#meachum

You woke with a startle in bed, the clock reading it was just past 4 in the morning. What the hell was that screeching sound? You threw back your covers, feet touching the ground as the screeching turned into a whimper.

Oh, right. Mark Meachum was currently detoxing on your couch. And apparently crying in pain over it.

You pulled on a hoodie and padded down the cool hallway, heart skipping when you saw him curled up in a tight ball, hands over his head, shouting into his own knees. Goddamn it. You went to the kitchen and grabbed some tylenol, crushing a few pills up and shoving them in a glass. You filled it with only a few sips of water before you were kneeling next to the couch, Mark breathing deeply.

“Sh, you’re okay,” you murmured, gently stroking over his head. He didn’t move and you were forced to peel his hands away. His face was a mixture of exhaustion, dried tears and pain, Mark taking the glass you handed him without a word, swinging it back. “Lay back down.”

“It hurts so much,” he whispered, clutching his body tight when another wave hit him. You frowned, gently rubbing his shoulder as you stood up. 

“Give me fifteen,” you said. You went back to your bedroom, pulling on a pair of sweatpants, shoving your wallet, phone and car keys in your pockets. 

After a quick pit stop at the dollar store a few minutes away, you were back home, chucking the item you’d bought in the freezer while you got out some ice packs and started to stuff them in some rainbow striped knee high socks you’d grabbed. After a few minutes, you had both filled and tied together to make the ugliest abomination for a headband anyone had laid eyes on.

You tucked the object around Mark’s head, his pained hiss turning into a guttural moan.

“How’s that feel, champ?” you asked, Mark’s face losing some of the tension as the cold from the ice packs seeped around his skull. You weren’t surprised when a few relieved tears fell down his cheeks. He was exhausted not just physically but mentally too. You rubbed a hand over his hair, smiling when a tiny snore fell from him, his body finally going limp. “Good boy. Get some sleep.”

You observed him for a fe minutes before you pulled up your phone and ordered some extra ice pack head bands off amazon. The dollar store one would suffice once the tube sock ones warmed up, at least until the new, better quality ones got there that evening and then Mark would have a rotating relief system. He’d probably be doing better by later that night but the headaches would probably linger for at least a week. 

“Why’d you say you were all alone earlier, Meachum?” you said quietly to yourself, Mark’s chest rising and falling slowly, his body in a deep, needed sleep. You sighed, petting his head one last time before you wandered back to your bedroom and flopped down on the covers, desperately trying to get a few more hours before you had to figure out what the hell you were even meant to do on this task force.

You rubbed your eyes that night in the office, watching everyone start to pack up and head home for the day. Blythe stopped by your desk when you tugged on your jacket, his expression neutral. “Do you need something, sir?” 

“I just wanted to offer my appreciation again for you filling in for Meachum today. Saying having you on board was a benefit is an understatement.” You smiled, bending down to pick up your backpack.

“A fresh set of eyes never hurts. I’ll be in-”

“I spoke with your captain and the deputy commissioner.” You blinked slowly, Blythe nodding. “They’ve informed me that they found no wrong doing by yourself for going to Meachum the other night.”

“So that makes you a powerful friend to have then,” you said. Blythe didn’t give any indication but you saw a sliver of a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t say thank you for doing what’s right.” You nodded, slinging your backpack on. “I’ll walk you out. We have some things to discuss.”

The sky was black when you made it home, just after nine. You gave Mark’s Bronco a once over where it was still in the driveway and hummed, walking your way up the front path and then slipping inside the warm, dimly lit house.

“How was the first day of school, dear? Play nice with the other kids?” he said, walking out of the kitchen with a piece of pizza in hand, your face immediately in a pout. 

“Are you wearing my fucking sweatpants?” He glanced down to the lavender joggers he had on before taking a bite of pepperoni pizza. “You went through my shit, didn’t you.”

“Well as much as I love walking around a random woman’s house in my boxers as the next guy, I was cold and figured you had some old boyfriend’s clothes laying around. Which why don’t you have-”

“Those. Are. My. Favorite. Pants.” He grinned, sticking a leg out.

“They are quite soft and cuddly. Also, they’re way too long for you. Plus, my underwear is in the wash.” Your eye twitched, Mark shrugging again. “If you really want them back-”

“As if I’d want them after your free balling,” you growled, kicking off your boots by the door, Mark eyeing you up and down. “If you’re feeling better, maybe you ought to…”

You suddenly noticed the lack of your small plant and vase on your front table which was pushed back slightly, much closer to the front door. You glanced at Mark, a red mark on his forearm. “Did you fall down?”

He was quiet, stepping closer to the counter to lean against it with his hip, his eyes squeezed tight. “...Kinda, not long after you went to work. I had to piss and I was so freakin’ dizzy I thought I was on a tilt a whirl. I cleaned up the mess and put your plant in a plastic cup by the sink. I’ll uh, pay for a new-”

You stepped over to him, taking the pizza out of his hand and setting it aside before you guided him over to the couch, Mark staring up at you. You ran a hand over his head, his ice pack feeling a little warm. “It’s just stuff, Mark. I told you to call me if you pass out.”

“I fell, there’s a difference,” he snapped back. You leaned down in his face, grabbing his shirt collar, fisting it tight. His breath hitched, eyes darkening. “Are you going to slap me or make out with me cause I’m game for both.”

“You’re…” You paused. He didn’t need a scolding, just someone to help him and somehow that’d become you. “Mark, I know you’re a tough guy and you’re doing well. But you need rest. When you’re dizzy, you sit down. Immediately. What if you smacked your head on the table and bled out on the floor? Then I’d have to clean that shit up and I hate cleaning.”

He held up his hands, watching you take a step back. “May I please have my pizza, prison warden?”

“As long as you keep being a good boy and do what I say, then yes.” You plucked the ice pack off his head and a moment later, returned with his plate and put a new ice cold one on his head. He hissed at the contact but quickly fluttered his eyes shut. “Those help the headaches at all?”

“I think I’d be sobbing on the ground in the fetal position again if it weren’t for these things.” You excused yourself, returning a little while later changed into some pajamas and stealing some pizza from the box for yourself. “...Did, did I get addicted to drugs and not know it?”

“...I don’t know. Did you ever take more of your medication than you should have?” you said, sitting down on the far end of the couch, legs spread out on the chaise lounge. Mark didn’t deny it, his gaze careful, cautious. “I already know you did or you wouldn’t have been crashing that hard last night. I don’t give a shit, Meachum.”

“So it’s my own fault it feels like a jack hammer in my skull right now.” You rolled your eyes, eating half a slice down. “Well you just said if I hadn’t had more than the prescription-”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. This was going to happen to you regardless of if you took three pills a day or five. It just takes a little longer to wear off. Trust me, I’m not worried about you being an addict so you shouldn’t either.”

“But I-”

“It wasn’t black tar heroin, Meachum. It’s fuckin epilepsy medication. You’ll be fine and Dr. Slatter already confessed to being part of The Gray Skulls.” He sat up, cocking his head. You pointed a finger at him, Mark folding back into the cushions of the couch. 

“How the hell did you do that?” You smirked, eating the rest of your slice before diving into the next one. “You’re seriously going to edge me on this?”

“You a big fan of edging, Meachum?” You took your plate to the kitchen, finishing your slice along the way. After washing up and pouring yourself a glass of your new whiskey, you rejoined him, Mark now going for puppy dog eyes. 

“You’re seriously not going to tell me how you got that dickhead to confess?” 

“It wasn’t hard. The detective that took over the case told him he could either confess or we’d let it slip to The Gray Skulls that he was working with us. It was his choice if he wanted to fend for himself on the streets or take his chances with the LAPD. He chose correctly.” You sipped from your glass, Mark’s lip twitching up. 

“Nah, something else happened. You’re way too fucking giddy. Did you find out you get to still be a detective?”

“That…and I found Volchek. They captured him, recovered the fissile material. Your task force is all set apart from some paperwork. I didn’t mention that?” Mark leaned across the couch, eyes searching your face for a lie and finding none. He shook his head, mouth open. You tapped his chin, closing his lips together. “Ah, so you do know how to shut up.”

“You found him in less than twelve hours? Are you part blood hound or some shit? You just sniff out mysteries like Scooby fucking doo?” You shrugged, relaxing back into your spot with your glass. Mark scoffed, shifting back to his spot. “You got lucky. There’s no way you found Volchek on your first day.”

“If it makes you feel better, you gave me the idea.” He furrowed his brow, folding his legs under himself and turning his whole body towards you. “It’s not all that impressive. Blythe gave me a de-brief this morning and it sounded like this guy was incredibly well organized, planned for contingencies sort of deal.”

“He is. How’d that-”

“Volchek’s team ain’t girl scouts. They run around with guns and while I’m sure the man doesn’t care about some stray casualties, he probably has some irreplaceable guys which means he probably has someone with extensive medical experience on the payroll, similar to our friend Dr. Slatter. I called my dad-”

“Dad?”

“He’s the chief neurologist at one of the big hospitals downtown. Anyway, I asked him to tell me what doctors in LA are fluent in Belarusian from his doctor look up database thing and then I got a list of doctors. It didn’t take long after that to discover who originated from Belarus and was most likely working with Volchek. We put stakeouts on two potential doctors and one of them, we followed a guy who went in the back and looked shady all the way back to Volchek’s warehouse. We took out about twelve guards, secured Volchek and his number two along with the material. The rest were all low level guys. Sorry to disappoint but your task force is over.”

Mark rested his head against the couch back, his eyes squeezed shut but you suspected it wasn’t from pain. You inched closer, taking hold of one of his hands. 

“I heard about your friend, Drew. I’m sorry.” Mark slowly let himself look at you, green eyes tired but a weight to them gone.

“This is who you are under all the brains and the mouth. You’re a carer.” You shrugged, looking to your lap. 

“It’s not pity, it’s just-”

“Who you are,” he finished. You nodded, Mark squeezing your hand, eyes drifting upwards to meet. “You know if you really cared about me, maybe we could think about rounding some bases tonight-”

“You want to round bases? Sounds great.” You grabbed the remote and turned on a baseball game, Mark giving you an excellent bitch face from the corner of your eye. “Look at all the bases, Meachum. Your favorite.”

“You’re cruel.”

“Not as cruel as the fact I’m wearing a see through bra right now,” you said, downing your whiskey and patting his thigh. He groaned, your finger going to his lips. “Let me put it to you this way. If you get horny right now, that’s going to divert blood southwards which means less blood upstairs which means bigger headaches. Keep it in your pants, Meachum.”

“You’re a little evil vixen,” he mumbled, slumping down on the couch, wincing a bit. You turned off the TV, Mark relaxing some but still, he laid down, resting his head in your lap. “Do that thing you did last night.”

“I am not taking off my shirt-“

“Play with my hair, jackass.” You stilled, Mark grumbling. “You going to make me beg?”

“Not tonight.” You scrunched up your fingers and lightly dug into his scalp, Mark nuzzling into the touch. “How’s the pain compared to last night?”

“Better. I hate feeling helpless is all.” You hummed, scratching your nails along his skin, Mark shifting beneath you. “So, why don’t you have any old boyfriends clothes? You’re obviously smart and kind, does the right thing kind of person. You’re witty, beautiful and based on your mouth and underwear choices, seem like the kind of woman that will ruin orgasms with all other women for men. How’s a babe like you single?”

You didn’t respond, Mark’s breathing evening out while you massaged his stressed temple. 

“You got hurt,” he said plainly. “That’s why you flirt with cocky guys like me that are good for a night in bed and not much else.”

“Says the man that broke up with his fiancé two weeks before the wedding. Slept with the sister from what Oliveras said.”

“Her sister got drugged at a bar and called me for help. She was scared so I stayed with her that night. I can’t help it if my ex didn’t believe us.” 

“Not the story Amber heard…or that you let people believe. Were you looking for an excuse to leave?”

“Yes.” He sighed softly. “I thought I was sick and Melinda doubted me and I just took it as the universes way of telling me to spare her the pain, just let her think the worst of me.”

“And now that you’re not dying?” 

“She still doubted me,” he said quietly. “I don’t want someone who thinks the worst of me.”

“So you show up on a strangers porch.” 

“Stranger that risked her career for a guy people don’t like.” You closed your eyes, slowing the movement of your hand. “So I say again, who hurt you, Y/L/N?”

“We aren’t good enough friends for that conversation, Meachum.” You got up, Mark eyeing you from the couch. “Want some ice cream?”

“Going to need to work on that deflection,” he said, sitting upright with some effort. You crossed your arms, Mark holding up his hands. “Sure, as long as it’s not that frozen yogurt shit.”

“Frozen yogurt, coming right up.”

You weren’t entirely surprised to find Mark gone the next morning. His head was probably still hurting but he was through the worst of it. Another day on the couch sipping some sports drinks and he’d be fine and dandy. You frowned when you found the sweatpants on the couch, a note stuck to the top of them.

I owe you one…and another bottle of Johnny Walker. 

-Mark

P.S. My ex was never the love of my life. It was shitty of me to propose when I knew it wouldn’t last. I was just tired of being alone. 

We probably shouldn’t be friends, Y/N.

Because it won’t end there.

Because I’ll want more.

Because I got a taste of what not being alone feels like and I’m already addicted.

So I’ll just hold onto thoughts of things we never did and hope that someday you give yourself a shot again. You’re every guy’s dream girl and you deserve a good guy to spend life with.

“Meachum,” you growled, crumpling the note.

You banged on Mark’s front door, a very tired Mark opening it with a frown. He rubbed his eye, shaking his head. “It’s six in the damn morning-”

You tossed the sweatpants at him, stepping inside and shoving him back against the wall. He held up his hands as you got in his face, Mark breathing hard. 

“So…to what do I owe this visit, gorgeous?” You looked up through your lashes in the dark hallway, Mark’s face covered in shadows.

“Tell me why it’d end different than it did with her. Tell me how I’m not just another crutch for you.” He plucked off his headband ice pack, tossing it off to the side, hands capturing your cheeks. 

“Because we’re not even together and it didn’t feel like this. Tell me you flirt with other guys like you do with me. Tell me that you tell people about your brother so easily. Tell me all you see me as is a injured puppy to take care of. Tell me those things are true and we can go our separate ways.”

You glanced away, Mark pulling your face in close, eyes drifting back to his. “Why’d you come here, sweetheart? Because it sure as shit wasn’t to give me a pair of pants.”

“God, you’re always so annoying.” You gripped his shirt, Mark tugging you against his body, lips slamming together. He moved messily, half kissing your top lip, half getting your cheek. You pulled his neck down, angling his head so you could swipe your tongue into this mouth, crashing against his own. He smirked, fucking smirked, toying with you, denying you further entrance. You pulled back, Mark wiping his thumb over your bottom lip. “Stop fighting me.”

“But it’s so much fun to be bad,” he said, nipping at your lip, tugging it between his teeth. It snapped back, Mark lifting his chin, covering your mouth with his hand when you started to protest. “You can have your way with me another time when my head isn’t throbbing.”

“Try to get some sleep today,” you said, Mark nodding. 

“I mean I was until your randy ass showed up.” You rolled your eyes, picking up his icepack and shoving it back on his head. He grinned, flashing you a wink. “Careful now. Don’t make me look too sexy. You won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself.”

“Behave or I’m not coming back,” you said. Mark crossed his arms, looking you up and down, silently calling your bluff. “Just to be clear, we’re not dating. We are trying to be friends, understood?”

“Right. I totally shove my tongue down my friends throats all the time.” You deadpanned him, Mark chuckling. “Call it what you want, we both know what this is.”

You picked his sweatpants up, tossing them on his front table before turning to go. “...Swear you didn’t actually cheat on your fiance?”

“I just let her think that,” he said softly. “I swe-”

“I was engaged,” you said, back to him. The air shifted, Mark right behind you. 

“Did he cheat?” 

You shook your head, Mark’s hand resting on your shoulder. “My parents are very wealthy, top doctors and all that. He broke it off when I said we needed a prenup. We hired a PI, found out later on he’d married and divorced two other women for money. I spent three years with that scumbag loser. I was such a nerd in school that I always prioritized studying over boyfriends but I thought he was…”

“Did you love him? Or were you just tired of being alone?” You glanced over your shoulder, eyes wavering back at him. He nodded, a sad smile on his face. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Y/N.”

“You need to give more of a shit about yourself, Mark.”

“Maybe you can show me how.” You turned around, smiling at his strands of hair that stuck up wildly. “In awe of how handsome I am again?”

“Hide it all you want, Meachum. You’re a good guy.” You pecked a kiss to his lips, Mark blushing. “Holy shit you blush? That’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” he said, his cheeks pink. You smiled as you spun around, hand on the door. 

“Take me out this weekend?” you asked. He nodded. “Guess I’ll see you around, Meachum.”

“You can count on it. Maybe if you’re, you know, in the mood, you might wear one of those pretty little bra sets you have?” he said, shrugging to himself.

“Oh, I’ll wear it,” you said, Mark grinning, “But you won’t be seeing it, not for a while that is.”

“You’re a bit evil and I respect that,” he said, pushing you out the door. “Also, please for the love of god, stop showing up at my door before the sun is up unless it’s for a booty call. Please?”

“Now you’re up to four dates before you see any action.” His green eyes went wide, lips parting. “Go back to bed, Meach. Or I’ll make it five.”

“Aw, I already have a nickname,” he said, leaning against the doorframe with one arm, watching you head down the steps. “You like me or something?”

“You’re giving me a headache,” you grumbled. He laughed, deep and hearty, making you look back at the carefree sound. He seemed almost surprised himself and you wondered when the last time he had something to laugh about was. “Go back to bed, cutie.”

He blushed again, smiling to himself. “Can I see you tonight?”

“…I’ll swing by after I catch more of your bad guys. I’ll text you.”

“Best girlfriend ever,” he said, as you held up your hand.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself-“

“Best girlfriend ever!” he said, purposely ignoring you before he was ducking back inside with a wink.

Oh god, he was going to be a handful, wasn’t he? But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all…