A: “I want that donut thingy with cream cheese.” B: “Sorry, M'am, we don’t have donuts with cream cheese.” A: “That’s not what it is! It looks like a half donut and it has cream cheese!” B: “A… bagel?” A: “YES!”
turns out that sometimes you’re gonna get ill at inopportune moments and instead of doing your twelve hundred assignments with immediate deadlines you’re just gonna lay in bed watching an adaptation of jane eyre you haven’t seen before
one of the most fascinating parts of the passover seder—one of the most eminently quotable, as well—is the narrative requirement that you envision yourself as someone who was taken out of slavery. in many ways, this is a call to action, to social justice: we are tasked with remembering the oppression of our people, and we must look around the world and see the oppression of others. we may not close your eyes and enjoy the victory of freedom: we must mix celebration with sorrow, taking wine out of our goblets with our fingers when we remember the plagues wrecked on the egyptians. this requirement shapes many sedarim all over the world, and i think it allows us to emerge as better people from the eight days of passover, hungry for the thick lushness of bread, for complicated meals and flavors and tastes. for the simplicity and comfort of routine.
but this requirement and call to action is not the only part of the passover seder that instills us with the promise of change. and while a lot of people—including myself—like focusing on the mandate to justice almost exclusively, this year i’ve found myself thinking much more about the happily ever after, about the gift of the ten commandments, the burden of freedom, and that elusive land of milk and honey. this year, for a number of extremely personal and emotional reasons, i’ve been thinking about the way passover is a promise of the future, not just a mandate of the past. the way passover creates a template, tabla rasa, for the year to come. the way it’s a beginning, the way it instills hope, and the way it creates structure for the year to come.
this year i’ve been thinking a lot about after. not just about dayenu (”it would have been enough,” we say, noting our liberation from slavery, our release into the desert, the gift of the torah, the gift of god’s presence), but also about the moment moshe looks over into the land of israel, forward and onward and into the future. the moment the children of israel cross into the land, the moment they put down roots and call themselves tribes of judah, reuven, binyamin. the moment they find names for themselves, find homes, find places where they can plant crops and expect to see them sprout. the moment we, as a wandering, placeless people, put down roots. the moment we become more than a faith–the moment we become a people. the moment we stop worrying about yesterday and today; the moment we can start worrying about tomorrow.
i’ve been thinking a lot about that moment. the apex of self-definition, of coming together, of community and of promise. not because it’s the end of the story, barely mentioned in the haggadah. but because it’s the beginning of the story, in a sense. it’s the moment we put down our history books, sweep away the remnants of food and wine, and talk to one another. it’s the moment we stop remembering, and it’s the moment we make plans. what will we do tomorrow? when do you think we’ll wake up? what time is it–do you think our seder was longer or shorter than anyone else’s? it’s the moment that i remember that my father is one of a few hundred heads of my family who have worn a kittel and stood at the front of our table and said we were slaves and now we are free with a voice that is terribly scratchy and getting older and fainter every year. one day i will stand at the head of that table with my partner, and it will be me making that proclamation of faith. i will be the next in the line of jews who celebrate, commemorate, and then continue.
the seder gives us the gift of reflection. it’s a memorial. it’s a lesson. but sometimes i think it’s more than that–it’s the promise that even in the darkest of times, even in the bleakest of moments, there is always an after. there is a the bed that awaits us after the seder, after we put away our plates and glasses and trudge into bedrooms cool, dark, and welcoming. after the matzah crumbs have been swept off the table, after our stomachs are heavy and our hearts are light with wine and wonder. there is a later. there are eight days of dusty crumbling meals, eight days of regret, eight days of difficulty. eight days where we are reminded of the lowest points in our history–of those people who are still at their lowest points. the mandate of social justice, the call to action, the requirement to see suffering and to address it.
but then there is the ninth day. there is the tenth day. there is the week after, the month after. there is the opportunity to begin again, to look at the body of law handed to us in the vast, empty expanse of desert, and say i will, i can, i must. it is the promise of an unbroken chain, of thousands of years of judaism stretching in every temporal direction. it is the memory that wherever you go, the roots of your story will follow you. you are not alone, and you will never be alone.
this promise of tomorrow is especially meaningful to me. i’ve been thinking a lot about freedom blessed by the constraint of law and by the necessity of compromise. i’ve been thinking a lot about the future. both of these things sound difficult and terrifying sometimes–unbearably overwhelming, unacceptably heavy burdens. but lately i’ve also been thinking about the opportunity of the seder to impose order on all of this chaos–on the chance i will have to set aside a short period of time to reflect, to mourn, to dedicate myself to grounding my story in memory. and then i will be given the imperative of thinking about the future, about tomorrow, and about the promise given to the am, to my people.
my grandfather once told me that jewish history is the promise of thousands of stars that was given to avraham. everything else is a consequence. he never told me that being jewish meant that you will never, ever be alone. you will never be just history. you will always have tomorrow.
now i think he never said this because he knew he didn’t need to. because he knew, one day, i’d figure it out.
So I’ve wanted to do this one for a while, and I feel bad about spamming the followers of my main blog with stuff about bagels, so I thought I might as well just do this and make everyone happy! Also, a quick thank you to all of you guys, you’re all supporting me and saying such nice things about my writing and it’s really amazing, so thank you guys so much!
Scout tries to pretend he’s not scared of anything, but let’s be honest, he’s the scaredy-cat of the team. When anything on the long list of things that scare Scout happens, you’ll know. He’ll scream like a ten-year-old, cry, or run out of the room screaming bloody murder. It’s an extremely amusing reaction and most of the others find ways to scare him just to watch him run around like a chicken that’s had its head cut off. He’s scared of all the usual stuff like ghosts, and monsters, and natural disasters.
Soldier isn’t scared of silly things like monsters, or horror movies. The only movie that’s ever scared him was the original Red Dawn. The idea of someone trying to take over his precious country terrifies him, and it’s the main reason he’s so insecure about other countries and so obsessive with everyone being a communist, nazi, or terrorist. The only other thing that scares him that much is the idea of losing a battle. Fighting is his life, so the thought of not being able to succeed at it terrifies him. When Soldier’s scared, he gets even more aggressive than usual, and he gets eerily quiet compared to how loud he is normally.
Pyro is basically fearless, almost everything they see is happy-rainbow-magic-land, but the one thing they can’t turn into something happy is water. Wearing that huge, rubber suit of theirs, they’re much more susceptible to drowning than say Scout for example. And when they’re under water, they’re unable to start fires, which is terrifying to them. Fire is their friend and water destroys it. When Pyro’s scared, they utter a few muffled shouts and try to move away from whatever is scaring them, but they don’t show it as much as some of the others. *cough*Scout*cough*
Heavy has only one fear, and that is something bad happening to his family. (He includes Medic as part of his family.) Heavy does his best to protect them whenever he can, but he’s had his fair share of nightmares where he’s in a situation where he can't help them. When Heavy’s scared something will happen to Medic or his sisters and mother, he’ll do anything, no matter how dangerous or reckless, to make sure they’re okay. If he’s scared, Heavy isn’t afraid to admit it. He knows that fear is sometimes the best way to tell the danger of a situation and he trusts his instincts.
Demoman doesn’t get scared a lot. The few times when the others try to startle him, or Spy (either team) sneaks up on him, he just starts shooting bombs everywhere. People usually regret scaring him. The only the Demo is legitimately scared about is losing his other eye and becoming blind. The thought of seeing nothing is the most unsettling thing Demo can think of. Death? Been there, done that. Monsters? No biggie. Blindness? Hell no.
Engineer will admit when he’s scared, like Heavy. People can usually figure it out on their own, though, since Engie gets all flustered and starts trying to build machines that don’t make sense. He also usually forgets to dumb down his science talk for everyone except Medic, and confuses everyone. Engie has a few, very normal fears, like certain stories he heard when he was a boy, or diseases, but his main fear is storms. While a lot of people love a good thunderstorm, you’ll find Engie hiding in his workshop, trying to build a machine to protect him from lightning. He’s seen what lightning and wind can do to people and places, and it terrifies him.
Medic displays a lot of signs of psychopathy, one of them being the inability to feel fear most of the time. He’ll jump into the most terrifying and dangerous situations, laughing. The only time Medic can remember being genuinely scared was the first time he was caught for malpractice back in Germany. When they’d found the body of one of his patients. He should have just admitted something had gone wrong in the surgery, but he was scared they’d take away his medical license. Medicine was the only thing he loved, he couldn’t have it taken away. So, he dumped the man in an alley a few miles away from his clinic and hoped they’d think it was a murder. When they started the investigation, he’d gotten stressed to the point of being unable to function, he’d thrown things, ripped the papers on his desk, and he’d gotten so agitated that he’d screamed at his neighbor for letting her cat out too late at night.
Sniper gets even more awkward than normal when he’s embarrassed. He starts getting sweaty, and breathing funny, and having trouble keeping conversations up that don’t make people avoid him for a while. When’s he’s scared. his hand always starts to reach for the handle of his kukri or his rifle and ends up gripping them so tightly that he hurts his hand, or almost breaks his weapons. If he’s with someone he knows well, he might grab onto them. The rest of his team teases him about this, except for Spy, who just lets him squeeze the blood out of his arm before a particularly nasty MvM battle or the likes. Big crowds, being the center of attention, and having his privacy invaded are all main fears of Sniper.
Spy never gets scared by normal things like people jumping out at him, scary movies, or the thought of being caught by the enemy. Before coming to Tuefort, Spy had already faced almost every known fear a man could have, but there was still two things that he could never seem to shake. Fire, is the first one, Spy had burns running up and down his whole body to prove that the enemy Pyro has it out for him. The sensation of fire is the worst thing in the world to Spy, worse than any sort of torture he’s ever had to sit through. The second, are his nightmares about past missions. He’s done, seen, and been subjected to some horrible, horrible, things and when memories of those come back on the nights of lost battles or respawn-caused headaches, Spy will wake up in a cold sweat,or even in tears. When he’s scared, Spy turns into a wounded animal. You want to comfort it somehow, but if you even get near it, it’ll send you to the hospital.
It’s hot out, which Harry should’ve expected, but it was still a welcoming change from drizzly London, the sun warming his skin. He stepped out the plane, nearly tripping down the stairs with his long boots skimming the ground, ready to exchange for flip-flops, or, even better, no shoes at all. The rest of his band were standing near the rental cars, talking and laughing while slowly stripping from the heavy layers, layers needed in cold England, but no longer needed in sunny tropics.
“It’s hot as fuck,” his love’s airy voice came from the top of the staircase, and he turned to see his boy squinting at the sun, already changed into cargo shorts and a tank top, sunglasses tucked into his collar, his golden skin seeming to come to life, “And bright too. Can someone turn down the sun?” He complained, gracefully coming down the stairs to latch himself against Harry’s side.
“Lou, you have sunglasses on you right now,” Harry teased, rolling his eyes as he took the glasses and slowly slipped them on Louis’ face, kissing his crinkled nose, “That better?”
Louis nodded, smiling with his head tilted up, “Much,” and brings their lips together softly, a bare trace of kisses to come.
“You all done?” Mitch called to them, breaking their bubble as they look over and see the full band watching them with fond eyes and silly grins, “Some of us want to actually get to the bungalow,”
Louis looked back to Harry, leaning up to wrap his arms around the taller boys neck and pull him into a quick kiss, a mere peck, “Ready, love?”
Harry returned the embrace, arms wrapped around his waist, and pressed their foreheads together, “With you by my side? Always.”
“Did you really make a proper English fry-up when we’re over 4,000 miles from London, and in the middle of a Caribbean paradise?” Louis asked, slowly pulling himself up from where he was spread eagle over their bed, the silk sheets pooling around his waist.
Harry sat down on the bed, across from Louis so they could make faces at each other while eating, and set the tray between them, “The past few days all we’ve had for breakfast is fruit, with the occasional bagel. Thought you could use something greasy,” Harry reasoned.
“Greasier than me, you mean?” Louis replied, taking a huge bite of his eggs, eyes nearly rolling back in his head, “Fuck, forgot how good this is. You fed the rest of the band, right?” He asked, always one to care about others.
“You’re not greasy, love. Just glowing,” Harry shot back, giggling at the pale pink coloring the other man’s cheeks, dodging the piece of bacon lobbed at him, “And yes, I fed the others, can’t have my band starve,” he grinned, and Louis laughed in response, his eyes crinkling up at the corners, a trait Harry was so helplessly in love with.
The two sat in relative silence, eating their breakfast and occasionally sticking their tongues out at each other, sharing giggles while the rest of the band move around the house, the sounds of showers being turned on and off, shouts and laughter. Louis finished his food, and pushed back against the headboard watching Harry slowly eat the rest of his eggs, “What are our plans for the day?” He asked, losing patience after ten seconds of watching him eat.
Harry smiled, and pushed away his plate, standing up to stretch, “Well, I know everyone wants to go swimming, so definitely that first,” he tapped his bottom lip, before breaking into a mischievous smirk, Louis getting a flashback of the 16 year old boy he fell in love with, “Sex On the Beach?” He propositioned with a wink, making Louis laugh.
“The act or the drink?” Louis waggled his eyebrows, both of them bursting into loud laughter when there was an unmistakable retching sound from behind their bedroom door.
“Quit being nosy, Sarah!” Harry yelled, banging on the door, tears in his eyes, smile so bright Louis’ heart felt like it was being clenched, “C’mon, Lou, let’s get dressed,” Harry pulled the smaller man out of bed, Louis feeling no insecurity being naked in front of his lover, twirling him around until they were at their joint dresser, and rifling through the top drawer, “Blue or green?” He asked, holding up two different colored trunks, but with the same striped pattern.
Louis crossed his arms, and gave Harry a look, one he was famous for, a tilt to his hip and one eyebrow raised, “What do you think?” He responded, smiling brightly when he’s handed the green pair, quickly sliding them on and wiggling to fit, laughing as Harry does the same, his long Bambi legs being as difficult as usual.
“Race to the beach?” Harry propositioned, stretching out his legs, and Louis nodded, “Alright, we’ll start at the back door, when I say go, no cheating,” he wagged his finger, and Louis rolled his eyes, but agreed to his terms. As soon as their bedroom door was opened, he shot off like a rocket, laughing at the pounding footsteps of Harry chasing after him.
A few hours passed, and Louis had sand everywhere, his skin was warm and a tad pink looking, a signal for more sunscreen, and his hair was full of salt, but fluffy. He was leaned back, pressed into Harry’s arms, sitting between his legs, as they watched the water, “I’d say today was productive,” Harry said, breaking the silence. Louis tilted his head back to look up at Harry’s face.
“We didn't write anything, nor record anything, we just sat on the beach,” Louis pointed out, wondering what Harry meant by “productive”.
“Yeah, but,” he leaned down and kisses Louis’ forehead, “I spent it all with you.” The smaller man cuddled back between his lover’s legs, and closed his eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of the broad chest beneath him, hearing Harry start to hum something familiar sounding, after a few seconds of this, Louis spoke up.
“Are you really humming If I Could Fly at me?” He asked, without opening his eyes, a small smile forming on his face as Harry’s chest starts to shake with laughter.
“Something like that,” he answered, hooking his chin on Louis’ shoulder, “I’m home to you, aren’t I?” Louis giggled sleepily, his voice already starting to sound warmer and gravelly, “I’m gonna miss you,” Harry confessed quietly, tracing slow lazy circles onto the soft skin underneath his fingertips, and Louis swallowed past the lump in his throat, determined for his voice to not choke up.
“A week and a half, Haz,” he tried to speak reassuringly, “We can last that, yeah?” Harry made a low hum sound in the back of his throat, before sighing lightly, the rush of cold hair giving Louis goosebumps.
“I believe,” he started slow, “That we can last forever.” His voice no longer timid at saying something so deep and intimate, knowing for sure that Louis felt the exact same. Their grips tightened around each other, and they laid like that, watching the sun disappear below the horizon, a calmness in the air.
Harry is running off of four hours of sleep, and it’s become noticeable in his song-writing, the theme drifting more towards melancholy, and longing, and breaking free. He also was checking his phone obsessively, something he promised he wouldn’t do the entire time here, vowing to not even turn the thing on. But it felt like as soon as Louis left, his phone never left his hand, waiting for something, a text, a tweet, a selfie on Instagram, just anything so he could remember what his boy felt like.
“H, it’s been four days,” Mitch called him out, after the 20th pause in recording for grown man to race to his phone, “You can’t make it four days without him?”
Harry knew it was meant as a light ribbing, but it hit all the same, that he really can’t last four days without his baby, “I miss him,” he pouted, “I just wish he were back here with me, with us. He deserves a vacation.”
“And he’ll get one once he’s back, H.” Mitch cut in, “Your boy will be back in your arms, you’ll be in your safe area, where you can hide from everything, and spend the time together.” He looked up from where he was doodling on their notebook, smiling kindly, “Won’t that be lovely?”
Harry nodded, knowing Mitch was right, and that he should calm down and wait for Louis to return to him. Pulling the notebook towards him, Harry carefully penned, under the already written words, “We’ve got to get away,” and looked back up to see his guitarist with a sparkle in his eye, and they shared a quick nod, like an unspoken word between the two.
After eight days, Harry was pretty sure his new band hated him. He had penned out quite a few songs in the past few days, some good enough to make the album, but all the same theme. Loneliness, heartbreak, lost love, soulmates, being caged. And they were only words on paper, no actual music for accompaniment.
“Harry, please, two more days,” Clare begged him, “Just two more days, and he’ll be back, you can make it.”
He put his head in his hands, dragging his hands through his hair, nails scratching his scalp, “I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this,” Harry apologized, not looking up, “God, I’m pathetic,” he cursed himself, looking up in shock when she hit his arm.
“You are not pathetic, Harold,” she chided him, before smiling, “You are in love. You want your boy here because this is your first solo album, you want him to be here for the adventure, the creation. This album’s a huge part of you, and so is he, so of course you want the two to share a time slot,” she spoke simply, explaining in such an easy way, that it felt like the gears of Harry’s brain just clicked back into place, and started to whirl.
“You’re right,” he said quietly, “Oh, my god, you’re right!” He jumped up from the kitchen table, kissed her on the cheek, and raced down the hall, slamming into the recording studio, surprising Mitch out of his seat where he was casually strumming, “I need a guitar, and a pen.” He ordered, and Mitch looked surprised for a second, before getting a steely look in his eye.
“Damn right, you do,” he grinned, and Harry felt the tug at his own lips.
It’s day ten, nearly day eleven, and Harry was laying in bed alone. The last time he talked to Louis was two days ago, where he just had to call and tell his boy all about the new song they were recording, a song about New York and talking to walls, and Louis was excitedly shouting back into the phone. The two giggled like children, and hanging up was the most difficult thing, but they knew that in two more days there would be a reunion, and that’s all the encouragement they needed to get back to their schedules.
Only now, it was nearly midnight, and Harry was still in a half empty bed. Louis didn’t give a specific time on when he was going to be back, just that it was probably going to be late. The band had tried to convince Harry to stay up and watch a movie with them, a cheesy rom-com knowing how much it would entice him, but he denied, instead choosing to stare at his ceiling and wait. The window was open, and the rushing of waves had lulled him into a near sleeping state, the air slowly cooling the later it got into the night, crickets chirping and sounding like they were on his windowsill.
“Harry! Get outta bed, we need you!” One of the members (Harry was so sleepy he couldn’t remember whose voice it was) yelled from the front room, making him groan and slowly pull himself from the bed, ready to stomp out and throw a tantrum at them for interrupting his near-nap.
He threw open the door, opening his mouth to yell back, when a body collided into him, nearly knocking him to the floor. The smell of sunshine and cologne filled his nostrils, and he felt his eyes almost instantly tear up, which he quickly tried to blink away as he wrapped his arms around the small curvy body he knows almost as well as his own, “They may need you, but I need you more,” Louis’ raspy voice felt like music to his ears, a gentle laugh escaping his mouth as watery blue eyes met his, “Are you crying? Come on, it’s not that big of a deal.” Louis teased, knowing full well his own eyes were wet. Harry ran his fingers across the slight bags under his lover’s eyes, wiping away the tears and kissing him softly on the mouth.
“I just missed you,” he explained, pulling back to rest their foreheads together. Louis grinned widely at him, his eyes crinkling, and they kissed again, ignoring the cheers from the living room.
“You’re a messy drunk, Harold. I’m not going to clean up after you if you make a mess,” Louis warned, his boy already a little buzzed, his voice lower and warmer, dimples on permanent prominent display. The band had decided after nearly two months of recording, they wanted to get massively drunk and throw a bonfire on the beach, inviting some of the local friends they made. A whole bottle of tequila later, they were all dancing in the sand, running away from the waves and screaming when the water touched their ankles.
“You’ll still take care of me, and yoooooou know it” Harry drawled, giggling when Louis shook his head with a fake exasperated sigh.
“The things I do for you,” he teased, lacing their fingers together and using his shoulder as an armrest.
“Can we go swimming?” Harry asked after a few seconds, looking down at Louis with his bright green eyes that were hard to say no to.
“Sure, baby,” Louis gave in, “Just take off your shirt so it doesn’t get wet,” he instructed, laughing when Harry nodded solemnly, but started to slowly strip while wiggling his hips, which Louis copied, till both their shirts were in a pile at their feet, the two left only in their swim trunks. They raced toward the sea, always a competition, attracting the attention of their friends, who quickly followed after, till it was just a large group of adults splashing each other, the moon reflecting off the water, leaving everything shiny and radiant. Distantly, Louis heard one of the girls shrieking as she was carted over and dropped in the freezing water, still in her dress, “You fucker!” She yelled at the guy, presumably her boyfriend from the way he was looking at her, but she spoke with no malice, and quickly was overcome with giggles, everyone joining in, as the waves crashed around them.
“Let’s all get warm by the fire!” Sarah called, to everyone’s agreement, and quickly they all fled the cold water and sped over to where their fire was roaring, sparks flickering towards the sky.
“Now my dress is all wet,” the girl frowned, and Louis turned to see Harry holding out his own shirt and pants to her, a small grin on his face.
“Switch!” He laughed, and the girl didn’t hesitate to pull off her dress and hand it over, accepting the large shirt and pulling it on, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Harry, you’re huge, I don’t think that dress is gonna fit you…” Louis told him hesitantly, watching as he pulled the collar over his head, looking vaguely tangled.
His green eyes popped out, fire dancing in his eyes, “Don’t be ridiculous, it’ll fit like a glove,” he tugged, slipping his arms through the sleeves, and pulling the fabric down till it just barely reached his mid-thigh, “See? Perfect!” Harry exclaimed, smiling at everybody’s cheers, doing a little twirl to show off.
“If you say so, love,” Louis shook his head lightly, knowing that the dress was probably going to split sometime tonight and they’d have to buy the poor girl a new one.
“Everyone! Pick up your shot glasses, because I propose a toast!” Mitch’s voice boomed, making everyone scramble to grab their glasses from where they were left on towels, while Mitch walked around pouring a bit of vodka, that he got from God knows where, into each little cup, before going back to his original spot and holding his drink forward, “To new friends!” He cheered.
“To making memories!” Sarah interjected, earning a cheer herself.
“To making this album,” Harry spoke up, voice quiet and smile kind.
Louis leaned forward, gathering the attention on himself, “And to Harry Styles,” he spoke firmly, looking at his boy, hoping to convey all the love, pride, and adoration he could with only one look.
“To Harry Styles!” Everyone chorused back, and Louis saw the fire reflecting off the tears forming in Harry’s eyes, as they all clinked their glasses together.
The two pulled each other close, an arm wrapped around their bodies, fitting as they were always meant to, always supposed to. “To home,” Harry said quietly, a toast meant only for LouisandHarry.
“To home,” Louis repeated, and they clinked their glasses together, a beautiful sound on a beautiful night.
A/N: this idea popped in my head and it’s actually the cutest, so I couldn’t help but write it. please be gentle I’m not a great writer.
relationship: Hotch X reader
warnings: abduction, vague themes, and some violence. super sappy and eye rolling love confession.
Slowly blinking your eyes, you begin to regain consciousness. Immediate confusion. You try to lift your hand to assess the throbbing pain in the back of your head, but it’s restrained. The eye goop clears out of your eyes as you blink it away. You begin to evaluate your surroundings. Deep breaths. Flashing red light straight ahead, cardboard boxes taped to the walls, some kind of rectangular room, small light above your head illuminating the chair you’re restrained to… another deep breath. Panic begins to rise in your chest. You try to make a sound, but can’t seem to. A bandana is tied tightly around your mouth.
“What Happened? How did I get here? Where is the team? Where am I…” Your thoughts race.
You look around the room frantically looking for any clues, trying to gather your thoughts that seem to be splatter across the floor. You can hear a slight beeping… sounds electronic. A shuffling of feet comes from the direction of the red light. A questionable chuckle begins to come from the same direction.
“Oh joy… this will be a fun one!” Pulling your thoughts together. It feels like a teeter-totter of emotions. You think to yourself. It’s better to joke than cry… you might do both. Overwhelmed… very overwhelmed.
“Helllllooooo, there!” A confident voice booms, coming from the direction of the beeps. Followed by someone quickly typing on a computer keyboard and a clicking of a mouse.
“Oh, alright! There she goes!” The voice excitedly says. The shadowy figure steps out of the darkness. Tall, nicely dressed, clean cut young man with a wild smirk on his face. He spins a computer screen around as your eyes grow wide. Penelope Garcia is onscreen. She’s totally not paying attention. Probably working on a case at the screen directly next to the one the webcam is turned on to. You try to make a sound to get Garcia’s attention.
“Nuh-uh, sugar. That would be too simple, wouldn’t it? Mic isn’t on yet, but you can hear her. Let’s call it a gesture of good faith!” He put some extra excitement on the last sentence for emphasis.
You need to pull your thoughts together! Come on. You’ve got this. Pick up some clues on the way. You’re here for a reason… why? British accent, cocky, harsh, lone wolf… you’re getting there. Start the profile…
You hear sounds coming from the computer. Penelope is still distracted at her other computer. The door behind her opens… Jennifer. JJ shuts the door behind her, file in hand, heels clicking, and a smile spread across her face. Not for long, though.
Looking down at the file… well her phone. Her phone was on top of the file. She begins to speak, but is cut off very quickly when her eyes find their way to the screen. Her eyes grow wide and she freezes. It seems like minutes before she reacts.
“GARCIA, LOOK AT THE SCREEN!” Penelope is jolted out of her deep concentration as she looks back a JJ, pointing at her other screen.
“oh my god… OH MY GOD! No, no, no, no, no, not again… not again. this cannot be happening again!” She increasingly gets louder.
“HOTCHNER! Garcia’s office now!” JJ screams out the hallway.
Aaron and the rest of the team come rushing into the room. Gasps and wide eyes are all that happened for several long seconds. But, all you see is Hotch. Hotch gave several demands as Derek and Emily scurried out of the room.
“Y/N…” Hotch gasped out lowly, but you could here him.
You have no idea what your captor wants from you. You can see him shuffling and preparing for something. Flipping switches, typing rather harshly, and tapping his foot impatiently.
“Well, now that the pleasantries are out of the way, let’s get to business! What I need from you is some information. If you can give me everything I need you MAY even get out of here with all of your body parts!! How exciting. But, a failure to cooperate may result in pain, nausea, vomiting, loss of appetite, and maybe even death. Even more exciting, am I right or am I right?” he exclaims beginning to get more excited clasping his hands together.
The team’s eyes are starting to change… they’re reacting. He flipped on the microphone. Good, this is good. Garcia can isolate background noises, measure room depth and height, analyze the surroundings, and find where you are. This is all good, there’s a chance you may get out of here. The profile is working against you, but the computer genius is working in your favor. This should make you feel better, but it doesn’t. It really doesn’t. There’s so much you feel like you haven’t done yet… so much you haven’t said. All you wanted right now was to be able to finish your PHD (which you dreaded finishing), going on boring ass stakeouts with Hotch again (which you had a love-hate relationship with), and drink awful police station coffee with stale bagels. Your thoughts wander back to Hotch. Oh Hotch… the things that you want to say to him more than anything right now. The things you’d been absolutely terrified to tell him. The thoughts you’d been hiding for years. Well, you thought you were hiding.
You think back to the day Spencer nervously came up to you in the break room. He cleared his throat, “The human body subconsciously reacts to physical attraction. People tend to lean towards someone they’re attracted to when they’re talking. The human pupil dilates when looking at someone they love. We even tend to touch, said person, at unnecessary moments without realizing it…” Reid rambled on for five minutes while you sipped your coffee, occasionally zoning out. You finally cleared your throat because he began to look tired.
“Is there a point to this story, Doctor?” You chuckled at the naive young doctor.
“Oh, yes! Sorry. There is, indeed, a point and a good one at that. Y/N, I can see how you act around Hotch.” You choke on your coffee.
“Spence, you must be mistaken. I don’t have feelings for Aaron.” You laugh masking the thick nerves in the air. You lie seemingly well. But, Spencer saw right through it. He may be naive, sometimes, but he was a profiler first.
You wanted to go back to that moment more than anything. Any moment that wasn’t this specific moment. You were quickly pulled out of your thoughts when you felt a tear rolling down your face. Staring intently at the screen, at Hotch. He was staring right back, studying your face, and your body language.
“I need to know everything about Mission number 221, code name Morning Star.” Your captor spoke. Your heart sank immediately. Right then another tear dropped down your face, you were not getting out of here alive. Everything slowly started to make sense.
Garcia began typing into every government search engine she could think of. She typed the code word and mission number over and over again. The first engine she looked at was FBI, classified documents. Second engine, MI5, classified. CIA, no information. Secret Service, classified. Setting off many alarms because of the nature of the operation.
“Garcia, I need something, anything! declassify the damn files, DO SOMETHING!” Hotch said hurriedly.
“I’m analyzing the background, running his voice through analog and voice rec, searching for the code words. I’m doing everything sir, everything.” Garcia sobbed slightly, tears silently streaming down her face.
Morning Star was an undercover operation you were assigned before being assigned to the BAU. You were deep undercover for 18 months in Europe trying to find a mole in MI5 that was leaking operation secrets, safe house locations, undercover officer identities, and highly classified information from joint agency operations and task forces. When you finally began getting leads in the case it led you to a highly respected senior agent. You began a relationship with him to get closer to him and figure out who he was leaking the information to and who was targeting the FBI, MI5, and other joint forces currently working on operations together. Evidence led you to find ties to the Russian mafia. When your handler got your most recent evidence an infiltration of the mafia was put into place. After months of careful planning and investigation, your team found the headquarters of the group of Russian assassins targeting joint government agencies. The op was a go, you were ordered to apprehend the group responsible. During the breach of the base, the element of surprise was compromised when an alarm was triggered. The operation went south quickly. The senior agent mole and four Russian mafia members were killed in the operation while several unknown subjects escaped. After the Op your team received Intel that the Senior Agent’s son had deep connections in the Russian mafia. You and your entire team were immediately assigned back to the states after the sting due to your covers being compromised and unusable.
You knew this was probably going to be the end. The mafia doesn’t simply let someone go that killed several of their own people and destroying their operation. You could not die. You could not die without telling Aaron the truth. You could not die with so many things left unsaid But, how? You were gagged and bound. Morse code? No, they probably wouldn’t recognize it right away. You have to tell him, you have to. While they work to get you out of here you need to get all unfinished business completed just in case you don’t make it out alive. Sign language, you could sign to the webcam! You learned last Christmas break when you were sick with the flu.
Liam, the senior agents son, approached you slowly. Becoming completely visible to the team. You assume Garcia is already trying facial recognition.
Liam cracked your arm with a whip unexpectedly, demanding information. You knew you couldn’t give him anything.
He quickly undid the bandana gagging your mouth, “TALK NOW!” he boomed.
You couldn’t say anything without risking the cover of the agents that went back under. Any slip up of any tiny bit of information could damage the entire operation and get the agents killed. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve been tortured. You just cried. There is nothing you could do to stop this. Now or never.
You began to sign while Liam was distracted.
Aaron first, life saving information second. sounds logical.
(A, closing your fist, lifting you hand, and waving it slightly.)
(signing A again)
(R, fingers crossed.)
“She’s signing…” Reid whispered, but you heard him. You smiled slightly.
Liam cracked the whip a dozen more times across your legs. You had to stop signing the pain was getting too great and you were afraid he’d see what you were trying to do. Tears were flowing like an open spout.
“This has been so much fun, Y/N. I’ll give you a little break to think about what you’re GOING to tell me.” He patted my head and threw the whip to the side with a huff. Wrapping the bandana around your mouth again. Sobs escape your mouth again. He walked over to the sliding door and the sun beamed through as he hopped down off a- something… you couldn’t tell. He left their mic on… mistake! Relief washes over you, there’s a chance. You began to sign again.
(O, making your hand a circle.)
(N, putting your thumb between your ring and middle finger)
“She spelled Aaron…” Reid stated with a slight shock in his voice. Hotch eyes widened, extremely surprised. You smiled through the sobs.
“Y/N, I’m here.” Hotch said sadly. You lifted your hand up with your pinky, thumb, and index raised. Sobs continued to escape through the bandana.
“and that means I lov-”
“I know what it means, Reid.” Hotch interrupted, sternly. The team focusing in on Hotch as he stared at the screen. Garcia continued to type trying to find anything she could to save you.
Phil Coulson and Melinda May, top of their classes in the Academy, youngest recruits of their time. Known as some of SHIELD’s best and brightest. Experts in strategy, analysis, and hand-to-hand-combat. Specialist and field agent, living legends. The greatest two-man team in the field.
Needing to employ all their training and skills….
Against each other….
In a tiny apartment….
Knocking over lamps and running into the coffee table….
Tim: ‘Hey how ya doing? Well I’m doing just fine, I lied I’m dying inside.’
Helen: What do you want to eat?
Ej(thinking): The SoUls Of tHe InnOcEnT
Ej: a bagel, *(his thoughts) NoOoO* two bagels
Jeff: It’s EvErYdaY BrO
Laughing Jack: *dAbS*
Brain: *basically Wendy’s Twitter but human*
Jane: ‘Hello darkness my old friend’
Clockwork: By all known laws of aviation the bee should not be able to fly. It’s wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, however, doesn’t care what humans think and flies anyway.