Summary: A snapshot of how you help Mark get through his medical treatment, post-surgery.
AN: As fun as the family fluff is, I thought it would be interesting to come back to this time for Mark and reader, when they're still essentially newlyweds having to go through so much.
Word Count: 1.5K
Posted on Patreon: Dec. 5, 2025
Tags & Warnings: (Set during the Epilogue) Established relationship (married), talk of medical treatment (radiation), hurt/comfort, Luke Finau and Keyonte Bell mentioned
Series Masterlist
Mark woke to something gentle and familiar.
As your fingers sifted through his hair, he managed to pry his eyelids open, as if each one was weighed down by hurricane shutters.
He breathed in deep, let it out slow.
“Morning,” he rumbled.
“Not quite,” you said.
He rubbed the sleep gravel off his eyes and blinked blearily at red, digital numbers. Once his vision evened out, he recognized the clock on his nightstand.
5:30 in the afternoon. Jesus.
He now remembered shuffling to the bed for a nap around noon. You’d made him some kind of creamy chicken soup, but he’d only been able to stomach a few slurps. Not because it didn’t taste good, but because if he’d taken another bite, he probably would’ve thrown it up back into the bowl.
You laid a kiss on his bicep, over a faint smattering of freckles. Your lips traveled in a row of soft kisses up to his shoulder, lingering on his cheek, and then the side of his head as he smiled.
He glanced over at you. “You seem to be a lot nicer to me on the third week of the month.”
“I’m always nice to you,” you retorted.
Your fingers continued to comb his hair back. He watched your amusement fade as you sighed, tracing delicately around the healing scar on the side of his skull. His hair was starting to grow back there, but he knew another patch was thinning not too far from it.
The surgery had been successful, mostly. There was still enough of the tumor left that Indira put him on a pace of radiation treatments. The sessions themselves were painless.
It was the aftermath that made him feel like he’d gone a few bare-knuckle rounds with Finau (and lost). It was entire body fatigue, the kind that seeped into his bones and made what was left of his brain fuzz over like static on an old TV.
All this fucking work for a benign tumor, Mark thought.
“You hungry?” you asked. “I can make you some grilled chicken.”
Mark grimaced. “Gotta be honest, sweetheart, I’m sick of chicken.”
“What would you want then?”
He slowly shifted onto his back so he could see you better. He trapped your hand on his chest and managed a smirk.
“Greasiest double cheeseburger you can find, with some nice, crispy bacon and a side of chili fries. And tell ‘em they better not skimp out on the fuckin’ cheese.”
Your body shook with quiet laughter. “Two bites in, and you’d be hugging the toilet.”
“That’s a price I’m willing to pay,” he said, with a raise of his “serious” brows.
You bit your lip against a deeper smile, shaking your head. At least he’d retained his incurable wit.
“I can make the chili part happen. Keyonte actually sent us a good recipe, plus a few others I think you should try,” you said.
Mark groaned, casting an arm over his eyes.
“You’re gonna make it all healthy and shit.”
You just patted his chest.
“That’s literally what the doctor ordered, babe.”
He cracked a grumpy look at you, and your heart twinged with sympathy.
You leaned down for a soft kiss. He gave in with a brief sigh, letting his arm fall around your waist instead.
“It’s not much longer,” you said, a near whisper. “Just a couple more sessions.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.”
And it wasn’t even a total lie this time. He was fucking lucky; despite all else, he still had you. That was more than enough.
“You want to get up, or you want to rest a little more?” you asked.
Mark shook his head and made a monumental effort to move his body, sitting up and pushing back the covers. Even that almost made his head spin. You helped him with a hand on his arm, and then on his back.
By now he knew he needed your help, even though it chafed to have to lean on you so much, in too many ways. He’d promised himself that after this, it would be different. Hell, he’d promised you too, more than once. He was going to make it stick this time.
In sickness and in health, he thought wryly. Just a few months into this marriage, and you'd already dealt with more than most wives might put up with in a decade. What fucking newlywed bliss.
You braced him when he got to his feet. He tried to disguise the shake in his balance with a short stretch, dropping a hand on your shoulder to twist and crack his own back.
“Jesus, I’m stiff,” he grunted. “Think we need a new mattress.”
“Or you can finally try doing yoga with me,” you said, only half teasing. “Could make you more limber.”
He arched a brow at you. “Oh, yeah? Trying to teach me some more compromising positions?”
His hand slid down to your ass for a squeeze, making you smile. But you both knew that his loss of appetite had come in other forms. Even if he could get it up for you, his body's stamina was somewhere in the proverbial basement. Just yesterday, he got dizzy after lacing up his fucking sneakers for a ten-minute walk after lunch. He used to run three miles before breakfast.
He tried to set aside the pity party, though. Instead, he focused on getting from his bed to the bathroom with your help. He wanted to splash some water on his face and try to feel a little more alive before he inevitably passed out on the couch.
“Yoga's much more low-impact than your usual workouts,” you pointed out, giving him an impish look. “And muscle strengthening too.”
Mark chuckled at that, with no small amount of self-deprecation.
“Hate to say it, but I don't think downward doggy style's gonna be doable for me right now," he remarked dryly. "You'd probably have to peel me off the fucking floor.”
You laughed lightly, until you got him into the bathroom. You noticed the way he hesitated, catching sight of himself in the mirror after you flipped the wall switch.
The lighting did him no favors, he thought, and his hair wasn’t the only thing that was thinning out. A plain gray LAPD shirt hung more loosely on his frame, and despite all the time he spent sleeping and recovering, there were depressions under his eyes, hollowness in his cheeks, a pallid hue to his skin.
Your hand on his chest distracted him. He looked down at you and found the teasing run out of your gaze. A knowing gleam replaced it.
“Hey. You know I was just kidding, right?” you asked. "What's important right now is you keeping your strength up, not our sex life."
Mark quirked a humorless smile. “Yeah. Trust me, I get it."
You really didn't think he did. Frowning, you slipped out from under his arm so you could stand in front of him, drawing his face between your hands. Your thumbs brushed tenderly under his tired eyes. You earned his attention on you, rather than the mirror.
“You're doing so well, you know that?" you said. Your hands moved down to his chest. "You are going to get better."
"But I'm gonna be different," he said. "I already am."
You tilted your head at him.
“Yeah, maybe so. But I've already told you I'm here for it.” More teasingly, you added, “If you thought I was that fucking shallow, then you shouldn't have married me.”
Mark's lips tugged upward, more genuinely. He held your hands where they were, giving into an amused shake of his head, but he stayed uncharacteristically quiet. You still had to wonder if he believed you.
“You know what, let me ask you this. How’re you going to look at me when you knock me up one day?” you said, more cheekily, but there was still a challenge there. “I could gain twenty, thirty pounds. Swollen hands and feet, questionable bladder control, varicose veins, stretch marks. Maybe all that and more.”
Mark paused, and his chest tightened. After all this, he thought it might be a miracle if he could get you pregnant. He wasn’t about to voice that, though, especially because he knew what you were getting at. He softened.
“I’m sure you’re gonna have that sexy glow they’re always talking about in the movies,” he said, his lips quirking into a grin. “But as long as you’re healthy, that’s all that’s gonna matter.”
You smiled back. “Exactly.”
When you hugged him, the warmth of your words only sunk deeper into his bones. Sometimes it was hard for him to believe how much you loved him. Probably because there hadn’t been that many people in his life who actually gave a shit, regardless of what he had to bring to the table. You had a habit of giving there, more than taking. Mark had a habit of taking.
But he’d made a promise he was determined to keep.
For now, he was standing steady on it.
AN: This one got me deep in my feels. 💙 How about you?
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Summary: The reader is working her first undercover job when infamous LAPD Detective Mark Meachum shows up right in front of her. But she doesn't like coincidences and takes matters into her own hands to get to the truth, no matter the consequences...
Pairing: Mark Meachum x Detective!reader
Word Count: 5,300ish
Warnings: Countdown S1 spoilers, language, angst, life threatening medical diagnosis, suicide references (minor characters), smutty teasing, smidge of violence, Mark dealing with a lot/being a cutie
A/N: Welcome to my first full on Mark Meachum fic! This was written for @zepskies 5K Follower Celebration and was inspired by this color palette!
“Hi,” said a quiet voice. You glanced up from the front desk, alarm shooting through. You’d be eternally grateful that it was not only late so the office lights were dim but that the man in front of you was busy looking down, pulling out his wallet.
Why the fuck was Detective Mark Meachum at a fucking neurologists? You kept your composure, quickly taking his insurance card, Meachum not seeming to recognize you. Not that you expected him to. You’d only met him once during a citywide manhunt back when you were a rookie on patrol. He told you to canvas The Hills, you said yes sir to the incredibly handsome man, and then you hadn’t seen him in five years.
Fuck, you’d been begging to go UC for six months and you were not about to fuck up your case over the notorious menace of the LAPD that was Mark Meachum.
“Are you new?” he asked tiredly. You put a smile on your face when you saw the weariness of his.
“I started last week. I’m a resident shadowing Dr. Slatter but the receptionist had to leave early and it’s quiet today so I offered to cover. Figure it’s good to know the whole job in and out, you know?”
“Sounds like you’ll be a good doctor someday,” he said quietly, a sliver of a genuine smile on his face as you handed back his card. “$25?”
“Uh, yes that’s your co-pay,” you said, Mark holding out a credit card. You swiped it, seeing from his history he’d been coming there for the past nine months, coming in every two weeks the past two months. That wasn’t good. Whatever was up with him was getting worse.
“Well maybe someday you’ll be able to figure out how to get tumors out of people’s heads without it killing them,” he said, putting his card away. You stared at him, Mark closing his eyes. “Sorry. Just uh…long day.”
Something clicked in your head, your breath hitching. Could he…Mark heard it, his eyes snapping open. Fuck, fuck. Recover before he noticed.
“Maybe someday I will Mr. Meachum,” you said. “Drive safe.”
“Have a good night,” he said, leaving the office out the front door. You stared after him, a flurry of thoughts rushing across your mind. You didn’t like the idea of coincidences and Mark Meachum being at this practice in particular was too big of one.
You had to get back to the station and start researching. Tonight.
“All the patients gone?” asked Dr. Slatter, walking out from the back. You hummed, hoping he got the fuck out of there so you could leave..
“I think all the staff are too. I didn’t realize we did appointments this late.” He shrugged.
“That guy is law enforcement, doesn’t work a normal schedule. I fit him in when I can.” You nodded, Dr. Slatter leaning against the desk. “That’ll be important for you to learn. The clock doesn’t stop. Patients will call with worries, concerns, at all hours. Especially in this field.”
“What does Mr. Meachum have?” you asked.
“Stage 4 glioblastoma. Tumor the size of a large peanut. Guy has probably six months, maybe three of decent quality of life. Depressive tendencies. We should keep an eye on him.”
“That really sucks,” you said quietly, Dr. Slatter humming.
“Well, I have a reservation I’m late for. You heading out?”
“I was going to stay a bit late. I know I screwed up some of the medical coding when we were busy earlier and I want to get it fixed before I head out.”
“Remember to lock up,” he said, giving you a wave before he was gone. You spent fifteen minutes doing actual work before you went into the patient files. It was easy enough to find Mark’s file and scans. Dr. Slatter if anything was underselling it. The images alone were jarring and Mark’s dosage of the medications he was on had just been upgraded again tonight.
And yet…your gut was telling you something different. Patient privacy was a fine line while doing undercover work and technically you were in a morally gray area. You’d agreed to limit your searches on patients on a need to know basis, strictly to maintain your cover while you investigated the doctor.
But you needed to know if your instincts were right which meant accessing all of the files.
You stuck a thumb drive in the side of the computer and ten minutes later, you’d erased the history of the download and were in your car. The station was a twenty minute drive away and it gave you an excuse to check for a tail. You swung through a drive through, whistling as you drove, checking your rear view mirror a few times. The coast was clear but still, you parked in the garage of the apartment building across the street and snuck down to the underground tunnel, crossing under the street to get into the station.
“Well if it ain’t the rookie,” said your former training officer as you entered the bullpen. “Been two weeks and you miss me already?”
“Sergeant Garrison, you know I can’t get enough of you,” you said, plopping down in the empty chair next to his desk. He frowned, narrowing his eyes.
“Don’t you have your own desk downstairs?”
“I need information. You worked with Mark Meachum back in the day right?” He scoffed.
“We were P1’s together. Guy fucks up cases for the rest of us but that’s not news to anyone. Why ya asking?”
“I saw him at my UC job. I need to know if he’s got enemies.” Garrison stared at you, sighing deeply. “What, you’re not going to give me the scoop?”
“Aren’t you supposed to do your own investigating?” You batted your eyes. “Y/N.”
“Remember that time I saved your life…” you trailed off, Garrison rolling his eyes. “Please? I could use another set of eyes before I head back under in the morning. I’ll let you and Jennifer stay at my parents cabin in Aspen again…”
“You’re bribing me and it’s working.” You plopped the bag of chicken nuggets on the desk with a grin.
“Meet me in conference room C in five.”
Three AM
“Holy…” you said to yourself, smacking Garrison’s arm. He popped his head up from where he’d fallen asleep, paper stuck to his face. “Look at this!”
“Oh god, I thought it was only a nightmare that I was still at work,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. You smacked him again, turning your laptop towards him. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?”
“This is Mark Meachum’s MRI scans,” you said, Garrison resting his chin in his hand. “Look at this.”
You clicked open another file, Garrison tilting his head. “You opened the same file, genius.”
“No. I didn’t.” He perked up, pulling the computer closer, reading the name on the top of the second set of scans. “Mark Meachum and former detective Linda Prisen have the exact same MRI scans and I mean exact. Same growth, same size, same pictures at the exact same durations. In what world does that happen?”
“Someone saved over Meachum’s file?” he asked tiredly. You sighed, taking the computer back. “Y/L/N, it’s an admin error.”
“Once is an admin error. Twice?” you said, hitting another file, Garrison staring at the screen. “Officer Terry Bridges. Three cops all with the same set of scans. How do you explain that?”
Garrison’s eyes darted around the screen for a long moment before finally finding yours. “First things first, separate your facts and theory. The smart thing to do would be to wait, gather information, build this into your investigation.”
“He thinks he’s dying,” you said quietly, Garrison sighing. “Garrison, I looked into Meachum and he’s had run ins with The Gray Skulls before. I don’t think he’s actually sick. I have to tell him.”
“You don’t know that he isn’t.” You rolled your eyes, gesturing to the computer. “Devils advocate here. He has headaches according to this file, right?”
“Yes but the meds he’s on are strong and the dosage has been ramping up. Those are strong medications to help with things like migraines, vertigo. If you pump that crap into someone that doesn’t need it at a high enough dosage, there are side effects,” you said. “Next argument.”
“Meachum went to the doctor of his own accord. How’d Slatter drug him before he started writing prescriptions for him then?”
“Easy,” you said, cocking your head. “Meachum took a hit to the head by a murder suspect who coincidentally happens to be part of The Gray Skulls. It was probably an average concussion which made the initial headaches real. He was referred to Dr. Slatter, you know, a trusted doctor regularly used by the department, who then probably oh so kindly suggested an MRI to check the concussion and bob’s your uncle. Meachum gets a magic MRI showing he has a tumor in his head.”
“You realize how batshit crazy that sounds right?” asked Garrison. “It’s a stupid crazy chain of events that Dr. Slatter had no idea would happen.”
“Dr. Slatter knew it would happen because he knew the murder suspect because, again, that damn suspect is part of The Gray Skulls which, oh, I’m investigating Dr. Slatter as being part of,” you said, hitting Mark’s arrest records, showing him arresting a member of the gang just the day before Dr. Slatter’s file on him started. “Meachum is set to testify in court against this guy. Meachum’s sent a number of guys in this gang to jail. We know for a fact The Gray Skulls are trying to level up. You don’t need to gun down a cop when you got a doctor that will nudge him along.”
“Y/N-” You stood up, hands on your hips.
“Prisen? Bridges? Both made arrests against The Gray Skulls and both were set to testify before…” You inhaled sharply, Garrison softening his face. “Prisen killed herself with pills and Bridges disappeared off the face of the planet after a supposed last hurrah hiking trip. Dr. Slatter put them both on an antidepressant not long before they…he already dropped the seed tonight that Mark was depressed which I sure as shit don’t believe. The guy is fucked up but he’s not there. I guarantee Slatter is going to give Mark pills he doesn’t needs soon and nudge him along. I’m not letting that man kill himself when he’s got another forty years left in him. Fuck my case. I’ll get the doctor on this shit if I have to.”
Garrison leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He bit his bottom lip, releasing it slowly.
“What if Mark Meachum is actually dying and you fuck up your case for nothing?”
“Then I’ll deal with the fallout.”
“They might demote you, put you back on patrol the rest of your career, shit they might fire you. Why do you care so much about this guy anyway? Most of the people he’s worked with can’t stand him.”
“He deserves protection, just like the rest of us.” Garrison tilted his head, sizing you up. “What?”
“This sudden devotion to Mark Meachum wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with your brother?” You narrowed your eyes, fighting back the way your heart raced.
“I have three brothers. Be a little more specific.”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe Kyle?” You clenched your fists, Garrison sighing. “You’re letting personal conflict impact your case. In fact, you are so damn close to this thing, I should report you, get you taken off it.”
You gathered up your computer and files, shoving them in your backpack. “Rookie, you know I’m right.”
“It is Detective Y/L/N,” you snapped, Garrison stiffening in his chair. “You’re right, I have an extra investment in making sure Mark Meachum is not in the same position as Kyle. The investment that I said I’d have every other person’s back on the job no matter what. Same investment you’re supposed to have.”
You put your backpack on and started to leave, Garrison swiveling out of his chair and rushing around the table. “Okay, okay. I’m being a dick cause the guy is a bit reckless and endangers others. But why throw your case away over it? Odds are Meachum won’t do something drastic. Just work your case and-”
“Garrison.” You stared up at him, his tired eyes full of worry. Not for Meachum but you. “My case is not worth a man’s life. If this were any other cop, would this even be a discussion?”
“You don’t know that he doesn’t have cancer! You are not allowed to disclose undercover cases to those without a need to know. I’m not even supposed to know and yet you dragged me into it. I-”
You held up a hand, putting a smile on your face. “I just remembered. You and Meachum were rookies together. You just don’t like the guy, that’s it, isn’t it?”
“He’ll fuck up your case,” he said quietly. “He did it on a big bank robbery case when we were your age and slapped the guy with a stupid assault and battery charge. Screwed up months of work all so he could arrest the guy himself. He’s done it over and over again and doesn’t give a shit about his fellow officers so no, I do not feel a sense of loyalty to him.”
“Well, it sounds like Meahcum’s the kind of guy I thought you were.”
“He’s a fucking menace-”
“Our job is to protect people,” you shot back.
“Not that motherfucker.” You blinked at him, shaking your head.
“Goodbye Garrison. Don’t feel the need to contact me outside of work ever again,” you said, leaving with a pep in your step.
Did you know for sure Meachum wasn’t sick? Nope. Would your case explode if you told Meachum and he tipped off Dr. Slatter? A million times over. Would you get kicked back down to patrol forever? Probably.
Still, you didn’t hesitate for one second to look up Mark Meachum’s address and head straight over.
You sucked down a cup of coffee on Mark’s front porch while hitting his Ring doorbell incessantly. It dinged, your gaze drifting to it for a split second.
“Drunk girl, it is four in the fucking morning,” a tired grumble came from the device. “Wrong fuckin’ house.”
“Mark Meachum, I don’t think so,” you said, leaning over the camera.
“Wait, you’re the doctor intern thing at Dr. Slatter’s,” he said. There was a shuffling and you saw a light turn on in the house. He opened the front door, raising his eyebrows. “Weren’t you wearing those lilac scrubs yesterday?”
“I’m impressed you know what that color is,” you said, brushing past him inside, his hand immediately catching your bicep. “Detective Y/N Y/L/N. Narcotics.”
The door slammed shut behind you, Mark narrowing his eyes. You flicked your eyes up to his bedhead. It made him look like an angry hedgehog and you couldn’t help but smirk at it.
“Leave the bag on the ground and then you can get on your knees, hands on your head.”
“You didn’t even buy me dinner first,” you said, Mark reaching behind himself, pulling a gun out of the waistband of his sweatpants. You set the bag down and stepped back against the front door, holding your hands up. “My badge is in the front left pocket.”
“Never said I didn’t believe you were a cop,” he said, keeping the gun by his side. “If you’re worried I’m going to blow your cover, you should have gone through department channels instead of coming to my fucking house in the middle of the night.”
“That’s not why I came here,” you said, Mark tilting his chin towards you. You lifted up your scrubs, giving him a view of your very skin colored bra and the fact you had no weapon or wires on you.
“Jesus fuck, I didn’t ask for a strip tease. I want you to explain yourself, weirdo.” You flipped him off, taking a step towards the bag. His hand moved so fast you didn’t catch it. You landed flat on your back, Meachum on top of you as you tried to get some air back in your lungs. The cold barrel of his gun wound it’s way under your jaw, the spike of fear and adrenaline not helping the whole not breathing thing. “Let me explain something, Detective Y/L/N. You’re not following protocols which makes me very suspect of you. Now, a friend of mine just died and I am extremely paranoid at the moment so I would start talking and fast.”
“I don’t think you have cancer,” you blurted out. His eyes flared wide, first in shock, then anger. He grabbed the collar of your scrubs, lifting you straight up to your feet as he stood. You felt like a ragdoll when he pushed you back against a wall, the gun in his hands pressed hard against your forehead. His eyes were practically black, body so close to yours you couldn’t effectively fight him, not when he was so much stronger.
“Because I should trust you, some fuckin’ rookie detective playing doctor. Get the fuck out of my house before I find out who your captain is and get you drop kicked to the graveyard shift for the next decade.”
“Why would I lie? If I were playing you, I would broken in and killed you in your sleep,” you said, shoving him off and picking up your bag. “Just get a second opinion, Meachum.”
You stormed out of there, wondering why the hell you gave up medical school to be dealing with this crap in the first place.
You were exhausted by the time you were getting home the following night. You hadn’t gotten any sleep before heading back UC and were ordered to report in after your shift at Dr. Slatter’s. Which, shocker to no one, turned into you being yelled at for two hours by the Captain, your direct supervisor and that snitch Garrison. Apparently Gary had strong feelings about Mark Meachum and “didn’t want to see you get hurt” and bullshit bullshit bullshit. You might have believed that before in the heat of the moment it came out that Meachum had arrested a guy Garrison was after which would have gotten him the tap to become detective himself.
Telling Garrison he was a lazy investigator when it came to real crime, didn’t have the balls or instinct to be a detective, and there was a reason so many of his former trainees had surpassed him career-wise probably hadn’t helped your case.
But you’d swear on your life you saw the rest of them smirk in agreeance for a split second.
For now you were off the Slatter case and would be finding out in the morning what the verdict was regarding your fate. Until then though, you were going to pound back a sleeve of mint Oreos, raid your liquor cabinet and then sleep like a rock.
You slowed when you came up to your house, an old, very well taken care of, Ford Bronco parked in your driveway. A figure was sitting in the chair on the small front porch area you occasionally had a morning coffee. You carefully pulled in beside it, the figure not looking up. Five seconds later you were walking around the cars, backpack slung over your shoulder, gun tucked in the back of your periwinkle scrubs.
“Purple your favorite color or some shit?” asked Meachum quietly, barely glancing up at you.
“More of an indigo girl. Best of both worlds,” you said, a brown paper bag by his feet. “Whatcha doin’ here?”
He stood up slowly, nudging the bag with his foot closer to you. “Asked around. Heard you like Johnny Walker Blue.”
“While I appreciate you blowing your paycheck on what appears to be three gigantic bottles of the stuff, why? Last we talked I got the impression you weren’t my biggest fan.”
He shivered in the night air but it wasn’t from the cool. His head dropped, shoulders raising with a deep inhale. The next breath came quicker, Mark’s fingers gripping into the denim over his thighs.
“Did you get a second opinion, Mark?” you asked softly. He nodded, the breaths coming faster and faster. You watched him carefully, waiting to see if he’d put a stopper back on the bottle that was about to bubble over or finally let it pop. “What did the other doctor say?”
“Scan showed nothing,” he whispered, darting his eyes upwards. His green eyes were red rimmed from the remnants of what you’d imagine was a happy but very confused breakdown in that Bronco not long ago. For the moment, despite the shake to his voice, they were dry. “You were right.”
“I’m glad you’re-” He pulled you into a fierce hug, his whole body shaking. It hurt with how hard he was holding you but you didn’t say that to him. You reached your arm around him as best you could, patting the top of his head as he buried it in your shoulder. “Mark, is there someone I could call for you? I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”
“I’m always alone,” he mumbled. You closed your eyes, hugging him back, his large body trying to burrow into yours. You felt it the moment he felt self-conscious, trying to tug back but you just held him, Mark only fighting it a millisecond before he was relaxing. “Why’d you tell me you didn’t think I was sick?”
“All part of my grand plan to get some free booze.” He let out a dry laugh, his whole body moving with it. “I’m serious. I was running low and thought this was easier than dealing with the store.”
“You’re so weird,” he chuckled, straightening up, closing his eyes, wincing in pain.
“Did you stop taking the medicines you were on?” He nodded, pressing his hands to his temple, as if applying pressure would relieve the white hot searing across his skull. “The medicines you were on at the dosages you were taking can cause side effects. The next few days are going to hurt as your body withdrawals from them.”
“Days of this?” he winced, trying to breathe through it. “Do me a favor and bash my skull in.”
“After I just got my ass reamed out for telling you? No way, Meachum. I figure you owe me at least twenty more years of life for all the shit headed my direction. Come on,” you dragged him inside, getting him settled at the kitchen table. You set an orange gatorade down in front of him. “Drink that while I make you something to eat because I seriously doubt you remembered to eat today.”
“...How’d you know that?” he asked, chugging the bottle half down in one go, his eyes still shut. You dimmed the lights overhead, Mark slowly peeling his eyes open.
“Because you’re a man who clearly doesn’t give a shit about himself and is now faced with dealing with the fact he won’t actually be dead this time next year. I don’t think hitting your macros was on your radar today, bud.”
You set a loaf of bread down in front of him that was borderline stale but he wolfed it down, alternating between his drink and that as you whipped up food on the stove. Ten minutes later you put a plate of three eggs with tomato, onions and peppers down and a stack of three pancakes in front of him. He ate as fast as you could get syrup and butter out of the fridge, Mark already finishing by the time you popped a pancake in your mouth.
“Drink more water,” you said, putting a glass down, Mark chugging it too.
“You got any advil? Tylenol?”
“Sure. I got some Midol too if you get crampy.” He paused setting his drink down, giving you a look. You grinned, chewing on another pancake. “I suggest you don’t take anything and focus on staying hydrated and fed the next few days. Stay in a dark room, sleep when you can, take hot showers. Ride it out.”
“...How do you know this shit?” he asked.
“Because I went to med school. Dropped out one semester shy of graduation for the very lucrative career of an LAPD detective which I’m probably getting demoted tomorrow. I make really awesome life decisions if you couldn’t tell,” you said, sitting down across from him, Mark smiling to himself. “It’s not a bad idea to get the advice of an actual doctor-”
“No more doctors,” he said. You nodded, Mark finally pushing the empty plate away, letting out a huff of air as his stomach probably yelled at him for stuffing himself so fast. “So you’re telling me I got you in trouble I take it?”
“It’s hard to believe, I know, but a lot of people in the LAPD don’t like you for some reason,” you grinned, Mark smirking. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Why risk your case for me? I wasn’t actually dying, only thought I was.” You looked down, biting the inside of your cheek. “Whatever the reason was, I owe you-”
“I left med school because my brother jumped off a bridge.” Mark was still, silent, the air heavy. “Do you know what Huntington’s is?”
“That neuro disease with no cure that kills you.” You nodded, Mark sighing. “Your brother had the gene.”
“When I was in med school, my oldest brother worked at a genome lab. Me and my three brothers did it over Christmas, thought it’d be fun to see our ethnicity make up and shit. Maybe give it to our parents for shits and giggles. But results came back and turns out the baby, Kyle, he’s got the Huntington gene. Kyle was a freshman in med school and knew exactly what it does to you. He struggled with the pressure of school and he’d just gone through a bad breakup. We never even got the chance to talk to our parents. Kyle just…decided it was too much and jumped off a bridge that night.”
“Y/N, I’m so-”
“An intern at the lab got the lab results mixed up with another Kyle. My brother Kyle? He wasn’t sick. I’ve never blamed that intern. Kyle made a stupid choice based on a mistake.” You stared at Mark, his green eyes boring into yours. “Do you understand now, Mark? Why I told you?”
“No stupid choices over here. Ever,” he said, holding up his hands.
“Smart man. Kyle regrets that choice every day and I’m not dealing with two of you,” you said, Mark’s eyebrow raising.
“Kyle’s…alive?”
“Us Y/L/N’s are a hard headed bunch. Fucker broke both legs and was back in med school a year later,” you said, Mark blinking rapidly. “I never said it was a tall bridge.”
“Surprised you’re not a lawyer with a mouth like that.”
“That’ll be my next career after I get canned from this one,” you said, Mark eyeing you up and down. “Careful, Meachum. Last man that looked at me like that wound up tied to my headboard and your body can’t cash the check your eyes are delivering right now.”
“I see why you wear the cute little scrubs. Detracts from the sailor mouth,” he said, scratching the side of his head. “And while we will circle back to this wonderful idea involving a headboard you have, I have an idea to help both of us out. My head’s already killing me and I have to work tomorrow-”
“No way. Two hours from now I wouldn’t even trust you to operate a microwave let alone carry a gun.”
“I know which is why we need to call my boss. I’m on a task force right now and this is not the kind of job you can call in a sick day for.” You raised an eyebrow, Mark pulling out his phone. “You sub in for me on this, Blythe will pull whatever strings he has to in order to make sure you not only keep your job but stay on as a detective. We got a deal?”
“A task force? I get I did you a favor but I’ve only been a cop for-”
“Trust me, a troublemaker like you is exactly the kind of person this team wants.” You leaned back in your seat, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You aren’t going to make me beg, are you?”
“...You owe me another bottle of booze,” you said, standing up with a groan. He was about to argue but you held up a hand. “The booze is for the fact I’m a good person who doesn’t feel comfortable sending you home alone to deal with this shit and you’re going to end up crashing on my couch for the next several days I suspect.”
“I can repay you in other ways when I’m feeling better-” You put a hand over his mouth, shushing him. His eyes were a mix of teasing and masking the current egg scramble that was his head at the moment.
“Just call your boss, Meachum.” You patted his head and slipped past him, ready to take a quick shower and change before checking on him again. He caught your hand before you could leave though, your head turning back over your shoulder. He parted his lips, a vulnerability in his face again. “I’ll be ten minutes, okay?”
“Why are you taking care of me?” he asked. “I literally shoved a gun in your face last night.”
“I was going to be a doctor at one point. Taking care of people is just something I do.” He frowned, not quite believing that. You threw your head back, closing your eyes. “My job is to protect and serve and that includes you.”
“Bullshit. Why would you go out of your way to feed me and-” You spun your wrist around, grabbing his hand instead. Mark watched you push his hand back down to the table. “I’m not some fuckin’ wounded animal.”
“Actually, you are,” you said, leaning down in his face, Mark scowling. “You need a friend right now and you showed up on my porch all on your own. Sorry to disappoint but I actually give a shit about my friends and that means making sure they don’t make stupid fuckin’ choices or get close to even feeling like stupid choices are an option. Am I clear?”
He stared at you, nodding once. You turned around, Mark clearing his throat. “So just curious, how often do you turn your other friends on cause that was strangely hot.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you shot back, ripping off your scrub top on the way down the hall.
“You’re torturing me on purpose. That’s what you’re doing. You realize this is the second time in less than a day you’ve shown me your bra.” You turned around and kicked off your your scrub pants, shrugging your shoulders as his eyes drank your body in. “I’m going through drug withdrawls over here and you’re trying to kill me.”
“Sounds like a you problem, Meachum,” you said, going back down the hall, giving him a view of your backside. “This is my house and I’ll wear whatever I want in it.”
“They’re fuckin’ see through?” he said to himself, voice three octaves higher minimum. At least he’d forget about the earsplitting headache he had for thirty seconds. “You know this is cruel and unusual punishment if we don’t hookup eventually. Check the Geneva convention, it’s in there.”
“Call your damn boss and then get your ass on the couch, Meachum,” you said. “Or else you ain’t seeing shit from me ever again.”
You didn’t turn around but you didn’t miss the way the chair scrapped behind you as Mark practically dove onto the couch.
summary: who knew leaving a bunch of notes around the precinct could save your life someday?
tags/warnings: mild countdown season one spoilers, language, fluff, some angst, hurt/comfort, protective mark, mutual pining, author doesn’t know how to flirt, no use of y/n, set a short time before 1x01 // 18+ only ⭑.ᐟ
word count: 2.6k...this was meant to be short...that's short, right? 😅 (it's the over explainer in me i'm sorry lmao)
song inspo; I could fall in love by Selena
✮.ᐟ notes: another story for @zepskies 5k celebration <3 thanks for letting me join again lovely 💗:) I was given a song!fic prompt for mark 💕
☻ side note; i’m still getting into the writing groove, sorry for any mistakes :’) 🫶🏽
ᯓ☆ masterlist
You were seriously regretting wearing these heels.
Usually they were the most agreeable in your rotation. Smooth black leather with a low pump, stylish enough to match with many of your outfits and comfortable enough to get you through the day — given how hectic they could get.
As an administrative assistant for the precinct, most days had you running around like a chicken with their head cut off. Answering phone calls, scheduling meetings, directing visitors, replying to emails, sending emails — there was always something for you to do.
With a sense of urgency, as Ron the snarky desk sergeant liked to remind you.
But all the stress was made worthwhile when Detective Mark Meachum was transferred into your district.
He noticed you immediately his first day, walking up to your desk with a charming smile on his face and the confidence of someone who owned both park place and the boardwalk in monopoly.
♪ I could lose my heart tonight If you don't turn and walk away ♪
And it was hard fighting off a blushing smile at his flirtations. Suddenly maintaining a professional composure had never been more difficult, but you’d managed somehow.
Rewarding him with nothing more than kind smiles and sincerity, it earned you his trust and affection overtime.
You also became his MVP, assisting him with anything from a simple search to scheduling important meetings — you’d helped him with countless cases as the year went on, only capturing his interest that much more.
After a while, you slowly began flirting back. Just a little harmless banter, nothing scandalous that the church elders needed to be made aware of. And it all began with the initial sticky note incident.
One of your responsibilities was making sure the systems were up to date everyday, and the easiest way to do that was to set them to update when the precinct was empty. Typically, the middle of the night after everyone left. When they got turned off, the system wouldn't be able to automatically update.
Around the start of his second month there, Mark still had the bad habit of turning his computer off at the end of the night for whatever reason. It frustrated you to no end, having to wait hours for it to fully update in the morning and getting a series of condescending reminders in the form of emails from superiors — besides the captain of course. He was always nice to you.
It put you behind schedule, also causing Ron to immediately berate you about it. Being the Captain’s nephew really got to his head most of the time.
So you wrote, Please don't (donut do not) shut your computer down before you go Meachum !! ☻ on a bright pink sticky note and left it on his desk one night. He’s left it on ever since.
From then on you began leaving sticky notes everywhere, reminders since apparently everybody thought it was solely on you to keep this place up and running.
Martha, if you’re not going to finish your tuna please remember to put it back in the fridge, it’s 102 degrees outside ♡
Ted, once again your meeting is at 8am, not 8pm .ᐟ.ᐟ Remember, they won't let you reschedule a third time :/
Captain, your wife dropped off lasagna and it’s in the refrigerator. ✿ (hidden behind jerry’s "fruitcake" — nobody will even go near it don't worry)
Ron stop parking in my spot !!! I have your mom’s number. (¬_¬")
By the third week of this everyone was used to your new habit, and they knew better than to argue with you, even Ron who knew his uncle had a soft spot for you. Though you suppose he ended up with the last laugh after your old beater car finally gave out a few months ago.
Your eye would still twitch when you walked past his car in what was normally your spot.
Mark found your new habit absolutely endearing. He’d even purposely forget certain things just so he’d get a mini reminder. And unbeknownst to you, he kept every single note.
♪ But if I take that chance right now Tomorrow will you want me still? ♪
But as much as you’d love to throw all caution to the wind, you were scared.
People always talked, and you’d heard rumors about the way he’d broken off his last engagement out of the blue a few years ago.
And a guy like that, gorgeous, smart, enchanting — no way he was ever left wanting. Right? He didn’t seem like the type to stay anyway, given what you knew.
Yet you would still let yourself yearn occasionally.
He’d given you a ride home once, a semi rare late night at the office for both of you. The conversation was easy, laughs and playful banter flowing continuously throughout the drive. You guys even ended up grabbing some tacos from the truck around the corner of your apartment, along with a big styrofoam cup of horchata to wash it down with. You had eaten carefully in his beloved Bronco — mindful of the lime juice and sauces, careful not to spinkle salt everywhere — talking and asking each other questions well into the night. Or, early morning you suppose.
What's your favorite color?
Which freeway do you find the most annoying?
What's your favorite coffee? Or tea, if that's more your thing
Did you always want to do what you do now?
It was almost one in the morning when he finally walked you to the metal gate in front of your complex, and for a moment you just stared into each other’s eyes. You could’ve sworn you saw him look down at your lips, could've sworn he had suddenly started to get closer, but he'd abruptly pulled himself back, clearing his throat and wishing you a good night.
Also telling you to text him when you’ve made it inside safely, of course.
You felt like a schoolgirl with a crush that night, a giddy smile plastered on your face as you got ready for bed.
But the next morning he was gone. No text, no note, no explanation. All the captain could tell you is it was some undercover assignment, and you wouldn’t be able to reach him at all.
That was nine months ago, and boy do you wish you could call him right now.
With your car completely out of commission and no time to look for a decent used one, you resorted to the handy dandy Metro systems. A bus to the subway, the dreaded subway, and a few blocks of walking to work. Most days were uneventful, but you always had to keep your guard up regardless. Especially on the Red Line.
You’d seen all kinds of things; urine in the elevators, public nudity, rats on the tracks, people who just wanted to argue with anybody they could antagonize, there was always something.
Unfortunately for you, today you encountered a creep with a staring problem, who had slowly moved from one end of the cab to the end where you were sitting in a one seater. It wasn’t anything too crazy…until he got off at the same stop and conveniently started walking in your direction, a good distance behind you. You had tried to throw him off, crossing the street back and forth a few times, even switching a street or two, but he copied every movement.
So by now you were scurrying as fast as you could to the precinct in these goddamn leather heels.
New rule, if you make it start carrying your heels in your bag and wear regular shoes on public transportation.
Your heart pounded in your chest the longer you rushed, checking behind you every few minutes and seeing the dude walking at a steady pace, still behind you.
You could feel your hands getting clammy, breaths suddenly coming out in shorter pants.
When the building finally comes into view, you notice Finau standing outside talking to someone in a familiar jean jacket. Mark.
You make a bee line straight towards them, borderline running at this point and slamming into him from behind. Your arms wrap around him tightly, still shaking, and he grabs one your quivering hands to turn you around gently, wrapping his arms around you slowly and bringing you to his front. “Well hey there stranger.”
You try to smile as you up at him, but he immediately knows something is wrong, your eyes were shining and you hadn’t stopped trembling. Both he and Finau immediately tense up, becoming more alert. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong sweetheart? I know you couldn’t have missed me this much.” He jokes softly, trying to ease your nerves. The look on your face was breaking his heart, he’s never seen you so spooked.
“Hi, sorry, there’s this guy who’s been following me the past few blocks, since I got off the subway. I’ve changed paths like three times already and he’s still behind me.” You explain, your voice small and cracking slightly. Both men immediately look up, locking eyes with a slightly disheveled, greasy looking man in a dark gray hoodie. He freezes where he’s at once he takes notice of the men next to you, and all it took was Finau taking a step forward for him to scramble and run in the opposite direction, almost tripping over his own feet.
You let out a sigh of relief, your breathing finally returning to normal the longer you stand in Mark's arms. You don't even realize you're still clutching onto his jacket, but Finau does. He smiles softly at the sight. "You alright kiddo?"
You scoff, mindlessly mumbling a low "Finau, you're not that much older." Your brain was still catching up to the fact that you weren’t in danger anymore.
"Still older." He sing songs, and you roll your eyes playfully. Once he had noticed how much Mark's absence was affecting you, he had taken it upon himself to look after you in his absence, a solid bond having been formed by now. You had even gone to dinner with his family a few times, Amina and the girls always so sweet to you, they had even written you a poem once. The girls, not Amina. Though she did give you the cutest messenger bag for christmas, and you've used it every day since.
He shares a look with Mark, nodding at him and humming softly at you. “I’ll see you guys inside.” And after a reassuring pat on your shoulder, he makes his way into the building.
You finally seem to realize you’re still latched on to Mark, so you jump back slightly and begin to smooth out his jacket. “Oh i’m so sorry! Are you alright?”
Mark was fighting a losing battle. Since the day he arrived he was smitten, with your kindness and wit, you had him wrapped around your finger without even knowing it. But given his recent diagnosis, he was hesitant to attempt anything.
♪ So I should keep this to myself And never let you know ♪
He already felt guilty enough for getting this close to you, this attached.
So when they offered him an undercover assignment the morning after he almost kissed you, he took it. Figured the distance would do you both good, but it really did only make his heart grow fonder.
He smiles softly at you now, taking your fussing hands from his chest and bringing them into his own. “I should be asking you that. You okay? No twisted ankles or anything?”
The solid warmth of his hands felt like chamomile tea, soothing your nerves with every brush of this thumb on your skin.
“I’m okay, only a little shaken. Just another day on the red line, right?” You joke weakly. His brows furrow, a confused frown making it’s way onto his beautiful face. “Since when do you take the metro?”
That question felt like a cold splash of water, the reminder of his absence hitting you full force. You hesitantly bring your hands back to yourself, picking on a small thread at the end of your sleeve to busy them instead. “About three months after you left, my car gave out. Had to call it wraps after the mechanic said it was a transmission issue, of all the things.” You mumble, exasperation coating almost every word.
He looks down for a moment, before taking a step forward. He then looks at you with a bashful expression. “I’m really sorry about that. I don’t have any excuses, I should’ve told you I was leavin’.”
You glance down at your twiddling hands, looking up after a beat. “Well, why didn’t you?” Your voice felt small. You were hesitant to even ask, it wasn’t like he owed you anything. Hell, he could have a whole other fiancé for all you knew. You were starting to regret the question, looking for a way to start backtracking before he places his hands on the sides of your arms to calm your spiraling thoughts.
"You would've made it impossible to leave."
Such a simple statement, but it could mean so many things. You just stare up at him, looking straight into pretty green eyes burnished with remorse.
But before you could analyze it further, a voice called out to you both. "Cap wants the three of us in his office, for some reason."
Mark nods at Finau, then turning to look at you for another moment. "Pin for later?" A slight office supply pun, even now.
You nod, smiling slightly. "Pinned."
You all make your way towards the captain's office, where he ushers you inside and tells you you're all being temporarily transferred to a special task force, specifics unknown to him.
You ask him if he's sure he's meant to include you and he sighs ruefully. "Yes, unfortunately you too sticky notes. Somehow this agent got intel of your organization skills and efficiency, needs you on the team a-s-a-p." He side eyes Mark for a second, before turning back to you with a lamentful smile. "Not sure how we'll manage, but I suppose you'll find out in a couple weeks or so. Hopefully less."
You exit his office in a slight daze, going to your desk to gather some belongings and anything you needed. You then meet Mark outside, where he's waiting to give you a ride. Finau would meet you both over at the federal building, taking his own ride.
Once inside, you turn to him before he can start the car. "Did you...say something? To this, agent guy? About me?"
He pretends to think for a moment, fighting off a smile. "I may have mentioned a way for him to keep this operation a bit more organized."
"Mark!"
He turns the car on, a cheeky smirk creeping on to his face. He takes a hand of yours into his, bringing it up and pressing a gentle peck to the back of it. "Couldn't leave you behind this time, sorry."
You start to smile, melting at his words.
"Also you've had to deal with Raggedy Ron on your own for the amount of time it takes a baby to be fucking born so, I got a lot of making up to do, starting with getting you away from him."
You burst into laughter, the sound making his own heart flutter softly.
You don't know what to expect (on multiple fronts) and you were slightly anxious, but you decided after spending so much time apart, you were just happy to be near Mark and his comforting presence again. And he decided he just wants as much time with you as he can get.
So with the windows rolled down and your spirits much better than they were when the morning started, you both make your way towards a brand new day in his little gray bronco.
Together.
♪ But I could fall in love ♪
✮.ᐟ end notes: slightly based on personal experiences with the metro like when I was around twelve and there was a topless lady on the red line arguing with a guy in a clown costume, lmao. anywho, thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed !!! <3
Summary: Mark Meachum ghosted you. Vanished without a word. Now you’re with someone steady, and he’s back: cocky, reckless, and hell-bent on stirring the heat.
(Starts dirty and teasing, but don’t be fooled, it won’t end there; the gut-wrenching, he’s-dying-level angst takes over and doesn’t let go)
Pairing: Mark x Reader, (Tim x Reader)
Warnings: Language
Word Count: 2925
DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes.
You hadn’t planned to see him again. Not like this, anyway. Not after months of silence. Not after the gut-punch disappearance. Not after you’d rebuilt your life enough to let someone else in.
But there he was, standing by the precinct entrance like a ghost you never buried properly, except he looked real enough to touch. Mark Meachum. Same boots, same careless lean, same cocky posture that used to make your pulse stutter. Just now, it barely managed a full beat.
You stayed in the car longer than necessary, one hand on the steering wheel, the other gripping the takeout bag that was supposed to be lunch for Tim. 5 months. That’s how long it took you to say yes to someone again. And now, a few weeks in, the man who broke you in silence had reappeared like nothing happened.
You should’ve driven away. Instead, you got out.
The sun was sharp and unforgiving. Your heels clicked across the concrete lot, and if Mark noticed, he didn’t show it right away. Not until you passed within a few feet of him.
“Y/N”.
One word, and your whole spine locked up.
You turned slowly. “So you are alive”.
His smirk twitched, familiar, haunted, apologetic, none of the above. “Yeah. Sorry for the Houdini act”.
You stared. Just stared. Because what else do you say to the man who left you with nothing but questions and a hollow chest?
“You ghosted me”, you said, voice flat. “No call. No text. Not even a damn lie. You just… disappeared, Mark”.
He swallowed. You could see it, how the muscles in his throat worked like he wanted to say something real. But he didn’t. He only nodded once, jaw tight. “I know”.
“That’s it?”. You laughed, low and bitter. “You know?”.
“I had reasons”. His tone softened. “I just… couldn’t bring you into it”.
“You mean wouldn’t”.
He didn’t deny it. And that told you everything you needed to know, except the one thing you wanted most: why.
“I should go”, you said, adjusting your grip on the takeout. “Tim’s waiting”.
And that got his eyes to flick toward the bag in your hand. The faintest shift in his expression. Something unreadable and tense. “You seeing someone?”.
You scoffed under your breath and started to walk toward the entrance without giving him another glance. Your chest ached, but you kept your head high. You weren’t going to let him see you bleed.
But then fingers wrapped around your wrist. Firm, familiar, sending a jolt straight through the armor you’d spent months building.
“Just… just wait a second, I—”.
His voice cracked, low and rough, like he was forcing the words through something heavier than pride. You froze, half-turned, your pulse beating in your ears.
Before he could finish, the sound of boots and chatter filled the air. You both looked up at the same time.
Tim.
He was walking back with his new partner, Miles, dragging a cuffed guy who was loudly protesting his innocence. Tim’s face was set in that focused, no-nonsense expression you’d come to know in the short weeks you’d been with him, the one that said he had everything under control. He glanced up, his eyes landing on you first… and then on Mark.
The shift was subtle but there. His shoulders squared a little more. His jaw tightened.
Miles gave a low whistle under his breath when he noticed who was standing there. “Well, if it isn’t the legend himself”, he muttered, tossing Mark a nod. “Heard you were back, Meachum”.
Mark didn’t take his eyes off you. His hand was still on your wrist. You felt the tension coil between the three men, a current you hadn’t asked for but were standing right in the middle of.
Tim’s gaze slid to where Mark’s fingers wrapped around you. “Everything okay here?”, he asked, voice calm, but there was an edge to it.
You took a breath and pulled your hand free, stepping back. “Yeah”, you said quickly. “Everything’s fine”.
Mark’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he let his hands fall to his sides, though his eyes stayed locked on you like he wasn’t ready to let you walk away just yet.
Tim handed off the cuffed guy to another officer and came over to you, his hand brushing your arm lightly. “You ready for lunch?”.
You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Let’s go”.
Mark stood there, jaw tight, his eyes following every step you took with Tim. Out of all the men you could have moved on with, it had to be Bradford.
His teeth ground together. He hated that guy. Always had.
Tim Bradford was the poster boy for doing everything by the book. The one who rode his morals like a damn high horse while looking down at anyone who dared take a shortcut. Mark could still hear his voice from years back during a joint op: “You’re gonna get someone killed one day, Meachum”.
Yeah, well, Meachum didn’t need the lecture then, and he sure as hell didn’t need it now. Not when every fiber of his being screamed at the sight of you walking away with him.
Tim didn’t just play the good cop, he was the good cop. The steady one. The dependable one. Everything Mark wasn’t and had no intention of being. And the kicker? Bradford knew it. Knew it and never missed a chance to throw it in his face, whether through words or the holier-than-thou look he wore like a badge.
Mark’s hands curled into fists at his sides as he watched Tim place a protective hand at the small of your back when you stepped inside the building. Protective. Possessive. It made his stomach burn.
And Tim, Tim glanced back over his shoulder just enough to meet Mark’s glare. No words, no smirk. Just a cold acknowledgment.
Yeah, they hated each other.
For Tim, it was because Mark bent the law until it cracked and didn’t care who called him out on it. For Mark, it was because Tim acted like he had some moral monopoly over the rest of them. And maybe, just maybe, because Mark knew deep down that Tim would never leave someone the way he left you.
Mark dragged a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. He had no right to feel this way. Not anymore. But watching you with Bradford lit a fuse in him that he thought he’d snuffed out months ago.
He turned sharply, heading for his car. Miles shot him a sidelong glance.
“Everything cool, man?”.
Mark didn’t answer. Because nothing about this was cool. Not seeing you. Not seeing you with him. And sure as hell not knowing that the secrets eating him alive weren’t done with either of you yet.
Tim took you into the break room, and to your relief, it was empty. The hum of the vending machine was the only background noise as he set his lunch container down on the table and started peeling it open.
“How do you know Meachum?”, he asked casually, or at least he tried to make it sound that way. But you caught the tightness in his jaw, the slight edge under the calm tone.
You let out a sigh, setting the takeout bag on the counter. “Remember I told you about my ex?”. You stared at your hands as you unpacked the food, avoiding his eyes. “Well… kinda ex. It wasn’t even for long. It had just started when…”.
“When what?”, he pressed gently, though the muscle in his cheek twitched as he spoke.
Your shoulders slumped. “When he ghosted me”. The word tasted bitter, even now. “No explanation, no goodbye. Just gone”.
Tim’s brows lifted slightly. “And Mark Meachum is that one?”.
You nodded, barely looking up. “Yeah. That’s him”.
Tim leaned back in his chair, folding his arms for a moment before picking up his fork. “Figures”, he muttered, almost to himself.
You frowned. “Figures what?”.
“That he’d do something like that”, Tim said, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice now. “He’s reckless. Always has been. Bends the rules until they break. And he’s a dick with women — sorry, but it’s true. Guys like him… they burn out or burn everyone around them”.
The words stung, even though part of you knew they weren’t wrong. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the heaviness of old wounds and new tension. “You don’t know everything about him”, you said quietly, though your voice lacked conviction.
Tim looked at you for a long moment, his expression softening just slightly. “No. I don’t. But I know enough”. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “If he tries to drag you back into whatever mess he’s in, you tell me”.
“I…”, you started, but Tim’s stare cut right through you, steady, piercing, like he could see every flicker of doubt you were trying to hide.
“You said you were over him”. Tim prodded, his voice low but firm. “That’s still right?”.
Your throat tightened. The room felt smaller, the hum of the vending machine louder. You opened your mouth, but no words came out at first. Because were you? You had spent months convincing yourself that you were, months patching up the pieces Mark had left scattered. And yet, one glance from him outside and everything you thought you’d buried had clawed its way back to the surface.
You forced yourself to nod. “Yes”, you said, but it sounded thin, almost fragile.
Tim’s jaw ticked at your hesitation, but he didn’t call you out on it. He just leaned back in his chair, eyes still locked on you like he was trying to measure if he believed you or not.
Tim was a good guy. You knew that. He didn’t date easily, didn’t hand out pieces of himself to just anyone. You’d gone on nine dates before he even considered sleeping with you, and even then, it hadn’t been rushed. With Tim, everything was measured, thoughtful. He was nice. Patient. Diplomatic. And yes, easy on the eyes, the kind of man who could walk into a room and make you feel like everything would be fine. He was safe.
And that was the problem.
Because Mark Meachum was anything but safe.
Mark had this way of unraveling you without even trying. He’d never been patient, he’d been fire. Reckless, unpredictable, infuriating. He could drive you to the edge with just a smirk, make your pulse spike with a single glance, and tear down every wall you built with one careless word.
Tim grounded you. Mark set you on fire.
You hated yourself a little for even thinking about it, but the truth clawed at you anyway: the feelings Mark had stirred in you didn’t just disappear because he had. They’d gone dormant, buried under months of anger and silence, but they were still there.
Tim’s voice pulled you back to the present. “Good”, he said, finally breaking the heavy pause. “Because I don’t want to compete with a ghost”.
You managed a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “You won’t have to”.
Tim nodded, satisfied enough, and started eating. He believed you, or at least, he wanted to.
You sat across from him, unwrapping the food with steady hands, even though your insides were tangled. Because as much as you wanted to mean those words, you knew Mark wasn’t a ghost. Not anymore.
After lunch, you walked out of the break room with Tim, forcing yourself to keep things light. If he noticed the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, he didn’t mention it.
On your way toward the exit, you spotted the station chief standing near the front desk, going over some paperwork with another officer. You straightened up, slipping easily into the professional, confident version of yourself.
“Chief”, you greeted with a bright smile. “Hope you’re not still regretting that coffee bet from last week”.
The chief chuckled, shaking his head. “You mean the one where you somehow knew the suspect’s hiding spot before half my team? Yeah, I’m still trying to figure out how you pulled that off”.
You laughed, leaning casually on the counter. “Trade secret. But hey, rumor has it you’re trying to steal me from my current precinct. Should I start packing my desk?”.
He smirked. “You’d better. Paperwork’s in the works. We could use someone with your instincts around here”.
“Flattery will get you everywhere”, you teased. “Guess I’ll see you sooner than later”.
You waved goodbye, and the chief gave you an approving nod before turning back to his files. The conversation left you with a mix of pride and anticipation. A new start. A new station. Maybe even a chance to put the past behind you completely. Or so you told yourself as you stepped out into the sun.
Because just across the lot, leaning against his car like he had all the time in the world, was Mark Meachum. Watching.
His eyes caught yours, and for a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all, like he could still read every thought in your head. You quickened your pace, refusing to give him the satisfaction of stopping.
But as you reached your car, his voice carried over the distance, low and unshakable.
“So, you’re transferring here”, he said, like he already knew.
You froze with your hand on the door handle, heart pounding. Damn it, Meachum.
“How do you even know?”, you asked, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You turned to face him, the sun catching in his eyes, making that unreadable expression of his all the more infuriating.
Mark pushed off the car with that easy, careless movement that used to make your knees weak and now just made your chest ache. “The chief and I go way back. You know that”, he said casually, like this was just another day, like he hadn’t blown your world apart once already. “He mentioned it”.
You blinked, the realization hitting harder than you expected. Of course. Mark and the chief were good buddies. You should’ve put that together sooner. But when you and the chief had talked about the transfer, you hadn’t known Mark was even back at LAPD. Last you knew, he was buried deep in that multi-agency task force, the one so secretive it had been like he fell off the face of the earth.
Yet here he was. Not a ghost. Not gone. Back.
“You’re not with the task force anymore?”, you asked, your voice sharper than intended.
Mark’s jaw worked as if he was biting back words, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket. “No. That chapter’s done”. His tone was short, clipped, leaving no room for questions.
“Huh”, you mumbled, the sound almost lost in the warm air between you as you opened your car door. You kept your movements steady, deliberate, because you could feel his eyes on you like they were burning through your skin.
But Mark wasn’t done.
Something about you, hell, it had always been something about you. Even back then, before things went sideways, you weren’t like anyone else. You weren’t impressed by the swagger, or the danger, or the walls he threw up to keep people at a distance. You saw him. That terrified him as much as it thrilled him.
He took a step closer, close enough that you could smell the faint trace of his cologne, the one that still clung to memories you wished you could burn. But he didn’t say the words sitting heavy on his chest. He never did.
Because how could he tell you the truth? That the reason he’d vanished was because a doctor had looked him in the eye and told him there was something in his brain that would kill him? That every instinct he had screamed to cut you loose before you had to watch him fall apart?
No. He wasn’t the man who gave people that kind of burden. Not you. Not then.
So instead, he just looked at you, jaw tight, voice low. “You’re really gonna act like none of this ever happened? Like I never happened?”.
Your hand gripped the edge of the door, your heart hammering. “You made that choice for me the day you disappeared, Mark”.
For a moment, something raw flickered in his eyes. Pain, regret, something you couldn’t name. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that guarded calm you hated.
“You think I wanted to leave you?”, he asked, softer now, almost to himself.
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because even as you slid into the driver’s seat, even as you slammed the door and started the engine, his words hung in the air like smoke, impossible to ignore, impossible to breathe through. And still, he didn’t tell you the truth.
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-scouting out a place where a suspect lives, you have to act fast as security approaches you two
Mark!Meachum x reader
warnings - reader is called she once, and wears a tank top, no actual kissing (sorry :/ ) neck/jaw nipping, straddling, I think that’s it!
authors note - sorry this isn’t the best, I came up with this after watching the show and decided why not post it. I’m used to writing fluff, and haven’t wrote anything in awhile so I apologize. Also I use Meachum instead of mark because I felt like they aren’t on a first name basis..LMAO
lmk what you think!
——————————————————————
It was the one of the most boring parts of the job, sitting outside an apartment building, scouting for a suspect. You weren’t alone…unfortunately you got paired with the insufferable, stubborn, and extremely hot headed man child, Mark Meachum.
He already talked your ear off, non-stop, for the first three hours about random ass stories from being undercover or from his early days as a cop. Finally, he’d shut up around the fourth hour and you were starting to enjoying the silence, but that never lasts long.
Amber’s voice cuts through the radio, “Heads up, you’ve got company.” Luckily for her, she was in the office, just watching through the cameras. Meachum sighed out a small curse, to the left of us, a security car pulls into the parking lot.
We watched as it slowly made its way through the cars. You were parked in the way back, hours earlier, both times they didn’t patrol this spot, but now of course at night, they do. The car disappeared out of vision for a minute, but with the headlights getting closer both of you were screwed.
“Shit, of course they’re coming over here when we only got a few hours left.” Meachum cursed out quickly He leaned forward, now tense instead of man spreading in the drivers seat. You watch as his hand goes to the keys, getting ready to turn on the car. You grab his wrist pulling his hand away. “If you drive off now it will be even more suspicious, dumbass,” you muttered out as you looked at the car finally rounding the corner.
“You got any ideas then? I mean- fuck it’s not like we can both hide in this small ass car.” Meachum said, turning his head towards you. “Let me think for a minute,” you said quietly, watching the car stop as it notices our silhouette in the windows. Thankfully this rental has tinted windows- you get cut off from your own thoughts when you hear Meachum curse again.
One idea pops into your head, you don’t really have any other options at the moment. Before you can spit out the idea, Meachum leans forward again getting ready to start the car as the security guard parks. You act quick, putting your hand on his shoulder, pushing him back more rough than attended.
“What the fuck are you-“ He starts to mutter but you cut him off. “Just shut the hell up for once and follow my lead,” you say as you lean over the center console, sliding your legs over his the best you could in the tight spot. Your right hand goes to the side of the seat, pulling the lever to lean the seat back.
You can feel your cheeks burn in the darkness, as he watches. Why does he have to look so good at doing nothing…you shake your thoughts away, no time for those. You put your hands on his wrists, bringing them to your hips. “Shh” you muttered as you leaned forward, nipping his bearded jawline.
You listened as you hear the car outside shut off, you shifted yourself closer to him trying to make it more believable. Meachum still muttering to himself in your ear as you continued to gently nip at his skin. “Belt…” you muttered quietly, but he didn’t you. “Huh?” You pulled back slightly from his jaw, “your belt” You whispered, it was digging into your thigh to the point of pain.
Since you can’t shift your leg over more, you slide your left hand in between your bodies, trying to move the buckle to the side. You feel him tense, shit what are you doing, you thought to yourself. One of his hands leaves your hip, he takes your hand away, now it’s time to ask what the hell he’s doing. You can feel him start to unbuckle it.
You finally hear the car door slam outside. It shakes you out of your mind, you’ve got a role to play. As you lean forward again, Meachum takes his right hand and puts it on the back of your neck. You hear footsteps outside getting closer, you move to his earlobe, gently giving it a tug. Probably going a bit too far, but trying to make it look believable, like you’ve been going at it for awhile.
You hear him take in a breath, both of you get startle as a knock hits the window. You pull away looking out the window. Meachum turns the key forward so he can roll it down. A bright ass light gets shined in your face, the night time air feels great on your skin though.
“…Hi..officer?” You try to act surprised, but not sure what to call him. The older man, probably in his early sixty’s, looks between both of you. He already knows what’s going on, you feel his eyes drift over to your tank top strap as it slides off of your shoulder.
You feel uncomfortable as his eyes stay there, you tense going to put it back up, but Meachum causally fixes it for you. The heat coming off of his fingers as they brush with your cool skin, from the window being down. “Sorry about that…” he fakes a laugh as he looks at the guy. “We doin’ something wrong officer or?…”
His left hand moves from your shoulder down to your back. You shivered slightly but smile softly at the guard. “You two can’t sit out here this late at night,” the security guard stated in a monotone voice.
“Yeah sorry about that..” Meachum chuckled rubbing your back slightly. “You know how date nights can go..” You laughed quietly pushing his shoulder as your face burns again. “We’re sorry sir-“ you get cut off by him.
“Still can’t be here….as I said.” You frown slightly at his tone but understood. Feeling Meachum tense under you, his thumb tapped your back as he began to talk with a firm tone. “As she said we’re sorry…” Meachum clears his throat moving slightly beneath you. “We’re getting ready leave, don’t worry.”
You nod leaning back slightly to adjust a cramp in your back, trying not to hit the steering wheel. As you do that, the light from the security guards flashlight flash’s on Meachums belt buckle. It creates a glare in the car, the man clears his throat and raises his eyebrows.
Both of you look down, shit, this is a little too believable….you think to yourself. Meachum laughs taking his hands from you to re-buckle his belt. “Sorry about that…..she’s something else isn’t she.” He leaned forward suddenly nipping at your jaw, then earlobe as you did too him minutes prior.
You let out a small squeak before playing it off as a hum. You can’t believe he’s going this far into the role. You smile at the security guard, putting your hands onto Meachum shoulders.
The guard taps his hand on the car shaking his head. “Alright you two…” He looks down at his watch before he talks again, as he pauses Meachum pulls back and looks at you before looking at him with a smirk. “I’ll give a few minutes to…urm collect yourself but you have to be gone in eight minutes”
Meachum’s hands slide around your lower back, just above your ass. “I think we can do that can’t we…baby?” He said turning towards you, his face way too close to yours, voice raspy and low.
You smirk back trying to calm yourself before speaking. “I know I can…not so sure about you” Biting your lip slightly to stop your smirk growing more. Meachum hummed back with a smirk, his hands tapping on your back.
The guard tapped the car again, “Eight minutes you two.” He finally backed away, Meachum rolling up the window. You sighed looking at him as he leaned back against the seat with his signature smirk. His hands were still on you, you lightly hit his arm but realized the cop was watching by his car…just waiting.
You smiled before turning back to Meachum, grabbing his cheek with your right hand. Positioning it so it covers the view of your mouth slightly. You lean in, acting like you’re giving him a final kiss. Meachum probably thinks you’re actually going to kiss him, no matter how much you may want to, you back out.
You lightly press your lips to the corner of his mouth, his beard poking your face lightly. You pressed another below his lips, you pulled away, the air between you two heavy now. The tip of your nose brush against each other as you turned to get out of his lap.
He offered his hand to help hold you up as you struggled to get your legs back in the passenger seat. You buckled yourself in before he did the same, shifting it into drive He waved at the guard a final time before pulling away.
His hand landing on your knee, it startled you for a moment, not sure why he was still playing the role. It was a quiet drive back the radio quiet, you rolled down your window slightly to get some cold air in your face.
Eventually Meachum moved his hand as you got closer to the building. No words were spoken as he parked in the parking garage, he turned the car off. It was silent again but this time it stayed for awhile longer.
m.meachum ┆ veteran ┆ sarcastic ┆ save yourself, I'll hold 'em back ┆detective whimsy ┆ cynical ┆ caring ┆ impulsive ┆ determined ┆ fights tooth 'n nail ┆ gentle
🐾: due to his military background, mark has developed a strict routine, but that routine is in constant battle with his learned traits from his UC work.
🐾: sometimes he catches himself falling into lock step
🐾: he's tried to get you to work out with him before. watching you look on at him, usually with you starting to get a little antsy, seems to always be the highlight of his day.
🐾: mark is a sweetheart. jogging ahead of you to hold open doors, landing a gentle love tap to your butt whenever he's behind you, forehead kisses, sweet nothings spilling from his lips in soft morning light.
🐾: his headaches had scared him at first when he started getting them. for a day or two, he thought of migraines. then they got worse. he fell down an internet rabbit whole and started to think of late symptoms of ptsd.
🐾: when he thought his headaches were migraines, he'd often get mcdonald's french fries and soda
🐾: he's a dr pepper and coke kind of guy
🐾: when he got the diagnosis, it broke something in him. he changed. he was living on borrowed time and he was gonna make damn sure to use it to the fullest.
🐾: he left his fiance on the alter because of this!! mark couldn't bear the idea of promising to 'spend the rest of your life with someone' when he knew he couldn't be certain how long he had.
🐾: work became an outlet. he'd scrounge around and look for any UC work he could find. practically beg his superiors to let him take up a case. because of the diagnosis, he was more impulsive and less careful, which helped him more times than not.
🐾: he gets impostor syndrome. he doesn't feel like mark for the first few weeks he gets home from a job, there's still too much of a tether to the person he was pretending to be.
🐾: he'll never admit it out loud but undercover work is lonely. so when he gets home from a long job, the first thing he usually does is crawl into bed with his partner. like crawling on top of them like a big dog that still thinks they're lap sized. arms tight around the waist, face buried in their neck, whispering sweet nothings about how they smell good.
🐾: he's a freak !!
🐾: that man loves getting his hands dirty. he's been in countless messy situations so he knows how to deal with one and clean it up. he's dominant in bed but still very gentle. most times. there are definitely times when he's not gentle at all.
🐾: he's a yapper. so talking his partner through it is a must. "doin' so well f'me, sweetheart." "look at you." "oh, sweetheart, yeah, I know." "eyes on me. there we go." "breathe f'me."
🐾: mark likes all shapes and sizes of people. his philosophy is simple: if they're funny and intelligent, I'm going for it.
🐾: seriously, he doesn't stop talking. in and out of the bedroom. if his mouth is moving, he's happy.
🐾: he loves spending time with people. out for a drink after long hours of paperwork, staying late to bug a coworker while they work, or even if he's hooking up with someone. he's a spirited man that loves community.
🐾: he binges crime dramas. it's a hobby he loves and hates at the same time. they get facts or procedures incorrect and he ends up tossing fries at the TV in anguish.
🐾: on his way to the precinct, he listens to true crime podcasts. he likes staying updated on cases happening around the world. sometimes, he learns what not to do in similar cases based on what the detectives were doing in the episode being discussed.
🐾: there are a few times when he's known the officers or detectives working on cases in his podcasts. if it's a new case, and he has nothing to do (and is feeling nosy), mark reaches out and offers his help.
🐾: mark knows almost everyone. thanks to his military background, UC work, and candor, he has connections all over LA.
🐾: his love language is physical touch. hugs from the back, neck kisses, yanking his partner onto his lap, flopping on the couch next to his partner, laying his head on their thighs. cuddle warrior for sure.
🐾: he ragebaits. and he's alarmingly good at it.
🐾: dead horse beater. mister "wasn't a riot" himself !
🐾: mark, when he's in love, fights tooth and nail to keep them. it doesn't what it takes he's gonna try it all. unfortunately, this side of him really only shows when he realizes he's been putting work first and his relationship is circling the drain.
