Close. Close to catching the killer. Close to getting on that jet and returning home. Close to putting this case behind you. Close to having the families get some type of closure. 

And close to losing your shit. 

You hated many things; your mother would often say you were the cynic of her three kids. But one of the things you really hated was fucking Nebraska. Known for Warren Buffett (an old white billionaire), Arbor Day, and carhenge; Nebraska wasn’t high on your favorite states list. It was definitely a state you could cross off on your map and be glad to never return to. 

The case was beyond yourself, another stupid white male, between 25-35, probably blends into the crowd, has a car big enough to hold a body— which is every fucking car, mind you because they’re meant to hold bodies— and who got his motivation because of his crush rejecting him. It, of course, was the man who worked random odd jobs and lived between homes. It was nothing absolutely anyone could’ve guessed, as if the past ten cases didn’t have the same exact profile. 

Emily and Spencer went to check his mother's house, Hotch and Rossi went to check at his grandmother's house while you and Derek went to his aunt’s house. JJ was back at the precinct, double-checking the facts and ready to dispatch units to whoever’s location with Penelope. 

Derek drums his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. The drive had gotten impossibly quiet after everyone had stopped talking and planning. Your earpieces were still on but there wasn’t much to say while everyone was still driving to their locations. 

It’s not awkward by any means; you’ve known Derek since you joined the BAU, so around eight years now. But it’s just hard to find conversation as you’re double-checking your gun and handcuffs, then doing the same for his gear. His vest was a little loose so he doesn’t mind when at a red light, you quickly adjust the straps and then pat his chest. Although he takes a second to remember the fact that you’ve done the same thing every single time someone on the team wears a vest. Since your first case, really. It’s become second nature to let you adjust the team's vests. 

At the aunt's house, it’s decided that Derek goes first. He’s the more approachable one of the two of you. He knocks on the door to the apartment while you stand behind him, looking up and down the hallway. The air feels stale, not many people walk around and judging by the floor being damn near spotless, you assume the building is new or for rich people who never actually step foot inside. 

The door opens just a crack and you see the blue eye of the aunt. She looks between the two of you, her eyes settling on your vests before she huffs and closes the door. The chain drops from the door and she opens it up. 

When she does, you both turn your heads and you wipe your nose. 

“Oh,” She says as she slowly closes the door again. “You aren’t here for the… ah… erm…” She laughs. “Party?” 

“No, ma’am,” You say and look back at her. She apologizes and grabs a robe from behind the door and tosses it on. “We’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit—FBI, looking for your nephew? Westly Vel, is he here?” She makes a face, thinking before shaking her head. 

“No,” She finally answers. She looks at Derek and smiles, as if she’s only addressing him now. “I haven’t seen West in a month or two, why?” He’s there, or at the very least, she knows where he is. Penelope has doorbell footage of West at her apartment the week prior. 

“Just wanna ask him some questions, ma’am.” Derek lies and you nod. “Do you mind if we take a look around?” 

“Let me ask everyone to get decent,” She disappears into the apartment and you squint at the door. Derek makes some comment about swingers because of the upside-down pineapple mat. Something he learned about on a cruise. You just snort and wait for the door to open. 

“Stay here,” You tell him as you step inside the apartment. He nods, waiting in front of the door while the aunt walks after you. As you venture into the apartment you see people, they’re sitting and talking. Fully clothed. Nothing is messed up, there’s no fluids on the floor. 

The apartment smells… sterile almost. It’s this medical sort of smell. Definitely no smells akin to a sex party. 

There’s someone standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, the sun cast straight down on them but as you look away you can’t help but notice there’s no shadow attached to them. And it does nothing but confirm your suspicions. 

There aren’t many doors to the apartment, but there’s one that’s closed and you head towards it. 

“That’s just a closet,” The aunt says, her voice catching up to her as she walks behind you. You raise an eyebrow, feeling something more than a closet behind the door. “Can I see some—“ Throwing the door open, you see what you had honestly expected. 

The aunt, the actual aunt, is lying on her bed. Her throat is cut and judging by the color of the wound and the blood-soaked sheets, she’s been dead for a day. 

“C'mon man,” Westly says as his skin twists and shifts until you see the man you’ve been looking for. “You really shouldn’t have looked inside.” As he talks, you notice the sounds of the ‘party’ completely disappear. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a gun, pointing it at you. He flicks his hand, motioning for you to raise yours and you do. 

“What gave it away?” He asks, backing you into the room and then closes the door with his foot. 

“No shadows,” You shrug. “And it didn’t smell like a group of people who just fucked. Guessing you wouldn’t know that smell since…” Making a motion to his crotch, he grits his teeth and flexes his fingers. 

“I fuck,” He swears and you just give a noncommittal nod. “I do!” He shouts and stomps his foot. Hmm. Childishness definitely wasn’t in the profile. As he stomps his foot a second time, again swearing that he gets laid, the door slams open and he’s knocked forward. Accidentally pressing the trigger, you duck and quickly pin him while he’s already on the floor. 

“You definitely don’t,” You laugh, pinning his arms behind him with one hand while grabbing your cuffs with the other. 

“We got him,” Derek tells the others as you’re cuffing him. “He killed his aunt…” He pauses as he looks at you, bringing the man to his feet. He’s shifting between forms, trying to find one that makes your grip loosen. “…and tell the PD they’re going to need the power collar.” 

“Mutant?” Emily asks and Derek confirms. 

—

A celebration is in order following the case. It’s the team's first mutant case in three years and this time no one got away from it with any injuries. The last time Derek walked away with a scar on his back but he says it helps him with the ladies so he doesn’t mind it anymore. 

The actual celebration happens the day after you land back in DC. And of course, you’re going straight to the bar. Penelope asks for all the details, minus the blood and death. So not many details, just the action and Derek is more than willing to tell her as you’re ordering a second glass of vodka party punch. It’s heaven in a drink; vodka, Hawaiian punch, ginger ale, pineapple juice, and orange juice. With an orange slice. 

Squeezing the juice into the cup, you put the slice into your mouth and listen to them talk, enjoying the slice as Spencer slides you his own lemon slice. He’s in the middle of his own conversation but he doesn’t miss a beat as he passes it over. 

He doesn’t drink all that much; there’s mostly soda in his drink with maybe a hint of alcohol. If you ask him, he’d probably say something about not liking being inebriated, which is valid and definitely one of the reasons. But you think he’s read about the side effects, he’s afraid that too much alcohol will raise his chances of… well, becoming his mother. 

So it’s incredibly rare for him to drink, aside from a shot every other bar trip, you’ve never seen him drink. Except that one time he said fuck it and did a line of shots with the team. He did end up throwing up after ten minutes, but he did it. 

Putting the orange slice on the napkin, you take a slow sip of your drink before picking up the lemon. It’s not overly juicy, you think the salt on the rim of his glass had taken most of it away but it’s still sour. 

“You look like a child,” Emily notes as she stares at you, the lemon wedge between your lips and you’re messing with the mini umbrella that came with your drink. You frown and it’s big and exaggerated due to the lemon slice. “How did you make it into the FBI again?” She jokes. Rolling your eyes, you lean back in the booth and look around the bar. 

It’s a Saturday, so there’s a ton of people inside. You can see countless people bordering on blackout drunk, another person who’s definitely already thrown up, and a bachelorette party. The bride-to-be is wearing a large plastic crown and a white sash while the others wear black sashes. With matching outfits, you see the maid of honor walk up to the soon-to-be bride. She’s wearing a bronze sash and you make eye contact for a second. 

She laughs and you remember the lemon slice and smile. It only makes her laugh harder and you chuckle, leaning forward to spit it out. 

She’s cute, sure, but you’re not one for flings. Plus, you doubt you’ll meet anyone worthwhile at a bar, nothing against them. It’s just that you only ever go there for work. They’re at the bar for fun.

“Go and say hi,” Derek encourages as you’re wiping spit from the corner of your mouth. You hum and then shake your head. He makes a noise and pushes your shoulder. “You caught a mutant yesterday, I think you deserve to get laid.” He adds and your face scrunches.

“Whaddya mean?” You ask to which Derek gives a noncommittal shrug and rolls his hand. 

“It could’ve gone real bad.” He explains. “I heard of a squad going up against a woman who controls blood. None of them survived.” He sighs and leans over to knock his knuckle against your forehead. “Luckily that dude only had shape-shifting powers.” Nodding, you rub the spot and look back to the other patrons of the bar. 

The bridal party is gone, bar hopping no doubt. In the spot they once stood at, you see some college students. Looking away, you reach for your drink and take slow sips as the conversations around you merge into talks about mutants. 

They all talk, giving their opinions. You try not to care, to act as if you’ve thought about mutants from a normie perspective but you can’t. God, you wish you could. But you can’t and all you can do is down the rest of your drink before the need to speak overcomes your need to not tell government workers you’re a mutant. 

Sometimes you wish there were different work events. Like renting out a hall or going out to eat. That way you won’t go home with a headache from the music or an empty stomach because you’d forgotten to get food and smacked on the free peanuts at the table.

With no one sober, everyone stands a distance away from the bar waiting for their respective Uber. Everyone is a good couple of feet away from one another, something you’ve learned over the years. Drivers tend to think you’re all trying to ride together and cancel it. But you and Penelope always split one, considering you’re neighbors it saves money and time. 

“This is us,” Pen tells you as a silver car rolls up to your location. Nearly everyone else is gone. Rossi had actually called up a taxi company, which you had forgotten were still around. It was a little weird. 

“You sure you don’t wanna come?” You ask Spencer as he’s the last one there. His plan is waiting for an actual taxi, considering he doesn’t have any ride app on his phone and got the number from Rossi.

He shakes his head but you sigh and tug him along. He lets you, stumbling over his feet before you have him slide in after Penelope. Awkwardly sitting with his knees high up, you follow after him and make sure everyone else is comfortable. You don’t mind sitting up front if need be. 

Glancing at Spencer, you find him twiddling with his thumbs and eyes forward on the road. You wonder what he’s thinking, maybe if you’d been a telepath, you would’ve figured out ages ago just which thoughts race through his mind the most. But no, you can just tell that your driver really needs to pee but the apartment building is still another ten-minute drive. 

He glances at you as you look away. His mind flashing the way you smile with the lemon slice, how Derek describes the take down with the mutant. God, he wishes Derek hadn’t gone into so much detail because Spencer has never wanted to be an UnSub more in his life. 

His eyes flutter back to the road as he tries to get the pictures out of his mind. Facts, he thinks of every single fact he can. Anything to distract him. His mind wanders to cases but he finds you in all of them. It wanders to Doctor Who but he finds you in those, too. And he doesn’t even know how or why. You’ve never spoken about the show! 

“Hunky,” Penelope calls, leaning forward to look past Spencer and at you. You hum, looking at her with a smile. “Do you think you could check on my sink? It’s been making this noise and you know I hate to ask Josh—“

“Course,” You nod. “Give me an hour to wash off bar germs and I’m all yours.” She smiles and looks at Spencer. He’s trying not to get in either of your views, pressing himself impossibly close to the faux leather seats. 

“Who’s Josh?” He asks and she groans, pushing herself back into the seat. 

“He’s one of the maintenance workers. He lives in the building so he’s always on call. But he sorta hates Pennie,” You explain with a huff. Spencer almost laughs, he can’t imagine someone not liking her. She’s like the most lovable person alive! He asks why and you snort while she reaches over to slap your leg. “He found out she’s a hacker and said that’s not a real job, so she ‘accidentally’ flashed her badge.” 

“Ah,” He nods. He knows well enough how fragile men’s egos are and a part of him worries that she isn’t safe. Shit, Pen couldn’t go through another crime happening in her apartment. She only moved into your apartment building following her getting shot and he’d hate for it to happen again. 

“He’s harmless, though,” You reassure him. “He’s more of the passive-aggressive type. He’ll talk shit about her decor or won’t answer calls until a week later.” But how many times had you heard that same exact phrase? How many times did no one expect the killer to be the killer? “And I know him. He’s sorta afraid of blood.” Ah. Okay, that’s better. 

“He fainted once,” Penelope laughs at the memory. 

“He faints every time,” You correct with a snort. 

Soon enough the three of you are piling out of the car and you’re in the middle of unlocking the front door when you turn to Spencer. 

“You want to spend the night? Or I could get you an Uber… if you want.” Checking the time, he purses his lips and thinks about it. 

“You don’t mind?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“I have some clothes that would fit you and a guest bedroom.”

“After my sink gets fixed.”

—

Awkwardly standing in your doorway, Spencer watches as you toss your shoes into a rack. There are about seven pairs, various shoes he’s seen you wear to work before along with a pair of house slippers that you immediately put on. He looks at the walls where there are framed pictures of the team together. Nothing predating you joining the team, he quickly notes. 

“Come in,” You beckon him. He listens as you venture further into the apartment, now standing in your living room. For some reason, whenever he imagined your home, Spencer pictured something more… masculine? He pictured weights and exercise equipment lying around. Protein powder jugs on the kitchen island. Some sort of apartment from those fitness men online. 

But no, it’s a normal apartment. You decorate it pretty frugally. A sofa and two chairs, a coffee table, tv, and lamp. No rug, though. Each piece is different: the leather chair, the velvet chair, and the cotton sofa. A second-hand coffee table, he figures, has several different items scattered about. It almost makes him nauseous with how much stuff is on there. 

“I put some clothes in the guest bed. Feel free to pick whatever or go into my closet,” You tell him as you lean against a wall. There’s a towel over your shoulder and your shirt is a little unbuttoned. Not to mention the pants are already undone and he sees your boxers peeking out. “There’s a bathroom across from the guest bedroom. Feel free, again.” You tell him and start to walk away before you turn around. 

“And a closet with towels and rags, it’s to the right of the bedroom.” 

“Thanks,” He nods, unable to say anything more than that until you’re away. 

Mentally, Spencer strangles himself on the way to the guest bedroom. With an IQ as high as his, he should be able to form proper sentences. A proper thank you at least. But no, he gets thrown off by a little bit of skin like a teenager. 

As he’s sorting through the clothes you’d given him, he hears you walk down the apartment again. 

“There’s also a washer and dryer. It’s in the room that has a frosted glass door.” You explain, vaguely pointing down the hallway. 

Rich. He wants to say, to tease but he just nods and thanks you again. But he can’t imagine having a washer and dryer inside of his one-bedroom apartment. Hell, he doesn’t even have an elevator! Old buildings are good, though. They’re more structurally sound and last longer than the more modern apartments. 

Not that he minds your apartment. He likes it… he’d live there if he could. 

Twenty minutes comes and passes and Spencer is fresh out of the shower, moving his clothes into the dryer while you’re still in the shower. He doesn’t know what to do while he waits. 

It would feel a little invasive to explore but he doesn’t want to just sit on the guest bed until you’re done. 

He ends up venturing into the living room again, this time he settles onto the couch. As he sits there in a pair of blue sweatpants and one of your old band t-shirts, he finds a small library on a wall. There’s ten or so books and it all but draws him closer. Luring him in like a siren's song he picks up the first book he can and goes to sit down. 

Another five minutes pass before he hears the shower stop. It had become background noise in the otherwise silent apartment that it nearly scared him when it turned off. He tries not to listen as the glass door slides open and instead he rereads the book, the voice in his head filling the space the shower had left. 

“Heading to Pen’s, wanna join?” You ask, fixing your shirt over your sweats. Spencer looks up from the book and you see him physically pause at the shirt. It’s a yellow star under the words My Tummy Hurts in various bright colors. Then he sees the pants and has to look away for a moment, minion sweatpants. “Not too much on my outfit.” You warn. 

“Didn’t say anything,” He says as he sets the book on the spot next to him. You just wave him after you and head across the hall in your house slippers. He follows, hurriedly putting his converse back on as you knock on the door. 

“Just in time,” Penelope whines as she pulls the two of you inside of her apartment. She’s watching music videos, her way of winding down for the night. Spencer feels more at ease in her apartment; he’s been in her old one a handful of times. 

They chat as you grab the tools from under Penelope’s kitchen sink. She laughs at your pajamas, telling him about the others you have. The Hello Kitty fluffy pants, the Scrooge gown, the Cookie Monster sweats, and, most infamous your Sugar Daddy crop top. 

“I’m a little surprised he had those,” She admits, referencing the outfit you’d given Spencer while the three of you head to her bathroom.  

“I have normal night clothes,” You defend. They share a look and then stare at you. Clearly, your track record shows a different story. Rolling your eyes, you get to work under the sink. 

Spencer watches as you unscrew various parts of the pipe and grab a long, metal pipe cleaner and swirl it. All the while you and Penelope talk, she offhandedly mentions a girl visiting your place the day before the team left for the case and you brush it off. He thinks that’s a tell, that maybe you like the girl. Maybe you’re already dating and by the way she describes the mystery girl, he’s sure you are. 

Nearly sighing, he watches as you remove the cleaner and flick the hair clumps into a plastic bag and push it back into the pipe. He almost gags and has to look away from the damp drain hair. You’re sure it’s clear by that point and re-screw everything into place. And with a quick water test, her sink is fixed. 

The whole thing lasted less than five minutes and he now knows who to call if he needs household repairs. Unintentionally, his mind wanders, imagining you at his door with a white tank, a tool belt, baggy jeans and heavy boots. He’s probably ill-dressed, just his pants, because his landlord likes turning the heat up—

He stops himself, focusing back on the conversation as you’re checking Penelope’s windows and locks. He assumes it’s some sort of tradition, since it’s like clockwork for the two of you. 

Once every nook and cranny is checked, you head out and back into your apartment, where you immediately check your own windows. He doesn’t miss the three locks on the front door, although only two are locked. On purpose, he notes. He’s unsure of what to do with himself, if he should help or stay out of the way. If he should even speak at all, he honestly hasn’t spoken much the entire night. 

“I’m going to bed,” You tell him in a soft tone, dimming the hallway lights. Damn, you have a washer and dryer and a light dimmer. “You can stay up, eat, drink, whatever. Just clean up, yeah?” You smile at him and then offhandedly look towards the kitchen. “Cups and plates are in the cabinet labeled cups and plates.” You add with a small laugh. 

“Thank you,” He says and you nod before walking away. He doesn’t miss the fact that as you’re closing your bedroom door, you’re already discarding your shirt. 

Mystery girl sure is lucky. 

—

You loved your job, you truly and wholeheartedly did. But you didn’t like it. You didn’t like the fear that, as you’re sitting at your desk, someone is getting murdered. The fear that you’re never going to be fast enough, there’s always going to be serial killers and kidnappers and rapists. And you won’t always catch them. 

But you loved your job, you loved the closure, you loved the sense of family the team had. You loved that no matter how late you were, there would always be one less killer on the streets thanks to you. 

And yet, sometimes you find yourself drifting to the paperwork to quit. You can’t help but wonder if this job, doing this is what you want to do. If it’s where your skills are being used to their best. There are several things that keep you at your desk, keep you on the BAU’s payroll and on that jet. 

One of them is Spencer. 

You like him more than you’d admit; he’s your closest friend aside from Derek. You joined with Derek, the two of you were basically brothers by the time Spencer joined and found a quick friendship with him. Both are special in their own way. 

Emily liked to joke that the two of you were Spencer's bodyguards, and you’d never be too far from the doctor. 

Maybe that’s why you stayed. Maybe it wasn’t for him specifically, maybe it was that you couldn’t leave him behind. His head was too big to worry about getting hurt, but yours had more than enough space to worry about you and him. 

Maybe not, maybe so. You didn’t care; all that mattered was getting your work done faster so you could relax. You do end up finishing your files in record time and spend a second thinking of something to do. There’s not much, aside from making something to drink.

“Spence,” You call and he looks up from his book. “Why can’t we stop inflation if it’s made up?” He grins, setting the book down and you know you had his full attention.

That’s his favorite type of question. 

Spencer, as he’s most known for, houses a ton of information in his head. He loves information, in some ways he’s a glutton for information. He digests information at the same rate that he breathes and he loves it. But something that he loves more is sharing that information, he spills and spills the words laying dormant in his head. They beg to be heard, flying out of his mouth faster than he can process that the person has checked out. 

But not with you. 

They never fly, he never loses that focus a person first has when they ask him a question. 

You’ve always engaged with him, you nod and you ask questions. What he loves the most is when you remember what he said. He loves that feeling more than anything he’s felt before. That feeling of teaching— someone has learned something because of him, sometimes he wishes he’d become a teacher just to experience that. Give his never-ending wisdom to the youth or even college students. 

Spencer loves your questions almost as much as you love hearing him talk. He learns a bunch of random facts, knowing sometimes your questions aren’t about anything in particular. Sometimes they’re about history or a college sort of science but he likes the random questions. It makes him feel less like a robot. 

He explains, watching as you let out a great big exaggerated huff before returning back to him. It's confusing, but he explains it as many times as you need. With no secret frustration. 

He smiles, the corners of his lips reaching his nose when you finally get it; explaining it back to him just to ensure you’ve understood him correctly. 

“Still stupid,” You mutter and he nods. 

Spencer watches you with barely hidden heart eyes, he commits you to memory every time he sees you. His… crush of sorts has only gotten worse since the impromptu sleepover the week prior. Never had he woken up to breakfast being made, freshly squeezed orange juice, and soft music coming from a hidden record player he’d yet to find. 

Penelope didn’t join, which you said was normal. She tended to take longer to get ready so you prepared a separate bowl for her, for while she’s on the road. So for the entirety of his morning, it was just the two of you. Hanging around… talking, eating… it was nice. Too nice. The poor kid didn’t know how to act, choosing the yes and approach to nearly all the conversations. 

You’d even gotten him a toothbrush! 

Derek snickers from behind him and he huffs, rolling his chair so he was facing Derek and not you. Derek just makes a kissing motion with his hands before messing with Spencer’s hair and walking away. 

He shakes his head and quietly fixes his hair as you and Derek walk to the exit of the bullpen to grab lunch for the team. He would’ve joined but he’s needed by another team, requested to have the infamous Spencer Reid look over their case files. 

Inside Derek's car, the two of you listen to the radio, mindlessly rocking your head to the beats until he lowers the music at a red light. 

“So,” He starts, looking at you with a wide grin. “You and Pretty boy.” You roll your eyes and look forward. There’s a black SUV in front of you, the back window has those family stickers and there’s about seven kids and a pregnant woman sticker. “Don’t give me that look,” He laughs, pushing your shoulder. You just look at him, unamused. 

“So, you’re telling me that nothing happened between the two of you?” He asks, now looking forward. Chuckling as you see his eyes widen at the number of children. 

“Nope,” You shrug. “It’s almost as if I can take someone home and not sleep with them.” Rolling his eyes, he inches the car forward when the light switches. 

“I’m just saying, you two have a lot of chemistry.” He shrugs back. Pursuing your lips, you sigh. “What? You don’t like Spencer?” Glancing at you, Derek’s eyebrows furrow. 

“It’s not that,” Shaking your head, you change the station as Taylor Swift plays. “It’s just… I dunno. I don’t really think about dating,” Dating normies, at least. 

“You’ve never dated?” He asks, his voice thick with what you can only assume is disbelief. 

“I have. Just— I mean, Spencer is great. He’s funny, smart, he has goals, he has hobbies, definitely not a serial killer, and he’s shown he can be committed.”

“But?” Derek urges. 

The silence following his question is thick. 

You sit in your seat, thinking about the negatives that would come from dating Spencer. If you even liked him romantically. You think about it and dating Spencer seems nice in your head. Waking up next to him, date nights with him. But it wouldn’t be a dream and there would be actual issues with dating him. There's paperwork, no doubt. If either one of you progressed to unit chief then you’d be transferred to another team or branch entirely. If you can even keep your job. If things lasted, then you’d have to tell him you’re a mutant. He’d meet your family, know the truth. 

It’s not worth it. You decide. You can’t trust someone to that degree, not even if you’re dating them. 

“It’s complicated.” You finally tell him. “I think… I do like him. But,” Shaking your head, you almost groan as there’s another red light. “I know I couldn’t date him.” 

“It’s not because of some hidden homophobia, right?” Derek laughs and you laugh back, shaking your head. 

“Please, I’ve sucked too much dick and fucked too many men to be ashamed of being bi.” He holds his hands up, playfully surrendering before he looks at you. 

“What’s the worst that could happen? Honestly,”

“One of us dies and the other has to deal with the grief.” He kills you for being a mutant or gets killed trying to protect you. The first one just seems highly unlikely. 

“Oh,” Licking his teeth, you nod. “Well, what’s the best that could happen?” 

“Nothing bad happens and we get married and adopt two kids. Maybe a cat. Definitely a cat.” He accepts you for being a mutant and doesn’t kill you. 

“And what most likely will happen?” He asks and you think about it. 

“We date, test the waters and see what happens from there, probably come to the mutual understanding that while we do have feelings for each other our careers come first and end things.” 

“God, you’re sad.” Morgan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m realistic about the negative sides of life.”

—

For the first time ever, it’s your turn to host the team's movie night. Truthfully, you don’t know how you’ve managed to evade it for three years, but it’s caught up to you. You think because Spencer had mentioned your apartment to Derek and Emil,y causing them to think if they’ve ever been. Which led to you opening your door to the team. 

You’d gone all out, truthfully, you’d been nervous and made snacks to calm yourself down. It didn’t fill all of your time so you even steam cleaned your couches— it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. Just a little murky. 

Normall,y you’re not such a worrier but this was a momentous occasion. It was a tradition you had avidly avoided for nearly four years without getting caught and now, oh lord, now they were aware of it. 

“Hey, guys,” You greeted them after Penelope had knocked on your door for a minute straight. To think you would’ve gotten there in the same amount of time if she’d knocked once. 

“This was on your door?” Emily hands you a paper and you take it while letting them inside. It’s a note, written in a language you’re all too familiar with. 

Krakoan. 

You don’t read it yet, if it was an emergency, you would know. Rather, you lock the door and put the note on your bed for later. 

“You have a nice place,” Derek comments when you return. 

“Thank you,” You smile. “What movie are we watching? I have like all the movie apps,”

Everyone settles on a movie: The X trilogy. While searching for it, you and Spencer get up to serve everyone. It’s really just moving everything from the kitchen into the living room, everyone self serves during movie nights. 

“I didn’t know you baked,” He admits, eyeing the cookies he knew for a fact weren’t store-bought.

“I stopped some time ago,” You sigh, staring at the cookies, a recipe your younger sister had created. “But I might start back up, I missed making them.”

“They smell amazing,” It’s true, he swears he’s not just saying that. The cinnamon and white chocolate smell from the cookies makes his stomach rumble a bit. They look even better, large cookies with crispy edges. 

“Thank you,” Guiding him back to the others, you move to turn down the lights and double-check that everything is going according to plan. 

The girls all share a couch and a blanket, knees knocking together and sharing shoulders. Hotch and Rossi had taken the chairs on either side so that left you, Derek, and Spencer on the floor. Not that any of you minded, the girls definitely didn’t mind messing with you and Spencer’s hair every so often. 

Derek made it a point to have Spencer next to you, even claiming that he didn’t want the blanket so the two of you were forced to share it. Spencer wasn’t as uncomfortable as he thought he’d be, especially sitting on the floor that he didn’t clean himself or see get cleaned, but your floor had this smell to it. An almost jasmine scent that didn’t linger for long, so you obviously cleaned.

Plus he saw the couch cleaner when he was helping you bring the food. 

His hand brushes yours under the cover, an honest accident because the glass of soda had made his hands ridiculously cold. He flinched away but you didn’t even acknowledge it, so he tested the waters and put his hand back. With his heart racing, his hand finds yours and you turned your palm up, holding his hand. 

You can feel his blood rushing, feel the air in his lungs rush out and rush in before they slowly calm down. You don’t think the movie is scary, shocking for sure. But Pearl definitely isn’t scary. Side glancing at Spencer, you find he’s biting his thumbnail before he drops it and messes with the fabric of the blanket. 

Weird. 

Spencer can’t even focus on the movie anymore; your hand is so warm against his. Your thumb is gently caressing against his hand and he can smell your hair. He gulps, blinking to try and focus on the movie. She’s chasing the neighbor girl; why? 

A knock on the door startles him and Penelope. It’s two sharp knocks and you excuse yourself, the warmth from your hand makes Spencer frown, his hand now feeling incredibly empty. 

Checking the peephole, you glance back at the others before exiting the apartment with the lock out so it wouldn’t lock on you. 

“Did someone leave a note on your door?” Josh asks while messing with his nails. They’re dirty, he’s undoubtedly been digging in the dirt again. 

“Yeah, why?” Moving him away from the door, he messes with his hair. The long blonde strands fall in front of his face before he sweeps them away. You can see bits of dried blood on his roots and squint. “You’re hurt.”

“Yeah,” He stutters out a nod. “I think there's a mutant hunter in the building,” He says and looks around, you know there’s no one else in the hallway so you don’t look with him. “I-I had a note on my door. In Krakoan, was yours also…?”

“It was. I haven’t read it yet, I have friends over,” He nods and continues to pick at his nails. 

“I just wanted to let you know, cause I’m heading to the school in ten minutes. Yeah, so, stay safe. Hank already knows and he’s sending a temp super for the building.”

“Okay, do you want help with anything?”

“Mm-mm, I got everything packed and ready to go. I’m just really shaken, y’know. After the sentinels ‘n’ shit we dealt with.”

“Yeah, no, I get it, J.” He smiles but looks up and down the hallway again. “Stay safe, remember there’s a couple of safe houses between here and the school.” 

“I have them in my GPS— you sure you’re okay?” 

“I’m fine, haven’t sensed anything wrong.” He nods and then takes a step back. 

“Well, I’ll see you. Maybe in a week, hopefully this place is still standing.” You laugh to calm his nerves and watch as he leaves before going back into the apartment. 

Josh isn’t a paranoid man; maybe he does hate technology but that’s not because of the government or anything. You try being stuck in a computer for a year and see if you wanna use one again. But you’re not worried about mutant-hunters, you would be able to tell if someone was sneaking up on you. Not to mention they were rarely ever quiet or hush-hush about what they did. 

Going back into your apartment, you lock the door and rejoin Spencer. The movie has since ended and everyone is waiting for you to return. 

“Where’s the bathroom?” Derek asks once you’re on your way back. 

“Down the hall to the right, the door is open.” He thanks you and gets up, his feet echoing in the empty hallway. “How’d the movie end?” Settling back down next to Spencer, you grab a cookie. 

“She killed Mitsy, lays down with her mother before posing her parents dead bodies for one last dinner. Howard returns from the war and finds them,” Emily explains.

“Pretty sure we had a case like that,” You muse and Penelope gags. How she agreed to watch a scary movie is beyond you, not to mention she’s queuing up the next movie. 

Derek returns from the bathroom soon after and she plays the movie. Your hand ends up under the blanket again, unable to focus on the movie as you think about Josh. You should’ve used the bathroom break to read the note— or read it once Emily gave you the damn paper.

Spencer’s hand finds yours again in the middle of a sex scene. It’s awkward, watching a sex scene with your boss in the room. Derek makes jokes, of course he does, and Emily makes counter-jokes. 

“I bet (Y/n) made more girls scream than you,” Emily chuckles and you look back at her, mouth agape. 

“Is that some type of insult?” You squint and she covers her mouth. 

“Oh, please, how many women have you been with?” Derek rolls his eyes. 

“Two,” You shrug and he hollers, clapping his hands as if that proves his point. “I’ve been told I’m an amazing lover— besides, you’ve been a hundred women for one night, I was with two women for three years.” There’s some ohhhs from the girls and you laugh. 

“Let’s watch the damn movie,” Derek grumbles. 

When the movie is over, everyone agrees it’s late and starts heading home. Spencer is the last one out, helping you clean up the little things that the others hadn’t. The lights are turned up, not by too much, but enough that you can see what you’re sweeping up. 

He’s wiping down the counters, chewing on his bottom lip. 

“(Y/n)?” He calls and you look over. He blinks and thinks for a moment; he didn’t even mean to call you. “Are there any more cookies?” 

“Yeah, should be.” Setting the broom against the wall, you head over to the kitchen and grab a Tupperware from the fridge. There are five left and you hand him the container. He thanks you and takes one, you grab one too and a napkin to catch anything that falls. He stands across from you, holding a hand under the cookie to catch the crumbs. 

He’s nervous again, for some reason. His heart is racing and he’s sweating. Especially on his hands. 

It’s clearly because you’re staring at him with a twinkle in your eyes; something you’re not aware of. You finish the cookie and toss the napkin into the trash before relaxing against the counter. 

“You wanna spend the night again?” You grin, head tilted to the side. He’s probably worried about going home or something. 

“Sure,” He nods and you smile wider. Clearly, you can read him like an open book.

“I’ll get you some clothes. Come,” 

He follows you into your bedroom, taking it in. There’s a smaller dresser next to the closet, your bed is in the middle of the room, big enough for three people with large blankets and pillows. There are a lot of decorations, too. Trinkets, pictures, books, journals, posters, records— he still hasn’t found the player. You take the time he’s distracted to hide the note inside your dresser. 

“Pick whatever, I don’t mind.” You tell him while finding your own night clothes. He nods and follows after you, picking up the first shirt he finds. A yellow and blue shirt with frayed edges and a pair of red pants with two white stripes going down the outer side. You omit a shirt, grab a pair of baggy shorts and head into your bathroom. 

Spencer gets changed in the other bathroom and waits in the hallway. Was this an invitation into your room? He’s not sure yet again. He really should speak up. 

“Was the movie too scary?” You joke when you exit the bathroom. “We can share a bed, if you’d like,” 

“Sure,” Like an excited puppy, he rushes into the room and you turn the lights off with a yawn. You lay down first, placing yourself closer to the door and then pat the bed. Spencer joins and stares at you for a second before he gets comfortable. 

“G’night, Spence,” 

“Goodnight,”

—

It’s shocking that there’s another case only two weeks after the first one. There are typically three and a half weeks of downtime between cases but everyone is called into the meeting room by Hotch. Penelope rushes in, her kitten heels loudly echoing on the concrete path. 

“Today's case,” Penelope sighs as she taps on her tablet. “The Big Apple, we’ve been called in by um…” She trails off, her eyes darting to Hotch for a little assistance. 

“Professor Charles Xavier.” He finishes and it just feels as if the word is collapsing on you. It feels like the life you’ve built up is coming down without leaving you any time to save it. Never has Charles asked for the FBI to help him; Erik sure as hell wouldn’t let him do that, either. You’ve never taken a mutant case in New York either, he handles those personally. 

“Like the leader of the X-men?” Rossi asks, and god, you’re praying there’s a difference, Charles Xavier in New York. That this professor is like Spencer, a really smart cop in Brooklyn or something. Anything but the rich, bald man you’re imagining sent in this request to JJ. He probably bypassed her altogether, now that you think about. Telepathically spoke to Hotch and convinced him to take the case. 

That's so something he would do. 

“Yes.” Hotch confirms. 

After that you space out, you can’t bring yourself to focus on the details. Not when your head is spinning and it sounds like you’re underwater, struggling to get to the surface as your hearing goes in and out. You stare at nothing but the table, unable to feel a single emotion. Or maybe you’re feeling them all at once, you can’t tell. 

Your lack of mental attendance is noticeable to everyone else since you normally love going to New York for cases. You get to visit family and check out your old neighborhood. It’s odd, they don’t know why this is any different from the others until it clicks. There’s only one real difference between this case and the others. 

Mutants. 

“Wheels up,” Hotch says, eyeing you as you’re the first to stand up and grab your stuff. Spencer looks at Derek, confused but Derek is just as confused as he is. They give each other a nod and go to collect their to-go bags before heading to the airstrip. You’re already there, sunglasses on and you’d thrown a sweater on. Which is even more strange, since you never seemed affected by the weather before. 

Spencer tried to speak to you, but you’re gone. Your head is somewhere so far even with him standing in front of you, you don’t acknowledge him. You head onto the jet last, despite being the first one there. You check your phone, nervously looking at the empty notification bar until you decide to put it face down on the table.

The jet is a little tense during take off, but it’s broken by Garica who’s been asked to join the others. She’s so excited to see the school for gifted youngsters, even more to see Wolverine who she says is her absolute dreamboat. 

Everyone hears you try and silently snicker, sinking yourself into your seat when she says that. 

Derek’s eyebrows knit together. He’s known you for a decade and he’d never thought you were a bigot before. Hell, he’d never seen you angry before. Not when someone spilt red wine on a brand new, very expensive shirt. Not when a family member of a victim had sucker punched you because they weren’t believing what you said. Not when you were being chewed out by Hotch or Strauss. 

No one had ever seen you so much as frown, not seriously anyway. The wrinkles on your forehead were new despite how deep and prominent they looked. 

You sigh, deep and heavy as you look out the window of the jet. There’s nothing some fucking BAU agents can do that a team filled with telepaths can’t. This is just some stupid ass plan by Charles, you know it. 

Grabbing one of the files from the table, you look them over. 

The case isn’t anything new, by any means. Aside from the fact that they’re mutants, it’s pretty identical to certain cases you’ve had before. A kidnapping followed by a three-day wait before their body is found dumped in Central Park with the Genovia Act stuffed in their mouths. Why this was hard for Charles to figure out, you don’t know. You’re sure there’s someone who can talk to the dead, or have Wanda talk to her husband and they do some magic and figure it out. 

You don’t know any of the victims, you haven’t been back to that mansion since you left so you’re not all that caught up with who lives inside of there. You wish you could keep it that way but the plane lands and you’re all shuffled into government issued SUV cars. 

Inside, you’re given the news that makes you want to kill yourself. 

Your accommodations for the stay are at the school. 

The large, older than anyone you knew mansion was something you honestly never wanted to see again. In your opinion, it would do the world a lotta good if it was gone. The only good thing about it were the open fields and woods surrounding it and if you focus you can feel the lake to the east of the mansion. 

It’s calm, there’s no one around it, you guess it’s too cold this time of year to go for lake swims. You feel the wind flow back to the mansion, there are several dozen kids hanging about. Playing sports or sitting in the grass, they’re all scattered across the acres of land. There’s more inside the mansion, since it is a weekday, afterall and they still had school. 

Pulling yourself out of the wind, you find that the car is rounding a corner and the Professor is waiting at the entrance. He’s different from the last time you’d seen him, most notably is that he’s back in his wheelchair with Cerebro nowhere in sight, but you still feel the same burning hatred for him as he sits there. To his left is Erik, and to his right is Logan. 

“One hell of a welcome wagon…” Derek trails. You silently agree, waiting until the car comes to a stop before leaving the SUV. 

“Greetings, BAU.” The professor presses his fingers to his temple and the bags float out from the car before anyone could move to grab them. He looks incredibly stupid, in your humble opinion. “Erik will show you to your rooms,” He lifts the bags after him as he enters the school, Logan following behind him. 

“Our rooms?” Penelope gasps, buzzing in her shoes. She hadn’t been in the car when Hotch had explained that small, tiny little fact for the case. You swallow whatever you were wanting to say and your eyes flicker over to Logan. He greets you, silently and in a way only the two of you understand. 

“To keep everyone safe, the team will be staying here.” Hotch explains. “Remember to be on your best behavior.” It feels targeted to you, but you don’t seem to care as you stare at Erik. You smile at him and he smiles back, his silver hair moving with the tentative breeze that blows past. 

“Follow me,” He nods to the team and steps inside. You follow after, seeing the familiar halls of the school. You can hear the classes happening around you, you can feel the potential of young mutants. You feel everything around you, how the wood creaks and how there’s a single wooden panel that’s rotten and about to fall on someone’s head. You feel how people move around, using their powers and writing their essays. 

You sigh, looking at the portraits on the walls and the way they once felt filled with hope. They feel like a painful reminder now. You see your old team, you see you, standing in that stupid suit with a half-face mask. With that stupid grin. 

The steps aren’t covered in carpet anymore; they’re a glossy wood and you can only imagine it’s because speedsters and cloth don’t exactly mix. 

“Your rooms.” Erik stops at the entrance to the East Wing dorms. You hadn’t even realized where he was taking you. But you can’t exactly say you didn’t expect this, of course, Charles would do this. “Your bags are in front of your doors. When you’re done, head down to the study.” He slips past everyone, his hand gently squeezing your arm as he passes by without another word. 

“This is so cool!” Emily says, seeing her bag at the end of the hall. “God, I hope Storm is here!” The others chime in about their favorite mutant heroes, all of them finding their bags in front of a door. 

You don’t need to look to see yours, you know your room. 

Standing in front of it, you feel your eyes sting with tears. You can’t bring yourself to twist the golden knob. It’s gotten that dirty copper look after not being used for so long.

“Kid, you okay?” Morgan asks, suddenly behind you with a hand on your shoulder. “I know the rooms are kinda plain but you’ll live.” He reaches over you and opens the door. It swings open and you shudder at the sight. 

“How come he gets a decorated room?” Morgan groans and everyone flocks to your room. They take in the room you’d grown up in, not a single part of it has changed. Your lip quivers as you remember what happened and that’s enough for you. 

Snatching your bag from the floor, you toss it inside before slamming the door shut and heading downstairs. The others follow, a little concerned but also they don’t want to get lost in the huge school. 

Emily notices how you move through the halls with ease, as if it’s muscle memory. How you know to be careful on the second to last step and walk with this vigor you never used to have. Spencer frowns, watching as you throw open a set of doors. He’s not too far behind, so when he reaches the door he sees the Professor sitting at the table. 

“I need a different room.” You demand, walking past him to find a seat. Your seat, you’ve always sat in the seat closest to the window that overlooks the pond. 

“I’m afraid they’re all occupied. Unless you’re willing to switch with one of your friends,” He says and glances at the others before his eyes settle back to you. He’s almost daring you, egging you on. He sighs and you concede. You know he’s lying, there are a dozen of empty rooms in the school.

“Fine.” You grit. “Let’s talk about the case, then.”

—

“How could you let him call us?” You whine to Erik, sitting on his desk as he cleans the books lining the walls. It’s lunchtime and the others were scattered about. Hotch had gone out for lunch, despite Charles's insistence that there was plenty of food for the team. “I can’t sleep in that room, Erik. I can’t.” Pulling your feet to the edge of the desk, you lay your head on your knees. 

“I’m truly sorry,” He shakes his head, setting the feather duster on the shelf. “I wasn’t aware of his intentions until I saw the cars pulling up. I would’ve stopped him had I known.” He stalks over to you, caressing the top of your head before his hand reaches your back. 

“I know,” You mutter. “I feel so angry now that I’m here. My team— my friends have noticed. They think I hate mutants,” 

“I assume they don’t know.” Nodding, he sighs and takes his seat in front of you. “Why haven’t you told them?” Looking at him through your lashes, he raises an eyebrow, encouraging you to talk. 

“I’m afraid,” You stress, dropping your legs. “They’re government agents and you know how much they like us! Hotch knows… kind of. He knows Bug is a mutant but that’s because they had a fling in law school,” Rubbing your head, you look at him. “I’m so afraid, Erik. I’m this…”

“Mutant?” He finishes but you shake your head. 

“I’m Derek and Spencer’s best friend, I make sure Penelope’s house is safe because she got shot in her last apartment and she’s terrified of it happening again, I have monthly movie nights with the others. I’ve met their kids. They know that I cry when I watch Cujo because he didn’t deserve that. They know I have to eat my eggs with ketchup because otherwise they taste like too much egg. But I-I can’t even think about telling them this!” You ramble. 

“You’ve adopted a normie life,” You nod and he continues. “Why? You’re an omega-level mutant, you could be so much more than an agent.”

“It’s better than that,” You shrug, gesturing to the picture of your old team hanging behind his head. His children were on your team, too. Polaris and Pierto at least. “My current team doesn’t worry about being attacked because they were born with the X gene or some world-ending event anymore. I don’t cradle their dying bodies, pushing their blood back into their system, and I’m not pulling the toxic gas from their lungs. I don’t get buried alive anymore! I can live a life!”

“Are you happy?” 

“Am I happy? I’m safe!” You shout and immediately cover your mouth. He frowns and you can’t meet his face, your eyes staying on the floor. 

“But are you happy? I’ve seen you online, you’re hiding. I know your smile,” He grabs your hand but you stand up and move away, holding yourself. “(Y/n),” He sighs. Your lips purse and you shake your head. “Are you even allowing yourself to love? To connect to someone romantically?” 

“No.” Licking your lips, you stare at the door. “I can’t.”

“You cannot continue down this path, Charles mentioned feeling your affection towards Dr. Reid. Why not pursue him?”

“Man,” You scoff. “Tell your bald ass husband to stay out of my head!” He chuckles and lays his hand flat on your head. He’s going to let you avoid talking about Spencer for now; but not forever. 

“He was concerned for you, he’d seen the news of your latest case. And you’ve ignored his calls,” 

“I don’t want to talk to that British fuck.” 

“Understandable,” He laughs. “Come on, your friends are waiting in the lounge for you.” 

The lounge is a room that was originally meant to talk about missions before it was moved down to the basement. Nowadays it’s filled with arcade games and a pool table. Not to mention various seats in various states. The team is crowded around one of the tables, grabbing their food when you walk inside. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Erik says as he closes the door behind you. 

“Er, this one is yours!” Penelope says, holding out your food. Thanking her, you take it and settle on one of the recliner chairs. It’s the funky one with the handle you have to jiggle five times up and then down once to make it leanback, you don’t, despite the urge to. 

“Hey, kid,” Derek says, his voice barely hiding the tension he wants to push down. He sits on the couch that’s had enough blood on it to fill an Olympic-sized pool, but you can’t tell him that. Plus, it’s been cleaned well enough that you can’t even tell. You greet him back while ripping open the tissue paper, keeping the sandwich together. “You okay? You’ve been… off since Hotch said we’d be working this case.” It’s hard to miss the ears that tune in to the conversation, the not so sutble conversation quieting until it’s nonexistent. 

“I’m fine,” You look at him and then Spencer. He tucks his hair behind his ear when your eyes meet before he looks down at his sandwich. “Just tired.” He nods, pretending to understand. 

“Because I’m here if you want to talk, get something off your chest.” He adds and you nod into your sandwich. 

“I’m good, trust.”

—

It’s late. You’ve gone into the city and spoken to the witnesses who found the victims, you’ve gone through all the evidence and begrudgingly worked with Charles to try and find a necromancer who wasn’t away or evil. Which is harder than you expected it to be. He could also be lying. 

But, the moon was rising and it was time to turn in for the night. Everyone had gone upstairs to their room but you made the excuse that you were fixing up the paperwork to stay down longer. Instead, you ventured outside and sat in front of the pond. 

The water is deeper than most expect it to be, it connects to a secret room the water mutants use from time to time. You dip your hand inside the water, feeling the fish dart away from the sudden movement and the plants move with the soft ripple of water. Your hand travels to the mud and you find the earthworms eating away, the air moving through the roots of trees and flowers. You find the animals making their homes underground before your hands touch the grass. The snails and ants crawl on blades, one is strangely close to you and you find it. 

The snail glides on your finger, moving up your hand before it settles on your knuckle. It’s tiny, barely the size of your fingernail, and stares at you before it turns around. It goes back onto the grass and disappears from sight. 

Laying flat on your back, you close your eyes and imagine yourself anywhere but there. 

“Get your ass inside,” Logan says from above you. Cracking your eyes open, you stare up at him. 

“Your tits are blocking the moon,” You tell him. He growls, flexing his hands. “Oh, please stab me. I want to go home.” He sighs, it’s deep and heavy and then he moves so he’s opposite to the moon.

“You can’t sleep out here,” He says and you shrug. “You have to go inside.” He urges again. Logan doesn’t try to sound convincing, despite his words. It’s oddly void of any concern and it’s mainly annoyance in his tone.

“I don’t have to do anything but die.” You correct him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily. 

“Fine,” He grunts. “When Ororo drags you inside, don’t say I ain’t warn you.” He walks away and you close your eyes again. It’s some time before the moonlight is blocked again and you crack your eyes open, half expecting it to be Erik. 

“Spence,” You blink, sitting up. He fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt and looks back at the school. “What’s up?” Nervously, he gives a half smile and points his thumb back to the school. 

“It’s late and it’s not good to sleep outside without the proper equipment,” He says. “I can see you from my window. It’s expected to get colder and possibly drizzle, so you’re more likely to catch a cold if you stay out here.” Looking towards the East Wing windows, you see Emily sitting on her windowsill, watching you. Hotch is at his, too. 

“Okay,” You sigh, standing up. He nods and follows after you while staring at the grass stains on your shirt and pants. There’s bits of grass in your hair and he thinks there’s a snail on one of them but he’s not too sure about that last bit. You remove it with ease as you walk up the stairs, setting the grass on the banister and dusting yourself off. 

“Do you want to switch rooms?” He asks once you’re at your door. “Or-or share?” He adds when you look at him, eyes heavy with regret. 

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” He doesn’t miss the deep breath you take as you push into the room. The knob feels impossibly cold in your grip and the door is heavy as you push it open and close. Thankfully, all the lights are off and the curtain is drawn so you can’t see anything. It’s muscle memory as you strip out of your dirty clothes and climb into the bed. 

The covers are the same, it’s still so warm as you pull them up to your chest and imagine you’re home. Anywhere but in that room. 

That night, for the first time in eight years, you have a nightmare. You don’t remember it when you wake up at five in the morning, you just feel the heavy beating of your heart, the sweat building on your forehead and the tears falling from your face. You see it in the fire burning in the center of the room, the small flame in the exact position you’d been all those years ago. You see it in the way the blanket is pulled taught, holding you safely to the bed. 

The fire snuffs out and the blanket loosens so you can leave the bed and head into the bathroom. You just stand under the water, not bothering to get undressed or even turn the light on. It’s blistering hot but you can’t tell, it just feels wet. The temperature is nothing on your skin, not as the water goes arctic cold just as you’re taking your boxers off. 

Grabbing the fresh washcloth from the sink, you wash yourself for what feels like an hour. The familiar-smelling soap does nothing to calm your nerves and you get out, feeling the water slip from your body and go down the drain. 

You don’t know where to go as you’re getting dressed, but you know you can’t stay in your childhood room any longer than needed. You grab your phone, badge, and necessary items before leaving the room. Spencer is awake and exits his room at the same time you do, you acknowledge him with a glance and keep it pushing. 

Your feet bang against the wooden floors while he barely leaves a sound. He follows you down the stairs, through the empty corridors until you enter the kitchen. 

“(Y/n)?” He softly calls as you open the fridge. “The Professor didn’t say we could eat whenever…” 

“That rich asshole can deal,” You grumble, stealing some eggs and cheese. “You hungry, Spence?” He hesitates but eventually nods. You nod back, pointing an egg at him. He goes to take it but you place them on the counter and check the cabinets for bowls. Finding one large enough, you throw it onto the counter and dip into the freezer for some frozen waffles. “Blueberry or chocolate?”

“Blueberry is fine,” Tossing the blueberry eggos next to the bowl, you flick the pilots on and start whisking the eggs. Spencer doesn’t like his eggs with anything, no salt or pepper, no adobo either. And you don’t feel like making two batches either. 

“Wanna make me an omelet?” Scott grins and you nod, pointing to the fridge. He grabs three eggs and butter and you set them aside, throwing some butter onto the pan. “I’m Scott, by the way.” He introduces himself to Spencer. 

“Spencer,” He dips his head down, trying to avoid looking at Scott’s glasses. 

“He’s a doctor,” You grin, tossing four eggos into the toaster. Leaning against the counter, you grab an apple and hold it between your fingers. “Peppers in the omelet or plain?” Scott takes the apple and bites into it. 

“Impressive,” He pats Spencer’s back. “And plain. I’m bulking.” Nodding, you pour yours and Spencer’s eggs into the pan. 

“Twink death, I suppose.” With a large, exaggerated sigh you lean against the counter again, fanning yourself. 

“Because you know all about that, right?” The two of you laugh, like really laugh and Spencer looks between the two of you. You’re loose, compared to yesterday. You’re smiling and happily engaging with Scott, you’re even making him food. Willingly. He doesn’t look past the clear history either and chews on his lip. 

What type of history could the two of you possibly share?

“So,” Scott clears his throat. “You’re a doctor?” His eyes (Spencer thinks, he can’t tell) flicker to Spencer while you tend to the eggs.

“I have several PhDs, I’m not a medical doctor,” He explains and clears his throat. “So, technically, I am a doctor, just not a medical professional. But I am EMT certified as per the FBI guidelines.” Scott looks at you, eyebrow raised and you smile, looking away. 

“That’s cool, I have red beam eyes.” He shrugs, lowering the glasses and blasts the apple. It sprays everywhere and one chunk hits you square in the forehead. 

“I’m not cleaning that.” Scrambling the eggs, you move apple guts off of the stove while Scott grabs a paper towel. 

“Where’s the bathroom?” Spencer asks and Scott points him in the direction. He thanks him and leaves while Scott throws away the paper towels. Once he's gone, Scott leans against the counter with his arms crossed. 

“What?” You sigh, piling the eggs onto the plate. 

“You always like the chatty ones,” He grins. “Wade, Tony for a week, Pierto, Jenn, and what was her name?” He snaps his fingers and you hush him. 

“Misty and she was not chatty!” 

“Mmhm,” He looks forward, his ankles now crossed. “You should date him.” He mutters. “You’d make a cute couple. A cute little FBI, mutie couple.” His nose crinkles and you roll your eyes. 

“He’s not a mutant,” 

“But you like him.” He tilts his head closer to yours and you push him away from you. Focusing on the omelet, you peel the sides and check to see if it’s ready to flip. 

“Did Charles or Erik tell you to do this?” 

“They talked about it,” He shrugs, pushing himself away from the counter. He walks over towards the kitchen island and sits down. “And I agree. You don’t have to only date other mutants. Your track record shows you mostly date normies.”

“My longest relationships were with mutants, though.” You add, looking back at him. “That track record says I should only date mutants.”

“Maybe he is,” Scott grins. “Like a super smart mutant. What then?” 

“Then I’d jump his bones— I’m joking!” You shout as Scott cackles. “Nothing changes. I don’t date anymore.”

“Ah, straight to marriage.”

“Scott,” Adding cheese into his omelet, you blink. “Im good being single.”

“Sure, but you’re pushing forty and still single…” Scoffing, you face him and point the spatula towards Charlie’s office. 

“Charles is like a hundred and still won’t admit he loves Erik. I feel like there are bigger issues than me not dating!” He waves his hand, dismissing your entire statement. “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with not wanting to date someone. I’m happy being single,”

“I know aromantics and asexuals— you’re not one of them. That’s sexual frustration speaking. All that anger and libido built up isn’t good,” Flinging his eggs at him, he grabs the plate and manages to catch all of it. “See. Someone who’s happy doesn’t do that to breakfast.” 

“I really want Jean to divorce you.” 

Spencer walks back into the kitchen soon after and Scott motions his head towards him as he leaves with his food. 

—

The case is going… not horribly. But not good, either. Another two mutants have been found and you’re sure you’re going to strangle Charles soon. Your latest theory is that he’s faking the deaths, they’re clones or something. You don’t know. But you think all of this is hocus pocus. 

You’re three days in now, talking with the others about possible suspects and trying to find some type of rhyme or reason to how they’re picking out the mutants. (It’s Charles, duh.) 

“Crossing every possible line- race, gender, age, type of mutant,” Derek lists through a frustrated sigh. 

“Were they runaways? Had loving parents?” You ask, only to humor Charles into believing this was a real case and not some weird ploy. The man in question thinks for a second before flipping through the pictures again. Of course you’d find some missing link in this case.

“I’ve met all of their parents, they’re from mutant families.” He lists off their families, naming the mutants they’re related to. Some of them aren’t well known to people, even heavily tied with the mutant community. You doubt most of the people in the mansion had heard of them— hell, you hadn’t. 

“We need to talk to the families,” Hotch surmises. 

“I fear it won’t be possible. Most of them are under the mutant protection act and cannot be contacted.” That’s not real. That’s something he just made up, but hey. Leave it to the telepath to lie. Charles sighs as he looks at you. Shrugging, you watch as they believe the lie with a little influence from the professor. “I can gather all the mutant families I know and have them know about this threat, though.” Your eye twitched as what he said sunk in. 

This fucking asshole. 

“Until then, we need to work on the profile.” Hotch says. “The geographical profile won’t be of any help, considering the dump sites are all within Central Park and victims go as far as Queens.”

“It’s likely the Unsub is a mutant himself,” Reid speaks up while fiddling with his pen. “He probably comes from an unsupportive family and envies those who have familial support or understanding.”

“Teleportation mutant isn’t uncommon,” Emily adds. “It would explain how he’s getting the bodies into the park without being noticed.”

“But the placement of the Accords wouldn’t make sense.” Rossi shakes his head. 

“Throws us off the trail,” Hotch explains. “Professor, can you create a list of mutants with teleportation powers and narrow it based on who has an unsupportive family? Garcia, I want you to pull up all the footage from the area where the victims were taken, review it with Reid frame by frame.” 

“Yes, sir,” She nods and the two of them head over to her station. It’s in the room, which is strange considering how many rooms the mansion has but this is a fake case, you don’t expect much. 

Looking over the files, your leg continues to bounce. It’s a matter of time before Charles mentions your family. Hotch will if he doesn’t. You know him, he’s not going to keep something so important to the case a secret. Raking your hand through your hair, you shudder and lean back in your seat. This isn’t going how you wanted it to. You never wanted them to find out. 

You’re fine having feelings for Spencer in private. You don’t care if he never knows, you don’t care. This part of your life was buried for a reason and you didn’t need to uncover it for the sake of a fake fucking case. 

Looking around the room, you see Erik standing at the door. You think him and Charles are having a telepathic conversation by the way his face keeps switching emotions. He looks at you and offers a sympathetic smile before glaring at Charles and leaving. They’re back to the divorce stage, then. Great. 

You wonder what the team will think. It’s been eight years of knowing them, eight years of working together so well you consider them family. A family that hates secrets, especially giant ones. They’ll view this as you not trusting them, that you’ve been lying for almost a decade. They’ll hate you. 

“I found a possible victim,” Derek calls and you pull yourself together. “Nine years ago, a teenage girl was killed in Central Park by her boyfriend.” Your eyes widen as he says that, snapping to the professors while he just sits there. “Danella Harkens, she was a student here. Her parents were in the original X-men.” He nods, as though he’d just remembered her. 

You feel sick to your stomach as all of this settles in. Your sister's death has been something you tried to warn him about— you knew her boyfriend wasn’t any good but she was a rebellious teenager who didn’t want to listen to anyone. You begged him to make her stop, you were away on a mission, you couldn’t do anything. He could’ve. And he didn’t.

“I remember her,” He turns to Derek while you’re breathing hard. “She was a lovely student. It’s a shame—“ He stops, holding his throat as the air in his lungs is removed. Quickly, his face starts turning shades of red and the others scramble to help him. They don’t know what’s wrong, how could they? You walk to the middle of the room, staring at him as he loses more and more air. He silently pleads to you to stop but you don’t. You like it. Watching him suffer. 

“Stop it,” Scott whispers, placing a hand on your shoulder. You shake your head, face tight. “(Y/n), let him go.” He urges.

“He killed her,” You whisper.

“Let him go.” Closing your eyes, you push the air back into his lungs. Charles gasps, holding onto the chair for support while you’re pulled out of the room. No one notices, busy attending to Charles.

Scott takes you to the training simulation room, something he used to do when you still lived there. He clears out the class who don’t hesitate to leave, loving the free period they’ve been provided. He boots up some of the harder simulations, watching as you quite literally burn through them. The fire burns a powerful blue, turning the (holographic) metal into (holographic) puddles. It doesn’t matter that they’re fake, the programming feels so real that there are phantom injuries whenever someone gets attacked by one. 

He watches the sweat build on your face and then get turned into tiny knives that fly through the air. 

“What’s the Avatar doing?” Emma asks, standing next to Scott with her arms crossed. 

“Blowing off steam,” He cringes when your fire fills up the entire room, leaving scorch marks along the wall. “The Professor brought up Ella and he thinks it’s a fake case.” She hums, tilting her head as you suck the fire back in and form a fire sword with it. 

“Is it?” She asks. She wouldn’t put it past Charles to do some fucked up shit like that. 

“No,” He shakes his head. “It’s very real.”

—

Danella Harkness, a name she’s given herself because she fell in love with the book character with her first name. Danella (L/n) is your younger sister, she was several years younger than you, fifteen when she died. She wasn’t the strongest mutant ever; she didn’t have much control over her power. It wasn’t anything crazy or new, controlling light. You’ve seen it used in amazing ways but she never got the hang of it. 

It wasn’t often that a mutant family all had similar powers. The X gene didn’t carry what type of powers someone got. At least to your knowledge. But your mother has moon powers, your father has the wildest energy powers you’ve seen in a long time, your older sister controls gravity, and you have the most basic, elemental powers. 

You stare at the family portrait inside one of the common areas, you’re all in your suits, smiling and alive. It was painted four weeks before Ella died. You’re thankful that she’s been immortalized in such a happy state but it still aches you to your core. She would’ve been twenty-four this year. It's been nine years since she’s died, nine years since you’ve been angry with the world. 

You’ve been angry with Charles since you could be angry— he’s a shit person in general. 

“There you are,” Spencer gasps, clearly out of breath as you sit with your back to the door. “Hotch is calling us, it’s dinner time.”

“I’m not hungry,” You respond and the doors close. Sinking into the seat, you stare at a nineteen-year-old you. You’re hardly smiling in that picture, but you’re happy. You can tell. You’ve never liked your smile all that much so you faked a nicer one for the painting. Your parents didn’t like that, they always wanted it redone to get your true smile but… 

“Are you okay?” Spencer settles next to you. You scoot over, making room for him. His eyes follow yours, finding the painting. “Is that Danella?” He knows her face, of course, he does, he’s seen it once. He knows the slope of her nose, he knows how she had gotten a messy lip ring but he doesn’t know that she ran her finger along her nose to calm her down or that she’d gotten the lip ring because your older sister had gotten one. 

“Yeah,” You bite without meaning to. “Yes,” You say in a calmer tone, silently apologizing.

“We didn’t get a file on the rest of her family,” He points out, a sense of urgency growing in his voice. “The sister and the brother could be in danger.” Your sister is flying in from her latest mission, according to Jean tells you. She’ll be back within the hour. You don’t know what you’re going to do. You don’t know what your life is going to look like after today. 

“Who said danger?” A shrill voice says as the doors to the room slam open. You close your eyes, knowing the voice, while Spencer jumps. 

“Excuse me?” He stutters, watching as Wade rushes across the room and flings himself onto the couch. His knee hits your head and you groan, holding the side of your head while he scrambles to sit down properly, squishing himself between you and Spencer. To Spencer’s credit, he moves over to give more space before eventually giving up and standing instead. 

“Y’know, this is a niche crossover,” Wade sighs while looking at a wall. “I’ve only ever read beanstalk over here and Gambit boning for this crossover.”

“Fuck are you talking about?” You groan, checking your hand. There isn’t any blood, of course there wouldn’t be. But you felt that you should still check. 

“Nothing.” He quickly says and then sighs dramatically and crosses his legs. “What were you two talking about?” He plays with the ends of your hair, smiling under his mask as you glare at him. 

“None of your business,” Smacking his hand away, he hisses and blows on his hand. “God! Kill me!” Standing up, you circle around the couch to grab your sweater and gun holster when the others walk inside. 

“We’ve been looking for you two!” JJ sighs, tucking some hair behind her ear. “The Professor wants to talk about the case, something about the Danella’s girls family.” Your eye twitches again, you never thought that was a real thing but leave it to Charles. 

“Oh,” Wade drags out before he jumps over the couch and spins you into his chest. “And here I thought you were here for little ole moi,” He frowns as you push yourself away from him, angrily fixing your hair. “You used to like that.” He says while staring at the wall again. 

“Do you ever shut up?” You seethe, looking for your gun holster. You were sure it was next to your sweater. Scanning the room, you find it next to the fireplace and squint. How the fuck?

“You know a couple ways to shut me up,” Wade sings, following after you. “Wink wink.” Grabbing your gun, you check the weight and then stare at Wade. “Wink.” His head moves as though he’s making an exaggerated wink. 

“You two know each other?” Derek slowly asks. 

“No.”

“We used to fuck raw.” Wade grins and you shout, ripping his mask off and shoving the barrel of your gun into his mouth. He moans, eyes shut while you can feel his tongue licking along the gun. 

“You freak,” You spit, taking the gun off of safety. The others shout, begging you to stop but Wade pulls the trigger with a loud moan, his eyes rolling back. He drops to the floor without a sound, blood and oddly enough his teeth land on your face. “Some fucking peace and quiet!” You groan, wiping your face before you put the gun's safety back on. 

“You just killed a man.” Penelope whispers, her eyes trained on the wall. Her eyes are red and there are already free flowing tears running down her face. 

“Look man,” Derek takes a hesitant step forward. “We know you hate mutants but this is too far!”

“What?” You ask, hands on your hips. 

“You killed him!” He shouts, a vein bulging out of his forehead. 

“Do you guys know who that is?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Hotch pulls himself together, blinking away from Wades ‘dead’ body. You can see his head reforming already, steadily breathing again. “You killed a man.” Blinking, you turn to face your family painting. Thankfully, there’s no blood on it, protected by a thick bulletproof glass, considering how many different accidents happen in the school. 

“He’s not— I’m so going to kill myself.” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you let out a loud sigh and turn around again. Charles and Logan stand at the door, slowly letting themselves in. 

“Professor, I am… there’s no words to describe how sorry I am.” Hotch stumbles over his words. Xavier holds his hand up, staring at you as him and Logan move closer to you and Wade.

“You had to make it messy?” Logan grits, staring at the blood-soaked rug and the brains on the wall.

“He’s being a little bitch!” You defend, pointing your gun at him. “‘Sides he pulled the trigger this time.” He chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Course he did,” He puts a cigar between his lips and leans over expectantly. Taking it, you hover it over the fireplace and put it between his lips. “Not what I wanted.” He mutters but takes a long drag from the cigar.

“Suck a dick.” Scrunching your nose as he blows smoke towards you, Logan rolls his eyes. 

“I hope that got everything out of your system.” Charles sighs, watching as Wade starts to breathe again. 

“If you weren’t in a wheelchair, I would’ve thrown you off of the Empire State Building by this point.” You admit, low enough that only the three of you hear.

“You should still do it,” 

“Logan.” Charles blinks.

“My God, that was hot!” Wade shouts as he jumps up, his face still molding itself together. The others scream and you blink, you’ve never heard Hotch scream before. It’s strange. “Do it again.”

“No, you freak!” You spit. “You nearly got me locked up!”

“Bet you’d like that,”

“Wade,” Closing your eyes, you step away from him. 

“My apologies for not explaining the situation earlier, Wade here has a mutation that rapidly grows his cells, a regeneration mutation.” Charles explains. “Simply put, Wade is impossible to kill by normal means.”

“I know how,” Logan offers. 

“How did you know that?” Spencer asks you. 

“Because,” You shrug. 

“They used to date.” Logan blows out another puff of smoke. 

“I’d rather not tell people that, I was desperate.” You blink, unable to look at the team. 

“To a cancer patient,” Wade gasps, hand on his chest. “You know i’m sensitive about my skin.”

“I preferred you without a mask and gagged, I think we know why the relationship didn’t last.” You bite without meaning to. 

“You gagged him?” Emily stares and you close your eyes. Unsure of what was worse, admitting to your sexual escapades in front of your crush and boss or nearly spilling your own secret for the sake of killing Wade. 

“Can we not? There’s a case.” You mumble. 

“Right,” Charles clears his throat and you side glance at him. “Daniella’s family is here.”

The sentence feels like the end of the world. And you’ve experienced the end of the world before. Several times in fact. And those have never left this type of pit in your stomach, this type of dryness to your mouth that you’re sure drinking all of the world's clean water could hydrate. It makes your head spin and your knees are about three seconds from buckling. 

So many years, so many memories and shared with the team, and so— so— much love was about to be put to the test. 

You crumble with each step, feeling as if you’re being walked to your public execution of your own making. Your neck is burning from the inevitable blade coming down and you just hope it’s as swift as a guillotine was. 

You never should’ve taken this job. You never should’ve lied to them. You never should’ve gotten so close to them. You should’ve been more open with them. 

You don’t know which never is right and you suppose you never will. You’ve made your bed and it’s time to lay in it. 

The team is guided to the elevator that leads down to the basement. No one really talks, still shocked and trying to piece together the last three minutes. Spencer is especially quiet, his eyes are traveling with each of his thoughts and he’s picking at the end of his vest. It must be hard, he has a million and five questions and yet, he can’t ask them. He won’t get the answers fast enough and you don’t know if you’ll be around to ever give them to him. 

Logan opens the door to the hanger, it hisses as the seal breaks before it slides open without making a sound. The jet is parked and the door is open, three pairs of footsteps echo through the bay and Hotch is the first to react. 

He turns to you. 

That’s the first thing he does when he sees them. 

His head snaps to you, his eyes wide as his mouth is pressed into a thin line. A knowing line. You avoid his gaze, staring down at the floor as your chest tightens again. Your lips curl into an emotion you can’t place just yet. Because just like that, just by seeing your family Aaron Hotchner is the first to figure out that you're a mutant. 

He knows because he knows your sister. He could have never forgotten her— he’s only ever been with two people. 

Your family stands in front of the BAU, their careful eyes scanning over the team and when your sister sees Hotch, she gives a small smile. Nothing more, nothing less. He gives an even smaller one back, a mental dilemma clearly written over his face. 

“So, we’re all here?” Your mother nods towards Charles. 

“We’re still waiting on your son, ma’am,” Derek eyes, as if it was obvious. Charles had said everyone from the family was flying in but, clearly, they were down a person. 

“My son?” Your mother blinks from him and then to you. She frowns, her crescent-shaped lips almost unnatural-looking as they pout. Emily pauses, tilting her head ever so slightly as the pieces fall into place for her. Her eyes shift to you and she makes a small expression. Barely visible but it lets you know everything. 

Two people. 

Inhaling, you turn towards Logan. Begging him, pleading with him to do something. Anything. Logan isn’t one for pity but he’s not exactly an asshole. He grunts, feigning boredom and ushers everyone back upstairs. Into the meeting room you’d been working out of. 

“We believe that your daughter was the first victim for our UnSub,” Rossi starts the conversation as everyone settles down. You’re still at your seat, your sister to your left, Spencer to your right. In front of you are your parents. “Can you tell us about Daniella’s death?”

“We were gone,” Your mother starts, her eyes drifting as her mind does. “A mission to take down a factory creating Sentinels. She couldn’t go, I didn’t want her getting hurt and she found no issue, they were having a trip that day. But the kids,” She looks at your sister and then you. Spencer tenses for a moment and you can feel the air push from his lungs as he tries not to stare at you. 

Three people. 

“They begged me not to, not to leave her or not to go. Begged Charles. We returned to the news, her boyfriend. A secret boyfriend. He’d stabbed her in Central Park because he found out she was a mutant.”

“You knew?” Derek’s eyebrows furrow as he looks at your sister. “How?”

“We— me and my brother, we knew the kid. His dad, at the time, was working for the government. Working on legalizing sentinels again. She didn’t believe us and then she said he wasn’t like his father. She trusted him,” She explains and you swear it’s like you’re back there again. That you're pleading with everyone to do something, to save your sister from the fate you know she’s about to walk into. 

No one did. No one helped. And you lost yourself that day, you lost your baby sister, your parents, and you lost your trust with the older generation of X-men. 

“Can you think of a reason why someone is copying Danella’s murder?” JJ softly asks as if her tone would cushion her words. You lower your head a little while your hands reach up to massage your neck and then the sides of your head. Your fear is turning into anger and soon enough, if—when someone says the wrong thing you’re going to explode. 

“No,” She shakes her head. “He’s an only child, his mother is alive and his father died four years ago.” 

“I…” Your dad starts, his voice sounding like he’s afraid to say what’s on his mind. Which is unusual. “I can. It’s a strange reason but…” His lips purse and your mother shakes her head, silently telling him no. Slightly, you perk

up while your eyes narrow. 

“Anything is helpful,” Rossi nods, leaning forward in his seat. “Even if it doesn’t seem that way.” Your dad nods and looks at your mother, waiting for her to concede. She does and exhales slowly as he speaks. 

“We moved her grave recently.” He finally says. “We moved her here.” It’s like time froze, like you could finally feel the temperature around you, the chill in the air rushing through your lungs, your veins, and into that well of emotions you’ve kept under lock and key for nearly a decade. You’re not thinking straight, not thinking of the consequences as your voice fills the room faster than your mind can catch it. 

“You what?” You shuddered, looking between the two of them. They avoid your betrayed gaze until you stand from the table, your fist clenched at your side as the chair nearly falls down. “You fucking moved her?” You shout, face twisted with fury that grows with their silence. “Answer me— what the fuck did you do?” 

“This is why we didn’t tell you,” Your mother's voice is almost a plea as she looks at you. “Look at you, (Y/n).”

You grit, shaking your head. “Don’t spin this back to me,” You tell her, trying to keep your voice steady. “My sister was murdered and we laid her to rest next to her favorite park. And you two moved her back to the place she hated.”

“You hate it here,” Your father softly corrects as if he’s talking down one of his patients. “Ella loved it here.”

Lifting your chin, you stare down at him. “Ella hates the X-men. She hates missions, she hates living in this school—“

“Ella is dead.” Your mother reminds you, looking away as the words formed a bitter taste on her tongue. 

“Fuck you.” You spit, nearly enjoying the hurt that flickers across her face, like the air was sucked out of her lungs. “Y’know what? Fine. Ella hated the X-men. She hated how Charles treated us like show ponies. She hated living in a dorm instead of an apartment. She hated how you made us go to courts to watch as people called us cruel words as they treated us like we weren’t people. She didn’t go on that mission because she was tired of being reminded that the world fucking hated her. She was never mutant and proud. She didn’t get a hang on her powers because she didn’t want to.”

“(Y/n),” Your sister looks up at you, eyes bleary. “Stop.”

“What?” You laugh this bitter laugh that feels like it scrapes against your throat. “We’re just being honest, aren’t we? Ella told us how much she hated this place but she wanted to make them proud.” Lamely, you gesture to your parents. “You would’ve known that, had you stopped to think of us outside of being legacy mutants.”

“We never did,” Your mother stands up, hurt written clearly on her face. “(Y/n), you need therapy. This—this isn’t healthy, you’re still so angry,” 

“I’m not angry.” You grit. You’ve never been the angry one, sardonic maybe  Cynical. But you didn’t like being angry, that weird burning feeling in your chest, the way the anger would cloud a person's judgment. That was never you. “Stop calling me angry.”

But she nods, solemnly like it hurts her to do so. “Look at you. Look behind you,” Blinking, you turn around and see that the floor is on fire, a line trailing from your feet, across the room and traveling up the wall. Shaking your head, it snuffs out and you turn back, blinking away the embarrassment lingering in your eyes. “You’re scaring your friends; you’re scaring us.” 

Licking your lips, you shake your head again before leaving. You can’t deal with this, deal with them or the sounds of your mother crying as you leave. You’ve fucked everything up, again. You always do. 

“(Y/n)—“ Spencer’s voice calls after you, a little panicked as he follows the burnt footsteps. The heat that’s radiating off of your body. “—wait, please!”

“I need to be alone!” You warn, pushing through a set of doors that leads to the basement. “Stay with the others, Spencer.”

He waits at the door for a moment, just one, solitary moment to think about it before he shakes his head and follows you down.  “Talk to me… please,” The basement is a metal, but not the type that radiates the heat rolling off of your body; it’s cold down there, reflective in a way that makes the fire in your eyes shine when you face him. 

“I can’t hurt you,” You’re pleading, the anger gone from your body as he only gets closer, a cold fear quickly replacing it. “Spencer, please. Stay back— I when I get like this—“ Stopping yourself, you shake your head and head inside the room. He follows, again because for some reason he can’t stop himself. It’s like he needs to prove himself, to who, he’s sure it’s you. He’s not sure why and he’s not sure how but he enters the room just before the doors close. 

It’s dark, impossibly so. The type of darkness that’s no longer just the color black— this must be what it’s like to be completely blind. But even more so. He can’t tell which way is up or down and it’s so silent. The hall had been quiet but this was silent, silent enough that he could hear the blood rushing through his ears, his soft breathing. But he can’t hear you. And a part of him is afraid to call out, to break whatever this is that’s going on. 

“You need to go,” Your voice echoes from across the room, in some area he can’t pinpoint. He flinches, trying to figure out where your voice came from, his eyes desperately trying to adjust to the darkness. “The room is going to fill with water in fifteen seconds. The door will shut for an hour. And I don't want to have to force you out,” 

“What about you?” He’s panting, and he doesn’t know why. One foot steps in front of the other, venturing deeper into the room. 

“I’m—“ Your voice catches in your throat, the words ringing as not important. Not the focus of right now. “Spencer, you have ten seconds. Leave. This is my… timeout room. Go!” His hand wraps around yours, at first he stutters, unsure in his movements— actions before they hold you tightly. “Spence…”

“I trust you.” The door hisses, the seal clicking into place and your eyes close. Another seal hisses and water starts to pour into the room from behind you. His heartbeat picks up, slightly but enough that you notice. 

“It’s going to fill the room entirely. Floor to ceiling.” You warn, looking at the water. You can’t see it but you can sense it, understand where it’s coming from and going. “Fifteen percent Epsom salt, so we’ll float but still be able to swim. Air gets pumped through… some system, I’m not sure.”

“How do we…” Breathe, he means. The water’s up to your knees by this point but he hasn’t moved. And it feels like he’s staring at you. 

“I can breathe underwater. It’s a skill I learned, filtering the water out before it enters my nose, so I just get the oxygen. I can… make a large air bubble for you.” You’ve done it before, back when you were an X-Men and once, when the team went to the beach and Henry slipped from his floaters faster than anyone could react. 

He leans back, letting the water hold him up and you feel it, his body lying on the surface, slowly drifting about. You do the same; it’s the purpose of the room, after all. By the time your stomach hits the ceiling, you’ve wrapped Spencer into the bubble of air. It moves around him— he’s talking and you swim closer to him before widening the bubble to incase the both of you. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” It, the situation or the other situation. Because, while you don’t want to talk about either, one is certainly better than the other. Then again, knowing Spencer, he’ll want the bigger picture first. 

“The point of this room is to not talk for an hour,” You softly remind him. 

“Still,” It’s up to you, that’s the thing. You can say no, give a firm, black or white yes or no and he’ll drop it. Hand to God he would, but… you want to. You want to tell someone about this, someone like Spencer. To get this off of your chest, to let him see you and see all of you. Not just SSA (Y/n) (L/n). 

Despite yourself, there’s an immediate need to defend yourself. “I’m not angry— I’m not an angry person,”

“I know,”

“I’m not.”

“I know.” 

“It’s just; they make me angry. My parents, Charles… they’re so… self-righteous. Mutant and proud. Putting yourself on the line. These—the great, grandiose expectations about how you’re supposed to be great and this poster boy for mutants. Proud of your mutations, to ignore the vile words, the hatred that normies spew at us. To still help them when they spit at us, treat us like infections. I was the only one of my siblings to try and tell them that we didn’t want this life, they didn’t believe me and it frustrated me. I…I got angry and…” Trailing off, you feel your eyes sting as the memories come back. “I didn’t mean to. I just… I lost control of my powers and ended up burning them. Everyone. My mom, dad, Rose, and Ella.” His breath hitches and he reaches forward while you lean back. “That's why they built this room. It makes me focus on water and not fire.”

“Ella was different, she was always… scared. Of her powers, of people— it really didn’t matter. And then she met him. Walking in a park, he was…normal, that’s what she called him.” Running your hand over your head, you exhale. “She saw the life she wanted in him. Going to high school, living in an apartment with just his family, no one hated him. Nothing that she had in her life. She told us about it, told me and Rose. Swore us to keep it a secret, Rose wanted to but I knew something wrong was happening. She needed an escape, not a boyfriend. And not him. I told them— I stalked him,” It’s the first time you’re admitting this, your arms crossed over your stomach as your eyes dart around, the memories slowly rolling in. 

“I followed him home, this brownstone in Manhattan. I saw him, the Senator who’s the main endorsement for the Sentinels. They looked so similar and seemed too close that there was no way that they didn’t have the same views. I tried telling her, and then Rose, and then our parents. No one listened. Ella thought I was being a protective big brother. Rose wanted to let Ella make her own choices and my parents just… wanted to focus on using her to get close to the Senator.”

You just continued to talk but it felt more like word vomit, your words growing more and more hoarse until you just started sobbing. It was uncontrollable, pent-up feelings bubbling to the surface like a volcano that you couldn’t contain. And Spencer didn’t want you to. He listened and he didn’t judge, not even when you admitted to robbing a liquor store after finding out about her death and getting black out drunk in the middle of the woods. He just sat there, letting you lean on him for the first time. 

By the time you caught your breath, the water was being drained in the middle of the room and the lights were starting to come back. It was a slow progression so as to not hurt your eyes. The water slipped between the new slots in the floor and whatever somehow managed to stay inside the room would be steamed out once you left. 

“Are you ready to go back?” He asks, still squinting due to the bright, white lights flooding the area. 

“No,” You admit, voice steady where your eyes are still red, lips still holding a small tremble. “I’m going to find Ella,” He nods, letting you guide him back upstairs before you leave him to get back to the others. 

—

It’s almost an hour before you return. The team had been trying to focus on the case but it was hard. Especially for Morgan who kept huffing and slamming things on the table; everyone knew why, too. He was hurt, hurt in ways he couldn’t describe. One of his closest friends, someone who he calls when he’s at his lowest, didn't trust him as much as he trusted them. And that stings, Spencer will admit. But he gets it. 

He looks at the cases— your file and slips through countless mission reports. The details in them are gruesome. Buried alive at eleven, thrown into a lava pit at nine, set on fire, kidnapped and tortured, and something about being sent to an alternate universe. Then there’s the press, he skims through videos of you and your family at rallies, protesting at capital buildings, in court— a video of your mother getting arrested at one while you’re struggling to contain yourself, bending the wooden table in front of you before you’re tackled to the ground and placed in a mutant collar. You’d been seven at the time. 

The room itself was quiet, whispers of information passed around like a game of telephone until rapid footsteps approached the door. It swung open like a storm was hitting, bouncing off of the hinges and everyone turned to the door, seeing you frantic. 

“Is Josh here?”

“No,” Scott shakes his head, beginning to stand up. “We sent Logan and Kitty on a search for him.”

“And?”

“Nothing yet,” He sighs. “They’ve checked each safe house and nothing's been touched. Logan hasn’t picked up his scent, either.” He’s speaking like a doctor breaking bad news to a family, taking slow steps until he’s in front of you. Something flashes across your face; guilt, maybe sadness and you whisper to him, shaking your head. Spencer can hear faint I know and it's not your fault from Scott. 

“Cerebro,” Your voice gets higher, eyes snapping towards Charles. “Use cerebro to find him.”

Charles doesn’t give an indication if he can or even will, but he makes his way over to the two of you and the three of you start talking. The air starts to feel hotter, like it had when you learned they moved Ella and Spencer sees the smoke rising from the floor underneath you. Sees the shifting air around Scott’s hair, the way your face twists and contorts as though you have no control over it. And then, a break. 

Your body falters, blearly eyes look between the two of them. “He’s not… he’s…” 

Charles shakes his head. “It’s the most likely scenario. Logan will do one last sweep today for him,”

“So, there is a mutant serial killer,” It’s not a question, it’s a realization. That these past couple of days of bullshitting had been for nothing, that you should’ve taken this more seriously. Scott nods. “Okay— have we asked Jean, Wanda, or Hotoru to take a look at the bodies? See if they can get any information from them?”

It’s weird, now you can place yourself into business mode. Because you’re walking around the room, using your powers to guide files over to the board, standing straighter and that tone, Spencer knows it well. You and Scott work together well, he notes. The man is at your side in seconds and it’s strange how well the two of you balance each other out. He wonders just how connected the two of you are, considering what happened during breakfast. 

“Spencer, did you get a look at the letter on my door?” He snaps out of it, seeing your serious face and nods, standing up with his dry-erase marker to the board. “Both Josh and I got one— I didn’t get a chance to read it. Maybe the others did, too,” You hurriedly explain, arms crossed and teeth finding purchase on the inside of your cheek. 

“So, you’re a potential victim,” Scott notes, arms crossed to mimic you when you turn to him as if he asked a stupid question. “You are. And don’t bring up the fact that you can hide inside of a volcano, again.”

“Well, I can hide inside of a volcano!” There’s a pause, your eyes shift before your eyebrows shoot up. “And Josh can dig underground. Deep enough to not be found by detectors or search dogs.” 

While it convinces Scott, his lips purse. “There are hundreds of miles of dirt between your building and here. It would take you days to search it,”

“Julio and I can— and maybe Jean. She can try and fly with me, sense him. Are there any other earth based mutants?”

He thinks for a moment, recounting all the students in his care. “A couple, but none of them have that much power. It’s just you and Julio. And even he’s not on your level,”

Grinning at him, you move towards the board where Spencer is. “You’re making me blush,” Standing next to him, you look at the board. “That’s everything?” He hums, blinking over at you while you read it over, lips pulled to the side and eyes jumping around. 

“This is weird,” You admit, waving Scott over. “It’s all broken,”

“Broken?” Hotch echoes and you no,d turning to him. 

“This is Krakoan. It’s a language for an island, and if you were on the island at any point, you’d know the language as if it was your native tongue,”

“This is written like someone’s learning the language,” Scott finishes with you nodding in agreement. 

But now the question was, who’s teaching them? “Making a list of all the mutants on the island wouldn’t take too long. Not many of us left it. So, we can start from there.”

—

“This isn’t crazy to you guys?” Derek whispers during dinner. You’re gone, off with Scott and your friends, making a plan to find Josh— who Penelope was surprised to figure out was the same Josh from the apartment building— and connect the letters to the current murders. “He’s been lying for years!”

Hotch is the first to speak, his head shaking slightly with a slight frown etched into his skin. “It’s not that simple,”

Derek scoffs, leaning back in his seat. “We’re not bigots, Hotch. He could've trusted us like we trust him.”

“You’ve seen him,” Hotch starts, slow like he’s still piecing together his evidence. “How he reacted ever since we took this case. He’s scared, he’s barely sleeping, outbursts, and withdrawn. This wasn’t something he wanted to talk about with anyone,” Of course, Derek can sympathize with that. He knows that feeling well but it doesn’t stop the hurt in his chest. Something so deep in his soul that he doesn’t know how to get over this feeling fast enough to make logical choices. 

Outside, they hear someone’s loud laughter and the conversation dies on Derek’s tongue. “He’s cute— he’s cute, I don’t see the harm,” It’s a woman’s voice, one they haven’t heard before. 

“Jean,” That’s you, undeniably that’s your voice. “Name one mutant who's found love in a normie,” The team eyes each other, trying to figure out where the conversation is going. 

“Wanda,” She immediately responds to which you scoff. 

“Jericho is literally the sorcerer supreme,”

It takes a moment but she snaps her fingers. “Ororo and T’Challa,”

“He’s the king of the most powerful nation and has powers,”

She huffs. “You’re impossible,”

“I’m practical and you’re not fitting the criteria. I want a mutant and a non-mutant without any powers in a stable relationship where one of them doesn’t die.”

The silence that follows is heavy. “It could be you and Spencer,” She finally says. 

Her words hit most of the team like a truck, the two of you weren’t just talking in general. This was a specific conversation about you and Spencer getting together. The logistics of someone like you and someone like him being together for the long run. When they look at him, his ears are burning red and he’s staring at the window as if you’d climb through and…confess or something of the sort. 

“You said it yourself, you wanted to kiss him in the sensory room,” If Spencer wasn’t red before, he is now. Avoiding everyone’s gazes and sinking into his seat. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Your voice is fast, embarrassed that she’s speaking about it out in the open. “And I told Scott that in confidence— he's such a loud mouth,” There’s a twinge of a whine to your voice while Jean laughs. 

“I’m his wife,”

There’s no rebuttal for that and the two of you start walking, albeit slowly. “So what if I did, it’s not gonna happen. You, Scott, Charles, Erik, and Derek need to understand that.”

She sighs and it’s this big, loud disappointed sigh that only a mother could pull off. “You need therapy. And I’m saying this to be nice but you and Spencer could be really cute and go the whole way. But your fear of normies not accepting you— all of you is holding you back. You’ve known him for eight years, doesn’t that count for something? You said the two of you held hands—“

“He was scared, we were sharing a blanket and he wanted to hold my hand,”

“You slept in the same bed,”

“Again, he was scared. We watched a scary movie,”

“The X trilogy. Stop interrupting me. He likes you, I've never met him and I can tell. You like him. The two of you are cute and clearly, he’s not going to turn out to be some evil mutant killer or end up kidnapped by an evil mutant killer,”

“He could, though,” When you speak, your voice is smaller, almost breathy. “I’m never going to be separated from this life, and if I merge him with this, who knows who’s going to find out? The wrong person could and I lose Spencer— forever. I could lose all of them, Derek already hates me,” The way you say it, like a child scared they’d disappointed their parent,

makes Derek feel bad. Guilt builds in his stomach as the others glance at him as if he’d refute your claim. He should— he will, he knows that. Just… not right now. 

“No, he doesn’t,”

“You weren’t there, Jean. I saw his face, I know Derek. He’s upset with me and I can’t find it in myself to wish I had told them sooner. I would’ve taken this to the grave,”

“…(Y/n)…”

“What? It’s not like I’m going to pass along the X gene, there was no reason for them to know. And sure, none of them have their pitchfork and torches but what now? Are they going to be nervous around me during work, passive-aggressive, or maybe I’ll just be quietly shunned out until the only thing for me to do is quit? Because I’ve heard the way they talk about mutants. They don’t want us dead, but we need to fit into their boxes.”

“What?” 

“They’re FBI agents, they’ve dealt with mutants. Big and scary ones, ones with what they call inconsequential powers, and everything in between. You’re always lucky to survive a case with them. It's a cool story to tell to pick up chicks in a bar, a war story about what could’ve gone wrong. It’s something you keep hush-hush, don’t assume the UnSub is mutant, it’s taboo. It’s like calling them the devil.”

“If you’re scared of them, then why stay? You could get a job anywhere else, but you’ve stayed with them,”

“Honestly,” You shrug, passing by the window. “They’re amazing people. I just think they’ve been subjected to so much propaganda, they don’t notice it.”

“Y’know what your issue is?”

“Oh, please tell me another issue I have,”

“You dim your light in situations where you’d shine.”

“How about we go look for Josh? We’re burning daylight,”

“It’s nighttime,” 

“I don’t have time for your mind games, Jean. Get in the air already,” The sound of the two of you leaving leaves something short of a sonic boom that makes the glass shake and the team shudder. 

—

That night, while you were still out looking for Josh, most of the team had gathered inside of Penelope’s room. Everyone but Hotch and Rossi couldn’t sleep, their minds filled with the information that not only were you a mutant, but you used to be one of the most powerful— probably still are, if what Scott had said was true. 

None of them have that much power. It’s just you and Julio. And even he’s not on your level. 

Your level, your own separate league for just your earth based powers. Who knew about the other three elements you could bend to your will?

Pen had dug up all the videos she could of you and sent them all one single text: check this out. Which is how they ended up huddled around her desk, chairs pulled up and the curtains drawn as if it would shield them from being found out. 

The first video isn’t bad. It’s a news clip about the school, you’re in the background, playing with Scott and a man they’ve yet to meet. It’s grainy, clearly dated by the bad camera quality when Pen zoomed in, but it’s obviously you. The next video is mission footage, clips recovered from a warehouse. You’re a teenager, maybe even a tween, running with Ella in your arms as robots chase after. They’re huge, skin changing to steel as you shoot waves of fire at it. There are bodies— other mutants, scattered across the floor that you’re trying to shield Ella from seeing. 

At some point, you meet with Rose and your parents. From there, you Ella off to your mother before you and Rose turn back to the creature. “It’s a sentinel,” Emily breathes, quietly as if the word would bring it out from the screen. “In the report, they’re robots who adapted to mutant powers, it nearly wiped the mutant population out,”

In the video, Rose holds her hands up and the room shakes. It’s like everything feels heavy and you strain, trying to use the air to rip it apart when from behind, just out of view, Spencer sees it. A shine on the floor, then a black metal foot before three prongs pierce your chest. If the sound had not been recovered from the footage, they would’ve heard Rose’s screams, and heard the ground split as the gravity became too hard for even the sentinel to handle and collapsed under their weight. 

“He was eleven,” Derek points out, looking at the date on the corner of the screen. 

“He was a baby,” Pen’s voice is filled with pain that only grows when the next video plays. You’re there, on a makeshift operating table. This time, there’s sound and they hear all of your shouts, hear the wind blowing across the room because there wasn’t any anesthetic. This is somewhere in the warehouse, untouched by the sentinels. Blood is rushing from your wounds, there’s an organ poking out from one of the holes, and you’re screaming. There shouldn’t be air in your lungs to make any type of noise, but it’s like your powers are working on autopilot to keep you alive. 

“Where is Silver?” Scott asks, he’s there, holding your hand to keep you from getting up. 

“Rose is finding him now,” Erik replies. He’s somewhere in the room, pacing around. 

“She needs to hurry— he’s losing—“

“I’m aware,” He’s at your side, kneeling down to brush the sweat from your skin. “Just a little longer, I promise it.” You manage a nod through gritted teeth before sobbing again. You’re muttering so they can’t hear the words but they know the tone. 

The video skips as Penelope wipes her face. This one is easier to stomach. It’s homemade footage that starts with Scott pointing the camera in the mirror, showing off his new suit. 

“Hey, heat beam—“

Scott sighs, pointing the camera over to you. You’re about thirteen in your new suit, grinning madly. “It’s a concussive punch—“

“Yeah, whatever,” Waving your hand, you inhale while Scott exhales. “These suits are kinda ass, gotta admit. But Lorena said I look good and I was thinking of asking her out— don’t tell Erik, please. Delete this—“ You hold your hand out and the camera flies into your hand, showing your scared face. Scott shouts and a chase starts, showing off the halls of the mansion until they see a familiar door. 

It’s your room, your current room. It's the same hallway and the inside is filled with whatever items a thirteen-year-old omega-level mutant could want. 

“Scott! How the fuck do I delete this?” You shout, turning the camera over in your hand. 

“Just— gimmie the camera, I’ll do it.”

You stare at him, eyes narrowed. “You said that last time and now Hank knows that we all think he’s on furry chat rooms selling his body!” Looking down again, you grin. “Found i—“ The footage doesn’t end there, though. It just cuts to another video, dated the same day, just four hours later. 

The camera is on the ground, grass blocking some of the view but most of it is still visible. It’s chaotic, like a war zone in the middle of a field. There’s a crashed airplane in the distance, that’s what caused the fire in the background and there’s a team. Two people fall to the ground. Scott is on his knees, clutching his chest, Lorena is just now standing up and Quicksilver is bringing supplies from the plane. 

“Cyclops— don’t breathe it in! Don’t!” Your voice is hoarse, you must’ve been shouting for a while. Your hand plants itself on someone’s chest and they watch as the person convulses before green air is pushed out their body. Pietro places a breathing mask on the person's face as you run to the next person, repeating the process. 

By the time you reach Scott, he’s face down on the grass. “Q— can you see if the— the black box is still in the plane? Someone needs to tell the Professor what happened?” He zips back, returning less than a second later with a solemn look on his face. “It’s okay— it’s okay. Just… move them away from the plane, yeah?”

You lug Scott up, limping towards the camera and they see a piece of metal sticking out from your leg. It’s straight through but you’ve been working through it, using your powers to keep pressure from the leg. 

The video ends there, cutting to a picture of you and a guy with red eyes in front of a grave, giving it the middle finger. It reads Charles Xavier. The next picture of the two of you again, taken by someone else as you’re both hanging your heads at the sight of Charles, alive and back in the mansion. 

Again, it’s a video. It starts with a banner that says it’s prom night. The theme is Under the Stars and there’s terrible music playing in the rented-out hall. “This is proof— because we all know (Y/n) will deny this later,” Jean laughs into the camera as your group of friends rush towards the bathroom. There’s Scott, of course, and three other people they can’t see. The door to the bathroom opens without anyone touching it and they see you, standing with Kurt sat on the bathroom sink, making out. 

The group shouts when the two of you pull away and Kurt bites your lower lip, pulling a noise from you. It doesn’t last long, as your head snaps over and you shout, chasing them throughout the party. 

Then starts a string of videos. Taken at different points of your life but you’re training your powers in all of them. Flying, holding up Olympic-sized pools with just a finger, freezing giant robots midstep, creating tornadoes— incredible feats that continue to top each other with each new clip. It’s somehow but incredibly terrifying and amazing and then they’re reminded that the person they’re watching is the same person they’ve known for nearly eight years. 

The same person that they would’ve said didn’t have a single dangerous bone in their body, whose muscles were for carrying them home from the bar— not the guy who broke off the top of a mountain to fight Apocalypse. 

It’s so weird, like you’re two separate people. But, Spencer guesses that the death of Ella truly did change you, since none of the videos are dated after her death. 

Before the screen turns back, there’s one final picture. It’s a funeral, Ella’s. The rain is heavy, impossibly so and Spencer remembers it— that storm. The rain was so heavy and strong that it reached Vegas, towns flooded and some of the damage is still being recovered to this day. The background is hard to read but there’s a break in the rain, a perfect rectangle above the casket where a golden sun shone down on the beautiful bouquet. 

You’re off to the side, not far from the casket but notably away from everyone else, staring at the brown wood, fist clenched tightly in your suit, two sizes too small for your body. 

You’d found Josh. He was buried so deep in the Earth that he almost reached the mantle, evidenced by the burns across his body and his being so dehydrated that it was dangerous giving him too much fluid at one time. In contrast, you were fine. They’d noticed the difference between the two of you almost immediately, not even a spec of dirt lingered on your skin as you helped put Josh on one of the infirmary beds. He wasn’t all that conscious, and you admitted that he was more lucid but most likely bringing up to the surface so fast had caused his condition to worsen. But added that it also could’ve been the adrenaline keeping him up for so long, both of which were probably the reasons, considering his current state. 

But, as it stands, he was alive and would remain alive for the foreseeable future, and that was a win in your book. Lord knows he’s survived worse situations. 

Spencer's eyes drag across your figure, pressed against the wall as you give Hank a quick debrief of what happened. Jean is on the opposite end of the room, talking with Scott about the same thing before the two of you switch. As you pass by, Spencer smells the earth on you. The dirt and what he can only assume was the mantle you’d gotten dangerously close to. It’s oddly comforting. 

Jean and your conversation earlier rings as you pass by. The information that you like him back makes his heart race, but the knowledge that you’re not going to pursue him makes his chest tighten. He’d assume the risks, he knew the risks when he became an FBI agent of this caliber— and he’d never, ever, treat you differently because you were a mutant. And then he remembers the videos and the court records, the files of the horrors you’ve seen and faced. He knows that you’re more afraid than you let on, maybe even terrified about getting hurt again. Time and time again, you’ve been hurt by people close to you and people you don’t even know; you just wanted something to be different for once. 

And now, you don’t even have that. The whole team knows, they’ve seen some of your gory past, watched as you nearly engulfed the wooden room in flames without noticing. It was like this, being a mutant, wasn’t something you could ever escape; it was something worse than skeletons in your closet. Like a cruel fate you couldn’t run away from, shadows in a corner. 

Scott smiles at you, this soft kind of smile as you shake your head, carefully explaining something Spencer’s not privy to before he nods, exhaling. He can't see the man’s eyes but his eyebrows are crossed, lips pinched shut as you speak, slowly closing into yourself more as the air grows colder. It feels prickly against Spencer’s exposed skin before the room goes back to its normal temperature. 

“You should head to bed,” Scott’s voice is clear in the room, naturally gathering everyone’s attention. “It’s late. Please, rest,” While you don’t want to agree, you do, taking one last look at Josh before heading up with the rest of the team. Somehow you’re ahead of them, feeling their eyes on the back of you just until you reach your room. 

“Do you…” Spencer cringes as his voice comes out smaller than he intended, a slight crack finding its way inside but it gets your attention. “Do you want to sleep with me— share a room…tonight?” 

You nod, your body already carrying you across the hall before you’ve spoken. “Please,” He smiles and holds the door open for you. His room is one of the standard rooms: a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. No decorations or touches of personality aside from the books on the nightstand and notes on the desk from him. 

For a moment, the two of you don’t talk and you don’t move until you inhale loud enough that he hears. “Do you mind if I shower?” Quickly, he shakes his head and you thank him, stepping into the small bathroom in the corner of the room. 

“Do you want me to get you a change of clothes?” He asks just before the door could fully close. You pause, staring down at your dirty clothes and agree, thanking him yet again. 

Spencer’s hand wraps around the worn copper doorknob, carefully twisting it and pushing inside as if there was an UnSub waiting on the other side. The light switched on before the door is even closed, pulling the darkness away and he takes in the room. Your childhood room. 

The walls are painted a nineties shade of blue, the wood was different from the one in his and Pen’s room and not just because yours had a deep circular burn mark in the middle. Yours looked worn, the gloss long gone and anyone who came by to wax the floors clearly neglected this room. There are posters from various artists, shows, and one singular poster from the school. That one is above your desk where old homework is still pushed to the side, and there’s a pencil next to what must’ve been a goodbye note. The bed isn’t made, the cover is half on the floor and one of the pillows is stuck between the bed and the nightstand, the end poking out as if it were calling for help. 

He finds your to-go bag on the floor next to a pair of old shoes, which was ripped open and items shoved to the side. Kneeling down, he glances at the pair of old Nike Solo Flights, worn down with love and time before finally reaching inside of the bag to pull out a long-sleeve shirt. The sleeves are navy blue but the rest have thin yellow and white stripes, a Minion in the middle with the text above and below it reading I killed 4 People in 1996. When he reaches for a pair of pants, they aren’t any better, it’s a pair of polyester sweats with a badly printed and cropped picture of a cheeseburger stretched around the entire thing. 

With those in hand, he leaves the room and sets the clothes on the sink of the bathroom before getting into the bed. You’ve shared a bed before, so this shouldn’t be too different. Only… his eyes drag over to the empty space next to him, it’s certainly not big enough to hold two people. Let alone two grown men. But he wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor, if need be. He quietly hoped the need wouldn’t be. 

Soon enough, the shower turns off and he hears the steady stream of water filling a drain before the curtain opens. He tries not to imagine what’s happening in there, if you liked the pajamas, if you were standing there just second-guessing spending the night with him. Which was weird because this wasn’t even sexual and was purely platonic. Platonic friends sharing a bed to avoid the childhood trauma of a bedroom within a place one of them would rather not be inside. On a twin-size mattress with one blanket. This was platonic in every sense of the word. 

It would be unbecoming to suggest otherwise. 

The door opens and you’re there, in the silly shirt and pants, covering a yawn. And he’s there, sitting on the right side of the bed, trying to ignore the thumping of his heart against his ribcage. This was not platonic, this was absolutely— wholeheartedly not platonic with the way he was feeling, with what his mind was swimming with. 

“I-I wasn’t sure if I should get you a shirt, I know you don’t sleep with one but I figured it didn’t hurt to…” He blinks away from you, unable to keep himself focused with how you’re looking at him without realizing it. Had you always looked at him that way? With that much adoration and just…tenderness? “It’s getting colder,” He reasons instead. “And it’s considerably colder here than it is in your apartment.”

“Is it?” You ask, shifting around as if the air would confirm for you. “My body is pretty bad at telling temperatures— but it’s fine. The floor pinches my skin,”

“The floor?” He echoes to which you nod, pointing at the floor as if the word is foreign to Spencer. “You can sleep in the bed, if you want.” Taking a moment, you agree and climb into bed next to him. For just a second, it’s fine but then when he lies down, it’s obvious that there needs to be some overlap between the two of you. 

Even so, neither one of you speaks until you exhale and turn over to face him. “How do you wanna do this?” He doesn’t know. Spencer doesn’t know because all he wants to do is kiss you until he’s stupid. Especially when you’re like this— this is too much. And it’s only amplified after finding out that you feel the exact same way. 

“I—uh,” He shifts, nearly falling off of the bed had you not grabbed him, tugging him back up and onto you out of instinct. “This is fine,” Slowly, you nod and the two of you ease into the new position. It’s awkward, limbs are everywhere until Spencer shifts again, resting his head over your heart and your hands find their place on his back. Your legs are crossed over each other, the fabrics sliding against each other until they stop shifting and you exhale. 

Licking his lips, he can feel you shifting slightly, most likely uncomfortable wearing a shirt to bed and pushes up slightly. “You can take the shirt off… if you’re uncomfortable,” You breathe a small thanks and remove your hands from his back, quickly pulling the shirt up and over your head and discarding it on the floor. 

Thankfully, it’s still dark in the room. The door is closed, the lights are off and only just a little bit of the moonlight poked in through the gap in the curtains so he only really sees the wall which— hopefully— meant you saw next to nothing of him. Not his burning face or the way his eyes were fighting hard not to stare at your chest. He felt ridiculous, pushing thirty and can’t contain himself while you were clearly drifting to sleep, eyes fluttering closed as your hands found their spot again. Completely unaffected by all of this. 

Carefully, he laid his head down and forced himself to fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat, smelling his to-go soap on your skin as if it were a normal occurrence. 

—

The BAU tends to get up early, cases never wait for them and with everything that happened yesterday, they couldn’t sleep past six if they tried. And Spencer tried. He did all the tricks in the books but couldn’t go back into a peaceful slumber and eventually accepted his fate, pushing himself off from you until he’s forced back with a thump. Looking up, he finds you’re still sound asleep, lips slightly parted and breathing audible. He can’t imagine what you’re dreaming about but he can feel the effects of the morning. 

Nocturnal penile tumescence, a normal and common occurrence during sleep due to the difference in hormones present in the body. In layman’s terms, your morning wood was pressing against his stomach, twitching and Spencer swore he could feel the veins and the curves, considering you weren’t wearing boxers. Why hadn’t he grabbed the stupid boxers when he had the chance?

He was screwed if he didn’t get up soon and tried to inch away from your grip but when you squeezed tighter, he pressed down on your dick, making you let out a panty sort of moan. Fuck, fuck fuck. He’s never been in this position before, doesn’t know what to do, or even how to properly feel. He knows that it has next to no correlation between sex dreams and is truly just your body doing whatever it feels like as you slept but this was too far from platonic for him. 

Following that revelation, he takes it slow. Carefully slipping from your arms and drifting towards the floor before springing up. The cover had fallen in the middle of the night and when he looked— yup, that was wood and it was certainly the morning. Turning on his heel, Spencer takes a shower and heads down to meet the rest of the team for breakfast. Trying to forget his… hard morning. 

When you come down, around ten or so minutes later, you’re scratching the back of your head and wearing more relaxed clothes. A normal t-shirt and sweats, probably with boxers this time. “What’s for breakfast?” You yawned, watching as Erik was at the stove. It smelled like… comfort. Things you’ve missed since your departure. 

“Avena oatmeal,” He glances at the pot where a metal spoon is slowly swirling itself inside of it. “Eggs, slightly runny. French toast, kosher sausage links, and waffles.” Erik doesn’t exactly keep full-kosher these days, like the no dairy and meat mixing, but he keeps some kosher. 

Humming, you slide into a seat, resting your arms on the counter and then your head on your arms. “Sounds amazing,” You’re tired, you’d slept well but you’re so drained. Your body feels rigid, stressed probably. Whenever you can, you’ll head to the gym to work out for a bit. Or maybe go to the training room with Scott, if he’s not too busy between his classes and helping with the case. 

“Anything new on the case?” Erik turns back to the French toast, flipping it and you shake your head, once more yawning into your arm. The night hasn’t yielded anymore progress aside from the side quest you and Jean had gone on. 

“We found Josh and we’re supposed to narrow the list later today. I think Scott wants to interview everyone, he was rambling. Didn’t listen to him,” You admit while rolling your eyes at the end that makes Erik chuckle. 

It reminds him of when you were younger, complaining that Scott wanted you to be more of a leader while you never wanted to feel more important than the rest of the team. It was probably the only thing the two of you ever argued about— up until you made him co-captain. Things were smooth sailing from there until you left. 

Distantly, you can hear students running around, they’re crowding around someone, but they’re not fighting. You don’t hear shouting that sounds like when kids circle two people tussling; it’s more like a celebrity appearance. Maybe Dazzlers visiting, you think she’s on tour right now anyway. It would make sense, a lot of mutants are fans and she’s popular with the younger crowd right now. Something in your back hurts when you realize you’re not counted in that younger crowd, a grey hair forming somewhere in your hair. 

They retreat soon enough and you hear heels clicking towards the kitchen, it’s long strides, confident too. As you’re lifting your head you hear a soft gasp and then, from your right you hear Pen whisper oh my god and Emily softly adds oh my goddess. And there’s really only one person who holds that title. 

At the entrance to the kitchen you see her, dressed in a gorgeous flowing dress, her hair pinned into a curly ponytail with curly side bangs. “Ororo!” You gleamed, suddenly springing from your chair and crashing into the woman. She laughs, catching you as she calls your name with just as much glee. When the two of you meet, the room feels like a soft spring, gentle breezes kicking up the smells of the room. Then you’re buzzing around each other, floating through the air as if it was second nature. Like two children meeting again during the first day of school. “You’re glowing! How’s Wakanda?”

“Amazing,” She grins, holding you at arms length to see you better. “Oh, you really should visit. It’s been too long. I know my husband surely misses you, too,” Agreeing, you’re still smiling wildly at her, the life back in your eyes. “I take it you can tell,” She chuckles when you eagerly nod, zipping your lips. 

“And I take it you’re not here just for a visit,” Erik notes, watching as the two of you lower to the floor. 

“Ah,” Ororo nods, her eyes flickering over the stunned faces of the BAU. “A little birdie told me that someone…” Her eyes flicker to you, a cocky grin growing on her face. “needed a stern talking to.”

“Jean!” You shouted, looking up towards the stairs. “Ugh! You loud mouth! All of you!” She laughs, holding your shoulder to stop you from finding Jean and Scott and giving them a piece of your mind. Despite how it sounded, you’re far from upset. The room isn’t getting hot, there’s no smoke forming at your feet, and the room isn’t shaking. This is fun for you, teasing with friends. “And I thought you came here for noble intentions,”

“These are noble,” She hums, pulling you towards the kitchen. “Now, introduce me to your team.” Albeit begrudgingly, you introduce everyone. They’re all in awe of her and you can’t blame them. Sure, your weather powers are strong but it’s nowhere near her level. You’re like… a breeze compared to Storm. 

When Pen stumbles up from her seat, she bows to Ororo who chuckles and helps her rise, her laughter filling the room while Penelope holds back a scream. 

“Oh,” She turns to you, her white hair floating unnaturally. “I’ve been told that you tried to kill the professor, again.” Her arms cross under her chest, hip cocked to the side and you know she’s not joking around with you. 

“What?” The team echoes as your eyes shift away from everyone, wringing your hands together behind your back. 

“Jean and Scott are the most loud-mouthed motherfuckers I have ever met! wasn’t gonna actually kill him!” You defend, taking a step closer to her. She just continues to stare at you until you huff and hang your head back. “Maybe I was— sue me! He’s already died like three times! And you should’ve seen him, you would’ve tried, too!”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill him,” Erik notes, now plating everyone’s food. 

Kicking the air, you nod and settle back into your seat. “You guys are acting like killing Charles would’ve been a crime.” The looks you get are crazy, as if you’ve forgotten which universe you’re in. 

“That’s because it is,” Spencer softly reminds you. “We’re here to investigate the current mutant murders.”

A part of you had forgotten about it. Not because you didn’t care but with everyone else it had slipped your mind. There was a stack of potential UnSub’s in Scott’s office as you spoke and once Josh woke up, you’d know more. Learn who he was running from. A plate settles in front of you and then a hand squeezes your shoulder and you smile up at Erik, thanking him. 

You felt terrible, having spent this case so sure that everything was fake, that this was a stupid ploy to get you back home that you were neglecting the dead. The dead children who died because of the actions of someone in this fucking mansion. The school where they promised a safe haven. 

The Aveeno tastes good, it’s probably hot, too hot for any of the others to eat, at least because JJ is blowing on hers and Rossi has the idea that stirring it will help it cool faster. Ororo forgoes the homemade breakfast and leaves to search for Jean, who’s most likely just waking up. 

“Would you have killed him?” Hotch whispers from your right. Glancing at him, you quickly look back at your food, thinking about it. You’ve always said you wanted to, you’ve had plenty of opportunities to kill him but you never have. You’ve gotten close, closer than that day but something always stops you. 

“No.” You whisper back. And you mean it. He nods, sipping his coffee and you wonder if he believes you. 

—

“Have you spoken to your family?” Jean asks while you’re mindlessly tapping your pencil against the table, crossing off names on the paper and writing notes in the margins. At least, you were. Now the pencil is flat on the wooden table and you’re focused on her, lips pulled into a tight line. “They’re still here,” She adds, gesturing vaguely to the door. As if you’d get up and leave just to have a pointless conversation with them.

“I couldn’t care any less.” The pencil is back in your hand, the graphite pressing harshly against the white paper, leaving a sharp indent as you cross out a name. You’ve seen your sister in the hallway, she was talking to Hotch, you don’t care to know about what, don’t care to even humor a conversation about it. Your parents, on the other hand, you’re vaguely aware of them being around. Heard their voices behind closed doors, felt their presence looming over you. 

Jean hums, her pen slowly dragging over her paper. “You’re judging me.” You’re not asking, it’s not something you’re unsure of. You know she is, she knows you know. Her pen sets down and she exhales. “About which thing?” Since you’re clearly a hot topic at the moment, there’s a lot to judge. 

“All of it,” She shrugs. “I guess mostly about—“ Her eyes darted to Spencer. He’s hunched over a table, finger gliding down a paper to read reports about Krakoa and the full proposed Accords. He’s not exactly facing you, but you can see the slope of his nose twitching every so often. You roll your eyes, already tired of this topic. “But, also, you’re odd.”

“Gee, thanks,” You drone. 

“Not like that,” Her chair inches forward, her hand raking through her hair. “You didn’t hesitate to find Josh but you haven’t touched the files for the case,” The pile on a different table shifts, you’re not sure if it was her or you. 

“The others have it handled, I’m more useful here,”

Her head tilts, an eyebrow quirking up. “You mean Derek has it.”

Your eyes snap up to her, eyes narrowed. “Jean.” Spencer peers over at the two of you working at the round table, papers neatly placed on the edges, dashes of red ink dancing across them. The others are in the room too, turning their attention towards the two of you. Derek looks over from the whiteboard, having heard his name before he finds Spencer with his eyebrows raised. What’s that about? But Spencer can only offer a shrug. 

“I’m right.” She settles. You look between her eyes, trying to find what’s happening and why it’s happened now. 

“It’s not about being right or wrong—“

“It sorta is,”

“Jean, I love you, we’re not having this conversation right now.”

Through a sigh, you grab the next paper and start scribbling next to names. You can’t focus now, your mind is set solely on Derek. How he’s still looking at you, eyes flicking across your face for some type of sign. The fact that his heart is slightly faster than normal, a sweat is building on his body. You’re not sure if he hates you still or if he just wants to talk. You’re afraid to find out, afraid to lose him too. Jean tilts her head again, only this time it’s expectantly. 

You really hate telepaths. 

“Fucking hell,” You grumble, standing up. It’s not going to get off of your mind until you deal with this. Until you sit and talk with Derek, be honest. You’d talk with the whole team but you… needed to talk to him alone, just the two of you. Your eyes meet and you nod towards the door, shoving your hands into the back of your pants pocket. He nods, capping his marker before the two of you leave the room. You walk into a classroom in silence, a math one judging by the posters around you and you settle on top of the desk. Professor McCoy. Makes sense, you figure. Derek settles on the desk across from you, his hands folding on top of his lap. Waiting. You are, too, unsure of how to start this conversation. Afraid of where it’s going to lead your relationship. 

Staring at him, you take him in. His navy blue V-cut shirt, his black jeans, the cross in his eyebrows, the concern in his eyes. “Are you mad at me?” You quietly ask, much different from the million of conversation starters that you had in your mind. Much more timid, too. 

“A little,” He admits without hesitation. “Why didn’t you trust me, man?” 

“I…” There’s so many reasons, so little explanations that would make sense to him. “I was afraid that things would change. You’d see me differently— even if you thought you wouldn’t,”

“I wouldn’t have, that’s the thing.”

“Everyone always says that,” You slump, staring at the fabric of your pants. “But they don’t notice that they do— in some way or another. And I liked our relationship before this,” You glance around the room. “this mess. I just hoped no one would ever find out, I guess. That I’d still be (Y/n) at the end of the day,”

“Did I treat you differently when you came out?”

“No,” 

Derek looks at your avoidant eyes, frowning slightly. “Is it because of how I’ve talked about my mutant cases?”

“That’s part of it, yeah,” 

“I’m sorry, man,” He exhales, running a hand over his head. “Looking back, I can see it was fucked to talk about them like that. That it made you worried to tell me the truth. I promise that it’s something I’ll stop, I’ll think twice before talking like that again. And, if I do, feel free to… launch me in the air or something,” He smiles when that pulls a chuckle from you, your eyes meeting momentarily. 

“Alright, I will.”

“And, man, no more secrets, yeah? Y’know hiding does more harm than good, right?” He’s not angry, his voice is calm, like he’s talking to a victim. “That note in your door, you wouldn’t have seen it. You could’ve gone missing and none of us would’ve known where to look.” You want to tell him that you wouldn’t have, you’re pretty good at evading being kidnapped. That even if, by some universal coincidence, you did, there’s people who would’ve known. You would’ve missed your check-ins with Erik, just as a confirmation that you’re alive and well and they would’ve been looking for you. 

But you don’t. 

You don’t speak— at all. Just sit there, staring at the floor, your blood rushing through your ears. Words are lost on you, you don’t know how to respond to him, something that’s never happened before. He stands from the table, crossing the imaginary threshold of him to you and for just a split second, he stares at you. And then, pulls you in for a hug. “I love you, man. I really do, hope you know that.” Your arms wrap under his as he speaks and he feels you relax against him. 

“I love you, too, man.” When you speak, it’s clear you’re holding back tears, your chin resting on his shoulder. 

—

The case had finally picked up later in the afternoon, after Josh had woken up and was able to speak in clear sentences after getting the dirt removed from his stomach and throat. Once he was able to speak coherently and be alert enough that you were able to sit and speak with him without pause, you did. He was always sorta skittish around other people, it’s why he lived in your building, so you could keep an eye on him. He trusted you. But while you were in the mansion infirmary, another body was found. The team went to check out the scene, half went to talk to the witnesses and the other half was checking out the crime scene. Penelope was the only other one in the school with you, she was working on locating where the victim had been taken and mapping it with the help of Charles.

“What happened?” You ask while lightly tapping your pen against your notepad, taking in John’s appearance. He’s looking better now, his more serious burns were still carefully in their dressings, the lighter ones were clearly healing, the blisters smaller than they were before. His eyebrows were growing back, too. You’re often thankful for his fast regeneration. 

“I-“ He’s stuttering, fumbling over himself before he stops and shakes his head, starting again but slowly. “I heard them. A group, talking about us. Me and you. They were going to lure us to the safe house— it was trapped, people were inside waiting for us. They heard me, started shooting. Machine guns, I think. I ran into the Earth, they couldn’t follow. Someone tried, almost did. I think they were one of us,”

“Why?”

His eyes moved down to the floor as though he was back there, feeling it. “Because, they were inside of the Earth with me.”

You shift in your seat, quickly going over the list of mutants with similar-sounding powers. “In how? Did they move the Earth?”

He firmly shakes his head, looking at you again. “No, it was like they were flying through the dirt as if it were air. Like Kitty,”

Kitty Pryde, a mutant with the ability to phase through solid objects through density shifting. Not many mutants with powers similar to her. Two of which can only make their density heavier, which wouldn’t have worked in this situation. 

“Do you know if they were a woman?”

“No— not a woman,” He shakes his head, assured in his response. “They called him Sir. He gave them orders,” Only one name comes to mind at the revelation and you softly breathe in, trying not to worry him. 

“Thank you, Josh. I’ll leave you alone now, call me if anything else happens or you remember more,” He nods and you leave the room as calmly as you can before you start flying through the manor. Scott and Jean are… you pull the air around you, searching for them… in the basement. Talking with Logan and Ororo. 

The profile had been accurate to a fault. A mutant with family issues, someone who’s jealous of mutants with supportive families, enacting their own rage onto their victims. The team had said that the UnSub was most likely in between your age of x-men and the new age kids, probably found later in life after years of hardship. 

You make it down to your friends in record time, opening the door. “It’s Shinobi Shaw— he’s in the mansion right now.”

—

Spencer’s heading back to the car with Derek, quietly going over his notes from the witness he’d talked to. They hadn’t seen much, just the body. There wasn’t much to go on, none of them had much to go on, really. It was frustrating, distressing even, that they’ve been on the case for what— nearly two weeks with little to no real progress. Only young mutants dead bodies and stacks of the Accords are piling up in the evidence bin. 

The media had, unfortunately, gotten a hold of the case and Hotch had a field day when they named the killer the Accords Executioner. Hotch made them pull the name as soon as he could and JJ held a short press conference with the Professor about what they knew without giving the public, the non-mutants, an insight to their own perils. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Derek nudges Spencer’s arm as they’re walking. 

He shakes his head, pocketing the mini notebook before gripping his messenger back. “I feel like something’s missing; we’re not seeing something.”

“Like what?”

His lips purse, if he'd known what was missing, they wouldn’t be in this situation right now. This weird stalemate between Unsub and the team. “Did we ever figure out the connection with Daniella?” Derek shakes his head before nodding at Emily as she joins the group, looking exasperated. “Did her killer get released?”

Derek’s not sure, but he knows who will know. “I’ll call Garcia.” Spencer nods, fiddling with his thumbs as Emily recounts her witness interviews. They weren’t much help, either. A pair of mutant-haters at that, so they really didn’t care for the murder. “She’s not answering,” Morgan stares at his phone, the voicemail quiet in his ears. 

“Weird,” Emily notes, crossing her arms. “Maybe she’s away from her phone? Try (Y/n),” He nods and dials your number and thirty seconds later, Derek’s pulling the phone from his ear, shaking his head. “Him too?”

“Something’s wrong,” Derek concludes, dialing Penelope again. “We should head back. Hotch!” His voice carries across Central Park like a megaphone and the man looks up from the body, slowly rising at Derek’s signal. Rossi and JJ aren’t too far away, beckoned over by Emily and they’re back on the road. 

Fifteen voicemails are left between Central Park and the school. It would have been sixteen but as the car pulled past the line of trees, they saw the school. Fire was spreading out from some windows, glass was scattered across the yard, on the side there was an entire chunk of wall missing. Kids are rushing from the building, ushered out by Hank and Erik. 

“What’s going on?” JJ asks one of the kids, the girl is frantic, looking between JJ and the building, soot on her face and her arm is bleeding. 

“I-I don’t know. Professor Logan told us to get out.” Air whizzes past them, leaves and dirt kicking in the air as the blur of blue dashes into the building. The closer they get, the louder an alarm is. It’s like a siren that fills the team with a sense of doom. Mixed with the whispers of the teenagers and children around them, they can’t feel anything but worry. 

Did you see them?

They had guns!

They had power collars— one of them took Jubilee!

Did they get Cyclops?

Heard they knocked him out— took some of the older mutants with him. 

I think they got Queen Ororo. 

No way they took Professor Logan, right?

Probably, he was with Mr. Summers. Mrs. Grey and—

“They took (Y/n).” Josh is at their side, nails digging into his arms so much they’re starting to bleed. He’s muttering to himself, shaking his head before he looks at the team. “I-I tried to help, I couldn’t. There was so many of them,”

“Who— who took him?” Rossi tries to coax him but Josh is looking everywhere but at the team. “Josh— who?”

He looks at them, sniffs and then shakes his head. “I-I didn't recognize them. They’re not mutants— one is, I don’t know who he is, though. I don’t know much, I don’t— I need— I gotta—“ He’s shaking his head again, overwhelmed by everything and walks to the grass, burying himself inside. He’s incredibly fast with it, tunneling down. 

“Garcia?” Derek’s shouting into the crowd, eyes swimming in the mix of people for her. “Garcia!” He’s getting more frantic as the seconds pass, each blonde head leaves his heart hammering in his chest until he relaxes. She’s there, with a group of children, far from the chaos. Immediately, he runs to her, the others quickly on his trail. “Babygirl,” Gasping, she looks up and lunges for a hug. She smells like fire, shaking like a leaf in his arms, holding him like she did that night. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” He’s stroking the back of her head, kissing the crown. 

Spencer takes a step back, looking at the building. Maybe Josh was wrong, maybe the fire was you, you’re using it to hide somewhere in the building. 

“All clear!” The blur of blue is back, standing at the steps of the school. Erik and Charles are in front of him, no sign of you. He checks, and he checks again. And again. You’re not there. Even as the fire gets put out by Bobby you’re not there. He can’t bring himself to think about anything that’s not you, he needs to get back on the case. He needs to find that missing link. He needs to find you. 

“We’ve made a list of the missing mutants,” Flinching, he looks over and sees a woman and a man— it’s the same red eyes from the picture Penelope had shown them. Gambit and Rogue. Her white streak and his red eyes. “Sorry, for scaring you, hun,”

“It’s fine,” He shakes his head, eyes trying to find some place to settle. “How did you make it so fast?”

“Pierto helped mon amie,” Gamit wraps his arm around Rogue, squeezing her hip while she hands the list over. 

“It looks like they mostly took from the old teams. Scott, Jean, (Y/n), Ororo, Logan, Morph, Emma, Rose, and Jubilee.” He relays to the BAU, handing the list over to Hotch who scans over it. “Do you have any idea where they took them?”

“They got away using a plane,” Erik says, joined by Charles with a deep frown. “I was able to damage it before it got too far, so it couldn’t have gone very far.”

“Can we track it?” Emily asks, eyeing the paper in Hotch’s hand. “Do we know who took them?”

Charles shakes his head, staring up at the team. “Unfortunately, as of right now, we can’t track the plane, no. But I know someone who can,”

—

Your head is twisting, trying to find some type of comfort with the thick, metal collar around your neck. The pink light is humming, a sign that it’s active and working. There’s so much of that flickering pink light that the room is washed in the color. The room itself resembles a sort of jail cell; concrete walls and floors, two, thin overhead lights that kind of have that buzz to them that makes your stomach twist. There’s nothing really in the room itself, just the people they’d taken during the attack. 

“So much for never getting kidnapped,” Logan gruff from across the room. 

“I literally hate you,” You groan. “Aren’t you supposed to smell these things before they happen?”

“Can’t you sense people?” He bites back. 

Scott sighs from his spot in the room. “That’s enough, you two,” Rolling your eyes, you move your head to the side before looking at Ororo. She’s next to you, laying her head against the wall, Jean is in her lap, unconscious. They’d done something to her, you don’t know what but she won’t wake up. Ororo looks at you and offers a small smile that you quickly return. 

Across from you, Logan and Morph are… being Logan and Morph. You wish they’d fuck instead of whatever that is. Then there’s Jubilee, she’s not exactly huddled into herself but she’s close to Logan. You have less memories of her, if you’re being honest. You’d known her maybe a year or two before you left the team, the school. Rose is with her, though. Her back is to you, you’re glad for that, and she’s the better comfort right now. Plus, she’s away from you. 

Emma and Scott, on the other hand, are standing in another corner, probably coming up with a plan. A part of you tells you that you should be there, too. Make yourself useful. But you can’t. Not when your eyes keep going to the glass wall where, on the other side, you’re staring at the scientists. They're in a lab— the room you’re in is a cell within the lab, their lab. They’re not looking at you, they haven’t since they put the collar on you, promising that you’ll understand soon enough. 

Shinobi is there, too. He comes and goes every so often, plucking pictures of young mutants from the board and leaving with them. Right now, he’s talking in hushed whispers with one of the women; his head is tilted in a way that makes his hair cover his face. 

You don’t know where you are, it’s underground, you think. Like a bunker of sorts or maybe at the base of a hill. You remember walking down something. But you couldn’t give anything more than that. Especially in this windowless room, artificial lights filled in with large lamps in the corner. 

You’re not sure how any of this fits together. If your sister was just a coincidence or somehow, some type of weird string was connecting her to this. If it was her killer, you’re not sure. You can’t remember if he got out of jail, it feels like something you should know, you’d gone to his parole hearings and made sure he didn’t get out early. But that was three years ago now. He was supposed to get the minimum sentence, fifteen years but his lawyers, the judge, and the jury managed to get him down to eight. 

Your stomach drops. He was out. Had been for at least a couple of months at this point. 

But him and Shinobi, you don’t think you could see them working together. Then again, you didn’t think Shinobi would be leading a mutant serial killer group and yet, here you are. 

“Can we talk?” Rose settles next to you, not waiting for a response. 

“There’s nothing I want to say to you.”

“Really?” She gives you a sad smile that you make a point not to look at. “You don’t want to yell at me?” Inhaling, you close your eyes and lay your head back. The wall is hard on your head and, for once, you can feel that it’s cold. You’d nearly forgotten that feeling. “Well, I can talk and you can listen,”

“Leave me alone, Rose.”

She continued anyway. “I tried to get them to keep her where we buried her, they begged me not to tell you. Said you’d cause another country-wide disaster hurricane, it would be better if they told you. I… I thought they did and just thought you didn’t want to talk to me about it.” Her hand rests in your knee before you jerk away, glaring at her as she apologizes. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Turning to her, you lick the inside of your mouth. “You’re not. ‘Cause you’ve never defended me against them. You let them think I was making up lies about wanting to leave while you played the perfect daughter! And you still are, letting them call me angry— I’m frustrated because no one in this family takes me seriously! I made one mistake and now I’m not allowed to have strong emotions; I’m dismissed constantly for things you know are true. You come to me with all your frustrations about everything and expect me not to act like you’re happy with your life.”

“And you are?” 

“More than you,” You scoff. “I’m away from their stupid fucking legacy and living my own life— far away from them.”

“We miss you,”

“No, you don’t. You barely even know me,”

“I know you’re my baby brother,” She offers. “That has to count for something,”

“I would, if you actually cared.” Standing up, you finally join Scott and Emma, talking about possible escape routes and just what the fuck is happening. You’re talking about the visible doors, the things you remember from the path when the collars buzz and then, you’re slammed to the floor, the collar pressing against the floor. Everyone’s struggling to get up, the magnetic pull too great for even Logan to pull himself up. 

A door opens, you hear heavy footsteps behind you and then your hands are taken. You try to twist, to scratch whoever it is before heavy, hand-covering cuffs are placed over them. Your collar doesn’t seem too heavy at that point and you’re hauled to your feet, out of the room where the door closes and everyone is released from the floor. 

From there, you’re walked to another cell where they throw you onto the hard, cold floor. You land on your side, looking up at who did it when you see his face, looking down at you as a scientist grabs you, pulling you towards a risen white table. 

It’s Robert Kelly Jr. 

He looks exactly like his father now, it’s one of those faces you’ll never forget. With his brown hair, swooped to the side with square glasses. If you had to guess, it was the same exact pair. He stares at you as he gets closer, he’s content, almost gleeful as he watches your eyes widen in horror before narrowing. When he fixes his lips to speak, your legs reach out, wrapping around his neck and slamming him down. You’re shouting, cursing him out, squeezing as tight as your legs can go while he claws at you, unable to do anything until the collar around your neck starts electrocuting you. 

Your muscles lock, the feeling of a thousand needles prickling your skin feels like nothing you’ve felt before— you never have. Electricity has never felt like this, you’ve never been so hot before, your blood boiling as your body’s fighting against the current. And then, when it stops, your body goes slack, legs unintentionally dropping the hold you had on Robert. He falls to the floor, gasping for air with a red face and neck. But, he’s not the only one. You’re on the floor, recovering as you stand before him, your foot meets his face and there’s a crunch. Limping from the new cell, you’re barely able to look around before people barge inside of the lab, strapped with guns and tactical gear. You look towards the glass cell at the others, panting while they bang on it, shouting something you can’t hear. 

When you look back, they’re telling you to get down. Their guns are pointed, someone has the control of your collar, finger hovering over a button you know makes it shock you. You don’t know what to do— what you can do. You’ll die if you charge at them, you’ll probably die if you let him take you wherever Robert wants them to. 

You’re scared. 

For once, you’re powerless in a room you should’ve controlled with ease. 

Blinking, your attention shifts to Robert, covering his bloody nose, inching away from you, calling you slurs you’ve heard a million times before. Maybe he has something you can use— you’re a profiler, you can use that. You can use him— can you? Is there enough time? Have you done too much damage to sweet talk them into letting you stand alone? Could you take a step without them shooting? Could you block the bullets in time? Would the metal cuffs even take the bullets?

Your heart drums in your chest as they inch forward, together as if this was practiced; this was always their goal. Were you their goal? Did they kill those kids to get you here? 

There’s nothing organic in the room, there’s no water, no dirt, nothing for you to manipulate. The collar is there to prevent you from using the air and fire against them. Your longest friends and sister are here, they’d taken another child as collateral, she’d been there at the wrong time and place. 

Was it selfish to think all of this was really for you?

You hear static, it’s coming from somewhere you can’t pinpoint. “— Can— can you hear me?” The static clears up, the voice rings as Penelope’s and you exhale. They’re close, they have to be. “Oh my god— he can hear me! Yes, yes!” Heads turn towards the sound, the camera, she’s watching. 

“You’ll have six seconds,” Erik says before the light’s blowout, sparks flying as the room is covered in darkness broken only by the pink light from around your neck. You run forward, sliding below their shields and guns, using the heavy metal cuffs to knock over however many people you can before you find the one holding the controller. It drops, the sound is clear in your ears and you raise your arms, smashing it down. It crunches, breaking under the force and weight of the cuffs and the pink light around your neck dies. The collar unlocks, dropping to the floor. 

It’s almost euphoric, the way everything rushes at you. You can feel the air again, feel the way it drifts throughout the room, under the gap in the door, the way the blood is rushing through their bodies, the way they’re hot. They’re scared, hearts beating against their chest. 

The lights turn back on, a backup generator humming from somewhere in the lab. Instead of the white lights, everything’s red. That dangerous red that makes the stakes feel higher than they are. You’re surrounded again, guns pointed at your head from all angles but this time is different. 

They tell you to stand up and you do, slowly rising with the cuffs dragging your arms down. Pressure is building in them, like a balloon inflating, you can feel it pushing and denting the metal. Someone pushes you back towards the cells before everyone is sent flying back, pinned against walls, arms spread and guns clattering to the floor. The cuffs are in pieces on the floor, broken bits of metal crunch under your feet as you head back to the glass cell. 

Back. You motion to them, they do, huddling together in a corner, covering their faces as your hands raise, arms extended before you clap. The air condenses, pushed forward and everything in the room begins to rattle before the glass breaks. It flies everywhere, caught by the same air that broke it before it hit anyone. 

“There’s more coming,” Penelope’s voice is static again, getting worse the longer she talks. “Someone is kicking me out of—systems— not much time—“ You reach Emma first, grabbing her collar and pushing air between the gaps in the metal until it breaks. She sighs, rolling her neck and thanking you before the collars around you drop. Logan flexes his hands, grinning as his claws slide from his knuckles with ease. 

“You filthy muties!” Robert, you’d forgotten about him. 

Turning, you see him holding one of the discarded guns. His nose is clearly broken, but it’s stopped bleeding, the blood smeared across his face and hands. His hair is a mess, you can see spots of blood in it too. It’s deeper in color thanks to the red lights around you. “You got this, bub?” Logan asks and you hum, eyeing Robert. 

He takes a step closer, teeth bared like a rabid animal. “I’ll kill you just like I killed your sister!” 

Your head tilts, the air shifting as the wind increases around him. “Will you?” Feeling his finger move towards the trigger, you wrap the air around his finger, bending it backwards until it snaps. He screams, the gun clattering to the floor as he cradles his hand. “Can you?” Around you, you can feel Scott trying to wake Jean and then you feel something moving in her blood. A sedative no doubt.  

You don’t have much time, between more people heading down, Robert, and Jean, you have to give your focus to her. You don’t know what’s in her body, but you know you can get it out. Pulling out of the air, you kneel next to Jean and pull at the material in her blood. It’s thick, kind of heavy. It won’t sweat out, it needs an exit. “I need to cut her,” Scott doesn’t question you, he never really does and he picks up a piece of glass. It’s sharp enough that it’ll cut but thick enough that it won’t fracture into her skin. As soon as it digs far enough that you see blood, you start pulling at the liquid. She’s groaning, twitching under the pain so Emma kneels at her head, calming her while you pull out the murky silver liquid. 

“We need to hurry,” Storm advises as she and Logan stand guard near the door. “Many of them are coming,”

You nod, looking at the still crying Robert and kick him in the face, knocking him out and hauling him over your shoulder. “Alright,” Scott picks Jean up, holding her bridal styled, her body still lifeless against him. “Let’s go.”

—

Spencer can’t breathe, his heart is in his head— no, that’s a headache. A stress migraine forming along the front of his head. Caliban, the mutant Charles called to track you and the others, had sent them nearly two hours away from the school. Derek was driving, speeding down the road as fast as the car could allow and normally that would be the scariest part for him, his back would be pressed against the back of the seat, one hand on the seatbelt and the other on that little holder above the window. But he’s just wishing Derek could go faster, that this stupid SUV would be as fast as you had flown the other night. 

Penelope was in the back, trying not to drop her expensive equipment as she tried to hack back into the building's cameras. It was a government building, one backed by the exact people who were silently trying to implement anti-mutant laws, laws Spencer feels stupid for not reading more about earlier. Maybe if he’d known, you wouldn’t be there. Maybe if he had cared more about mutant issues, those missing pieces would’ve found its way to this stupid, fucked puzzle. He doesn’t know what tech they have there, reports are limited and what’s there is already concerning. Labs with blood— blood they won’t exactly say but he has a sneaking suspicion that it’s mutant blood, storage units big enough to house new age Sentinels. Fuck, that image of you getting stabbed by one flashes through his mind and he wants to yell at Derek. 

Nothing is fast enough right now. Not his mind, not this car, and not Penelope’s hacking. 

“Five minutes,” Derek strains. “I can see the top of the building,” They’re at the top of a hill, and as the car starts to go down, Spencer can see it, too. A silver building in the middle of a field, a broken plane on the top. Five minutes, three hundred seconds. A lot can happen between now and then, especially when he sees the heat from an explosion, the glass of the car rattles before it careens off the side of the road. 

When the car stops, he realizes it’s Erik inside the car, using his powers to gently place the SUV back on the road. Everyone gets out, meeting together as Erik flies down, their words lost on their tongue. It looks like a war, your group versus the military and, like he’d suspected, new age sentinels. They’re based on the ones from nineteen ninety-seven; tall purple and pink robots nearly three times the size of the average adult. 

It’s bad. Everything’s red, everything feels hot, there are paths of fire on the Earth, lightning is brewing above them, a figure in the clouds commanding them. Everyone is scattered around. He sees Scott handing Jean over to Erik, Logan is across the field with Jubilee, he’s in front of her taking the brunt of the attacks from the soldiers, Rose is trying to sink the sentinels, Emma is in her diamond form, taking on her own horde— he can’t see you. 

He can’t see you. His eyes swim across the battlefield, breathing heavy before the clouds begin to rumble. The figure in the clouds turns to two, lighting mixes with a tornado. “To me, my X-Men!” Your voice thunders over the sound of everything else as you and Ororo fly around, avoiding getting shot or attacked by the robots and soldiers. Your command has everyone regrouping, meeting in the middle. 

It’s like that, your command, puts everyone back on track. They stop separating and pick one thing to focus on, together as a group. Emma and Morph— who’s using her powers— push the people away, making them toss their guns and whatever other weapons they had, while everyone else takes the Sentinels. The tornado is mixing with fire on the ground, made from Scott’s heat beams. The wind and the extra gravity is pulling the giants in the middle— it’s pulling the BAU in, too, but they’re able to hold themselves back as Rose increases the gravity below the sentimentals, sinking them into the Earth that you use to swallow them up. 

As they’re blasting through it, Scott is using his beams to slice through them. 

Something happens, Spencer can’t tell what but the fight turns one-sided. The hairs on his arms stick up— his hand reaches up for his head— its electricity. It’s Storm, she’s in the clouds again, commanding the weather with a booming voice, lightning striking on the messy dirt as the tornado grows. It’s pulling in the SUV’s now and whatever robots were left are ripped apart as they’re tossed in the fiery, electric tornado. 

When it’s over, the clouds part, the moonlight shining down on them, robots parts scattered on the floor, your team is standing on their feet, smiling and you’re lowering to the ground, almost unfazed. 

“Holy shit,” Derek whispers, watching as you look over at them and wave before heading over with the group. 

“—Your X-Men,” Scott laughs and you shrug, almost bashful. 

You look over the group, remembering your youth where you were their leader and glance at the clouds. “It just felt right— didn’t it?”

“It certainly did,” Ororo smiles at you before you stop in front of your team. 

They’re kind of shell-shocked, staring at you with something you can’t really describe. Maybe it’s awe, maybe they’re still trying to process everything, but the first one to move is Penelope. She’s wrapping you in the tightest hug you’ve ever gotten, almost sobbing into your chest. “And I thought— and you were— it was terrifying— sorry—“ Carefully, you hug her back, rubbing her back. 

“Pen, I’m fine,” You pull away, wiping her tears. 

“Don’t you ever get kidnapped again!”

Laughing, you nod. “I’ll try my best,” As she pulls away, you look at Spencer. He looks the worst of the team, like he’s sick to his stomach, he’s paler than that time he got the stomach bug from a dive bar in Florida. But he doesn’t move, like he’s stuck in place just staring at you. 

“(Y/n)…” Turning your head, you see your parents, they’re with Rose, checking her over. A lot’s happened tonight, a lot of feelings you’ll unpack later, especially as Rossi and Emily haul Robert Kelly Jr. into a cop car, but you still can’t. You feel like this is the part of the movie where everyone makes up, the parents realize that they’ve been wrong and their child realizes that they need to be more open but… you can’t. You can’t look at them and pretend like you’re happy to see them. To pretend that you want to be in their embrace, under their watchful gaze, trying to assess if you’re okay. 

And you’re fine with that. The thought used to make you sick, you used to want nothing but to have your family back together, to want to feel their warmth, not just an obligation to see them. 

“How’s Jean?” You ask Erik, looking away from your parents. He steps to the side, showing you Scott and Jean sitting in the trunk of the SUV, holding each other. “They drugged her with something, I kept some of it for Hank to analyze once we get back— we didn’t find Shinobi, though,”

“We’re on it,” Logan gruffs, grabbing Morph by the collar who grins wildly, shapeshifting into Logan. You’re not going to question them. 

Erik pulls your attention back. “Go ahead and head back, we got it from here,” Nodding, you join your team and head back to the school. 

—

The school is back to normal by the time you get back, with Wanda and Jericho using some spells to reform the building, the students are able to sleep in their rooms for the night. You’re not going to bed just yet, though. You’re sitting near the pond, feeling the creatures in the land go back to their homes, feeling the way Wanda and Jericho share a kiss in front of the school before they leave back to Strange Academy, feel the way Ororo and Jean are hugging down in the infirmary, how Scott is with Logan, interrogating Shinobi, how your parents are in on of the office rooms with your sister, and then, how Spencer’s walking out of the building. 

“Hey, Spence,” You call, turning your head back to see him. He hasn’t spoken much since you got back, but you haven’t wanted to pry, it’s probably been a long… week for him.

“Hi— can I sit?” Nodding, he settles next to you, your knees knocking against each other before he stares at the moon, squinting ever so slightly. “How are you doing?”

“Are we being honest or…”

“Honest. Please,”

Shifting closer to him, you stare at the pond, unsure of what to say. “I’ve been better and I’ve been worse. I… I’m glad we caught Robert and Logan got Shinobi, I feel stupid ‘cause I let my anger cloud my judgement and innocent kids died. Stupid because I let a lot get to me, stuff that I swore stopped getting to me. But,” Inhaling, you lean back, letting your head hit the grass. “Today was sort of cathartic. I haven’t used my powers like that in years. I feel sort of free— it’s hard, explaining it to a nonmutant but maybe it’s like when you broke your leg, that feeling when you could walk unassisted again.”

“There was a study done, around three years ago, that said that around forty percent of mutants don’t use their powers. Half of them said because they’re worried of getting caught, thirty percent said it’s because their powers physically harm them, and the last twenty said they didn’t because their powers weren't needed.”

“Really?”

He hums. “It was done by the Mutants Against Hate organization, they said that the numbers could actually be higher, since there’s an unknown percentage of mutants who flat out refuse to acknowledge their X-gene,”

That makes sense, especially for older generations like your parents. 

“How about you— I never asked how you’re handling this. This has been a lot for you, no doubt,”

He softly breathes, lips pursed into a sort of smile. “I… this case was enlightening. It taught me my bias around the mutant community, I got to learn more about you, about your life before us and…” It’s on the tip of his tongue, he wants to just blurt it out but he’s worried. Because even if you’re happy, even if that weight has been lifted from your shoulders, he doesn’t know if your stance on dating him is the same. “… But I was scared. More than I was with Tobias, more than I ever was,”

“Why?” 

That makes his stomach twist— why can’t you see it? See him without a cloud over your eyes. “Because of you. You got kidnapped and— and no one knew if you were alive or not. You were gone for four hours but it felt so much longer— I replayed every single interaction we’ve ever had, and you know what I kept thinking?”

“…what?” You lean up, shocked. 

“That I would’ve kissed you when I had the chance,” He’s still looking up at the sky but you’re looking at him, trying to find a sign that he’s lying. Your words are stuck in your throat, your mind is racing and you don’t know what to say. 

“Spencer—“

“We heard you.” He blurts, quickly glancing at you. “When you spoke to Jean before finding Josh. You said that you wanted to kiss me in the sensory room, said that ‘I’m never going to be separated from this life, and if I merge him with this, who knows who’s going to find out? The wrong person could and I lose Spencer— forever. I could lose all of them,’ But you aren’t. You aren’t going to lose any of us, we love you…. I… I love you,” He looks at you, eyes slightly damp as his chest is rising and falling quickly. “I’d take the risks and you won’t lose me if you just… let me in,”

Your eyes are hot now, stinging with the salty tears. “Spencer,” Your head shakes, a stutter of sounds falling from your lips before you feel his on yours. His hands are on your face, just barely there until you lean forward, holding the back of his head and it's only then does he hold you. His fingers trace your hairline, sliding further into your hair. You can feel him shaking, like he was scared you’d pull away and yell at him, that this was too far. One of your hands finds his hip, using it to pull down on you and he complies with ease. 

He’s half on top of you now, one of his legs pressed softly between yours, his hand resting on your chest, right above your heart before his lips slowly peel from yours. “Please,” He pants, looking between your eyes as they slowly open. “We could be the exception.”

There’s nothing you want more than to say yes, to kiss him again and to slowly move his books into your apartment. You’ve already crossed the boundary between friends, he knows and you know— the whole team knows. Your friends know. But there’s that fear you can’t shake, that gnawing fear that something is going to happen to him. “I don’t—“

His forehead presses against yours, warm even though you can’t tell, his eyes are closed, nose brushes against your own. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to be with you. If it takes you a week, a month, years, to accept this— us, I’m willing. I’m not scared,”

“I am,” Sitting up, he sits with you. “I don’t want to sound like a broken record but, I do… I love you,” His lip trembles as you finally admit. “And if I lose you, I can't come back from that.”

“You won’t.” 

“You can’t promise that,”

“And you can’t promise that you’ll lose me.”

He’s right. It’s not fair to give him a possibility and hold it above your heads without giving him a chance. Blinking, you let yourself smile and lean in to kiss him again, this time he breathes into it, holding your hands tightly in his. “We should,” He pants between kisses, trying desperately not to pull away while talking. “We should go inside,”

“Yeah,” Is it embarrassing that Spencer likes it when you lift him and fly to the window? Serious question because he seriously likes it, and he doesn’t know if he should feel ashamed or not. Probably not, all things considered. 

Especially not when your lips are traveling down from his lips to his neck, lightly sucking on your way down while he holds the back of your head, eyes closed while softly panting in the quiet room. When he lifts your face back to his, you’re smiling down at him and kiss him again— he’s going to get dizzy from all this kissing, he figures while letting his hands travel across your body. 

Then, as his hand moves down to the curve of your bulge, his fingers ghosting over the top, he hears the sound of fire catching on fabric. “Shit— not again!” You whine, glaring at the curtain until the fire dies down. 

“Are you mad at me?” He asks, watching as you stare at him, bewildered. 

“No—no, not in the slightest! My fire doesn’t come from my anger, it comes from my passion,” You quietly explain, avoiding his eyes. “If I get too emotional— like excited, things tend to light on fire.”

“Me touching your dick made you excited?” He teases, grinning as you get bashful. 

“Shut up, Spence,” Leaning down, the two of you settle on just kissing for the night. To spare the curtains and embarrassment of having to explain why the curtains or worse ended up on fire. 

At some point in the night, you end up falling asleep, just holding each other in that stupid twin size mattress. 

—

Interviewing Shinobi ten minutes after you wake up isn’t ideal, but it needs to happen. He’s instant that you’re there, so it’s you, Charles, and Emily in the makeshift interrogation room. Charles is off to the side, out of the view but you can feel his presence; it’s almost religious, in some strange way. He’s wearing a power dampener, his version of suicide watch, considering his past and the fact that, had Jean not caught him last night, he would’ve milled himself again. 

“Working with Robert Kelly Junior,” You sigh as you sit in front of him, hands laced between your legs before you lean forward. “How would Sebastian feel?”

He shrugs. “Considering he killed me, I don’t particularly care,” 

“Oh,” You blink, shaking your head as if that was obvious. “Not that— I know he doesn’t care about you, I’m talking about his company. The company he had to build from scratch and then gave to you,”

“I never wanted it,” 

“I think you did, though, Shinobi. You joined Hellfire Club and— I can’t believe I forgot but you were also in the Upstarts, right? A club for mutants to kill other mutants for fun, you tried to kill him and got his company as a reward.” His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. “So, I think him killing you was justified. Then, you tried to restart Hellfire with Warren and Psylocke, they declined. You tried to kill the New Mutants and Hellions, that didn’t work. Found out your dad was alive and, because you’re a coward, went into hiding. Then, after he found and killed you, you got resurrected, you rejoined the Upstarts, killed the Nasty Boys and when we captured you— you killed yourself. Your cowardice is insane.”

“All of that, and you still welcomed me to your safe haven island and school with plenty of other mutants,” He grins and you hum. 

“That wasn’t my call, actually. I, as the records can show, did try to get you exiled and/or killed again.”

He nods, smirking. “They called you jealous because I came back and your sister didn’t,”

“And your dad called you a bastard, I think only one of those is true,” He grunts, leaning back in his seat. “Oh, sorry. I’m talking about Sebastian, not Harry— how is he, by the way— still disappointed in you?”

“How’s your dad?”

“Uh, good,” You shrug. “He’s upstairs. I’m pretty sure they’re working on a memorial for the kids you killed,” 

“How did you kill them?” Emily picks up and you lean back, looking between the two of them. “Their bodies were transported by a mutant with teleportation,” She flips through his file. “And you only have density manipulation,”

“You’ll never catch him,” 

You nod. “Vanisher, right?” His eyes dart to you, slightly wide. “We actually saw his files in the building. Along with the five other mutants you were working with. Vanisher, Selene, Trevor Shaw, Orbit, and the Strucker Twins. You don’t have many friends, unfortunately for you, so they were easy enough to decode once we learned one word in your files. And we do have him, as of…” Checking your phone, you nod. “Seven-sixteen A.M. Vanisher is in our custody. He’s the one who put the note on my door, I’m guessing,”

Silence overtakes the room, Shinobi is breathing hard as he glares at your grinning figure. A lot happened while you slept, the others had gone over the files recovered from the building and spent the better part of the early morning tracking them down while Caliban was still in the building. You were only missing Selene, but you’re not sure you will find her before the day ends. She is pretty slippery. 

“What? Can’t kill yourself before you face consequences, again?” When he tries to lunge forward, the air pushes him back to his seat, pressing hard enough that he cries out in pain. “You can try again, if you’d like. I know you’re not used to fighting people who can fight back,”

“Is this an interrogation or are you just going to keep insulting him?” Charles sighs. 

“It’s certainly both,” You grin. “He wanted me here, he should’ve expected this. But fine— why’d you do it?”

“It was fun,” He shrugged. “Kelly paid us to hunt down mutants, remind the public of what they were,”

“You’re a mutant, don’t you think he would’ve killed you, too?” Emily asks, eyebrows crossed. 

His fingers twitch on the table, trying to see if it can phase through. It can’t. “We had a deal,” He blinks over to her and then grins at the memory. “Our very own, government-backed and funded Upstarts.”

“God, you’re a fucking loser.” You mumble, rubbing your eyebrow. “Alright, so you weren’t the ringleader. That was Kelly— why’d he want me?”

His hair whips as he looks at you. “To end your dumbass bloodline.” Now, you’re not dumb, can’t speak for the rest of them, though. “Daniella, Rose, your stupid parents, you. You aren’t as strong as you think,”

Your head tilts to the side, slowly grinning. “Did Kelly tell you that before his nose reconstruction surgery or after he mysteriously got cerebral hypoxia? How’s his seizures, still taking Brivaracetam?” When Charles sighs, you correct your posture and hold your hands up. “Sorry, continue.”

“He wanted you all buried in that little memorial so he could continue to piss on the (L/n) graves,”

Your mouth goes dry. “Continue?” He nods, leaning back in his chair. 

“Ever since he got out, he goes for a walk in the park, drinks his morning coffee and unloads on her grave,”

Emily remembers the feeling of the room being hot the other day, that slow-roasting feeling that made her short of breath. She remembers when the floors started smoking and that look in your eyes. She’d expected that to happen again when you leaned forward, but instead, what happened was the pipes in the wall rumbled, the sound of water crashing like an ocean during a storm. The room felt like the second you realize it’s raining— it is, a drop hits her nose and she reaches up, feeling the cold water on the tip of her finger. 

“Upset?” Shinobi muses, flicking the rain that hits the table separating the two of you. 

You blink, leaning back as the sound from the pipes goes away. Your eyes are a controlled type of furious, almost like you’re staring past him, searching for Kelly. “Well, there’s been an offer for your head, spearheaded by one of the mothers of the children you killed. So, we can either release you over to this woman and you can try your hand at escaping, or you can go to the prison built for mutants. I’m told it’s in the middle of the ocean with modified sentinels as guards. Your choice. But I’m told the mother is Theresa Cassidy,”

“Banshee‘s adoptive daughter,” He pieces together and you nod. 

“Sonic screams, flight, hypnotic suggestion, and force fields; to name a few of her powers.”

“Prison.”

“Good choice,” Standing up, you leave the room, head held high with your posture straight. Emily is behind you, her strides nearly matching your own before, about five feet away from the room, she watches as your jaw clenches and a pipe bursts in front of you. 

“Sorry,” You slowly apologize, looking back to grab her hand. She takes it, confused, before her feet no longer touch the floor and she’s lifted to the elevator while you stay behind, fixing the pipe. “Can you tell Spence that I’ll be a little late? There’s something else I need to do,” She nods, watching as you walk in the opposite direction, towards the hanger before heading upstairs herself. 

Rose is leaving today, there’s a mission that needs attending to, semi-urgent from what you heard. But you imagine she’ll pause it for this. 

Thankfully, by the time you enter the hangar, she’s still putting things on the jet. “Come with me,” Your voice carries across the room and she looks at you, a box of supplies tucked under her arm before she sets it down and makes her way over. 

“Is everything alright?” Shaking your head, you realize you’re breathing like you’re about to cry, your lip is trembling and your fist are clenching around nothing. “Talk to me; what’s wrong?”

“He’s been pissin’ on her grave. I’m either going over to kill him or make him suffer for the rest of his life,” She takes a moment before nodding; the two of you heading to the hospital he’s being held at. He’d been sent there for the broken nose and finger you’d given him and according to his chart, he’d gotten out of surgery two hours ago. 

It’s silent when you and Rose scale the back of the building, avoiding the cameras and security guards at each exit. It’s still daytime, so it’s risky being there but you can’t wait until the sun sets, not with that feeling in your chest, the ache in your soul. It only starts to go away when you reach his room, the lights are dimmed, he’s sleeping, signs of his surgery clear with the bandages on his head and the splint on his finger. 

At the door, you see two guards. Military. Backs to you, scanning up and down the hall every other second. But aside from that, you’re in the clear as the window slides open and the two of you climb inside. 

“What do you want me to do?” She whispers, watching as you stalk to his bed. 

“Just… hold him down. And make sure the door doesn’t open,” Nodding, you watch as he dips down, the gravity around his body is heavier than before and you climb on top of him. You’re sitting on his legs, watching and waiting as he begins to wake up. When he goes to shout, to call for help, you suck the air from his lungs, wrapping it around his vocal chords. 

“Do you know a lot about the human body?” You ask, still holding his chords, watching his scared face as he starts to cry. “No? Do you know about the spine?” Reaching over, you slip your hand under his back, dragging your finger up from the bottom to the top of his spine. “It starts at the base of your skull, then there’s the cervical enlargement, lumbar enlargement, conus medullaris, cauda equina, sacrum, and coccyx. It’s labeled C1 down to L5.” You dig your finger into each section, watching his face twist in pain. “C3, C4, and, C5 are right here, injuring those are the most dangerous types of spinal injuries. C3 is connected to your jaw and hyoid, it helps move your neck. C4 helps you breathe, connected to your diaphragm. C5, when damaged, can stop your breathing, your vocal cords, and your upper arm muscles.” Digging deeper, you feel him try to move from you, his fast breathing fanning against your face. “And if I press hard enough, right… here, you’ll lose nearly all of your bodily functions. Don’t worry, though. I’ll let you breathe, but that’s about it.” Something snaps under your pressure and you watch as his body goes lax before climbing off of him. 

“You could’ve lived your life in jail completely fine, but Shinobi told me you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants. So, since you like pissing in public, I made it easier for you. You’ll wear a diaper for the rest of your sad, miserable, life. You’ll be in prison, maybe, who knows with your condition now. Helpless— so, so helpless. Can’t even talk but you can feel everything, can’t you? Not to mention you don’t have any money for a proper wheelchair or any type of aid.” The door starts to open and you quickly reach over, smashing your fist against his newly reconstructed nose before leaving with Rose. 

You just wish you could’ve heard him screaming in pain. 

—

Spencer, after having not seen you for the better half of the day, sets out for you. He checks the pond first, then the kitchen, the training room that Scott said you used to frequent, the sensory room, and then the room he’d found you in. The one with the fireplace and the family portrait above the mantle. The first thing he notices is how dark it is. The lights are off, curtains tightly drawn, and the fire is barely even lit. At first, he assumed you weren’t in the room, he couldn’t see you but then he heard shifting and vented deeper inside. 

There, he found you sitting on the floor, head back on the cushions with your eyes closed. “Hey, Spence,” Your voice drifted up, eyes still closed and head still back. The fire grows as he sits next to you, crackling in a way that reminds him of Christmas time. Without hesitation, you lay your head on his lap, inhaling his scent. “Did you need me for something?” 

“No,” He shakes his head, carefully bringing a hand to the base of your hairline, messing with the ends. “I wanted to see you, is all.” Carefully, his eyes trace up to the painting, looking at you. It’s obvious now that he knows, the nose, the shape of your lips, the faint smile line— he should’ve known it was you sooner. It’s almost foolish he hadn’t. You and Daniella look a lot alike, almost as if you were identical twins just opposite genders, he wonders what she’d look like now, if you’d still be so similar it’s almost scary. A weird part of him wonders if he’d be dating you if she was still alive; if you would’ve gone to the BAU or stayed an X-Men. 

“I paralyzed Robert,” You admit, just barely opening your eyes. “Severed the connection in his cervical enlargements.” You say it clinically, as if this was just a report. Maybe it’s shock, that you’re compartmentalizing it. 

He breaths, hands pausing in your hair. “Oh,” Strangely enough, that’s not off-putting to him. A deep part of him almost admires the skill it would take to manually paralyze someone like that. 

“It felt good. It still feels good, I would’ve killed him but that would’ve been too kind,” What does he say to that? He doesn’t want to ask for the details, in case he’s ever… he doesn’t know, interrogated about this, but he doesn’t want to just brush past this if you want to talk about it. “Rose was with me,” You add, eyebrows pinched. 

“You spoke to her?”

Shrugging, you sigh. “Barely. Just enough to get it done, she left an hour ago. There’s some mission in India, we hugged before she left, though. But, I don’t think we’re going to speak often; I don’t have anything to say to them anymore. I think… I can’t get past them moving her grave without telling me. I found out in such a horrible way, I can’t see myself forgiving them. Is that weird that I’m fine not talking to them anymore— that I can move past this?”

“No,” His touch is welcomed as you lean into it, relaxing as his fingers rub against your cheek. “Forgiveness isn’t something that’s black and white. I forgive my mother during her episodes, when she forgets who I am and slaps me, but I don’t forgive her for having me, knowing that paranoid schizophrenia runs in her family. Seeing her go through that… I’m afraid that one day it’ll be me. And there’s nothing that I can do to prevent it,” One day it’ll be him. You guess that’s what you’re afraid of, too. Dying and instead of being buried in a place you love, you’re placed in the graveyard of other young mutants, hurt by the world. That your wishes aren’t honored, even in death. 

You can’t imagine being in his shoes, though. Eidetic memory that you fear one day will slowly start to fade, or you’ll stay to remember things wrong, memories are replaced or added, you lose days at a time; that, one day Spencer won’t be Spencer anymore. 

The door opens and Derek pokes his head inside. “Hey, lovebirds. We’re leaving in twenty, make sure you’re decent by then,” His voice is soft despite the teasing and you let out a small chuckle, standing up. 

“I gotta do one last thing.” They nod and you leave, heading down to Hank’s lab where he’s working on studying what they had injected Jean with.

Clearing your throat, you look at the floor. “Hey, Dr. McCoy,”

“Hello,” He spins in his seat, watching as you toy with the items around, avoiding even being near him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah— yes, I just… do you remember when you made the dampener for Rogue? The bracelet?” He nods, taking his glasses off. “Can you maybe make me a pair, too?”

You wanted Spencer, now more than ever, and whenever you thought about it too much, you’d noticed things kept catching on fire. Or whenever you kissed for too long, like you did the night prior. And you really couldn’t afford to burn your apartment down because you were getting handsy with your boyfriend. So, this was a necessary but very— very embarrassing conversation with the man who basically watched you grow up. Thankfully, he handles like a professional. 

“I believe I have a spare around, allow me to find it.”

Five minutes later, you’re walking to your room, rubbing the cold metal on your wrist. He’d said it was an updated model, but it still shouldn’t be worn for long periods of time, since it still causes headaches, according to Rogue. A weird side effect of it, though, is that you’re starting to notice the temperature more. It’s cold in the mansion, cold enough that you slip on a sweater as you grab your to-go back from your room. But then, you can feel Spencer’s warm hand grabbing yours. And you can feel the warmth, not just know instinctively that it’s warm because human bodies are warm. It’s nice, this sort of comfort you haven’t known in a long time. 

“You are going to be insufferable,” Emily teases from the bottom of the stairs, which leads to JJ smacking her arm. 

“Stop it— you two look very cute,” It causes Spencer to blush while you don’t know what to say. Maybe that was a side effect, too. A loss for words, you’ll ask Rogue about it when you have the time. Hopefully soon, all things considered. 

“You’re leaving?” Ororo’s voice calls from the main hall. 

“Yeah,” You nod, turning to her. She’s with the others, all of them huddled together, seemingly about to get ready for a group outing. They’re all a little sad looking, frowning ever so slightly in a way that has you giving a small smile. “We have a mandatory two days off after today, though. I can just fly back, if you want,”

“Bring your boy toy, too,” 

“Have I ever told you how much I hate you, Logan?” He gruffs at that. 

Jean clears her throat, grinning. “Or, you can use our jet to get back— it’ll be shorter and we can catch up, without the stress,”

“I vote yes!” Penelope smiles, already moving towards them. Hotch looks at the others, you’re already walking over with Spencer on your tail and the others, even Rossi clearly wants to take the better option, are looking at him with puppy dog eyes. He sighs and says something about calling the pilot that makes everyone cheer. 

Spencer watches from his spot in the group as you’re happily talking with your friends, floating with Ororo down the hallway to the hangar as if it was nothing. He hopes you’ll be that comfortable with the team, that maybe everyone is in Rossi or JJ’s backyard and it’s raining, so you’ll bend the rain around them, or you’ll agree to go to the beach with them and swim to find a secret alcove to show off. 

“Is that—“ Jean's hand reaches over, grabbing your wrist and pulls the sleeve up to reveal a black and pink tennis bracelet. The pink is sort of glowing, he notes, and your friends laugh while you quickly hide it. “Wait— is your kissing thing still happening?” Her eyes widen and you groan. 

“Don’t be so loud—“

“—No!” Derek quickly cuts off, grinning. “What kissing thing?” 

Quickly, you eye Jean but it’s not her who speaks up. “Whenever he’s kissing someone that he really likes, things ignite and burn,” That’s sort of cute, actually. At least, Penelope must think so because she awes the way she does whenever she sees baby animals interacting with babies. Derek, however claps Spencer on the shoulder, eager to say My Man as if that was some rite of passage. 

“Roro!” Betrayed, you hold a hand to your chest. “You three are gossip central! I cannot,”

“Speaking of gossip,” Emily trails, looking at nothing in particular. “But have you ever dated Nightcrawler— or just… kissed him.”

Your response is immediate. “Nope.” 

“So…” Derek says, trailing off. “Not even on your prom night, in the bathroom?” This time, your friend group laughs as you slowly lower to the floor, resting your head on your knees, ashamed. 

“Who told you?” Your voice is muffled by your pants. “Was it Jean? I bet it was Jean, you hater.”

Eyes turn to Spencer, clearly he’s going to spill the beans. “We might’ve seen some videos from when you were younger— Penelope found them and showed us.” Standing, you ignore your burning face and nod, pulling your lips into your mouth. “Why— is it something you’d rather not talk about?”

Scott laughs. “(Y/n)? Not talking about people he’s kissed— unheard of,” That earns a punch to the shoulder that he winces out. “No, he was just asked to admit he was into Preacher Boy because the religious aspect,”

“You had religious trauma?” 

“It wasn’t trauma,” Is all you say before briskly walking away, leaving the others to figure it out. When they do, the last thing you hear is Derek whistling. 

“Guess we’re being Reid a nun costume for Halloween,”

—

You’ve checked every single one of her windows and her locks, you’ve unclogged each of her drains after she had a bad attempt at dying her hair to give herself pink highlights— they’re better, now, and now you’re heading back to your apartment. Spencer is at the door, wearing his pajamas and his house slippers, talking with Josh about the fridge he’s sure is going to break soon, but he pauses just enough to greet you, pushing the door open so you can stand at his side. Josh promises to get here first thing in the morning, and the two of you head to the bedroom. 

He doesn’t live here, not yet at least, but it’s getting close. Half of his library has migrated to your place, you’ve repainted the walls to a color that calms the place and his occasional headaches, and he has a dedicated section in your dresser. He’s gotten your entire apartment memorized, knows all the little secrets that no guest could possibly know. 

Like the way your bed feels when he’s laying in the middle of it, the owner of the bed on top of him, carefully peeling his shirt from his body as they kiss. A needle drops and then slow music begins to play, music that helps Spencer unwind. He’d learned where the record player was, it took almost two weeks, but he found it, disguised as a cabinet in the living room. “Focus,” Your voice draws him back and his brown eyes look down from the ceiling to you as your hands are trailing down to his shorts. “That’s it,” His fingers move up, curling into your hair while he lifts his hips. 

He feels the tennis bracelet drag against his skin, nearly rolling from your hand until the feeling on his thighs is replaced with your palms. They tremble as you set his legs over your hips before removing your shirt with one hand. For a moment, Spencer’s gaze lingers on the three scars on your chest, he’s seen them a lot by this point, touched them enough to know that when he drags his hand down your chest he knows he’s going to feel your heart thumping against it as if it was just beneath the scar. 

“You alright, handsome?”

“Perfect,” He says and you grin, leaning down to kiss him again. As you do, he’s using his heels, pushing your shorts down until he feels it slip over the curve of your ass and your dicks rub against each other. Carefully, he wraps his hand around your dicks, squeezing them together before jerking his hand up and down. 

Quickly, the room starts to feel warmer, it’s not hot but it’s definitely not the crisp temperature it was before. Especially as the kiss keeps getting broken by your mixed moans, as your hands can’t seem to settle on his body, not as they drag from his face down to his chest where you rub his nipples, feeling them perk up under your fingers, and definitely not when they get below his navel. You brush against his hand, feeling the curve of his cock as it slides against yours, precum quickly spreading between the two before you give his balls a small squeeze. And then, finally, they stop at his thighs. 

Your nails dig into his flesh as you bring his legs up, pulling them higher and higher until the inside of his knees are resting on your shoulder. It’s not a painful stretch by any measure, especially after fucking in the kitchen earlier in the day, but it does make him drag out a noise that brushes against your mouth. “This okay?” You ask, pressing your lips into his neck, giving him a chance to both reply and catch his breath. 

“Yeah— yeah,” He nods as his body starts to shake; he’s about to cum. “Keep going— please—,” Watching him, you roll your hips into his hand, slow thrusts that mess up his messy rhythm but you feel when he spurts against your dick. The thick liquid sticks the two of you together just a bit, just enough that you hear it when you pull away and stroke yourself with his cum. 

Wrapping one arm around his legs, you start to line yourself up with him and slowly press inside. “You’re going good, so good ‘f me, baby,” You coo, carefully watching his face. “Almost inside, want me to keep going?” Biting his lip, Spencer nods while looking up at you with watery eyes. He feels them wipe away, shivering as the air starts to stroke his face, comfortingly warm like your hand would be. Slowly, you push deeper and deeper inside, hissing as he tightens around you. “Relax, Spence, you’re doing good, so good,” 

When you bottom out, he’s holding the pillows underneath him, knuckles clenched tightly on the soft material as he mutters yes, yes, yes without realizing he is. He knows this song and dance— he loves this song and dance, loves when you slowly drag yourself inside of him, loves when you hold his hand, whispering exactly what you’re doing to him, how he’s making you feel, and asking him each step of the way if he’s okay. And he always is. 

He loves when you leave marks on his skin, watching the red blossom into something more the longer you’re inside of him, love the way your skin reacts to his touch, he loves you and everything you’re doing to him. For him. 

When you cum, or at least nearing it, he can always tell. It’s always when you get extra kissy, when it gets sloppy so your thrusts don’t change in tempo, when you’re moaning in his ear, words broken in a way that feels like a code only he knows. And then, when you do, your head drops to his shoulder, teeth biting on the flesh until you’ve filled him. And then, as you’re coming down from your high, you smile at him as if you didn’t just have sex before reaching into the bedside for wipes. 

They’re fragrance and paraben-free, the type that doesn’t give Spencer a reaction when you’re cleaning him up just enough that he can walk to the bathroom while you clean the room up. By the time he’s done in the bathroom, you’re entering the room with clean clothes to shower together. That’s never long, he used to think the logistics of showering together would make it hell but, not when you bend half of the water onto your body so you can both shower at the same time and not do that weird switch around Derek warned him about. 

You carry him back to bed, complaining about his lack of warmth on your body and don’t let go, not even as you’re crawling into bed or as he’s shifting to grab the water bottle on his nightstand.  

And then, just as you’re about to hit the hay, someone knocks on the door and you grumble, removing the bracelet and using the air to tell who it is. “It’s Pen,” You mutter into his back. “I think we have a case, she’s dressed.”

“If we don’t answer, she’ll go away,” He whispers back, turning to look at your face. That sounds like an amazing idea, in theory. Because by the fourth time you don’t answer the door, she grabs her spare key. “You have to take away her key,”

Scott Summers; family man. The kind of guy you can happily bring to meet your family; the type of guy who’d stare your father's gun down with a smile and still shake his hand with a firm grip. 

Cyclops; the leader. The kind of guy who commands a room without entering it; the type of guy who’s fought his whole life and will continue to do so. 

Scotty; your love. He’s Scott Summers and he’s Cyclops. He’s a man with an incredibly complex upbringing with too many feelings to unravel in one lifetime. 

You know him inside and out, boring his soul into yours like a warm hug. So it’s to no one's surprise when you’re put in charge of the extraction team to get him and other mutants out of wherever they’ve been held captive for a week now.

The large metal keys clank to the ground as the door swings open. Breathing a sigh of relief when you see Scott is there, you take a moment to compose yourself and look around the room. It’s just an empty room with a tiny window at the top and Scott in the middle. You frown, seeing that he is tied up in some weird dungeon in the middle of the ocean. 

But he’s otherwise unharmed. 

He looks up at you, a ghost of a smile resting nicely on his face. 

“That pose looks good on you,” You grinned, running your fingers along his arms flexed behind his back, pinning him to sit on his knees. 

“Just help me,” He groaned, tugging at the metal cuffs but they didn't budge. Snapping the chain with a tug, you carefully grab his wrists and break the metal connecting them together. He shudders and rubs his wrists; sure they’re going to be sore for a while. “Thank you,” He says as he stands up.

“You can kiss me later, this place is about to blow up— can you open the wall?” He blinks but grabs onto you and blasts the cement wall. It explodes and you cover the two of you with your wing, the thick white feathers blocking the rubble and dust. It oddly sounds like rain hitting an umbrella. When it stops, you shake the wing off and grab him before diving out. 

Scott smells the salty sea air as you’re barreling towards the water before you spread your wings and shoot into the sky. He tucks his head in, fearing the air will blow off his shades until you land inside the jet. His feet touch the metal and he unwraps himself from you but still holds onto you for support as you guide him up to the cockpit. 

“That’s everyone,” You huff. “Took me a minute to find Scotty.” Rubbing his head, he clears his throat- a silent plea that he needs to look professional right now - and thanks everyone on your temporary team. Not a moment later several explosions can be heard in close succession and then the sound of heavy stones hitting the water. 

He settles onto his normal seat on the jet while you check over everyone; providing snack boxes to all of them because you’re sure they were starved in that place. 

Once you’re back at the mansion, you drag Scott into the infirmary. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have even entertained the idea but there’s not much he can do to convince you to let him go. 

“I’m fine,” He insists while Hank checks his vitals for the third time. It’s been an hour of him sitting there in the uncomfortable hospital gown. 

“You have a greenstick fracture on both of your arms,” You correct, flipping through his chart. “Your blood pressure is dangerously low, you’ve lost seventeen pounds in two weeks, and your hips and knees were dislocated— they’re still dislocated.”

“Then heal me, angel,” He grins but winces when the pressure band expands on his arm. You chuckle, shaking your head. 

“Charming, but you need your fluids first. Hank will start an IV drip once he’s done with that and then I’ll transfer you up to our room, ‘kay?” He sighs but nods. 

“Can I at least help you?” He asks just before you leave. “You still have bits of concrete in your wings.” Thinking about it, you see Hank give a noncommittal shrug. 

Sitting on the bed between his legs, Scott helps pick out the rubble from your feathers. His careful fingers preane and pry, dusting and gentle fixing. It doesn’t bother you, your wings and feathers are strong. You hardly feel it when someone touches them. But he still takes such good care of them when you can’t. 

After he’s done, Hank cleans up his arm and you watch as he starts the IV drip. He doesn’t need to tell you the instructions for Scott; you’ve done this enough times and gotten through half of your residency to know how to handle an injured Scott. 

Scooping him up, he looks away but holds onto your shoulder with this non-IV arm. He’s ever aware you’re carrying him with one arm, the other holding the monitor and drip bags the whole way up from the basement to the second floor. 

Oh, how he envies Kurt for having blue fur.

—

When Scott fully heals, which takes longer than he likes because you refuse to heal his hip until he’s put back on the weight from before, he goes back to normal. Almost immediately he begs for a fight; a training exercise— anything. He literally gets on his knees begging because you’d rather spend your afternoon outside than in the stuffy training room. But how can you deny your Scotty? Especially when he’d taken your orders while injured like a champ.

“C’mon Scotty,” You coo, trailing your finger along the length of his jaw, stopping just before your finger left the tip of his chin. “I know you can do it, just a little more.” He grins, his lips wobbling as he struggles against your wings. He grunts, feeling you put more pressure down on him. 

“That’s my boy,” You tease, watching him squirm and huff under you. You’re not even touching him, hovering above his stomach with just your wings pinning his chest to the ground. “You can last longer, right?” 

“I can,” He nods rapidly, breathless. “I can take it.” His eyes dart from the white feathers to your teasing face and he blows air from his mouth. You lessen the grip, causing a soft whine to escape him, his hands clawing at your pants. 

Originally, he wanted to prove that he could escape from under you without his beams. You disagreed, naturally. Because he benches maybe three hundred while you bench four times that, but he was incredibly insistent. A part of you knows he’s getting off to this, though. 

“Good boy,” He moans, closing his eyes and biting his bottom lip before he gives up, chest heaving as he relaxes against your grip. Giving up, he rests on his elbows before staring up at you as you scoot up, sitting on his chest. Like putty underneath you, he stares up, resting his head on your leg. You run your fingers through his hair, the sweat from the edge of his hairline makes his hair awfully messy. 

“Can you two stop train-fucking already?” Emma scoffs as she walks into the training room with some students. You roll your eyes and lift yourself up, hovering in the air while Scott quickly stands up and gives the students a quick acknowledgment. 

“We’re preparing for tomorrow’s lesson,” He tells her but he’s unable to deny the red that’s spread across his face. 

“Hopefully it’s less sexually charged.” She teases and you laugh, knocking her with your wing before you drag Scott out. There are other rooms where you practice— actually practice this time. Scouts honor. But Scott just wants to finish up his workout so you join him. He’s on the Stairmaster while you’re using the leg press. 

The height advantage he has allows for him to watch you as he tries to beat his record on that horrible machine. He watches as your legs tense under the heavy plates, how you’re not holding onto the bars but rather on your phone. It’s crazy but the lack of acknowledgement of the weight makes his legs wobbly and he holds onto the handles for balance. 

“You okay, Scotty?” You ask, hearing the sloppy foot placement and the near slip. “Need a break?” Immediately the idea of beating his record is thrown out the window and he shuts down the machine. 

“Mhmm,” He nods and climbs down, making his way over to you. He goes to sit on the floor but you place him over your lap, smiling up at him. Your phone is tossed to the floor, and all of your focus is on him. 

“Do your legs hurt?” You ask, feigning being oblivious to the real issue as you work on massaging his calves. “I wasn’t too harsh earlier, was I?” 

“No,” He holds your wrists, keeping your hands there. “You weren’t. Yes, they hurt a little.” You hum while you shift a little and watch as his eyes close before he looks down at you. 

“What? I have to be in the right position.” You defend yourself as the door to the gym opens. He looks up while you continue your reps, using your wing to wave at whoever walked inside. 

“Must you two always be touching each other?” Storm chides as she walks past the two of you. Scott grins, resting his arms on the plate behind your head so he can watch her head over to the treadmills. 

“I need a spotter for the leg press, Ro!” You laugh at the poor excuse, looking up from Scott's chest and at his neck where you press a soft kiss. He hums, closing his legs further on your thighs.