#iwritemilfs

For Astrid

Hughie knew that his spree wasn't going to last. It was inevitable that he would slip up somewhere, not cover his trackes thoroughly enough and it would all come crashing down on him. It didn't make it any easier when the inevitable happened though. When he saw cops lingering outside the door to his and his dad's apartment, he ran; but they caught him.

Now he sat in an interrogation room, sweating bullets, anxiously worrying the tight handcuffs around his wrists. He should have asked for a lawyer the moment he'd got in, but he'd just frozen the moment they'd brought him in and now he was on his own and it was too late to be shouting for a lawyer.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, you know.” (From Tess)

“-well, I’m still breathing, so guess I’m doing ok.”

Least, considering the few times she’s been bit by now, nothing occurs ti her compared to others; either some kind of blessing or a hell of a curse.

"didn't think this would actually work." this, meaning those fedra kids holding up their end of the deal, robert actually not being a scumbag for once. well, he was still a scumbag, but he'd live to see another day & potentially a lot more now that tess & joel were no longer in boston qz. part of him couldn't believe it yet, but here they were.

on the road, free as a bird.

A year now that Rebecca had accepted the job offered by Vought. It felt a lot more shallow than her previous one as a social worker, but perhaps she could have more leverage to change the world somehow, since Government had no priority in people. But Vought ? With money you could do anything. Hence why, she was here, twitting about all these supers here and there, making them attractive and seductive and more than anything, more and more popular. She didn't like her job that much. It wasn't very rewarding yet, but the Seven were pretty nice with her. At least her new salary would be of good, and the two of them with Billy will be able to fly to somewhere exotic for vacations.

For Wendy

Hughie’s knowledge of psychology was armchair level at best and his understanding of the criminal mind came only from personal experience and not from academia. Unlike the majority of his coworkers, Hughie had never been to college. His dad could never have dreamed of affording to send him and so Hughie went out into the working world with only a GED to his name.

Robin had been more into true crime than he was, but he couldn't deny that the podcasts and series that they had listened to wand watched together were fascinating, in the most extremely morbid way. Some of the things he had learned about, especially with serial killers, had stuck. Their comfort zones, their signatures, how notoriously difficult they were to catch. He never once dreamed of ever having to actually deal with one.

It was when he was in his office late at night, looking at a map of the city with red pins in it that he realised he was wildly out of his depth. He was aware that with his complete lack of experience he could be overreacting, which was why he had requested a somewhat discreet meeting with an expert from the FBI, just one person to listen to his concerns and hopefully dismiss them as overthinking things.

Hughie’s leg bounced in a jittery nervous jig behind his desk. It still felt weird working for the government after everything that had happened and now he would be meeting with someone who worked for the very people who had him on their most wanted list not last year. He wondered if this person knew who he was, his history and how that would bear on what he had found.

Hughie tried not to spring to his feet when she entered his office, tried tamping down on his nerves and slight excitement (the concept of meeting an FBI agent still pretty damn cool in his estimations). He offered a hand for her to take, praying his nerves hadn’t dampened his palms.