im dead dear, not stupid

“No, baby, don’t cry. You’re okay,” my mom’s voice said, choking quietly with sobs she was trying to hold back.

My dry tongue stuck to my throat so no words were able to form. Mom massaged some feeling back into my arm, but my other hand was grasped tightly by Mitch. His beard had grown past the stubble phase but hadn’t quite reached the legitimate beard phase yet, and all the lines of his face were set in silent anguish.

Across the room, my dad walked in with a doctor trailing him. “Ms. Walker, my name is Dr. Garcia, you’re in the hospital. You’re fine now.”

There was an IV in my left arm and another tube connected to my nose that I could feel down my throat when I swallowed. I remembered getting shot in the same places I was hurting. I tried forming the word water, but it was just frog-like croaking sounds.

Mitch hopped out of his seat. “I’ll get you some water.”

I watched him go until I couldn’t see him anymore then focused on the doctor. Her hair was in a clip, the tips sticking up like a crown.

“Do you remember why you’re here?” she asked.

I nodded, and Mitch came back holding a cup of ice water with a straw. I tried to lean up but was met with an agonizing pull on my stomach, and Mom pushed my shoulder gently to keep me down.

“Are you in pain?” Dr. Garcia asked. I resisted the urge to role my eyes. Of fucking course I was in pain.

“Of course she’s in fucking pain,” Mitch grumbled, his hand finding its way under my head. He helped me raise up enough to sip the water without spilling it. Dr. Garcia chose to ignore Mitch’s attitude as she fiddled with my IV. By the time I laid my head back down on the pillow, the morphine was working its way into my system.

“Ms. Walker, you’ve been in a coma for two weeks. The gunshot nicked your femoral artery and you lost a lot of blood,” she explained, but I stopped listening after the ‘in a coma for two weeks’ part.

“A coma?” I repeated. “Why?”

She repeated herself patiently, letting me process the information. “When you came in, you were in critical state. We gave you more blood and sewed up the wound on your small intestine. We had to do vascular reconstruction on your femoral artery. As of right now, your vitals have been steady, so that’s good news.” She left after making sure I was good and there were no more questions, telling me she’d be back to remove my nasogastric tube later.

“Yeah…” I muttered. “I’m going to be paying out the ass for this. I don’t have health insurance.”

“You’re still on ours, honey. Don’t worry about it,” Dad said, his eyes red-rimmed.

Mitch leaned over me again, reminding me to keep drinking water. A bullet dangled in front of me, a piece of wire wrapped around the end where a thin leather strip was looped through and secured around Mitch’s neck. I instantly recognized that bullet as the missing piece I needed when Limbo found me.

Groaning incoherently, I said, “Get that fucking bullet out of my face.” Mitch frowned but tucked it under his black shirt before prompting me to drink more. The water coated my insides, lubricating my every movement.

My parents were uncharacteristically quiet before they cleared their throats. “Honey, are you hungry? I could eat.”

“Oh, yes,” my dad replied. “Let’s see what they have in the cafeteria. Do you want anything, Ellie?”

I shook my head and they made a hasty exit from the room. Their level of subtly could bring buildings crashing down. Mitch held my hand again as he sat back down in his seat near my bed.

“I’m sorry you got shot,” he said.

I waved him off. “What’s happened with the case?”

“Limbo’s dead, Lester is captured. They’re trying to get him to admit where he hid the rest of the vials. Everyone else is either dead or gone.”

“Evanoff?”

His lips quirked upwards. “Gone. Though I’m sure you knew that.”

I managed a coy smile. “So it’s over?”

“Yeah.” As much as he tried not to, he couldn’t cover the disappointment in his tone. I could guess what he was thinking. Soon he’d leave to continue his work and I’d go home to my small town and catch cheaters.

I shifted slowly in the bed, taking great care with my wounds. Mitch, even more carefully than me, pulled himself in next to me and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“How much did Greg offer you at your first meeting?”

It took me a moment to dredge up the memory, long since buried beneath matters of higher importance. “$20,000.”

Mitch exhaled a quick breath. “Well, you’re getting less than half that. The CIA’s giving you $7,000 for the work and blood you put into this.”

I was sure whatever money I was promised by Greg was never going to wind up in my account no matter who I ended up allying with, but still I said, “I was tortured.”

“Yeah, that got you an extra two grand.”

“I’m taking over the Midnight Anarchists. At least it’s lucrative.”

“Okay, babe,” he chuckled. My entire body fizzled at his nonchalance. I was sure I was glimpsing the man Mitch used to be before Katrina was murdered, and I snuggled into his side.

“Hm. You liked that.” He mumbled it like he was making a mental note for himself.

“Would you believe I’m tired?” I murmured, my lids already half-closed.

“It’s the morphine. Sleep. Just make sure you wake up this time.”

“Will you stay?”

“As long as I can.”

----------------------------

Two Months Later

Life was hell. The aftermath of getting shot hurt worse than the bullet itself. My daily routine consisted of short walks and ice packs and a damn pillow that I had to press into my stomach whenever I coughed or sneezed or laughed. The only thing that made it bearable was Mitch. He showed up randomly but often and stayed for as long as he could, though I admit he was always a little distracted with phone calls. About what, he would never tell me.

A few weeks ago, my parents finally left me alone. They would stay here whenever Mitch wasn’t, but now that I was no longer in danger of ripping my stitches or dropping dead from a blood clot, they were comfortable enough to leave my home.

I was glad for it. They weren’t super fond of Mitch and their paths almost always crossed when he returned. They said he was abrasive. I couldn’t refute that. My only hope was to assume he would grow on them like he’d grown on me. At the very least, they saw how he was with me, so I figured that didn’t hurt his chances.

On my third and final walk of the day—thankfully—Mitch met me as I was coming down the street towards my house.

“Hey!” I couldn’t help the stupid grin on my face as I took the sight of him in. “I didn’t know you were coming back today.”

“Hey, babe.” He pulled me into a tight hug as he pressed a kiss to my temple.

I invited him inside, tossing my keys on the table next to the door.

“You want to sit down for a minute?” he asked.

“Okay?” I followed him into the living room and sat facing him on the couch. He placed a tan file in between us that had a big red CONFIDENTIAL stamp across the front. I hadn’t realized people actually used stamps like that outside of movies.

“I’ve been busy lately wi-.”

“Really? Hadn’t noticed.”

He narrowed his eyes at me but smiled despite himself. “-with this.” He pushed the file over to me, and I frowned. What was with the secrecy?

I flipped open the first page to see a picture of myself paper-clipped to the first page of the stack. Not surprisingly, there was a whole file on me and my life, right down to the men I’ve dated. There were only 3 and one of them was Mitch. Well, slightly humiliating, extremely invasive, but okay.

There were even background checks on my parents and my-.

Another folder that was connected to his page slipped into my lap, this one closed at the top with a string wound around a button. I stared at Mitch, waiting for an explanation that I hoped both matched and differed from my expectations.

“Still want to know what happened to your brother?” he asked.

The folder was cold in my hands and heavier than I expected. There was a lot of paper work in there; it would take me days to get through it all. What were the possibilities? If my brother was actually killed in a training exercise, would this contain the name of his accidental killer? Would Mitch have even been able to find it? I assumed the CIA would’ve kept names out of it. Possibly they all signed a liability waiver that protected the trainees should one of their weapons find an unintended target.

But if my brother was murdered and involved in a different kind of cover-up, what kind of options would this open up for me? Say his killer was alive. I would never be able to sleep soundly until there was justice, but what kind of court would take evidence of a CIA secret? I would have to tell them who exactly found the evidence and then we would both be on a hitlist. I would be forced to take matters into my own hands and hunt the person who killed him down. Of course, I’m no criminal mastermind, so that would probably end up with me in an orange jumpsuit.

If the killer was dead? I wanted to feel happy about that possibility, but honestly, it just felt incomplete. How did he die? Did he suffer for what he did to Wesley? If he lived a good and happy life, what would that do to me, knowing that no one ever paid for Wes’ death? On top of all that, I would know that the CIA—the very one I had just bled for—was crooked. What if knowing just makes it harder?

I pushed Wesley’s folder back to Mitch. “Shred it.”

“You might want it later.”

“Then hide it if you want to. I think maybe it’s better not to fit the pieces together on this one.”

He nodded and moved the folder to the coffee table.

I tossed the other folder into his lap. “And this one, too. I don’t need a file on myself, but thanks.”

“Actually, this the official CIA file on you. Well, a copy of it, anyway. I stole it.” He didn’t look the least bit apologetic about it.

“Okay. No comment on that. Why did you give me this file?”

“They usually only make files this in depth if you’re a threat or a prospect.”

“Prospect?”

Mitch licked his lips, setting my folder on top of Wesley’s before he focused his attentions solely on me. “Are you going to continue working as a private investigator here?”

I frowned, looking away guiltily. “I hadn’t really given it much thought.”

“You should. I’ve been asking around and you qualify to become an agent at the CIA. There’s a 56-day training program you’ll have to go through, and even then, you’ll start as a low-level agent, but eventually with your talent and a few people to put in a good word, you’ll go far. Maybe we could even be partners.”

He had to be messing with me. I waited for him to laugh or for me to wake up, but he just stared back.

“You’re serious,” I deduced brilliantly.

“Yeah, look.” He picked up my file again, opened it, and pointed to spots on pages I didn’t pay attention to. “I mean, with your experience as a PI, you’ve already got more cred than some of the others coming in. Plus, everyone at the CIA has already heard of your involvement in the Midnight Anarchists case, so you’re in an excellent position to-.”

I didn’t hear much of what he said because I was still caught up on one thing: he wanted a future with me. I threw myself into his arms, my lips finding his with fervent. He hummed in surprise but returned my kisses anyway.

Mitch’s hands gripped my hips as I straddled him, hugging my arms around his shoulders to keep him as close as physically possible. It wasn’t enough to simply be in his arms. His lips trailed down my neck as his fingers lifted the hem of my shirt. The two seconds to remove our shirts felt like entirely too long apart from him. Soft kisses peppered my chest as Mitch unhooked my bra, sliding down the straps in a way that I couldn’t tell if he was trying to tease me or himself.

I rolled my hips against his, desperate to feel a connection to him against every part of my body. His cock grew beneath me until it strained against his jeans, the bulge rubbing tantalizingly on my clit. I guided his mouth back to mine and moaned when his tongue passed my lips. Squeezing my hips, he guided me along his lap in a way that pulled the electricity from my pussy into my limbs. My entire body awakened and ignited.

“God, Y/N,” he moaned, his head leaned back against the couch. I sucked bruises on the muscled column in an attempt to give him as much pleasure as I could. Under me, he used his legs to rock and lift his hips so his clothed cock reached the places I needed. To my surprise, my pussy was already beginning to tighten.

I sat up on my knees so he couldn’t reach me and broke the kiss. “We have to stop. I’m too close. Let’s go to the bedroom.”

He shook his head and pulled me back down. “Come for me first.” The delicious heat that had ebbed away worked its way back to me as he ground me against him. I rested my head on his shoulder, my arms cradling him to me. Sighs of pleasure rushed out of me. The constant assault of his hardened cock pressing my underwear against my clit quickly built me up again.

“Mitch,” I gasped. The only sign that he heard me was the subtle squeeze of his hands, but he kept the same pace. He turned his head and nibbled on my neck. Tingles shot through my entire body, a subtle orgasm rendering me breathless and tight on top of him.

As I came down, I realized how quickly everything had happened. It barely took ten minutes. I lowered my eyes sheepishly. “I don’t usually finish that fast…”

Mitch chuckled as he stroked my back. “It’s okay. I like that your body is so responsive to me.” Taking his hand, I pulled him up from the couch and led him down the hall to my room. He seemed to understand that I wasn’t done with him yet and kissed me at the foot of the bed. I pushed my shorts down while he kicked off his pants and shoes.

Once we were both completely naked, I crawled back onto my bed with him only inches above me. I rolled over before he could pin me down with his body and opened my bedside drawer. The box of condoms I kept there was about a year old, well within its allotted shelf-life. I handed him the condom and he rested on a hand and a knee while he tore it open.

Slowly, he eased the condom on. His cock was perfect—not too long, but nobody would consider it small. It had just the right thickness, and though he was uncircumcised, he was so hard that the head was free from the skin and reddened with need. I opened my legs enough to allow him to lie between them.

Mitch bit his lip as he pushed the head through my lips, gathering up my wetness on his tip. He groaned, the sound deep and vibrating. Finally, he lined himself, and as he trailed his fingers up the side of my leg, he slid inside me. My pussy welcomed him like he was home, molding around his cock like I was made for him.

“God, Y/N, you’re soaking,” he moaned. His lean body pressed against mine as he thrusted slowly. Swollen lips met my own. At first, he stayed close to my body, pushing in and out of me while he flooded my face and neck with kisses. It couldn’t have been long before he leaned up on his arms in preparation.

I felt almost high when he began pounding into me and rubbing his thumb across my clit. I clenched around him, groaning deeply as his hips slapped mine. His impressive stamina kept up that steady, brutal pace until his upper body was covered in a shiny sheen of sweat. He alternated between a fast and hard fucking and a slow tease, but I was never quite ready for the switch.

It didn’t matter to him that those switches in pace sometimes happened right as I was about to come and dulled away until the next pace. I couldn’t tell if he was intentionally teasing me or if he wanted to prolong my orgasm.

Whatever the case, when I finally pulsed and squeezed around him, it was an explosion so sudden that I was quaking underneath him as he gave my clit little rubs. My only indication that he had come was the stutter of his hips and the worshipping sound of my name on his lips. Mitch pushed in and out slowly before rolling off me completely, his breath heavy.

I rested my head on his chest, listening to his heart slow as I traced my fingertips along his chest hair. That stupid bullet still sat around his neck. Shaking my head, I adjusted so I wasn’t looking at it and sighed.

“We just had amazing sex and you’re sighing. That doesn’t seem good for me,” he teased as his hand trailed the length of my spine.

“Why are you still wearing that thing?” I asked.

“If you wanted the sheet off, all you had to do was ask.” He pulled at the sheet covering his lower half lightly, and I swatted his hand away with a laugh.

“I meant the bullet.” I looked up at him, resting my chin on my hand so it wouldn’t hurt his chest. About 7 tiny chin folds replaced his neck when he looked down at the bullet. He just shrugged in response. “I almost died because of that bullet.”

His brows pulled together. “This isn’t one of the bullets they pulled out of you.”

I chortled. “I know that, idiot. It hasn’t been fired. That’s the bullet that wasn’t in the gun when I finally had a clean shot at Limbo.”

“Y/N…”

“I just don’t understand why it’s so important to you that you wear it around your neck. Every time I look at the thing, I keep seeing-…” I trailed off. We both knew perfectly well what I meant.

He ran a hand down his face as he sighed, prolonging the instant he had to tell me the truth. “There was a moment before we went to the Archives Building when we were in the hallway. I had given you the gun and the way you looked at me… I knew I would do anything to keep you safe, to make you happy. You opened your mouth and I swore you were about to tell me you loved me. Instead, you gave me this bullet.

“Then everything happened and you wouldn’t wake up. It felt like losing her all over again. A few nights after the surgery, I was sitting next to you, talking to you. I kept expecting you to answer or move or something. I found the bullet in my pocket, and I told myself that if you woke up, I’d make sure you were safe. That I would do what it took to deserve your love.”

“Wow,” was all I managed to say as I sunk back into his arms. The silence stretched for a short while, our body’s molding together as we syncopated our breaths. He hadn’t exactly said he loved me, but the implications were there. For the first time in years, I felt that heat build in my chest filled with hope and visions of a future with Mitch. I would take the training program. Hell, I would move eastward if it meant being with him. I wasn’t even sure we’d last a year, but I wanted to try. I would risk heartbreak for him.

“Just so you know, I wasn’t going to say it,” I teased, grinning like an idiot.

He smiled like he knew my secret. “You totally were.”

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