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Love on the Brain - part 7

Ch7: To Have and to Hold

Type: MCU x Criminal Minds crossover series

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 10150 😇

Summary:

The joined team made an important progress in the case, but still has a long way to go. Now it’s your turn. After all, your life depends on it.

Series masterlist

Warnings: series includes criminal behaviour such as stalking or kidnapping; graphic violence, gun violence; (mentions of) death; allusions to dub-con; possible PTSD and flashbacks; sexual innuendos and foul language. Loads of fluff and teasing.

I’m covering my bases here to make sure - probably sounds worse than it is. If you’re interested in specific warnings for individual chapters, let me know.

A/N: divider by @firefly-graphics; long chapter (if you wish to split, best is when the POV changes); mind the WARNINGS ❗❗❗

“The saddest word in the whole wide world is the word almost.

He was almost in love. She was almost good for him. He almost stopped her. She almost waited. He almost lived. They almost made it.”

― Nikita Gill

The conference room was but a cacophony of voices and yet to Steve, they all sounded dull; nothing was as loud as the guilt of letting you walk off screaming inside his skull.

They took you. You, you, you.

He had been a second from kissing you, a few inches, a few words from having you in his grasp, and now his own stupidity yanked you from his arms violently, laughing in his face for thinking for even a moment that he deserved happiness.

For thinking that he deserved you.

God, he was pathetic. The unhinged stalker seemed to know better than himself: he was not worthy.

How could he be when he failed to do the most basic thing a partner should do? To keep you safe?

Go back, you had mouthed at him, part deadly serious, part playful, an adorable pep in your step as if kissing his cheek and the near encounter of lips gave you the same high it had given to him, and Jesus fucking Christ the image of you leaving was seared into his brain forever now.

That might have been the last time he had seen you alive; the thought made him violently ill, having him clench his jaw, nails digging into his palms with the effort not to throw up when his stomach heaved.

“Accessing the security footage from the café and the street camera.” A male voice, familiar one.

“You’ve seen anything, Natasha?” Another male voice, unfairly calm, authoritative.

“We were too late. Not even a vehicle speeding away, no signs of a struggle. Jones had to go quietly for some reason.” A female voice, familiar too, a little mechanical.

This last voice wasn’t making any sense. Not if it was still talking about you – who the fuck was some Jones, you were Sparkles, his Sparkles, a firecracker of a woman – because you wouldn’t have gone quietly.

“If there were more than one assailant, she could have succumbed in order to protect civilians,” another female voice suggested, tense.

“I don’t think so. We already agreed cooperation with another unsub is unlikely. Only 0,7% percent within stalker cases.” A male voice, opposing with conviction.

Steve wanted to believe that voice; but then again, you were exceptional. So why wouldn’t your stalker? Yours, not his, because Steve was a fucking idiot-

“I got the security footage.”

Steve hungrily gasped for air, feeling as if the words alone had just pulled him out of deep waters. His gaze refocused, laser sharp as it zeroed on the floating image Tony had started projecting, his body vibrating with adrenalin.

If he saw any indication that anyone on the footage was about to hurt you, he was going to rip them limb from limb from limb-

You had a small smile on your face still, seemingly lost in pleasant thoughts as you entered and joined the line, and Steve’s rapidly beating heart clenched painfully. He had been the reason for that smile.

A woman entered a few second behind you, somewhat familiar and absurdly normal in her business suit, balancing files and a phone on top of them, her gaze focused on the screen instead on the route. It was like watching a tiny trainwreck happen – she bumped into you, the load of files almost scattering.

Steve’s thoughts did the exact opposite; they finally gathered, something in his brain clicking.

“That’s Agent Bernes. Cindy Bernes,” he blurted out as the name finally lit up in his mind, quicker than Tony’s facial recognition system.

Tony’s fingers swiftly moved across the keyboard as the scene continued to unfold; you jumped a bit at the unexpected touch.

“Jones’ startled, but she instantly relaxes. She laughs at herself even. They seem… friendly,” Emily observed, her last statement equal part a question and a statement.

Steve’s mind raced, hundred miles a minute, trying to remember all the interactions between you and Bernes – he was going to murder her slowly, painfully – realizing he had witnessed frustratingly little.

“They’re… acquaintances. Bernes’ a good agent, trustworthy-- or she was until now. Tony-?”

“Pulling her file now and running a facial around all the damn New York City already,” Tony hummed, frowning at his screen. He sounded angry too; good. He wouldn’t stop Steve when he’d break the woman’s damn neck then. “Locating her phone.”

“Jones’s getting drowsy. She’s been drugged, syringe probably hidden by the stack of files,” Reid noted, bringing Steve’s attention back to the footage.

He was right; you had a look of your drunk self, blinking rapidly, reaching out blindly as you tried to find your balance. Bernes was right there, oh so helpful, supporting you and leading you away from the queue, smiling reassuringly at the oblivious on-lookers.

Steve wanted to scream at them – to do something, because it was so obvious that something was wrong. Bernes was no friend, she was clearly hurting you, how could they not see it when it was right in front of their eyes-

But he wasn’t exactly one to talk, was he?

The thought made him clench his fists, the fact the broken skin on his knuckles was already healing only irritating him more.

“Her face changed, she just realized it.”

“And she realized she cannot fight Bernes either,” Reid added, exchanging a sombre look with Emily. “Whatever she was injected with was affecting her fast. She wouldn’t risk anyone’s safety if she was incapacitated. That’s the reason why she went quietly.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, battling the warm feeling of affection curling in his chest; of course you wouldn’t endanger anyone. You were too good. But fuck, did he wish you had been bad at that moment and had tried to fight Bernes anyway.

Maybe you’d spook her. Maybe you’d beat her.

Maybe you wouldn’t be in her clutches now.

“Uhm, guys?” Tony called out nervously, sounding confused. “I got eyes on Bernes. She’s in the building. She’s in training room 4.”

Steve bolted towards the door, a single crimson-coloured thought in his mind.

He was gonna slam that woman against a wall and beat your location out of her, no matter the witnesses or his reputation. He didn’t give a single damn – he was a man on a mission. He was going to find you. He was going to bring you to safety and never let you off his sight ever again, but first he was going to squeeze Bernes’ neck tight-

A palm appeared an inch in front of him, flat against his chest, almost touching.

Anger flared in Steve; it seemed Aaron Hotchner was interested in losing his hand. Steve wasn’t above that. If your former boss – who should be supporting his actions – thought he could stop him, he had another thing coming.

“Wait. She’s got different clothes, different hairstyle. How far is the café?” he questioned, having Steve waver for a brief second.

A second too long; Tony spoke up, completely flabbergasted.

“Not far. But there’s no way she dropped a car with Jones somewhere, changed and rushed back to work unless she’s got superspeed we don’t know about…?”

“So it can’t be her… unless she altered the footage of the café or the security feed in the Tower somehow?” Emily questioned, no less confused than any of them. “How is that- how is that even possible?”

“Fuck.”

The realization hit Steve like a ton of bricks, horror seizing him, all colour draining from his face.

“She stole a Mimicry.”

The billionaire mimicked his curse, running a hand down his face.

Defeated, Steve shuffled his feet further back into the room, fingers gripping at his hair.

It was the only thing that made sense – the only thing that would explain a lot.

Steve was terribly confident he was right; but if he was, they were fucked. You were, but that was not an option for him. However, if the unsub stole a mimicry, finding her just turned virtually impossible.

“I thought those were a myth,” Reid said, genuinely shocked for the first time Steve had met him, his expression almost comical.

Except Steve wasn’t laughing.

“What’s a mimicry?” Hotch asked, unsettled.

“It’s a piece of technology our agents use to protect their identity when undercover. A photostatic veil which allows you to borrow anyone’s face. It has a joint piece for voice modification too,” Natasha’s voice sounded from the speaker. “That’s not good. We’ll look around for any evidence, but I don’t fancy our chances much. Call you back.”

The call disconnected, the pit in Steve’s stomach doubling in size. He agreed with Nat – and he hated that.

“How would she even get her hands on one of these devices?” Emily asked, clearly still processing the information that such device even existed.

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted, taking a deep breath, a headache building as he desperately tried to figure out how to find you when they didn’t even have the face or the name of the unsub, nor a locator on you.

And his frustration was rising by the minute, because he had no clue.

“The numbers are under strict control, because a theft of even one piece can have---” He gulped, gesturing towards the floating image of actual Agent Bernes as to prove a point. “-far-reaching consequences.”

“It must have been reported as damaged during a mission and wasn’t properly destroyed. That’s the only way I can think of,” Tony said, the clicking of his fingers against the keyboard turning mad.

Which was good; they were all fucking mad. But that didn’t really help them, did it?

“She must have been planning this for quite a while. This is even more meticulous than we thought,” Reid pondered, only having Steve grind his teeth.

“How does that help us? If she’s been using it, she could have posed as twenty different people in last week and we wouldn’t even know.”

“Explains why you could never identify one person who was taking photos of you,” Emily muttered, dryly and gently at once.

Steve scoffed. “Yeah, she could have walked past every single each of us and no one would be the wiser.”

“But wouldn’t you be able to tell from different mannerism? Different gait? Speech patterns?” Reid questioned, earning at least two sets of murderous gazes – from Steve and from Tony.

“Not all of us are profilers, kid, we just see familiar faces… It’s probably how she got into the storage room too; you don’t bat an eye if you’re walking out and Black Widow is about to enter, lifting her card to the scanner, no matter how fake. You just let her in.”

Reid seemed to consider it, grimacing. “…right.”

Meanwhile, Steve thought hard, praying he wasn’t the one to help the unsub by letting her walk by.

“Alright, I’m pulling the footage from the street cams, but the question is, how do we find someone who can wear a face of pretty much anyone? How do we find the unsub if we don’t know who she is? Are we back to square one?”

Agent Hotchner shook his head at the question, clearly working hard to stay rational; and he was ultimately better at it than Steve. Steve felt like tearing his hair out as if it could help him think clearer and come up with some miraculous solution.

You relied on him and he must not fail you. He needed to bring you home, put his arms around you and never let you go. And break a few bones in the process, but that would be more for him.

“No, we’re not. You narrowed the list according to the initial criteria. The minor offences you turned a blind eye to when recruiting still apply, the time frame remains the same, we can still exclude the agents who have been out of the country on missions or have rock solid alibi… the list we had is still relevant,” Hotch pointed out.

“That’s nice and all, but that’s still over thirty agents. I’ll run facial for all of them, but… that’s a lot.”

A wavering breath shook Steve’s ribcage at Tony’s words.

Too many agents to choose from. Too much time wasted. By the time they’d gather their wits and figured out the unsub’s identity, you could be out of the country. Worse, you could be-- you couldn’t be.

Ominous silence, only interrupted the quiet clicks of Tony’s keyboard, wrapped the room in a heavy blanket of frustration and despair.

How would they find the woman who took you with so many agents to eliminate? The profile was informative, sure – or had been, before falling apart completely – but it did little to eliminate candidates now when it was you, not Steve, who was the centre of-

Fuck.

Fucking hell.

Steve’s head snapped to Tony so quickly he nearly gave himself a whiplash.

“Show me the abstracts of their files, now,” he blurted out, clearly startling the billionaire with the urgency and sudden determination behind his words.

“Huh? I’ll show it to everyone, that’s the-“

“No, you don’t un-” Steve stopped midsentence, swiftly turning to Spencer for confirmation of his hopes, meeting with his curious gaze. “The questions you asked me before. They still apply too, don’t they?”

“Well, yes, but the focus shifts-“

“-to Sparkles, yeah, I got that,” Steve finished, almost annoyed at how dumfounded everyone seemed, how they didn’t see that they had so much more than the basic criteria Hotch mentioned.

They had Steve.

And yes, Steve turned out to be a crappy handler and he had failed to protect you, but maybe he could begin his redemption right this moment. Maybe he could save you in time.

“Show me the files, Tony. Something could be familiar to me. We’re friends. When Sparkles talks, I listen, she could have noticed something.”

Realization apparently finally dawned to Tony, because he nodded to himself repeatedly as his fingers flew over the keyboard.

“And you watch.”

Steve’s head whipped to Emily this time, shocked into silence at her accusing words. Yes, he did watch, but was she really calling him out now? Did she—was she comparing him to the stalker?!

“I don’t mean it in a bad way!” she assured him quickly, apologetic, talking with her hands more than her voice. “You could have seen who took interest in her without being a stalker yourself. Ironically enough, you might have noticed more than Jones has herself.”

Steve gulped, accepting her argument, even if his stomach twisted when the sudden weight of responsibility – responsibility for your life – fell on his chest, making it hard to breathe. So far, he hadn’t done so well with it.

And failing was not an option.

“I hope I did. Because otherwise I fucked it all up.”

Emily’s expression softened, lips parting as she gave a subtle shake of a head, compassion written in her eyes.

“Cap, come on, you couldn’t have known-“

“But I should have known better, Tony. I should have said something – a damn mailbox, I should have-“ Steve clenched his jaw to stop more self-pity from spilling from his mouth. They didn’t have time for this, no matter the guilt biting into his conscience. “It doesn’t matter now.”

The moment Tony opened the files for him, a holographic image Steve could move to his liking, his eyes began skimming over the CVs, images, mission history; his mind raced, frantically trying to gather the scraps of information, memories of you doing something as simple as telling him about your day over Thai take-out, shoulders brushing as you sat by his side, hands reaching for the box at the same time, your apologetic smile, a chuckle even, sweet and teasing...

Come on, Rogers. Focus.

This should be easy: his mind had been enhanced by the serum and he had always been good at having his mind full of you.

But now, his brain threw the questions Reid had asked right back at him, having them circle in his skull as the reports screamed at him to read between the lines, creating blurry images and alternatives he had to sort through. There were so damn many, and the seconds were ticking off, and every second you were alone with the stalker, your fierce and brave and capable self, but vulnerable was a second too much.

It was only when he caught a glimpse of a face and a name, hearing your voice laced with compassion and indignation when something in his mind finally clicked, allowing him to breathe in again.

“Bonnie Stiles.”

It was the only name that made sense, the only name that fit the pattern.

Without question, the file of the agent was opened, details spilling into space, complete documentation unsealed for all of them to see.

The way Tony kept his sass and teasing for himself for once only steeled Steve’s conviction. He had to be right. He had to.

“Why do you think it’s her?” Hotch inquired, voice levelled but intrigued.

“Back in April, she got drunk. A lot. From what I heard, some embarrassing photos were taken and spread through social media. The other agents had a great laugh over it.”

“Stressor?” Emily suggested, sounding a little doubtful, exchanging a look with her colleagues.

“Could be. Public humiliation. Could lead to isolation…” Hotch pondered, having Steve shook his head.

“It wasn’t just that. Add cheating. Sp-- Jones told me Stiles was cheated on by her girlfriend and that was the reason she got so drunk,” Steve explained, hopes rising as Reid nodded to himself, writing it down.

“So they are good friends?” he asked.

“Barely. But while many agents were laughing, Sparkles… she wasn’t. Stiles was off her game in a training two days later and her sparring partner was having a great time kicking her ass, laughing. Sparkles offered a hand,” Steve said, fond of your kindness – and cursing it at once. “Literally and figuratively. She tried her best not to treat her differently. The rest slowly followed example.”

“That’s the turning point,” Emily agreed instantly, only having Reid and Hotch nod in firm agreement. “Stiles was cheated on and humiliated and Jones swept in like her personal hero. Celebrity stalking and protectiveness. Even the act of service – taking pictures of you with other women – it makes sense now. She doesn’t want Jones to end up like her.”

“Okay, great, Jarvis is already working on pinging her phone,” Tony announced, voice laced with slight annoyance. “Someone please rewatch the street cams footage for me would you, I see nothing.”

Before anyone could follow up on the request, a ringtone cut the air, Steve’s breath hitching despite all logic – the chances it was you were almost zero, he knew that and yet….

Hotch pulled out his phone, immediately accepting the call.

“Garcia, you’re on speaker.”

“Hello to my favourite crimefighters! And to the Avengers! Just wanted to let you know we’re done with the case in Ohio and I know that you have your own local tech genius and I don’t mean to imply in the slightest that he’s not able to do his job, I’m sure he’s stellar, better than that, but I know you’re still on a case and my fingers are itching and-“

“Garcia. I love you, but decaf time for you,” Emily cut the ramble off impatiently, but not unkindly. “Why are you calling?”

“I could help?” the woman on the other end of the line pipped up, hopeful. “Can I help? I want to help you even if you’re snappy. Why are you snappy?”

Steve swore that had the circumstances been any different, he would have smiled at the interaction, he really would. But the acutely painful thought of you, who would have laughed your perfect ass off hearing this, turned the corners of his lips downwards.

“Oh. It would be helpful if you could find any information on one Bonnie Stiles, agent with the Avengers Initiative. Mr. Stark is on it, but perhaps you can search outside their database?” Reid suggested, having Garcia perk up again, a distant sound of clicking of a keyboard already audible.

“Oh! You have a viable suspect? But that’s good!”

Steve caught Emily’s bitter smile as she spoke up again. “Yeah. Sorry to be snappy. That’s the good news, Stiles probably is our unsub. Bad news is that she took Jones.”

Short silence followed the ominous announcement, even the movement of Garcia’s fingers apparently ceasing.

And then the technical analyst spoke again, her normally cheery voice earning an unmistakable dark edge.

“Well, one Ms. Bonnie Stiles better prepare for me raising hell. I’m gonna dig out so much dirt I could bury her under it. Call you back.”

The call disconnected.

Steve felt an overwhelming surge of affection towards the woman; from the three simple sentences, he could tell she fiercely adored you and she was willing to do just about anything for you. And so would he; they were like brothers in arms.

“I hate this Stiles woman,” Tony spitted out, uncharacteristically humourless – and even less characteristically so, in complete agreement with Steve. “I can’t tap into her phone yet, she’s using some kind of stupid coating I’ve never seen before. I can break the encryption, but it will take some time.”

The brief optimism Steve had felt was wiped instantly.

“We don’t have time,” he hissed, turning to the billionaire who didn’t bother glancing up as his fingers played an angry staccato on the keys.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Hotch spoke, once again irritatingly calm. “But Jones will buy us some. The faster we find them the better, but Jones is one of the best agents I’ve ever worked with. She’ll know what to do, she’ll play into whatever fantasy and affections Stiles is holding onto.”

His whole demeanour spoke of conviction; he stood tall, chin up, dark eyes kind and proud. Your former boss had firm belief in your abilities and so did Steve – he knew you could face danger. You were wicked smart, your ability on display every day through your quick-witted retorts well-thought decisions. Your emotional intelligence was off the charts too.

But cold fear gnawed on Steve’s mind anyway – could that be enough?

“You think she’ll fool her?” Steve asked hopefully, voice as small as he felt. “For long enough?”

“I believe so and I hope so, yes.”

Steve took a deep breath, letting the words wash over him and give him strength. Because that was what you needed now – you needed the Earth’s mightiest heroes and the reinforcements you had called in, unsuspecting of being the one who’d need saving.

“What’s our plan once we find the location?” Emily pondered. “We can’t exactly barge in, guns blazing.”

“No, we shouldn’t,” Agent Hotchner agreed, his serious gaze finding Steve’s, clearly considering him the leader of the Avengers. “I think we’re gonna need you to support us weapon-wise. The Initiative knows Stiles’ training better than anyone. Which is why I believe we should take Agents Romanoff and Barton… and you, Steve.”

Steve’s heart skipped a startled beat, relief and satisfaction washing over him at once.

He was coming with. Good. It didn’t even cross his mind to stay put since you were revealed as the true target, but he knew that if you were here, you’d raise hell at the mere notion of him going with Stiles still being in possession of the bullets.

But the truth was, he had fucked up, so he was about to fix it. No more sitting back. He didn’t care for the reason Agent Hotchner wanted him with – hell, he wouldn’t care if he’d end up catching the bullet. He was going to be there for you and make sure you were safe again.

Curiously, not one person from the BAU seemed surprised at Hotch’s announcement. Tony, on the other hand, was a different story entirely.

“Hold up, hold up… really? You’re taking him and you’ll turn down the advantage of my armour?” Tony asked bitingly, offended.

In contrast, Hotch seemed barely fazed.

“You’ll be the back-up. We need the man in a flying suit to stay out of this, you’re too intimidating. Stiles might panic if she sees you, shoot either herself or Jones or both. You need to keep your distance. The rest of us will come in… but you do as we say and you let us talk.”

Steve’s blood ran cold.

Say what?

“You sure about that?” Tony spoke before Steve could, the flare of anger rendering him speechless.

He was coming, but he’d be coming as a prop?!

“Yes. Stiles is clearly a well-trained agent and we cannot underestimate her, that much is true. It is already a risk to take Captain Rogers, but he could be the distraction we need to throw Stiles off balance,” Hotch insisted, turning to Steve. “She won’t be expecting you because of the bullets and the danger they pose to you. That is if you’re even willing to undergo the risk?”

As if that was even a question. This was you. He truly would let himself be shot if it came to it; even if the stakes were higher than usual and even normal bullets were no damn joke. But his body could take it. If it ensured that you’d get alive out of there? To hell with specialized firearm.

“I don’t care for a few bullets, Agent Hotchner.”

“Good.”

They were like fire and water; Steve heated in his determination, Hotch steady. Steve hated the idea of only tagging along from the bottom of his soul; as much as he had never chosen to be the Captain, he gravitated towards the leading position more and more. A courtesy of his stubbornness and unwillingness to compromise his morals and beliefs.

So it would taste bitter to swallow the pride and let your former boss take the lead and it would be even harder to trust him with something as precious as your life – but you had called them in. You had faith they were the best of the best and you had trusted them with his life; and as much as everything in him fought the notion of giving up the wheel, the crash feeling as if imminent, he had to do it.

For you.

He’d rather keep you than his pride.

“Is this-- is what you’re describing the safest way for Jones?” Steve asked lowly, a lump in his throat.

“Statistically, yes,” Reid said matter-of-factly, even if slightly worried. The same moment, Hotch spoke too, calm. “I believe so.”

Steve nodded, less than reassured.

For you. He was doing it for you.

“Then we’ll do it just like you say.”

“Sir, Agent Romanoff just texted you they have nothing and are on the way back,” Jarvis chimed in.

“Good. Tell them to hurry up, J. Thanks,” Tony hummed absentmindedly. “I’m almost done with the decryption. In the meantime, some light reading for you all.”

New files emerged; Stiles’ school records, medical data, employment history, family, bank accounts.

How did Tony find it, Steve had no idea. But he latched onto every new word to gather all the intel he could on the enemy. Hotch might be in charge – but Steve had no qualms about stepping in, nor about destroying Agent Stiles with his bare hands and any means necessary. No matter her missions record and medical history.

He noticed Hotch absently reach for his phone as his eyes remained on the files, blindly dialling a number, automatically putting the call on speaker.

“Dammit, bossman! I can only type as fast even when I’m highly motivated,” the now familiar voice sputtered on the other end, exasperated typing in the background.

A brief smile passed on Hotch’s lips.

“I’m sorry, Garcia, but I know you’re genius enough to already have something for us. Don’t you?”

A fleeting moment of silence that allowed Steve to finish reading – and the technical analyst sighed, her voice suddenly warmer.

“Low blow, sir, but oh, do I have something. I think you have most of it, but let me tell you, Bonnie Stiles is a sad sad person,” Garcia started out, a note of compassion lacing her voice.

And Steve felt it too, but Stiles would be a lot more sorry soon, because no matter her tragedies, she had no right to hurt you.

Hurting you was one of the rare things Steve could never forgive to anyone.

“So, her mother died when Bonnie was only thirteen, father shortly after her eighteenth birthday. She was acting out after her mother’s death; she’s got a juvie record for petty theft and some small vandalism in girl’s showers at the private school she has been kicked out from right after. My guess? She made a teeny tiny hole to watch whenever she wanted – in secret. This was around the same time her relationship with her classmate Caroline became a public knowledge, leading to Caroline being kicked out as well. I don’t know anything about them after that, but my guess is they broke up shortly after, because Caroline’s family moved to Oregon. Anyway, back to Bonnie… changing schools set her back on track, no record after that. She graduated top of her class, signed up for academy and here we are. I suppose you have better records of her career than I do.”

A few hums of agreement confirmed the claim, giving Garcia room to breathe in after her long monologue.

“Right, so what you might not know is that she got an ugly incident in April. Some not-so-representative pictures of her being completely smashed appeared online after she got cheated on by her girlfriend with a man from what I gathered from the chitchat you don’t want to know where I found,” Garcia said matter-of-factly. “Which is awful and I always have to question my faith in humanity when people cheat, but it’s not as awful as the news Stiles received about her medical condition exactly seventeen days ago.”

“Breast cancer,” Reid supplied, as if everyone in the room hadn’t already read that.

Steve wanted to feel sorry for the woman, he really did – but right now, pity was the last emotion on his mind. He understood they were still searching for your location and he knew Hotch, Reid and Emily could read things behind everything they just found out, but the clock was ticking.

Time was the one thing they didn’t have, despite your undeniable qualifications and witty brain.

“Yes. She’s to enter radiotherapy in a month,” Garcia added. “It doesn’t look like she’s beyond saving in the slightest, but…”

“But we could play ‘choose your favourite stressor and trigger’,” Emily noted sarcastically, eyeing Steve. “She probably feels like she running out of time and the rumours about your relationship didn’t help.”

The implication that whatever he felt for you and morphed into his behaviour towards you forced Bonnie to act had Steve’s stomach plumet. But what was he supposed to do? Not love you? Hide his affection better, when you seemed just as enthusiastic about spending time with him?

“I’m searching for a possible secondary location she could take Jones to, but so far coming out empty. I assume her apartment with the reduced rent from the Avengers Initiative wouldn’t be her first choice.”

“Good thinking. And good job, Penelope, keep it up,” Emily praised her colleague kindly.

“Will do, my dears.”

“Thanks, Garcia,” Agent Hotchner added, eyes calculating as his mind was already miles away. “Let us know if-“

“I will, but guys?”

“What is it, Garcia?” Reid chimed in, curious as Garcia’s voice turned barely audible.

“Bring her home safe, please?”

Steve couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips, nor the anxiety digging into his gut. That was all he wanted too; he really sympathized with your friend.

He caught a sad smile on Reid face too as Emily replied, voice firm and full of a promise. “We plan to.”

And that they did.

“Good. You all stay safe too, that’s an order. Garcia out.”

With a shuffle on the other end of the line, she was gone again; but the team didn’t get a chance to discuss anything further as Natasha and Clint rushed down the hallway, bursting into the room, battle-ready and slightly out of breath.

“Where are we with tracking that son of a bitch who took Cap’s girl?” Clint asked, sharp eyes skimming over the holographic files.

Steve didn’t correct him for once; if the past two days were any indication, you soon might be exactly that. Even if the near-kiss in the elevator earlier in the morning felt like ancient history.

Tony noticed the lack of Steve’s protest, smirking.

“Just the bitch, like I was saying from the start. And I got her location juuuuust… now,” he blurted out, already on his feet, his determined eyes on Steve.

Despite the uneasy feeling in his stomach, adrenalin flooded Steve’s bloodstream, muscles tensing, readying to fight – to punch his way through just about anything.

A plan was already forming in his head--- but his mind came to a sudden halt.

His fists practically vibrated, jaw tight as he gritted his teeth – because he realized he wasn’t the one whose plan would be put in motion.

He found it hard to call it a good thing; even if deep down, he knew that the majority of his plan was to crush Stiles’ windpipe if he found a single scratch on you. He closed his eyes, granting himself one calming breath before he glanced at Agent Hotchner who moved to the door.

“Okay, Agent Hotchner, you call the shots. Don’t make me regret it.”

Hotch just reciprocated his glare, an unrelenting silent force, the tinniest nod.

“We care about her too,” Emily said softly, one corner of her lips up.

It was a simple statement of a fact; but the genuine affection and fierce determination rolled off Emily in waves and gave Steve’s mind at least some peace.

He knew that. He had seen that and heard that. It just had to be enough.

“Riiiight. Feelings later. You’re in charge? Then take charge,” Natasha hummed, chin up as she stared at her temporary commander – only for her head to whip to side when she saw Steve move towards to the door, exasperation painting her features. “Where the hell do you think you’re going, Rogers? Sit down.”

Steve ignored her, grateful for Reid to explain instead of him.

“He’s coming with us. That’s the plan. We have to take the antidote as a safeguard, of course, but his presence should play in our favour.”

A beat of silence followed. Natasha’s face was calculating as she stared at Steve, not blind to his satisfaction.

“Fine,” she sighed as Steve walked past her, her hand catching on his forearm. He met her serious gaze. “Just… don’t be a dumbass and don’t get shot. She’d be pissed.”

Steve gulped. He didn’t know why Natasha thought he liked the idea of getting shot by bullets specifically designed to incapacitate him, but he couldn’t deny the truth of her words. You’d be furious; very endearingly so.

He gave a barely noticeably nod, having Natasha release him, the automatic door falling open for him as he made to stalk out.

“She would! Spark-les would fly!”

No one dignified Tony’s joke with an answer; their heads were on the mission already.

“Really? No one feels that pun?” Tony hummed, slightly offended. “Fine. I agree though, don’t get shot, she’d kill us.”

Steve just sighed, the pit in his stomach too deep with biting worry to truly care or act upon his annoyance. If he wanted to punch Tony for this and many other things, it had to wait.

There were more important things at hand – namely you.

God knew that for Steve, you were the most important thing of all.

I once saw a man so beautiful I started crying were words of someone who had found themselves face to face with Steven Grant Rogers, you thought. They must have been.

In the dim light of the movie still playing, shadows danced over his sharp features, softened by the sleep of the righteous, who rarely did wrong since they always acted in their best conscience. You knew that his actions and all the pain he had endured in his life weighted on him still, but at the moment, he seemed at peace.

Lips pursed and slightly parted, chiselled jaw relaxed. Eyes slipped shut, eyelashes casting long shadows over his cheekbones, over the greening healing bruise. Soft pants of breath warming your waist. Hair sticking in all directions.

He was cute.

There had been nothing cute about the way his absent eyes seemed to barely recognize your face; nothing cute about the bruise, the drying blood in his cut; nothing cute about the rasp in his voice, dripping with exhaustion despite his body looking as taut as a bowstring.

It gradually melted away, eyelids growing heavy as he relaxed into your side, first his head lulling to side and then his whole body, pinning you down. The 240-pound supersoldier used your body as a pillow and a mattress at once.

You wouldn’t change a thing about it.

You lowered the volume, half-heartedly resuming watching the movie, gaze straying to the soundly sleeping man more and more frequently.

Huge men like Steve should not look this cute, but here you were, fingers itching to run through his hair, to trace the graceful lines of his face.

No matter how difficult it was to resist, the tingle in your fingertips originating from your guttural need to touch him was not the main problem; you had some resemblance of control still. The pins and needles creeping into your arm however, fully occupied by holding Steve’s weight, were a wholly different issue.

The first minutes, you chewed down on your lip, fighting the urge to move, because dammit, Steve was drained by the mission and he deserved his rest. But then the pain grew and grew and then it disappeared altogether, which was even worse, and as much as you hated it, you spared one last glance at Steve’s angelically innocent face before you tried to free your arm, moving as little as possible.

You failed; Steve jolted awake, adorably confused, then apologetic, then red as a tomato. Unbearably beautiful and sheepish and soft. So soft that the image of him turned a little hazy, overpowered by feeling returning to your arm, the biting pain returning twice as sharply.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry-“ he apologized, frantic, his voice familiar and foreign at once, his face swallowed by shadows as he stumbled backwards and nearly toppled over.

You wanted to call out for him and tell him it was fine, maybe that you would be perfectly okay to have him sleep on you or next to you at any given time; but your mouth felt as if stuffed with cotton, tongue sticky and heavy.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

The voice was still echoing in your head as you blinked your heavy eyelids open, tender fingers carding through your hair stilling and then disappearing.

A face slowly came into focus, low light illuminating familiar features of a woman. A colleague, you realized, dull pain throbbing in your temples; merely search for a name to put to the face felt absurdly hard.

Steve. You had been with Steve—no, dreaming of Steve, remembering a movie night, but how—what-

The stalker. You were investigating a stalker, your former team was in New York, at the Tower, there were flowers… I could hurt those who are not worthy of you… the flowers. You lost it, again, you went to the café to get some air and sugar and caffeine and-

“Cindy,” you muttered, closing your eyes, the face of your colleague flashing in your brain, whispering you that this wasn’t Cindy, no, you had met Cindy at the café, she bumped into you, but this wasn’t her, no, the name Cindy didn’t feel right.

You swallowed, throat dry, as you opened your eyes again, your memory finally kicking in.

“Bonnie.”

She smiled, eyes wide and a little apologetic. Her head was tilted to side, you realized; so was yours. Your head was spinning but when you tried to take inventory of your body, sensations attacked you all at once. You found yourself lying on your side on something soft, but not unbearably so; a bed.

You were lying on your side, hands tied behind you back, your weight squishing you left arm and shoulder – the source of the unpleasant tingles so strong they crept into your dreams.

“Arm,” you managed to whisper and before you knew it, the whole world swayed as you were pulled up and steadied in a sitting position by a firm grip on your arms. Nausea swung your stomach up and down, causing you to gasp.

Fuck, you so didn’t want to throw up now, but you also really felt like it.

You had been taken.

The fact seemed to dawn to you too slow; your brain was asleep still, the unfamiliar room screaming at you of an empty life of whoever occupied it.

Of whoever kidnapped you.

You? Why- Why Cindy? And Bonnie... Christ, your head hurt.

The profile. Two profiles? Two people? It had made no sense- and Steve surely would have noticed if he saw the two women repeatedly, if-

Oh. Oh. Oh no.

“Mimicry.”

That was why Steve never saw it coming. It was likely there really was only one unsub; with a photostatic veil. Bonnie Stiles.

Her smile turned brighter, almost proud.

“Yes. I knew you would understand immediately. You’re smart.”

Not smart enough, apparently. Or observant, you thought bitterly. You would have never guessed Bonnie could be the unsub – you’d swear she had never expressed any interest in men as long as you knew her, hell, you believed she hated men after what Lucille did to her. You would have never thought she’d fall for Steve.

Clearly, you were wrong. Then again, you didn’t know her all that well, so that wasn’t surprising.

Christ, why was the light from the lamp on the nightstand so bright? Why did your limbs feel so heavy? More importantly though – how the fuck were you about to get out of this? How did you even find yourself in this situation?

“Are you hurting?” she asked softly, swiftly letting go of your arms, taking a frantic step back. “I’m sorry.”

Why was she sorry? She just kidnapped you, probably believing you were in her way to Steve, a romantic rival. And yes, you were also an acquaintance of hers and a colleague, but primarily, you were a rival now. She was sorry you were hurting?

Why did she care?

Why would she even kidnap you if you were in her way? Why not just shoot you point blank when she got to you, especially when she could borrow anyone’s face, getting away with it with no effort? What was she hoping to achieve with this? Getting Steve’s attention? Hoping Steve would be chivalrous and took your place so she had him for herself? Or did she believe that seeing her orchestrate all this would impress him, including the fact she had overpowered you, proving she was better than you?

But then why weren’t you in any of the photos in the first place? If you weren’t worthy either?

Or was that a next stage? Civilians got photos, you and later Natasha would get a kidnapping?

Oh god—was she going to use mimicry to impersonate you to get closer to Steve? That was absurd, he’d be able to tell immediately anyone in their right mind would know that--- alright, Bonnie probably wasn’t in her right mind.

But still, it circled you back to why were you still alive if she wanted to impersonate you. Not that you were complaining. It was just that truly, nothing was making sense anymore.

What mattered now, however, was that if she felt the slightest remorse at hurting you still, you could get through to her.

“My head… I feel really dizzy and tired,” you said, trying to appeal to her conscience. Bonnie grimaced regretfully. Score. “Can I get some water maybe?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” she whispered, gulping, face paling as her eyes frantically scanned your body, then looked around the room as if she couldn’t tell how to avoid the guilt she felt.

Good. This is good.

“And you don’t have to, Bonnie. You don’t have to do any of this. I promise you I am not in your way. Steve has no romantic interest in me-“

Her search came to a sudden halt, head snapping back to you, pupils dark.

Your hazy brain understood in an instant that you had misstepped. You shouldn’t have mentioned Steve. You were not worthy after all.

Not to mention that you were getting the feeling that Steve was in fact rather interested and you just made the mistake of lying to an unhinged stalker.

Bravo, Jones.

“Exactly!” Bonnie spat venomously, eyes flashing with rage. “He has no romantic interest and you… you pine after him!”

Okay, that was one way to call you out. And here you thought you were less obvious. And you wouldn’t have thought that was too big of an issue, but it seemed that at the moment, even being into Steve was something you were not allowed to do.

You said nothing to your defence, however. Words betrayed you; how were you supposed to react anyway, without lying again?

“He just wants to--- like all men! They all make such a mess of things, they cheat and they make you cheat, good people, faithful people, they- they taint you-“ she sputtered, out of breath, hands trembling as did you heart in fear.

You got her worked up. Stupid, stupid- but how to calm her down-

“He doesn’t deserve you! He’s. Not. Worthy!”

Your mind came to a screeching halt. All air got knocked out from your lungs, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

Oh no.

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck-

You had messed up. You had messed up big time, made an enormous leap of judgement.

The kind of a mistake that would have got you fired had you still been working at the BAU. The team was never going to let you live this down.

Not that that was the priority here.

God, you were an A-class idiot. It had been right there in front of you the whole time and you hadn’t seen it.

Steve was the target, yes, but only as a literal target for the stolen bullets. The primary object of the stalking was you. Bonnie Stiles thought Steve was not worthy of you and she tried to tell you through the pictures.

And it hadn’t even crossed you mind… but why would it? If the chances were it was either Steve or you, how could you have figured out the right answer, when the choice seemed to obvious? How?

Perhaps by not pining after him and using your damn brain. You had the photos in your mailbox because they were meant for you. It was so absurdly clear now – how could you think a stalker so meticulous would mess up and chose a wrong mailbox? If you had only taken a step back instead of drowning in self-pity about the people you had failed to save before and thought twice. How could have you been so idiotic and not see she was after you?

The thing was, you really wanted to blame yourself for not thinking clearly. But as a former profiler and a friend to the master of all science Spencer Reid, you knew all too well what effects love had on the brain.

You had never stood a chance. Not since the moment you had set your eyes on Steven Grant Rogers.

Tender fingertips brushed your cheekbone, bringing you back, gaze refocusing on Bonnie’s face softened by an apology yet again.

“I didn’t mean to yell, I’m sorry. But you deserve so much better.”

Well, this changed the situation a lot.

What angle could you play now?

As you felt Bonnie’s gaze boring into yours – a mad gaze, a soft gaze, loving and lost and angry at once somehow – a flip in your brain switched, throwing you into a strict work mode. Even if you were far from being at your best.

Faintly, you recalled the basic handbook for talking down an unsub. Or any disturbed individual, really.

When talking to a disturbed person who has an advantage, do not argue.

“Bonnie… I had no idea. I had no idea you-“ you bit your tongue as the word love almost came out, “harboured any feelings.”

She nodded sadly, releasing your cheek.

Slowly, she took a seat on a nearby chair; she must have sat there earlier when she guarded your bedside as you slept. The idea of it was creepy, but that was beside the point. Bonnie was on a verge of a nervous breakdown. Or as Reid would remind you, a major depressive episode as they called it now.

Oh Spence…

Do not try to talk them out of their illusion.

“I was afraid I’d get my heart broken again. And I saw you with him and I just wanted you to be happy, but—but the way he was with other women, so cocky, so flirty,” she hissed, hand curling into a fist. She took a deep breath, forcing a small smile, determination flickering in her eyes. “I knew I couldn’t wait anymore. I was running out of time and he-- I knew I had to protect you. Us. You understand, don’t you?”

Do not lie unless you can perfect your lie.

“I understand the need to protect the ones I care about, yes.”

Her smile turned relaxed as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and you curled your toes in fight to stay entirely still as she did so.

Do not show how disturbing their behaviour is unless someone is in immediate danger.

“I knew you would. You’re pure. Too kind even. I saw as much with myself and with him. Perhaps neither of us is worthy of your love, but I will earn it,” she vowed. “Will you give me the chance, Angelo mio?”

You gulped at the endearment, shivers running up your spine.

You had heard it before. You had heard it when you accidentally eavesdropped on Bonnie ending a call with her former girlfriend whom she had met when in Italy.

This wasn’t just ‘celebrity’ stalking and delusion. She was also fulfilling a fantasy of fixing her relationship. This time, it would work out; her beloved wouldn’t cheat on her. She’d make sure of it. That’s what the bullets were for.

If you went along, the bullets might end up in Steve unless you convinced Bonnie he was not an issue for you and her. If you tried to talk her out of her illusion, you would be the one to catch a bullet very fast.

Neither of the options were exactly comforting; as a matter of fact, they both really sucked.

“B-bonnie, I-“

“Promise me you’ll give me a chance,” she pleaded softly, and hadn’t it been for her furrowed brows, you would have believed it truly was a request and not an order.

The problem was, you couldn’t make that promise. It was like page number three in the handbook: Do not make any promises you are not sure you can keep. You had learned that one the hard way before. You wouldn’t make such promise now; so you had to stray the conversation elsewhere.

Or could you try to escape?

Barely. You still felt the effects of whatever she had dosed you with, both on your body and mind; the gears of your brain turned and turned, but whined with each minuscule motion as if rusty.

If you tried to fight, you’d end up dead. Not an outcome you were a fan of.

You licked your lips.

“Bonnie, I… what did you mean you were running out of time? Is it because you were taking a leave of absence?”

Her gaze fell to the floor, face turning away from you; you caught a glimpse of shame coating her features, her body curling into itself.

“I’m… I’m sick. But I will undergo radiotherapy and they said the chances are good!” she cried out, meeting your gaze again, eyes shining.

Oh. Oh okay.

The puzzle pieces, however small, were slowly falling into place, creating more and more concrete pictures. Possible stressors, the final trigger. All in all… it wasn’t too hard to feel genuinely sorry; so you let it consume you, the truth of the feeling seeping into your words.

“Oh Bonnie… I’m so sorry, I didn’t know-”

“Don’t be,” she blurted out, smiling through the glimmer of tears as she reached her palm to your thigh. “We can pull through. Together. Just promise me.”

She really was set dead on that promise, wasn’t she? It was perfectly unexceptional, but that didn’t make it any easier to manoeuvre around it.

How long could you handle it before you said something wrong?

It hadn’t escaped your notice there was no watch on your wrist; you doubted you still had your phone. There was no way for Steve and others to locate you unless they figured out Bonnie was behind everything – and maybe not even then.

Your former team was brilliant, so were the Avengers, and Steve wouldn’t rest until he found the culprit now when it was someone else who was in danger, but… it took you to be kidnapped and have it spelled out for you to understand Bonnie’s motivation and to tie the actions of the unsub to her.

How long till they’d figure it out?

How long till you made another terrible leap of judgement?

Your windpipe felt as if in a vice, chest burning with a lack of oxygen, squeezed in panic.

You couldn’t die.

You could not die, that was not an option, you had so much to see and try and Steve finally seemed interested, hell, maybe he had been interested the whole time and you wasted a good part of two years just watching from the side-lines, burying your feelings as deep as possible because you had been scared to lose him and now you could die before you found out what it felt like to be held by him as his girlfriend, to kiss him breathless, to have his hands roam your body, strong hands, gentle hands, artist’s hands-

“Angelo mio… where did you go?” a tender voice – fake, pretend, insane under the mask of gentleness – asked you, a squeeze to your left thigh snapping you from spiralling and suck in a breath.

You blinked away the wetness that gathered in your eyes, charming out a shaky smile.

“Nothing would make me happier than to pull through,” you admitted heartily, and fuck, wasn’t that the truth. “But… I seem to know so little about you. I—I promise you to listen to anything you have to say to me. I’m sure you have a plan, an agent, a woman as capable as yourself… tell me everything. Anything. I promise to listen.”

Soft fingertips wiped away the stray tear that rolled down your cheek, Bonnie’s whole face bright, her smile almost patronizing.

“I will tell you everything. Together, we can handle anything. But first… you wanted water, yes?”

Oh thank god-

“That would be very kind of you. The cuffs-”

“I’m sorry. They must stay on for now. I saw you train; I know your record,” she said almost proudly as she stood up, determined. “I know you know tricks and I won’t be tricked.”

Your first instinct as to assure her that you wouldn’t try to trick her, lulling her into false sense of security – but that would be a blatant lie. This whole thing, feigning interest just to keep yourself alive, was a lie.

Yet, you tried your angle once more, just the tinniest push.

“I promised to hear you out.”

“That you did, but you might as well hear me out in an interrogation room if you arrest me. I’m paying attention, angelo. You’re sneaky. I like that. But trust is earned.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“The most important base of a relationship,” you agreed with a sigh, swallowing the bitterness.

“Trust and loyalty, yes.” Bonnie nodded, a dangerous glint in her eye. “So please, understand. I don’t mean to hurt you, never you, but the cuffs stay on for now. But don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.”

Yeah, you’d fucking bet.

“I’m sure you’ll do your best,” you whispered.

And hopefully so would your team – trying their best and as quick as possible. Because you might have Bonnie calm at the moment, but even in the course of a mental breakdown and her delusion, she remained extremely sharp, much to your inconvenience.

And a loaded gun was still at the nearby table, out of reach, and your hands were literally tied.

When interacting with a distraught person, remain calm, read one of the rules.

That was easier said and done.

You had broken out of one panic attack and returned to the realm of rational, survival instincts and years of experience taking over, but your heart was hammering against your ribcage still. You were acutely aware of the weakness in your muscles, head still throbbing and swimming with the remnants of whatever drug Bonnie had injected you with. As she walked to the fridge in the kitchen, remaining in sight, the fact you were alone gnawed at your bravado.

You had no doubt the team worked as hard as possible, harder even – but you never felt so lonely in your fight. You had grown too accustomed to Steve’s presence, to your fellow agents’ presence.

Now, you only had yourself to rely on; and you knew you were in no condition to overpower Bonnie.

So despite your skin prickling at her touch, you allowed her to angle your head when she raised the bottle of water to your lips and you gulped at it hungrily, praying it wasn’t dosed with something too.

She waited patiently until you had your fill, watching you cautiously for any sign of discomfort. You nodded at her thankfully when she put it away. Yet, she stayed close, hand sliding to your neck, cradling your head while the fingers of her free hand brushed over your damp lips, causing you to shiver, eyes slipping close. Your stomach lurched, but you swallowed the acidic taste of bile, turning into a statue as not to anger your captor by withdrawing.

“I will take such a good care of you,” she echoed her own words, her breath fanning your face, a tell-tale of what was to come and you were not ready for at all, all your muscles tensing with effort not to pull back from that. “So good.”

And then, her lips were on yours, soft and tender, tasting of strawberries of her lip balm, all wrong. You battled not to squeeze your eyes tighter, conscious of Bonnie watching you. She had spoken of your well-being, but she was doing it for herself and you couldn’t anger her.

She craved to control you, to turn you into her perfect fantasy – one that loved her, kissed her with enthusiasm and displayed no resistance nor disgust.

She scrutinized your face; but she could not see into your head.

If you fought to see a flash of blue eyes and sandy hair behind your eyelids, recalling a comforting scent of sandal wood, she would never know.

If you recalled how you kissed his cheek right before you walked out, feeling the faint scrub of his stubble, the same you’d feel if he’d kiss you first thing in the morning, even if he had been clean shaven the night before, she wouldn’t guess.

And that was why she kissed you gently.

You imagined Steve would kiss like this too, at least at the start.

Gingerly, without pressure until he had your full consent, and always like you were something precious. Maybe like you were something his. His large hand would be on your neck, long fingers tipping your chin back to tilt your head to his liking, lips parting slowly, wordlessly asking you to do the same, just to get a taste, to kiss you deeper, know you better, his other hand pressing to the small of your back, pushing your body closer to his, until it would be hard to tell where his body ended and your started.

You blinked your eyes open, panting softly, met with the sight of Bonnie’s satisfied smile. You were acutely aware of how your pupils were blown wide – a convenient effect of what you imagined – and how it played into her delusion perfectly.

She licked her lips, stroking your jaw lightly before smiling wider.

“So good,” she repeated, content. “Now I suppose we can play the twenty questions. What would you like to know?”

→ Next part

Series masterlist // Steve Rogers masterlist // Misc masterlist

I told myself I WOULDN’T post a chapter with a five-digit word count and I failed 🙄 Ah, well😂

I know, this one has been long and heavy for me too, but this time it felt just wrong to split it in two… I hope you enjoyed 💕

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