#cottoncandybrandy

Halloween weekend started with rain, cold freezing sheets of rain that seemed endless. Just a steady downpour that painted the streets silver and turns the world outside into a hazy watercolor. It was kind of weather that makes staying home feel less like a choice and more like a requirement. And for once, neither you nor Gator have anywhere to be. No shifts, no overtime, and no emergencies, just two days off together.

You spend most of Saturday curled up on the couch in one of Gator's hoodies while he sprawls beside you in a pair of grey cargo sweatpants with his boots kicked off onto the floor. A collection of low grade horror movies is stacked on the coffee table. Some empty takeout containers already littering the floor surrounding the couch.

Gator grabs another DVD from the pile, smirks at you and wiggles his eyebrows. "This one next." You squint at the cover, it looks like it was designed by someone with a low budget, way too much fake blood, and a deep love of slasher movies from the early 2000s. The killer stands front and center on the cover, an almost comically large kitchen knife covered in what looks like red paint held above his head. "Nope, not that one." Judging by the cover, the movie is poorly made but for some reason, fear still starts to bubble low in your gut. Gator pouts at you playfully. "Gator, no. The last three movies involved people getting stabbed by some freak in a mask." He moves so that he’s laying almost entirely on top of your body, his head rubbing against your chest through your sweatshirt. "Yeah doll, that’s kinda the point." You roll your eyes at him lovingly while shaking your head. "You're impossible." As he looks up at you, a smug grin spreads on his handsome face. "Love you too."

The movie marathon continues well into the evening. At some point his hands wander under the hem of your sweatshirt and settle just above your ribs, right below the swell of your breasts. You feel goosebumps start to rise all over your body as his hands move higher, cupping your breasts in his large hands. A small, breathy sigh leaves your lips as he takes your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, rolling them until they form hard peaks. 

He looks up at you, an innocent smile gracing his lips, while tugging lightly on the hem, you nod, biting your lip and moving to take the hoodie the rest of the way off. Once your top half is bare, he looks down at you with lust filled eyes, pupils blown wide. “So perfect for me, baby” He leans down and without breaking eye contact, licks a stripe from the bottom of your breast until he reaches your nipple. Greedily, he takes it into his mouth and starts his process of sucking, biting, and licking all over, kneading the other with his hand, before switching to the other side, making sure to give both equal attention. You let out a low moan as he harshly sucks a mark onto your chest, he responds by rolling his hips into yours in a way that almost has you seeing stars.

You feel yourself growing wetter and more desperate each second that he grinds his achingly hard cock against your clothed core. He’s lets out a surprised noise when you grab his head and pull his mouth up to yours, no longer able to keep yourself from licking into his mouth. As you reach down between your bodies and begin to palm his bulge, Gator breaks away from your kiss to rasp against your lips. “I guess those scary movies got you all worked up too, that right?” You nod against his lips and move to pull your shorts and underwear off while he tears his shirt from over his head. 

Before you can reach to start pulling his pants off too, he grabs you by the jaw and forces your mouth open. You know what he wants without having to say anything else, and god, you want it just as badly. He lets a string of spit fall from his mouth into yours, and lets out a filthy groan as you swallow it without hesitation. “You like that mama?” Your hand slips under the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers to find him rock hard and leaking precum from his tip. “Yeah, but not as much as you seemed to, baby.” You start to slowly stroke him from root to tip, smearing his precum along his length as you do so. He lets out a choked sound and then chuckles breathily, nodding down at you. 

His fingers find their way to your dripping core, absolutely desperate for some friction and attention. Your cunt clenches around nothing as he slowly runs the tips of his fingers through your soaked folds. He hums against your mouth “Mmm so wet. This all for me?” Before roughly thrusting two of his fingers into your aching hole. A shaky moan is punched out of your lungs. The two of you stay like that for another minute, maybe two, just feeling each other and letting moans and sighs travel between your mouths. 

As his fingers curl inside, he hits a spot in you that causes you to gasp against his lips. “Gator, I need you” That’s all it takes for him to pull his soaked fingers from you and slurp them clean, moving to prop your thighs open. He pushes into you in a single, rolling thrust, making pornographic moans fall from both of your mouths. Your breath catches in your throat as you adjust to his thick cock splitting you open. 

The crappy slasher movie plays on, the killer finally making his big reveal, but it falls on unlistening ears and unseeing eyes. All you can see, hear, or feel is Gator above you, inside of you, murmuring filthy praises into your ear as he thrusts into you incessantly. He was right, you were so worked up that you’re reaching your end much faster than expected, and he can feel it. You wrap your legs tighter around his hips, forcing him to go in even deeper, hitting that spot that nobody and nothing else had ever reached. With each thrust, your moans and his groans are growing louder and louder, bouncing off the walls. 

His thrusts start to grow faster and slightly erratic, and before you can do it, one of his hands reaches down and starts rubbing fast circles against your clit. “Come on baby, I want to see you cum on my cock.” His dirty words are the final push you needed to fall apart, as your walls clench and pulse around him you can feel him fighting off his orgasm. You reach up and take his face in your hands, your voice comes out breathy and broken up by moans as he helps you continue to ride out your orgasm. “Please Gator, I need you to fill me up baby” He lets out a ragged moan, kisses you roughly and immediately buries himself deep as your cunt milks his cock. 

The two of you lay just like that a while, lazily kissing each other and basking in the afterglow. You break the kiss to look into his eyes. “I love you, Gator” He’s smiling down at you with that lovestruck look he gets sometimes, just in complete awe of you. “I love you with all I got. How’d a screw up like me get someone as perfect as you, huh?” You just shook your head at him with a soft smile and gave him one last kiss to his lips before he moved to pull out and settle behind you on the couch. 

You feel completely content, you’re safe, happy, naked and warm in the arms of the man you love. Which is exactly why Gator decides to become a menace. The first prank happens around midnight. You pull Gator’s baggy sweatshirt back on and leave the living room to grab another drink.

When you return with a glass of water for yourself and a beer for Gator, all the lights are off. The television has gone dark, the house is utterly silent and still. "Very funny," you call out sarcastically. There’s no response.

You narrow your eyes in the darkness, but all you can make out is the empty couch with the blanket crumpled by the armrest and your clothes still scattered on the floor. "Gator." You drawl out his name in a warning tone, as a way to tell him ‘enough, I'm not playing this game’. But there’s still nothing. The hairs on the back of your neck raise as you feel a chill flow over your body. You know he's just messing with you. You know it. But the darkness still feels wrong, the stark silence feels wrong. You carefully step into the room, tiptoeing as if that will keep everything from slipping into chaos.

"Gator?" A hand reaches out and grabs your ankle from beneath the couch. You scream so loudly your own ears ring, your whole body jerks and somehow you manage not to spill either of the drinks in your hands. Gator bursts into a gasping, howling laughter. You immediately kick him, hard. "OW!" He shimmies out from under the couch, clad in his black boxers and socks. "You asshole!" He continues laughing while clutching his shoulder. "Oh my God, you should see your face." You glare at him with glassy eyes, still shaking from his little jumpscare. "I seriously hate you." He looks at you with a nearly sympathetic smile, still finding some humor in how scared you were. "You absolutely do not." And unfortunately, he's right. That only encourages him.

Over the next two weeks, Gator becomes increasingly creative and, in your opinion, very annoying. First a large plastic spider in your lunch bag, then a fake severed hand in the bathroom sink, complete with enough fake blood to fill the bathtub. The motion-activated skeleton hidden inside the closet scared you so badly, you swore your heart stopped in your chest. And every time you think you've survived the worst of it, another prank appears. You threaten murder, and he finds that hilarious.

One evening you come home after a grueling twelve-hour shift to discover a figure standing motionless in the hallway. You nearly have a heart attack, but then the figure begins laughing, and Gator removes the cheap Halloween mask. You throw a pillow at him, groaning in annoyance. "You fucker! What if I actually died?" He chuckles lowly at your wide eyed panic. "You didn't." If looks could kill, Gator would be six-feet under because of the glare you had fixed on him. "What if I did?" He shrugs, pulling off the mask fully and tossing it onto the table in the hall. "Then I'd feel real bad." You cross your arms over your chest and keep your glare fixed on his eyes. He pulls you against him and his laughter softens. "You'd haunt me." He plants a firm kiss to the crown of your head as you lean into his chest. "Damn right."

You meant it as a joke, but neither of you realize just how much those words will bother him later. By the second week of November, the pranks have become a little routine. It would almost be endearing if you didn’t find them so annoying and predictable. But you know Gator, you know the way he thinks and moves, and how he can’t stop himself from laughing before he can fully pull off the prank. You know every one of his stupid tricks, all of his ridiculous scare tactics. You’ve already seen every exaggerated attempt to make you scream.

So when the night arrives, your first instinct isn't fear, it's irritation. The double shift nearly kills you. The emergency department at Stark County Memorial Hospital is overflowing. You're already short-staffed, then someone calls out sick. Just when your night is starting to feel like it can’t get worse, a trauma patient arrives twenty minutes before your shift ends. Then another, then somehow another. By the time you've finally clocked out, the exhaustion has settled in you bone deep, like someone injected wet cement into your veins.

It is nearly midnight when you leave the hospital and make your way into the parking deck next door. Everyone on your shift had already left, making the section of the parking garage almost completely empty. Concrete pillars stretch into the shadows, and the flickering fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Your footsteps echo loudly through the desolate concrete structure, you pull your jacket tighter around yourself. All you want is sleep, food, and your big, warm boyfriend’s arms around you. Preferably all of those things, but not necessarily in that order.

Your car is parked on the fourth level of the parking deck. As you step off the elevator and walk in the direction of your car, you root through your purse to grab your keys, trying to make the process of getting home as fast as possible.

When you look up you stop walking, because a figure stands beside your vehicle. Motionless and waiting. Your eyes immediately narrow. "Oh come on, you've got to be kidding me." The figure doesn't move a muscle. The familiar black-and-white mask gleams beneath the overhead lights. Jack Skellington. The same stupid mask Gator bought weeks ago, the same mask he wore to scare you twice already. You bark out a sarcastic laugh, not because it's funny, but because it's ridiculous.

You pull out your phone and the figure remains completely still. The screen reflects your tired face as you go to call Gator, he answers on the second ring. "Hey, baby." You can hear the smile on his face, you roll your eyes and snort. "Real funny." There’s a long pause. "What?" Gator sounds confused and maybe just as tired as you are. "Seriously?" You’re growing annoyed and a little impatient. "What are you talking about?" He sounds even more lost than before. 

You start walking toward your car, toward the figure. "You really followed me to work for this?" He sounds almost dumb in his confusion, like he really doesn't have a clue what you’re talking about. "Followed you?" Irritation seeps through your tone. "You know what? This isn't even scary anymore." He makes a dejected noise before scoffing confused into the phone. But the figure remains silent, completely still and watching. Your irritation grows. "I'm serious, Gator. That's creepy as fuck."

Gator sounds almost annoyed when he asks, "What is?"

"Take off that mask or I swear I'm not touching you for a week." Several seconds pass between the two of you. Then: "...What mask?" You come to a complete stop. Something about his tone feels wrong. Not playful or teasing, like he’s really genuinely confused. You laugh again, less confidently, nerves starting to seep in and cloud your mind. "Okay, enough."

Concern immediately fills the space that confusion was taking up in his voice. "Baby, what's going on?" You stare at the figure. The figure stares back. "You're in that damn Jack Skellington mask standing by my car." Silence, just a heavy, terrible silence. Then you hear Gator inhale sharply. "Baby..." The irritation immediately drains from your body, a strange chill replaces it. "Gator?" You can hear him sit up straighter in the seat of his patrol car. "That isn't me." You don't respond yet, you can’t, your body is paralyzed with fear.

The figure still hasn't moved, still hasn't spoken. Your pulse begins climbing and your mind begins racing. If that isn’t Gator by your car… "Gator?" His tone is deep and authoritative when he answers. "Go back inside the hospital." For a second, you think you’re imagining all of this, that somehow Gator’s pranks have reached your subconscious and this is all a bad dream you need to be woken up from. "What?" You can hear the sirens from his patrol car coming through the phone, the rev of his engine as he speeds to get to you. "Go. Now." A knot forms in your stomach, your blood runs cold in your veins. "What are you talking about?"

"Get back inside." His voice sounds different, it’s sharper, scared. "Gator–"

"Do not go near your car." The figure tilts its head, very slowly, like a predator locking in on its prey just before the hunt begins. The movement is unnatural, curious and animalistic. Every instinct in your body suddenly screams. Run, you need to run, you need to move. "Gator..."

"Listen to me." The panic in his voice is unmistakable now. "Go back into the hospital and don't leave until I come inside to get you." You slowly take a step backward. The figure takes one forward, matching the pace you’ve set. Your heart stops in your chest, your voice comes out small and afraid. "Gator–" A tear runs down your cheek before you can even register that you’ve started crying. "Run."

The figure lunges forward aggressively. Everything happens at once. You scream as the hand grabs your arm so tightly you’re sure there will be fingerprints left behind. You twist violently in the hold, managing to slip your arm through your sleeve. Concrete rushes beneath your feet. The scream of his name tears from your lungs violently. "GATOR!" His voice explodes back through the speaker. "BABY?!"

You fight, at least you try to. Your instincts takes over, trying to do anything to free yourself and get out of this situation. There aren’t many thoughts going through your mind just pure survival instincts. You drive your elbow backward, it connects with something solid. The figure grunts, it’s not a monster, not a ghost, just a person, a real person. Terror floods through your body alongside adrenaline. You manage to rip free and start running like your life depends on it, because it does. Footsteps thunder behind you, gaining on you, getting closer every second, faster with every breath that escapes you.

Your shoe catches on a patch of uneven concrete, and you stumble hard, ankle twisting unnaturally in the process. Pain erupts through your foot and your phone falls from your hand onto the concrete beneath you, it skids a few feet away. Your steps falter for just a second but it’s enough, a hand grabs your the back of your scrub shirt.

You scream again, a deep, desperate sound that echoes in the space around you. Somewhere through the chaos you hear Gator’s muffled voice shouting your name through the phone. Then nothing, the line dies. All you can hear are your own desperate sobs and the heavy breathing of the person attacking you from behind the mask. And your world suddenly goes dark.

Gator breaks nearly every traffic law on the way to the hospital. The drive feels like hours even if it was probably only five minutes, maybe even less. Every slow-moving vehicle becomes an obstacle, every turn becomes a setback.

He calls your phone repeatedly, but there’s no answer. Again. No answer. Again. Nothing.

The fear building inside him is unlike anything he has ever experienced. And Gator knows fear, he's spent his entire life around violence, surrounded by threats, surrounded by people who disappear, and people who can make other people disappear. But this is different, this is you, Gator’s girl. The person who somehow became the center of his universe, his everything. The person who turned a house into a home. The person who taught him what peace felt like. But now you're gone, whoever took you away from him took his peace, and it won’t come back until you’re safe in his arms again.

By the time he reaches the parking garage, his hands are shaking violently. He speeds through the floors so quickly that he nearly crashes into parked cars and concrete pillars. Level one. Level two. Level three. Level four. Then he sees it.

Your phone, completely shattered. Parts lying crushed across the concrete. For one terrible second his brain refuses to process what he's looking at. Until he sees your purse. The contents are scattered everywhere. Your keys, wallet, lip balm, even your hospital badge with your cute little smiling face in the center. All thrown haphazardly across the ground.

"GOD DAMMIT!" His voice echoes through the empty garage. There is no response and no movement. Nothing but his own voice bouncing back at him like a cruel taunt.

Then he notices something else, in his stupor he hadn’t seen it before. One shoe, lying on its side, your shoe. Sitting several feet away, abandoned. Like evidence, proof, or the remnants of something awful happening to the woman he loves. The sight nearly destroys him. He picks it up with trembling fingers and the parking garage suddenly feels enormous, endless, a silent void. It feels like there are threats looming in the shadows, every corner feeling like someone in lurking just behind it waiting to trap him. His chest tightens. Not because he doesn't know what happened to you, but because he does. Someone made a plan, watched, waited, and then took you from him. And now you're gone.

The realization settles like poison. Gator stares at your shoe. His jaw clenches. His breathing becomes erratic and uneven, starting to quickly spiral into a full blown panic.

Then he notices something painted on one of the concrete pillars nearby. A small black symbol, nearly hidden and drawn in fresh paint. It’s crooked smiling face. Jack Skellington. For a moment his entire world stops, because Gator knows that mask. What he had been treating as dumb jokes, little things to scare you. Someone had been watching the two of you, someone knew your routine.

A cold pang of horror and dread shoots down his spine. He knows the timing, knows the weeks of stupid pranks. This wasn't random at all, it wasn’t some insane coincidence. The sicko waiting for you by your car had chosen that mask on purpose, they wanted you to think it was just your boyfriend. They wanted you to lower your guard, come in closer, make it easier to capture you. It had worked, and it was all Gator’s fault. Gator feels sick, the guilt hits harder than fear. Harder than the anger. Because if he hadn't spent two weeks turning everything into a joke, scaring you just to have you jump into his arms for comfort afterwards…

If he hadn't made the masks and jump scares normal– Maybe you would have run immediately. Maybe you would have recognized the danger sooner. The thought nearly crushes him. "No." His voice is raw and broken. "No." 

He closes his eyes.

For one brief second he sees your smile, hears your laugh, feels your hand slipping into his. And as quickly as the comfort of you came, the image disappears, and he’s back to the hellscape that is his new reality. Your sweet laughter is replaced by silence, your hand holding his is replaced by the emptiness between his clenched fingers, the image of you and the love he has for you is replaced by the unbearable emptiness of not knowing where you are.

Gator opens his eyes again. Something has changed within him, the panic and fear remains, but beneath it sits something colder, something much sharper, much more dangerous. Determination. The person who took you made one mistake, they left you alive long enough to fight, long enough to scream, long enough to leave evidence for Gator.

And that means they must still be out there. Still breathing your air somewhere, still walking around thinking they might have gotten away with it. They are wrong. Gator stares into the darkness of the parking garage and his grip tightens around your shoe. For the first time all night, his expression becomes completely emotionless. The kind of expression people fear instinctually, it’s the kind of expression that appears when something inside him shuts off.

"Please be okay."

His words are a desperate plea to the universe and the words disappear into the darkness and no answer comes back. Only the buzzing of the flickering fluorescent lights overhead, only empty concrete, only that heavy silence.

But somewhere beyond the garage walls, beyond the city lights, beyond the reach of anyone searching for you, someone is holding their breath. Because they have no idea what they've just started. Gator would go to hell and back to have you safe in his arms again.

part 2

The first thing you register as you wake up is the feeling of your body, you’re stiff, heavy and cold. There’s something obstructing your vision but you can’t tell what it is. When you try and move to uncover your eyes, you realize that your hands are bound behind your back. You try to move your legs but you discover that they’re also bound but to the legs of the chair you’re propped up in. 

Panic begins to settle in as you remember what happened in the parking garage. You remember that person standing by your car in the mask, you remember Gator’s voice calling out to you over the phone, you remember the struggle, but you can’t remember anything else. 

Before you can fully resign to panicking you hear an unfamiliar man’s voice gently say your name. Instantly, your entire body tenses, a combination of fear and anxiety runs a chill through your veins. The voice speaks out again, closer now, standing somewhere in front of you. “Are you finally awake?” Your lip trembles as you try to think of what to do, you’re completely incapacitated with no idea where you are or how long you’ve been gone. What can you do, what would Gator tell you to do? When you try to talk your voice cracks from disuse, you clear your throat and try to speak as calmly and confidently as possible. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re doing this but if you just untie me-” He cuts you off with a small chuckle, almost like he’s finding this all endearing. You can hear him take a few more steps towards you, and then you feel the cloth lift from your eyes.

You blink quickly as you look up at him and take in his appearance. He’s just a man, a completely normal looking man. No older than 35, he’s tall with a moderate build, you can tell he works out, he has pale skin and a mop of messy blonde hair on his head. Under normal circumstances he would probably even be considered a handsome guy. This isn’t how you expected your kidnapper to look at all. An eerily soft smile sits on his face as he watches you take in his appearance. You quickly look away from him to try and take in your surroundings, looking for any means of escaping. 

The room is lit by a few raw bulbs hanging down from the ceiling, there are two windows but they’re completely boarded up, the wallpaper has long peeled off of the wall and there’s a thick layer of dirt and dust coating the floors in the corners of the room. You notice a small table table against the wall behind him, but no other furniture aside from the chair you’re perched on.

When you turn to your right side to try and find the door, you see an IV pole with a half full parenteral nutrition bag hanging off of it. Your eyes follow the tube down and find it in your right arm. You hadn’t even had a chance to take in your own appearance yet, you were still wearing your scrub pants, but your scrub top had been removed, leaving only your thin long sleeve black shirt on. The next time you speak, your voice trembles as the words leave your mouth. “Why is there an IV in my arm?” He takes a deep breath before he responds, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, you’ve been out for a couple days and I wasn’t sure when you’d be up,” Your jaw drops slightly and you can feel your eyes grow wider at his words, you’ve been out for days? 

The bewilderment must be written all over your face, because before he speaks he shoots you an almost sympathetic half-smile. “I didn’t mean to use so much midazolam back there, you just wouldn't stop fighting me.” The way that he says it, so calm, soft spoken and nearly polite, scares you more than anything he had said before. Because you know that the only way a person can just casually talk about sedating and kidnapping you, is if the person is completely and utterly insane. 

You’re stunned, you sit there with wide eyes and your mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Don’t be scared, I’m just trying to keep you safe. My name is Nathan.” He uses your silence as an opportunity to talk to you and tell you about how he’s been watching you. You feel your face morph into a frown as you listen to him talk about your work schedule, the grocery store you frequent, the gym you go to, and eventually your house, your relationship, but he won’t say Gator’s name. As he goes on talking, you realize that he knows nearly everything about you, he must have been watching you closely for months. He knows that you sleep with two pillows and on the right side of the bed, he knows which episode of your favorite show you saw last, he knows the brand of the tea you drink on nights you’re having trouble sleeping, he just knows too much.

You try to interrupt his speech, speaking as calm and softly as you can manage while you’re in hysterics internally. “If this is about the ranch, or Roy, I swear I don’t know anything.” He ignores you, continuing on his confusing rant. “...Nathan? I don’t know what you want from me. Please, is this about the Tillmans?” Your second question seems to spark his interest. His expression visibly sharpens, but only slightly, barely noticeable if you hadn’t already been staring at him and trying to decipher his motive in taking you. “He’s not a good guy. He clearly can’t take care of you in the way you need, that’s why I had to step in.” Your eyebrows burrow in confusion as you try to work out what he means by that. “So, this is about-” He cuts you off. “Your potential is being wasted. I’ve been watching and he doesn’t care about you, he doesn’t love you.” You shake your head at him in confusion because it still makes no sense to you. “Gator?!”

Anger flashes across his face as he quickly moves towards you and his words are roughly spat at you. “DON’T say his name.” Your neck strains as you turn your face as far to the right as you can and squeeze our eyes shut, bracing for impact, but nothing comes. He leans into your space, his face only inches away from you, with his hands firmly planted on the armrests at your sides. You can feel him move closer and then take a deep inhale against the side of your neck and up your hairline, then he whispers against the side of your face. “Don’t ruin this before it has a chance to start, I’ve been waiting for you for so long.” 

Your nose burns and you feel hot tears well up behind your eyelids, you try to focus on controlling your breathing, you don’t want to let this freak see you break. “...Nathan, please just let me-” He pushes himself off the chair with a huff and backs away from you, he turns around and you can see him fiddling with something on the table. “I tried to explain but clearly you just aren’t ready to listen yet.” Your voice is shaky as you try to reason with him, words sputtering uncontrollably from your mouth. “Nathan, I’m sorry! Let’s talk, come on. I just want to talk to you, please.” He turns around pointedly, a syringe in his hand. “No, it’s too late for that now. I’ll just need to wait a little longer.” You start thrashing violently in the chair, trying to free yourself, trying to back away from him as he stalks towards you angrily. “Please, Nathan! Don’t,” You sob as he sticks the needle in the side of your neck, and before you can hear his response, your world has gone dark again. 

Gator is a man on a mission. The security office at the hospital was small, there was only one small monitor with a few grainy camera angles shifting every few minutes. He stood behind the chair, spine taut as he waited for the footage to be pulled. And then, there you are, stepping off the elevator, tired and distracted. The timestamp crawled forward, you digging through your purse for your keys. The footage only shows you, the frame only barely missing your car and the masked figure. He watches you pause, can barely see the flicker of annoyance cross your face when you think it’s him pulling a prank on you. Time moves in slow motion for Gator as he watches your last interaction play out on the monitor in front of him. The audio is shitty and barely decipherable, but when you scream for him, it comes through the speakers loud and clear. The last thing he sees before the video cuts out is you, limp in the arms of a stranger, and the masked figure gently stroking a line down the side of your face. 

The security guard finally spoke up, Gator could tell that he was scared by the way his voice trembled. “That’s the full recording, there’s nothing else from that angle starting around 10 P.M.” Gator’s eyes still hadn’t left the black screen, he was fighting every instinct he had, trying to remain some level of composure. “What about other angles? Any vehicles that were seen leaving?” The guard quickly scrambled to check, typing quickly and opening different windows. He turned in his chair slowly to look at Gator, face twisted in fear. “There are no other angles with activity during the time frame.” Gator had a murderous gleam in his eye as he looked down at the sorry excuse of a ‘security guard’. He reached down and pulled the man up by his collar, fully prepared to beat more information out of him but before he had the chance, the man started sputtering out words. “Wait! Wait! I um- I did see a black truck turning out when I was doing my last perimeter!” That was enough for Gator. He roughly threw the man back down into the chair. “Get me a copy of that footage.”

The door to Roy’s office slammed hard enough to rattle the windows. Gator’s voice rang out in a booming roar. "What the hell do you mean there's nothing?" The deputy standing by Roy's desk flinched slightly backwards. "We um-we checked the highway cameras again. The truck doesn't show up again once it passes the county line." Gator snatched the folder from his hands, flipping through pages so violently they bent beneath his grip.

"No ransom." He threw the first page onto Roy's desk. "No phone call." Another page. "No goddamn note." Another, and he paused. "No body." His breathing had turned ragged. "Just that dumb fuckin’ smile but no her." The room fell into a complete, tense silence before Gator broke it again with his loud words. “WHERE IS SHE?”

Roy carefully eyed Gator, he had seen him act hotheaded and reckless, cruel and mean when he wanted to be, but he had never seen him like this. This was different, he was a man being ripped apart at the seams. He waited until the deputy had escaped the room before calmly speaking. "You done, boy?"

"No." Gator leaned both hands onto the desk, a predatory tilt to his head as he glared down at his father. "You tell me who would take her." The sheriff let out an exasperated sigh as he leaned back in his chair and looked at his son. "I don't know." Gator’s response came through gritted teeth. "Bullshit."

"Watch yourself now, Gator."

"You got enemies everywhere." His voice cracked–not with weakness, but with exhaustion stretched so tight it sounded like anger mixed with desperation. "State police. The feds. Drug Runners. The militia boys. Families. People whose land you stole." He punctuated each word with a fist slamming down harshly on the desk, again and again. Roy nodded up at him twice. "You think I forgot my own enemies?"

Gator’s face was red as he pointed his finger at Roy, voice raised. "You think I don't know what kind of people want this ranch burned down?" Roy didn't answer immediately, instead, he silently folded his hands. "If it was one of mine..." Gator froze. "...they would've wanted me to know." The words landed harder than shouting ever could, he continued. "There’d be a message for me. A picture, maybe a finger if they were cruel." The room grew colder. "They'd want leverage for negotiations." Roy looked directly at him. "They'd want me angry." He shook his head once, lips pursed as he finished. "This ain't that."

Gator stared and for several seconds he didn't move, didn't blink. "No." It came out barely louder than breathing. "No." He backed away from the desk. "No." His hands ran through his hair that had fallen from his usual slick back. "No, somebody took her. They had to." Roy stood from his seat slowly, like he was trying not to scare the wild animal that was standing in front of him. "Gator." He was becoming frantic. "No." He started pacing the length of the room, head held tight between his hands. "They're waiting, I know it. They're waiting for me to stop looking. They're waiting for me to think she's dead." His breathing became uneven.

The deputies outside listened through the thin office walls, but nobody dared to speak. One quietly crossed himself. Another intently whispered– "I ain't ever seen him like this."

It had been days. Every lead became an interrogation, every witness became a suspect, and every lie became personal. Gator tore apart abandoned trailers. He dragged information out of local dealers. He questioned truckers at gunpoint. He pulled surveillance footage from businesses that had nothing to do with the disappearance because maybe, just maybe, you'd been in the background. Walking into frame for half a second. But there wasn’t anything. All he had was the footage from the parking garage, and the still from a highway cam that spotted the truck heading out of town.

Nine days. It’s been nine days since Gator last saw you, since the last time he heard your voice. He spends almost all of his time at the station rewatching the grainy footage of you being attacked and taken. Each frame is burned into his mind and every sound is memorized, and rewatching it became his own way of punishing himself for failing you, for not getting there fast enough. He still hasn’t gone back to the house, there’s too much of you there, too many memories that he can’t let distract him. Gator can’t bring himself to eat or sleep, and even if he could sleep, he knew that his mind would just replay the footage and your screams all the same. He was right, you are haunting him. 

Time starts to move differently for you, days and hours are all meshed together in your mind, it’s like a thick cloud of fog had settled over you. You’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for days, waking up unrestrained but with your wrists still too heavy to move, the sensation of being carried, steady fingers on your neck to check your pulse. It’s like you’ve been trapped in a terrifying, duplicative, loop. He comes in the room, rants about your life to you, when your tongue won’t cooperate to form words he gets mad at your response (or lack thereof), and then sedates you again. 

Something feels different when you wake up again, but you can’t quite make it out. You distantly hear music playing, a soft piano, like you would hear in a nice restaurant. When the blindfold is lifted from your eyes, you can tell you’re not in the same room as before. You see a table set for two, with flowers in the center and warm candles placed around the setting. Your wrists are no longer tied behind your back, instead they’re tied down to the armrests at your sides. Bile fills your throat as you realize the clothes you’re wearing are also different. He’s changed you into a short black dress, you can also tell that your hair is pulled back and away from your face. You notice the IV is also missing from your arm.

That’s when it hits you, what this is, what it’s supposed to be a recreation of. A memory surfaces, two years together, celebrated only a few months ago. Gator had taken you to a fancy Italian restaurant a few towns over. You’d spent the entire night laughing, holding hands, drinking wine and talking about your future together. This is almost identical. Almost. The flowers are in the same arrangement, the candles are perfectly placed, the same bottle of wine sits on the table. Every detail of that night has been recreated, with a disturbing and perfect amount of precision. 

You hear Nathan start to shift behind you, he lets out a noise that sounds almost like a satisfied chuckle. He slowly makes his way around to the side of the table where his chair is placed. Your jaw falls slack as you take in his appearance, completely appalled, you take a sharp inhale. 

“Oh my God.” 

He’s dyed his hair, cut, and styled it to match Gator’s exactly, the slit in the same placement on the side of his head. The boots, dark wash jeans, and black button up are nearly identical to the ones you know are sitting at home in the closet, the same outfit Gator wore that night. Even his posture is studied, mimicking the loose confidence you’ve seen Gator wear so many times before. “You like it?” Your eyes widened even more, he had put on an accent, just like Gator’s. It was clear he had spent a long time listening, learning Gator’s rhythm and cadence. 

The realization sinks in slowly. You knew Nathan was crazy, you knew he’d been watching you, but you didn't realize exactly how vile his targeted attention would feel. The only way you’ll survive this is to play the game his way, feed into whatever delusions are running through his head. You try to keep your voice steady but it still trembles with terror. “..What is this?” He pauses, smiles at you, then with an unnervingly calm voice says: “Our anniversary, you looked so happy that night. I just want us to be happy again.” You remain frozen as he continues. “I watched. I watched for a long time before that.” He paused. “I watched the way he looked at you. The way you would laugh before he even finished talking.” A terrified sob left your mouth before you could decide not to. He reaches his hand over to the top of your palm, grabbing your hand from above in a chilling embrace. 

Silent tears stream down your face as your mind races a million miles a minute. Nathan looks down at the carefully recreated table setting with fondness, when he speaks next it’s with his usual voice. “I thought… if I could understand this, that you would start to understand too.” Your body instinctively pushes back against the chair, trying fruitlessly to create distance between your bodies. He notices the way you pull away from him, hurt flashes across his expression. “I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to have dinner.” Your hands tighten around the arms of the chair as you think of a way to appease him. “...Okay, we can do that.”

An uncannily large smile lights up his face, and the act seems to start up again. “Want some wine, baby?” You freeze for a moment, disgust coursing through your veins before you remember that you need to see this through. Resisting him isn't an option anymore, you need to get out of here and you can’t if you’re constantly under sedation. A grimace forms on your face as you try to respond sweetly. “Yeah…. Gator, thank you.” He smiles at you lovingly before pouring you both a large glass of Chianti. The rest of your ‘anniversary dinner’ goes surprisingly smooth. You try to react with minimal disgust as he feeds you pasta and wine. Reciting the script from your conversation with Gator by his memory. 

Things are fine, almost tolerable and you can tell he’s enjoying himself, enjoying his starring role in this performance. At least he was until you’ve finished eating. He shifts to face you more directly, grabs the tops of your hands in his and starts to lean in. You immediately squeeze your eyes shut as you try and wish your way out of this nightmare. Your face is twisted in disgust, lips pursed together tightly as he lays a wet, sloppy kiss on you. His hand trails up the side of your body slowly, brushing the side of your chest, before landing on the nape of your neck to try and pull you in closer. A strangled whimper sounds from your throat and he pulls away, eyes blazing with anger. 

“Why are you making this so hard?” He stands up so quickly that his chair falls backwards behind him. You’re openly sobbing now, no longer able to keep up with the farce you had been forced into. He starts pacing the length of the table but his eyes are still locked on you. “I thought if I could be him, you would finally just love me.” 

Anger quickly moves into the space that despair had been taking up in your body. You finally found your voice, hoarsely yelling at him. “You’re fucking crazy!” That stops him in his tracks, he tilts his head and points at himself. “I am trying to protect you! He’s a bad man, a murderer.” You scoff before you respond, voice rising higher in disbelief. “You kidnapped me!” His face twists in confusion, like he doesn’t understand what could be wrong with the situation. “Because I love you!” 

You glare up at him and yell, venom dripping from your words. “I will never love you!” He moves quickly, roughly grabbing the back of the chair and drags you into the room you first woke up in. “Please! Nathan, I’m sorry I didn't mean it!” Your head whips around as he spins the chair to face him, he spits his words at you angrily. “I want you to sit here and think about how you can be a better girlfriend to me.” He releases his hold on the chair and you fall backwards onto the ground, the air is knocked out of your lungs and he stares down at you for a long moment before turning on his heel and walking out of the room, locking the door behind him. 

For a moment you panic, but then you realize a few things. He left you awake, he didn’t sedate you like he usually does. This is good, it gives you an opportunity to try and find out where you are. You twist your arms and legs, trying to get free of the ropes or even loosen them, but all it does is rub your skin raw. The night awake is spent screaming for help until your voice is just a raspy mess. The sun is up when sleep finally takes you, small patches of light shining through the boarded up windows. 

Hands pulling your chair upright wake you. Nathan is back, dressed as himself again. “Did you learn your lesson?” Your face twists in confusion at his question, you’re still so disoriented. “I thought we could have our first Thanksgiving as a couple.” When you try to speak, it comes out faint and whispery. “I don’t understand.” He rolls his eyes at you and reaches into his pocket. “We’ll try again soon.” And your world slowly faded to black yet again.

Thanksgiving on the ranch had come and gone without celebration. There hadn’t been anything for Gator to feel thankful for, not while you were still missing. The investigation still hadn’t moved an inch. Every briefing started and ended the same way. The footage of you from the parking garage. Then the single, grainy image of the black truck exiting stark county, no plates, no driver, no way to narrow down the search. By now, everyone on the task force could recite the details of your case from memory. 

Roy is staring down at stills of the surveillance footage in the conference room and when his phone rings, he picks it up without looking. “What.” The room slowly quiets as his conversation continues. “...Dickinson.” His expression doesn’t change. “You certain it fits?” A pause. “I understand.” His grip tightens until his knuckles turn white. “No, we’ll be there.” He hangs up, and for several seconds there’s silence while he stares at the black screen. A few deputies exchanged uneasy glances over the table, Roy doesn't look up at them. “Everyone out.” No one questions him, the room empties silently in seconds. 

Gator is outside loading a box of case files into the trunk of his patrol car. He hasn’t stopped moving. If he keeps moving, he doesn’t have to think too hard about every bad thing that could be happening to you. Roy walks across the lot to stand behind him. “Gator. Give me your gun.” He turns around slowly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? Wh-” Roy cuts him off. “Just do as you’re told.” Gator sees the look on his fathers face, he knows it well enough that he’s immediately filled with disquiet. He looks down, pulls the glock from his thigh holster and takes a deep breath before handing it over to Roy. 

Roy doesn’t waste a second, as soon as the gun is tucked in the back of his pants he speaks. “They found a body.” Gator felt his heart stop in his chest. “In Dickinson.” The silence that follows is deafening, he couldn’t speak even if he wanted to. “They want someone to go identify her.” The small amount of color left on Gator’s face drained on the spot. When he spoke his voice was small, he didn’t recognize the sound leaving his mouth. “They think it's…” Roy cut him off before he could finish. “They said she matches the description.” A small spark of hope flares in Gator’s chest. “They don’t know?” Roy nods once. “Let’s go find out.” 

Neither of them speaks for the first 20 miles. They’re together in Roy’s truck, Gator in the passenger seat, staring ahead at the highway that seems to stretch forever. Bare trees blur together beneath the cloudy winter sky. The heater hums quietly, but everything else in the car is silent. 

His leg bounces without him noticing it, his fingers are sore from cracking them repetitively, he feels small. Gator hadn't felt this way since he was a kid, after his mother was gone. Back then, every drive felt like this. Every time Roy told him to get in the truck, he’d spend the entire ride wondering if they would finally find her. The waiting had been unbearable for him, not knowing was worse than any answer. Now the same dread coils in his stomach, only this time it’s your face that he sees every time he closes his eyes. 

Gator lets out a shaky breath. “I keep thinkin’... what if she was scared?” His voice catches. “What if she thought I stopped looking?” Roy’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “You really believe she’d think that?” Gator keeps his stare fixed out on the trees passing by. “No.” Roy releases an annoyed huff before he responds. “Then quit putting words in her mouth.” Gator looks over, Roy turns to meet his eye. “You ain’t stopped looking, and you won’t.” He pauses, his jaw sets. “...If she’s alive, you’ll find her.” It’s the closest thing to reassurance that Roy Tillman has ever managed. Gator nods, he doesn’t trust himself to speak. 

When they arrive at the morgue, an officer from Dickinson is already there waiting for them. “I’m real sorry.” He speaks quietly. “This way.” The hallway smells like disinfectant, everything echoes, every footstep lands too loud in the silence. The medical examiner waits beside a single covered gurney. Once Gator settles across from the man, he finally grabs the sheet and folds it back. He forces himself to look, immediately he exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Her hair is long, too long, not the same length as yours. Her chin is different, she’s older. Still, he scans her once, twice, three times. HIs knees almost give out but he finally responds with a shake of his head. “No. No, that’s not my girl.” The examiner gently lowers the sheet back down and nods. “I’m sorry.” Roy speaks up, quieter than usual, more human, almost respectful. “So are we.”

Outside, the wind bites through their jackets. Gator leans against Roy’s truck, both hands gripping the hood. He laughs once, a broken and breathless sound that isn’t really laughter at all. Relief crashes into him so hard it hurts, then guilt follows immediately after. Someone else’s family is about to get the call that he’d been fearing. It isn’t you, but it is someone’s daughter, someone’s girlfriend. 

Roy steps up beside him, he doesn’t offer anything but a firm hand on Gator’s shoulder. “Listen to me. That wasn’t her in there.” Gator looks up at him. “So that means she’s still out there somewhere.” He pauses and puts his hands in his jacket pockets. “And as long as that’s true, you keep looking.” Gator swallows hard. For the first time since the parking garage footage cut to black, he lets himself start to believe that you’re still alive, just waiting for him to come find you. 

The next day passed quickly, hope had fueled Gator to try and find new evidence. He was back at the hospital, retracing your steps from the night you were taken when he got the call. A deputy had been looking into suspicious activity in neighboring towns and found something. There was a storage unit rented under a fake name, paid eight months in advance, all in cash. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had to go off of. 

The roll up door rattles loudly as it slides upward. Dust drifts through the beam of Gator’s flashlight and for a second, no one says anything. Roy steps inside first, his face screwed in disgust as he tries to make sense of the sight before him. “What the…” The room isn’t full of stolen property, weapons, or even stockpiling supplies. The walls are entirely covered, floor to ceiling, with photographs. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of them. Gator is frozen in place. Every inch of metal had been transformed into a sick collage. Your face, his face, the two of you together. A deputy whispers under his breath. “...Jesus H.”

Gator takes a step closer, at first the photos are ordinary. Just you leaving work, walking into the grocery store, getting gas. Each was complete with the date written beneath in black marker. Then there were the pictures of him. Some were taken outside the sheriffs office, buying coffee, even a few of him sleeping in his truck during long surveillance hours. His stomach tightens. Whoever had taken these photos had been able to get close, too close. 

When he turns to the next wall, he thinks he might be sick. An entire wall covered in pictures taken from outside of your house. You in the kitchen, laughing while washing dishes, Gator standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist. Another picture of your living room, you asleep on the couch with your head in Gator’s lap. Then pictures of your bedroom. The curtains hadn’t been fully closed, there was just barely enough of a gap. The color drains from his face and his hands shake as he goes to reach for the picture. “No…”

The deputy beside him looks away first. “Sherriff...” Roy doesn’t answer, he can’t. There are photographs no stranger should have. Pictures of you dancing in nothing but Gator’s shirt, the two of you lost in each other while sitting in the kitchen, you kissing him goodbye on the porch. A collection of private moments, intimate moments. 

Then somehow the pictures became more invasive. More pictures from your bedroom, some from the living room, but all sharing the same content. Your back arched in pleasure with Gator’s head between your thighs. Some of you gasping into his mouth as you rode him wildly. Even a few shots of you on your knees for him. Images that nobody should ever see, private images. One of the deputies quietly excuses himself from the room, the other follows but neither utters a word.

Gator feels something rise in his throat. His vision blurs and he stumbles back until he collides with a metal shelving unit. The sound echoes through the space. He can’t look away from the pictures. Whoever took you had been watching for at least six months, probably longer. They had watched you wake up, leave for work, come home, eat dinner, laugh, sleep, live. Every moment that you thought had been private now belonged to someone else too. He can feel his stomach turn violently, he barely makes it outside before dropping to one knee on the gravel. He retches but nothing comes up, he hasn’t eaten enough for that. All that comes are dry, painful breaths. 

Roy follows him out a moment later, staying silent at first. “They knew your routine, her routine.” Gator wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His voice is hoarse when it comes out. “I never saw ‘em.” The words sound almost disbelieving. He squeezes his eyes shut. “I never saw anybody.” Roy rests a hand briefly on his shoulder. “They were good.” Gator’s fists clench and he shakes his head violently. “No. I should’ve seen ‘em.”

Inside the unit, deputies continue photographing everything before moving or touching it. One notices something unusual. “Sherriff?” Roy turns “What.” The deputy points. “This wall.” At first glance, it’s just another collection of photos, but then he sees it. Nearly all of the photos are labeled with dates, times, locations, but one isn’t. Instead someone has written a single sentence beneath the picture. She likes the sound of trains. It’s a photo of you standing outside of a cafe, smiling at something out of the frame. There isn’t anything unusual about it, except, in the distant background, only barely visible beyond the buildings, is a faded grain elevator. And behind it sits the front end of a weathered train. 

The deputy frowns. “Why write that?” Another deputy answers quietly. “Maybe because it mattered.” Gator walks back inside, his eyes fixed on the photograph. He doesn’t look at you, he looks past, at the background, at the train. And then a different picture catches his eye, one from a different day, you were dressed differently, but there it was in the back. The same grain elevator, the same rail line. 

It appears over and over again in the pictures, always somewhere within sight of that abandoned railroad. His breathing changes, fast and focused. He starts grabbing photos off of the wall. “They were choosing a place.” Another photo with the same rusted rail crossing, but this time also showing an abandoned warehouse in the distance. His mind is racing. “They kept bringing themselves back here.” He moves to lay the pictures out on a folding table. Every image was clustered around the same neglected stretch of railway that had once served a network of grain warehouses just west of town. Most of the buildings had been abandoned years ago, but some were still standing. They were completely forgotten, isolated, and absolutely perfect for someone who wanted privacy. 

Gator’s heart starts pounding violently in his chest. For the first time in nearly two weeks, the investigation is actually pointing somewhere. He grabs the nearest map of the area, his finger finds the old rail spur. “There.” Roy studies it. “Are you sure?” Gator’s answer comes quickly and with no hesitation. “No.” He grabs his jacket. “But it’s the first real lead we’ve had since they took her.” For the last twelve days, every clue had ended with a dead end, but there was finally a destination. And somewhere beyond those abandoned tracks, you were waiting for him. 

Thick flakes of snow blasts sideways across the empty highway, but Gator barely notices. His truck fishtails through snow drifts as he tears down the county road, headlights cutting white tunnels through the storm. The storage unit had been a nightmare made real. Once he had the location, he left, he hadn’t waited for anything. All he could think was ‘please be there, please be alive’.

The first thing you become aware of is the cold. It has settled into your bones, damp and unrelenting. It leaves your fingers numb where they’re tied tightly behind your back. Your head throbs, you don’t even remember what happened this time. One minute you were arguing with Nathan about his love for you, and the next you were waking up, not sure how long had passed, and feeling heavier than before. 

The blindfold that lays over your eyes scratches against swollen skin as you blink instinctively into the darkness. The building groans around you, wind and snow hitting hard against the walls from outside. “...You’re awake.” Nathan. His voice is gentle when he speaks, nothing like it sounded the last time you were awake. Your wrists flex uselessly against the rough material of the rope. You hear him let out a disappointed sigh. “You’re still not understanding.” 

A hand comes out of nowhere to brush your hair away from your face. It makes you flinch so violently that the chair scrapes across the floor. “I love you.” The words make your stomach churn. “I know you.” You squeeze your eyes shut beneath the blindfold. His footsteps circle you slowly, like a shark waiting for the right time to swallow you whole. “Eventually you’ll understand that I was helping you.” Your heart lurches, when you try to speak your voice is barely audible. “Gator is going to come for me.” He laughs, a sad, pitying sound. “No.” Your next words slip out before you can stop them. “He’s going to destroy you when he finds me.” He doesn’t respond, just leaves you alone in the room again. 

A while later you hear him return, steps frantic. You don’t know what could’ve gotten him so worked up, especially after his scarily calm demeanor earlier, but that’s when you hear it. Voices muffled, outside the building. Car doors slamming and the crunch of boots walking through snow. Nathan freezes for a second and his breathing quickens. “No…” He rushes over to you. Your pulse spikes, you can’t stop the hope from spreading. “It’s Gator, isn’t it?” 

His hands fumbled at the ropes around the chair, not to untie you, but to drag you upright. “He wasn’t supposed to find us. Come on.” Your legs give out instantly, you haven’t walked properly in days, maybe longer. He catches you under the arms, spitting behind gritted teeth. “Move.” A part of you is glad you hadn’t been able to walk, using it as an excuse to help you resist him just a little bit. “I can’t…” He groans as he starts to drag you across the wooden floors. Your shoulder crashes into something, a wall probably, and pain explodes through your side. 

Outside, a door slams open. “STARK COUNTY SHERRIFF!” Another voice. “SEARCH THE BUILDING!” Your heart starts pounding so hard that it hurts. Then, the voice you’ve been replaying in your head is calling out your name. You immediately burst into tears, screaming loud enough to make your throat hurt. “Gator! I’m here!” Nathan jerks you violently, hauling you backwards with an arm wrapped around your waist. “No! Shut up!” You stumble around blindly. “You’re coming with me.” The blindfold makes the world impossible to navigate, and your bound hands leave you utterly helpless. You can hear footsteps moving in closer. “Gator, I’m here!” He shouts back. “So am I! I’m coming!” 

Nathan panics and throws you back against a wall, you can feel him moving around and reaching for something, metal clinks. Then, instead of a knife ripping through you, you feel his hands wrap around your throat hard, too hard. Your airway collapses instantly. “No one else is allowed to have you.” Your eyes fly open beneath the blindfold, but you don’t see anything, only darkness. Your bound hands claw desperately at the wall behind you, you kick your feet wildly, weakly. Everything spins, your lungs are burning and you can hear shouting somewhere nearby. 

“GATOR!” Another voice yells out: “LEFT SIDE!” You can hear boots rattling the wooden floorboards, getting closer and closer. Your vision starts disappearing, the pressure on your neck only getting tighter and tighter. “If you won’t be with me-” A deafening gunshot echoes through the building, causing his grip to loosen slightly before tightening again with renewed force. Another shot, you can hear wood splintering. Someone crashes into you and the hands around your neck vanish. 

You collapse to your knees, coughing violently. The blindfold still covers your eyes, you can’t see a thing, only listen. There’s a punch, a body hitting the ground and someone screaming. “No!” It’s Gator, he’s really here. “You motherfucker.” Another impact, and a sickening crack. “You tried to take her away from me.” Another blow. You can hear Nathan’s sobs, his pleas for help, his begging Gator to stop. He doesn’t stop, but then you hear a loud crash, something heavy toppling over. You can hear Nathan trying to scramble back towards you, until Gator catches him. “No, you don’t get another step.” One final impact, and then silence. Nothing but the wind howling through the walls, and Gator’s ragged breathing. 

Someone says quietly– “Suspect is down.” Another person starts walking towards you but then you hear Gator, his voice coming out flat. “Don’t. I got her.” Boots approach you now, gentle but quick. “Hey… Hey baby,” His voice cracks completely. “I’m here, sweetheart.” You let out a relieved sob. “Gator…” His fingers tremble as he gently unties the blindfold. Cold, fluorescent flashlights blind you and for a moment, everything is blurry. Then– there he is, snow melting in his hair, blood splattered across his face and jacket, a bruise already forming on one cheek. His hazel eyes are red from crying, with deep purple circles underneath them, he looks just as broken as you feel. 

“Oh, baby…” He drops down to his knees in front of you, his hands shake so intensely that he fumbles with the ropes binding your wrists. "I'm sorry. I’m so sorry.” He can’t stop saying it, repeating it over and over again, his new mantra. “I’m sorry I wasn’t faster.” The rope falls away and your arms drop uselessly to your sides. Before you can think, he gathers you into his big arms. You nearly collapse into him. His coat is still freezing from the snow, but his embrace is impossibly warm. 

You desperately cling to him with all of the strength you can manage. “I knew..” Your voice trembles. “I knew you would come.” He buries his face against your neck, carefully avoiding the bruises already darkening your skin. “I would’ve burned the world down.” A broken laugh escapes your mouth. “I know.” He kisses your forehead, then your temples, then your hair, over and over again. Deputies quietly move around the two of you, no one interrupts, not for a long time. 

The emergency room is painfully bright. Doctors and nurses fuss over the bruising all over your body and the raw abrasions on your wrists and ankles. Your friend and coworker, Mel, asks you questions while running tests. You answer what you can, but mostly you watch Gator. He’s refused to leave your side. His chair is pulled up to the bed so close that his knees are pressing into it. 

A question that Mel asks knocks you out of your gawking. “...a rape kit?” Your eyes widen as you consider the possibility, you had been sedated for long stretches of time, and Nathan was obviously deranged, but wouldn’t you know? Your voice comes out small. “I-um, I don’t think so, but I was out for a long time. I know he changed my clothes.” Mel shoots you a sympathetic look. “Alright, then we’ll do an exam just in case. He can wait–” Gator squeezes your hand and you cut her off. “I want him here.” She just pauses for a second, looks between the two of you, and then nods quickly.

During the pelvic exam, Gator is standing next to the bed, facing you. You were both gripping each other's hands as a lifeline. Thankfully, it went by fast. Mel came back into the room. “Good news, no signs of any sexual assault. And–all things considered– you’re in good shape, so you can go back home tonight.” Tears well up in your eyes as you give her a soft smile and nod, not able to get any words out. 

You don’t remember the drive home from the hospital. One second you were in the car and the next you’re standing in the living room. Home, finally. It faintly smells like the pumpkin candle you’d been burning and laundry detergent. It was the exact same as you’d left it weeks ago. You’re safe. Your knees buckle and before you can stumble, Gator catches you. “I got you.” His voice comes out hoarse, it had been since he found you in that old warehouse. He doesn’t let you go until you’re sat on the edge of the bed. 

He rubs a hand over this face. “I’ll get the shower ready.” You nod up at him, completely exhausted. “Ok.” You hear the water running after he disappears into the bathroom. Opening cabinets, moving bottles around. He checks and adjusts the temperature three different times, muttering under his breath to himself as he does it. 

When he comes back, he kneels in front of you slowly. “You don’t gotta rush.” He grabs your hands and you gaze into his hazel eyes. “Whenever you’re ready.” You look in the direction of the bathroom before looking back at him. “..Will you stay with me?” The question comes out just louder than a whisper. For a heartbeat, he just stares into your eyes. Then his expression softens into a look so tender, it makes your chest ache. “Always, mama.” 

The steam fills the bathroom almost immediately, warm enough to chase away the chill that had been living in your bones ever since the nightmare began. Gator carefully helps you peel the oversized hospital sweatshirt from your body. His movements are almost painstakingly gentle, slow and reverent. Whenever fabric brushes against the raw skin around your wrists or ankles, he winces and stops, apologizing profusely. “You didn’t hurt me, Gator.” He keeps apologizing anyway. 

He steps into the shower behind you, still wearing his boxers, until he’s absolutely certain that you’re steady enough to stand on your own. He straightens up before slipping them off beneath the water, there’s nothing hurried or embarrassed about it. Neither of you are focused on that. This is about survival, not desire. 

You close your eyes as warm water trickles over your shoulders. The heat stings every raw patch of skin and bruise, before soothing the ache. Gator reaches for the shampoo. “Can I?” You nod. His fingers work through your hair with impossible care, massaging your scalp just enough to loosen knots without pulling. Neither of you says much as he gently washes your hair and body, using one broad hand to shield your face from the spray. All the words just feel too small.

Then with no hesitation, you step backward until your body is fully pressed against his chest. His arms wrap around you automatically and you melt into him. The warmth that surrounds your body isn’t just from the water anymore. His heartbeat thumps steadily against your back. You hadn’t realized how much you missed hearing it until now. For several long minutes, the only noise in the room is water hitting the tile and your breathing. 

Then, something shifts. A small tremor, you think he’s just shivering from the cold. Until it happens again. His chest gently shakes once, twice. Your brow furrows. “Gator? Baby?” There was no answer, the trembling starts again, and worse this time. You tilt your head back on his shoulder to look at his face. He’s looking down at your bruised, raw wrists. Jaw clenched so tightly it was shaking, tears slid silently down his face, disappearing into the shower water almost as soon as they fell. You can feel your heart cracking open in your chest. 

“Oh.” You carefully turn around in his arms. His big eyes squeeze shut the second he sees you looking. His voice comes out in a shaky whisper. “I’m sorry.” You frown up at him. “What are you apologizing for, honey?” His hands hover over your wrists, shaking and terrified to touch them. “It’s just-“ His voice cracks. “He tied you up.” You glance down, dark bruises line your wrists like shackles of reminder, skin so raw that even air brushing across it stings. Your ankles look pretty much the same. There are purple fingerprints dotting the skin on your throat.

You hadn’t looked at yourself too closely at the hospital. Now you understand why everyone had looked at you with that same sympathetic expression. “I should’ve found you sooner.” He shakes his head as his words come out broken and uneven. “If I’d just gotten there a day earlier.” Another tear slips from his eye. “He wouldn’t have done this to you.” He finally cups one of your wrists, barely touching the uninjured skin just above the bruises. ”He only hurt ya because I wasn’t there.” 

You shook your head gently but full of conviction. “No.” His eyes open. You repeat it more firmly. “No. He hurt me because he wanted to.” His reply came quiet, but you weren’t willing to hear it. “If I had just-“ You cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “Gator. You found me.” His eyes close, and he shakes his head side to side. “‘Not soon enough.” You grab him by the cheeks. “Stop. You found me.” The words hung still between the two of you. Your hand rises along his face, slowly brushing away his wet hair. “I got to come home because of you, Gator.” His face crumpled and he shook his head. “I was so scared.” You give him an understanding half smile. “I just kept thinking if I had just been better, if I had been faster-“ You shook your head at him, not insistently, just sure. “Gator, you came.” He looked at the floor. “I almost didn’t.” You move forward to lean your forehead against his. “But you did.” He leans into you further. The two of you stand together beneath the warm water as the tears are washed away by the spray. 

His voice is childishly small when he goes to speak. “I don’t think I could survive losing you.” You respond by wrapping your arms around him as far as your sore muscles will let you. “You won’t ever have to.” His arms tighten around you, not enough to hurt, just enough to reassure himself that you’re really there. Alive, breathing, and real. “I love you,” He murmurs into your damp hair. “So much it scares me.” You smile through your own tear filled eyes. “I love you too.” The two of you remain there until the water begins to cool, simply holding one another, relishing in the comfort you bring each other. No more words, you don’t need them.

Later, after fresh bandages and soft pajamas, Gator helps you into bed. He fusses over every pillow, blanket, and every tiny wince that leaves your mouth. “You comfortable?” It’s almost funny watching him use such an excessive amount of care. You hum your answer affirmatively. “Are you sure?” You laugh softly for what feels like the first time in forever. “Gator. You’ve asked me six times.” He gives you a deadpan look as he responds, completely serious. “I can ask seven.” After the playful glare you shoot at him, a faint smile finally appears on his face. “There she is.” 

The mattress shifts beneath his weight as he climbs into the bed beside you. Without hesitation, he opens an arm and you scoot in close. Your body fits itself against his side instinctively, resting your head right over his beating heart. His hand settles carefully against your back, not possessively, but protective, as though he’s reminding himself you’re here. His thumb traces slow circles through your shirt until you’re breathing evens out. Just before sleep can claim you, you feel him press a lingering kiss into your hair. He whispers quietly in the silent room. “I’ve got you” Wrapped tightly in each other's arms, surrounded by the familiar comfort of home, the two of you drift to sleep together, holding on as though neither of you ever intends to let go again.

The weeks after that went by quickly. You and Gator were practically attached at the hip, both of you needing to feel each other. If you woke up in the middle of the night to get water, he was trailing just behind you, holding your hand sleepily. He’d cook dinner with your arms wrapped around him from behind. You spent days just wrapped in each other’s embrace. The routine you’d fallen into was good, things were finding their way back to your new version of normal, but something was still missing. 

Showering together has become a part of your new routine. You had tried to shower alone but Gator sat silently on the toilet seat and you could barely stand being even a few feet apart. It was fine, you’d seen each other naked hundreds, if not thousands, of times. But he wouldn’t touch you, at least not properly. The second that your kisses would start to grow hungrier, he would pull back and murmur some excuse about finishing up to get ready for bed. And you couldn’t take it anymore.

One night after your shower, you were drying off together like always, but before Gator could turn to get dressed you stopped him. He looks at you, confused for a moment. Your voice comes out small, barely above a whisper. “Gator. Please touch me.” He looks at you with pursed lips and furrowed brows. “I don’t wanna hurt you baby.” You grab both of his hands in yours. “You would never hurt me.” He inhaled deeply and nodded twice. 

The walk to your room is short, but it feels like miles. Your heart is racing as Gator leads you gently to stand by the bed. His towel falls to the ground, yours following seconds later. For a moment, neither of you move, you just stand and admire each other in a way you haven’t in a while. The first kiss is so sweet and gentle, but you’re quick to turn it filthy, sliding your hands to grip him by the nape of his neck, suckling gently on his bottom lip. He’s so gentle when his tongue finally brushes against yours. You trail your hand down the front of his chest, through the cluster of hair you love so much, and down further. But before you can reach for him, he stops you.

“Lay down for me mama.” You obey instantly, moving back towards the headboard to make room for him to join you. He shakes his head with a small smile on his lips. “Uh-uh.” Before you can ask what he means, he’s gently dragging you back down the bed, dropping to his knees in front of you. 

Your chest is heaving as you stare down at him, seeing him take a moment to just gaze at your wetness. After he’s done admiring you, he leans down and starts to plant open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, gently sucking light marks into the skin there. Breathy sighs escape your lips as you watch him worship you with such care. 

When he finally puts his mouth on you, it’s so much better than you had imagined it. He gave a few slow, long licks, groaning at your sweet taste and gathering your wetness before diving in, gently fucking you with his tongue. “Fuck Gator, just like that,” your words were barely louder than a breath. He hums against you as you slide your hands down to grip his hair. The only sounds in the bedroom were your light moans and Gator devouring you lewdly. He pulled back slightly to mumble against you. “Taste so good baby,”

You stared down at him slack-jawed and wide eyed as he lifted his head let a mixture of your slick and his spit dribble down from his mouth onto your folds, while holding eye contact the entire time. He uses the pads of his middle and ring finger to rub slow circles around your clit, before carefully sliding his fingers inside your wet heat. You gasp as he gently latches onto your clit again, sucking and pumping his fingers at the same time. It sends you hurtling towards your release faster than you can believe it. You gasp, arching up into his mouth and pulling on his hair to keep him close. When you cum, it’s with a long moan, your orgasm rolling through your body in waves. It felt never ending, Gator’s mouth and hands coaxing more and more aftershocks from you until you were left shaking. 

When you finally come down from your high, his head is leaned against your inner thigh and he’s gazing up at you adoringly. “I missed you so much.” You smile softly and bite your lip at him. “Get up here.” Heat builds again in your body as Gator starts to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses up your body. He pauses every few to look up at you. “So beautiful,” His gentle ministrations continue, slowing when he reaches your breasts to leave even more kisses along the swell and around your pert nipples. “So perfect for me,” 

When he finally reaches your face, you’re aching for him. He leans in and gives you one more slow, long kiss to the lips before settling himself above you. You can feel yourself growing wetter as you sneak a glance between your bodies, his long, thick cock just as pretty as the last time you’d seen it like this. He entered you slowly, carefully, but without hesitation. You felt every inch, every moment of the delicious invasion, and when he was fully sheathed, you both stopped, gasping, just feeling. “You’re so tight,” He murmured, his forehead resting against yours. Your voice is low and sultry as you respond. “Mmm you’re so big, Gator.”

At first, his movements were deep, languid rolls of his hips that had you both moaning softly into each others mouths. He kept his eyes on your face as he moved, needing to make sure he wasn’t hurting you, that you were okay. “You’re so handsome.” You reached your hand up and run it along the side of his face, his plump lips, his big eyes. “My handsome man.” He nodded while leaning into your touch. “Yours,” He answered, voice breaking. “Only yours baby.” 

His rhythm quickened, and the room was filled with the sounds of you, bodies meeting, breathless gasps, and muffled groans. “I love you so much, Gator,” He licked into your mouth before he responded, voice husky. “I love you more” 

He changed the angle slightly as he lifted your legs higher against his waist, making the pleasure grow deeper, more intense. You let out a loud moan and it seemed to spur him on, repeating the motion once, twice, three times. One of his hands found your clit, touching in rhythm with his thrusts, and the pleasure that had already been good became almost unbearable. 

“I’m gonna come, “ You warned, voice raising in pitch. “Oh god, Gator I’m gonna-”

“Come. I want you to come with me mama.” He buried his face in your neck, his movements growing more ragged, more urgent, and when you finally shattered, he followed a second later, a muffled groan into your skin, his whole body trembling. You stayed like that for a long time. His hand still touched your face, his fingers tracing your jaw as if you were the most precious thing in the world, because to him you were. 

The warmth of his body covered you completely, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His voice sounded near your ear, warm. “You don’t know how much I missed that.” You laugh lightly. “I think you just showed me.” He paused, then he kissed you, and the kiss was everything, despair and hope, hunger and devotion. All of the things you’ve been through together, expressed into a kiss. 

When he pulled away, there were tears in your eyes. “Thank you, Gator.” Concern flashes across his face, worried for a second that he had hurt you. He’s quick to move off of you and lean on his side, cradling your face in his big hands. “Thank you for saving me.” He only shakes his head at you, voice trembling. “You saved me. I wouldn’t have been able to live without ya.” 

You just shook your head at him, smiling like a fool in love. He moves to lay down fully, and you put your head on his chest, listening to your favorite sound as sleep threatens to take you. You made it home, you’re safe, and Gator is going to spend the rest of his life making sure those things never change. 

All Gator can think about is the diamond ring sitting in the bottom of his sock drawer, waiting for the right moment to ask the question.

part 3

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The radio station feels unusually quiet.

It wasn’t silent– nothing in Hawkins is ever actually silent anymore, especially now due to the constant military presence–but it’s quiet enough that the only noise is the soft hum of radio equipment and the occasional crackle from the speakers. You’re sitting in one of the rolling chairs with your feet propped on the desk, absentmindedly thumbing through a magazine while Robin sorts through records nearby.

Steve had been gone for almost half an hour. The tower behind the WSQK station had been acting up again. A transmitter issue maybe, nothing serious. At least, that's what Nancy had told you after asking Steve for his help in fixing it. "I'm just climbing up there, fixing the connection, and climbing back down." You'd rolled your eyes but a small teasing smile remained on your face. "Yeah well the last time I heard that, you blew a fuse and we got trapped in the dark all night." He gasped and threw a playful glare your way. "Pshh, So? That only happened one time." You raised your eyebrow at him and smirked. "It happened twice." Steve rolled his eyes and pointed at you dramatically but then paused. "Hush."

You had all laughed at his playfully sassy disposition and he pulled you in by the back of your neck for a quick kiss to your lips. Then he'd grabbed the station’s tool bag and headed outside. It was all normal, a completely standard radio station maintenance task. Which is why the scream hit you like a truck. "HELP!" The sound echoed throughout the station. 

Nancy.

You jerk upright so fast the chair nearly tips over. The magazine falls forgotten onto the floor. There was another scream. Your name leaves Nancy’s mouth in a desperate plea.

"PLEASE HELP!"

The blood in your body ran cold, all of your muscles tensing involuntarily. You know immediately something must have gone terribly wrong. Nancy doesn’t scream or panic, and she has certainly never screamed for your help.

You’re moving through the radio station before your mind even registers it. You feel bile rising in your throat as your brain runs through all of the possible reasons she could be in such distress.

Jonathan is running towards the open door when you come barreling out. His face is white, not pale, completely white. Almost like every drop of blood has drained from his body. The sight alone sends panic racing through your chest.

"Nancy?" You call to her, silently hoping that what you’re seeing isn’t real. That somehow your mind is playing a horrible, rotten trick on you. She’s crouched beneath the tower, someone’s body laying beneath her trembling figure. That naive, hopeful part of your brain wishes that the person on the ground is anyone other than who your heart knows it is. 

"Steve." The single word nearly stops your heart. You don't wait for an explanation from Jonathan. You're already running. The tower rises tall above the station, metal looming overhead and dangerous.

You can faintly hear Robin questioning the situation behind you as you race across the grass.

Then you finally see him, see his face. And your world immediately starts to tilt sideways. Steve is lying on the ground beneath the tower, limp and motionless. The tool bag is several feet away. One of his gloves has been thrown clear across the gravel.

For a moment your brain refuses to process what you're seeing, because Steve doesn't sit still, ever. He's always restlessly moving, talking, complaining, laughing, breathing, but not now. Now he's completely motionless. You can feel tears welling up in your eyes as you approach his defunct frame. "Steve!" Your voice is frantic and shaking as you drop to your knees beside him.

Robin reaches you only a second later. She's already crying silently, shuddering breaths escaping her and she tries to make sense of what she’s seeing. You’ve never seen her so genuinely distressed, helpless or actually crying, which scares you more than anything. You’d only ever seen Robin cry out of laughter, aside from the one time she let a few frustrated tears fall after a particularly painful interaction with Vickie. "Oh God," she gasps.

Your eyes scan Steve’s form immediately. The summer after sophomore year flashes through your head. Long days at the Hawkins community pool, months full of sunburns, whistles, emergency drills, and Steve making fun of every CPR dummy. "His name is Gerald," he'd announced once, while dramatically carrying a dummy over his shoulders. You'd nearly drowned laughing, but now those memories just feel like knives stabbing your gut repeatedly. Because suddenly they're not memories anymore, they’re instructions.

Your hand finds Steve's shoulder. "Steve." No response. You shake him hard but he remains unmoving. "Steve!" Your stomach drops. No.

No, no, no. This can’t be happening, 

Nancy is crying and panicking openly now. "I found him like this." Your fingers move automatically to check him, trying to assess what you can do to bring him back to you. Your eyes keep scanning from his face down his chest, looking for breathing, looking for movement, just looking for anything. A horrible ringing fills your ears. You press two fingers against his neck, checking for a pulse– searching, waiting, mentally pleading. But there was nothing.

Your heart plummets. "No." The word comes out as a broken whisper. Robin looks at you. "What?" You check again, maybe you missed it. Maybe your hands are shaking too badly. Maybe– But there’s nothing. No pulse. No breathing. Just his skin under your fingers, still warm. The realization slams into you. Steve's heart has stopped, he’s not breathing, he is dead. For one terrible second you can't move. You don’t have any thoughts running through your head, no air moving through your lungs, you’re frozen.

Then Robin grabs your arm. Her voice breaking as she stares at you with wide, tear filled eyes. "You know CPR." The words snap you back into reality. Because she's right, out of everyone here, you're the only one who knows it well enough. The only one who had practiced it over and over. The only one besides Steve, and right now Steve is the one lying on the ground. Your vision blurs as you start to hyperventilate. "No." You grab his shoulders and shake him roughly once, twice… "No, no, no, no." 

Robin kneels beside you, her face streaked with tears. "What do we do?" You swallow hard, and think– you had plenty of training, you just need to remember your training. You tilt Steve's head back, check, open his airway, check, position your hands, check.

It’s all the exact same you'd practiced years ago. The same way Steve practiced right beside you, while making dirty jokes about using his newfound skills. The irony feels cruel.

As your hands settle on the center of his chest, the reality of your situation becomes unbearable. You are about to perform CPR on Steve Harrington. Your best friend, your soulmate. The idiot who steals your fries. The guy who always drives you home with a hand on your thigh. The guy who should be teasing you right now. Not lying still, without a pulse beneath your hands.

"Come on." Your voice comes out shaky. "Come on, Steve." Then you begin compressions and start counting. One. Two. Three. Four.

His body moves beneath your hands. Not because he's alive, because you're forcing his heart to work. The thought nearly destroys you. Five. Six. Seven.

Robin is sobbing quietly beside you. Eight. Nine. Ten.

You keep counting, because if you stop counting you'll start screaming. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty.

You give rescue breaths, then immediately return to compressions. You can barely see through the tears that won’t stop coming.

Again.

Again.

Again.

The world narrows and nothing exists except the rhythm of your hands. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Over and over. You can feel your arms begin to ache and grow tired. There is sweat beading on your temples and the back of your neck. You don't care, you don't even notice it. If doing this forever meant you would get him back, you would gladly sit here for the rest of your life.

"Come on, Steve." Compression. "Please just-" Compression. "Wake up." Compression.

Robin suddenly speaks. "Oh my god, he forgot." You can barely hear her over the sound of your own heaving breaths. "What?" Your voice comes out raw and gravelly. "He forgot to shut off the voltage." Her words hit like a punch. Your head snaps toward her. "What?!" Robin points shakily toward the tower. "The switch."

You look and immediately understand. The power indicator is still lit, still active, still carrying current. Steve never shut it off. He climbed anyway. Your stomach twists violently. The image forms in your mind instantly. You can see it with shocking clarity. Steve reaching the damaged section, him going to inspect the wiring. Then the shock– the current ripping through his body. The fall, the impact, all of it.

"You idiot." The words come out in a terrified gasp. "You absolute fucking idiot." Another round of compressions, another rescue breath. But nothing comes from him. No response, no movement, no pulse.

Your fear grows larger and your thoughts start racing. He should be responding. Why isn’t he responding? You don't know and you can't remember, all of your thoughts are branded with Steve’s name and prayers to any god that will listen. Horror starts to flood through your body, starting in your frantic brain and working its way through your system.

"Steve, baby? Ple–Please don’t do this."

You do compression after compression. Robin roughly swipes tears from her cheeks. "You can save him, you have to save him." Her voice is desperate and shaky but you can hear the desperate certainty underneath, and it makes your heart drop. Because you don't know if you can actually save him. You don't know if you'll be enough. You don't know if you're already too late, if he really might not make it this time.

Your arms are truly shaking now. Every push feels heavier than the last. But you don't stop, you can't stop. Because stopping means giving up. And you refuse, you absolutely refuse. "Steve. You’re not allowed to die, not yet." Your words are broken up by sobs, they come out angry and loud, but fear is the loudest. Tears spill down your face in hot bursts. 

"You promised me six nuggets and a road trip full of awful dad jokes." Each word is punctuated by another compression. Robin lets out a nervous laugh through her tears. You don't even know why you said it. Maybe because you're desperate. Maybe because talking keeps you from falling apart.

"You're supposed to be okay."

Compression.

"I love you."

Compression.

"So get up."

Compression.

"Please? Please don’t leave me honey."

But still, nothing. He remains silent and motionless. The silence is unbearable. The stillness is worse. You keep going. Thirty compressions. Two breaths.

Again and again and again.

Your entire body hurts. Your throat burns from screaming. Your chest feels hollow. And through it all, one thought keeps repeating. ‘Not Steve. Please not your Steve.’

Then–  A cough, tiny and weak, you could barely hear it over the sound of your blood pumping in your ears. You freeze, breath catching in your throat. Robin sits still, paralyzed by fear. Both of you stare and for one terrifying second nothing happens. Then Steve's chest jerks and heaves. A ragged gasp is torn from his throat.

Your heart stops and the words fall from your lips so softly, so full of love and desperation. "Steve? Babe?" Another cough rolls through his body, and finally air rushes into his lungs. A real breath. An actual breath.

Robin sobs. "Oh my God." You can barely breathe yourself. "Steve." His eyelids flutter, not fully opening yet. Just moving. But it's enough, he’s alive. Enough to send relief rushing through you so hard your vision goes white. "Steve."

Your hands find his face. And before you know it, you’ve pulled him up and into your lap, cradling his face gently, just needing to feel him. He’s warm, alive, actually alive.

His lips move slightly and you lean in even closer. "What is it baby?" He lets another weak breath escape. Then, somehow the idiot manages to whisper: "...ow." Robin bursts into hysterical laughter, tears still running down her cheeks. You start crying harder and, a pained smile, full of relief, makes its way onto your face. Because that's the most Steve response imaginable. 

Months had passed quietly since you returned home, the seasons slowly changing around you. The winter melted away into spring, and with it the bad memories and bruises washed away too. It had taken a lot of time and work, but you and Gator were healing. Eventually you both had to return to work, but now you had a parking spot near the hospital entrance, and two deputies that escorted you to and from the building. It was a lot, and it was ridiculous, but it was Gator. And it helped, having peace of mind was a gift you wouldn’t take for granted. The two of you were happy, closer than ever, and bonded by something that nobody else could really understand. 

You woke to a sliver of pale morning sun shining directly onto your eyes. A long, tired groan escapes your throat before you turn, burrowing your face almost completely in Gator’s armpit. His low chuckle shakes your face and his voice is rough with sleep when he speaks. “What are you doin’ in there, mama?” You huff out a breath through your nose and grumble. “Trying to sleep.” He just smiled at that, you didn’t need to see him to know that he was looking down at you. For a long while he just laid there with you, admiring your beauty, your bravery, you far you had come.

There were still nights when you woke up from nightmares screaming and in tears, heart racing. You still had days when a strange car parked outside for too long made your chest tighten. Sometimes even Gator still reached for you in the middle of the night just to reassure himself that you were really there. But there were a lot more mornings like this. Mornings that were peaceful, spent wrapped in each other, safe and happy.

His thumb brushes over the back of your head lightly. “Hey baby?” You hummed affirmatively in lieu of a response. “Would you want to go by the ranch and see the calves? Maybe have a picnic or somethin’,” He paused, hand rubbing circles into your shoulder. “Like old times.” A fond memory flashes through your brain, you and Gator riding around the ranch, looking at all of the new babies and naming them. Of course you had gone on dates since being back, but not in town, and none so exposed. There was still that fear lingering deep inside you, that someone could be watching again, waiting and collecting information. You lift your head to meet his eyes carefully. His hair is sticking up in every direction, eyes are still heavy with sleep as a nervous smile takes over his face, and somehow he’s never looked more handsome. A small smile makes its way onto your face and you nod. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” 

The sky is blue and the grass is a vivid green when you pull into the ranch. Tiny patches of stubborn wildflowers are beginning to bloom along the fence lines, and everything smells like fresh earth and clean air. You ride with the windows down, your arm hanging out the window as Gator drives slowly across the property in his truck. The warm breeze tangles your hair. “This is my favorite time of year,” You murmur. “I know.” Gator grabs your hand and squeezes once, twice. “Everything just feels..” You pause to search for the right words. “... new. Like at any second, anything could happen.” He understands exactly what you mean, maybe even more than you do. 

The truck bumps gently over a cattle guard before slowing near one of the pastures. “There they are.” Your heart nearly melts in your chest. “Oh my gosh,” The tiny calves bounce awkwardly after their mothers on impossibly long, unstable legs. “They’re so little.” One especially fluffy brown calf attempts to run, then immediately trips over its own feet, and stands back up as if absolutely nothing happened. 

And while you’re watching the calves, Gator’s watching you, a lovesick smile on his face. He sees a carefree kind of joy that hadn’t been there in a long time. “I love him.” Gator just nods, still smiling, not sure if he could ever stop. “I had a feelin’ you would.” You both climb out of the truck. The cows and their calves eye you curiously from a safe distance. One particularly small cream-colored calf wanders closer. “Oh..”Your voice is soft and careful as you crouch down slowly. “Hi, sweetheart.” The calf just blinks its enormous dark eyes at you. You turn to look at Gator and whisper. “What should we name him?” Gator folds his arms and winces before he speaks. “We shouldn’t. We’ll just get attached.” A frown takes over your face as you look back at the small calf. “But I already am. I think I’ll call you,” Your voice trails off as you pause to study the calf seriously. “...Biscuit.” 

You go on like this for the next few minutes, walking around and pointing at different calves. “That one’s Pepper.” Pointing at another one. “Ooo, she’s Daisy.” A particularly chubby calf catches your eye and you slow your steps dramatically. “That big one,” You grin wide. “That’s nugget.” Gator barks out a laugh loud enough to startle a few birds from a nearby tree. “Nugget?” 

Your words are broken up by giggles. “C’mon, Gate. He is absolutely a nugget.” 

“You are somethin’ else.” He watches you smiling at the calves, and his own expression softens. He still remembers months ago, finding you bruised, blindfolded, and terrified. Still remembers your voice calling out to him in the dark, remembers dropping to his knees beside you in the dark. He could still feel how you clung to him as he promised you over and over again that he had you, you were safe. So standing here now, watching you laugh at clumsy baby cows, feels like finally breathing after being stuck underwater. “Are you ready for lunch?” You turn and nod at him eagerly. “Absolutely!” 

He drives you further into the ranch’s property than you’ve ever been before. Eventually the truck reaches a secluded clearing beside a quiet pond that is surrounded by small, budding trees. The pond's blue water sparkles beneath the afternoon sun. “Wow, this is beautiful.” He chuckles, squeezing your thigh where he held it once, before turning the truck off. “Told ya.” You go to climb out, grabbing the folded blanket from your footwell. “I’ll set the blanket,” He reaches into the bed of the truck. “I’ll get the rest.” 

You wander in the direction of the pond, carrying the basket while Gator starts gathering the picnic basket. He opens it up swiftly and reaches inside, fingers brushing against the small velvet box. His heart immediately starts pounding. The ring had been sitting in the bottom of his sock drawer since September, he’d planned to ask months ago, but life just got in the way. Now the ring sits comfortably in his palm, today is the day. 

He takes one deep breath, in and out. He hears your gasp and then your voice, sounding stunned and a little frantic. The ring disappears into his jacket pocket as he grabs his glock, abandoning everything else. “Gator! Gator, come quick!” Immediately he books it, running towards you as fast as he can manage, gun drawn and expecting the worst. 

Gator stops so abruptly he nearly laughs from sheer relief. But what he finds makes his heart swell so much that he thinks his chest could explode. It’s just you smiling brightly, crouched down low, five little ducklings cradled gently in your arms. He lets out a relieved sigh and tucks his gun back into his waistband. “Babe,” You look up sheepishly, a faux pout on your face as you whisper in amazement. “Look at them! They’re so tiny!” He huffs a laugh and moves to crouch down next to you. “You scared the hell outta me with that.” 

A mother duck swims in circles at the edge of the pond, watching worriedly. “You oughta put them back before she gets out.” You nod at him, lowering your hands to let them back onto the ground. The ducklings stumble around uncertainly for a moment before tumbling into the water with tiny splashes. Immediately they paddle away towards their mother. You watch until they’re all hidden among the reeds, safe from any danger. Gator wraps an arm around your shoulder. “You’re gonna be the best mama someday.” You feel your chest fill with warmth as you look up at him, smiling thoughtfully. “Do you really think so?” He leans in and kisses the side of your head. “I know so.”

The blanket is spread beneath a large oak tree. After you eat, you’re just lying beside each other watching the clouds drift lazily overhead. Your fingers are intertwined, the breeze is warm against your skin and you can hear birds singing somewhere nearby. “This is perfect.” You sigh contentedly. “It is.” Silence settles between you comfortably. Gator can feel the small velvet box in his pocket, his heartbeat refusing to calm down. 

“I need to say somethin’,” His words come out quickly, almost stumbling over each other. You turn to look at him, noticing the sweat gathering along his temples and the queasy look on his face. Immediately you’re concerned, worried that he’s somehow fallen ill in the last half hour. “Gator? Are you okay?” He just nods once and moves to sit up. You shift onto your hip, sitting with your legs folded beneath you. His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. 

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this for a long time now.” He reaches for both of your hands, and you nod, brow furrowed in confusion but still trying to be supportive. “I know I’ve told you this a million times already,” A pause, he’s making eye contact with you now. “But I’ve never known anything as perfect as you.” He huffs out a breath. “I spent 26 years of my life thinkin’ that I would never change, and then you came along.”

His voice trembles slightly as he continues on. “You gave me something I’d never had before, someone to be better for.” You give his hands an encouraging squeeze. “You’re the best person I’ve ever known. I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve you.” You open your mouth to try and speak but he cuts you off. “No, I need to say this. Please let me say this.” 

He takes a steadying breath. “When I found you in that warehouse, I thought I’d lost you.” Your nose starts to burn and your eyes sting as tears well up in your eyes. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. And every day since then has felt like a gift.” A tear slips down your cheek and he is quick to lift his hand and brush it away. “You made this place feel like home. You made me feel like I could be somebody worth lovin’.” Your lips tremble. 

“I wanna spend every spring with you.” He smiles. “Every summer, every fall, and every winter. I want to grow old with you and keep namin’ baby cows forever.” It’s only then that you fully understand what he’s doing, you start to laugh as more tears slip down your cheeks. 

“If you’ll let me, I’ll spend forever working to be the man you deserve.” He lets go of one of your hands and reaches into his pocket. Your breath catches as the velvet box catches the light. “Gator…” He shifts off of the blanket and onto one knee. Everything else disappears. The breeze, the pond, the birds, all you can see is him, Gator. Only the man who had fought through hell to bring you home. The man who still looked at you like you were the greatest thing he had ever known. He opens the box and the diamond catches the afternoon sunlight perfectly. “I love you.” His voice is steady now. 

“So..” He says your name once, slowly, faithfully. “Will you marry me?” You don’t even let him finish the breath before you’re nodding. “Yes.” It comes out as a laugh and a sob all at once. “Yes, Gator.” He starts blinking rapidly, shock filling his expression. “Really?” That makes you laugh harder. “Really, really.” His smile grows so big it almost doesn’t seem real. He slips the ring onto your finger with hands that tremble just enough for you to notice. It fits perfectly. 

The second it’s on, you’re throwing your arms around his neck. He catches you easily and the two of you tumble backwards in a fit of laughter. You kiss him once, then again, then again and again until you’re breathless. 

You whisper against his lips. “I love you,” 

“I love you too.” 

“So much.” 

“I love you more.” 

“No,” You smile. “I don’t think you do.” He rests his forehead against yours. “I think I win this one.” You both fall quiet. The pond ripples gently nearby, ducks paddling peacefully across the water. Somewhere in the distance, there are calves tripping over their feet. And for the first time in a very long time, the future feels endless.

taglist: (i just tagged everyone who asked to be for part 2)