#wrongfully arrested

The Doctor smiled at you but it wasn’t his usual smile. There was something in the eyes. Well, more accurately, something missing. They didn’t hold their usual warmth. You had the sudden urge to run but you knew that wouldn’t do you any good. Running from a police interview room that was a surefire way of looking guilty.

“You’ve got yourself in quite a mess.”

“Why are you here?”

“You called me.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Ah well,” the Doctor smiled and you saw the briefest flash of the old Doctor come through, “I knew you would. Sooner or later.”

The two of you made eye contact but you quickly looked away. The coldness returned to the Doctor’s eyes.

“I warned you,” he said quietly, “I warned you that this would happen if you left. I said that you wouldn’t be able to cope without me.”

Once again you put your head in your hands. This couldn’t be happening and yet it was. Yes, you used to travel with the Doctor. Yes, you left him once he started to get too… possessive? Looking back, the signs were clear from the start but you just shrugged them off. After all, the Doctor wasn’t human. You couldn’t expect him to act like a human when he wasn’t one.

“I warned you.”

The Doctor’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You looked up at him sharply.

“I warned you,” the Doctor continued casually, almost as though he was talking about the weather, “that you wouldn’t be able to last without me.”

“You… you did this!”

“Did what.”

“There’ll be CCTV,” you said, “there’ll be evidence-”

“Do you think so?”

You jumped slightly at the harshness in the Doctor’s voice. You had only ever heard him use that tone when dealing with Daleks or Cybermen or any other enemy that had pissed him off too far. You have never, never, heard him use that tone with a friend.

But then again, were you his friend now?

“It’s ok.”

The Doctor reached across the table and brushed some tears away from your cheeks. You hadn’t realised that you were crying until he did that. It was such a soft, gentle gesture that it took you by surprise.

“Come back to me,” he said, “come home. She misses you, y’know? Come back to us and I can make this go away.”

You opened your mouth. You were going to tell him to fuck off. That being in prison was better than being with him. But then you closed it again. Either way, you were trapped but where would you rather be trapped? Locked up in a dingy cell or in a gilded cage. The Doctor seemed to realise this and he leant across the table and pressed a kiss against your forehead.

You were standing in a cell. You never thought you would. But you were. But you hadn't done anything. But they didn't know that. They thought you did it. But you didn't. But you had no alibi. You were asleep, on your own, after declining to go to a restaurant with the team. The evidence was piling up against you, and if it was someone else from the team where you were, you would think it was them too.

As the door clicked open, you didn't bother lifting your head. You couldn't bear the look in their eyes. The betrayal you would see. You didn't know who walked in until they spoke.

"We know you did this. No point in denying. Just give us a confession so we can get it done."

Your eyes watered at the coldness in his voice. The coldness that was once warmth. You never thought Spencer could sound so cold. You didn't speak. You didn't do it. And you wouldn't get thrown into prison for something you didn't do. You heard a sigh escape from him.

"I trusted you. I want to know why. Why did you do it?"

Your heart broke as his voice cracked; you could almost see the tears fall in your vision, and you decided to speak.

"I didn't do it."

Your voice wasn't like his. You weren't cold. It wasn't in your nature. And how could they not know that? They saw you cry whenever you hurt someone, even an unsub. They were there when the sobs wracked through your body. And they thought you were capable of this?

Spencer simply stood up and left, and that's when you lifted your head. You looked directly into the mirror, where you knew someone from your team. Or well... Ex... Team... Now...

You sat there, gaze fixated on the'mirror' until someone walked in. They were trying someone new. Okay. You looked down again. You couldn't look them in the eye. You couldn't look at those you loved. They thought you did it. You knew who walked in. The glimpse of him was enough as you looked down.

Derek. You thought back to when it was'revealed' that you were the murderer. You couldn't push it out of your mind. How quickly he moved his gun to you. How quickly he pushed Spencer back. The way there was nothing but coldness in his eyes. You didn't want to see that look in his eyes again. Even if it meant never looking him in the eyes again.

"Come on. Just give us an answer. You did it. We know that. You know that. You have no alibi."

You kept your eyes on the floor. His voice was just as cold as Spencer's. Probably even colder. You just couldn't deal with that. Knowing that those who you loved the most. That they thought you were a murderer. They thought you had killed innocents. You could never.

You lifted your head slightly as he was called out; it sounded urgent as he scrambled up and left. Tears pricked at the back of your eyes. He was so eager to leave. To be away from you.

He turned the gun on you so easily.

He turned the gun on you like he was prepared.

He turned the gun on you like he didn't trust you.

He turned the gun on you like he didn't know you.

But he did. He knew everything. Because you trusted him. But he didn't trust you.

You let your head rest on the table. You were debating whether or not you would just.. Confess. They didn't believe you when you said it wasn't you. So what was the point. You didn't move your head as someone walked in. The cracking of heels signified it was either JJ or Emily. Probably Emily. You were right as she spoke.

"What is wrong with you?"

The accusation in her voice was everything you had to listen. You hummed.

"What?"

"I thought I could trust you. And you.. You turn out to be this."

The disgust was clear in her voice. She didn't even try hiding it. You lifted your head slightly. Looking up just enough to look her in the eyes.

"I didn't do it."

You repeated. Because you didn't. But they wouldn't believe that. You were the suspect to them. To them it was so obvious. They were probably discussing your betrayal behind that mirror. That wretched thing. You hated not knowing. You zoned back into reality at the sound of Emily's voice.

"Don't bullshit me. You did it."

You sighed softly. What was the point.

"Fine then. I did it."

The surprise in her eyes surprised you too. You narrowed your eyes at her. She knew something you didn't. You just dropped it as you dropped yout head.

"I did it. So just take me to whatever shithole you're planning on taking me to."

Emily let out a scoff.

"You're gonna stand up for that asshole who really did it?"

Your head snapped up in surprise.

"What?"

Emily looked at you.

"You didn't do it. We found another body. But why? Why did you say you did it?"

You stared at her. Oh. So they knew? Had they known this whole time. The softness in your gaze turned to coldness.

"You knew?"

You didn't even let her respond as you yanked yourself out of the chair.

"YOU KNEW?!"

Emily flinched at your raised voice and the abrupt standing up.

"You."

You didn't finish the sentence as you dropped back in your chair. You refused to meet her gaze. Just, this time it was for a different reason.

"Let me go."

You spoke shortly. She knew. They all knew. And they stared at you with that coldness. Emily accused you. You had heard the disgust and accusatory tone she had used. You had seen how quickly they had turned the gun on you. Especially Derek.

You didn't look at her as she uncuffed you.

You didn't look at the others as you stalked out of the police department.

You didn't look at them when you picked up your go bag and left.

You didn't look back when you got in your car and left.

You stayed in your apartment for a few days. You didn't do anything. You just thought and thought. You had had enough.

You stood up. You were tired of what they had left on you. You went and had a shower. Maybe that would make you feel better? And it did.

You decided to finally read all the voice mails the other had left you. You started with the first one you got. Hotch.

"Y/N? Hello? This is.. This is Hotch. I wanted to.. Apologize. But.."

You heard a sigh.

"Strauss wants you back at work in a week."

You paused the voice mail to look at the time that he sent it. Five days ago. So you had two days to get your shit together and get back to work. You unpaused it.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I believed it was you. I guess. We all knew deep down it wasn't you."

You paused it again and shut your phone off. Bullshit. It was absolute bullshit. You had heard them. They wholeheartedly thought it was you. But you knew you couldn't hold it off forever. Especially not when your door rang. You lifted you head to look at the door and you trudged over to it and opened it.

To your surprise, it was the whole team. They were all here. And before you could say anything, Penelope barelled into you, engulfing you into a hug. You could feel her sobs and your gaze softened. You couldn't be mad at her. It was Penelope. You looked up and smiled softly. They all looked guilty at least. You awkwardly moved to the side with Penelope still wrapped around you.

"Come in."

And as they all sat down, apologies left their mouths.

"I'm sorry-"

"I don't know how-"

"I don't expect you to forgive me but-"

You shushed them.

"It's okay."

They all stared at you. Derek being the first to speak.

"It's.. What?"

"It's okay."

You repeated. You didn't have it in you to be mad at them for long.

"I understand."

"But you shouldn't."

Spencer spoke. The guilt clear in his voice. You knew you shouldn't. But it was them. You loved them. They were like your family.

"But I do. I would've done the same."

You smiled at them. A soft smile.

They smiled back. You let out a laugh when Spencer barelled into you.

"Is this an on going trend or something? Trying to take me out?"

They all laughed. And you smiled. A genuine smile. This was your family. So. Even if they didn't really trust you. You would still love them. No matter what.

That's what a family does.

"Yuu," that very captor grumbled.

What was his intention? To rip them to shreds, devour them whole? To hold them hostage, and random them off? Yuu didn't have anything valuable, any it's not like they were worth much.

"Yuu," that rich voice rumbled again.

They didn't even know if the best move was to fight back, or let their captor have their way with them. Which move would give them the best chance at-

"Yuu."

They jumped a bit in the arms of their kidnapper.

"What?" they bit back.

"What are you thinking about?" he grumbled, straight into their neck. Malleus's breath tickled the hair on their neck.

"Oh, I was just monologing to myself," said Yuu.

Ok, maybe they did have some clue of how they'd ended up here.

Not very many, though. All they'd gotten a few days ago, aside from stood up, was a cryptic text message telling them he wasn't showing up to their usual walk tonight, and not to come by.

Yuu hadn't taken that lying down, and had insisted on having some sort of face-to-face conversation, which had caused them to head to Diasomnia.

They'd believed him to be running from their budding connection, and that had made Yuu awfully upset.

Yuu had already freaked out about it on their own, with their friends. Malleus wasn't allowed to freak out now.

Speaking of their friends, their phone rang, and Malleus gave off an unhappy groan.

"Let me grab my phone. No one ever calls me unless they're dying, or they think I'm dying."

"I warned you," he mumbled, yanking them back quite harshly.

He did. He said not to come by.

Apparently, he'd been hit with some sort of magnetism spell, and needed constant touch. He, and the rest of Diasomnia, knew he'd want Yuu first, so he'd told them not to swing by so as to not create any trouble while the spell worked its way out of his body.

When his dormmates wouldn't let Yuu see him, or even let them wait in the common area, Yuu... may have taken it more than a little personally.

Maybe they'd stomped away, and walked the perimeter of the dorm with Goodram, one of the few beastmen in Diasomnia, heckling them as they tried to look for the third year floor and then for Malleus's window.

It was almost surprising to see how much Diasomina had rallied around their dorm leader, but it also warmed Yuu's heart. They knew Malleus had expressed a lot of insecurity at his role, feeling a distance between him and his perceived subordinates, but at least Yuu knew they were for sure loyal.

Anyways, after calling for Malleus a few times, he'd ended up poking his head out of his window, and Yuu had gotten a glimpse at him. The next moment, they'd been in his room, snuggled up with him in bed, and then Malleus had explained the whole potion thing.

"C'mon," whined Yuu. "The sooner I answer, the sooner it goes quiet. Just let me let them know I live."

Malleus groaned, but summoned the phone in his hands and practically threw it into Yuu's hands. They picked up.

"Hello?" they said.

"Yuu! Are you ok? What's wrong?" It was Ace's panicked voice.

"Oh, I'm all good now! Thanks for checking in," they quickly replied.

"Yuu." They thought that tone was trouble. "You said you were arrested."

"Well," they said, "I was being detained."

"Ugh. Whatever. Call me back later."

"Bye," they said, "and I really am glad you called."

Ace didn't say anything before the phone clicked, but Yuu could basically hear his sideways smile.

"Mmmmm," said Malleus. "Finally. You know, your intoxicating scent drives me to madness."

Maybe it was a safe house. A temporary command centre. A makeshift holding cell? You had countless hours to ponder your lot and location. There was never a point you believed this to be sanctioned. A bunch of cowboys acting out their own sense of justice. No above board facility should have the ever-present smell of damp rust and mouldy drywall. Days were a haze of shadows and dull grey light, shapes barely visible behind the scratchy fabric of a hood. A way to disorient and obfuscate, and it worked. Truly, you had no sense of where you were. 

No questions asked, no interrogations. But other than a harsh and impatient leading touch, your captors never lay a harming hand on you. Monotony punctuated with the forceful placing of headphones over your ears; it was always the same song, psychedelic guitar strains cranked up to eleven. Made you jump the first couple times, but this is how it went each day. Every movement, every word concealed. 

The constant state of wariness leaves you in misery. Your nerves frayed thin. Your limbs ache, and each prying, unwelcome grab feels like a violation.

Today, you decide not to fight. They haven’t broken you yet, but you let them shuffle you from chair to cot to chair without a hint of struggle. And today they lead you to a table, shoving you down onto a hard metal chair. Perhaps your newfound deference earned this change in routine. You brace yourself, waiting for the headphones to be clamped unceremoniously over your ears.

A moment suspended; your skin prickles as it waits for the unwanted touch. Instead, your unseen guide rips off the hood, and tender, untrained eyes wince at the sudden flood of light. A pinprick of pain blossoms into the beginnings of a headache, and as your vision returns, you’re met with the neutral stare of a stranger. A woman with light brown hair (she might’ve been blonde in her youth, or in sunnier days), she wears a plain blue blouse, tucked into grey business slacks, and sensible boots. Not a single signifying mark on her. Nothing to say who she was, who she worked for. She walks to the table and sits, staring at you from across the spartan metal surface. Says nothing, so you stare right back, waiting. Behind her, the shadows shift, and a man straightens from his casual lean. Anger smoulders behind striking blue eyes, and his anger feels directed at you. You offer no bluster, no wobbly voice, or tearful pleas, there is only one reason for you to be put in this circumstance and you will not entertain their accusations on his behalf. 

“Do you know why you’re here?” The woman has a calm, stern voice. American. Your thumb rubs the band of your wedding ring, rotating it on your finger. A reflex, a near involuntary instinct. Her gaze flickers down to your hands before settling back on your face. The man behind her steps closer. Short brown hair, an impressively scruffy mutton-chop beard, peppered with a respectable amount of silver. His outfit says military, but stripped of any country or PMC affiliations. Imposing enough as he stands still, even moreso as he puffs up and crosses his arms, staring down at you like the bulldog you do not doubt he is. 

They’ve forced you into silence and isolation these past couple days. You could handle more. No reason to talk to those who have clearly decided your guilt. Still, you fold your hands in your lap, shielding the ring like the offending mark it is.  

The man steps closer. “Hands on the table.” British. A rough voice. A promise of violence. You freeze, your hands twisted up against your chest.  

He reaches for you, and you flinch. There’s no remorse over your reaction. Instead, he pulls your hands forward, forcing them palm down on the table. There’s no sense to his demand, other than to be cruel. He’s decided you’re the villain, that’s plain.  

He steps back, and the woman continues as if nothing happened. She’s almost bored with the inquiry. “When was the last time you spoke with your husband?”

You’re not foolish enough to speak. Again, you fiddle with your wedding band. It’s a reflex, a nervous tic. You don’t mean to do it. She repeats the question. You lean away from them, dragging your hands back into your lap.

“Hands on the table.” He warns.

You’re quick to obey, hands turned palm down on the cool metal surface, you aren't in the mood to test this one.

“What do you know of the Lighthouse?”

What a peculiar question. You lock eyes with her, waiting for elaboration, but she gives none.

The woman repeats the question. Still, you refuse to answer. You won’t incriminate yourself on behalf of your bastard husband. And with each unanswered question, your resolution of silence is tested.

This continues until finally, with some unseen signal, the hood is shoved back down over your head. Headphones on, the music already at full volume, drowning out all other noise.