a bit as his hands brushed your skin but he forced himself not to dwell on it. This was not the time. This wasn’t exactly a situation you had a choice in the matter of so he wasn’t going to take advantage.
Once you were dressed he helped you under the blankets and got you into a comfortable position. He wasn’t sure about it but you insisted being on your side with your injuries elevated was the most comfortable.
“I’m gonna clean up the med kit mess a bit,” Whiskey said, “then I’m gonna hop into bed with you. Is that alright?”
You nodded, “It’s not like there’s really any other option for you and I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor.”
“My back thanks you,” Whiskey gave you a smile before wandering away to start cleaning up. When he was packing up the kit, he discovered a small vial of morphine tucked into the back with an unopened syringe. He grabbed the items up and returned to your side.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Whiskey whispered as he placed a hand on your hair and brushed it gently with his thumb to stir you.
“Hmmm?” you hummed without opening your eyes.
“I found some morphine, is it alright if I give you a bit to take the edge off?” he asked.
“Woulda been nice earlier when you were poking me,” you grumbled.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled as he started to draw up the dose, “This is probably gonna sting a bit.”
“Can’t be worse than a bullet,” you muttered.
“You’re right,” Whiskey shook his head in amusement as he inserted the needle and injected the dose. Once he withdrew the needle he said, “There. You should start to feel better soon.”
“Good,” you murmured before dozing off again.
Whiskey watched your breathing for a few minutes to make sure you were still okay before he went back to straightening up. Once he had the med kit put back together, minus a change of bandages for you in the morning, he stowed it away where he'd found it. Then he changed into the other spare set of clothes in the cabin. His clothes, while nowhere near as soiled as yours, were soaked from all the snow and ice so he set them out by the fire to dry overnight.
Once everything was cleared up to his satisfaction Whiskey slid into bed beside you. He rolled to his side so that he could watch your breathing. As long as he could see the steady rise and fall of your chest he knew you were alive and that’s what mattered.
As he lay awake, with nothing but his own thoughts he couldn’t help but kick himself for everything that had happened today. The botched mission and you getting shot was all his fault. If he had just listened to you none of this would have happened. Eventually his mind exhausted itself and it was his turn to drift off.
********************
The next morning you were both brought up out of sleep by the sound of engines crossing the mountainside.
“Jack?” your scared voice rang clear through his ears as he scrambled out of bed and rushed toward the windows, his gun in hand.
He kicked himself for not putting out the fire before he fell asleep last night. The smoke still curling out of the chimney very well could have led their enemies to them now that the snowstorm was gone. He was so focused on the sound of approaching vehicles that he didn’t even register that you had been tucked against his chest before he bolted out of bed.
He peered out the windows praying that it wasn’t enemy vehicles approaching but much to his relief he saw two familiar figures in the cab of the first vehicle, “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Whiskey grinned, “It’s our rescue party. Ginger and Tequila found us. We’re going home.”
It was supposed to be a simple knock and talk. You and Javi had been sent to interview an informant that had called into the tip line. However, after Javi knocked and there was no reply a bad feeling settled into your gut.
“I’m going to check around back,” you said, placing a hand on your side-arm.
“I’ll go with you,” Javi offered.
You rolled your eyes, “No, stay here in case the informant decides to come to the door.”
“You really shouldn’t be going alone,” Javi argued, “You’re still pretty new at this.”
“Why don’t you pack in that superiority complex you’ve got there,” you snapped, “I’m perfectly capable of doing my job.”
“I didn’t-” Javi started to back track but you disappeared around the corner before he could finish.
You stealthily slipped around the side of the house with your gun in hand. When you turned the corner to make the approach to the back door, you were surprised to find someone already there making an escape out of the house.
“Hey!” you yelled, your gun snapped into position, ready to fire, “Stop!”
The escapee did in fact freeze but only to raise their own gun. Your first reaction was to fire your weapon. As you pulled the trigger, you sent a silent prayer hoping that you got a shot off before they did.
~~~ Meanwhile ~~~
At the front of the house, Javi had resumed pounding on the informant’s door. When yet again he got no response he growled in frustration, “Dammit.”
He took a few steps back from the front door, peering upwards toward the windows on the second floor. Hoping to see some sign of movement. There wasn’t any but his attention was immediately drawn away from the windows when he heard your voice yelling for someone to stop, which was soon followed by the sound of two gunshots. The two gunshots broke the silence so close together, someone could have easily misinterpreted them as one.
When he turned the corner he saw you writhing on the ground, “Y/N!” he yelled and doubled his speed to reach you.
“Fuck!” Javi cursed
The older agent yanked his gun out of its holster and bolted towards the back door.
“What the hell happened,” He demanded as he pushed you into a sitting position against the wall.
While he was running he used his walkie to call for back up and an ambulance. When he reached the corner of the house, his training kicked in. He paused before peeking around the corner to make sure it was clear. Once he was sure it was safe, he holstered his weapon and grabbed you under the armpits to drag you to cover.
“Doesn’t matter right now,” you said through gritted teeth as you grasped your thigh where the bullet had dug into your muscle, “The guy’s getting away. You need to go after him.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Javi said as he reached for your leg to assess the damage but you swatted away his hand, “Dammit, Y/n, I can’t help you if you don’t let me!”
“No, you’ve gotta go after the guy. He could have something valuable ” you argued.
“Whatever he could have is not more important than your life,” Javi insisted, “We’ll figure something else out. Now are you going to let me help or are you going to smack my hand again?”
“Ugh, fine,” you snarled, and moved your hands off the wound to allow him access.
“Okay,” Javi said as he gently felt around the back of your thigh, “There isn’t an exit wound, so the bullet is still inside you. Which is good news. Less holes for you to bleed out of.”
“Oh yeah, it’s so great having a bullet in your leg,” sarcasm dripped from your voice as you tried to focus on your breathing.
“Alright this is gonna hurt,” he warned before he applied pressure to your leg, eliciting a hiss of pain from you, “I warned you.”
“Doesn’t fucking help any,” you snipped, “It’s a hole in my leg. It’s gonna hurt when you push on it.”
“Well, I’ve got to do it otherwise it’s gonna keep bleeding,” Javi snipped back, "I really don't want to train a new partner. It's a fucking pain in the ass."
“You should be used to it by now-,” your smart-ass reply was cut off when your head bobbed to the side as your vision became fuzzy.
“Hey,” Javi reached up and placed his free hand on your face and gingerly pushed it back up, “Don’t close your eyes, sweetheart. You’ve gotta stay awake for me okay?”
“I’m trying,” you murmured.
Javi knew his best bet to keep you awake was to keep you talking, “Is there any chance you know your blood type?”
You thought about it for a second but then your eyes fluttered up to meet his. Once you told him he said, “Alright, that’ll be good for the docs to know. What about your favorite movie?”
You and Javi went back and forth like that for several minutes before you heard the sound of the ambulance approaching, “About damn time. You’ve just gotta hang in a bit longer okay?”
“Javi?” you muttered, “Will you stay with me?”
“Of course,” he gave you a small smile, “You’re my partner. I’m not going anywhere.
Note: This takes place between Bucky's official pardon and TFAWS.
***************
Bucky had had a long day of making amends and just wanted to drag himself back to his apartment so he could lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling for hours until his eyes slid shut and the nightmares took over. If he hadn't been so completely and utterly exhausted from the mental strain of the day, he probably would have noticed the subtle signs that someone was already inside his apartment. As it was, he was shocked to find a lone figure standing in the middle of his living room.
"What the hell?" Bucky bristled, his body going on autopilot preparing for a fight before the figure turned and he realized who it was, "Doll, what are you doing here?" He sighed as he relaxed and stepped the rest of the way into the space, pulling the door closed behind him.
"Why didn't you tell me you're living like this?" You asked him softly, the hint of sadness in your voice stabbed Bucky sharply in the heart. He hated it when you were sad.
"I didn't want to bother you," Bucky explained, "You've had your hands full helping Pepper with Stark Industries and doing Avengers stuff."
"I would have made time for you," you said, "You should know that by now."
"Please, don't," Bucky crossed his arms.
"Don't what?" you asked.
"Pity me," Bucky's eyes darted away from yours, uncomfortable with the emotional content of the conversation.
"Buck," your voice softened, "I do not pity you but this is no way to live." You gestured at the sad pile of bedding at your feet and the decrepit tv across the room, "If you'd said something I would have helped."
"I don't need hand outs," Bucky said shortly. There wasn't any malice in his voice. Just discomfort.
"Look, I know you've been having a hard time adjusting to life free of Hydra," you took a few steps closer to him but kept some distance to respect the silent boundaries you knew he needed, "but living like this won't help anything."
"It's fine," Bucky insisted.
"No, it's not," you frowned, "let me help."
"I don't need help," Bucky said, and the slight shift in the tone of his voice told you so much all at once. You could hear the fear and desperation thinly veiled behind the frustration. You knew him well enough by now that he would just shut down completely if you kept pushing.
"Fine," you relented, "I just wanted to come by and check on you and see if you needed anything but clearly you've got it all under control. So I guess I'll go."
Bucky desperately wanted to ask you to stay but what kind of host would he even be in this apartment. You deserved so much better than this. Than him.
"That's probably a good idea," Bucky forced himself to say.
"I'll check back in when I can," you said as you crossed the rest of the room to stand by him near the door.
"You don't have to," Bucky said.
"I know," you gave him a small smile before you reached up on your tip toes to give him a small kiss on the cheek, "but I want to."
Bucky was surprised by the tender action and stood frozen for a moment. In that moment you reached to open the door and took a step out.
"Bye Buck," you smiled before starting to close the door.
"Bye, Doll," he whispered just as the door clicked shut.
********************
The next morning after a night of fitful sleep thanks to nightmares, Bucky got up and ventured outside for another day of making amends. When he finally returned to his apartment, he was just as exhausted as he had been the night before. This time though he wasn't greeted by the sight of you standing in his living room. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of new furnishings.
The living room had been furnished with a simple recliner and coffee table and his old TV now sat on a wooden TV stand.
He wandered further into his apartment to find a table and two chairs had been added to the kitchen. Down the short hall, he found a bed and nightstand in the bedroom.
On the nightstand he found a note.
"These aren't hand outs. They're heirlooms. They belonged to my great grandfather before he passed away. I've had them sitting in a storage locker. He was a WWII veteran and would have loved to share them with someone like him. A soldier that never truly came home from the war."
"P.S. I'm sure you'll find the bed too soft. You should find the bed roll stowed under the bed a bit more acceptable. It should at least be an improvement over that blanket on the floor you have been using."
Bucky found himself reading the note several times over before he pulled out his cell phone.
"Thank you," he quickly texted your number.
"You're welcome. I hope it's not too much," you replied.
"It's perfect," Bucky sent back, a small smile graced his lips while thinking to himself, "Just like you."
***************
A/N: This was just a lil idea that popped into my head before bed. Its a bit rough. Hope you enjoyed. I am currently soft for James Buchanan Barnes.
TW: Some description of blood and significant injury to reader.
Description: When something goes wrong on a mission, you and Din are forced to stand and fight. Then, Din is forced to reconsider some things and makes a major revelation to you.
********************
When the body of the last Corellian pirate hit the ground, you and the Mandalorian were standing back to back. The two of you had assumed that position to cover each other's backs as you fought off the band of pirates. Din knew you could handle yourself in a fight so he'd focused on his half of the pirates. He'd curse himself later for not paying better attention to your fight.
For a few minutes the only sounds that could be heard was the labored breathing of you and the Mandalorian exhausted after your ordeal. Then your voice broke the silence.
"Din," You gasped.
The Mandalorian knew something was horribly wrong before he even turned around.
You never used his given name like that when you were out in the open. His name was something you reserved for quiet, tender moments in the Razor Crest.
When he turned you were already facing him but you were looking down. Your face was creased with confusion as you processed the blood painting your shirt and hands.
Your blood Din realized.
"I didn't even-" your sentence was cut off when your knees gave out as the adrenaline ebbed away.
Din shot forward faster than anyone should have been able to move in so much armor. His hands caught you before you hit the ground but the sudden stop elicited a small cry from your lips.
"I've got you, cyar'ika," Din gently promised as he eased you down.
He wasted no time tearing off his cape. He balled it up and placed it underneath your head to cushion it against the forest floor.
"Din," your voice cracked, "I'm scared."
Din did his best to mask his own fear to keep you calm but truth be told he was terrified. You'd never been hurt on his watch like this before.
"Everything is going to be okay," he promised as stoically as he could manage.
"I'm sor-" you were cut off by the shout of pain that Din elicited from you as he applied pressure to your wound.
"I know it hurts," Din empathized, "but we have to slow the bleeding. All of our medical supplies are back at the ship."
"Din," you whimpered, after he used his comm to contact Cara for help, "I don't think I'm going to make it. There's too much blood."
"Don't say that," Din growled, but under the helmet there were tears starting to form and he was thankful his helmet was there to hide them, "You're going to be fine. You're going to be fine. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you weren't and..."
"I love you, too, Din," your hand shook as you reached up underneath the helmet to press your palm against his cheek.
"Don't-" he pled, as he leaned into your touch, "Don't you dare say goodbye."
"I'm sorry," you apologized through your own tears, "I'm so sorry."
"You've got nothing to apologizs for, cyar'ika," Din assured you, "but I need you to hold on just a bit longer, okay? Cara will be here any second and she will be able to help us fix this."
"Din," your voice cracked and your breathing continued to shallow, "I'm going to die."
"No. No, you're not," Din ordered, "You are going to be fine."
"Take care of the kid," You said, "Most importantly take care of yourself too. Promise me."
"Please, stop," this time it was Din's turn for his voice to crack, "You're going to be okay and we are going to take care of the kid together."
"Promise me," your voice became sharper for just a moment, "Please."
Din could see it in your eyes, you were truly terrified. He had never seen you so scared in all the time he'd known you.
So, he took a steadying breath and said, "I promise. We'll be okay."
Relief visibly washed over you, "I love you so much, Din."
You started to say something else but it was like a switch was flipped. Your body just seemed to give up. The last thing you heard as your eyes slid shut was Din calling your name. Desperately trying to keep you with him as everything grew dark.
********************
It was dim when you opened your eyes. At first you thought you were in some kind of afterlife but then you realized that you were in fact in a bed and someone was in the chair beside that bed. They were obviously asleep by the way their chin was tucked against their chest.
It took you several more moments before you registered who it had to be sleeping in that chair. Despite the dim lighting in the room, you easily recognized the silhouette of Din's armor but something was off. Literally.
In the next moment you realized that Din's helmet had been removed and was sitting on the bedside table.
You let out an involuntary gasp that jarred Din awake.
"What's wrong?" He asked with intense concern as he sat forward.
"Y-your helmet," you had already screwed your eyes shut, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to look. I didn't realize when I woke up."
You heard Din let out a soft chuckle, "Cyar'ika, it's okay."
"Your creed-," you started to protest but Din cut you off.
"Some things are more important," his voice was soft as he took your hand in his and squeezed it gently after pressing a kiss to it, "This whole thing made me realize how little time we have and that time can be taken away at any moment. I don't want to end up in a situation like that again and have one of us die without me being able to share all of myself with you. You've already given all of yourself to me. Let me give all of myself to you, cyar'ika. So, please open your eyes for me."
You took a breath before you opened your eyes as Din had asked but it didn't do much good since seeing your beloved's face for the first time took it away in a heartbeat.
You'd dreamed about this moment for so long but had truthfully never expected it to come. Now that it was, you were so totally overwhelmed that you started to cry.
"What's wrong?" You could hear the panic in Din's voice and could tell this wasn't how he expected this to go.
"I'm sorry, my love," you apologized, "I've just dreamed of this for so long and you're just even more perfect than I imagined."
"I could never measure up to you, mesh'la," a small smile graced his lips as Din shook his head lightly.
"We'll just have to agree to disagree," you smiled and then laughed a bit.
"What?" Din asked.
"Karga owes me 100 credits," you smirked.
"Do I even want to know for what?" Din sighed.
"He thought your eyes would be green," you explained, "I just knew they had to be brown and I was right."
Din shook his head but he was smiling anyway, "You're impossible."
"That's why you love me," you laughed.
"One of the many reasons I love you," he said before he leaned in for a tender kiss.
Description: Spencer comforts you after an especially bad day at work.
WARNING: Mention of suicide.
*********************************
It had been a long day for the BAU. You and the team had spent a very long week investigating a string of vicious murders that came to a tragic end.
It was especially upsetting because it turned out that the unsub was a college student. He’d been driven mad by the loss of his girlfriend and had been experiencing blackouts and periods of extreme rage. When confronted with the evidence the kid was devastated.
Unable to cope with it, he took his own life.
Given the late hour that this all had occurred at, Hotch had the team go back to the hotel to get some sleep before they would fly out in the morning.
You and Spencer traveled back to your hotel in silence as you both tried to come to terms with what had happened. No words were spoken but you both sat with your hands intertwined for some comfort.
When you arrived in your shared hotel room, Spencer just sat on one of the beds staring at the wall while you headed into shower.
Even though you hadn't been splattered with any of the young man's blood you still felt like you had it on your skin. After stepping under the scalding hot water you started to scrub your skin with a rag.
When your energy ran out and you couldn't scrub any longer, you broke down into tears. Sobbing quietly under the hot spray of the shower.
You were so out of it that you didn't even hear the soft click of the bathroom door opening and closing.
You did notice when the curtain pulled back slightly and Spencer stepped into the shower with you.
"Come here," he whispered tenderly as he pulled you into his arms.
The simple gesture made you break down even harder and your sobs became heavier.
"Let it all out," he cooed as he rubbed your back, "It's okay."
After a few minutes your sobs ebbed away into small hiccups, which prompted Spencer to ask, "have you washed your hair yet?"
Still not ready to speak you simply shook your head.
"Okay," he pressed a light kiss to the top of your head.
Understanding that you weren't quite ready for too many words yet, he wordlessly reached around you to turn the water down to a more bearable temperature and then reached for your shampoo.
He squeezed out the right amount and then got to work gently lathering it into your hair.
The feeling of his fingers massaging your scalp was so relaxing and felt amazing. You closed your eyes and savored the sensation.
After rinsing out the shampoo, he repeated the process with your conditioner.
Once finished, he shut off the shower and pulled back the shower curtain, exposing your bare skin to the slightly cooler air.
You stood shivering slightly while you waited for Spencer to wrap a towel around his waist before he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around you.
Wordlessly you allowed him to usher you to the bed. He sat down on the edge of it before pulling you back into his lap.
Once you were both situated he started to gently wring your hair out with an extra towel he had grabbed on your way out of the bathroom. When that was done he reached for the comb on the bedside table and started to run it through your hair. Gently working out the tangles.
With your hair tangle free, he set the comb back down on the table and pressed another kiss to your head before he moved you off of his lap.
He stood up to grab your pajamas and underwear from your suitcase.
"I can dress myself," you said softly when he started to help you.
"I know," he replied, "but you don't have to tonight. Is that okay?"
You nodded and he got back to dressing you. Once dressed he gave you yet another kiss before moving to pull back the covers on the bed and gestured for you to climb in which you did without hesitation.
Once settled in, Spencer tucked the blanket in around you.
"I'll be right back, okay?" He said and waited for your nod before he slipped into the bathroom.
When he came back dressed in his pajama shorts, he was unsurprised to find you already sound asleep.
He made sure to lock the door before he slipped into the bed with you and scooted close so that he could wrap you in his arms and pull you close.
It wasn't long after that that he was lulled to sleep by the gentle rhythm of your breathing.
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Description: While hunting a serial killer who has been abducting young women and torturing them before killing them, you get taken by the unsub. Spencer and the team rush to find you before time is up.
WARNING: Mentions and depictions of torture and blood.
******************************
“I’m starting to wonder if we’re ever going to find this unsub,” you sighed as you walked down a mostly empty street late at night with Spencer.
The two of you were about a week into the BAU’s investigation of a string of grisly murders in a small town in Illinois.
The two of you had decided to take a break from the investigation to get a late dinner at a diner a few blocks from the police station.
“We’ll find the guy,” Spencer squeezed your hand gently, “We always do.”
“Spence, you know that isn’t an entirely true statement,” you pointed out, “We’ve had several cases go unsolved.”
“I was trying to be comforting,” Spencer chuckled, “You know lift spirits and bolster morale?”
“You need a little practice,” you smiled up at him, “but I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Spencer smiled back.
The two of you continued your walk in silence. Simply appreciating each other’s company before you had to delve back into the gore and horror that soaked the case the BAU had been helping local authorities with.
When you were in sight of the police station, you and Spencer reluctantly removed your hands from each other’s grasp. Even though the team knew about your relationship, the two of you had agreed to keep it on the down-low when working a case. It helped eliminate any potential issues with the local authorities and to reduce the chance of an unsub exploiting the connection.
“Back to business,” it was Spencer’s turn to sigh, but he quickly assumed a more serious affect, “We are going to catch this guy, Y/n. I can feel it.”
“You’re probably right,” you said, “I’ve just had a bad gut feeling since we got here, and I just haven’t been able to shake it.”
“Does it have anything to do with your grandfather?” he asked cautiously, he knew that your family history was a touchy subject.
“I don’t know,” you admitted, “Maybe? It is coming up on the 15th anniversary since he was arrested, and his case and profile are very similar to this monster’s.”
“I’m here if you want to talk about it,” Spencer offered.
“I know you are,” you said, “but I-,”
You were cut off by the ringing of your phone in your pocket.
“I’d better take this,” you said, “It could be that bar owner I tried to contact earlier. Go ahead. I’ll meet you inside.”
“Okay,” Spencer agreed, “I’ll see you inside.”
“SSA Y/L/N,” you answered the phone and walked a short distance from the front entrance of the police station to get away from the noise inside the building.
“You should have gone inside,” a distorted voice growled into the phone.
“Who is this?” your blood ran cold.
“You know who I am,” the voice said, “You just haven't realized it yet.”
Before you could reply the line went dead. You turned to run inside but before you even knew what was going on, everything went black.
******************************
“Where’s Y/n?” JJ asked when Spencer arrived back inside the police station.
“She got a phone call,” Spencer explained, “She’s just outside.”
“How was dinner?” JJ asked moving on, satisfied with his explanation
“It was fine,” he shrugged, “about as good as can be expected from a diner in a town with a population of 3,578 after 10 pm.”
“How’s Y/n holding up?” Rossi asked.
The entire team had been worried about you since the case came in. They knew about your family’s history and recognized the similarities between it and the current case.
“About as well as can be expected,” Spencer said, “She’s worried that we won’t find the killer.”
“I think at this point we’re all starting to get worried,” Prentiss admitted, “This guy killed one girl every day for a week and then suddenly dropped off the map. There haven’t been any abductions since the day after we got here.”
“A man like this guy, I doubt he’s given up on killing,” Morgan said, “and it’s even more unlikely that he’s moved on to another location. This town means something to him. We just have to figure out what.”
“All of that makes me worry that he may be gearing up for something big,” Spencer said as he examined the board of evidence and notes they had compiled so far.
The team worked in silence for some time before Hotch appeared and broke it, “Where’s Y/n?”
Spencer looked up from the files he had been reading and realized that you had yet to reappear.
“She took a phone call outside after we had dinner,” Spencer explained, “but that was at least half an hour ago. She should have come back by now.”
I just came in the main entrance with the chief,” Hotch frowned, “She wasn’t there.”
Spencer immediately pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed you. By the third ring, his heart was pounding. You almost never let your phone ring unanswered this long.
By the time his call went to voicemail, his heart was pounding even harder and his hands shook slightly as he redialed.
It went to voicemail a second time.
He bolted towards the door and the rest of the team rushed after him.
He pushed his way out the doors and frantically started searching for any sign of you on the street. The entire team spread out and searched the block in hopes of finding any sign of you but when they reconvened out in front of the police station, they came up empty-handed.
“There are cameras on every side of this building,” Morgan said as the team grouped up on the sidewalk, “One of them has to have seen something.”
“Let’s go inside and see if the Chief will let us look at them,” Hotch said and everyone followed him inside.
The chief was more than happy to show your team the security footage.
“There we are coming back from the diner,” Spencer said when he saw the two of you come into frame, “and there I am going back inside and she’s answering her phone.”
The team watched the recording and they all noticed your shift in body language after answering.
“Whoever was on the other end of that call said something that scared her,” Morgan noted.
“The call didn’t last very long,” Prentiss said as she watched you hang up.
Then they all saw a hooded figure lurch out from behind the corner and hit you in the head with a metal pipe.
“Switch to the camera on the side where he came from,” Hotch ordered but the police chief was already in the process of doing so.
“You can’t see a thing,” Spencer groaned when the camera showed nothing but a few vague shapes in the darkness.
“Whoever took her must have knocked out the streetlights there,” Chief Uhland said, “Normally that alley is lit up brighter than a Christmas tree.”
“This was planned,” Hotch said as he pulled out his phone to dial Garcia.
“What can I do for our fearless leader at this late hour,” she answered.
“Garcia, I need you to pull security footage from any business or street cam within a 4 block radius of the police station,” Hotch said, “look for any vehicle coming from the direction of the station and cross-check vehicle registrations with anyone who has connections to the case.”
“I am on it,” Garcia said and he could hear the faint clacking of her keyboard, “anything else, in particular, I should know?”
“Y/n was taken by whoever was driving that vehicle just under 30 minutes ago,” Hotch said, “and we think it may have been our unsub.”
“What?!” Garcia shrieked.
“Garcia, I need you to focus,” Hotch said firmly, “I also need you to trace a phone call she received around that time. It will probably be a burner phone, but we need to follow every lead.”
“Is she going to be okay?” Garcia gulped.
“She will be if we can find this unsub in time,” Morgan cut in since Hotch had her on speakerphone, “That’s why we need you to work your magic, baby girl. Y/n is counting on us. If this unsub follows his pattern, we have about 8 hours to get her home safely.”
“I will call you back when I have something,” Garcia said with a determined edge to her voice, “This guy isn’t going to know what hit him.”
“While she’s working the phone call and the vehicle,” Hotch turned his focus to the team, “We need to go back over everything we know about this unsub. Try to find anything we may have missed that will help us find where he took Y/n.”
******************************
The first thing you registered when you started to regain consciousness was a throbbing pain in the back of your head.
The second thing you noticed was that you were tied to a chair.
Your torso had been tied to the back of the chair, but your arms were bound in front of you at the wrist and your legs were tied to each leg of the chair.
You made a few attempts to struggle against the ropes, but it was no use.
“You really are a feisty one,” a disembodied voice said from somewhere in the darkness off to your left.
“Is that why you attacked me from behind?” you asked sharply, “Like a coward.”
“I am not a coward,” the voice shot back, there was something oddly familiar about it but you couldn’t place why, “I’ve been carefully planning this moment since I first laid eyes on you last week. I was not going to blow it by trying to attack you face to face.”
“Is that what you did to those other girls?” you asked, “snuck up on them from behind?”
“No, those girls were idiots,” the voice said, “They fell for a simple lie and they let me take them right off the street. They were so quick to believe that I was a good guy.”
“And why would they believe some random guy?” you asked, eyes straining as you tried to see into the darkness and get a glimpse at your kidnapper.
“It’s a small town, Agent,” he said, “Nobody ever wants to believe a monster like me could be lurking in the shadows.”
“Why don’t you come out of the shadows and let me see who you are,” you suggested, “This night is going to go one of two ways, and either way it won’t matter if I see your face.”
“You’ve got a good point,” he chuckled, and you heard him take a few steps but he was still hidden, “in a little less than 5 hours one of us is going to be dead.
“My money is on you,” you antagonized as he hovered just out of the light, “My team is the best and they will find me. We were already very close to finding you. It was likely only a matter of hours.”
“It’s very touching to see how much faith you have in your team, Agent, but I’m confident that it will be your corpse they find in a few hours. Considering they’ve already crossed me off their suspect list,” you were shocked to see the face of your captor when he stepped into the light.
He was right, your team had in fact removed him from the suspect pool at Chief Uhland’s suggestion. It was the third victim's husband.
“You son of a bitch,” you growled.
“Oh, are you mad that you and your team fell for the grieving widow act?” Joseph Moretti fake pouted, “or are you mad now that you’re realizing how wrong your team’s profile is?”
“It doesn’t matter,” you sneered, “my team will figure it out and they will find you and they will kill you.”
“They might,” he whispered as he leaned down so that you were both face to face, “but they will find you dead in a ditch before that happens and I will get great satisfaction watching your little boyfriend crying over your bloody corpse.”
“Go to hell,” you spat in his face, your blood boiling at the mention of Spencer.
Moretti’s face became scarily calm as he reached up to wipe the spit from his cheek.
“You know I usually start small and work my way up to the really painful stuff when I’m playing with my girls,” he said, and the edge to his voice sent chills down your spine, “but I think I’m going to make an exception for you.”
He pulled himself up to his full height to grab a hook dangling from a chain above your head. He pulled it down and hooked the ropes binding your hands into it before he stepped around you and turned a wheel to raise it so that your hands were above your head.
“You’re not going to get away with this,” you said as you struggled against the chain. Trying to keep your composure to avoid giving him the satisfaction of seeing you scared.
“Shut up,” he growled as he cut the ropes holding your torso and legs to the chair, “I’m sick of listening to you talk.”
He took a few steps back towards the wheel and began raising the chain you were hooked to until your feet were just barely dangling above the floor. You groaned as your arms and joints protested against the position.
When he came back into view, he was holding a knife, “I’m ready to hear you scream.”
******************************
“This isn’t working!” Spencer growled as he slammed his file onto the table and stood up from his seat, “She only has 3 hours left and who knows what he’s doing to her right now!”
“Spence, we’re doing everything we can,” JJ said gently, but she understood his frustrations, “We knew when Garcia came up empty on the phone call and the vehicle that this wasn’t going to be easy.”
“This is my fault,” Spencer growled, “I never should have left her outside alone. She fits his type too well.”
“Wait, Reid, you might be onto something,” Prentiss said and everyone’s attention turned to her, “We’ve been focusing on trying to find him through the victimology and his “type” but there was one victim who didn’t fit his type. We just assumed it was a fluke early on since she was only the third victim out of 12 but what if Becca Moretti is the key to finding this unsub.”
“She wasn’t found until 2 days after she went missing,” Morgan said recalling her details, “and she wasn’t as extensively tortured. Her wounds were shallower, almost hesitant.”
“Why would that be?” JJ asked.
“None of the victims before her or after her were treated that way,” Rossi pointed out, “this guy had no escalation with his known victims. So why was she different?”
“What was her husband's alibi that night?” Hotch asked.
“He said he was at a bar with some buddies,” Chief Uhland said.
“Did his friends corroborate that story?” Rossi asked.
“We didn’t ask them,” Chief Uhland admitted, “We didn’t really see the point.”
When the chief said that the atmosphere in the room dramatically shifted.
“You didn’t check his alibi?” Hotch asked, and his voice was stone cold.
“We had no reason to believe that he would kill his wife and the nature of her death was exactly the same as the other girls that had already been found,” the Chief defended himself, “Nobody in this town has ever had any issues with the Moretti’s. They were known around town as the perfect couple. We’ve never received any domestic dispute complaints from their neighbors.”
“Morgan, call Garcia,” Hotch ordered, “Have her dig into Joseph Moretti’s past.”
“Got it,” Morgan said already dialing Penelope.
“Chief Uhland,” Hotch said crossing the room to stand toe to toe with the chief, “If my agent dies tonight. I want you to understand that it will be on your head and I will be coming for your badge. When I’m done you will never be able to work in law enforcement ever again. Am I understood?”
******************************
Pain.
That’s all you could feel as you hung limply from the ceiling of whatever hell hole you were being held in.
You shivered against the cold air. Your torso and legs were nearly completely exposed to the frigid temperature of the room. The only fabric left clinging to you was your bra and the tattered remains of your slacks and underwear.
The first thing Moretti had done was shred your blouse with the knife and rip it off of you. From there, things had only gotten worse.
You had tried to stifle your cries not wanting to give him that satisfaction but after the first several cuts, you gave in.
He was skilled at making every single cut more painful than the last and it wasn’t long before you were soaked in your own blood and all sense of time was lost.
He took breaks between rounds of torture. It was his way of prolonging your suffering. Leaving you to wonder when the pain would resume.
The room you were in had no windows to give you an idea about the time but you knew that every minute brought you closer to sunrise and the closer you got to morning the less time the team had to find you.
******************************
“I think I’ve got something!” Garcia announced loudly when Derek answered her phone call, “I found an abandoned meat packing plant on the outskirts of town that Moretti’s third cousin twice removed or something like that owned back in the 90s but it was shut down after the cousin died under mysterious circumstances. It was suspected that the cousin's wife had something to do with his death but she disappeared before anything could be proven. Moretti apparently had been very close with his cousin and was devastated when he died. He was the most vocal about her having something to do with it.”
“Do you think the cousin’s wife was his first victim?” Spencer asked.
“I’d be shocked if she wasn’t,” Garcia said, “She has the same hair and eye color as all of the recent victims and was about the same age as them when she vanished.”
“Chief do you know where this packing plant is?” Hotch asked, “It’s likely where he’s holding my agent.”
“Yeah,” the chief said, “I can have all of my men and an ambulance there in 10 minutes.”
“Vest up,” Hotch told the team, “Let’s go get Y/n back.”
******************************
Moretti was in the middle of another session of torturing you when he froze.
“Son of a bitch,” he cursed as he heard the faint sound of a fleet of vehicles outside, “Well it sounds like our time is about up, Agent.”
“I-I told you they would find me,” you rasped weakly.
“They may have found you,” Moretti snarled, “but you will be leaving in a body bag.”
“If I do, you will too,” you warned him.
“I don’t give a damn about that anymore,” he shook his head, “If I’m going to go out. I’m going out with a bang.”
He listened carefully for a few minutes before he was sure the team coming in to rescue you were within earshot. Then he dragged the knife in one long shallow line down the length of your calf eliciting a scream from your lips.
Satisfied, he positioned himself behind you using you as a shield between himself and the only door in the room. Then he placed a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.
A moment later Spencer appeared in the doorway, weapon raised.
Spencer wavered slightly when he saw the knife being held to your body and his heart broke when he saw how many cuts marred your skin and the blood coating your body.
“Joseph Moretti, put the knife down and step away from her,” Spencer ordered as strongly as he could.
Hotch hovered a few feet away from him, his gun aimed at the unsub.
“I’m surprised you pieced it together so quickly,” Moretti scoffed, “I thought for sure you would be spinning your wheels trying to find me long after you found her body in a ditch.”
“The only reason you flew under our radar so long is because of some shoddy police work by your local department,” Spencer said, “I’m not going to tell you again to put the knife down. No one has to die today.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Agent Reid” Joseph’s face cracked with a deranged smile, “You're going to have two dead bodies on your hands today.”
The light flashed off the blade of the knife as Moretti pulled his arm back, preparing to plunge it into your chest.
With precision he wasn’t entirely sure he had, Spencer fired at Moretti’s head and thankfully met his target.
The grip Moretti had on your mouth went slack and the knife clattered to the ground with his body.
Spencer rushed toward you and Hotch rushed forward to help.
“Hotch, release that,” Reid nodded towards the wheel that controlled the chain you had been dangling from.
“Spence,” you whimpered as he wrapped his arms around you and lifted to lessen the strain on your arms which you were still dangling from.
The groan you released as he put pressure on your injuries made Spencer’s gut wrench.
Once there was slack in the chain, Hotch helped Spencer remove your arms from the hook and lower you to the ground.
“I’ve got you,” Spencer whispered into your hair when he pulled you to his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to lay you on the cold concrete floor as exposed as you were.
“Get the medics in here now!” Hotch barked at one of the cops who quickly relayed the message over the radio.
While waiting for the paramedics to make their way in, Spencer pulled back just enough to unravel the ropes tied around your wrists so that you could move your arms again.
“I knew you'd find me,” you rasped tearfully as you let all of the fear you’d been feeling for the last several hours loose and clinged to him like a child.
"Of course I did," Spencer whispered, "I always will."
When he saw the paramedics in the door he pulled back slightly but you whimpered.
“Hey, it's okay I’m not going anywhere,” he promised as he stroked your hair, ‘but you need to go to the hospital. So we have to get you on the stretcher."
“Okay,” you nodded as he pulled back to let the medics who just came in lift you onto the stretcher.
Spencer was thankful they covered you up before they whisked you out of the building to the ambulance. The night air was cold and you’d already been through enough tonight. The medics tried to keep him out of the ambulance when they were loading you up but he wasn’t going to leave your side.
"That’s my partner,” Spencer growled, “If you think I’m not going with you you're insane.”
After a moment’s hesitation, the paramedic relented and allowed him into the truck. Once everyone was settled in the back, the other paramedic closed the doors and quickly climbed into the driver’s seat and took off towards the hospital.
******************************
After finishing up at the meat packing plant, the entire team met up at the hospital to check in on you and Spencer.
The nursing staff wouldn’t let them all back at once so Spencer reluctantly came out to the waiting area.
“How is she?” JJ was the first to ask when Spencer wandered into the room.
“She’s asleep right now,” Spencer explained, “That’s the only reason I was able to come out here. She hasn’t wanted me to leave her side since we got here.”
“How bad did he-?” Morgan couldn’t finish the sentence but Spencer knew what he was asking.
“It's pretty bad,” Spencer's voice cracked slightly, “She has a number of cuts of varying lengths and depths covering a significant percentage of her torso and legs. He knew how to cause the maximum amount of pain without causing death until he was ready to deliver the final blow himself.”
“When do the docs think she can go home?” Rossi asked.
“They would like to keep an eye on her for a couple of days,” Spencer said, “Just as a precaution since a few of the wounds were pretty deep and cause some concern but they think she should be able to travel home soon.”
“Take as long as the two of you need,” Hotch said, “We’ve made arrangements to get you both home on a private flight so she doesn’t have to fly commercial and risk getting jostled too much.”
“How did you-,” Spencer started to ask but Rossi answered.
“I pulled a few strings with some old friends,” Rossi said, “Just let us know when and they will get you two home in style.”
“Thank you, Rossi,” Spencer said gratefully.
"We brought you a change of clothes," Morgan held out the bag he'd grabbed from the hotel, "Didn't think you'd want to hang out in bloody clothes too long."
"Thank you," Spencer said as he took the bag, "I appreciate it."
“We’re going to go and wrap things up before heading home,” Hotch said, “You should get back to Y/n so she doesn’t wake up alone.”
******************************
Thanks to the pain killers the doctor had you on, it was quite some time before you woke up and were cognizant enough to make sense when you were.
Though when you did finally wake up with a somewhat clear head, you opened your eyes to find Spencer passed out asleep in the chair beside your bed.
You smiled at the sight of your partner snoring lightly, head lolled to the side. You knew that couldn’t be a comfortable position but it seemed to be working okay for him.
You hadn’t planned to wake him up, but the small cry of pain you released when you tried to sit up brought him out of his sleep almost immediately.
“What happened?” he shot up straight, suddenly very awake.
“Nothing,” you groaned a bit as you settled into a more comfortable position, “I just shifted wrong is all. I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“No, it’s okay,” he ran a hand down his face to rub the sleep away, “I’ve been out for a while anyway. How are you feeling?”
“I feel like shit,” you grumbled, “I think I’ve got ten pounds of bandages weighing me down.”
“You’ve been through a lot,” Spencer said as he pulled his chair closer to the bed, “So, it’s to be expected.”
“Is… Is he dead?” you asked softly.
“Yes,” Spencer said firmly, “I shot him. He’ll never hurt anyone again.”
“Are you okay?” you asked.
“You’re asking me if I’m okay?” Spencer laughed incredulously.
“I know that shooting someone is hard,” you said, “Especially for those of us that don’t really like carrying the gun anyway.”
“I’m fine,” Spencer promised taking your hand gently, “I’m not going to lose any sleep over shooting the man that hurt the woman I love more than anything.”
“Spence-,”
“I’m fine,” he cut you off, “I promise.”
“Okay,” you relented, “Did the rest of the team go back to DC?”
"They will be,” he nodded, “and hopefully within a few days, we will be able to follow them.
“Hopefully,” you sighed, and the two of you fell into silence before you broke it again, “Hey, Spence?”
“Hmm?” he hummed as he looked up to meet your eyes.
“I love you,” you gave him a smile.
“I love you, too,” he returned your smile with one of his own.
Description: After recovering from your injuries and taking some additional time off, you and Spencer return to work with the BAU.
Link to Part 1
******************************
It had been almost two months since the shooting that had left you and Spencer scarred both physically and mentally. A lot had changed in that time. Thankfully, most of it was good.
After his near-death experience, you had decided to take some time off to help him through his recovery process. Which resulted in you spending most of your time at Spencer’s and him ultimately asking you to move in with him.
You had happily agreed to it and wasted no time having some friends from outside the BAU help you move your stuff into Spencer’s. You would have asked the team for help, but they had been away on a case and you didn’t want to wait for them to get back.
Once you were completely moved in with him, the conversation came up about taking some additional time off. While Spencer had been recovering physically, you had been dealing with PTSD and nightmares. You didn’t feel completely ready to jump back into the fray yet. Spencer hadn’t wanted to return to the team without you just yet, so he decided to take the extra time off with you.
It was a mutual decision to spend that extra time on a vacation traveling across the country. Your jobs required a lot of time traveling all across the country, but very rarely did you have the chance to appreciate and admire the places you visited without the horrors of the cases keeping your attention.
The two of you spent the weeks of your vacation a variety of obscure places that piqued Spencer’s interests but also had plenty of touristy places mixed in for some additional fun. Some of your stops included Yellowstone National Park, the Great Smoky Mountains, New York City, LA, and Miami.
Miami hadn’t originally been in the plans, but you had some friends who were CSIs that worked in the crime lab there that you hadn’t seen in quite some time. They spent a few days showing you around the city and taking you to social hotspots as well as some academic ones.
But like all good things, your vacation came to an end and now it was time to return to the BAU.
********************
Spencer was standing in front of the mirror working on straightening out his tie when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist.
“Are you sure we have to go back today?” you asked as you leaned into him for comfort.
“Y/n, you were just talking about how much you miss the team last night,” Spencer said as he continued fussing with his tie.
“I know,” you sighed, “and I do miss them. It’s just-,”
“Hard to return to a normal routine after two months of living without anything resembling a normal routine?” Spencer offered as he gave up trying to fix his tie, the warmth of your body pressed against his back was pretty distracting.
You didn’t say anything, but he felt you nod against his back.
Spencer turned around to face you without making you remove your arms from around his waist, and wrapped his own arms around you, “I know that you’re worried about going back into the field but we can’t hide from it forever.”
“I know,” you said again as you buried your face into his chest.
“We are going to be fine, Y/n,” Spencer promised, “We’ve got this and if we start to not have things under control, we will have our team, our family to help us through it.”
“You’re right,” you muttered, your voice muffled by his shirt.
“I know,” Spencer said lightly.
“You’re impossible,” you laughed and pulled away to give him a light swat on the arm.
“Nothing is impossible with you by my side,” Spencer smiled and leaned down to give you a kiss.
When the two of you pulled apart, he said, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” you smiled up at him.
“I hate to be the one that ruins this moment,” he said reluctantly, “but if we don’t get a move on, we’re going to be late and I’m sure Garcia will be angry if we miss whatever surprise she’s got set up for our return.”
“We wouldn’t want to upset Penelope on our first day back,” you chuckled, “Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”
********************
When you and Spencer finally arrived at work, you weren’t the least bit surprised to find the entire team waiting around your heavily decorated desks.
“There they are!” Morgan announced your arrival with a huge grin which started a round of welcome backs and hugs from the entire team.
“You guys didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Spencer said as he took in all of the decorations and snacks laid out across the desks.
“You guys have been gone for two whole months!” Penelope said, “We had to do something special for your return!”
“We love it,” you grinned, “Thank you guys.”
“Oh, we can’t take the credit,” JJ pointed out, “Garcia did most of the hard work.”
“Yeah, except for the heavy lifting,” Morgan joked, “Hotch and I are the ones who moved the desks.”
“I noticed that you moved Spencer and I’s desks together,” you raised an eyebrow.
“Well, we couldn’t leave our two resident love birds separated!” Emily said.
“Speaking of which,” Rossi said, “You two have a debate to settle for us.”
You shared a look with Spencer, you both were pretty sure you knew what they were going to ask.
“Exactly how long had you two been dating before you officially told the team after Spencer was shot?” Morgan asked.
“Do you want to tell them?” you asked Spencer.
“No, you go ahead,” Spencer smirked.
“We’ve been dating for a year now,” you said as you intertwined your hand with Spencer’s.
You heard several sounds of disbelief come from different members of your team but only one seemed pleased with your response.
“A team full of profilers and it was the tech expert that got it right!” Penelope cheered, “I told you guys that they had been dating for at least 9 months! I was the closest so that means you all have to pay up.”
“I’m not convinced that you didn’t have insider information on this one, baby girl,” Morgan grumbled when the money started exchanging hands.
“I promise that she didn’t,” Spencer said, “but thanks to you Morgan, you settled a bet of ours too.”
“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” you said, “When Spencer was in the hospital after being shot, we made a bet about who would ask us how long we’d been dating first. I said it would be Penelope but somehow you beat her to it. I honestly can’t believe it took you guys this long to ask.”
“So, what did Reid win?” Prentiss asked.
“A Doctor Who themed date night,” Spencer reported with a broad smile, “and I know it’s going to be a good one.”
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