Summary : The Winter Soldier fell in love with his doctor. Bucky Barnes remembers.
Pairing : Bucky Barnes x doctor!reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : Protective!Bucky, slow-burn, trauma bonding, whump, bit of fluff and a lot of angst, violence, mentions of death, medical trauma, human experimentation, psychological manipulation, emotional and physical abuse, attempted and threatened sexual assault, isolation. Protective!Bucky, slow-burn emotional bonding, and angst. Reader discretion is strongly advised, especially for survivors of sexual violence or abuse. (Please let me know if I miss anything!!!)
Word count : 9.2k
Requested by : Anon! Based on this request
Note : If you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!
When you took the job, you didn’t ask too many questions
The recruiter approached you late—long after you’d sent out resumes, long after your student loan grace period had dried up and your dreams of a hospital residency were smothered under interest rates and rejection emails. They found you exactly when they knew you’d be desperate.
The offer came in a nondescript envelope. No return address and company name. Just a number to call, and a time limit.
It sounded too good to be true. It offered full medical license activation and triple the usual pay. Off-books, but government-sanctioned, they claimed. You’d be working with elite personnel in a high-clearance, undisclosed location. It was a matter of national security, they said.
When you made contact, they brought you to a warehouse and made you read non-disclosure agreements—dozens of them. They didn’t let you take them home to review. You signed everything in a windowless room with a clock that ticked too fast, and signed up to the project.
Your official title was “Classified field medic for enhanced personnel. Clearance Level 6 required.” It sounded impressive, official. You told your parents it was part of a DOD black ops program and that you weren’t allowed to say more.
You were happy you could finally help—
they had far too much medical debt to ever dig their way out.
And… They were proud.
If only they knew.
You were told you’d be assigned to “classified subjects.”
When they finally gave you the details of the work, you noticed the facility wasn’t listed on any public records. The address they gave you wasn’t on any GPS. The car that picked you up had no license plates. You were blindfolded before arriving.
You should have run then. But you didn’t, because they paid in advance.
You paid off your loans in one go and gave the rest to your family, promising you’d be earning more over the next couple of years.
The facility you were assigned to didn’t have windows. The lights never changed. Days bled into each other until even your internal clock began to fail you. The air was too clean, the silence too dense—like the walls were swallowing sound. They injected you with yellow liquid when you arrived, and you weren't allowed to ask for details. Cameras were in the corners, always watching.
You weren’t allowed to ask names. You weren’t given files.
You weren’t allowed your phone. No clocks. No outside contact unless you had prior clearance.
They never called it a hospital, because it wasn’t.
It was a slab of steel buried deep underground in Siberia, and you worked under it like a cog in the coldest machine you’d ever known. The men you reported to didn’t wear name tags or rank insignias. They all looked the same— pale-faced, dressed in black. You didn’t know their names, and you have never heard them use yours, either.
At first, you told yourself it was temporary. Just for a year. Just until you paid off your loans. Just until you figured out where you really belonged.
But then you saw the red flags. You folded them neatly and tucked them away with your conscience.
See, they knew the kind of people to look for— desperate ones. They recruit smart people who were overworked, drowning in debt or grief or fear. The ones who couldn’t afford to ask where the money came from.
And by the time you realised who you were really working for, it was too late. Because no one leaves that facility unless it was in a body bag.
Hydra was predatory like that.
—
You had been patching up STRIKE team operatives for almost a year. You were good—efficient, clean, and silent. You didn’t pry, and what made you valuable.
You never asked where the injuries came from. Bullet wounds, knife gashes, torn ligaments, crushed bones—you treated them all. You developed antiseptics that worked faster than standard-issue cream and learned how to seal a shrapnel wound in under ten minutes. You fixed what needed fixing, and you didn’t get in the way of the mission.
One morning, you were pulled from your bed at 0400 hours without an explanation. Two men in black shook you awake by the arm and took you to an elevator that descended farther than you knew the facility even went. There was a change in the air the deeper you went—thicker, colder. Like the walls were full of ghosts.
They didn’t tell you what your new assignment was, not until you stepped into the white-lit room and saw him.
He was on a reinforced chair, with blood crusted over his ribs and soaked through his cargo pants. The metal arm was twitching with little sparks, the seams dripping oil and blood in equal parts. His right eye was swollen shut and his lip was split.
And still— he didn’t look away.
You’d heard whispers about him before— the Asset.
They called him It.
Not a name. Not a person. A living weapon— built, not born.
You expected more people guarding the cell, but the only other man in the room was his handler— Colonel Vasily Karpov. You’d met men like him before, but none who looked so openly afraid of the thing they commanded.
"The previous doctor had been terminated due to noncompliance,” Karpov said, which was Hydra-speak for the Asset snapped his spine in two like a breadstick.
Your mouth went dry. "And I’m next in line?"
“You’re competent,” he said. “And replaceable.”
He walked out before you could respond.
The door shut behind him with a final hiss, like a coffin sealing.
And then there was just you— and him.
You took a step closer. He tracked your movement with his blue, calculating eyes. You could tell he didn’t know what you were—but knew how to kill you if you got close.
You didn’t speak at first. You just moved slowly, methodically.
Eventually, you became brave enough to clean the blood. You assessed the damage. His injuries were extensive— fractured ribs, dislocated shoulder, deep lacerations across his abdomen. Most people would’ve gone into shock hours ago.
But he sat there, still breathing like a machine.
He didn’t flinch when you treated him.
Not even when you pulled a broken tooth from the inside of his right bicep.
He winced, though, when you put a hand on his shoulder to soothe him. And later, when your gloved hand rested gently on his chest, while rubbing small circles to calm him down, his eyes flicked to your face.
It was the first time he looked at you.
Afterward, you logged the treatment. You followed the protocol. You filed the injury report.
In the official files, they referred to him as an it. But in your private notes, you called him he.
—
Over the next year or so, you were his doctor.
And apparently, you were the only doctor who survived more than eight months.
You’d fix up his ribs when they were fractured. You cleaned bullet wounds from his side, his shoulder, the meat of his thigh. You iced swollen knuckles and stitched torn flesh, always so amazed how quickly his body healed.
But still, they used him until he broke. They froze him from time to time, but after he was out, they dragged him back and told him to put the pieces together.
You worked in silence. He sat in silence.
Most days, his eyes were washed-out and programmed.
But sometimes, during the worst of the injuries—when your hands pressed into open wounds, when you whispered sorry— his eyebrows softened.
At this point, you had memorised his injuries, and the places his enemies targeted again and again. You started pre-packing supplies before he even arrived.
The handlers noticed.
You began modifying your ointments—adding subtle numbing agents, to match his supersoldier metabolism.
You weren’t supposed to. They wanted him in pain.
But you did it anyway.
Once, they brought him in half-conscious, his metal arm sparking at the joint, blood soaked through the tactical gear. There was a knife wound under his ribs— and it was too deep.
He grunted when you pressed gauze to it.
It was not a reaction to pain. It was a warning. His eyes met yours, and they were clearer than usual— as if he was fighting something.
And then, for the first time, you realised: He knew what was happening to him.
Maybe not always. Maybe not fully.
But there was a man inside the machine, and today was awake just long enough to hate it.
That night, they froze him and drilled the trigger words into his brain again.
—
Tonight, he came back worse than usual.
Bruised. Bloodied. Shot in seven different places. His face was partially swollen, split lip crusted with dried blood, a jagged tear across his side soaking his uniform black-red. His metal arm twitched violently, fingers clenching and unclenching with a mechanical rhythm— as if the programming inside him was short-circuiting.
He was strapped into the chair again, the restraints digging into his wrists deep enough to turn the skin purple. Four guards had hauled him in like he was an animal— one of them nursing a broken arm.
They left you alone with him and chuckled, “good luck.”
The Asset’s head was bowed low, hair falling like a curtain over his eyes. The tension in his shoulders was wrong. Too rigid, too coiled, like a wire stretched too tight and ready to snap.
You stepped closer, and he jerked suddenly against the restraints—and his metal hand nearly caught your arm.
You froze.
In your peripheral vision, the guards laughed behind the glass.
He didn’t look at you.
He was breathing hard and shaking violently, as if was trying to stay in his body.
You looked at the camera in the corner, swallowing back a panic and anger.
“I can’t treat him like this,” you said. If he didn’t calm down enough for you to stitch him up soon, he was going to bleed out.
Your voice was sharper than you meant it to be. It was… unprofessional.
A few seconds passed before the speaker crackled.
“That’s too bad,” said Karpov’s cold, detached voice. “It is your job.”
You stared at the glass behind which they watched— always watched.
Then you turned back to him.
You tried, as always, to be gentle. To be careful. You knelt to clean the gash under his ribs. You threaded your needle, soaked the wound with antiseptic.
But his body thrashed again.
You dropped the needle.
His metal arm lunged forward, nearly catching your throat before the restraints snapped him back into place.
He didn’t mean to, you reminded yourself.
But the part of him that killed without asking questions was surfacing, and you were too close.
Your hands shook.
He turned his head away from you as if ashamed. Or furious.
Fuck.
You were losing him.
So you did the only irrational, human thing that came to mind.
You… sang.
“Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool…”
Your voice cracked on the first line. It had been years— you hadn’t sung it since you were small— curled up on your mother’s lap while she ran her fingers through your hair and kept the nightmares away.
You saw his breathing slow down, just slightly.
“Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full…”
He… didn’t flinch again.
You kept singing while you threaded the needle and stitched the worst of the gash along his side. His trembling eased.
You spoke without really meaning to, your voice almost a whisper.
“My mother used to sing it to me,” you lulled. “I only realised later what it meant,” you continued. “‘One for the master, one for the dame…’”
You wiped sweat from your forehead, working on a deeper wound now.
“Servitude, right? ‘One for the little boy who lived down the lane.’ Maybe lullabies sung to entertain children. Maybe they’re for making people… obedient,”
You paused, still stitching, thankful he calmed down.
“Because I think…,” you said, tilting your head as you managed to fish a bullet out of his side. “Obedience it taught. Not born.”
And then, like the thought slipped out of your mouth without permission, “Were you taught well?”
You didn’t expect a response.
But this time, his head turned and he looked at you.
His voice came out rough, underused, gravel dragged across rusted metal. But these sounds were not growled nor screamed.
“It was the only thing I remember learning,” he whispered.
You froze.
It was the first time you had ever heard him speak.
The needle slipped from your hand, fell into the tray with a clink. You were stunned.
Through all that, he watched you.
You knelt beside him, picked up the needle again with shaking hands.
His eyes followed you as you resumed treating him. He was silent the rest of the session.
But something had changed.
—
The first time he leaned into your touch was a couple of months later.
You were bandaging a wound just beneath his collarbone in tight, methodical loops when your fingers brushed the skin of his neck. He let out a deep breath and tilted his head just slightly toward your hand.
He… made a conscious choice.
You didn’t say anything, and neither did he. But your hands lingered a little longer than usual.
Sometimes, when he was lucid, he’d look at your hands while you worked— following their motion like they were the only real thing in the room. You weren’t sure what he was seeing.
Then… you started narrating aloud. It was partly for him, partly for you. “This’ll sting a little,” you’d say, cleaning a wound.
“Pressure here—sorry, hold on…”
He never answered at first.
Then one day, he did.
You were stitching a deep tear in his thigh when your thread caught. “Sorry,” you said under your breath.
“You always say that.”
You looked up, needle halfway through the thread. “Say what?”
“‘Sorry,’” he managed, “it’s not your fault.”
“Sorry,” you mentioned sheepishly. “I’ll stop saying it.”
Then, you resumed your work.
The next time he came in, he was limping badly, and for once, the restraints weren’t used. Maybe they knew he couldn’t stand. Maybe they didn’t care if he bled out.
And he didn’t even make it to the chair. He sat on the floor instead.
When you knelt beside him, your knees touching his, he didn’t pull away. He let you cut the fabric from yet another ruined suit— fifth one this month— or year? You have long lost track of time in this Siberian bunker.
Still, he let you clean the blood from his temple.
“Don’t they ever give you a break?” you asked, not expecting an answer.
“No,” he said simply.
You frowned.
Still, your hands were steady.
You started humming when he came in—low, quiet melodies under your breath. Sometimes lullabies. Sometimes nothing at all—just sounds, like a lifeline tossed into water. He never asked you to stop.
One night, after they’d brought him in burned—his arm singed, the edge of his jaw blistered—you held an ice pack against his skin and whispered, “You shouldn’t be alive after half of this.”
He didn’t speak for a long time. Then, after careful consideration, he said, “Sometimes I think I’m not.”
Eventually, he started helping you—lifting an arm for treatment, shifting his weight when he knew it would help you work faster. He never said much. Never more than a sentence or two. But the words, when they came, were clear.
“Thank you.”
“Be careful.”
One night, he asked for your name.
You told him. But when you asked him what his was, he only said, “I don’t know.”
But for the first time in a very long time, The Asset smiled.
Because it was the first time anyone ever cared to ask.
—
When he wasn’t in cryofreeze, they kept him in a reinforced room that wasn’t technically a cell, but wasn’t anything else either. It had a cot, a chair, and a toilet.
You called it the holding room.
They called it the kennel.
You’d come in for treatment checks once or twice a week between missions— tended his joints, monitored the fluid viscosity in his metal arm, checked for infection.
But the guards watched him too. Always. From the control room, behind the glass, hands on the mic.
They joked about him.
At first, it was petty things— how much blood he could lose before he passed out, how many bones had healed crooked.
But it got worse.
Much worse.
They joked about his body when he was in heat. How he “rutted in his sleep sometimes.” How they’d seen the security feed catch him grinding against the mattress, the cot, the restraints, whatever he could in his animal state after missions.
“He’s always desperate after a kill,” one of them said once, laughing. “Bet he doesn’t even know what he’s doing. Fucking the pillow like a mutt.”
You had frozen when you heard it. But today—today, it went further.
“Bets?” one of them said. “Ten rubles on the mattress tonight. Twenty on the wall.”
All three of the guards stationed to watch that night laughed.
“Stop,” you said, through gritted teeth. “What you’re doing is disgusting. Watching him like that—mocking him— when his agency’s being taken from him? He’s a fucking person and you need to grow up.”
What followed was the longest ten seconds of silence in your life.
And then one of them leaned forward in his chair and sneered. “If you think he’s a person, why don’t you go in there?”
You blinked. “What?"
“Go on,” The other guard grinned and got up from his seat. “If you think he’s man and not machine, let’s test it.”
You stepped back, realising what their plan was. “Don’t touch me.”
“Too late.”
Their hands grabbed your arms.
You fought—kicked, screamed, bit one of them hard enough to draw blood—but there were three of them, and you were half their size. One of them slammed your head into the wall hard enough to daze you.
You didn’t know where the pain began — your scalp where they’d yanked your hair? The side of your jaw where a fist had struck you clean across the face?
Still, you fought. You slammed your elbow into one guard’s windpipe hard enough to make him choke. You thrashed and tried everything, but they were stronger.
And they enjoyed it.
You’d never seen teeth like that — bared in joy at suffering. One of them— Maksimov had blood on his knuckles and another— Yuri had both hands up your shirt before you bit him hard enough to draw blood.
You screamed, “He—we— a person!” not knowing whether you meant yourself or the Winter Soldier.
But they didn’t care.
One of them tore at the buttons of your shirt while another held your arms behind you. The fabric split as your bra snapped and air hit your chest and you curled inward, shaking, humiliated, trying to hide your body with trembling hands.
“He’ll definitely go for her pussy,” one of them muttered like it was a bet at a bar.
“I’d go for the ass first,” another chuckled. “Tighter.”
Then came the worst line.
“I bet the dumb beast doesn’t know the difference and finish in her mouth in under three minutes.”
The laughter didn’t stop.
Your legs gave out once they dragged you through the hallway to the lower levels. You stumbled, bleeding from your lip, your breasts half-exposed, nails broken from the fight. They hauled you back up and slammed your back into the steel door before keying it open.
You saw the inside of the room for only a second before they shoved you in and locked the door behind you with a clang.
“Have fun, soldat!” A guard, Anton, said.
You fell, and started trembling.
Everything hurt.
And then you looked up.
He was there.
The Asset — him. The Winter Soldier.
He was standing in the center of the room. He wasn’t strapped down this time, his long hair damp and clinging to his cheeks. His chest was bare, streaked with drying blood and oil. His eyes locked onto you the moment you hit the floor.
You froze.
Your arms flew across your body, trying to cover yourself as you backed yourself into the wall. You curled in on yourself, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the rush of blood in your ears.
He’ll fuck you, they had said. He’ll take the choice away from you. He’ll use you as a way to satisfy himself.
You believed it for a second.
You’d seen what he could do — seen the machine they’d made him into. You’d see the bloodlust in his eyes when he came back from missions.
You were terrified.
You curled tighter.
He took one step forward.
And… stopped.
You took a chance and looked at your face.
He wasn’t looking at your chest. He wasn’t leering. His pupils weren’t blown wide with mindless hunger. He wasn’t hard, or panting, or unchained from reality.
He was staring at your injuries.
At the torn fabric, at the swelling in your cheek. The handprint rising red on your arm. And the grip marks on your breaks. The blood at your lip. His brow furrowed.
And his whole body… melted.
The heat was gone, almost instantly.
Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee.
“Who…” he rasped, “did this to you?”
His voice was hoarse, barely there. But there was no mistaking the rage that had formed underneath it — nothing like the lust the guards had imagined.
He handed you his only blanket, and you clutched it. He let you wrap yourself in it, and when you couldn’t stand, he helped you sit up, not touching your skin unless he had to.
“Maksimov, Yuri, and Anton,” you whispered, lip trembling.
His teeth clenched.
He reached out slowly — slow enough that you could move away, slow enough that you knew it wasn’t force — and brushed the blanket more tightly around your shoulders, like he was covering you from the world, from the camera, from the three guards he knew were watching.
You were still crying. You didn’t realise it until his human thumb brushed away a tear from your cheek.
He didn’t say anything for a while.
He just sat there, at your level, holding the blanket closed with one hand, eyes locked on yours. Not on your body. Not on your skin.
You folded into his chest, not because he demanded it, but because it was safe.
He wrapped his arms around you like he’d never learned how to hold a person without breaking them. And still — he didn’t break you.
He just held you, shivering, until your breathing slowed.
And in the silence, you heard the quietest thing of all. “I won’t hurt you.”
Once again, The Asset had made a choice.
A human one.
—
Hours passed.
The two of you stayed curled together on the concrete. You had stopped crying eventually, but your body still trembled now and then— from shock, from adrenaline.
You still felt his arm around your shoulders—gentle, not possessive.
The guards who had been watching were probably bored. You thought maybe—maybe—you’d be left alone. Maybe they’d gotten the message. Maybe they wouldn’t push again.
You were proven wrong when the heavy steel door hissed open.
You barely had time to pull the blanket tighter.
The same three guards entered and they were prepared. They carried sleek, matte black rifles. Loaded, to deal with The Asset should he go rogue.
And then you heard the voice.
“Что с тобой, солдат?” — What the fuck is wrong with you, Soldat?
Yuri stepped forward, gun dangling casually in his hands, eyes not even on The Asset— but on you.
“Мы дали тебе дырку, и ты даже не воспользовался ею?” — We gave you a hole and you didn’t even use it?
You flinched so hard your head hit the metal wall behind you.
The Asset stood up and stepped directly in front of you, body between yours and theirs, fists clenched. He was…shielding you.
The guards exchanged glances, laughing now. One of them cocked his gun and slung it over his shoulder like a prop in a theatre.
“Ладно. Тогда мы сами её трахнем,” —Fine. Then we’ll use her ourselves. Maksimov said, smiling.
And then Yuri moved fast. He reached out and grabbed your ankle, hard, yanking you out of the blanket.
You screamed.
And The Asset snapped.
No hesitation, No programming.
Just rage.
The Asset’s metal fist punched Yuri square in the chest and launched him into the far wall. The impact was loud enough that you heard a crack—maybe the wall, but most likely Yuri’s spine.
Before anyone else could react, he twisted and ripped the rifle from Anton’s hands. Without really aiming, he pulled the trigger and shot Maksimov in the throat.
Blood sprayed the walls, and Maksimov gurgled once before slumping to the ground.
Anton raised his hands to surrender.
Too late.
Bucky pivoted, metal arm slamming the barrel of the rifle into Anton’s face with brutal force, then fired— one shot, clean through the eye.
He dropped the gun.
It clattered to the floor, ringing louder than the gunshots had.
He turned back toward you, his shoulders rising and falling with every breath.
He knelt. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
You blinked, still clutching the blanket, hands shaking.
—
Within minutes of the bodies hitting the ground, you heard the sound of heavy boots walking in.
Karpov entered the cell like he owned the air in it.
He didn’t look at you.
He didn’t look at the corpses.
He only looked at The Asset who was still crouched in front of you, body curled like a shield.
Karpov simply pressed a switch on a small black device he held in his gloved hand.
There was a crack of electricity, and The Asset screamed.
You jolted, reaching for him—but it was no use.
His body seized up as the taser pulse ran through his spine, his metal arm locking tight against the floor,
He didn’t resist. He didn’t even try.
When he collapsed unconscious beside the cot, Karpov turned to you without missing a beat.
“Come.”
You shook your head. “He—he was protecting me—he saved me—”
“You’ll have time for your little report later,” he snapped, throwing you some clothes to put on. “For now, come.”
—
The interrogation room was cold.
Karpov stood across the table from you, arms folded.
“You will explain,” he said coldly.
Your eyebrows furrowed, still half in shock. “Explain what?”
He tilted his head. “You calmed him down.”
Your mouth opened, then shut.
"You do understand," he said in his frigid Russian-laced English, “that he should have either killed you, or fucked you.”
You froze.
He watched your reaction like a scalpel watches skin.
“That’s what the programming was designed to do,” he continued. “You are aware of his conditioning, yes?”
You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice.
“Then you know what heat was for.”
You have heard of why it was drilled in his brain— but you didn’t answer.
Karpov did not wait for permission to continue.
“It was an instinct trigger. Embedded in his biological and neural mapping through synthetic hormonal injections and psychosexual conditioning. During these ‘heat’ cycles, he was supposed to be motivated—” He paused, eyes narrow, “—it was supposed to encourage mating.”
Your throat closed. Did he really not care about the dead guards? Was the project really his main concern?
“The Soldier’s DNA is nearly perfect.” he said, as if it was. “Hydra wanted progeny. Super soldiers born, not built.”
He leaned in then, elbows on the table, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth.
“But every woman they introduced… didn’t survive long enough to be useful. He tore through them out of instinct. So the project was abandoned years ago. The heat was too unstable, and he had no control.” He sat down across from you. “Until you.”
Your stomach lurched.
“You,” Karpov said slowly, “calmed him down.”
“I—I didn’t do anything,” you whispered.
“You must have!” he snapped.
You flinched.
“I’ve studied his tapes for years! I've watched him crush skulls with his bare hands, tear out throats. Rip people in half when the words are spoken. But you—” Karpov stood, circling the table again. “—you knelt half-naked in front of him while he was in heat—and instead of fucking you to death, he held you.”
“I don’t know,” you said hoarsely.
Karpov stared at you for a long moment, then sighed. He picked up the file from the table and turned to leave.
At the door, without turning back, he said, “You’re being reassigned.”
—
When you went back to your quarters. Your bunk was gone.
Your locker was cleared and stuffed neatly into a duffel bag.
On the floor was a folded piece of paper.
REASSIGNED TO: THE KENNEL
Effective Immediately.
Observation: Subject Winter Soldier
Objective: Behavioral stabilization
Note: Subject's physiological response indicates reduced volatility in your presence.
Further utility assessment pending.
You sank onto the cot.
Now, to Hydra, you weren’t just a doctor. You were a leash.
—
The cot wasn’t meant for two.
It was military-issue— narrow, hard-edged, bolted to the floor like everything else in the kennel. At first, you didn’t even sit on it when he was there. You’d sleep on the floor with your back to the cold steel wall, too awkward to mention what happened that day. The blanket was wrapped tight, pretending it wasn’t humiliating, pretending you weren’t always cold.
At first, he’d just watch, afraid of crossing a line— especially after what had happened to you.
Then, after a week, he motioned for you to sit beside him on the cot when you changed bandages or administered injections.
Then, a month in, after a mission where he came back with his knuckles broken and a gunshot wound near his ribs, you were too exhausted to curl back up on the floor. You’d been crying silently that night, your hands trembling as you stitched him, your eyes stinging, wondering where everything had gone wrong.
When you’d finished, he looked at you. “…You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”
Your eyes flicked up.
“What?”
He shifted to make room. One side of the cot opened up to you.
You hesitated. Then nodded.
That night, you lay stiff as a board beside him, back to back, flinching to touch. You barely slept, afraid to breathe too loud.
But the next night, when you came back from the showers and the lights dimmed for sleep, he scooted over before you even asked.
By the second month, your backs were pressed together at night.
By the third, you’d curl inward, and he’d curl, too. One of your legs would brush his. Your forehead might graze his chest. His arm, the flesh one, sometimes draped around your side in the middle of sleep and didn’t pull away when you shifted closer.
—
When his heat cycles came—and they always came—you prepared.
You stayed calm and gave him space.
You… would sing to him. Lullabies, mostly— songs meant for children too small to understand how cruel the world could be.
He never moved toward you during those nights. He never touched you without invitation. He’d sit on the cot, the muscles in his neck pulled tight.
Sometimes he’d whisper things to himself, half-delirious.
"No. Not her. Not her."
—
When he was frozen, you stayed in the kennel alone.
You didn’t think you’d miss him, but you did.
You’d find yourself sitting on the floor beside his cot, staring at the sealed cryo-chamber, singing to yourself just to fill the space.
And when they unfroze and reset him, you were still his doctor.
You still iced his knuckles. You still placed his dislocated shoulder back. You still pulled bullets from his flesh and closed the wounds with care no one else gave him.
But after the first few months, he started looking at you differently.
Like he knew you. Even after resets. Even after ice.
—
One day, after a mission that had stretched on far longer than any of the others—he came back. He was quiet when he entered. He did not say a word.
But after two hours of working on his wound, he whispered, “Bucky.”
You tilted your head, confused. You weren’t sure you’d heard right.
Then he said it again, firmer this time. “My name is Bucky.”
What?
Your mouth opened slowly, your breath finally catching up.
He… remembered?
“…Okay, Bucky,” you said, voice quieter than you meant it to be— because anything louder might shatter whatever this was—perhaps a glimpse of the man buried beneath all the programming and pain. “Can you please lift your arm for me?”
He did.
And for the first time, he looked… not just present. Not just there.
He looked real.
—
You were still asleep when the cold hands tore the blanket from your body.
Two Hydra agents stormed into the kennel, and before you could even sit up, they had you by the hair, dragging you off the cot like a rag doll.
Bucky shifted awake next to you, but the third guard tased him before he could fully even register what was happening.
“What—what are you doing—?!”
They didn’t answer. They just manhandled you down the corridor, your bare feet scraping along concrete, your heart still stuck between dreams and dread.
In the interrogation room, one of them shoved you into the metal chair so hard the back of your skull smacked against steel. A hand grabbed your chin, wrenching your face toward him. The other paced behind, a cattle prod crackling ominously in his grip.
You recognised the person in front of you as Karpov. “What did he tell you?”
You blinked. Your ears rang. You were still half-asleep, disoriented.
Then you realised:
Oh.
Someone saw the footage.
Someone saw what happened last night. Someone heard Bucky say his name.
Your mouth opened, before shutting again. You weren’t even sure what to say. He didn’t tell you anything else, but if you said so, would they even believe you?
But Karpov demanded more.
“Did he say his designation?”
“Did he say anything else? Was there a code?”
“What did he tell you, girl?”
The prod surged forward with a snap of electricity, kissing your side. You screamed—more from shock than pain—but the heat seared like fire across your ribs. You convulsed in the chair, gasping, trying to curl away, but the restraints held you firm.
And then—through your haze—you saw a flicker in the hall.
You heard a grunt. A thud.
And suddenly—he was there.
The Winter Soldier. No—Bucky.
His body still shook from the effects of the tasers, but his eyes were burning.
One of the agents turned in time to catch a brutal kick to the gut that sent him sprawling. The other barely got a hand to his weapon before Bucky lunged, using the full weight of his body to knock him back. You saw blood and heard bone crack.
In seconds, it was over. Even Karpov was hauled away to safety.
Bucky was at your side, kneeling, his trembling fingers working clumsily at the restraints.
“Bucky—” your voice cracked. “You’re hurt—your face—”
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes didn’t meet yours.
The cuffs snapped off.
You sagged forward, into his arms before you even realised you were doing it. You felt the thrum of his chest, the rise and fall of ragged breathing.
He cupped your face with his human hand, and for a second you thought he might kiss you — but no. He pulled back.
Because he knew if he did, he wouldn’t have the strength to lose you.
“You need to go.”
You froze. “What?”
“There’s a tunnel—service corridor—they don’t watch it after hours. It connects to the south barracks. You can get outside the perimeter.”
“Bucky—no,” you said through gritted teeth, “I’m not leaving you.”
He clenched his teeth.
“You have to,” he said. “I can’t protect you here.”
“I don’t care—”
“I do.”
That stopped you cold.
His voice cracked on those words. He looked away, just for a second, as if ashamed of how much he meant them. “I— I’m starting to know things I shouldn’t,” he said softly. “I need you to go. If I don’t… if I’m not… If they wiped me…”
You shook your head. “Don’t.”
“I need you to promise me,” he said, almost begging now. “Don’t come back for me.”
“I—please—”
His lips brushed your forehead, right before he shoved you gently but firmly toward the hall.
“Go.”
So you did.
—
Thirty Years Later.
The world had changed.
Until yesterday, James Buchanan Barnes was a congressman. He didn’t go looking for redemption anymore. And he certainly didn’t go looking for you.
What would be the point?
You were probably… what? In your sixties? Seventies? If you’d survived at all— and Hydra said you hadn’t, that they’d caught you in one of the tunnels and killed you— he could only hope you’d built a life—married someone kind, had children, found a place where the past couldn’t follow you. If you had managed to find peace, he wasn’t going to rip it open like an old scar just to ask, Do you remember me?
So he never tried.
But he never loved again either.
Because even if he never said it out loud, Bucky Barnes had once loved you in a place where love wasn't supposed to exist.
He still did.
That kind of love didn’t fade. It just lay quiet beneath the skin, like a healed-over wound that never quite stopped aching.
It wasn’t something he talked about. Not to Sam. Not to Steve, before he left.
Until...
—
New York. Post-Void.
The sky was still clearing after the void had swallowed New York City whole
The Thunderbolts were scattered across the debris-littered street, dragging survivors from the wreckage after Valentina smirked smugly from successfully introducing them to the world as the New Avengers.
Bucky was scanning for movement in the fallen concrete.
That’s when he heard it.
It was faint, like madness like a lullaby from another life.
“Baa baa, black sheep… have you any wool…”
His whole body went still.
He whipped around, scanning the dust and rubble, and—
There.
You were kneeling beside a crying girl on a broken stoop, blood smeared down her shin, and she had a sprained ankle— maybe. Nothing fatal—but you held her like she was made of glass, one hand gently pressing a bandage against her knee, the other stroking her curls as you sang.
And you… you hadn’t changed.
There was not a wrinkle on your skin, not a gray hair on your head. You didn’t look a day older than the last time he saw you, thirty years ago.
He was so stunned, he forgot how to breathe.
“You know her?” Yelena asked, stepping beside him, flicking blood from her forehead.
“Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full.”
You calmed the little girl down when she started sobbing, making sure you were gentle with her injuries.
Bucky didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
His lips parted like he might say yes, but no sound came out.
“One for the master, one for the dame,” you sang as the girl sniffled, “and one for the little boy who lives down the lane.”
It was like his lungs had forgotten air. His heart beat painfully inside his ribs—too much, too fast, too sudden.
And then—
You looked up.
Saw him.
And smiled.
—
You walked over to him like you were in a dream—like every step was an act of defiance to everything that had broken you, bent you, tried to erase you.
He was now sitting on the ground, legs sprawled like they couldn’t quite hold him up anymore. Blood streaked across his jaw, already drying in cracked lines. His chest rose and fell like he’d just come back from drowning.
Your boots crunched over broken glass and gravel as you closed in. You didn’t speak at first. You didn’t know if he could handle words yet—not until your presence fully registered.
You crouched down, and he flinched when you touched his face—not because it hurt, but because he didn’t trust that any of this was real.
“You’re hurt,” you finally said. “Let me help.”
You pulled out the antiseptic, your hands shaking slightly. You dabbed the cotton gently along the edges of a deep cut above his brow. The moment the liquid touched skin, he shuddered.
And then he started shaking.
The tremble that began in his hands and spread to his shoulders, his chest, his teeth. His mouth parted like he wanted to speak, to ask something, but the words got lost
Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop them. His breath hitched before the first choked sob, clawing its way up his throat.
And maybe it had been.
Because it wasn’t just about seeing you. It was about seeing you alive.
Alive.
Not a hallucination. Not a memory. Not like he saw you, in the void.
Alive. With breath in your lungs and heat in your veins and the same look in your eyes that once held him when he was in pain.
His lips moved—silent at first. Then the words came out shaky. “Do you… remember me?”
You froze for half a second, eyes softening in a way that shattered him all over again.
“Of course I do,” you whispered, brushing a stray hair away from his forehead. “I could never forget the love of my life.”
Was that what he was to you?
After all this time, he still meant the same thing that you did to him?
He turned his face away like it might somehow spare him some tears, but it didn’t. The sob that followed ripped from the deepest part of his heart, almost primitive. Not the kind you cry when you’re sad, but the kind you cry when you realise your heart’s still beating after being convinced it was gone.
He collapsed into himself, shoulders hitching, breath stuttering out in ragged gasps. His metal hand clawed blindly at the ground like he needed something solid to hold onto before he slipped under.
You didn’t say anything else. You just moved closer, wrapping an arm gently around his shoulders, resting your forehead to his temple as he wept.
Yelena had wandered off a while ago—probably in search of someone else to pester— most likely her father.
She hadn’t even looked back. She probably knew that this moment didn’t belong to her.
It belonged to him. And you.
He tried to say something else—an apology, maybe, or a confession—but all that came out was, “I—I…” he swallowed, “I— I…”
“Bucky…” You hushed him gently, thumb brushing the tears from his cheek. “We’ll talk somewhere private, yeah?”
He barely nodded.
Because right now, language was too small a thing. All he could do was hold onto you. And all his mind could think was the way your hand fit in his like it always had.
—
You walked ahead of him, leading him down the cracked sidewalk with a hand hovering just near his arm in case he stumbled again.
He hadn’t stopped shaking.
Every so often, Bucky would glance sideways at you—like if he looked away for too long, you might vanish. His eyes were still red, his fists clenched like it hurt to hold himself together. Still, he followed.
It wasn’t far—just a few blocks. Somewhere between tourist traps and bodegas.
The sign above the trauma clinic was clean and professional. Your name etched in utilitarian serif, easily overlooked.
You didn’t take him through the front. Instead, you circled to the alley behind the building and paused before a rusted steel door that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. But then—you looked directly at a small, seamless panel embedded beside the frame.
A red light swept across your retina, and when it recognised you— the lock hissed open with a pneumatic sigh.
“Come on,” you murmured as the door swung inward.
You descended a narrow staircase, the lights flickering on ahead of you one by one—clean, white fluorescence bathing the walls. At the bottom, it opened into a wide, reinforced corridor.
And then you turned the final corner.
Oh.
That was all his mind could manage.
This was not a secret lab. Not some grim Hydra hellhole or impersonal bunker.
No. This place was…
It was your life. A shrine. A sanctum buried beneath the city.
It was a sterile medical bay with sleek counters, an exam table and chair, sealed cabinets filled with trauma kits and gauze and every instrument a trauma doctor could need—but the walls told a different story.
To his right: a newspaper framed in glass. “Harlem Disaster Narrowly Avoided: Doctor Treats Over Fifty Civilians After Abomination Rampage.” Your name was in the byline. There was even a photo—blurry, taken on someone’s flip phone, of you, sleeves rolled up, arms smeared with blood as you performed a field tourniquet on a screaming man.
Then, “Unsung Hero of New York: Trauma Doctor Saves Dozens in Battle of Midtown.”
He kept turning. The memorabilia… evolved.
A cracked Daredevil helmet, dark red and scuffed.
A display case holding a single 9mm bullet, etched with the faint white skull of the Punisher— etched on it.
A shattered web cartridge, unmistakably Spidey’s, with a bit of dried synthetic fluid still crusted at the nozzle.
Even a shelf with a glittery Ms. Marvel Funko Pop, clearly out of place, sitting cheerfully among medical books and gauze rolls.
Bucky’s voice, when it came, was nothing more than a breath. “What is this?”
You stepped beside him, your fingers trailing the little bobblehead. “Gifts from… friends.”
He turned to you. “Friends?”
You gave him a tired smile and joked, “Is it so unbelievable for me to have friends, Bucky?”
He blinked, startled by the levity. You gently nudged him to sit on the exam table, and he obeyed without protest as you cleaned his wounds.
“I just…” he said, voice thin. “I don’t know how you’re still alive. Or how you still look so…” His eyes lingered. “…young.”
You didn't meet his gaze. “Thank Hydra.”
Bucky swallowed, but you continued.
“When I got recruited, they injected me with something— they said it was just a stimulant— to keep me going longer, help me work longer hours.”
He went still.
“Later, I learned that it was something called the Infinity Formula. Not exactly a Super Soldier Serum, but it… slowed my aging significantly. I guess they didn't want to have to train more people.”
You kept working on the cuts on his face.
“When you got me out… I didn’t know how to be in the world anymore. So I built this practice. I wanted to be… useful”
Your fingers paused briefly, then continued.
“But then, vigilantes started showing up. People who couldn’t go to hospitals— people who were bleeding, hunted, scared. It was a small community, so word spread.”
Bucky winced as you moved on to the next cut.
“I patched them up.” You nodded toward the artifacts on the walls. “No questions. Just… tried to keep them breathing long enough to get back out there. It became my life.”
Every artifact had a story, and you were the invisible thread stitching it together.
“A couple months ago, Fisk outlawed masked vigilantes and made everything worse. Not a lot come round anymore, but I still help. How could I not?” You looked up at him.“They show up half-dead, still trying to save people. They just need someone to believe they’re worth saving too.”
Bucky's hands curled into trembling fists at his sides.
You pulled the final stitch and wrapped the wound.
“There,” you whispered. “You’re good.”
But Bucky didn’t move. He was staring again. Not at the artifacts, not at the walls. But… at you.
“You…” His voice cracked. “You never stopped.”
There was no more Hydra. No more handlers. No more needles.
And yet you continued doing what you do best.
Back then, he'd thought he'd imagined it. That flicker of you— the only good thing in that place built to destroy anything good.
But now…
Now, here you were. Standing in front of him. Still real. Still breathing. Still looking at him like he was a man, not a weapon.
His voice, when it came, was hoarse and hesitant, like it hurt to say.
“Can I…?”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He looked at you, struggling to find his voice. “Can I touch you?”
You didn’t move for a heartbeat. But then you nodded.
And that was all he needed.
He pulled you ever closer, barely daring to breathe. He lifted his metal arm so gently, like you might vanish if he pressed too hard— he cupped your cheek.
His thumb brushed along your skin, just once.
It was real.
His other hand followed, cradling your face between his palms. His calloused fingers trembled against you, his lips parting. A man who had faced death a thousand times over… and was now utterly undone by the fact that you were standing in front of him, alive.
Bucky pressed his forehead against yours, and the first sob slipped out of him like a wound opening in real time. His whole body curled inward, as if trying to shield you and collapse into you at the same time.
Your hands came up slowly, mirroring his motion like magnets finding their way to each other after centuries apart, holding him just as gently. “I missed you, Bucky.”
His eyes, that haunted blue, searched your face. “Why didn’t you come for me?” he asked, pain buried deep in his voice. You must’ve seen him in the news— during the Sokovia Accords, the ordeal with the Flag Smashers, or when he became a congressman. You simply have had to have seen him.
You swallowed hard, blinking away the sudden sting in your eyes. “I didn’t think…,” you admitted, “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
His brows furrowed. “Of course I remembered you,” he said, a little broken, a little desperate. His thumb moved again, tracing circles against your skin. “But Hydra told me you were dead— I never believed them. But after everything, I thought maybe you’d moved on. That you were gone for good, one way or another.”
Tears welled in your eyes now, hot and brimming over, and you let them fall. “After what we’ve been through?” you asked, your voice trembling as a sad smile curled your lips. “How could I ever move on from you?”
He let out a sharp breath, like your words were a punch to the chest. Gently, as if giving you the chance to pull away, he pulled you closer — chest to chest, heart to heart — until he helped you up and you were straddling his lap, your hands finding a perch on his shoulders, his arms caging you in like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held.
His forehead rested against yours again, breaths mingling, warm and shallow.
“God, Bucky…After all this time,” you whispered in amazement, “what are we?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Then, finally, with certainty, he said, “A choice.”
Your breath hitched.
“A choice,” he repeated, eyes locked with yours, his grip tightening slightly on your hips. “The first real choice I made after having my mind taken from me. The first person I cared for that were not orders, not missions.”
Oh.
You let your fingers trail up into his hair, letting yourself touch him like you’d dreamed about for so long. He leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat.
You swallowed again, sighed when he leaned into your touch.
“I…” you started, but pulled back just slightly so you could see his face, your eyes meeting his. “Can I kiss you?”
He looked at you like you were the only person in the world that made any sense.
He could only nod.
And you kissed him.
It was cautious at first, tentative, like a secret being unravelled — but the second he hummed, the world disappeared. His hand slid to the back of your neck, the other anchoring you to him as he kissed you like he’d been holding his breath for years. You melted into him, your mouths moving together like you’d done this a thousand times in your dreams.
When you finally pulled back, your forehead pressed to his again, both of you smiling like teenagers.
You let out a small laugh, “I’ve always wondered what your lips tasted like.”
He chuckled too, that low, boyish sound you hadn’t heard… ever. “Yeah?” he asked, fingers still tracing lazy lines along your spine. “Was it everything you imagined?”
You grinned, eyes still closed. “Better.”
He kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth and whispered, “I missed you, too.”
—
You and Bucky had taken it slow.
After those first intense days together, you both decided to learn about each other outside of Hydra. Just to see who you were now.
You went on actual dates— coffee that turned into late dinners, morning hikes, lazy afternoons in museums, cooking together and arguing over whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
Turns out, outside the cold walls of bunkers and laboratories and hidden bases, you and Bucky were more compatible than you'd even dared hope. He liked vinyl records and peaceful mornings. You liked stargazing and stealing his sweaters. You both loved old noir films, loved sushi, and had developed a strangely passionate shared hobby for urban beekeeping.
You laughed more. He smiled more. It was like discovering each other for the first time all over again.
You’d kept your medical practice open, still offering your services to non-traditional patients. But when the Watchtower was done and the New Avengers moved in, they asked you to help the team.
Your official title was Medical Liaison and Trauma Consultant, but mostly you patched up a rotating cast of stubborn supersoldiers and spies who swore they “healed fast” and then passed out on your med bay floor.
But today, the med bay was calm — just a light checkup for Alexei, a bruised rib for Yelena, and a lot of banter.
Everyone knew you and Bucky were dating, but no one had the guts (or stupidity) to ask questions.
Until now.
You were cleaning up your tray of instruments when Bob leaned back in his chair and asked casually, “So… how did you guys meet again?”
You paused.
Bucky, seated on the edge of the exam table with his shirt half-buttoned, glanced at you.
“Oh, you know,” you blinked, “Mutual enemies.”
There was a beat of silence.
“What does that even mean?” Walker asked, clearly disappointed.
You smiled sweetly. “It means you don’t want to know.”
Yelena squinted at you from the other bed. “It means the real story is either classified or deeply traumatic.”
“Or both,” Alexei said.
You laughed — a little too brightly for the topic — and handed Yelena her discharge form. “Exactly. Now who’s next for bloodwork?”
Bucky slid off the table, kissing your cheek quickly as he passed. Ava rolled her eyes so hard you could practically hear it.
Mutual enemies? Yeah, right.
The more accurate term would be: the best thing Hydra never meant to happen.
Notes: Marcy is a good friend, Dick is losing his patience, Jason's been doing some light stalking bc hurt or not there is still feelings, Superman jumpscare, Jason gets into some ROUGH shape for this one, gore, confessions on death's door, reader handles some rather devastating injuries, Jason it high on pain meds for a minute, technically the miscomm isn’t solved, but they are in one another's presence once again. Things gotta get worse before they can get better. Friendly reminder that I am not a medical professional but I did my best.
Beta'd by: @teaspacebar
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Chapter 8:
The New Year came and went, and you still hadn’t heard from him. You’d stopped using the bracelet at this point, because he never answered anymore, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off. You still couldn’t fathom what had happened that night, unsure as to how he could go from confessing his feelings for you to not speaking at all. There was one night you thought you’d seen him on your walk home from work, but it had been so fast you weren’t sure. You didn’t have “phone calls” on your way home from work anymore, and there were no more gifts appearing in your locker. A dark cloud hung over you for weeks that, to most of the world, you excused as simply being tired, but Marcy knew better.
“What happened?”
You shook your head, not in the place to have this conversation again, especially not as you were clocking out from a particularly rough shift. “Nothing, Marcy. I’m tired, I-”
“No. I’m calling bullshit. One day you’re the happiest little fish in the sea, you get a huge bouquet of your favorite flowers from secret boyfriend and avoiding even speaking to other men because you’re so happy. And then suddenly you’re depressed and you won’t talk to me about him anymore, so it has to be him. What. Happened.” The last two words of her rant she emphasized so it was clear you weren’t getting out of the conversation.
You sighed heavily and decided the best way to do this was going to be to simply rip the band-aid off. “We got into a fight, and I haven’t seen him in over a month.”
The first expression to cross Marcy’s face was shock, but it was quickly replaced by rage. “Excuse me?!” She shouted. At your shushing, her volume decreased when she repeated the question, “Excuse me? What do you mean it’s been over a month? Have you been giving the cold shoulder, or has he? What kind of argument even constitutes a month of radio silence? Does that just mean you’re broken up now? What the fuck?” The questions flowed from her faster than you were able to even process what she was saying.
“Look, I can explain everything, but I’m not going to do it here.” You wanted nothing more than to be home and in comfortable clothes. Maybe if you could get things off your chest and have a cry that you weren’t alone for, you might actually have a chance at feeling better. “Do you want to come over?”
“Sure, babes. I’ll drive.”
It took no time before the two of you were seated on your couch, facing each other, and Marcy pressed a cup of coffee into your hands. It was the black one with the Red Hood symbol on it that you’d found on your windowsill months ago, and you took it gratefully, though your heart ached at the sight of it.
“Tell me everything.” Marcy gave an encouraging nod as she spoke.
You sighed and took a moment to consider the best way to explain to your best friend the gist of what happened, without telling her that you’d never actually seen the man’s face before. “We got into a fight about whether we should be more public about us. He’s the one that brought it up, and I told him he didn’t have to do that because I know how much his life would change, but now I’m pretty sure he thinks that I want to keep hiding it like I’m ashamed of him or something. And I’m not! I just didn’t want him to think he had to just because of a stupid fucking comment I made, and-”
“What did you say to him?” Marcy interrupted with a cocked head; features all twisted with concern.
“I said-” You paused as you realized you couldn’t tell her the whole truth for this either. “I mentioned wanting to go out together, and I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I didn’t think he was going to change everything over some off-handed comment I made when I wasn’t thinking. I know this probably sounds incredibly stupid.”
Marcy listened intently as you explained, nodding along as you spoke. After you’d finished, she sat with her thoughts for a moment. “Did you ever think maybe he offered because he wanted to go public?”
Red Hood revealing his secret identity to you was never even on the table in your mind, so the idea that he might have pulled the mask off because he wanted you to know who he was seemed impossible. But he said he cared for you, so maybe it was never about you or the comment you made. Maybe he was being vulnerable with someone he trusted, and you’d squashed it by making him think you didn’t want to know.
Marcy could see you buffering. “You good?”
“I’m a fucking idiot, aren’t I?” By the end of your sentence, your head was hung in defeat and there were tears welling in your eyes.
“Mm, yes, but also,” She shook her head slightly, eyes squinted in a grimace. “Him not talking to you for a month over this? That’s insane if he has any expectation that you’re still together. You need to talk to him.”
“He’s not answering any of my calls, Marce.”
“Ugh, men.” She rolled her eyes as she continued, “Their egos get so fragile when their feelings are hurt.” She finally looked back at you and saw the tears running over your cheeks. “Oh, honey, no.” She set down her coffee and reached for you, scooching closer on the couch to hug you.
“I miss him.” You finally allowed yourself to admit it between shaky breaths.
Marcy squeezed you tighter and rubbed your back as she responded, “I know.”
-
“Would you just do it, please?” Jason’s request was a hushed shout as he argued with his brother.
“You’re getting sent away on a mission and this is what you’re worried about?” Dick questioned, tone matching that of the younger man. “I thought you two were done, why the hell are you asking me to keep an eye on her?”
Jason’s stare was answer enough. Dick knew he was too proud to say so out loud, but he was clearly still in love with you.
Jason huffed. “Just tell Tim she’s a target you’re tracking or something, I don’t care. As long as she’s alive, and okay, that’s all I need.”
“And you think making Tim break into the hospital’s timeclock system to see if she’s going to work every day is a reasonable request.” Dick seemed calm until he asked, “Are you insane?” He had to cross his arms to stop them from flailing as he spoke.
“Well, I’m not telling you where she lives, so checking on her there isn’t really an option, is it?” Jason cocked his head as though to emphasize having made a good point.
Dick’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you’ve been doing?”
Sensing he was no longer on the offensive in this conversation, Jason recoiled slightly. “Yes?”
“I thought you said you hadn’t been responding on your little bracelet anymore.” His tone was laced with accusation. “I thought you said she wasn’t even using it anymore.”
“Right…”
“Oh ho! So, you’re stalking her.”
“I am not-”
“Shut the fuck up, you’re stalking her.” Dick interrupted Jason’s thought and continued before his little brother could jump in again. His patience was gone. “You blew up whatever your relationship was with her, and now for the last month you’ve been following her around without her knowledge or consent. That’s stalking.”
“I’m not-” He stopped himself when he saw the ‘I dare you’ look on Dick’s face. Jason chose a new sentence. “I did not fuck up my relationship, she rejected me. She didn’t want to know who I-”
“She was being considerate of you, you giant asshole!”
“What?”
“You told me that she said she didn’t want to fuck up your life. She was trying to make sure you weren’t just doing it for her!” Dick’s consciousness of his volume disappeared as his temper rose. “I have watched you be broody, and sullen, and a fucking prick about this for weeks because I thought you’d get your shit together eventually but no, why would Jason Todd have a full conversation with someone when he could just walk away and then be pissed at the world for the next three to five business years?”
Jason stood in silence, grinding his teeth together as his brother ranted, and once Dick was done, Jason turned and walked away from him.
Dick nodded knowingly, still fuming. “There it is.” He watched his younger brother exit the room before he shook his head and forced deep breaths to calm himself. It was around 20 minutes later that a text notification from Jason popped up on his phone.
“I will make time to talk to her when I get back.”
Dick responded, “I’ll look out for her while you’re gone.”
-
The drive to Metropolis was only a couple hours, and Jason found the time on the road to be helpful in sorting his thoughts. He knew Dick was right. Smug bastard. He would find time to talk to you, and actually listen this time, when he got back from this mission, but right now he needed to focus.
Once Jason was settled in his hotel room, well into the early hours of the morning, he texted Clark that he was in town and ready to meet. Superman appeared through the open balcony door a minute later.
Jason rolled his eyes at the theatrics of having a cape that flutters in the breeze, even when indoors. “How did you know what room I was in?”
“I did a scan of the building; you weren’t hard to find.” Clark looked around the room for a moment before asking, “Do you have all the gear you’ll need?”
Jason knew the man had x-ray vision, and therefore probably already knew the answer. “I thought I was just consulting on this for you.”
The other man nodded thoughtfully. “Bruce said if anyone could help it was you. Whatever information you have would be incredibly useful.”
“Sure,” He responded with a nod. “What do you need to know?”
Jason spent over two hours explaining everything he knew about the Gotham Underground, and who was currently running it. Occasionally, he answered specific questions, and asked some of his own. He discovered that the person Superman was going after was Morgan Edge, and Jason knew that his history with the man was why Bruce had sent him on this mission instead of one of the others. Edge, whom Jason had worked with on occasion during his crime-lord days, was the leader of Intergang; based in Metropolis, and attempting to make connections in Gotham to expand. If those bridges were stabilized, things could get so much worse for both cities. The pair put together a surveillance plan for Edge’s headquarters in Metropolis, and Jason put lines out to some of his old contacts in the Underground to see if any of them had useful information. By the time they wrapped up, the sun was rising.
The Kryptonian stretched with his arms over his head as he yawned, visibly Clark in the Superman costume when he asked, “Is this your normal schedule? Gosh, I’m beat.”
Jason nodded slightly. “This is the standard for almost the whole team in Gotham. I’m going to get some sleep, you should too. I’ll let you know if I hear back from any of my guys.”
“You got it boss,” Was the only thing Jason heard before the ‘woosh’ of Superman flying away.
Four days, lots of communication with Clark Kent, and a hefty room service bill on Bruce’s credit card later, Jason was getting his stuff packed up to head back to Gotham. He was supposed to meet up with one of his contacts who knew when and where Edge would be in Gotham and communicate that back to Clark. Then Superman would go in and take care of it, and Jason would be free to return to his regularly scheduled programming. He was nervous about the talk he knew he’d have to have with you. He was afraid to admit that he was wrong, but he was more afraid you wouldn’t accept his apology, or worse, wouldn’t see him at all after such a long time.
Jason used his drive hack to Gotham to plan what he’d say. He was distracted when he rendezvoused with his contact. He didn’t notice he’d been double-crossed and surrounded until it was too late to get out.
-
You sat on your couch, reading in an attempt to wind down before going to bed. Work had been uneventful, which was always a good thing, even if it meant you were bored, and your current at-home project was going well. You’d used your end-of-year bonus to purchase supplies to make more of the healing compound, but you’d also branched into a new experiment. The one thing Gotham General (and many hospitals) always seemed to need more of was blood. Some small adjustments to your original stem cell formula had yielded promising results for blood duplication in small amounts, and now you had a refrigerator shelf full of your own blood to start running tests. It could wait, though. Something felt off about tonight.
You took a sip of your water and nearly choked as your bracelet lit up for the first time in nearly five weeks. You put your glass down and for a moment you only stared. The thought crossed your mind to perhaps ignore it after so long of him ignoring you, but the feeling in your stomach twisted again. Something felt wrong. You tapped the disc, and it immediately started a rapid flashing. Was he already there? You twisted to view the map and found his dot on the other side of your building. “Why would he be over in-” On. Not in, you thought. You scoffed but slid your shoes on and tossed a jacket over your shoulders anyway and left your apartment to climb the roof access stairs. As you opened the door, the chill bit into the parts of your skin that were still exposed to the air.
“Did we have to do this in the snow, Red? You could’ve just come inside,” You grumbled the last bit more to yourself than out loud. As you scanned the roof from the doorway, you couldn’t see him. “Red?” The response you got was a pained groan, and when you turned to peek around the corner you saw him. Red Hood was on his knees and hunched over himself and bleeding. A lot. The noise you made was something akin to a strangled cry and your feet were moving before you realized. You fell to your knees in front of him. “Red? Hey, listen to me, can you hear me?” When you put your hands on the sides of his helmet and tilted his head up to you, you found the mask shattered on one side.
His exposed eye, the softest green, blinked slowly at you. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart,” His voice was weak and raspy as he exerted himself to speak, “I had to see you before-” A wet-sounding coughing fit interrupted him, and you saw more blood pulse from the multiple wounds in his torso.
“Fuck, no, you can’t do this-” Tears you hadn’t noticed before began to roll down your face.
He reached a gloved hand up to your face, making careful eye contact with you the entire time. When the material made contact with your skin it was warm and wet, but you pressed your cheek into his hold anyway. The eye you could see watered as he spoke, “I love you. I’m so sorry.”
At that your wits came back to you, and your body and mind went into crisis control. “No, I don’t need that. I need you to stand up, come on.” You nearly begged as you stood up and attempted to pull him with you. He complied as best he was able, and you shouldered most of his weight as the pair of you shuffled toward the door to get back inside. “Red, come on, I can’t lose you, please.” When you reached the stairs, you put him between you and the wall and used every bit of your strength to catch him each time he slipped a step.
“Y/n, stop.”
“No.” You snapped, “We’re almost there, it’s just a little farther.” The walk to your front door was easier than the stairs, but you were still almost dragging him by the time you got to the end of the hallway. Getting your door open was a struggle, but you managed to keep the man upright just long enough to get him inside. As soon as the door was closed, he slumped off your back. “Okay, come on.” You dragged him to the center of the floor behind the couch and ran to get your kit. When you returned, you found his breathing shallow, and labored, and he was shivering. “Shit.”
“Doesn’t look too good, does it?” He wheezed.
“Shut up, Red.” You snatched gauze from the kit, suddenly incredibly thankful you’d remembered to restock on supplies weeks ago, and began packing it into the hole in his left thigh. He seethed in pain, but you ignored it and moved to look at his chest and stomach. His armor was full of dents and was punctured in three places. “I can’t cut this,” you realized aloud, and Red moved to put his arms above his head. You pulled the shirt off of him, struggling a bit around the helmet, and while you had his back off the ground slightly, you checked for exit wounds. You found two. You were quick to pack the two wounds in his left side, finding that neither had gone through any of his organs. The third was in his left shoulder, and you knew the bullet was still inside. You took a shaky breath. “There’s one still inside your shoulder.”
“What?” There was clear panic in his voice.
“Don’t scream.”
When you dug into his shoulder, he let out a brief yell through gnashed teeth before his eye rolled back and he passed out. You kept searching, and finally found the bullet. You pulled it out as carefully as you could and set it aside to start packing the cavity. Once he wasn’t actively bleeding anymore, you rushed to pull blood from the fridge and dropped several of the small bags onto the warming plate on the counter. While you waited for it to heat up, you returned to the man on your floor. You knew you had to check for a head injury, because something had hit him hard enough to shatter the helmet, so you reached for the release buttons and pulled it off of him. He had a small gash in the side of his head that started at his temple and went into his hair line but looked otherwise okay. You allowed yourself a single moment of relief as you realized he was still breathing and wasn’t going to get any worse. You could save him. Your thumb ran gently over his cheekbone where you still cradled his cheek, mirroring where you knew you still had a bloody handprint on your own face. “Hello, Jason.”
Setting up for the transfusion was fast because you’d done it so many times, and despite the blood loss and the cold, it was easy for you to find a vein. You set the warmed bag on the counter so gravity would push the blood through the flushed tubing as you began to work in other areas. You had to cut open Jason’s pant leg to have better access to the wound but were able to stitch everything back together fairly easily, applying the compound as you went. The two in the side of his stomach were harder because he kept twitching every time you touched him, and the wound in his shoulder was easily closed once you determined the bullet hadn’t clipped any bones.
-
Jason attempted a deep breath as he began to wake up but found that he couldn’t. He had a vague sensation of someone touching his face and scrunched his nose and eyebrows together.
“Red, stop moving.” The voice sounded far away but felt familiar.
He attempted to pull his head away but didn’t make it very far before he ran into something hard behind him. “Ow.”
“That’s why I told you to stop moving.” He could hear it a little clearer now, though that also meant the ringing in his ears was clearer too.
The turn of his head brought a sigh that he swore he recognized.
“Jason, baby, please stop moving, I’m almost done.”
“Mm,” He hummed in acknowledgement as a small smile crossed his face. It was you. “I like when you say my name like that.” He opened his eyes slowly and saw an only slightly blurry version of you there with your head cocked, staring at him. “You’re so pretty.”
You shook your head. The painkillers were definitely working. “Okay. Can you stand?”
He hummed as he took a moment to think. “I need help,” he whined with a pout on his lips, and you had to stifle the chuckle at the sight of a man so large acting like a child.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you.” You moved to his left side knowing it would be harder for him to put weight there. When he began to rise, you shouldered as much of his weight as you could, careful not to grip anywhere with fresh stitching, and the two of you found a balance. “You ready?”
“Where are we going?”
“Bedroom,” you answered, pointing to the open door just across the room.
You kept a careful eye on him as you began to move, trying to determine if his expression was one of focus or discomfort, though you assumed it was probably both. You also kept track of each step, watching how his weight and balance shifted as he walked. The shuffle to your bedroom was slow, but eventually the pair of you made it, and when you laid Jason down, you found him sweating and panting from the exertion. Once he was situated in an okay position, rolled partially on his right side with pillows for support, and the last of the blood bags on the headboard, you tried to pull away and found yourself stuck.
Jason hadn’t let go of you, and when he brought his right hand up to touch your face, he found himself confused. “…Feels so real.”
The tired skepticism in his voice as he rubbed your cheek made you snort a laugh. “I am real.”
Jasons made his best attempt at shaking his head as he released you and closed his eyes to think. “No, I hit my head real hard, and now I can’t feel the left side of my body, so I’m definitely dying.” He scrunched his face again. “I fucked up too bad for you to really be here.”
Your heart twinged with pain at his words, and you put down the now empty syringe to lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead. “Go to sleep Jay, we’ll talk about it later.”
He barely bobbed his head in a nod before you saw his face relax again; the anesthetics you’d given him taking effect. You took a moment to finish applying a bandage to his face before looking back over his entire body. He was covered in bruises that were already deep shades of black and blue, but his pulse was steady and getting stronger, his breaths were sounding better, though still shallow, and the blood in his mouth had been from his nose, not an internal issue. He was already clotting up under the bandages, the compound well on its way to working, and he was taking well to the transfusions. He needed time, but he was going to be okay. You found that you had to keep repeating it to yourself. You needed him to be okay.
-
The next time Jason woke up it was slower, and everything hurt. He groaned, and tried to adjust, finding that when he attempted to move his arms, there was something wrapped up in them; someone. He froze, doing everything he could to recall what had happened. He’d been ambushed by Edge’s men. He was dying, and he knew that, but he needed to see you. Selfish asshole. He pushed the thought away to continue running through the events of the night. He’d found you, and you’d brought him inside. You’d been patching him up- Was he still there with you?
“Jay?”
He heard your voice from above his head, and though you spoke so softly, the noise still set off a pounding in his brain.
“Do you need more pain meds?”
Everything hurt. He let out another groan of pain and nodded. When he felt you begin to move out of his grasp though, he stopped you.
“I need to get out of bed to get you drugs.”
“Mm nm” He hummed in disapproval and pulled you back into him by your waist, burying his face in your chest. A happy sigh escaped his chest when he felt your fingers begin carding through his hair, and he snuggled ever closer.
You let out a soft chuckle. Such a big baby. “Jason, let me get you meds, you’ll feel better.” He let out a frustrated grunt, but eventually released you, allowing you to get out of bed. You returned only a moment later with another syringe in your hand. “You’re going to go back to sleep, okay?” You let him know as you emptied the fluid into the other port on his transfusion line. He nodded, and though it took a couple of minutes, you eventually saw him relax again.
You decided now was as good a time as any to answer the dozens of texts and calls you’d been getting from Marcy, so you grabbed your phone off the nightstand and went to the living room, closing the bedroom door on your way. You knew she was at work, but it only took one ring before she answered.
“Y/n?” Her voice was panicked.
“Hey Marcy.”
“Don’t you “hey Marcy” me. What the hell is going on? Are you okay?” Her tone shifted from worry to anger. “Why the hell haven’t you been answering my calls? We all got an email this morning saying the hospital needed coverage for all of your shifts for the next two weeks and claimed you had a family emergency.” You heard a door open somewhere nearby her and Marcy continued her rant in a hushed voice. “But I know you don’t have any family so What. The. Fuck?”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I promise I will explain everything to you later when shit settles down. It’s a very long story, and I promise I will take you out to lunch and walk you through the whole thing, but right now I need some time off and for you to just trust me.”
“So now there’s secrets and- oh,” She cut herself off and you could almost hear it when she put the puzzle together about the only other time you’d kept secrets from her lately. “Something happened with the boyfriend.”
You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Yeah… and um,” You took a deep breath as tears you weren’t expecting rushed into your eyes. “He’s fine now, but he really wasn’t for a while. He uh- he’s going to be fine; I promise I’ll explain later.”
“Okay,” She sighed the word through her end of the phone. “I love you. Just let me know if you need anything, yeah?”
You nodded though you knew she couldn’t see it. “Yeah. I love you too. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye, babes.”
You hung up the phone and dropped yourself onto the couch and for the first time since Red had shown up last night, you let yourself cry. The release helped to clear your mind enough to actually fill out the leave of absence paperwork you’d been sent after your frantic early morning call to your boss begging for time off. You asked for 2 weeks initially, pending condition changes, and you knew it would be approved because your boss had suggested at least that amount.
The next thing to be done was cleaning. A lot of it. There was blood dried into your floors and bloody articles of clothing and bandages everywhere. It took well over an hour to bleach and scour everything down so it no longer looked like a crime scene, and you stashed the destroyed pieces of the Red Hood uniform in a duffle bag and dropped it on the floor in the hallway closet. You’d ask Jason what he wanted to do with it later.
You also needed a shower. Desperately. You’d wiped off your face earlier, but there was blood in your hair and all over your skin and clothes. You scrubbed everything as much as you could with a stain remover before throwing it all in the wash, then went to clean yourself up too. Jason stayed asleep through all of it. He’d need more blood soon, and you were out of your reserves. The decision to draw more from yourself was an easy one. You’d do it as soon as you were clean. You were so happy he was alive, but you knew you needed to talk to him. About what happened, about who he was, about how to proceed. You did your best not to think about it, trying to avoid making any assumptions until you could actually have the conversation with him about everything. The last thing you wanted was to fuck this all up again because you assumed you knew what he was thinking. You just got him back; you couldn’t lose him again.
Notes: Marcy is a good friend, Dick is losing his patience, Jason's been doing some light stalking bc hurt or not there is still feelings, Superman jumpscare, Jason gets into some ROUGH shape for this one, gore, confessions on death's door, reader handles some rather devastating injuries, Jason it high on pain meds for a minute, technically the miscomm isn’t solved, but they are in one another's presence once again. Things gotta get worse before they can get better. Friendly reminder that I am not a medical professional but I did my best.
Beta'd by: @teaspacebar
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Chapter 8:
The New Year came and went, and you still hadn’t heard from him. You’d stopped using the bracelet at this point, because he never answered anymore, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off. You still couldn’t fathom what had happened that night, unsure as to how he could go from confessing his feelings for you to not speaking at all. There was one night you thought you’d seen him on your walk home from work, but it had been so fast you weren’t sure. You didn’t have “phone calls” on your way home from work anymore, and there were no more gifts appearing in your locker. A dark cloud hung over you for weeks that, to most of the world, you excused as simply being tired, but Marcy knew better.
“What happened?”
You shook your head, not in the place to have this conversation again, especially not as you were clocking out from a particularly rough shift. “Nothing, Marcy. I’m tired, I-”
“No. I’m calling bullshit. One day you’re the happiest little fish in the sea, you get a huge bouquet of your favorite flowers from secret boyfriend and avoiding even speaking to other men because you’re so happy. And then suddenly you’re depressed and you won’t talk to me about him anymore, so it has to be him. What. Happened.” The last two words of her rant she emphasized so it was clear you weren’t getting out of the conversation.
You sighed heavily and decided the best way to do this was going to be to simply rip the band-aid off. “We got into a fight, and I haven’t seen him in over a month.”
The first expression to cross Marcy’s face was shock, but it was quickly replaced by rage. “Excuse me?!” She shouted. At your shushing, her volume decreased when she repeated the question, “Excuse me? What do you mean it’s been over a month? Have you been giving the cold shoulder, or has he? What kind of argument even constitutes a month of radio silence? Does that just mean you’re broken up now? What the fuck?” The questions flowed from her faster than you were able to even process what she was saying.
“Look, I can explain everything, but I’m not going to do it here.” You wanted nothing more than to be home and in comfortable clothes. Maybe if you could get things off your chest and have a cry that you weren’t alone for, you might actually have a chance at feeling better. “Do you want to come over?”
“Sure, babes. I’ll drive.”
It took no time before the two of you were seated on your couch, facing each other, and Marcy pressed a cup of coffee into your hands. It was the black one with the Red Hood symbol on it that you’d found on your windowsill months ago, and you took it gratefully, though your heart ached at the sight of it.
“Tell me everything.” Marcy gave an encouraging nod as she spoke.
You sighed and took a moment to consider the best way to explain to your best friend the gist of what happened, without telling her that you’d never actually seen the man’s face before. “We got into a fight about whether we should be more public about us. He’s the one that brought it up, and I told him he didn’t have to do that because I know how much his life would change, but now I’m pretty sure he thinks that I want to keep hiding it like I’m ashamed of him or something. And I’m not! I just didn’t want him to think he had to just because of a stupid fucking comment I made, and-”
“What did you say to him?” Marcy interrupted with a cocked head; features all twisted with concern.
“I said-” You paused as you realized you couldn’t tell her the whole truth for this either. “I mentioned wanting to go out together, and I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I didn’t think he was going to change everything over some off-handed comment I made when I wasn’t thinking. I know this probably sounds incredibly stupid.”
Marcy listened intently as you explained, nodding along as you spoke. After you’d finished, she sat with her thoughts for a moment. “Did you ever think maybe he offered because he wanted to go public?”
Red Hood revealing his secret identity to you was never even on the table in your mind, so the idea that he might have pulled the mask off because he wanted you to know who he was seemed impossible. But he said he cared for you, so maybe it was never about you or the comment you made. Maybe he was being vulnerable with someone he trusted, and you’d squashed it by making him think you didn’t want to know.
Marcy could see you buffering. “You good?”
“I’m a fucking idiot, aren’t I?” By the end of your sentence, your head was hung in defeat and there were tears welling in your eyes.
“Mm, yes, but also,” She shook her head slightly, eyes squinted in a grimace. “Him not talking to you for a month over this? That’s insane if he has any expectation that you’re still together. You need to talk to him.”
“He’s not answering any of my calls, Marce.”
“Ugh, men.” She rolled her eyes as she continued, “Their egos get so fragile when their feelings are hurt.” She finally looked back at you and saw the tears running over your cheeks. “Oh, honey, no.” She set down her coffee and reached for you, scooching closer on the couch to hug you.
“I miss him.” You finally allowed yourself to admit it between shaky breaths.
Marcy squeezed you tighter and rubbed your back as she responded, “I know.”
-
“Would you just do it, please?” Jason’s request was a hushed shout as he argued with his brother.
“You’re getting sent away on a mission and this is what you’re worried about?” Dick questioned, tone matching that of the younger man. “I thought you two were done, why the hell are you asking me to keep an eye on her?”
Jason’s stare was answer enough. Dick knew he was too proud to say so out loud, but he was clearly still in love with you.
Jason huffed. “Just tell Tim she’s a target you’re tracking or something, I don’t care. As long as she’s alive, and okay, that’s all I need.”
“And you think making Tim break into the hospital’s timeclock system to see if she’s going to work every day is a reasonable request.” Dick seemed calm until he asked, “Are you insane?” He had to cross his arms to stop them from flailing as he spoke.
“Well, I’m not telling you where she lives, so checking on her there isn’t really an option, is it?” Jason cocked his head as though to emphasize having made a good point.
Dick’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you’ve been doing?”
Sensing he was no longer on the offensive in this conversation, Jason recoiled slightly. “Yes?”
“I thought you said you hadn’t been responding on your little bracelet anymore.” His tone was laced with accusation. “I thought you said she wasn’t even using it anymore.”
“Right…”
“Oh ho! So, you’re stalking her.”
“I am not-”
“Shut the fuck up, you’re stalking her.” Dick interrupted Jason’s thought and continued before his little brother could jump in again. His patience was gone. “You blew up whatever your relationship was with her, and now for the last month you’ve been following her around without her knowledge or consent. That’s stalking.”
“I’m not-” He stopped himself when he saw the ‘I dare you’ look on Dick’s face. Jason chose a new sentence. “I did not fuck up my relationship, she rejected me. She didn’t want to know who I-”
“She was being considerate of you, you giant asshole!”
“What?”
“You told me that she said she didn’t want to fuck up your life. She was trying to make sure you weren’t just doing it for her!” Dick’s consciousness of his volume disappeared as his temper rose. “I have watched you be broody, and sullen, and a fucking prick about this for weeks because I thought you’d get your shit together eventually but no, why would Jason Todd have a full conversation with someone when he could just walk away and then be pissed at the world for the next three to five business years?”
Jason stood in silence, grinding his teeth together as his brother ranted, and once Dick was done, Jason turned and walked away from him.
Dick nodded knowingly, still fuming. “There it is.” He watched his younger brother exit the room before he shook his head and forced deep breaths to calm himself. It was around 20 minutes later that a text notification from Jason popped up on his phone.
“I will make time to talk to her when I get back.”
Dick responded, “I’ll look out for her while you’re gone.”
-
The drive to Metropolis was only a couple hours, and Jason found the time on the road to be helpful in sorting his thoughts. He knew Dick was right. Smug bastard. He would find time to talk to you, and actually listen this time, when he got back from this mission, but right now he needed to focus.
Once Jason was settled in his hotel room, well into the early hours of the morning, he texted Clark that he was in town and ready to meet. Superman appeared through the open balcony door a minute later.
Jason rolled his eyes at the theatrics of having a cape that flutters in the breeze, even when indoors. “How did you know what room I was in?”
“I did a scan of the building; you weren’t hard to find.” Clark looked around the room for a moment before asking, “Do you have all the gear you’ll need?”
Jason knew the man had x-ray vision, and therefore probably already knew the answer. “I thought I was just consulting on this for you.”
The other man nodded thoughtfully. “Bruce said if anyone could help it was you. Whatever information you have would be incredibly useful.”
“Sure,” He responded with a nod. “What do you need to know?”
Jason spent over two hours explaining everything he knew about the Gotham Underground, and who was currently running it. Occasionally, he answered specific questions, and asked some of his own. He discovered that the person Superman was going after was Morgan Edge, and Jason knew that his history with the man was why Bruce had sent him on this mission instead of one of the others. Edge, whom Jason had worked with on occasion during his crime-lord days, was the leader of Intergang; based in Metropolis, and attempting to make connections in Gotham to expand. If those bridges were stabilized, things could get so much worse for both cities. The pair put together a surveillance plan for Edge’s headquarters in Metropolis, and Jason put lines out to some of his old contacts in the Underground to see if any of them had useful information. By the time they wrapped up, the sun was rising.
The Kryptonian stretched with his arms over his head as he yawned, visibly Clark in the Superman costume when he asked, “Is this your normal schedule? Gosh, I’m beat.”
Jason nodded slightly. “This is the standard for almost the whole team in Gotham. I’m going to get some sleep, you should too. I’ll let you know if I hear back from any of my guys.”
“You got it boss,” Was the only thing Jason heard before the ‘woosh’ of Superman flying away.
Four days, lots of communication with Clark Kent, and a hefty room service bill on Bruce’s credit card later, Jason was getting his stuff packed up to head back to Gotham. He was supposed to meet up with one of his contacts who knew when and where Edge would be in Gotham and communicate that back to Clark. Then Superman would go in and take care of it, and Jason would be free to return to his regularly scheduled programming. He was nervous about the talk he knew he’d have to have with you. He was afraid to admit that he was wrong, but he was more afraid you wouldn’t accept his apology, or worse, wouldn’t see him at all after such a long time.
Jason used his drive hack to Gotham to plan what he’d say. He was distracted when he rendezvoused with his contact. He didn’t notice he’d been double-crossed and surrounded until it was too late to get out.
-
You sat on your couch, reading in an attempt to wind down before going to bed. Work had been uneventful, which was always a good thing, even if it meant you were bored, and your current at-home project was going well. You’d used your end-of-year bonus to purchase supplies to make more of the healing compound, but you’d also branched into a new experiment. The one thing Gotham General (and many hospitals) always seemed to need more of was blood. Some small adjustments to your original stem cell formula had yielded promising results for blood duplication in small amounts, and now you had a refrigerator shelf full of your own blood to start running tests. It could wait, though. Something felt off about tonight.
You took a sip of your water and nearly choked as your bracelet lit up for the first time in nearly five weeks. You put your glass down and for a moment you only stared. The thought crossed your mind to perhaps ignore it after so long of him ignoring you, but the feeling in your stomach twisted again. Something felt wrong. You tapped the disc, and it immediately started a rapid flashing. Was he already there? You twisted to view the map and found his dot on the other side of your building. “Why would he be over in-” On. Not in, you thought. You scoffed but slid your shoes on and tossed a jacket over your shoulders anyway and left your apartment to climb the roof access stairs. As you opened the door, the chill bit into the parts of your skin that were still exposed to the air.
“Did we have to do this in the snow, Red? You could’ve just come inside,” You grumbled the last bit more to yourself than out loud. As you scanned the roof from the doorway, you couldn’t see him. “Red?” The response you got was a pained groan, and when you turned to peek around the corner you saw him. Red Hood was on his knees and hunched over himself and bleeding. A lot. The noise you made was something akin to a strangled cry and your feet were moving before you realized. You fell to your knees in front of him. “Red? Hey, listen to me, can you hear me?” When you put your hands on the sides of his helmet and tilted his head up to you, you found the mask shattered on one side.
His exposed eye, the softest green, blinked slowly at you. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart,” His voice was weak and raspy as he exerted himself to speak, “I had to see you before-” A wet-sounding coughing fit interrupted him, and you saw more blood pulse from the multiple wounds in his torso.
“Fuck, no, you can’t do this-” Tears you hadn’t noticed before began to roll down your face.
He reached a gloved hand up to your face, making careful eye contact with you the entire time. When the material made contact with your skin it was warm and wet, but you pressed your cheek into his hold anyway. The eye you could see watered as he spoke, “I love you. I’m so sorry.”
At that your wits came back to you, and your body and mind went into crisis control. “No, I don’t need that. I need you to stand up, come on.” You nearly begged as you stood up and attempted to pull him with you. He complied as best he was able, and you shouldered most of his weight as the pair of you shuffled toward the door to get back inside. “Red, come on, I can’t lose you, please.” When you reached the stairs, you put him between you and the wall and used every bit of your strength to catch him each time he slipped a step.
“Y/n, stop.”
“No.” You snapped, “We’re almost there, it’s just a little farther.” The walk to your front door was easier than the stairs, but you were still almost dragging him by the time you got to the end of the hallway. Getting your door open was a struggle, but you managed to keep the man upright just long enough to get him inside. As soon as the door was closed, he slumped off your back. “Okay, come on.” You dragged him to the center of the floor behind the couch and ran to get your kit. When you returned, you found his breathing shallow, and labored, and he was shivering. “Shit.”
“Doesn’t look too good, does it?” He wheezed.
“Shut up, Red.” You snatched gauze from the kit, suddenly incredibly thankful you’d remembered to restock on supplies weeks ago, and began packing it into the hole in his left thigh. He seethed in pain, but you ignored it and moved to look at his chest and stomach. His armor was full of dents and was punctured in three places. “I can’t cut this,” you realized aloud, and Red moved to put his arms above his head. You pulled the shirt off of him, struggling a bit around the helmet, and while you had his back off the ground slightly, you checked for exit wounds. You found two. You were quick to pack the two wounds in his left side, finding that neither had gone through any of his organs. The third was in his left shoulder, and you knew the bullet was still inside. You took a shaky breath. “There’s one still inside your shoulder.”
“What?” There was clear panic in his voice.
“Don’t scream.”
When you dug into his shoulder, he let out a brief yell through gnashed teeth before his eye rolled back and he passed out. You kept searching, and finally found the bullet. You pulled it out as carefully as you could and set it aside to start packing the cavity. Once he wasn’t actively bleeding anymore, you rushed to pull blood from the fridge and dropped several of the small bags onto the warming plate on the counter. While you waited for it to heat up, you returned to the man on your floor. You knew you had to check for a head injury, because something had hit him hard enough to shatter the helmet, so you reached for the release buttons and pulled it off of him. He had a small gash in the side of his head that started at his temple and went into his hair line but looked otherwise okay. You allowed yourself a single moment of relief as you realized he was still breathing and wasn’t going to get any worse. You could save him. Your thumb ran gently over his cheekbone where you still cradled his cheek, mirroring where you knew you still had a bloody handprint on your own face. “Hello, Jason.”
Setting up for the transfusion was fast because you’d done it so many times, and despite the blood loss and the cold, it was easy for you to find a vein. You set the warmed bag on the counter so gravity would push the blood through the flushed tubing as you began to work in other areas. You had to cut open Jason’s pant leg to have better access to the wound but were able to stitch everything back together fairly easily, applying the compound as you went. The two in the side of his stomach were harder because he kept twitching every time you touched him, and the wound in his shoulder was easily closed once you determined the bullet hadn’t clipped any bones.
-
Jason attempted a deep breath as he began to wake up but found that he couldn’t. He had a vague sensation of someone touching his face and scrunched his nose and eyebrows together.
“Red, stop moving.” The voice sounded far away but felt familiar.
He attempted to pull his head away but didn’t make it very far before he ran into something hard behind him. “Ow.”
“That’s why I told you to stop moving.” He could hear it a little clearer now, though that also meant the ringing in his ears was clearer too.
The turn of his head brought a sigh that he swore he recognized.
“Jason, baby, please stop moving, I’m almost done.”
“Mm,” He hummed in acknowledgement as a small smile crossed his face. It was you. “I like when you say my name like that.” He opened his eyes slowly and saw an only slightly blurry version of you there with your head cocked, staring at him. “You’re so pretty.”
You shook your head. The painkillers were definitely working. “Okay. Can you stand?”
He hummed as he took a moment to think. “I need help,” he whined with a pout on his lips, and you had to stifle the chuckle at the sight of a man so large acting like a child.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you.” You moved to his left side knowing it would be harder for him to put weight there. When he began to rise, you shouldered as much of his weight as you could, careful not to grip anywhere with fresh stitching, and the two of you found a balance. “You ready?”
“Where are we going?”
“Bedroom,” you answered, pointing to the open door just across the room.
You kept a careful eye on him as you began to move, trying to determine if his expression was one of focus or discomfort, though you assumed it was probably both. You also kept track of each step, watching how his weight and balance shifted as he walked. The shuffle to your bedroom was slow, but eventually the pair of you made it, and when you laid Jason down, you found him sweating and panting from the exertion. Once he was situated in an okay position, rolled partially on his right side with pillows for support, and the last of the blood bags on the headboard, you tried to pull away and found yourself stuck.
Jason hadn’t let go of you, and when he brought his right hand up to touch your face, he found himself confused. “…Feels so real.”
The tired skepticism in his voice as he rubbed your cheek made you snort a laugh. “I am real.”
Jasons made his best attempt at shaking his head as he released you and closed his eyes to think. “No, I hit my head real hard, and now I can’t feel the left side of my body, so I’m definitely dying.” He scrunched his face again. “I fucked up too bad for you to really be here.”
Your heart twinged with pain at his words, and you put down the now empty syringe to lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead. “Go to sleep Jay, we’ll talk about it later.”
He barely bobbed his head in a nod before you saw his face relax again; the anesthetics you’d given him taking effect. You took a moment to finish applying a bandage to his face before looking back over his entire body. He was covered in bruises that were already deep shades of black and blue, but his pulse was steady and getting stronger, his breaths were sounding better, though still shallow, and the blood in his mouth had been from his nose, not an internal issue. He was already clotting up under the bandages, the compound well on its way to working, and he was taking well to the transfusions. He needed time, but he was going to be okay. You found that you had to keep repeating it to yourself. You needed him to be okay.
-
The next time Jason woke up it was slower, and everything hurt. He groaned, and tried to adjust, finding that when he attempted to move his arms, there was something wrapped up in them; someone. He froze, doing everything he could to recall what had happened. He’d been ambushed by Edge’s men. He was dying, and he knew that, but he needed to see you. Selfish asshole. He pushed the thought away to continue running through the events of the night. He’d found you, and you’d brought him inside. You’d been patching him up- Was he still there with you?
“Jay?”
He heard your voice from above his head, and though you spoke so softly, the noise still set off a pounding in his brain.
“Do you need more pain meds?”
Everything hurt. He let out another groan of pain and nodded. When he felt you begin to move out of his grasp though, he stopped you.
“I need to get out of bed to get you drugs.”
“Mm nm” He hummed in disapproval and pulled you back into him by your waist, burying his face in your chest. A happy sigh escaped his chest when he felt your fingers begin carding through his hair, and he snuggled ever closer.
You let out a soft chuckle. Such a big baby. “Jason, let me get you meds, you’ll feel better.” He let out a frustrated grunt, but eventually released you, allowing you to get out of bed. You returned only a moment later with another syringe in your hand. “You’re going to go back to sleep, okay?” You let him know as you emptied the fluid into the other port on his transfusion line. He nodded, and though it took a couple of minutes, you eventually saw him relax again.
You decided now was as good a time as any to answer the dozens of texts and calls you’d been getting from Marcy, so you grabbed your phone off the nightstand and went to the living room, closing the bedroom door on your way. You knew she was at work, but it only took one ring before she answered.
“Y/n?” Her voice was panicked.
“Hey Marcy.”
“Don’t you “hey Marcy” me. What the hell is going on? Are you okay?” Her tone shifted from worry to anger. “Why the hell haven’t you been answering my calls? We all got an email this morning saying the hospital needed coverage for all of your shifts for the next two weeks and claimed you had a family emergency.” You heard a door open somewhere nearby her and Marcy continued her rant in a hushed voice. “But I know you don’t have any family so What. The. Fuck?”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I promise I will explain everything to you later when shit settles down. It’s a very long story, and I promise I will take you out to lunch and walk you through the whole thing, but right now I need some time off and for you to just trust me.”
“So now there’s secrets and- oh,” She cut herself off and you could almost hear it when she put the puzzle together about the only other time you’d kept secrets from her lately. “Something happened with the boyfriend.”
You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “Yeah… and um,” You took a deep breath as tears you weren’t expecting rushed into your eyes. “He’s fine now, but he really wasn’t for a while. He uh- he’s going to be fine; I promise I’ll explain later.”
“Okay,” She sighed the word through her end of the phone. “I love you. Just let me know if you need anything, yeah?”
You nodded though you knew she couldn’t see it. “Yeah. I love you too. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye, babes.”
You hung up the phone and dropped yourself onto the couch and for the first time since Red had shown up last night, you let yourself cry. The release helped to clear your mind enough to actually fill out the leave of absence paperwork you’d been sent after your frantic early morning call to your boss begging for time off. You asked for 2 weeks initially, pending condition changes, and you knew it would be approved because your boss had suggested at least that amount.
The next thing to be done was cleaning. A lot of it. There was blood dried into your floors and bloody articles of clothing and bandages everywhere. It took well over an hour to bleach and scour everything down so it no longer looked like a crime scene, and you stashed the destroyed pieces of the Red Hood uniform in a duffle bag and dropped it on the floor in the hallway closet. You’d ask Jason what he wanted to do with it later.
You also needed a shower. Desperately. You’d wiped off your face earlier, but there was blood in your hair and all over your skin and clothes. You scrubbed everything as much as you could with a stain remover before throwing it all in the wash, then went to clean yourself up too. Jason stayed asleep through all of it. He’d need more blood soon, and you were out of your reserves. The decision to draw more from yourself was an easy one. You’d do it as soon as you were clean. You were so happy he was alive, but you knew you needed to talk to him. About what happened, about who he was, about how to proceed. You did your best not to think about it, trying to avoid making any assumptions until you could actually have the conversation with him about everything. The last thing you wanted was to fuck this all up again because you assumed you knew what he was thinking. You just got him back; you couldn’t lose him again.
Notes: Oops I made it huge. There's a bunch going on in this chapter. Reader gets flowers at work, there's a bank robbery, Dick gives advice, Jason has a hard time talking about feelings (with reader or anybody for that matter), a classic "I think I know you" scene, and then a big ol' misunderstanding right there at the end. Don't worry, it'll get fixed next chapter. Heads up, the reader uses a gun in this one, no one dies though. Have fun!
Beta'd by: @teaspacebar
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Chapter 7:
Getting up for work the next morning was a slog. Your boss had called in the middle of the night saying they needed coverage for the day, and you took the shift knowing the overtime would be incredible. You were regretting it now. Still though, you found the energy deep inside you to get up and get in the shower, and actually even had time to pick up breakfast and coffee on your way in to work. No sooner than you had walked in the door, Marcy found you.
“Ugh, there you are!” She stormed over to your locker and gratefully took a bite of your sandwich when you offered it. Through the food in her mouth, she continued to speak. “I’m so happy you’re here for the last couple hours of my shift.” She swallowed and her speech became clear once again as she handed your breakfast back. “The phleb we had overnight was all over the place. I had turnaround times of hours on easy orders, and when I called the lab to check in on why, they told me they’d never even gotten the blood. Twice. Ugh, I hate incompetent shit heads.”
You heard a locker slam one row over and watched Gavin, the phlebotomist who’d just clocked out, storm out of the room. Your eyes went wide as you looked from him to Marcy pointedly.
She shook her head. “I don’t even care, he needed to hear it.”
“Sometimes I’m so glad you’re convinced I can do no wrong. You’re vicious.”
Marcy shrugged. “Do something wrong and then we’ll talk.”
The two of you laughed for a moment before you turned back to finish putting your things away, handing Marcy the last two bites of your food for her to finish before you both got to work. An hour into your shift you got a page directing you to the front desk. As you approached, you saw a delivery man holding a bundle of a dozen blood red dahlias, beautifully wrapped in black and grey burlap.
“Hi, I’m looking for Y/n?” he asked, looking at you expectantly.
“Yeah, uh…” You could hardly take your eyes off the gorgeous flowers. “That’s me.”
He nodded, handing you the bundle before walking away, entirely unfazed by the delivery.
The receptionist that was currently at the desk looked up at you, approval all through his expression and tone when he asked, “Girl, what did you do to get a man to send you flowers like that, and where can I get one?”
You chuckled as a heat spread over your cheeks. “I wouldn’t know where to look, I swear this one fell from the sky.” You smiled as you looked at the bulbs, your other hand coming up to run your fingertips over some of the petals. It hadn’t taken long after Red Hood had picked you up from work on his motorcycle a few weeks ago for seemingly everyone you knew in the hospital to be in on Marcy’s “Who is the secret boyfriend” game. It was easier to just play along than to try to explain.
He shook his head. “Well, you either need to share or you need to get your lovey-dovey out of my face, it’s getting all over me.” There was no malice behind his words, and he even winked at you as you turned to walk away.
Your walk to the lounge was quick, as you didn’t want Marcy to catch you with the flowers, though you were sure she’d find out soon enough anyway. Once you were inside and away from prying eyes, you took a moment to look for a card, and found one tucked between some of the stems.
It was a small white piece of cardstock folded in half, and inside, handwritten in black ink. ‘Thanks for last night.’
A new wave of emotion washed over you, a smile still covering your features as you remembered for a moment what it was like to have his arms around you. He’d been so warm, and smelled of gun-smoke and leather, with the remnants of a cologne you couldn’t quite place. You allowed your mind to wander for only a moment more before you tucked the flowers into your locker as gently as possible and headed back out to the floor.
The rest of the shift went by with ease and even though you were busy, the world seemed to know you were floating in air and didn’t want to bring you down. By the time you were getting ready to leave Marcy was long gone for the day, having sent a “Leaving now :P” text because you were in the middle of a draw when she left. You figured she was likely asleep, but that she’d text you later to hang out, as she always seemed to do when you both had an evening off. In the meantime, you decided a trip to the bank to finally get your debit card replaced was warranted. It was early enough that you could get there well before closing time, and if you got this figured out, you could stop using your phone to pay for groceries. Your face was covered in a smile once again as you pulled the flowers from your locker, quickly followed by your bag, and you set out to head home. The sun would still be up for a little while longer, so you didn’t activate your bracelet. You didn’t want to bother him if he was resting up after being injured, and besides, things weren’t nearly so bad in Gotham when it was still daylight out.
The walk was quick, and you dropped the flowers and your work bag off on the counter before quickly getting changed. You grabbed the much smaller bag you used for other outings and transferred over all of the essentials: wallet, keys, pistol. You hadn’t needed it since Red started hanging around, but you still brought it everywhere. It was small, meant only to cause damage and be a distraction, and in any real-world situation, it had only ever been used to scare off would-be attackers; you’d never had to actually use it. Still, you kept up with your monthly sessions at the practice range so that if you ever needed it, your aim would be true.
The bank you were headed to was a longer distance than the walk from the hospital to your apartment, but it was certainly still doable. You stayed vigilant as ever as you made your way there, and had plenty of time to spare before closing, which you figured was for the better given how busy they were.
-
“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” Jason sent the text, nerves bubbling in his chest, though he knew if there was anyone he could trust with this, it was his brother.
Dick’s reply came back almost immediately. “Sure. I’ll be there in a few to meet with everyone before patrols. Is that fine?”
“Yeah.”
Jason was quick to get downstairs, inhaling a cold slice of pizza in the kitchen before descending into the cave to get dressed.
“Hey,” Dick announced himself so he wouldn’t startle the other man in the room. “What did you want to talk about?”
Jason was working his new shirt with the extra body armor on and struggling a bit because of his arm. It had healed quite a bit so far, but he was hoping it would be a quiet night.
“You know if you told Bruce you got hurt yesterday then you wouldn’t need to worry about this right now.” Dick was already over and helping Jason with the sleeve before his younger brother could get too frustrated with it. He knew there was no way to get Jason to open up if he was pissed, regardless of what he was pissed at.
“Yeah, whatever.” Jason brushed the comment off knowing Dick was just trying to look out for him. “I need advice on something.”
“Like something from yesterday?” He asked, finishing putting Jason’s glove on.
“Thanks, and yeah. I-” Jason’s sentence was cut off when he saw his bracelet light up. “It’s not even dark out…” He mumbled to himself as he tapped the button in return and turned the disc to view the map projection.
Dick shook his head in disbelief. “Hello? Earth to Jason.”
“No. Hang on.” He cut his brother off with a wave of his hand before turning his wrist outward to be more visible to Dick. “Do you know where this is?”
Dick Grayson looked over the small map for a moment before he answered. “I mean, I think there’s a bank over there?”
Not a moment after the sentence came out of Dick’s mouth, an alert went off on the computer. The pair heard Bruce call.
“Everyone in here. Now.”
The entire team, including those that weren’t going on patrol that night filtered into the room. Aside from the two eldest brothers, Cassandra was the only one dressed in her costume, as it was supposed to be the three of them working.
Bruce broke the silence as the younger vigilantes all looked back and forth between one another. “We just got an alert from GCPD. There’s a bank robbery, possible hostage situation, and they won’t get there in time.” He clicked a button and all of the information they had, including the address, showed up on screen.
That’s where you were. “We’ll go,” Jason stated, volunteering himself and Dick.
“Me too,” Cassandra spoke up as well. “We’re all already dressed, we can just patrol afterwards, or call if we need to switch out.”
“Fine, go.”
Bruce released the trio, and they immediately ran to the garage. Jason got on his own motorcycle, while Cassandra got on the back of Dick’s before they rode off.
“How did you know about the bank?” Jason heard his brother ask through the intercom in his helmet.
“What?”
“Your bracelet had a location indicator for the bank over a minute before we got the alert from GCPD. How?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Jason shot back.
“But-”
“Drop it.”
Cassandra watched Jason carefully from the back of Dick’s bike as the two drivers wove through traffic to get there as quickly as possible. She noticed the tension in his shoulders, normally non-existent on the way to assignments. Normally, he was more relaxed because he was getting a chance to release some of his pent-up anger in a productive way, but now he seemed more wound up than she’d seen him in a long time. When they got there, she found out why.
The boys stashed the motorcycles in an alley while Cassandra found a way in. There was a perfect window that led out to the lower roof, through which they could see the entire main lobby. The girl from the back of Jason’s motorcycle was in there.
“Hey, isn’t that your girlfriend?” She asked as soon as the boys were next to her by the window.
“Your what?” Dick questioned, head whipping toward Jason.
“We’re not talking about this right now.” The man in the red helmet only stared straight forward through the window, and he saw you pull a pistol from your bag as you crouched behind a sideways table.
“How long have you been hiding this from me?” He was whisper-yelling now.
“Couple months,” Cassandra chimed in, clearly trying to stir the pot as she adjusted her thermal sensors.
“Months?”
“Stop it.” Jason said, rolling his eyes.
“Were you ever gonna tell me?” Dick’s hand flew to his chest as though he was a victim and was not paying attention to what was happening inside like the other two were. “Was I just supposed to find out when you got married one day?”
“Relax, it is not that serious,” Jason started. He and Cassandra watched as you jumped out from behind the table and fired four shots, each landing in the hand or shoulder of a different gunman, effectively disabling them, before grabbing a child that was in harm’s way and diving back behind the table. “I think I love her.” It slipped from his mouth without a thought behind it.
Dick went quiet and Cassandra’s eyes went wide in shock as everyone, including Jason, processed what he’d just said. Cassandra’s voice is what finally brought everyone back.
“Okay guys, lock in. There's two at each set of doors and four in the lobby, and one with the branch manager in the back in front of the vault. That’s eleven total, but four are mostly useless now, so I’m saying seven. We good?”
Dick let go of his big brother attitude to fully become Nightwing and give the order to jump into action. He didn’t get a chance before he heard Jason.
“Shit, no-” Red Hood kicked in the window as he flew through it, dropping just inches in front of you where you had stood up to find the mother of the little girl from a moment ago. You hadn’t seen one of the men by the front door train his aim on you, but that’s what he was there for. Two shots landed in the armor on his shoulder blade, level with your head, just as he landed in front of you. “Hey.” He barely even flinched.
“Hi,” you said it with a smirk at his nonchalance after just being shot twice. “Glad to see you’re bulletproof today.”
“I told you I’d figure it out, didn’t I?” He followed your gaze as you watched the other two vigilantes drop in through the same opening, Nightwing rushing in to fight, and Orphan splitting off to where the manager had been dragged to the vault. Then he watched your eyes flick over his shoulder.
“Six o’clock.” Your arm shot out, brushing against his own at his side as you fired, and hit the gunman in the wrist, likely shattering the bones there. He would not be shooting again anytime soon.
Christ, you were perfect, he thought as he looked at you.
“Hey, Hood!” He heard Dick call to him, and though he knew the others would certainly have things handled, he also knew he needed to participate, stitches or not.
He remained standing in front of you for a moment before he cocked his head to the side. “I have some stuff I have to take care of.”
You snorted a laugh and smiled at him. “So go take care of it,” you said while motioning to where Nightwing was fighting two of the robbers. As soon as he turned away, you tucked your pistol into the back of your pants, knowing you wouldn’t need it anymore, and squatted down to the little girl still cowering behind the table. “Hey. Red Hood, and Nightwing, and Orphan are going to take care of us, okay? We’re gonna be okay.”
“…Okay…” She said back to you with tears in her eyes, clearly terrified.
“We’re going to stay here for right now, we’ll find your mom after it’s safe. The heroes will keep all of us safe until then.”
And they did. The only person who’d been hurt aside from the robbers was the bank’s manager, and he’d only been shot in the foot as “incentive” to open the vault. All eleven of the thugs were arrested, and the police had plenty of eyewitnesses and camera recorded evidence. They’d all be locked up after receiving medical care for their injuries.
It took the officers a while to get statements from everyone given how busy the bank had been, but you volunteered to go last, knowing you’d have company on your walk home if you waited until Red was able to leave too.
Jason watched from the roof next door as you answered questions, and the police took your statement. You seemed okay, and he was glad for it.
“Everything’s taken care of, we’re good to go.” Dick called from behind.
Jason’s response was aimed at his brother, but his gaze still hovered on you as he sat on the edge of the building. “I’m gonna stay a minute.”
Dick turned to Cassandra telling her to start patrols, and he’d be moving in a few. She nodded and cast a sideways glance at Jason before turning back to Dick, worry all over her face. She only left when he nodded again, to let her know he would take care of it. Once Cassandra was gone, the eldest Wayne sibling joined Jason on the lip of the building, feet dangling over the edge as they watched you speak with the officers.
“It was super weird you know.” He began.
Jason hardly acknowledged his brother, “What was?”
“I just watched you flirt. In the field. While we were on a job.” Each of his sentences was small, each making a point of their own. Jason was not one to flirt. He was not one to have that personality under the helmet. And he certainly wasn’t one to be distracted while working. And he knew these things as well as Dick did. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re off your game.”
“I absolutely am not, I kicked ass in there!”
“Yeah, after you got shot twice.”
“Intentionally. To save someone’s life.”
Dick shook his head. “Little Wing, you did it to show off. You could have just as easily gotten her out of the way.”
“Is there a point to this?” He snapped back.
“Look, I’m not trying to make you feel shitty, I’m trying to point out that clearly you care. You care about her, and you care about how she sees you. That’s new,” Dick reasoned. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”
Jason nodded, taking in the words. “I’m okay. I feel better than I have in a long time actually.”
“Yeah?”
A small chuckle escaped through the modulator in his helmet. “Yeah, she’s pretty incredible.”
“You wanna tell me about her?” Dick elbowed Jason lightly, trying to goad him into it. The younger man was never the type to gush about something he enjoyed if he thought the other person might not really be listening.
Jason shook his head good-naturedly, knowing the game his older brother was playing. But he did want to talk about you, so he caved. “She reads the same kinds of books I do. She’s actually borrowing my copy of ‘Persuasion’ right now.”
“The Jane Austen novel?”
“Yes.”
“Cool,” Dick responded with a nod, relenting the conversation back to Jason.
“We talk every night on her way home from work, or rather she talks, I listen. She pretends she’s on the phone. Anyway.” He waved his hand as a dismissal of his last comment. “She calls me with the bracelet, which looks exactly the same as mine, and they have proximity indicators so once they’re on, they display a map like how you saw earlier. It’s how I let her know I’m there, even when it’s better that I’m not standing next to her, like on her walk home. She feels safer knowing I’m looking out for her.” He blushed, almost embarrassed, though he knew Dick couldn’t see it.
“She’s lucky to have you.” Dick was eager to let him keep talking about this, so he asked another question to prompt him. “What does she do for work?”
“She’s a phlebotomist at Gotham General, always wants to help people. She even made this compound with stem cells? She explained it to me, but I don’t fucking know the science. It’s a healing thing that I think she said works by copying the cells you already have to fix you faster, she’s used it on me a couple times, and-”
“So that’s who’s been patching you up. We were all curious how the hell you were recovering so fast. Did she use it on your arm?”
Jason nodded. “The stitches will come out tomorrow, which is why I didn’t want to tell Bruce. I would’ve been-”
“You would have been benched for longer.” Dick completed his sentence, nodding along. “Yeah.”
“She’s smart, and she’s kind, and she’s gorgeous…” His sentence trailed off as he contemplated. “I’m really happy when I’m with her.”
Dick’s smile was genuine, his heart warming for his brother. “Do you love her?”
Jason sighed and nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think I do.”
“And watching her shoot earlier?”
“Really sold me on it.” Both of the vigilantes on the roof laughed for a moment before coming back to the comfortable quiet that had previously surrounded the conversation.
“Does she know who you are?” Dick asked carefully. He didn’t want to scare Jason off the topic.
“No.”
“Have you thought about telling her?”
“All the time! But I have no idea where to start.” He got so quiet Dick could barely hear him. “What if I pull off the mask and she doesn’t want me once she knows who I am. What if she doesn’t want to know at all.”
Dick fell silent for a moment as he considered Jason’s words. His fears made perfect sense, but they would hold him back if he didn’t overcome them. “If you’re worried about her liking Jason, then you should meet her as Jason and see what happens.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean introduce yourself and start a conversation and let her decide how she feels about you when the mask isn’t in the picture. Then once you know, you can decide if you want to tell her or if it’s time to move on.”
Jason nodded his head and was about to respond when his bracelet lit up, and his eyes snapped down to you, walking away from the police that still surrounded the building. He looked back to Dick who had clearly also seen the glow.
“Go get your girl, Hood. I’ll cover your route.”
Jason cocked his head in disbelief. “You’d do that?”
“Just go.” Dick said, standing up and offering a hand to the other man, which wasn’t taken as Jason simply pushed off the side and fell, landing silently in the alley only a few yards behind you. The smirk on Dick’s face only grew as he watched his little brother jog a few strides to catch up to you before throwing an arm over your shoulder. He shook his head. It was clear to him his brother was over the moon.
-
You tucked into Red Hood’s side as he draped his left arm over your shoulders, grateful for the warmth he provided. “How’s your arm?” You asked.
“It’s good, it’s healing really well,” He held it up as though to show you, even though it was covered in his uniform and jacket. “I don’t think I pulled any of the stitches in that fight; I feel like it would hurt, right?”
You laughed and nodded. “Yes, it would. I didn’t want to interrupt your healing, but I knew calling for you was probably the fastest way to get help.”
“You did the right thing. I was coming out tonight anyway.”
“What?” You questioned, turning your head to look at him pointedly.
“Woah,” He recoiled a little in surprise at your tone shift. “I have to do my job, sweetheart, and besides, everything turned out fine.”
You looked down again, shaking your head defeatedly. “I wish you’d take care of yourself.”
Jason’s mood sobered immediately. “Oh. I’m sorry, I wasn’t-”
“No, I’m sorry.” You interrupted him, hands coming to your face in embarrassment. “I know that’s not fair to ask. I just meant that there’s like eight of you, so I thought you’d be able to at least take a day, but-”
“Hey, stop.” It was his turn to interrupt you, and he stopped the two of you walking so he could look at you head on. “I get it, and I hear you. I will try to do better.” He could start by actually reporting when he was injured. His heart melted when he saw your small nod, still clearly unsure. He looked around for a moment before reaching down for your hand. He knew it would make you a target if anyone saw, but there was no one around anyway. He used his grip on your palm to lead you as he started walking again and was happy to find that you threaded your fingers between his gloved ones. “Do you have other places to be tonight, or can I walk you home?”
“Home first for a while,” You responded. “Hey, how did you know I was at work today? I didn’t even get called in until after you left last night.”
He saw you there when he took Tim in for a busted nose this morning. “Lucky guess.”
You snorted, clearly not believing him. “I’m not going to ask any follow up questions, because I don’t think I want the answers. Thank you for the flowers, they’re gorgeous.”
“Sure, I’m glad you liked them.” Jason did his best to sound casual despite his heart jumping into his throat. He had been worried the color would be over the top but was happy to hear that you enjoyed them. “You said “home for a while.” Are you headed somewhere else?”
You gave a nod. “Marcy invited me out for drinks.”
“You’re going back out for drinks after being present for an armed robbery?” he questioned in disbelief.
“I think I’ve earned a drink after all that, don’t you?” You looked up at him with one eyebrow cocked in a dare for him to say something.
He could only shake his head as he relented. “You are something else.”
“I live in Gotham. If I got hung up on every time I witnessed a crime, I’d never go outside again. There are much worse things than walking out of a bank robbery unharmed.”
A hum of approval rumbled in his chest. “That I can agree with.”
“Largely thanks to you in fact,” you stated, pressing your elbow lightly into his ribs.
“Who, me?” He questioned, pushing as much innocence into his tone as he could muster. “Nah, you had it handled all on your own. Five of those guys are going to prison in casts because of you.”
A smirk of pride donned on your face for only a moment. “I almost got shot, though. The only reason I’m not in the hospital or dead right now is you. Thank you.”
“Always, sweetheart.” He gave your hand a squeeze for emphasis. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”
You were quiet for a moment before you summoned the courage to bring up the man that taught you to handle firearms. “My dad was big about being able to defend myself if I was ever going to live on my own. After that, practice, mostly.”
Jason nodded thoughtfully. “If there was ever a place to need it, it’s here.”
“No kidding.” You could only hope that he’d answer your next question, knowing it might have been too personal. “What about you? I can’t imagine you were born into all of this.”
“Actually,” A tightness formed in Jason’s shoulders as he considered how much he could tell you. He wanted you to know everything. “I grew up mostly on the streets here, so I sort of was born into it.”
“Oh…”
“Aw, don’t get too sad on me now.” He shook your hand where it was still wrapped in his, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m doing just fine these days.”
“You deserve better than that, I hope you know.” You leaned into him a little, putting you off balance for a few steps as you relied on him to keep you upright.
“I have it.” He rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb to reassure you as you continued to walk to your apartment.
When you approached your building, you pulled him down the alley and turned to face Red Hood without letting go of his hand, wanting to get every extra second out of this before he needed to leave. “So, I’ll see you later?”
He nodded. “I’ll be around. I still don’t think it’s a good idea to go out tonight. You should rest.”
You laughed at the irony. “You’re the one working with an injury, I’m just fine. Besides, it’s just the dive bar off 5th. We go there all the time; I will be okay.” You brought your hands up to straighten the collar of his jacket.
Jason gave a snort of disapproval, doing everything he could to ignore your hands on his chest. “If anything, I’m more worried about you now.”
“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I can call you if something happens.” A small stretch of quiet fell over the two of you and you realized for the first time how close you were. Your hands were still on his chest, playing with the edges of his jacket. “Thanks for coming to save me.”
He huffed a laugh. “’Course. I would’ve been pissed if I got there, and the cops had let anything happen to you.”
You playfully rolled your eyes at him but didn’t stop messing with the zipper teeth in your grasp. “Stop it, Red, you’re making me blush.”
“And if I wanted to?” He stepped closer, forcing you to tilt your head farther to be able to look him in the eyes of his mask as he stared down at you and slid his left arm around your waist.
You gasped almost inaudibly, and your heart felt like it would beat out of your chest if you didn’t find a way to calm down. When you spoke, it was barely above a whisper, and you maintained eye contact with the mask. “This is the part where I’d kiss you goodnight if I could see your face.”
Fuck it. He’d take the helmet off in front of a crowd of a thousand people right now if you asked him to. But before he got the chance to say so, he felt you heave in a breath and push slightly against his chest. He gave no resistance, letting you create the space you wanted.
“Goodnight, Red.”
He felt himself let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as you gave him a soft smile, almost apologetic, before you stepped out of his grasp. “Goodnight, Y/n.”
You turned to begin your walk away, but thought better of it, facing the man again for just a moment as you asked, “Do you want to come by tomorrow so I can take care of your stitches?”
“I’ll let you know when I’m on the way.”
Your smile was wide when you nodded at him before turning away, leaving the alley Jason stood in. He wouldn’t wait until tomorrow. He’d see you tonight.
-
Meeting up with Marcy was always a good time. Even on nights you hadn’t wanted to go out, you found that your friend somehow managed to supply enough social energy for the both of you, and tonight was no different. It was the same dive bar the pair of you always seemed to end up at, where the bartenders knew you, and probably overpoured most of the drinks they put out. The music was always a little too loud, the lights a little too dim, and the crowd was a constant mix of regulars talking amongst each other and bar-crawlers that had been kicked out of everywhere else.
You managed to step out of the way just as another woman’s drink sloshed over the side of her glass and splashed on the floor. “Oh!” She shrieked, eyes covered in a glitter that told you this was not her first stop of the evening. “Sorry!” She gave a short smile and a wave as she walked away.
You huffed a laugh and shook your head as you took the last couple steps up to fill the now open space in front of the bar. The floor was always sticky anyway.
“Hey! Y/n,” The bartender, Aaron, gave a wide smile as he saw you approach. “It’s been a minute, how are you?”
“I’m good, Aaron. Can I get two of the usual?” You asked, throwing two fingers up as an indicator in case he couldn’t hear.
He nodded in response. “Marcy with you?”
“Do I ever come out if she isn’t?” The two had been flirting with each other for the better part of a year, but never progressed past an occasional date or hookup. Marcy always told you it was because she’d pushed her expectations too high and didn’t want to ruin it. You knew it was because she was terrified of commitment. “You want me to send her over here for the next round?”
Aaron set the drinks down in front of you with a wink. “You’re the best.”
“And that’s why I’m your favorite!” You yelled as the music swelled.
“You’re my favorite because you tip well!” He shot back as he poured a round of shots for someone a few spaces down the bar.
You slid your card across the bar. “I had to buy your love somehow!”
You waited until you saw him pick up your card with a small salute to let you know he’d start a tab as usual for you before you walked away. Marcy had found your regular table along one of the walls, where she had a perfect view of the bar (and the man behind it) from her side of the booth.
“Hey! Took you long enough.” She took her glass from you and downed half of her drink in a gulp. “I’m going to need another in a minute.”
“Woah,” You cocked your head at her. “Everything okay?”
Marcy scoffed. “Work was atrocious last night, but you know that. And now I come out to try to relax and as soon as we get in here, I see some girl in a Coachella outfit is flirting with Aaron.” Her pout was exaggerated by her scowl when the girl who’d almost spilled her drink on you walked by.
“Flirting with the newbies gets him tips, Marce. And if you wanted to lock it down you could. You choose not to.”
“Ugh.” She finished her drink and snatched yours before you’d even gotten a sip from it. “I want you to bitch with me, not be a reasonable adult.”
You chuckled at her antics. “Okay, so she’s the worst for flirting with your man, and Aaron is the worst for… smiling at the people who pay him?”
She rolled her eyes playfully at you. “You know, not all of us can have perfect secret boyfriends. Some of us are destined to be alone for the rest of our lives.”
“Ha!” The noise escaped you before you could stop it, but you swerved the conversation away from your top-secret not-boyfriend. “Aaron would propose to you tomorrow if he thought you’d say yes.”
“Liar.” She grumbled, but the blush on her cheeks told you she likely agreed. “I’m going to go get another round.”
“You mean number three for you and my first one?”
“Shh.” She held a finger to her lips as she shushed you. “Shut up, judgy. Did you put your card down for a tab already?”
You nodded.
“M’kay.” She picked up the glasses to take back to the bar. “I’ll swap out. It’s not fair to have you pay when you need to be sober enough to get me back to your place in a couple hours.” You could only shake your head and smile at her as she walked away.
The night went much as it usually did when the two of you went out, Marcy indulging more than you, though she had thankfully slowed down some. She was drunk but would still be okay to make it to the car, and you’d only had one before realizing you’d need to drive and promptly switched to soda.
“No, because listen. I get he’s your favorite, or whatever, but Red Hood is so aggressive ya know? And I just, I don’t know… Nightwing does all those flips and stuff and he’s so pretty.”
You shook your head. This was somehow always where conversation with drunk Marcy ended up: speculation on the secret lives of Gotham’s vigilantes. “Marce, how do you know he’s pretty? They all wear masks.”
“No really, you can just tell, I swear and-” She stopped mid-sentence and did a double take toward the bar before looking back to you with wide eyes.
For a moment, worry crossed your mind as you looked at her. “What? What happened?” You asked, hushed in tone.
She tilted her head slightly toward the bar, eyes remaining as wide as they’d go. “There’s a Wayne over there.”
You squinted incredulously at her. “I’m sorry, a what?”
“A Wayne. In our little dive bar.” She looked over to the bar again slowly before her head snapped back to you. “And he’s staring.”
“Marcy, you’re staring. Knock it off.” You waited for her face to return mostly to normal before you chanced a glance in the direction of the bar. “And what do you mean he’s-” Your sentence dropped off when you made eye contact with the man you assumed she must be referring to. He was handsome; tall and wide, with a streak of white in his otherwise dark waves. And Marcy was right, he was staring. You turned slightly to ask her a question, without breaking your gaze on the man. “How do you know he’s a Wayne?”
“Didn’t I tell you they all fit the bill of “tall, dark, and handsome?” Especially the older two,” She let out a long whistle before continuing, “Besides, I saw him in the hospital this morning.”
“What?” That brought your attention back to Marcy.
“Yeah, that one’s Jason Todd, he brought one of the middle kids in this morning for a broken nose I think?” She scrunched her face as she tried to remember information that she shouldn’t be telling you.
“What’s a Wayne doing in a bar like this?” You questioned to yourself, still feeling his gaze on you.
“You’re going to go find out.”
“What? No.” You shot her down immediately.
“Babe one of us has to and it can’t be me, I can’t stand up by myself. You’re up, buttercup.” Marcy gestured toward the man very visibly with her hand as the end of her sentence got loud.
“Marcy,” You hissed through your teeth. “You’re making a scene.”
She leaned in close over the table as you reached for her hand, and her tone sounded deceptively sober when she spoke. “I will make a scene so big I will get casting calls about it if you don’t go over there. You have a boyfriend who doesn’t hang out with you in public, and a Wayne who is blatantly staring at you in the middle of a dive bar. One of those things is going to get you attention right now, and it’s not the secret one.”
“But-”
“It’s not cheating to just have a conversation and flirt,” She misread your hesitance and continued with her scheming. “You deserve to be flirted with and made to feel like you’re special because you are. And babes? A Wayne who can’t take his eyes off you is pretty damn special, so you go, or I start yelling.” She let go of you and leaned back, tipsy smile returning to her features and eyebrows raised in challenge.
“Fine.”
“Yay,” she said it in a whisper and softly clapped to herself as she watched you stand and make your way to the bar.
“Hey, Aaron?”
He slid over quickly, “Yeah?”
You smiled at him apologetically. “Can you send some fries out to Marcy please? She needs something other than liquor in her stomach right now.”
He chuckled and rang it into the register. “Sure thing. Anything else to drink?”
“Maybe water for her, but I’m okay.”
“You got it.” He gave a wink before moving on to the next person that called for his attention.
“Not drinking tonight?” A man asked right behind you, and you flinched at the proximity before whipping around.
You had to back all the way up to the bar to avoid touching the blond that loomed over you, breathing tequila into your air. “Uh, no.” Your brain ran through all of your options if this went any further, the easiest by far, would be to knee him in the groin and get Aaron to kick him out afterward.
“Aw come on, Dollface, you sure I can’t buy you just one?” He brought a hand up like he was going to touch your face. “Sometimes that’s all it takes to-” His hand was ripped away by something moving so fast you barely saw it.
“She said no.”
You turned your head and found none other than Jason Todd standing beside you, hand still clutching the man’s wrist and staring him down with venom in his eyes.
“Hey, man, if she’s your girlfriend or something,” His voice was laced with fear as he stared up at his captor. “I didn’t mean to-”
“Beat it.”
You watched as the man nodded only slightly before he was released, and he immediately fled across the room to a group noisily occupying a table in the corner.
“Are you okay?”
You looked up to find the softest green eyes you’d ever seen looking down at you full of concern. Your mind went blank for a moment as you stared before you were able to find words again. “Um, yeah, I’m okay I think.” You cocked your head a little and turned to face him. “Thanks for doing that, I really didn’t want to cause an issue for Aaron.” You gestured to the man behind the counter, still bouncing from person to person as he worked.
“I’m glad I could take care of it for you then.” He rested one elbow against the countertop and leaned into it, lessening your height difference by a couple of inches in the process. “I’m Jason.”
“I’m Y/n,” you responded. “And you’re my hero, so can I buy you a drink as a thank you?” You didn’t miss the way he barely flinched at the word “hero,” and a spark of familiarity went off in the back of your mind.
“I’m actually driving tonight, so no thank you. But I’d love to keep your attention for a while if you have the time.”
You nodded and smiled, “Sure.”
Jason’s heart leapt into his throat as it always seemed to around you when you looked into his eyes and smiled at him. Everything in him was desperate to touch you, but he knew that like this, you didn’t know him. The last thing he’d want is to scare you, especially after that creep had just tried to put his hands on you. “So, what brings you out tonight?”
“I came out with a friend,” You turned slightly to spot Marcy at your table, and she waved a French fry in greeting. You waved back and she gave a thumbs up, which you knew was visible to the man standing next to you. You heard him chuckle and turned back to face him. “Sorry about her, she’s…” You trailed off trying to think of the right word, “excited.”
“Over me?” He looked almost surprised at the notion, pressing a hand to his chest in feigned shock.
“She wanted me to find out what a Wayne was doing in a dive bar on this side of town.” You said defeated, hoping he wouldn’t be too offended by the task set out for you.
He smirked and the look brought a slight heat to your cheeks. “Oh, so you do know who I am. And here I thought I was pretty incognito, walking around in a hoodie.”
“Only because she told me.” Your hands went up in defense of yourself, but there was a sense of comfort in the conversation that you couldn’t place. It was almost like you knew him. “I had no idea what you even looked like until she said something. I don’t pay attention to the tabloids about your family, or in general.” You added the last bit with a mild look of disgust on your face. You never understood the point of stalking local celebrities just to put their breakfast sandwich of the day all over the front page.
“More of a classics reader, then?” He suggested, hoping he wasn’t pushing too far into familiar territory.
Your eyes snapped back to his, and you couldn’t help the suspicion that crept into your tone when you responded, “Yeah, actually. How did you-” Your question was cut off by someone bumping into you from behind, startling you out of your confusion. You felt another shove come as a big group of people tried to get to the front of a quickly forming line to close tabs, but you were immediately shielded from anything else as Jason switched your places. His back was now turned to the people crowding by the bar, and he’d wrapped his left arm around you to keep you close and protected. You had to look up significantly farther now to look in his eyes as his chest was almost pressed against yours. You’d been here before. A quick inhale rushed through your nose at the realization, and then you noticed the smell. A familiar mahogany cologne, though much stronger now, and leather, with just the slightest hint of gun-smoke.
Your heart was hammering in your chest and there was a lump forming in your throat as you looked at Jason and found him searching your eyes. Almost as though to encourage you, you felt small, absent-minded patterns being traced into your back and you released a breathy exhale. One of your hands found its way to his chest and rested over his heart, just as you’d done for Red Hood before, and you watched the man in front of you now relax into your touch. It was there, on the tip of your tongue, just waiting for you to ask.
“Y/n.”
The trance was shattered as your head snapped to look at Aaron, getting your attention from across the bar.
He looked genuinely apologetic, “Listen, I’m sorry to break up a moment, but Marcy is falling asleep at the table. She needs to go home.”
You nodded. “I got her.” And the man returned to his line. You turned back to Jason, who’d backed up some, and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I,” Your breath heaved like you were going to sob as emotions you had no idea how to sort through began flooding your mind. “I have to go, I think.”
He nodded and released you the rest of the way, taking a full step back. “I get it. Go take care of your friend.” He gave you a reassuring side smile to let you know things were okay, and you were gone.
As you walked away from Jason Todd, your thoughts were sprinting and you weren’t sure you could pin down a single one of them, except that maybe you had just met Red without his mask. It was too many coincidences, right? But neither of you had said anything about it. It was him; it had to be. But if it wasn’t, then you were the biggest idiot of all time, desperate to assign a face to a name.
As Jason watched you walk away, he cursed to himself for not saying anything to you outright. You had to know, right? He was certain he’d seen it in your eyes: the realization. But more than anything he hoped that he hadn’t just ruined it all. Either way, he’d find out tomorrow.
You’d closed Marcy’s tab and collected her as quickly as possible and were now helping her stumble to the passenger seat of her car.
“You’re so nice, helping me stand, I love you.” She booped your nose with the tip of her finger just before she dropped into the seat. “Watching my feet,” she said lazily, anticipating your next words accurately. She dragged her feet away from the door as you closed it and moved to the other side of the car.
When you opened the door and turned, about to sit down behind the wheel, you noticed the bike in the front corner of the lot, up on the sidewalk. It was the same one you’d been on the back of weeks ago, you were sure of it. So that had to be him. When you were finally in the car, doors closed and key in the ignition, you took a deep breath to settle your emotions before putting the car in gear.
“Hey,” Marcy tried for your attention once the vehicle was moving. “You guys looked pretty cozy in there.” Her words were sing-songy as she turned as much as she was able under her seatbelt to face you. “Was that Secret Boyfriend?”
You were pretty fucking sure he was. “No, Marcy, of course not.”
Her bottom lip jutted out. “Bummer. You could use a sugar daddy.”
“Marcy!”
“No! Not “Marcy!”” she shouted back. “I’m drunk I get to say whatever I want and you gotta be nice to me.”
You could only shake your head at her and let the car fall back into silence so you could think. It made sense why he was so protective of his identity. Being a billionaire’s adopted son would certainly already make him a target for anyone hoping to make ransom money, but being a vigilante on top of it? Of course he couldn’t outright tell you anything. He probably swore some oath with the others that none of them could ever reveal themselves. Blatantly telling you who he was would be a huge safety risk. And he’d all but done it tonight because you asked him to. You’d crossed a line earlier. You’d told him you wanted him to take off the mask, the thing that protects his identity, and therefore his safety. And then he’d shown up to you without it.
Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. He was putting himself in danger because of you.
-
Jason wasn’t on patrol tonight, and he knew Dick knew that, so there was no reason to lie when Dick pointedly asked, “What are you getting dressed for?”
“I’m going to get my stitches out,” Jason replied with a shrug, doing his best to conceal the nervous excitement in his chest.
“And the fact that everyone in this house, including you is capable of doing that?” Dick questioned further with his head cocked to the side.
“Irrelevant.”
The older of the two smiled. “What are you going to tell her?”
“Everything,” Jason answered without hesitation. “Or as much as she’ll let me.”
Dick nodded as he listened. “Are you nervous?”
“Extremely.” He huffed a shaky breath at the admission, knowing it was okay to talk to Dick about this, but still having trouble putting the feelings into words. “She seemed to like me okay at the bar, and I think she already knows, but there’s that voice in the back of my head telling me it’s all going to go to shit, and I just don’t see it yet.” He sat down to lace up his boots, and Dick sat beside him.
“I’m sure it’s gonna be fine, Jaybird, you just have to give it a chance.” He leaned over and wrapped an arm around the larger man in a side hug for a moment before leaving Jason alone with his thoughts.
When Jason activated his bracelet, you responded almost immediately, and it made him smile to think that you might even be excited to see him. It took only a couple of minutes to get to your apartment on his bike, and when he landed on the fire escape, he saw the window was left open a couple of inches. He squinted slightly at your disregard for safety and called out your name as he pulled the window open slowly but did not enter.
“It’s open!” He heard you call back from somewhere else in the apartment.
Jason still proceeded slowly so he wouldn’t scare you as he ducked through the window and closed it behind him. He drew the curtains shut for good measure. He didn’t need any prying eyes for this. He took notice of the vase on your counter containing the dahlias he’d sent you, and he smiled to himself at the thought that you’d taken the time to put them in water, so they’d last. He’d bring you flowers like that every week if you wanted them. It was then that you came around the corner, medical box in hand.
“Hey,” you greeted him with a smile spread on your face and Jason felt his heartbeat down to his fingertips.
“Hi,” he responded, almost breathless from nerves. “Where do you want me?”
“Couch is fine.”
He nodded and removed his jacket and gloves, placing them on the coffee table in a neat pile before he sat down in the same place he had last time he was here. There was no more pain in his arm as he moved his wrist and fingers, only a tight discomfort to having the stitches still embedded in a wound that no longer needed them.
“Are you on patrol tonight?” You asked, setting the med kit down on the coffee table before taking a seat next to him on the couch.
You took Jason’s hand when he offered it, and he immediately captured your fingers in his. “No, I’ve got time.” The two of you sat for a moment in silence, Jason tracing patterns into the base of your thumb with his own before you spoke up.
“Red?”
“Hm?” He hummed in response, but stayed lost in thought, focused on the contact.
“I can’t pull your stitches one handed.”
Jason’s head snapped back up and his eyes met yours through the mask. Your smile was sincere and almost apologetic, head tilted to the side slightly as you watched him. “Right,” he breathed the word. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, I just know these have to be bothering you.” You pulled his sleeve back and found an almost completely healed cut, that would hardly leave a scar. Your chest filled with pride as you turned to get the supplies you’d need. “It looks really good.”
“Yeah, that compound is impressive,” he noted as he watched you pull on a pair of gloves. “I got caught with the stitches, and everyone’s kind of in shock about how well it’s healing.”
“Oh so “everyone” knows about me now?” You asked as you got to work on his arm. “Should I expect the rest of the vigilantes to start showing up now? I’ll need more supplies…”
“I’m not letting them anywhere near you.”
“Is that you being protective or possessive, Red?”
Jason could have sworn his heart stopped at the way you looked up at him through your eyelashes when you asked that question. He cleared his throat, happy that his mask covered the fact that his face was a matching shade of red, “Protective, obviously. It would be a huge risk to draw more attention to you. You could get hurt, and-”
“Hey, it’s okay.” A small laugh bubbled from you at his rambling. “I’m not mad, I was just trying to poke, that’s all.”
He nodded and shut up, afraid to put his foot further into his mouth. Instead, he opted to watch you work as you carefully pulled each thread from his arm, your face in a relaxed concentration, like you’d done this a thousand times. “You’re so good at that.”
You froze for a moment and swallowed hard as you felt heat press up the back of your neck at the praise. There wasn’t another part of his sentence to latch onto and ignore the compliment, so all you could do was accept it. “Thank you. It’s taken a lot of practice.”
The pair of you fell into a comfortable silence as you finished by putting a bit more of the compound over the pinpricks in his skin, and this time he didn’t fight you on it.
“You’re healing faster than I expected you to, so you might not even need to keep it wrapped for more than a day or two, and you should have your full range of motion back.” You spoke while you wrapped his arm in a bandage, doing everything you could not to be distracted by the veins cording over the muscle there.
When you let go of him and stood to clean up, Jason tested to see if you were right. He pushed up his other sleeve and moved his arms the same, watching to make sure they looked the same as he slowly rotated his wrists and bent at the elbows. He found that he did have full range of motion, and the pain was gone; all he felt was a bit of soreness. “Thank you,” He stated once you’d sat back down.
“Of course,” you responded without hesitation, “Whenever you need someone to patch you up, you know I’m-”
“No, I mean-” He huffed a sigh, trying to find the right words, and was thankful you had the patience to wait for him to figure it out. “I’ve never- I’m not- fuck,” He growled in frustration. “Just give me a second.” He forced a breath out and felt your hand press against his chest. He covered it with his own, head hung, and eyes closed beneath the mask as he held onto you like an anchor. Feelings were hard. “I care about you. More than I care about most people, and I know that that’s insane, but it’s just- You give a shit. And then you don’t expect anything in return. And you take care of me. And it’s not just when I’m hurt; I can relax around you. I let my guard down and it scares the shit out of me, but I don’t hate it.”
“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say, so you chose not to. Instead, you pulled your hand from beneath his on his chest and wrapped your arms around him. Your left arm draped around his bicep and your right guided his head over your shoulder, your fingers resting at the nape of his neck as though to play with his hair if you had access to it. When you felt him settle into your hold and return it, you released a sigh of relief. “I don’t think I could ever not care about you.” With tears in your eyes, you breathed the sentiment into the side of his head and hoped he felt it.
The idea crossed into Jason’s mind and took root on its own. He wanted to kiss you now, and he knew a way. “Do you trust me?” It was barely more than a whisper from where his head was buried in your neck.
“Always,” came with a little squeeze around his shoulders.
Jason untangled himself from you, only enough to see your face. “Close your eyes.” He watched as you looked back and forth between the lenses of his mask for just a moment before you complied and swallowed a lump in your throat. He found your wrists before you were able to pull them back, and he slowly brought your hands to the sides of his helmet. He covered each of your fingers with his own as he guided you to where the release buttons were, just behind each of his ears. He pressed your index fingers into them and when the soft click sounded, he used your hands to pull the helmet free. There was no domino mask beneath it tonight. He could see how much faster your breathing had gotten when he took the helmet from you and set it aside.
Jason watched you carefully for any sign of discomfort as he reached for your face. He first ran a thumb over your cheekbone and felt you press into the touch. He then dragged it gently over your bottom lip, and when he heard the soft gasp it drew from you, his restraint vanished. He closed the distance.
When Red Hood’s lips met yours, it felt like it was the first time you’d ever really been kissed. Your arms immediately wrapped back around him, fingers finding their way to his hair this time as you pulled him as close as you could get him. It was as though he’d had the same thought, because suddenly you were lifted by his arms, now around your waist, and placed in his lap. You refused to let the movement distract you and instead used it to get into a more comfortable position straddling his thighs. It only seemed to spur him further, and when you felt his tongue brush against your lip, you allowed him full access. You moaned slightly at the taste of him in your mouth, and you felt one of his hands crush into your hip to push you back slightly.
He continued to kiss you, but he let the pace slow so it wouldn’t escalate any further. He needed to keep control of himself if he was going to have any kind of meaningful conversation with you after this. As the kiss turned more languid and comfortable, Jason dragged his thumb back and forth over your jaw while the rest of his hand rested against the side of your neck. Finally, he thought. He’d been wanting this for months. A small smile crossed his features, and he knew you could feel it by the appreciative hum you released in response. He felt a smile on your face for a moment as well.
“Y/n,” he started between kisses.
“Hm?” Was all the response you gave as you continued to melt into him, convinced you didn’t need air anymore as long as you could keep kissing him.
He pressed one more long but chaste kiss to your lips before pressing his forehead to yours. A new wave of nerves crashed over him as he considered his next words. “You can open your eyes now.”
You wanted to. “Wait,” The only reason he was doing this was because you asked him to. It was a huge risk to his safety, and he was going to show you anyway because of you. “You don’t have to do that for me, it’s not worth the- Red?”
Jason didn’t even hear the end of your sentence as his ears began ringing. He was right before. You didn’t want to know; it was better for you if he stayed under the mask. He pulled you off him and got up, and in an instant his helmet was secured again.
“Wait, Red-” You shot up from where he’d placed you on the couch and opened your eyes to find he was pulling his gloves on as he walked toward the fire escape. Tears sprung into your eyes. This wasn’t what you wanted. “Hold on, I wasn’t- stop!” You reached for his arm and your fingers latched onto the leather of the jacket he had yet to throw back on. He froze under your grasp. “Please, I just don’t want to make things more complicated for you. I don’t want to uproot your whole life like this, it would change everything for you.”
“Oh, we’re way past that, Sweetheart.” There was a venom in his voice, and he watched you flinch at the sour use of the name. Don’t. Something in him still didn’t want to hurt you.
“What?” You questioned and Jason’s heart only broke more as he watched tears stream from your eyes as you clutched the jacket draped over his arm.
He ripped it from your grasp as he spoke. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll see you around.” He turned and ignored your pleas for him not to go as he ripped the window open and disappeared.
What the hell just happened? was your only thought after he was gone. You broke down.
Jason’s ride home was brutal as he stewed in the rejection. He should have known better than to think you’d ever want him. The Red Hood, sure, but the forgotten, useless, Wayne son? Not a fucking chance. When he got home, Jason didn’t even bother putting his suit away. He stormed through the cave, ignoring Alfred as the man attempted to ask what was wrong, and when he got back to the manner, helmet under his arm, he headed straight for his room. Dick caught him in the hallway just outside his bedroom door.
“Woah, hey! How’d it go?” He put his hands out in front of himself toward Jason in attempt to slow him, but the younger man blew past him.
“Fuck you and your stupid fucking advice about giving shit a chance!” Jason turned to scream it in his brother’s face, tears visible in his eyes, before slamming the door shut behind him.
Dick could hear the crash and clattering of what was likely Jason’s helmet colliding with whatever used to be on the top of Jason’s dresser or nightstand. “So not great then,” he said to no one but himself.
Warnings: Talk of emotion and mental domestic abuse. Brief mention of sexual assault.
Follow on from Lavender. I got a few comments about Harry's heart being broken. I'm going to try and fix that.
Peony
All the lavender in the world couldn't calm your nerves at this point. The reflection before you was supposed to make you happy. A beautifully crafted white dress was being painstaking fitted to your body. The finest materials have been used, they should feel incredible against your skin. Instead they feel constricting.
Everything does nowadays with the wedding a week away, every passing minute feels like a step closer to the shackle clamping down on your ankle. How had you gone from feeling in love to feeling like a prisoner? That was actually easy to answer, it was accepting your fate that was hard. The man you were marrying had conned you, plain and simple. The version of him you fell for and agreed to marry was a facade. It started to fall away the second he got that ring on your finger. The controlling, emotionally abusive version of him came out from its highly polished shell. It made sure you were alienated from everyone and everything you knew. It had been planning it from day one. Offering to support you financially so you didn't need to work. Cutting off your own cash flow so you couldn't do whatever you wanted. All this was hidden under the guise of looking after you. Stupidly, you had been blinded by his charm and mistook it for sincerity. For love. The thought of him corrupting the thing you wanted most in the world made you sick to your stomach.
The salad you ordered sits on your plate having been thoroughly rearranged by you for the last ten minutes. Next to you, Amelia, your ‘PA’ was just finishing hers. As prison guards go, Amelia was sweet. There was no way she realised what her actual role was. Playing along kept you both safe from your fiancée’s wrath. He often threatened to ruin her life if you ever gave her the slip. Despite the hell you were trapped in, there was no way you could do that to her.
“Lavender.” The word was almost sung behind you as if was let out with a smile on his lips.
The fork in your hand squeaks against the plate as your whole body tenses. No. Not him. He can't see you like this. Harry knew you too well for you to lie to him in your current state. The anxiety in you tires you to the point where you can just about hold it together some days. Today is one of those days.
Summoning every last bit of energy, you muster the brightest smile you can.
“Harry!” You rise to meet him, your arms instinctively go around his neck as he offers you a hug.
The two of you keep it brief and step back. A polite introduction of Amelia follows. Then you take a second to look at Harry for the first time in almost a year. There are a few grays sneaking in around his temple. Other than that, he looks the same. He still radiates effortless beauty. His eyes still sparkle with his infectious energy. Every fibre of you yearns to step back into his arms.
“You look well.” Harry isn't one for lying so you know he's making small talk. It hurts to now be on that level with him when the two of you practically dated. “I hear your wedding is coming up?”
No. No, you aren't doing this. You can't.
“Sorry, Harry. I'm not feeling too good today. It was lovely to see you but I just need to use the restroom.” You manage to sound as normal as possible before heading off to the bathroom.
The water on your face helps to keep the tears at bay but just barely. They still well in your eyes as your heart breaks just that little bit further at what could have been.
A knock at the door sounds through the space.
“I'm fine, Amelia. I'll be out in a second.” Amelia was always hot on your heels.
The knock sounded again, heavier this time.
“I’ll be…” your voice is lost as you open the door to find Harry standing there.
One arm is already around you as the other shuts and locks the door. Then they both draw you to him. The moments go by with the two of you standing there. Amelia will be looking for you but you can't seem to care. For the first time in a long time you feel completely safe.
Eventually, Harry breaks the silence. “Just say the word and I will get far away from him.”
So many questions whirl around your head, it makes you dizzy but Harry is there, his hold on you still firm. He is your life raft in the ocean of despair that you have been set adrift in and you cling to him desperately.
“I can't…Amelia.” it is barely a sentence but Harry knows.
“Amelia has just received a very generous job offer, back home in LA. I called her a car.” You can't process enough to do anything but gape at his words. “She was worried about you too. Come on.”
Harry takes your hand and confidently leads you out of the restaurant. His stride only breaks for him to collect your coat and purse waiting outside the door. Once you are out on the street, he bundles you into his car and quickly shuts the door. With everything on your mind, you don't realise why until you see your driver crossing the street. Harry is in the driver's seat and the two of you speed off before the large man makes it halfway.
The sun is desperately trying to stream through the heavy black out curtains in Harry's bedroom when you finally wake up. The night before was a blur of tears, of relief, joy, sadness, bitterness, fear. Everything finally spilled out onto Harry's silk sheets. He had stayed, spooning you as you let everything out. At some point when the tears slowed, he helped you out of your clothes and into a hot shower. When you stood there frozen, he stepped in fully clothed to wipe the makeup from your face. He dried you and slipped you into an oversized shirt.
It's only now that you realise it is your shirt. One you brought when he had requested your company for the weekend. It was supposed to be something comfy for you to throw on while he had to take a meeting. Once he caught a glimpse of it on you, when he returned early, he insisted that you were more beautiful like that, completely at ease and natural, than in any of the expensive lingerie you wore.
The urge to pee drags you to the bathroom. On the marble counter, Harry had set toiletries, fresh towels, and fresh clothes. The level of thoughtfulness touches you deeply. Harry himself didn't make an appearance. He must have heard you up and about, even through the well built walls. Once you feel ready to face him, you walk out into the hallway. The smell of food leads you by your stomach to the kitchen.
“Hi.” Harry's voice is as soft as his expression when he sees you. “I figured you'd be hungry.” He gestures to the French toast that he is plating up.
“I am. Thank you.” Silently, you slip into stool at the breakfast bar.
Harry places the warm plate in front of you. He smells invitingly familiar, passing close by to dust powdered sugar, pour syrup and plate up fruits.
When he's finished you thank him again. Picking up your knife and fork, you begin to cut off a corner of the toast. Dipping it into the golden syrup you raise it to your mouth. It only gets about halfway when you realise your hand is shaking.
Harry's large hands encase yours and bring the cutlery back down to the plate. His broad chest is at your back. “You're safe. It's alright. Just breathe with me.”
Eventually the shaking and the lump in your throat passes.
“Here.” Harry sits on your right. He has the fork full of food you had in his hand and it's poised at your lips.
Part of you feels silly but when you look into Harry's eyes and see no judgement or condescension, you open up for him and the bite.
“Is it any good? I usually have my personal chefs cook for me.” He cuts you another bite.
A small laugh escapes you at his comment. So many times you had teased him about being a rich guy. Which he was, through and through, Harry might be a gifted businessman but he came from old money too.
“Well, it got a smile so I'll call it a success.” He returns your smile yet it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “I know you might not want to talk about it but I need to know one thing.” His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip and he sets his jaw before asking. “Did he ever hurt you, I mean, physically? Did he…force…” Harry can't even bring himself to say it.
“No. No. Everything was emotional, mental…”
“Okay. I just, I didn't think until this morning, after you showered, there could have been evidence…”
“No. There's no evidence of what he did. To the outside world I went along willingly.”
“Not to everyone. The second I saw you, the engagement ring loose on your finger, the bags under your eyes. I knew the rumours I heard this week were right. That's why I came to find you.”
“You came to…you were looking for me?”
“Of course.” The urge to kiss him rose within you. For a second, you thought he might the way his eyes travelled to your lips. “Come on. Finish up. I have some business to take care of this afternoon. While I'm out I'll get you anything you need.”
“Harry. I can't…it's not your place to take care of me.” Years of independence and a childhood of being seen and not heard, wouldn't let you accept his kindness so easily.
“Look, I'm not telling you what to do, I think you've had enough of that. I have all this space, resources, I could provide you with the means to start over and not miss a cent of it, I'm Mr Rich Guy, remember?” You snort and he continues. “Please, just let me help you.”
A weight is lifted off your shoulders when you accept. There is a renewed hunger in you, for the delicious food on your plate and the life you can now choose to take back.
Harry's meeting didn't take all that long. You caught up on a couple of shows that had started watching during your time practically being on house arrest. Harry returned with clothes, shoes, and takeout from your favourite place near his apartment. He used to order in after fucking you for hours. He'd fuel you to do it all over again. You miss the simplicity of your former ‘relationship’. Harry would use you to satisfy his every need in the bedroom but he never made you feel used. The two of you would hang out, talk for hours, eat, laugh, share something that neither of you acknowledged.
“How was your day?” It felt oddly domestic to sit on his sofa in the early evening and ask.
“It went well. I threatened to run your ex's business into the ground if he even so much as said your name ever again. For good measure, I bought a massive stake in his company. I don't think you'll hear from him again.” Harry casually took a bite of a spring roll as if he hadn't just wielded some god-like power over your life.
“I….” There was far too much for you to say, to ask, to think about. “...do you want to watch a movie? There's a new action one on Netflix?”
Harry leans back next to you, relaxing into the cushions as your back with his container of noodles. “Sounds good.”
The next few weeks pass with you and Harry, and the herd of elephants in the room, adjusting to this new arrangement. Harry works, networks, attends to his charity work. You worked on getting back to yourself, eating right again, looking for work, taking an online therapy course.
Harry provides everything that you need. Fresh groceries are delivered regularly. There's laundry and maid service. You have everything you need, until a familiar ache starts in your lower stomach.
Harry is reading in the living room when you approach him like a nervous teen about to ask for an advance on their allowance to buy something they shouldn't. He looks over the top of his reading glasses as you get closer.
“Hey. Everything okay?” His big brown eyes are full of concern and you feel stupid for making him worry.
“It's nothing. Really. I just lost track of the days and time of the month supplies.” You awkwardly shift your weight from one foot to the other at your odd choice of words.
“Oh. Oh! I'm sorry of course. Forgive me, I didn't even think. How urgent is it? Sorry. I mean do you need them now?” Harry places his book down and stands to move towards you. “I think I might have something.” He leaves the living room and returns with an open pack of sanitary towels.
“Thank you.” The footsteps of one of the elephants in the room grew unbearably loud as you took them from his hand. “Can I ask what happened between you two?”
“There's not much to tell. She left me. Got back together with her ex.” Sadness flashed across his face for a second other than that he seemed unaffected.
“I'm sorry. That must have hurt.”
“It did for a little while. Until I realised that she hadn't broken my heart.”
“She hadn't?”
“No. Someone broke it before that and I was just hoping that she could put it back together.”
For an expansive open plan Harry's apartment suddenly felt suffocatingly small.
“If you need anything else, I can go to the store now. If not, I'll go in the morning.” Harry offers you a smile and a way out of the conversation.
You are grateful for both.
Even in the comfort of Harry's guestroom, sleep is hard to come by that night. Unanswered questions keep you up until the early hours until you are claimed by exhaustion.
Months pass, you find a job, it's mind numbing but it pays well and could set you back on the path to your career. A good word from Harry had helped you secure it. By now, you lost count on how much you owe him, not just financially, he had saved you. Now that you were working and a life of your own, things between you and Harry were lighter. You didn't feel so much of a burden. It was just like having a really great roommate. Except this room mate had made you come in every room you now shared and somewhere along the line you had fallen deeply in love with him, knowing full well that could never have him.
Chapter Summary: Joel is on a mission to win you back. You struggle with your feelings and visit an old friend for some perspective.
Chapter Warnings: language, angst, pining, sad!Joel, amnesia, slow burn, physical violence, wounds/blood/injuries/gore, vague reference to suicide (Joel remembering his incident after Sarah), alcohol consumption, non-descriptive smutty memory, mentions of murder (adults and children), mentions of pregnancy (not reader)
WC: 7.7K
A/N: I took some liberties with the background of the Fireflies, it's not exactly canon.
Series Masterlist
Somewhere in Northern California
It took two days.
Two full days of freezing temperatures and frigid wind as he traversed up and down mountains, through snow covered forests with little to no shelter, but he finally made it. Right before nightfall, he approached the edge of the town you grew up in. The town your parents still lived in ten years ago. The town that holds a history of you and everything you hold dear.
It was too dark and he was too tired to enter the town and go any further, but fortune smiled upon him for the first time since he left Jackson when he spotted a dilapidated woodshed tucked into the forest. It was small, no bigger than a bedroom, but it would do. It would be the first time in two days he would get to sleep with a roof over his head, and he desperately needed it.
He grossly overestimated his ability to survive out in the wild. He did it before, of course, but life in Jackson made him soft. Made him complacent. Made him weak.
Time took its toll on his body. His age was an offensive reminder every time his knees creaked or his back twinged. He wasn't as fast as he used to be, nor as strong. But he was determined and stubborn, two things that would never change.
With hands trembling from the cold, he jabbed his knife into the lock and broke it with ease, a small triumph in an otherwise unforgiving journey. The shed was mostly empty, save for a pile of wood and an axe. Plenty of room for both him and the horse.
After he scattered some oats on the floor, he grabbed his rifle and marched back out into the snowy tundra to do a perimeter check, knowing he would fall asleep the moment he allowed himself to slow down. By the time he deemed the area safe, he retreated back into the woodshed and lit a fire in the tiny furnace to warm up a bit.
Once he got feeling back in his fingers, he cracked open some stew and ate it cold straight from the can, too impatient to warm it up and too eager to get some rest. The wind howled outside, practically screaming at him with every gust: How could you say that to me?
The horse nickered softly, her head lowered, one back leg cocked as she began to doze off. He laid on the wooden floor, partially resting inside his sleeping bag, ready to strike if there was an intruder. The back of his wrist laid against his forehead while he stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering for the umpteenth time if what he was doing was even going to work. If he would even be capable of finding your house in this town, let alone finding any pictures still in good enough condition to bring back to you.
But it was all he had.
You had mentioned to him when he was sick, after you saw the photo of Sarah, how you wished you had pictures of your family. You looked so somber and distant and he was once again reminded that even though you lost them ten years ago, in your mind you only lost them months ago.
He couldn't imagine losing Sarah twice. Waking up one day, thinking she was alive and healthy and late for school just to be told she was killed mercilessly ten years prior and died in his arms. You were so much stronger than him. You always were. You were told your whole world changed, your family gone, and then tossed into a house with him, pressured by everyone every damn day to regain your memories and become a completely different person when he knew deep down if the same had happened to him, his answer would lie at the end of a barrel. But unlike before, he might not flinch.
You really fucking hurt me, Joel.
He rubbed his face aggressively, the pain and anguish in your voice haunting him. This trip left him with too much time to get lost in his thoughts, too much time to wallow in his grief and replay every single painful memory from the past several days.
Sighing, he dropped his hands to his chest and tried to think about something else. Letting his eyes drift shut, he let his mind wander back to before. Before your accident, before he fucked everything up, back to a time when you were happy and stupidly in love.
"What's cookin', good lookin'?" he heard your voice behind him.
He grinned as he stirred a pot of sauce on the stove while you wrapped your arms around his midsection, burying your face against his back.
"My accent rubbin' off on you now?"
You giggled and let go, walking over to grab the bottle of whiskey and pouring you each a glass.
"Maybe."
You handed him his glass and clinked them together before taking a sip.
"How was patrol?" he asked, turning his attention back to the pasta.
"Boring," you replied, hopping up onto the counter next to him, swinging your legs back and forth. "Jesse has a lot of work to do. He's not seasoned enough to be out there without one of us."
He nodded thoughtfully and lifted the spoon up to your lips to taste the sauce. "Needs lemon," you said, licking your upper lip while he snatched a lemon from a basket in the corner of the kitchen and sliced it in half.
"Yeah, I know, but he's got potential. Just gotta get him to focus a bit more. Gotta be more aware of his surroundings."
You hummed and rubbed the back of your neck with a wince.
"You hurtin'?" he asked, but you shook your head immediately.
"Just tired."
"You sure?" he said while he strained the pasta. "I can rub your neck later."
"Oh, well in that case, yes. I'm absolutely aching over here," you said with a smile.
"Don't tempt me, baby," he told you, setting down the pot before wedging himself between your knees, his hands rubbing over your thighs. "Might not stop at your neck."
"Is that right?" you teased, pulling your lower lip between your teeth playfully.
"Mhmm. First it's your neck, then shoulders," he said, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips, "then your back," he dragged his hands up your back and pressed you forward, nearly pulling you off the counter.
"Then what?" you asked breathlessly, arms loosely draping around the back of his neck.
"Before y'know it, you'll be pullin' at my belt, tellin' me you got an ache someplace else 'n you need me to stuff you full of my cock." His hands dragged up and down your back, his mouth nipping gently at your throat as you tipped your head back with a gasp.
"You know me so well," you murmured, a lazy smirk spreading across your face when you felt the urgency behind his touch.
"Yeah I do, baby," his words getting lost against your skin, "know you like the back of my hand. Know what makes you tick. What makes you feel good. Know what makes you scream my fuckin' name." His lips slotted over yours urgently, the pasta cold and long forgotten as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him close.
"Take me to bed, Joel," you begged after you pulled your head away, breaking the kiss and then quickly latching onto his neck. "Need you. I want - shit!" you cursed when one of you accidentally pushed a plate off the counter and it smashed into pieces against the floor.
"Leave it, don't care," he said, picking you up and pulling your attention off the shards of ceramic littering the floor. "I'll clean it up later."
His eyes popped open, the echo of your giggle from that night bouncing around his skull. It was almost laughable now, thinking he felt lonely before compared to how he felt in the middle of fucking nowhere with only a sleeping horse to keep him company.
He wasn't stupid. He knew he would need to do more than bring home some pictures to convince you to forgive him. But it was a start, and maybe, just maybe with time, you would come to understand what you meant to him.
And if he was really lucky, he might end up meaning something to you, too.
It was stupid and it didn't mean anything.
That's what you kept telling yourself ever since Joel left and you found yourself curling up in his bed at night instead of yours.
His bed was more comfortable. His room didn't store the bad memories of your fight. It was simply easier to sleep there.
It certainly didn't have anything to do with the way the sheets still smelled like him. Like the soap you both used combined with the outdoors and a hint of his sweat. And on the third night when you picked out a flannel of his from the closet and wrapped it around yourself, it was only because it was a particularly frigid night.
You didn't miss him.
Well, you missed having another person in the house, sure. But you didn't miss him on some deeper level. Maria and Ellie were wrong. They had no idea what they were talking about. They had no idea what was going through your head, what you were feeling, what you were struggling with.
There was no possible way you could have feelings for Joel. Not after everything he did and said. Not after the lies and the cheating and the deception.
But then why, when you were struggling to fall asleep at night, did your mind always wander back to the way he looked at you in the meadow, or the way his arms felt wrapped around you on the back of the horse, or the way he made you laugh when you played Monopoly?
And why did it feel like a part of you left with him that night?
"Pathetic," you muttered to yourself, pulling the sheets tighter and rolling over onto your side, his soft, worn flannel like butter against your bare skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the memories from your mind and instead, replaying what he told you about the hospital.
He almost killed you. He was seconds away from putting a bullet in your head and only after presumably begging for your life did he let you go, and then he had the nerve to keep that information from you not only once, but fucking twice.
He was protecting Ellie.
But he still shouldn't have lied.
With a groan, you rolled onto your back and stared up at the ceiling, sleep so far out of reach you didn't even feel like trying anymore. Then a thought occurred to you:
You weren't the only one he let live. There were two other people in Jackson who were there, who were shown mercy and didn't appear to hold any resentment towards him for it. In fact, they seemed rather happy with the second chance they were given.
You hadn't seen Ben or Lisa in a long time. The opportunity never presented itself for you to seek any perspective from them about that day.
Perhaps it was time to change that.
It took him a few hours to scope out the town and venture out of the woods, but by late morning he was heading down what looked to be one of the main thoroughfares in town, eyes squinting against the blowing snow as he tried to pinpoint the location of town hall.
All he remembered was your street name but he had absolutely no idea how to find it, so his plan was to break into the town hall and find a map. From there, he prayed Ellie's drawing was truly accurate enough to narrow down your parents' house.
He was freezing. His face was numb and his back was fucking killing him from riding so much, but he was so close. If he was lucky, he could find your house, get what he needed and head out all before nightfall. Maybe he could even spend another night in the woodshed. It wasn't so bad. At least he was warm.
As he continued to steer his horse down another road, he couldn't help but think Tommy was right about the storm. It was providing him some cover, just in case there were survivors around that wouldn't take kindly to his intrusion. He just hoped it would blow through in a day so his ride back would be clear.
After another thirty minutes of wind whipping at his face, the cold penetrating his coat and several layers underneath, he finally saw it. It was a smaller building than he imaged it to be, but the sign was clear. Hoping that the town size was as small as the town hall, he steered his mare down the drive and through the parking lot, making sure to take in his surroundings, confirming he was truly alone before he slid down from the saddle and trudged through the snow to the front doors.
He wiped away the snow from the window, peering inside before heading to another one and doing the same. It appeared to be empty so he tried the door, unsurprisingly finding it locked. He pulled out his knife and worked on the lock, his fingers stiff and his ears so cold he could barely feel them anymore. Finally, he broke the lock but when he shoved the door, there was something blocking him on the other side.
"Shit," he muttered, glancing around, kicking and dusting snow off the surrounding area, looking for a brick or a rock. Giving up, he grabbed his rifle from the saddle and angrily made his way to the nearest window, smashing the butt of his gun against the glass repeatedly until it shattered. He gasped for air, not realizing how much energy he was exerting before he continued, knocking out as much of the glass as he could.
Sticking his head inside, he looked around. The place seemed empty. It was quiet, covered in dust and debris. Untouched dust was good. It meant nobody had been there in a while. Human or otherwise.
He crawled through the window, taking great care to not catch on any jagged edges. He held his breath, ears straining for any noise that might give someone away, but all he heard was the howling wind outside. This is your fault. Still, he kept his guard up. He walked room to room, finding his way to the lobby and searching the front desk for a map.
"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," he grumbled as he opened and shut each drawer in the desk, only pausing to snatch up an old protein bar and shoving it in his pocket.
With a sigh, he looked around the room. There were a couple benches, chairs that were moved and tipped over, papers scattered about but his eyes were drawn to the portraits on the wall. There were a few paintings of men he would never recognize, unknown sheriffs and mayors, and some framed pictures of the staff, but the one that really drew his attention was the large map on the wall next to the front doors.
It was a road map of the town. Simple, but it was all he needed. He rounded the desk and shined his flashlight over the map, studying it, searching for where he was before looking for your street.
"Grant Street."
"Grant?" he repeated, his fingers lightly skirting up and down your bare back.
"Mhmm," you confirmed, eyes closed, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips as you buried your face into his neck.
"That's funny," he said, his hand wandering past your waist and over your ass.
"Why's that?"
"Grant's my Mama's maiden name."
Your eyes opened and locked onto his. "Maybe it's fate, then."
Maybe it was.
Grant was only four blocks north. It didn't look like a very long road, either.
He could do this.
He was so close.
Lisa answered the door with the same look of surprise as before, although this time she was clutching needles and yarn in her left hand while the fire quietly crackled behind her.
"Hey," you said, arms wrapped around yourself as the snow storm continued to swirl behind you. "Can I come in?"
"Oh! Of course!" Lisa said, stepping back, "how rude of me. Can I get you something warm to drink?" She closed the door behind you and took a step towards the kitchen. "I just boiled some water for tea, it's still hot."
"Tea sounds lovely, thank you," you said as you hung up your coat and scarf, trying your best not to make a mess of melted snow all over her floor.
She told you to make yourself comfortable while she prepared your tea, so you wandered into her tiny living room, the space seeming a little larger now without your two imposing men.
"Where's Ben?"
"Working," she said, setting down a teacup and saucer next to hers. "I put a little sugar in it."
"Oh, thank you, that's perfect. I like it sweet," you replied, sitting down on the same couch as before and bringing the cup to your lips.
"I know, I remember," she said, and when she sat down and fixed her billowy top, you noticed for the first time the small bump protruding low on her hips.
Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and she followed your gaze.
"Oh, yes," her tone soft, "I'm due this spring."
"Wow. Congratulations, Lisa. That's wonderful, I had no idea. I thought I would have seen you from time to time at the infirmary," you explained, setting down your tea.
"Nick agrees to see me after hours, sometimes he makes house calls," she said, picking up her needles again.
You titled your head to the side. "Why do you want to be seen after hours?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes fixed on the yellow blanket she was making. "I still find it difficult sometimes to face some of the others in town, I suppose. I know I shouldn't but the guilt sticks with me."
"Guilt?"
Her eyes flicked up to yours and she shifted her weight. "I know Ben mentioned the Fireflies to you." She held out her wrist, showing you the small moth-like symbol tattooed there. "I'm not sure how much you know or remember-"
"Actually, that's why I'm here," you said, taking a deep breath. "Joel told me everything. About the Fireflies. About the hospital."
Her eyes widened, the needles abandoned in her lap.
"Oh."
"Yeah," you said, chewing on your lip and glancing at the fire. "He told me what he did there. Told me he spared us, let us go."
"Yes, he did," she agreed softly.
"Can you tell me more about that day?" you asked, dragging your eyes back to meet hers. "I'm having trouble understanding how I could have known this before and still managed to fall in love with him."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
You laughed dryly and shrugged. "I mean he almost killed us. He killed countless innocent people, friends of ours I'm assuming, and I'm expected to believe I just looked past it? We just looked past it?" You motioned between the two of you. "He's a murderer, Lisa. He-"
"We're murderers," she corrected, and you fell silent. "We killed innocent people. We helped lead a revolution that resulted in hundreds of deaths, and where did that get us? Nowhere! People weren't any better off. In fact, they were worse. Friends and family killed, caught in the crossfire, tangled up in this idea of freedom and safety and giving their lives to an empty cause."
You swallowed as you watched Lisa's face, her eyes fiery and her tone hardened, transforming into a different version of herself before your very eyes.
"What Joel did..." she trailed off as she thought back to that day. "We did bad things. So did he, but he single handedly cut the Fireflies off at the legs. He stopped the insanity, stopped the war, stopped the ridiculous experiments and half baked ideas to save the world, regardless of the lives lost along the way. You don't remember, I understand, but allow me to explain."
"Please," you begged softly, "please tell me everything."
She rested a palm against her swelling stomach and leaned back. "We realized we made a mistake pretty early on," she began, "but we didn't have anywhere else to go. We had been living in the wild for so long. We were tired and hungry and weak and we fell for it. Fell for the sales pitch when they found us. We were told we wouldn't have to fight, but they didn't tell us what they expected us to do."
"W-what did we do?" you stammered, sitting on the edge of your seat.
"We killed people. Innocent people, point blank. FEDRA soldiers. Civilians who ratted out our location for extra food for their family. Children-" her voice wobbled a bit as she looked down at her stomach. "Children who were experimented on, vaccine prototypes tested on, who became horribly disfigured a-and screaming in pain, begging to be put out of their misery-"
"Okay," you said, cutting her off and taking a deep breath, unable to hear much more. It was becoming clear why Joel kept this from you, and although you had a right to know, you were beginning to understand his motivation. He was trying to protect you.
"Anyway," Lisa continued, flicking a tear from her cheek, "we planned on getting out. We couldn't do it anymore. Then, Joel showed up."
You held your breath, waiting for her to continue.
"We were doing perimeter checks. Loosening a spot in the gate so we could sneak out later that night. Then we heard the gunshots. And at first, we thought some infected got in. It was the perfect distraction, so we grabbed our gear and made a run for it."
She paused to take a sip from her tea, her eyes looking miles away.
"We almost made it. We were in the parking garage loading up a vehicle when he snuck up behind us. Told us to lay face down on the ground with our hands behind our heads. We never saw him and it wasn't until later we found out he was all alone. The whole time we were convinced it had to have been a group of men. It seemed impossible for one man to do what he did, but somehow..."
She trailed off again and cleared her throat.
"He gave us a second chance when we didn't deserve it," she said solemnly. "You and Ben dealt with the weight of what we did far better than me. I still struggle with the guilt, I can't..." she looked up at you, "I hope you never remember."
A chill went down your spine and you nodded.
"Try not to hold it against him," she said, offering you a small smile. "We've all done terrible things. It's not all black and white."
It ain't black and white.
"Yeah, okay," you replied quietly, standing up from the couch, your mind reeling. "Thanks," you added, motioning to the tea before she walked you to the door, "and congratulations again."
"Thank you," she said, rubbing her belly, her green eyes sparkling. "I'm glad you stopped by. The truth is sometimes ugly, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve to understand the whole picture." You nodded and bent over to shove on your boots. "Joel's not a bad man. I'm sure he was just trying to protect you by leaving some things out about our past. He would have told you eventually."
When the whole goddamn world ends and all you got left is one or two people you care 'bout, you'll do whatever you gotta do to protect 'em.
"Yeah, I'm starting to realize that now," you said, shrugging on your coat with a wry smile.
The whole way home, you practically kicked yourself for not visiting Lisa sooner. Maybe it would have made a difference, maybe not. But it finally felt like a missing puzzle piece was back in place and you could begin to make sense of your confusing feelings for Joel.
Ellie was incredibly talented.
He needed to make sure to remind her of that when he got home because even through the blowing snow, in near whiteout conditions, he was still able to figure out which house was yours because Ellie's drawing was so detailed, so accurate that it almost felt like he had been there before.
He was eager and impatient. He just wanted to get inside and get what he needed and leave, but before he did, he peered inside the windows and did a walk around the whole house three times, just in case. It was a small brick ranch and if the snow wasn't so thick, he would be able to see the black shutters framing the front windows, just like in the drawing.
He shouldered open the side garage door first, a pile of fluffy snow spilling over the hard concrete as he stumbled in and shimmied open the roll top door so he could bring his mare inside.
He pat her between the eyes, murmuring his thanks for being so damn tough and sprinkled some more oats on the ground before slipping inside the house.
The door from the attached garage led right into a kitchen, which, by the looks of it, was rifled through on more than one occasion. No doubt some survivors had come through over the years and turned the place upside down for anything useful, but that didn't matter to him. What he needed wouldn't be stolen.
Glancing at the fridge, he paused when he saw some photos stuck to the door. He leaned his rifle against the wall and shook his head, curls flinging melted snow over the dusty floor, then bent over to examine the pictures. Most of them didn't have you and he began to worry he was in the wrong house after all, but then he saw it: at the very top was a picture of four people, all wearing summer clothes and Mickey Mouse ears with the Cinderella castle in the background. A middle aged man and woman bookended a young man, lean but muscular with his arm draped around your shoulders.
You were younger, maybe still in high school, and your hair was longer and lighter, but he would recognize that smile anywhere.
He carefully plucked the photo from the fridge and brought it closer, his eyes raking over every detail of the picture, from the brightness in your eyes to the cotton candy pink sky behind you.
You looked so happy.
Nothing like the way you looked when he last saw you: broken and bruised. Ruined and dejected. Because of him.
You spared my life just to break my heart.
He blinked and pocketed the photo before turning around. The living room was in worse condition. It appeared someone must have stayed there at one point because the couches were shifted around, an armchair wedged in front of the door, cushions flung around haphazardly.
He had to move furniture out of the way, dig around a bit through broken bookshelves, but he managed to finally unearth an old photo album. Resting on one of the couch cushions with a huff, he took a few moments to flip through it, smiling now and then when he saw an especially cute picture of you. The wind outside was howling so loudly, the old house creaking with every gust that he couldn't hear when footsteps slowly crept up behind him and knocked him unconscious with the butt of his own rifle.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
He knew better. He should have scoped out the inside of the house before getting distracted. But he was too excited and too eager to get what he came for that he forgot his own rules. And he took for granted the snowstorm would hide his tracks.
Now he was hunched over on the living room floor, leaning against the wall with his wrists tied behind his back while five raiders went through his things.
"Hey man, don't you like peaches?"
"Fuck yeah I do, give it here."
Joel groaned, the back of his head throbbing, thick, sticky blood slowly trickling down the back of his neck.
"He's waking up."
"Hey, princess, how's the head?" one said with a sinister laugh. Joel ignored him.
"You got some nice shit. Wanna tell us where your camp is?"
Joel opened his eyes and glared at the man in front of him, wearing a leather jacket and leather gloves and a black bandana pulling his dark, wiry hair off his scarred face.
"Fuck you."
The punch came fast and hard across his jaw, making him see stars for a moment. The other men chuckled and got back to dividing up his things.
"You wanna try that again?" the first man asked, crouching down in front of him. Joel tugged on the rope holding his wrists together. The knot was tight but it wasn't foolproof. He just needed a little time to loosen it up.
"Don't got a camp."
"Bullshit," the man barked, spitting against the wall next to Joel's head. "Ain't nobody out here with this kinda gear and a goddamn horse roughing it all alone. Now, just tell us the city and we'll take it from there. We'll even let you live."
He heard one of the other men scoff but the rest remained quiet, and if Joel wasn't already convinced they were planning to kill him either way, he definitely was now.
"Boise."
"Boise?" he repeated, and Joel nodded, twisting his hands behind his back, feeling the coarse rope burn against his skin. The man in the leather jacket sighed and hung his head before landing another blow, this time across the mouth. Joel's lower lip got snagged on his teeth and tore. Blood trickled down his chin as he angrily whipped his head back towards the raider.
"I told you what you wanted!"
"You fed me a bunch of bullshit is what you did," he said, kicking Joel in the ribs. He gasped for air, doubled over against the wall, coughing and spraying blood across the faded floral wallpaper. He wondered if your parents did the wallpaper themselves, if your mom picked it out, or did the house already come like that?
Joel tugged harder on the rope, feeling it start to give. He needed to stay focused. He needed to make every move count if he wanted to get out of this alive.
The raider pulled a revolver from the back of his pants - Joel's revolver - and flipped it over in his hands. Back and forth, back and forth. Then he leaned forward and pressed the barrel against Joel's forehead.
"I'll give you one more chance, asshole," he said, his dark eyes boring into Joel's, "tell us where your camp is or else I shoot you in the fucking head."
"What the hell was he doing here anyway?"
"Shut up, Mike," the guy in the leather growled, eyes still trained on Joel.
"No, but seriously. There's nothing in this house worth taking. We've been through this neighborhood months ago."
The raider's eyes flickered around the room and Joel tugged harder on his restraints when he looked away. Then the man spotted the photo album lying face down on the ground.
"What's this?" he asked, lowering the gun and picking up the album. He began to flip through it and Joel felt the rope finally give. The raider let out a low whistle and slid a photo out to look at it closer. "Don't tell me you came out in the middle of a storm just to find something to jack off to," he teased, holding up a photo of you in a yellow bikini by a pool. He flipped the picture back around and grinned. When he went to stuff it in his pocket, his attention momentarily diverted, Joel took his opportunity to strike.
In the blink of an eye, he snatched the revolver from the raider's fingers and shot him in the temple, his body immediately falling limply to the side. Wet, sticky blood sprayed all over Joel's hand but he just tightened his grip on the gun, taking aim and bringing down another one of the men while they were still too stunned to move.
"Fuck!" one of the remaining three men screamed as they scrambled for cover. Joel ducked behind the couch and held his breath, straining to hear the scuffling of their boots, trying to pinpoint where they were in the small room. When he heard one of them accidentally knock against the kitchen table, the wooden legs scraping against the linoleum, he straightened up and took aim, taking out another man with a bullet right between the eyes, but unfortunately one of the last two men got a shot in as well.
The bullet grazed against his left bicep. Joel hissed and ducked back behind the couch. He would deal with it later.
"Come on, man, we can work something out," one of the men called out after a minute. "Let's just go our separate ways. Act like this never-"
Joel jumped up and shot the man in the cheek, the bullet traveling through his mouth and out the back of his head, leaving brain matter that looked like globs of gelatin dripping down the kitchen cupboards after he fell lifelessly to the ground.
Joel stepped towards the kitchen, now only one on one. He got cocky. He was feeling too confident with how quickly he took out the group. He didn't even see it coming when the knife lodged into his side, just above his hip. Without thinking, he yanked the knife out, twisted around and jammed it into the final raider's throat, watching as he fell to the floor, choking on his own blood, and didn't look away until he stopped twitching.
Adrenaline still coursed through his veins and he used it to his advantage, his left hand pressing weakly against his wound, the wound in his arm preventing it from being very effective while he searched the dead bodies of the men for anything useful. He had brought some first aid with him when he left Jackson but he was too far from home, he would need antibiotics, at least, if he was going to make it back.
Of course, he came up empty, so he snatched his first aid kit from the table and stumbled down the little hallway, searching for a bathroom. He knew it was a lost cause, the raiders already admitted to clearing the place out months ago, but he had to try.
He flung open the medicine cabinet with a grunt, the pain beginning to set in now. Pressing his bloody fingers against the stab wound as hard as he could, he rummaged around the cabinet, leaving paths of red everywhere his fingers touched, then tried the drawers under the sink.
Nothing.
"Fuck," he muttered, collapsing onto the cool tile floor as he began to sort through his first aid kit. There were no towels left but he was sitting on an old bathmat. He groaned in pain when he lifted his hips to pull the bathmat out, shook out the dust and dirt, then pressed it against his side, bringing his knee up to hold it in place.
With trembling fingers, he threaded a needle. He wiped the blood from his hands on his shirt, but they were stained red. Ripping open his jacket and flannel, he lifted the two other layers he had on underneath and lowered his leg to get a look at the wound.
It was deep and he was losing a lot of blood, but he was fairly certain the knife wasn't long enough to knick any organs. His stomach wasn't swelling, that was a good sign.
He only had a small bottle of antiseptic, so he used most of it to clean the wound and then the needle, saving a little bit to use on his arm later.
He took several quick breaths in, hyping himself up, then paused when he first shoved the needle through his skin. Tears sprung up, blurring his vision, but he blinked them away.
Focus. Focus. Focus.
In and out, in and out, he slowly stitched himself up. The angle was awkward and the stitches were ugly, but it got the job done: the bleeding stopped. His heart was hammering in his chest, sweat poured from the sides of his head, mixing with all the blood drying on his face and beard. He slumped to the ground with a pained groan, lying flat on the floor in a pool of his own blood, staring up at the ceiling. He just needed a moment to rest, a moment to catch his breath and then he would go.
Would he ever see you again? Would you ever even know why he came out there? Would you always wonder what happened to him? You told him you cared about him, but was that even true anymore? After what he did?
"C'mon, baby, gimme a sign," he whispered to himself, "gimme a sign that I still got a chance in hell 'cause if I don't, I'm not sure I got the strength to make it home." Tears welled up in his eyes again and this time he let them fall. He sniffled and waited. For what, he wasn't sure. Divine intervention? Genius to strike? A brilliant idea to form? But all he heard was the blowing wind outside.
The tile felt so cool against his burning hot skin. A small voice in the back of his head told him the longer he stayed there the weaker he would become, but he was just so tired. He rolled his head to the side, his eyes about to slide shut when he saw it: a dusty, opaque orange bottle rolled all the way against the wall underneath the sink.
Blinking a few times, he wondered if he was imagining it.
He wasn't.
Stretching his arm out, he slowly reached underneath the vanity and pulled out the half empty bottle. Holding it above his face, he squinted at the letters on the faded sticker.
Penicillin. Use as directed by your dentist.
His breath caught in his throat when he read your name on the label.
He finally got his sign.
"What happens when we die?"
"What?"
You rolled over onto your side to face him, wrapping your arm around his waist. He looked so peaceful, lying in bed like that. His eyes closed, face relaxed. You repeated your question.
"Don't know," he said, cracking open one eye to look at you. "Haven't died yet."
You giggled and he smiled, pulling you closer. He smelled so good. Like the rain and sex and smoke from the fire.
"I mean... do you think there's a heaven?"
He hummed and kissed the top of your head, his fingers lightly trailing up and down your bare arm.
"Yeah, I do."
You swallowed nervously and drew invisible circles into his skin, making him shiver.
"Do you think..." you trailed off and he froze, picking up on your tone.
"What, darlin'?"
"Do you think we'll make it? To heaven, I mean?"
His eyebrows pinched together. "Why wouldn't we?"
"You know why," you replied softly, "we've done bad things, Joel."
"Yeah, but we ain't bad people," he reminded you, then rolled over, pushing you onto your back so his arms caged you in. One knee slotted between yours and you spread your legs, hooking your ankles around the backs of his thighs.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," he said, dipping his chin down and pressing his lips firmly against yours. You sighed, your shoulders finally relaxing. "Besides, this is heaven right here," he murmured against your mouth, feeling you smile.
"Ain't nothin' better than this."
You awoke with a gasp, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. That was the first time you had a dream about Joel, and something about it made you uneasy.
You had slept in his bed the entire week, wrapped in his clothes, and today was the day you had expected him to come home. Shrugging off the dream to no more than your subconscious fixated on his return, you forced yourself to get out of bed, fixing the sheets so it wouldn't look like you had been sleeping there and then headed to your room to change and freshen up.
The past couple days you had secretly hoped he would come back sooner but you refused to let it show. If Ellie or Dina or Maria asked you about it, you played it cool, or at least you thought you did. But every night you stayed up as late as you could, curled up on the couch all alone, waiting. Every time someone walked by, your body stiffened and your pulse raced, expecting to hear his heavy footsteps walking up the porch, but they never came.
But today was the day. The seventh day. His note said a week, and you knew if Joel was alive, he would stick to his word.
His absence afforded you a lot of time to think. Time you didn't realize you desperately needed, and now that you were able to process everything clearly without his overwhelming presence muddying the waters, you felt confident you knew what you wanted now.
All day at work, you were distracted. Nick had to call your name repeatedly to get your attention on more than one occasion, and by the fifth time you felt guilty. He didn't say anything, though. He understood. By then, most of the town knew Joel had left. Word spread like wildfire, especially once the storm passed through. It didn't take a genius to figure out how difficult it would be to survive all alone in those conditions.
Then the rumors started.
You tried to ignore them, but it was hard. When people began drinking and getting loud in the dining hall, it was impossible not to hear.
When you heard a man claim he saw Joel's horse frozen in a river during patrol, you stopped going to the dining hall to eat.
It was dark, it was just a deer, Tommy had told you later after he went out to the river to check, but it still shook you up.
When the sun set on Jackson on the seventh day and Joel still hadn't returned, the fear began to take hold. Your stomach churned, making it impossible to eat the following morning. You had hardly slept, the bags under your eyes dark and heavy. Nick begged you to take the day off but you insisted you needed to stay busy, although it didn't help much. On your lunch break you tried to casually walk by the main gate, the one near the stables, hoping to catch a glimpse of him returning, but you had no such luck.
So you went back to work. You kept your hands busy, tried to keep your mind occupied, but it was impossible.
I'll spend the rest of my life makin' it up to you.
You couldn't get those words out of your head. The guilt was weighing you down as you grew worried that was going to be one of the last things he ever said to you.
"Went on a date the other night."
"With who?"
"Cindy, from the kitchen."
Ricky laughed heartily and Andrew smacked his shoulder with the back of his hand.
"Shut up, man. We're on watch, we can't be giving ourselves away."
"It's the middle of the goddamn night and we haven't seen any infected in weeks. It's too cold for them, they're all frozen somewhere waiting to thaw in the spring," Ricky said, shouldering his rifle.
"Yeah, but still. You never know. There's more than just infected out there."
Ricky chuckled and shook his head. "Tommy telling you ghost stories again?"
"Raiders ain't ghost stories, asshole," Andrew shot back.
"And raiders never make it this far up the mountains, asshole," Ricky replied, mocking Andrew's tone.
Andrew grumbled under his breath and strolled away from the tower, towards the gate, his eyes scanning the treeline. He couldn't see a damn thing. It was pitch black and deathly quiet.
He turned on his heel and began the slow walk back towards the tower where he could see Ricky unwrapping a granola bar and pulling a paperback book from his back pocket.
Just as he was about to chastise him for letting his guard down, he heard twigs snapping in the woods. He whipped around, bringing his rifle up so he could get a better look with his scope.
"What the hell was that?" Ricky's whisper materialized in his ear.
"Dunno. Something's out there."
Ricky lifted his own rifle and scanned the trees as well, both of them holding their breath, waiting for another noise.
"Maybe-"
Then they heard more twigs snapping and pine trees raking against fabric. Louder this time.
"Fuck," Ricky muttered nervously, his palms growing sweaty inside his gloves.
"There," Andrew said lowly, and Ricky followed his aim. Something was approaching in the dark. Something big.
"I got it."
"No, just wait a second," Andrew said, squinting through the scope. Then his jaw went slack when he realized what it was.
"It's a horse."
"What?"
"It's a fucking horse, bro," Andrew repeated, his voice rising a little.
When it finally emerged from the forest, they saw the rider slumped over, covered in snow, their face buried in the horse's mane.
"Holy shit," Andrew said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and racing towards the ladder. "Radio Tommy!"
"W-what do I say?" Ricky stammered, fumbling with the radio dial.
"Tell him it's Joel!"
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Chapter Summary: Word of Joel's indiscretion spreads quickly through town, leading to a vicious fight. When Joel begins to worry you may never forgive him, he sets into motion a plan to win you back.
For nearly three days, you could hardly do much more than use the bathroom and drink some water. When you heard Joel leave for patrol, his footsteps always pausing hesitantly on the other side of your door before begrudgingly going down the steps, you would eventually drag yourself downstairs and force yourself to eat something. Anything. It didn't really matter. You didn't crave anything. Didn't look forward to a single thing except the sweet embrace of sleep. But by the fourth day, you knew you would have to go back to work or else Nick would make a house call to check on you.
You had lied and said you hurt your back so you could get out of working for a few days, but enough time had passed, enough tears were shed, enough pity was wasted when you finally forced yourself to get up one morning and take a shower.
It helped more than you thought it would. The steam billowing around you in the confined space, the warm water pummeling your shoulders, working out the kinks in your muscles from too many hours hunched over in agony. If you had any self-awareness, you might have asked yourself why you had such a powerful reaction to Joel kissing someone else. If you had a clear enough mind, you might have remembered you didn't even react this badly when you woke from your accident only to discover your whole family was dead and the world went to hell.
No, you only seemed to fall into a deep depression over Joel finding comfort from another woman.
And not just any woman. Angie.
It still made your blood boil as you slipped on clean clothes for work. You should have known she was a shark, smelling blood in the water that very first night when she cornered you in the bathroom.
And to make matters worse, he had the audacity to accuse you of not caring. Not giving a shit about him, to be exact.
That fucking asshole.
When you came down the stairs and spotted the coffee maker still on with your favorite mug next to the carafe, you scoffed and kept walking to grab your coat. As much as you wanted some coffee, you were too stubborn to accept Joel's shitty gesture.
The winter sun was blinding against the snow. Or maybe your eyes were just too swollen and dry, too accustomed to staying in the darkness of your bedroom for days on end, but whatever it was caused you to wince and rub your face.
"Hey! You're alive!" you heard Ellie's voice call out from the driveway. She was walking up the path at the exact same time as you with her backpack slung over one shoulder and her winter jacket unzipped.
"Yeah, barely," you replied, wishing you had some of the coffee Joel had left behind. You took the porch steps carefully and met her out on the sidewalk, your pupils finally adjusting to the brightness. "How's it going, kid?"
She opened her mouth to reply but paused, giving you a funny look.
"What's wrong?" you asked, unable to read her expression.
"Nothing, just that nickname... took me by surprise," she laughed with a shake of her head, "you used to call me that before. Haven't heard it in a long time, I guess." You shielded your eyes and shrugged.
"Common nickname, I suppose," you reasoned, and she nodded in agreement.
"How's the back?" she asked with a point, and you almost had to ask her what she was talking about before you remembered your lie.
"Oh! Much better, thanks. Must've pulled a muscle or something, who knows."
"Well, that's good. Listen, I gotta get to school, but do you wanna get dinner later with me and Dina? Seth's making mac and cheese, and it's like, the fucking best, dude," she said excitedly, and you didn't have the heart to say no.
"Yeah, sounds great," you smiled, then gave her a quick wave before heading in the opposite direction towards the infirmary.
It was only a short ten minute walk to work, but the fresh air combined with stretching your muscles for the first time in days really did something to improve your mood. By the time you pushed open the door to the infirmary, you were actually looking forward to working again.
And so was Nick, apparently, because his eyes lit up and his body sagged with relief when he saw you.
"I was a few hours away from sneaking you the good pills and begging you to come back," he joked, then his face turned serious. "Everything alright? What happened?"
"Oh, I'm fine," you said, waving off his concern, "I slipped on some ice and pulled a muscle, it's all good now."
"Well, be careful out there, alright? You're the best aide I have."
"I'm the only aide you have," you corrected him before hanging up your jacket. "What do you need me to do?"
The morning went by fast. Nick had told you in the few days you were out, the clinic wasn't terribly busy, but he unfortunately did fall behind on housekeeping. So you busied yourself running loads of sheets and blankets to the laundry, then sanitizing equipment until Mr. Phillips came in after lunch with a laceration on his arm from working in the stables. It wasn't a bad injury, but it required some cleaning and a few stitches, which you were secretly eager to observe. You wanted to get more exposure to stitching in the hopes of being able to take care of non-emergency injuries by yourself one day.
It felt good to feel useful again. Staying busy forced your mind off Joel and the whole mess waiting for you at home, and you were grateful for the distraction. So much so that you decided to stay a little longer than usual and fold the linens that came back from the laundry. You were killing two birds with one stone: staying busy and avoiding going home in between work and dinner. By now, you knew he'd be back and likely waiting for you, and you still had no idea what you would say.
As the sun began to set and the world outside the infirmary grew darker, you slid your coat back on and locked the door behind you before heading for the dining hall.
Shoving your hands deep into your pockets, you tucked your chin against your chest, feet carrying you swiftly through the streets, eyes cast down and avoiding others as best you could. When you arrived at the dining hall, it was packed, per usual, but you did manage to spot Ellie and Dina holding a small table in the back of the room. As you weaved your way through the crowd, you noticed they were sharing some bread and butter and you felt your stomach rumble. For the first time in days, you felt excited to eat.
"Hey," you said in greeting as you dropped your coat over the back of an empty chair before giving them each a half hug. "Freezing out there."
"Give it a second. It's hotter than hell in here," Dina joked before pushing the basket of bread in your direction. You plopped down into your chair and moaned when you felt the bread was still warm, then tore off little pieces and popped them into your mouth.
"Hungry?" Ellie asked, only partially joking as you nodded vigorously.
"Did you order the mac and cheese yet?"
"Yeah, didn't want him to run out," she replied as she eased back into her chair and turned her head toward Dina. "Do you see Chris and Holly over there? What are they thinking? They know that shit'll get back to Claire. What a bunch of assholes."
"Who?" you asked, your voice muffled around the bread.
"Couple of kids in our class," Dina explained, nodding towards the other side of the hall. You twisted around, your eyes scanning the crowd until you saw a younger couple sitting together, the girl sitting on the guy's lap and toying with his hair. "That's Chris, and he's been dating this girl, Claire, for like, what? Six months or so? And look at him. Letting that hussy crawl all over him. Men are pigs."
You choked on your laughter and took a swig of water. If only they knew.
Ellie's eyes lit up as she looked at something behind you, and you turned around to follow her gaze, spotting Seth as he made his way through the crowd with three plates of mac and cheese. However, just over his left shoulder you happened to notice Joel for the first time since you arrived, but by the looks of it, it was not the first time he noticed you.
He was sitting at his usual table with Tommy and another guy from patrol you vaguely recognized, the other two men engrossed in conversation while Joel pinned you with his stare. You quickly turned away, your cheeks feeling flush, and tried to focus on your dinner.
"Shit, this looks amazing," you said, distracted by the cheesy, piping hot dish set in front of you.
"I'm telling you, man, it's the fucking best," Ellie told you before digging in. You had to stifle a moan when the food hit your tongue for the first time, eternally grateful for the impeccable timing because all you could think about in that moment was how good it tasted, Joel temporarily forgotten for the first time in days.
"Didn't you eat today?" Dina asked, her lips twitching into a grin, and you shook your head.
"Not really. Haven't had much of an appetite this week," you told her, and Ellie tilted her head to the side.
"Your pain was that bad?"
"Huh?" you asked, then it dawned on you once again. The Lie. "Oh, yeah. I mean, I ate a little, I just wanted to sleep, I guess."
"Joel didn't make sure you ate?" she pressed, her eyes flicking over your shoulder. You dropped your fork, scrambling to come up with yet another lie when her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed, making you twist around to see what made her demeanor change so suddenly.
As you expected, she was looking in Joel's direction, but he was no longer looking at your table. It was impossible considering Angie was standing directly in front of him, blocking his view with her body, her hand resting on the back of his chair.
"What is she up to now?" Dina murmured to Ellie, but you could hardly register her words. The way your anger ignited deep within your chest and licked up your throat, it was a miracle you even remembered to breathe. Joel's legs shifted, knees turned away from her, but that was all you could see. You couldn't see the look on his face or hear what was said. You couldn't see where his hands were. But you could see Angie flick her long, straight hair over her shoulder with a flirty laugh that was clearly meant to pull attention onto her.
If you didn't have tunnel vision, you would have noticed she was successful. A few heads turned, men's eyes lingering on her backside while women's eyes darted in your direction, but you were incapable of processing any of it. Ellie was saying your name, but you couldn't hear her over the ringing in your ears.
It was less than a minute. Thirty seconds, tops, and she walked away from him with a sickly grin plastered across her face, her two friends returning her mischievous smile before flanking her side, making their way towards the exit like a swarm of bees.
Without even thinking, you stood up.
"What are you doing?" Ellie asked, but you ignored her. Instead, you pushed your way through the crowd in a trance, shouldering people out of your way without so much as an apology, too laser focused on your target to care.
"Joel!" Ellie called out to him. He was rubbing his face angrily, trying to avoid his brother's eyes glaring at him in disbelief over what he just overheard Angie say when he heard Ellie. Great, she knows, too, he initially thought, but when he looked up and saw Ellie and Dina, panic-stricken, making their way towards the exit, he realized something was happening. He didn't see you until you emerged from the crowd and reached for the door, swinging it open and allowing a cool blast of air into the room before disappearing outside.
"Oh, shit," Joel mumbled, snatching his coat and forcing his way through all the people as quickly as he could. Tommy followed, confused at first, until he realized you were no longer at your table and then it clicked.
By the time you made it outside, you nearly missed where they went, but luck was on your side because her high-pitched giggle danced through the bitter cold air and you twisted your head to the left, just in time to see the three women in the shadow of night round a corner and head down a residential street.
You were nearly running to catch up with them, but you couldn't feel your feet hit the ground or hear the gravel crunching under your boots. And neither did they, because when you found yourself less than ten feet away, they were still giggling and talking animatedly amongst themselves, completely oblivious to your presence.
Skidding to a stop, you shouted, "Hey!"
All three women swirled around in surprise, their eyes wide and their smiles slipping from their faces when they sensed the rage radiating from your body. But even still, Angie tried to play dumb.
"Can we help you?" she asked sarcastically with a dry laugh, but when you took a step forward, she went quiet.
"Yeah," you sneered, fists clenching at your sides, "I had a question for you, actually."
Angie looked perplexed, not expecting that, so she held her hands out to her side, urging you to continue while Ellie and Dina caught up, standing a few paces back.
"Did you run out of dick to suck in this town or are you just that fucking bored you thought you'd give home wrecking a try?"
Dina snickered behind you and Ellie gasped.
"Home wrecking?" she replied, raising her eyebrow and crossing her arms. "Is that what you'd call your man following me into the ladies room at the bar so he could shove his tongue down my throat?"
Your nostrils flared and your ears began to make that buzzing noise again, so you dug your nails into your palms, desperately trying to ground yourself.
"Can I even call him your man?" she taunted, feeling like she got the upper hand. "Are you even together anymore? You clearly don't fuck him if he was looking for it from-"
You couldn't even remember moving. Your feet had a mind of their own as you closed the distance between you with two long strides and swung your arm back with as much force as you could muster, backhanding Angie right across the mouth.
Her hands flew up to her face and her two friends stumbled backwards in surprise, but all you saw was red. Before she could recover, you grabbed her by the coat and threw her down onto the muddy street, knocking the wind out of her with a sharp gasp. Quickly, before she could get up, you straddled her midsection. With your left hand pressing down on her chest and your right balled into a fist near your head, you landed a punch right on her perfect little nose with a sickening crunch, causing a trail of blood to trickle out of her nostrils seconds later. But that didn't stop you. You kept going, your knuckles, now bloody, marring her flesh over and over again, but when you made contact with her jawbone, you flinched, a jolt of pain shooting down your middle finger making you pause.
That was when Angie saw her opportunity.
She vaulted you off her with her hips and she rolled to her side, pinning you to the ground with blood dripping down her face. She scratched desperately at your eyes and mouth, your hands coming up to protect yourself with a yelp, before she began landing weak punches against your cheek and mouth. And even though they weren't as forceful as your hits, her weight pinning you down kept you from reclaiming the upper hand.
Ellie and Dina were shouting your name, but you tuned them out. All you could focus on was Angie, blocking her punches as best you could while you waited for your opportunity to take her down.
Then, Angie's hand wrapped around your throat, her fingers pressing into your windpipe. Your hands grabbed her wrist as you fought for air and violently thrashed underneath her.
"Face it," she hissed, leaning down and putting more pressure against your throat, "If it was that easy, I was doing you a favor. He never really loved you, you were just an easy fuck before your brain got all scrambled."
Her words were exactly what you needed to get your second wind.
With an angry roar, you punched her right in the throat, and although you couldn't get much force behind it, it was enough to make her loosen her grip in surprise. And just as Tommy and Joel were running up the street, you tossed Angie to the side and scrambled back on top of her. But this time, you didn't stop.
You were merciless, your hands were a blur. Fists rained down blows upon her face while she desperately tried to shield herself, but it was no use.
"Stop!" she sobbed, begging, but the fear in her voice just egged you on.
Blood began to stain her yellow hair, her perfect skin began to turn red and purple while your fists never stopped, each blow creating a new mark or cut. You couldn't stop if you tried. Something snapped and you unlocked a part of yourself you didn't know, or didn't remember, existed. Some part of you that was a warrior. A fighter. A survivor. And it wasn't until Joel hooked his arms underneath yours and hauled you back that you finally stopped, your chest heaving and your eyes wild.
"Y-you crazy b-bitch!" Angie sputtered, blood trickling from her nose and mouth as Tommy knelt in front of her.
"You haven't seen crazy!" you screamed as you kicked and struggled to get out of Joel's grip. Tommy reached down to help Angie up and he motioned for her friends to come forward. "Stay the fuck away from us or I'll fucking kill you!" you shouted, "You hear me, you fucking whore? I will fucking kill you!"
"Calm down!" Joel yelled from behind, but your blood boiled as you focused your rage on him.
"Get your fucking hands off me," you snarled, wrenching your arms out of his grasp. "This is your fault!" you continued, pointing your finger in his face and backing away, ignoring the tortured look he gave you. A sick part of you was pleased to see the sting of your words land.
"I think she needs to see Nick," Tommy said as both of Angie's friends struggled to help her up.
"She's lucky she's alive," you snapped as you wiped the back of your hand over your bloody face.
"Holy shit, dude," Ellie murmured as you turned around, her eyes all wide with shock.
"I'm going home," you grumbled, wiping more blood from your cheek as you began the journey back to your house on shaky legs, wondering how on earth you were expected to share a space with Joel after tonight. Dina and Ellie exchanged some quick words as you left before Ellie quickly caught up with you.
"I'll clean you up."
"You don't-"
"I know. But I want to," she said, wrapping her arm around your shoulder, and it took everything in you not to lean into her and let her drag you home.
You were exhausted. Mentally and physically. And you just wanted to go to bed. But you were grateful for Ellie. Someone who cared, someone who saw you were hurting and needed help without having to ask for it. So you let her clean you up in your bathroom when you arrived back home, her nimble fingers delicately pressing against your wounds, cleansing them as best she could before pressing band aids and butterfly bandages against your cuts and then making you an ice pack to help with the swelling.
She tucked you into bed and made you drink some water before sitting down on the edge of your mattress with a sigh.
"I had no idea," she began, and you quickly waved her off.
"I know. It's... I know," you said, at a loss for words.
"You didn't really hurt your back, did you?" she asked, and you slowly shook your head. "That motherfucker," she seethed, "I can't believe him, I'm going to kill him, I swear-"
"Just leave him alone," you told her, "Let me handle it."
The two of you sat quietly for a moment, each of you lost in your own thoughts before she spoke again.
"It wasn't like that before," she began, and at first you weren't following, but then you realized: she was talking about before your accident. "You were crazy about each other. Angie was never an issue. Neither of you paid her any attention. She just saw an opportunity and took advantage," Ellie said as her fingers tangled in her lap. "I shouldn't even be saying this, it feels like I'm defending him, but I swear. I was with you guys all the time. You were in love, man."
"Things changed, I guess," you said sadly, but she shook her head.
"You guys are what inspired me and Dina to go for it," she said softly, avoiding your gaze. "We were scared, but I saw how you two were together and how you made it work and, I don't know," she said, picking at her fingernail, "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I look up to you guys. And it's kind of fucking with my head right now that all this is happening."
"Ellie, no," you said, shifting a bit in bed and reaching out to her. "Don't say that. Don't question what you and Dina have because of me and Joel."
She swallowed and looked at you, her eyes soft and worried.
"Why did he do it?" she asked quietly, and you could hear the pain in her voice. Pressing your lips together, you shrugged.
"It's complicated."
She nodded and looked away. "Will you do me a favor?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Would you give him a chance? Just hear him out and let him explain?" she begged, and you immediately bristled. "You don't have to forgive him. Just... don't give up yet. Please. He loves you, I know it, and... and I think you love him, too."
You scoffed then cleared your throat, your fingers coming up to press gently on your tender neck. "I don't love him," you croaked, but she shook her head.
"If you don't love him then why do you care so much?" she countered, and you fell silent, unable to give her an answer, eyes drifting aimlessly around the room. "Why did you almost kill Angie for sleeping with him if you didn't love him?"
"Sleeping with - no, Ellie. They didn't have sex. He kissed her," you quickly explained, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"You rearranged her face because he kissed her?" she asked in disbelief, then laughed softly and stood up. "I'm not saying he didn't fuck up, but dude. Come on. You gotta see it, now, right?"
You took a deep breath and rubbed your eyes.
"Alright. For you, I'll... talk to him, or whatever," you grumbled half-heartedly.
"Thank you," she said, her voice sounding more like herself once again before turning to leave and allowing you to rest. If you had any inkling she was trying to manipulate you into forgiving Joel, it was quickly expunged because you awoke an hour later to her arguing with him in the living room when he arrived home, the conversation ending with her storming out of the house and then his weary footsteps slowly climbing up the stairs.
Once again, you watched as he paused outside your room, two narrow shadows cast by his legs breaking up the thin beam of light under your door until he thought better of it and kept walking, his own bedroom door closing softly with a click.
The pain was worse the next morning, but you refused to admit it. The cuts burned and the bruises throbbed, but you were too stubborn to let any weakness show, although one look at your bruised neck would tell anyone the truth. You forced yourself out of bed, feeling too guilty to bail on Nick after already taking so many days off to wallow in your own misery, and washed up before heading downstairs. Much to your surprise, Joel was sitting at the kitchen table, his big hand cupping a mug of coffee while he stared blankly at the wall, lost in his own thoughts. When you first saw his face, the bags under his eyes evident, even from across the room, it was clear he hardly got any sleep.
Good, you thought. Then you remembered your promise to Ellie and bit back whatever nasty remark you were getting ready to toss his way. Instead, you dragged yourself to the coffee maker, ignoring the mug Joel left out for you and choosing your own, unable to resist the urge to be just a little bit spiteful.
He cleared his throat as you poured your coffee, a warning he was about to speak, and your shoulders tensed.
"How're you feelin'?"
"About as good as I look," you muttered, bringing the coffee to your lips and taking a tiny sip before turning around. He looked up at you, for the first time seeing the extent of your injuries and he jolted forward in his chair, fighting back the instinct to stand up and inspect your wounds. He blinked rapidly, gaze skirting over your face and neck, worry etching his features until you sighed.
"It's not really that bad," you admitted, looking down at your feet.
"Tell Nick t'give you somethin' when you get to work," he said, voice strained. You nodded and took another sip of your coffee. He swallowed nervously before inching forward in his chair and clasping his hands between his knees. "I'm sorry," he said, the words laced with guilt and shame. "I'm so sorry, I fucked up. But you gotta believe me, I didn't go out that night lookin' for her or anyone else. I just wanted to drink and be alone for a little while." He rubbed his palms over his face while you still stared down at the floor, listening.
"I believe you," you finally said after a tense stretch of silence. He dropped his hands and looked up.
"You do?"
"Doesn't mean I forgive you, but I believe you didn't run out of here looking to shove your tongue down someone else's throat."
He grimaced and dropped his chin to his chest.
"D'you think-" he cut himself off and took a deep breath before forcing himself to look at you again. "D'you think you could ever forgive me?"
You closed your eyes and pressed your lips into a thin line.
"I don't know," you said quietly. Your head was pounding, so you rubbed your forehead, his eyes trained on you anxiously from across the room, knee bouncing slightly as he waited to hear you say anything that would give him a glimmer of hope. "You really fucking hurt me, Joel," you said, trying to hide your lower lip as it trembled, but he heard the pain in your voice and it broke his heart.
"I know, I'm an asshole and I don't deserve you. I never did. Not after what happened at the hospital and definitely not now," he said, standing up and taking a few hesitant steps in your direction, stopping when he reached the kitchen island. "But I'll do whatever it takes. I'll wait as long as I need to, I'll spend the rest of my life makin' it up to you, prove to you that-"
"I don't want to lead you on, Joel," you said solemnly, eyes watering. "I can't promise I'll ever move past it. I'm not sure we're strong enough to get through this."
"Yes, we are," he told you adamantly, "I don't want anyone else. I only want you. You ain't leadin' me on because I don't wanna go anywhere else. I don't care what that looks like in the future, I'll take whatever you give me, that's all I want."
You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the wobble in his voice, and looked into the living room, the framed photo of your house that Ellie drew for you several Christmases ago, the same one you read about in your journal, catching your eye, and you felt yourself tear up.
I just want to go home, you thought, but home no longer existed. This was your home, like it or not.
You turned away, looking out the window over the sink blinking back tears, but Joel had already followed your gaze to the photo.
"I should get going," you said, voice thick. You chugged whatever coffee you could and dumped the rest in the sink.
"I'm gonna make it up to you," he said, following you to the door, "I'm gonna make this right." You scoffed.
"Yeah, okay," you mumbled sarcastically, shoving on your boots and coat before swinging open the door and heading out into the frigid winter morning, big flakes of snow slowly swirling and falling from the sky as Joel watched you trudge down the street, hunched over and curled in on yourself. A shell of the person he knew you to be.
He did that. He caused you pain. And it made him sick.
But at least he finally thought of a way he could prove how much you meant to him.
Sweat covered your forehead by the time you made it to the infirmary, your wool knit cap to blame for the excessive heat pouring from your head while your face was ice cold. You yanked it off your head and shed your coat before making your way to the back, your hair sticking to your forehead. Nick was nowhere to be found, but one of the exam room doors was closed and you heard voices murmuring on the other side. Assuming he had an early patient, you pulled your hair back and got to work. It was supposed to be a quiet day. Nick wanted you to work on an updated inventory list after getting a big batch of supplies two weeks prior from an unexplored hole-in-the-wall pharmacy.
The exam room door swung open, the voices clearer now, and your shoulders stiffened when you recognized the patient. You should have assumed Angie would be there that day, but for some reason it hadn't occurred to you.
Your anger had diffused a bit since the night before, that raw, exposed nerve quelled by time, but that didn't stop you from glaring at her as she passed by the inventory closet. Her swollen eyes widened with fear when she saw you and for the first time, you got a good look at the damage you inflicted. Her nose was clearly broken, she was missing a tooth and both eyes were black and blue, but the cuts on her cheeks and lips were superficial, at best.
She kept walking, not daring to say a word in your direction as your eyes followed her out the door. When she left, Nick turned around with a sigh and crossed his arms.
"How're you feeling?"
You shrugged and turned back to your clipboard. "I'm alright."
"You look like shit," he said, sidling up next to you and plucking the ibuprofen from the shelf. He tapped out two pills and dropped them into your palm before closing the bottle, putting it back where it belonged. "Did you eat?"
With just a shake of your head you popped the pills, swallowing them dry before turning back to your task.
"You gotta eat something with those, it'll tear up your stomach," he said, disappearing down the hallway and coming back a few minutes later with an apple. You grimaced but took it anyway, unable to stop your mind from replaying the memory of peeling apples with Joel just a week prior. Before everything went to hell.
Nick watched you quietly for a moment as you chewed your apple slowly and read down the list of medications on your clipboard.
"Do you, uh," he began, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, "do you need someone to talk to?" You glanced up at him in surprise and he dropped his hand back to his side. "We don't have to talk about it. But I know you still feel like you're a stranger in this town, and that's gotta be tough." He scratched his greying chin as he glanced around the room and you had to fight back the laugh that bubbled up your throat. You couldn't help it.
He noticed the amused look on your face at his discomfort and pretended to be annoyed when he muttered, "just come find me if you wanna talk or whatever," but you knew it was just an act. Nick was typically a quiet man, kept to himself and hardly ever spoke to his patients, let alone you, his employee, about personal matters. The fact he was trying now must mean he really thought you needed it.
The older man disappeared down the hall to his office and you smiled to yourself, then focused back on work, grateful for something that took your mind off your misery, even if it was just for a moment.
"What the hell do you want?" Tommy scowled when he flung open his door to find his older brother waiting on the other side, hands shoved deep in his pockets, weight shifting foot to foot in an effort to keep warm.
"C'mon, Tommy, I'm gettin' it from all angles, here."
"I don't give a shit," he spat, turning on his heel to retreat back into the house, but left the front door open. Joel took a step inside and quietly shut the door behind him, glancing around the entryway and peering into the living room as he took off his outerwear.
"Maria home?"
"No, she's down at the stables with Violet. Showin' her the horses, gettin' her outta the house," he grumbled, angrily putting away dishes as he spoke. Joel sighed and flattened his palms against the counter.
"I gotta ask for a favor."
Tommy scoffed and shook his head. "You're a piece of work, y'know that?"
"Yeah, I fuckin' know. Jesus Christ, Tommy, I made one goddamn mistake!" Joel yelled, slapping his hand against the cool countertop. Tommy twisted around, brow furrowed, and crossed his arms.
"Don't take an attitude with me," Tommy said through clenched teeth, "I don't give a shit if everyone's gangin' up on you. You deserve it! I thought she was the one you wanted to spend your life with? The one you'd do anythin' for?"
"She is!" Joel exclaimed, raking his fingers through his hair. Tommy's eyes softened while he watched his brother struggle, the enormity of what he did clearly taking its toll.
"Then what the fuck were you thinkin'?" he asked after a few moments, tone pleading. "Everythin' was goin' so well. You guys were havin' a nice time at the party, laughin' and smilin', we all saw it. Then you take 'er home and step out like that?"
"It's not- I was drunk and misread some things," Joel replied, rubbing his eyes with the pads of his fingers. "I tried to kiss her, she shot me down and I didn't take it all that well, alright?" Joel dropped his hand, exasperated, and looked at Tommy once again, taking a deep breath. "Went to the bar to drink and Angie sunk her claws into me. I got the hell outta there and confessed the second I got home but... didn't matter," he said, hanging his head between his shoulders.
"Angie said you followed her into the bathroom, Joel. Don't bullshit me, I was sittin' right there."
"I know, Jesus, it's my fault. I was drinkin' and upset and she was just... there. Pesterin' me and pushin' my buttons. It was only a second, Tommy. Nothin' else happened, y'hear me?" Joel's eyes were wide and desperate as he stared at his little brother across the kitchen.
"It's no excuse, Joel," Tommy said sadly. Joel pushed off the counter with a huff and yanked angrily at his disheveled hair again.
"I know that. I'm just tellin' you how it went down. But I gotta make it up to her. I gotta make it right."
"How the hell do you plan on doin' that? 'Cause from where I'm sittin', only way she could move past it is if I take her back out into the woods so she can hit her head again and forget," Tommy said.
Joel rolled his eyes and slumped into a chair at the kitchen table.
"I got an idea. Don't know if it'll work, but it's all I can think of to prove what she means to me," he said softly, staring down at his fingers twisting together in his lap.
Tommy sized his brother up and down before taking a few steps closer, his hands coming to grip the back of a chair as he leaned forward.
"Let's hear it."
Joel sighed and tilted his chin up. "I need a week off from patrol. I gotta leave Jackson. And I need a horse."
"What?" Tommy asked incredulously. "In the middle of winter? Absolutely not. You'll die out there."
"I survived out there before I came to Jackson, I'll be fine."
"Been a long fuckin' time and you weren't alone when you did it," Tommy argued.
"You offerin' to help?" Joel asked, and Tommy laughed dryly. But Joel continued to stare at him.
"You're serious, aren't you?"
"'Course I am," Joel replied, "she ain't ever gonna forgive me but I gotta do somethin', Tommy. I can't lose her, and right now, it really feels like I'm gonna lose her." Joel's voice cracked and he turned away, looking out the window so Tommy couldn't see the emotion behind his eyes.
Tommy groaned and yanked a chair out to sit down.
"What'dya need me to do?"
It was a long day on your feet and your face hurt more than you cared to admit, so by the time you arrived home, you decided to make yourself a sandwich and go to bed early, skipping an appearance at the dining hall where you knew half the town would be gawking at you and your wounds, anyway.
Fortunately, Joel was up in his room with the door closed when you quietly snuck upstairs with your sandwich. You were still emotionally exhausted from your brief conversation that morning and you were grateful he wasn't looking to have another one.
Nick had sent you home with one of the good pills, as he called it, so you took it with your meal and within the hour, you were out cold. Maybe if you hadn't taken the pill, you would have been awake to hear Joel's bedroom door squeak open, the rustling of fabric and the tinkling of metal cutting through the quiet hallway as he gripped his sleeping bag in one hand and his backpack stuffed with supplies in the other.
Like he usually did, he paused outside your room, his eyes lingering on the doorknob, ears straining for any sign that you were awake, that maybe you had a change of heart and he could call the whole trip off, but he was only met with silence.
He swallowed and turned towards the stairs, quietly tiptoeing down and packed another bag with food from the pantry before setting all three items by the door. At the last minute, he decided to leave a note, not even certain you would notice or care he was gone, but he knew Tommy would be furious when he found out he lied to him earlier and he really didn't want his brother to waste manpower trying to hunt him down in the wilderness. So he grabbed a pen from a drawer and an old envelope. The tip of his pen hovered over the paper as he struggled with what to say, then finally decided to keep it brief before scribbling his note, leaving it by the coffee maker where he knew you would see it.
Lastly, he strode into the living room and grabbed one more thing, shoving it into his backpack before piling on his layers and heading out the front door, giving the house one last forlorn glance before slipping quietly into the night.
It was your day off, so naturally you allowed yourself to sleep in a little, hoping that the extra rest would help your bruises to heal. At the very least, you were pleased to discover the pain around your throat was significantly better than the day before.
You didn't hear Joel when you got up, but that was typical. He usually had early morning patrol shifts and was back by the afternoon, but when you came downstairs and saw the coffee wasn't made like it normally was, you froze. Your eyes drifted around, noticing his coat and boots were missing.
Maybe he was running behind and just didn't have time to make coffee.
As unusual as that might be, it was the only logical conclusion until you walked over to the coffee maker and saw an aged envelope sticking out of your favorite mug. You frowned and picked it up, eyes quickly scanning the words once, then three more times before the panic set in, your stomach churning worse and worse each time.
Tell Tommy I'll be back in a week.
He knows why.
No matter what, just know I love you with my whole heart, in this world or the next.
Joel
Boots unlaced and coat unzipped, you raced down the street towards Tommy's house, the envelope gripped tightly in your fist.
What the hell did that mean? Where did he go? What is he doing? And why did he sneak out without telling Tommy?
You banged on the door, the wood rattling violently under your clenched fist, only afterwards realizing you could have been waking their daughter but fortunately when the door opened, you saw Violet and Maria playing in the living room over Tommy's shoulder.
"What's goin' on, sugar? You okay?" he asked, voice filled with concern when he saw the look on your face.
"Joel's gone," you said hurriedly before pushing past him and entering the house, yanking off your hat and exchanging glances with Maria from across the room.
"Gone? What'dya mean, gone?"
"I mean I woke up today and he was gone, Tommy!" you exclaimed, handing him the note. "Where did he go?!"
You were aware your voice was panicky, that your eyes were wide with fear and your breath was fast and shallow, but you didn't care how it looked to them in that moment.
Tommy scanned the note and sighed, rubbing his forehead before urging you to join him in the living room, where he collapsed onto the sofa.
"That idiot," he murmured under his breath, handing you back the envelope.
"Where is he, Tommy?" you tried again, hoping to sound less frantic this time.
He glanced at Maria before meeting your gaze.
"He was here yesterday afternoon. Told me he needed a favor. Said he needed a week off from patrol and a horse."
"To do what?" you pressed, sinking down into an armchair next to the couch.
"He said-" he cut himself off and looked down at the note in your hand, ticking his jaw to the side as if he was contemplating how much to tell you.
"Spit it out," you demanded, and his eyes snapped back up to you.
"Said he had a plan to make things up to you. For, y'know," he waved his hand in the air, not wanting to say it. You shook your head.
"What was his plan?"
"He wouldn't tell me everything but I offered to help," Tommy admitted, glancing guiltily at Maria who shot him a surprised glare. "Said he needed to go to California, that he wanted to bring a piece of you back. I'm guessin' you're from out that way?" Tommy asked, and you nodded slowly. "He said he would wait 'til I talked to Maria and worked out the schedule but I guess he decided to fuck off-"
"Tommy!" Maria scolded sharply, covering Violet's ears, and Tommy cringed.
"Sorry," he said softly before turning back to you. "Guess he decided to lone-wolf it."
Your eyes drifted back to the note in your hand, swallowing the lump in your throat while your mind raced to catch up.
"What if he doesn't make it?" you asked, eyes still glued to the envelope, "what if he dies out there and it's all my fault?"
They heard your voice waver and exchanged sympathetic looks.
"He made a choice, he knew the risks," Maria said, "but he's a capable guy. If there were anybody who could make it out there alone, it's Joel."
"Listen, I'd send a couple guys out there lookin' for him but there's a storm brewin'," Tommy said, rubbing his chin and glancing out the window. "Been watchin' those clouds build up over the mountains all week. Told Joel as much and he agreed to wait but reckon he changed his mind and wanted to get in front of it."
"Or it was his plan all along to leave alone and he just made sure no one would come after him," Maria said, making the three of you fall quiet.
"God, what do I do?" you murmured, burying your face in your hands.
Tommy glanced at Maria and she subtly nodded towards the kitchen. He stood and cleared his throat before reaching his arms out towards his daughter.
"C'mere, let's get you somethin' to eat before naptime," he said, lifting Violet and taking her into the kitchen to give you both some privacy.
"What's going on?" Maria asked softly as she sat down in Tommy's place on the couch. You sighed and dropped your hands to your lap.
"I don't know," you said truthfully, "I'm so fucking angry at him, but..."
Maria pursed her lips knowingly. "But you still care."
You groaned and leaned back into the chair. "Yes."
"It's not like you're telling me or anyone else something we didn't already know," she said, "not after what happened with you and Angie in the middle of the street. I mean, look at you," she pointed to your bruised neck. "No one fights like that for someone they don't love."
"I don't love him," you said sternly, eyes flashing angrily in her direction. "You sound like Ellie."
"Okay, so if two people are telling you-"
"I don't want to talk about it right now," you abruptly stood up, brushing your palms on your jeans. "Sorry to barge in like this. I'm sure he'll be fine. I'm actually looking forward to a week of quiet," you tried to say confidently despite how tight your throat felt as you headed towards the door.
Maria called your name as she trailed after you, urging you to stay and talk, but you just pressed your lips together and shook your head.
"Seriously, I'm fine," you said, forcing a smile across your face. "I have some stuff to do so I'll see you guys at dinner or something."
Before she or Tommy could say anything else, you slipped out the door and rushed down the street, back towards home.
It wasn't until later that afternoon, after you had scrubbed clean the kitchen and bathrooms, doing anything and everything you could to stay busy, that you noticed the missing picture from the wall in the living room.
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After bringing your situationship with Bucky to an end, you soon meet his petty side - but surely you aren't jealous, are you?
Content Warning: Frat!Bucky x F!Reader, mature themes, jealous!reader, angst.
Series Masterlist
Digging the spoon back into the tub, Bucky stuffs another bite of chocolate ice cream into his mouth. He's sprawled out on the couch, thick blanket covering his body while an old rom-com plays on the TV.
Meanwhile, Steve and Wanda watch from the doorway. Steve looks on with concern, while Wanda's gaze is more one of morbid curiosity. "He's been like this all week," Steve mumbles, shaking his head.
"That girl really did a number on him," Wanda says with a raised brow. "Why'd she end it, anyway?"
"No fucking idea," Steve replies. "Bucky won't tell me anything. Just that she didn't wanna see him anymore."
"You know I can hear you guys, right?" Bucky suddenly calls out from the couch, turning his head to them. "And the reason I didn't tell you anything is 'cause she didn't tell me anything."
"Huh?" Steve asks as he and Wanda walk into the room. "What do you mean?"
Bucky sinks lower into the couch with a shrug. "I don't wanna talk about it," He says lowly, keeping his eyes on his ice cream.
Wanda rests a knee on the end of the couch. "She didn't give you a reason?" She asks, tilting her head. "That's weird."
"I know," Bucky says bitterly, digging his spoon back into the tub before looking up at both of them. "I'd like to make it clear to you both that I am great in bed, before you make assumptions."
"We weren't assuming anything like that, Buck," Steve says with a soft chuckle, before that look of concern returns to his face. "I wanna talk to her-"
"Absolutely not!" Bucky exclaims. "She's gonna think I sent you to beg her to give me another chance- I'll be damned before I let her think I'm just moping around, hoping she comes back."
Sharing an awkward look, Wanda and Steve wordlessly decide amongst themselves not to point out the fact that Bucky is clearly moping around, hoping you come back.
"Alright, I won't," Steve swears, though he has no intention to keep that promise.
Somehow, Bucky's even hotter now that you've ended things.
He's left his hair a little scruffy and he's wearing the vintage, dark brown YSL hoodie you tried to steal from him multiple times. Not only that, but he's also visibly pissed off every time you meet his eyes - no sweet smile like usual, instead a clenched jaw and seemingly unbothered, blank stare.
And it's such a turn on.
"Hello?" You're nudged harshly, pulling you from your stalker-level staring.
"Huh?" You mumble, turning your face to Thor. "Oh. Sorry."
"You need to get a grip," He tells you sternly. "It was your choice to end it, so now you have to deal with it."
"Why are you being so mean?" You ask him, grabbing the kettle bell from the ground.
"I'm mean? You broke an innocent man's heart!" He retorts. "All because he's friends with a girl."
With a scoff, you glare at him. "You don't understand, T. It wasn't that he was friends with a girl, it's about..." You find it hard to explain it out loud, especially to someone who you know wouldn't see your point.
"You didn't even have an honest conversation with him about it," Thor goes on to say with his hands on his hips. "I'm very disappointed in you."
Doing your best to ignore the pang in your chest, you begin lifting the weight, using your pain as motivation. "It's complicated. I can't just tell the guy that I don't like his best friend - that would piss him off," You say, stealing another quick glance at Bucky who's running on a treadmill on the other side of the gym.
"Yeah, he'd be understandably pissed off because that isn't a valid reason to end it," Thor says curtly.
"She was putting me down in front of him," You tell him, exasperated. "Juniper didn't like that I was seeing him. He's never had a girlfriend, and there's a reason for that. Why would I put myself in a position where I could get hurt, just for a man?"
A gorgeous, funny, sweet man. Stop it.
You and Thor continue in the free weights section while you sneak glances up at Bucky. Eventually, you see him shake Steve's hand before he leaves the gym, and you feel a slight magnetic pull as you do your best not to follow him out.
Just as you put your kettle bell away, you feel a tap on your shoulder. Assuming it's Thor, you turn around with a raised brow, but you're taken aback when you see that it's not Thor.
"Steve?" You utter, confused. "What's up?"
He pulls out an airpod from his right ear before nodding backwards. "Spot me?"
Surprised that he's asking you, you slowly nod. "Sure," You reply, giving Thor a shrug as you follow Steve over to a bench.
He grabs a barbell and lays down on the bench while you stand behind him. For his first few reps, neither of you say a word, and you assume he honestly only wanted you to spot him - but once he hits 5 reps, he speaks up.
"Bucky told me what happened between you," He says bluntly, making your guts churn. "That was pretty cold of you, Y/N."
Wanting to be anywhere but here, you squirm where you stand. "Oh," Is all you say.
"I thought you guys were going well," Steve continues. "Things seemed good between you - what changed?"
Shaking your head, you feel yourself begin to panic. "I- I don't know what to tell you, Steve," You tell him honestly.
With a huff, he slams the barbell onto the ground and stands up, facing you with a glare. "How about the truth?" He says harshly.
"Everything okay here?" Thor interjects as he appears next to you, placing his hand firmly on your shoulder as he frowns at Steve. "Can I help you, Rogers?"
There's a tension between them you've never noticed before. Looking up at the glaring blond, you gently nudge his stomach. "It's okay, T," You say.
Unsatisfied, Thor continues concentrating his cold gaze on Steve. "If you have a problem, you can take it up with me," He says sternly.
"It's nothing to do with you, Odinson," Steve hits back at him, an equally weighted look of bitterness in his eyes.
"And Bucky's love life is anything to do with you?" Thor asks with a scoff. Though he made it clear to you that he disagreed with the way you ended things with Bucky, Thor will be damned if anyone else tries to take a shot at you.
"He's my best friend," Steve reminds him.
"And Y/N is mine," Thor replies. "You don't see me interrogating Barnes, do you?"
"Because he's not in the wrong here," Steve hisses, making you wince as he takes a step closer.
Thor subtly pulls you behind him while moving even closer to Steve. "Get off your high horse, Rogers. Who was in the wrong in freshman year?"
That throws you for a loop. "What?" You utter with a frown.
Steve lets out a laugh. "Wow. You're really gonna bring that shit back up? It was fucking years ago!"
"The principal is the same," Thor snaps. "None of us are saints. How is what you did to me any different to what Y/N did to Bucky?"
What Steve did to Thor?
With an eye roll, Steve pulls out his airpod from his pocket and sticks it back into his ear. "Get over it," He grumbles while storming off.
"I will when you will!" Thor calls out after him.
Once Steve's out of sight, you stare up at Thor, lips parted in shock. "Since fucking when were you and Steve Rogers a thing?" You ask him, utterly baffled.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It was nothing. Happened before you and I became friends, wasn't a big enough deal to mention," He says casually.
"And what, he broke your heart?" You ask as the two of you make your way to the exit.
"He wishes," Thor says bitterly. "It wasn't serious. Same as you and Barnes, to be honest. We hooked up a few times, then he ghosted me."
Processing that information as you leave the gym, you shake your head. Never in a million years would you have thought Thor had history with Steve, but now that you know, it does make complete sense. You even go so far as to think they would make an awfully attractive couple.
"Stop," He growls as you cross the road back onto campus. "I know what you're thinking."
"Thor, he is super hot," You say with a laugh. "I mean, if I were you, I'd forgive the whole ghosting thing."
Maybe you only feel that way because you'd like to think Bucky would be able to forgive you.
"Shut your trap," Thor says sternly. "It's obviously clear that our friendship groups should never collide. Only ends with someone getting hurt."
As you both make your way back to the apartment, you begin to understand why Thor was so disappointed in the way you treated Bucky - it's because that's the way he was treated by Steve. Dropped like he meant nothing, made to feel worthless. As if you could feel any more guilty.
"Stop thinking about it, sweetheart," Thor says with a much softer tone, recognizing the remorse on your face. "You did what was best for you. It's not like you completely ghosted him - you at least had a conversation with him. That's more than a lot of people can say. More than Steve could say, at least."
You try to agree with him, but you can't. The memory of the pure look of heartbreak on Bucky's face when you told him you didn't wanna see him anymore is etched onto your mind. Did you do the right thing, or is Thor just trying to make you feel better? You suddenly have the awful thought that you threw away your chance to have a beautiful relationship with Bucky. Would you have made a good couple? Could you have fallen in love with him, eventually? What if he was your soulmate?
Class has been awkward recently. For a brief period of time, it served as an arena for you and Bucky to eye-fuck each other while competing with one another for who could send the dirtiest text to make the other crack. And now, it's back to how it was before the night of the fateful party where you first slept with him - only worse, because now you're left with the memories of the tryst that was over all too soon.
Instead of shooting you coy winks and drawing dicks on your notebook whenever he walks by, Bucky's avoiding your gaze and acting as though you don't exist. It hurts, but you know you deserve it.
"This project is worth 15% of your overall grade, so please don't treat it like a free-for-all," Professor Linum says to the class. "You'll be in groups of four, and I expect the workload to be divided equally amongst you. This is about artistic and creative collaboration. Now, I gave you all a color as you walked in today. Each table has a sheet with one of those colors written on it - find the table with your assigned color and sit on it. These will be your groups."
A buzz breaks out as your classmates start making their way to their groups. You stand up and look for your color, walking to the other side of the room before you find the word Green and place your things on the table. As you do, you hear a deep voice grumble, "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."
Looking up, you see Bucky sitting on the opposite side of the table. Of course. Inwardly wincing, you sit down, wanting the ground to swallow you whole. Maria Hill is sitting next to Bucky and a few moments of awkward silence later, Grant Ward sits next to you.
"Everyone happy with their groups?" Professor Linum asks.
Nobody speaks up, but Bucky's lip twitches. You're half-surprised he isn't bothering to ask if he can change his group.
"Fantastic. Your task is simple," Professor Linum continues. "Pick an emotion - something complex. I don't want any happys or sads. Give me nostalgia. Bittersweet. Resignation. You have two minutes to discuss with your groups and come to a decision. No two groups can have the same emotion - the quicker you can decide on one, the higher your chances of bagging it."
The room bursts into a cacophony of conversations as everyone gets their ideas out. Though you appreciate art and love studying it, you've never been much of an artist yourself besides the odd piece here and there, so you don't really mind what your group settle on, so long as it's interesting.
"Jealousy," Maria is first to throw her suggestion out onto the table. "I mean, we are the Green group. It's only right."
"Nah, that's boring," Grant says with a face as though he's just smelt something bad. "I want something sad. Sad paintings always have the most to say."
"I disagree. I think pieces exploring sex are the most interesting," Maria counters, before giving Bucky a sly wink.
His face is blank for half a second, then he quickly breaks out into a smirk as he moves closer to her. "I'm inclined to agree," He replies in a sultry tone, one which makes your throat burn.
Is he seriously trying to make you jealous right now?
"Blue Team are the first to confirm their emotion!" Professor Linum announces suddenly. "They'll be creating art that explores the theme of jealousy."
"Aw, that sucks," Grant says, but he doesn't sound at all regretful as he leans forward with his hands clasped together. "Saudade."
The three of you look at him, equally confused looks on your faces as you silently ask him to elaborate.
"It's a Portuguese word that doesn't really have an English translation," He says, the look on his face telling you he's incredibly excited to be the one telling you this, though he's doing his best to act nonchalant. "It's a deep longing for something or someone, linked with nostalgia and melancholy. Like, a sense of emptiness, a longing for that which you've lost."
"...Right," Maria says with an unimpressed look on her face. "That sounds depressing as fuck."
Grant glares at her. "It is."
God, he's petty.
"How about resentment?" Bucky says, and you don't miss the quick glance he shoots your way.
"Time's up!" Linum calls out with a clap of his hands. "Green Team - you're the only ones who haven't yet decided. What's it gonna be?"
Grant's the first to speak up, much to Maria's dismay. "Saudade," He announces proudly, his chin up high.
Not surprised at his student's pretentious answer, Linum nods. "Fine," He approves bluntly. "Now you've all got your emotion, here comes the hard part - I want you, in your groups, to create a piece of art together which explores your chosen emotion. The medium is up to you. At the end of this semester, you'll each present your work to the class."
He continues explaining the stipulations while you sink in your seat, feeling utter dread at the thought of having to work with Bucky. It's bad enough that he hates you from afar, but speaking to him every week? This is going to be a nightmare.
"Bucky," You call him back when the class ends and everyone's filing out of the room. He almost looks as though he's about to continue walking away, but with a clenched jaw, he turns back to you.
"What?" He asks curtly, none of the usual softness or flirtation in his tone that you became used to. It's a jarring change.
You watch as a few more people leave, waiting for it to quieten down before you speak. "Are you mad at me?" You ask, doing your best to be firm but not harsh with your tone. It's a dumb question - of course he's mad at you for prematurely ending what could've been a fun relationship - but maybe you just want a reason to speak to him.
Bucky looks as though he wants to argue with you for a split second, but the emotion on his face quickly dissipates as he changes his mind. "I'm not mad," He utters coolly, a blank stare on his face.
If it was anyone else, you'd believe them, but you know better. He's punishing you for cutting him off by being distant, and you can't blame him for it. But damn if it doesn't hurt. "We can still be... civil," You go on to say, holding back a wince.
His face remains void of emotion as he replies, "Okay."
This sucks. You'd rather he yell at you - in fact, a part of you wants him to yell at you, just so he's at least putting some effort into this conversation. You want him to be angry because that would mean he cares. That would mean he still thinks about you the way you think about him, and as much as you're a terrible and selfish person for it, you want to be taking up space in his mind. As toxic as that sounds.
"Bucky," You say, bordering on whining as you take a step closer to him. "Don't be like this." Yell. Call me names. Say you hate me. Are you purposely being annoying to piss him off?
"What do you want from me?" He asks you, allowing a slight confusion to twitch at his brows. "You said it yourself: we're done."
Your chest pangs and you immediately regret ending it. If you knew it would feel like this, you never would have done it. Screw Juniper, let her try and sabotage things, it's not worth losing Bucky.
"I'm sorry," You find yourself saying, not knowing what else to say. "I didn't want to hurt you. But there's no need to flirt with other girls in front of me."
That earns another eyebrow twitch. "Flirt with other girls," He repeats flatly.
"Yes," You say, not caring how immature or downright crazy you sound. "That whole... thing with Maria. What, are you trying to make me jealous, or something?"
His brow flies up. "You're jealous?" He asks, not allowing his tone to give away how he's feeling.
"Of course not," You immediately answer. "But it's pretty obvious, what you're trying to do."
"I'm not trying to do anything," He corrects you bluntly. "Maria's a pretty girl. I'm a warm-blooded man. I'm within my rights to flirt with her."
You stare up at him, silently willing him to give up the aloof act. You don't deserve him to be nice to you, or give you any of his energy at all, but you want it so badly. You want him to understand, without you having to say it, that you didn't want to end things with him and you still want him just as much as you always have. It feels surreal to know that it's your fault the man you've been pining after for so many years isn't with you anymore. He wanted you, and you rejected him. God, you suck.
"There you are Jamie, I've been waiting for you for ages!" Juniper herself suddenly calls out as she swoops into the room. "What are you still doing in class? We agreed to meet at- oh." Her face drops when she sees you, and she stops a few tables away. Folding her arms across her chest, she narrows her eyes. "What's going on?"
"Sorry, Junie, I got held up," Bucky mutters, not even sparing you a final look as he turns and walks over to her. She shoots you a cold glare over his shoulder as if to say stay away before she links her arm with his and the two of them exit the room.
"This sucks," Yelena complains as she looks around the bar. It's a typical Friday night at Swirl. The place is packed with students and the music isn't too loud, but Yelena isn't talking about the bar itself. She's talking about your low mood. Her eyes focus back on you as she takes a sip of her Cosmo while you rest your head on your fist, your Pornstar Martini untouched. "You really liked him, huh?" She asks with a pained look. "I don't think I've ever seen you this messed up over a guy. Not even Tony."
You let out a huff of air, no energy to try and deny it. The truth is, you're more upset than you thought possible, and you were more attached to Bucky than you initially claimed. Though your time with him was short, he was everything you look for in a partner, and you're sorely missing the gap he's left in your life - a gap you yourself carved out. Idiot.
Your response is something between a grunt and a whine, and Yelena gives up with a sigh.
"You don't wanna dance?" Yelena asks, though she already knows the answer. "Don't wanna maybe talk to someone else? There's plenty more fish in the sea, you know. Fish that don't have possessive best friends."
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Thor's glaring at the man who just paid for his drink. "What do you think you're doing?" He asks Steve, who pulls his phone away from the card reader with a casual look on his face.
"What? I can't buy an old friend a drink, now?" Steve asks, resting an arm on the bar as he looks Thor up and down.
"Old friend?" Thor repeats with a scoff. "Please."
Steve places a hand on his chest with a pout on his lips. "You wound me, baby," He says, moving closer to him. "I just wanna share a drink. Nothing more. Unless you want more."
Utterly baffled by Steve's audacity, Thor only narrows his eyes.
"If you want more, I can give you more," Steve continues with a playful smirk as he moves even closer, lowering his voice as much as he can to remain audible over the music. "I can give you a lot, big guy."
"Don't call me that - what the fuck is going on with you, Rogers?" Thor spits. "What's your angle?"
"No angle!" Steve claims, holding his hands up, his eyes wide. After a second, he relaxes again, resuming with the sultry look. "Talking to you the other day... it was nice. Made me think of old times."
With a dry laugh, Thor shakes his head. "You're a fucking dick, Rogers," He utters. "Thanks for the drink, but I'd rather have it alone."
"Where's the fun in that?" Steve asks, leaning against the bar while facing Thor, a mischievous look in his eyes. "If I recall correctly, you said I was the best you ever had."
Thor snorts. "Yeah, when I was 18," He points out bluntly. "Don't fool yourself into believing I still think about you, Rogers."
"Ouch," Steve mutters as the bartender slides across Thor's beer.
Glancing over at him, Thor raises a brow. "How, uh, how's Barnes doing?" He can't help but ask, knowing what a mess you are and wondering if Bucky's the same.
Steve shrugs, hand clasped around his own beer. "Not great. Your girl really fucked him over," He says. "No warning, no reason. Must've took a leaf out of my book."
Thor takes a long sip of beer, doing his best to keep quiet but unable to stop himself. "There was a reason," He finds himself saying. "Just one that Barnes wouldn't have accepted."
"What do you mean?" Steve asks with a frown. "What was it? I know it wouldn't have been anything Bucky did."
"It wasn't," Thor confirms before sighing. "You ever wonder how Juniper really feels about him?"
Taken aback by his mention of someone who Steve didn't think had anything to do with it, he furrows his brows together. "Uh... what?"
Thor takes another sip before elaborating. "It's clear she feels strongly about him. Everyone knows that," He states.
"Oh, yeah," Steve agrees with a nod. "They're best friends. So, what?"
"So, Juniper loves her best friend a little too much to allow him to ever have a normal relationship with another girl," Thor spills out, immediately regretting his words.
Steve is baffled, his eyes wide. "Did- did she tell Y/N to end it?" He asks, shocked.
"No, not explicitly," Thor clears up. "But it was made clear that she'd make it difficult for them to progress in any way. Y/N figured it wasn't worth the heartbreak, so she quit before things got too deep."
It takes Steve a few moments to process Thor's words. Though at first, he's confused, he slowly pieces it together and things begin to make a lot of sense. "Oh, shit," He whispers to himself. "Wren. She was right..."
"What?" It's Thor's turn to be confused.
Shaking his head, Steve meets his eyes. "Nothing, never mind. So, Y/N ended things with Bucky because of Juniper's... closeness to him?" He asks.
"Pretty much," Thor says with a shrug. He's said too much now so he may as well say it all. "She doesn't mind that his best friend is a girl, heck, I'm one of her best friends so that would be hypocritical. It's just that Juniper can be pretty obvious when she doesn't like someone, and I'm sure she's a big reason that Bucky's always single."
Steve drums his fingers on the counter, shaking his head. "Wow," He mumbles. "I didn't even... wow."
"You okay?" Thor asks before having another drink of his beer.
Nodding, Steve turns to him. "Yeah, I just... it sucks that it had to end like that. I mean, Bucky was really into her, and he was so much happier," He says wistfully. "As much as Juniper probably doesn't want him to, Bucky's always wanted a proper girlfriend. He's lonely, and he's always thought it's his fault he wasn't able to develop anything with anyone he dated. He takes it really personally when things end, you know? Deep down, he's a sensitive guy. And Y/N seems like a great girl. It's a shame..."
"If only we could get Juniper away from him long enough for them to reconcile and get together," Thor says with a sigh.
"If only..." Steve trails off before his eyes light up. "I mean, we could."
Frowning, Thor puts his beer down. "We could what?"
"Get them back together," Steve says brightly. "All we have to do is make sure Juniper doesn't get the chance to come between them."
"That's a pretty big task, Rogers," Thor says. "Who's to say Bucky will even forgive Y/N?"
"He's too into her to pass up the chance of getting back with her," Steve claims. "His ego is hurt right now, but if he knew how much she likes him and that the reason she ended things was 'cause of Juniper, he'd be more than willing to give things a second chance."
"What makes you think he'd believe Juniper was the reason? I mean, haven't they been best friends since they were born?" Thor asks incredulously.
Steve nods, a determined look growing on his face. "It won't be easy, but together, you and I can make him see her true colors," He says, giving Thor a smile. "What do you say? Prepared to do what it takes to make our best friends happy again?"
Reluctant to agree to spend time with Steve, Thor hesitates. But when he looks to the other side of the room and sees you hunched over your drink looking utterly distraught, he knows he can't sit back and let you remain hurt when he has the power to change that. Turning back to Steve, he shakes his outstretched hand. "Fine. Let's do it," He agrees. "But if you think this puts you in with a chance to get back into my pants, you're dead wrong, Rogers."
With a smirk, Steve tightens his grip on his hand. "Whatever you say, big guy."
eeek exciting 🫶
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As a glasses wearer myself I wonder if Olivers' prescription isn't that strong so he could see without glasses or did he went out and buy contact lenses so he would looker cooler for his bf
But also the more entertaining option is that he's just blind as fuck through the entire film and he sees felix like this.
Summary: You and Conrad had become fast friends, and you were convincing yourself it was nothing more. But new years always brought new beginnings, right?
There were a lot of things that Conrad disliked. Pineapple on pizza, films with stupid plot twists, wearing suits when the shirt felt too tight around his neck, when his brother would get into those moods and just whinge about everything. And New Years. He hated New Years.
He’d never been the biggest fan, but it had felt a hundred times worse since his Mom had passed. The year turning to the next just felt like the continuous reminder that he was going into another chapter of his life without her in it. And as much as the firsts were coming and going - the first summer without her, the first thanksgiving, the first christmas - there was still more to come. And every new year would now be another new year where Conrad didn’t have his Mom. And that made him HATE new years.
He wanted to forget it was happening this year. He’d go to sleep at 11:50, wake up the following morning and forget that anything had changed. He’d miss the fireworks, he’d avoid the celebrations, forget the new years kisses, and simply wake up for another new day.
“Conrad Beck Fisher are you even listening to me?”
It’s your voice that breaks him from his thoughts.
He glances up from where his eyes had been focused on a single spot on the kitchen floor, turning his attention across to where you were stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island. You were spreading a thin layer of mayonnaise over the sandwich you were making for him.
“I-“ He clears his throat, “What were you saying?”
You shake your head at him and let out a soft chuckle - Conrad’s sure in that moment he’d pause and playback that exact sound just so he could hear it again.
“I was saying…”
You and him had met this past summer. Cleveland had got Conrad a job on a yacht to keep him busy over the summer to ‘take his mind off things’. You happened to have a job on that same boat working as a server. At first, Conrad had been nothing short of cold to you. He was blunt, he was rude, he practically ignored you and everyone else for that matter. It was a couple of weeks later when you wore him down a little bit more. He started to say hello to you at the start of a shift, he offered to help you carry the crates of drinks on board, he stood with you whilst you cleaned the glasses and he had nothing to do until the guests came on board. Eventually, he started taking on more shifts so that he was always on the same days as you were. And that then turned into him driving you to and from your shifts most days - on the days when he didn’t, it would be you offering to drive him instead. He lived further away than you did and he practically had to pass your house to get to work anyway but that didn’t matter, you felt guilty if you never offered to pick him up. It was on those drives that he first started opening up to you. He told you about everything his family had been through. He told you about his Mom, his brother Jere, his relationship with his father, and the Conklin family whom you’d quickly learnt meant the world to him and Jeremiah. He told you about college and his dreams of working in medicine. He asked you about your family, found out about your own plans with college and your career. Despite the initial coldness, Conrad quickly became one of your closest friends.
When summer ended, you both went your separate ways. But he started to text you more then. He’d send you videos that he thought were funny, and he’d send you photos of the assignments he had for class that week. Those texts turned into calls when you both needed to revise some nights. Those calls turned into midnight deep confessions, him telling you he was scared of losing Jeremiah, confessing that he felt insanely out of his depth at college. You listened. And Conrad became more certain than ever over those few months that you were the best friend he’d ever had. He never told anyone as much as he told you.
“Okay you’re not listening and you’re not getting your sandwich now,” You wipe your hands on the kitchen towel, the sandwich now cut in two triangle halves and presented on the plate in front of you.
“No, no, I am listening,” Conrad ensures you, “You were saying about…”
You walk around to the other side of the counter until you’re stood in front of him, taking one half of the sandwich from the plate and nodding your head towards him, “About?” You take a bite of the food.
“About…” He clears his throat again, “Jake from work and how my brother asked you… something.”
You chuckle at him again, holding the sandwich out for him to take it from you, “Your brother has invited people for tomorrow night, and he asked me to invite people from work. So I texted Jake, Allie and Peter, and they can all make it.”
Conrad groans, “I told Jere I didn’t want to do anything, I’m not doing a party.”
“Conrad,” You raise your eyebrows at him as if you’re waiting for the reasonable half of him to return.
He instead bites the sandwich and stares into your eyes as if he can see your soul behind them.
“I think it’ll be fun. And Jere’s been planning it all week,” You point out.
Conrad shrugs his shoulders, “I don’t know what we have to celebrate.”
“Con,” You try to speak softly, not wanting to overstep a line you weren’t sure existed, “I think it’ll be good for Jere. He could probably do with the distraction. Plus, you guys haven’t seen Belly and Steven in ages and I haven’t even met them yet so that’s reason in itself to have a party.”
Conrad rolls his eyes, “I’ll stay until midnight and then I’m done.”
“Wow, to what do we owe the pleasure?”
He blinks at you as if waiting for you to retract your sarcastic remark.
“Oh, and Jere asked us to go shopping for supplies so I’m gonna go pee and then we’ll leave yeah?”
“What?” Conrad half chokes on the food in his mouth, “I didn’t agree to shopping.”
You’ve disappeared out of the room before he gets a response from you.
———
Conrad drives to the store which means he also gets to pick the music, though he opts for your playlist anyway. It’s colder in Cousins now and it doesn’t quite feel the same without the windows down and the air ripping through the car, both of you hot and bothered after a shift at work. But there was something comforting about being back with Conrad again. You’d missed him for the few months you’d been apart.
“Okay so what do we actually need?” He asks you as both of you step out of the car, making your way across the empty parking lot.
“Well, party supplies,” You shrug, “All the usual stuff.”
“And this needs two people? Why couldn’t Jere do it?” He grumbles, pulling out a cart from the waiting line.
“Conrad do you ever stop complaining?” You scoff, trying to wiggle the next cart free as the wheel gets stuck in your attempts.
“Here,” Conrad leans over behind you, his arms either side of you as his hands settle over yours on the handle of the cart, tugging sharply to free it for you.
You pause there for just a moment and so does he, until both of you seem to snap back to reality and his hands part from yours almost as quickly as they’d arrived.
“Alright come on, let’s get in and out before you complain any more,” You encourage, “We’ll both fill up on supplies and you can just be there to silently hate your life and store things in your cart. We need cups, plates, food, decorations, everything okay?”
His shoulders drop as if in defeat but he agrees with you nonetheless, letting you go in ahead of him so that he can watch as you disappear down the aisles, already reaching for things to put into the cart in front of you.
—
The two of you browse each one of the aisles and you switch between throwing things into yours and his carts, slowly filling them with each aisle you went down.
“What even is that?” He frowns, examining the last thing you’d picked up.
“Photo booth decorations,” You grin, “It’s not a party if there’s not good opportunity for photos.”
Conrad stares at you as if the words had made him hate you the tiniest bit for the tiniest amount of time.
“You know, I really think you need cheering up Conrad,” You point out, eyeing up the shelves until you find what you wanted.
You reach for the rainbow boa and lift it over the back of his neck, smoothing your hands down the bright feathers that fell down either side of his chest. Conrad suppresses a sigh and it bobs into his Adam’s apple instead, his jaw clenching as he looks at you. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips however, the faint evidence that he couldn’t not love to see you happy.
“You look ready to celebrate now,” You grin.
“Are you sure about that (Y/l/n)?” He raises his brows, turning around to pick something up from the shelf behind him, “Because I think this is much better.”
A pair of flower shaped golden yellow glasses now covered his eyes, his lips curling into a reluctant smile. You laugh the kind of laugh that throws your head back, clasping your hands together.
Conrad knew he looked like an idiot. He knew this was probably the most colour he’d ever worn. He knew the feathers were itching his neck and the glasses were tight on the top of his nose. But it didn’t matter. You were laughing and he was sure that was a sound he’d do anything to hear.
“I think they need to go in the basket,” You encourage, taking the glasses slowly from his face.
Your fingertips brush the temples of his head, grazing across his skin with such minimal intensity and yet he still feels his cheeks burn a fiery red at the contact.
“Come on Fisher, we just need mixer and then we’re done.”
You disappear around the corner of the next aisle before he has a chance to think about it any longer.
———
The following day you spend the majority of your time helping Jeremiah set up for the party. Whilst you were here for the couple of weeks over winter break, you’d been staying in the spare room so you’d started to get used to this house.
You helped him hang up streamers in the lounge and balloons from every inch of space in every room you could find. There were helium balloons that read ‘happy new year’ across one of the sets of cupboards in the kitchen and the paper plates and cups had already been set up on the countertop.
Conrad had disappeared earlier this morning to go to surf and you hadn’t seen him all day since. You couldn’t blame him. He didn’t want the party, let alone for it to consume his entire day.
“So do you think my brother’s going to make it to midnight?” Jeremiah asks, stretching a deflated balloon between the fingertips of both of his hands.
“Id be surprised if he came at all,” You joke, dangling your feet over the edge of the kitchen island where you were sat.
Jeremiah scoffs, “You’re going to be there, he wouldn’t not come.”
“Wh-“ You let out a laugh, “We’re friends. He wants to see me just like he wants to see everyone.”
“Come on,” Jeremiah rolls his eyes, “You can’t be serious.”
You frown just a little and he must notice the expression on your face, interjecting quickly before your concern can increase.
“I just think he cares about you, is all,” Jere encourages, “And it takes a lot for Conrad to be as open with someone as he is with you. You’re good for him, that’s all I mean.”
You nod and offer him a small smile, “Well then I’ll make sure he stays until midnight, at least just to see the ball drop.”
Jeremiah grins, “You have a deal.”
He glances at the time on his phone and his eyes widen at the screen, which he turns around to you quickly.
“Bells and Steven are almost here.”
You were yet to meet the pair that the Fisher brothers spoke to highly of. But you’d heard enough about them to feel like you knew them already. And you also knew that you were about 95% sure that Jere had a thing for Belly. You’d decide that for yourself once you saw them together.
You’re just about to hop down from the countertop when you hear the back door open and turn to see Conrad walking in. His hair is damp and there’s a towel slung over his shoulders.
“There you are!” You smile, “I was starting to think you’d froze out there.”
He laughs and walks around the counter and over to you, standing just close enough to you that his thighs bump against your calves still dangling over the edge.
“It was pretty cold,” His voice is soft as if it’s been drained by the freezing temperatures of the water, his lips ever so slightly blue.
You run your hands down his arms, the cold of his skin.
“You must be freezing,” You frown, squeezing at the skin as if you wanted to inject some warmth into him.
He hums in agreement, his eyes on you as yours seemingly scan him, full of worry, “I’ll warm up.”
His voice is soft, softer than usual as if he doesn’t want to disturb the moment by talking.
“You haven’t told me that the decorations look nice,” You point out, furrowing your brows at him.
Conrad tears his eyes away from you to glance around at the room, eyes scanning all of it before returning back to you, “It’s definitely something.”
“Something,” You narrow your eyes, “You’re such a party pooper.”
“They’re here!” Jere yells out, shortly followed by the sound of the front door opening.
“They’re here!” You repeat to Conrad, your hands moving to his shoulders to steady you as you hop down from the counter, “Time for me to make a good first impression.”
He mumbles so quietly under his breath that youre too far away to hear as he says “It would be impossible for you to give a bad one.”
—
Belly Steven and Taylor climb out of the car and hurry straight over to Jere, engulfing him in a hug of reunion amongst a chorus of overlapping conversation.
Conrad walks out with you and steps forward to greet the three of them, ruffling his hand over Belly’s hair.
“There’s someone you guys need to meet,” He mentions, glancing back at you with a smile warming his face, “This is (Y/n)… my friend.”
“Yeah, hey, it’s so nice to finally meet you guys! I’ve heard a lot about you,” You step forward and smile, “Like a lot about you.”
Steven laughs, “Yeah the boys are obsessed with us, that makes sense.”
“Oh my god I love your hair how do you get it like that?” Taylor steps forward and starts conversation with you.
“Oh um thanks, yeah-“ You glance up and see Conrad looking at you, that same warm smile on his face as if he was relieved you’d finally met this part of his life.
“I’ll take your bags inside,” You hear Conrad mention, soon feeling the soft touch of his hand on your back as he leans down to pick up Taylor’s bag from next to her feet.
His touch lingers for a moment longer, the faintest pressure on your skin. You’re certain the contact is electric, only recognising it in his absence.
———
“Hey Bells I told (Y/n) she could get ready with us in here,” Taylor encourages as she pushes open the door to the bedroom they were sharing.
Belly looks up from where she was sat in front of the vanity mirror fixing her hair, “Oh, yeah sure.”
“Sorry, I’m pretty sure I’ve been stealing Steven’s room whilst I’ve been here so I’ll try not to be in the way,” You smile.
“No don’t be silly you’re not in the way, right Belly?”
“Yeah, right.”
You take a seat on the floor in front of the window and make use of the disappearing natural light whilst it was still here.
“Okay so tell us everything (Y/n), what’s going on with you and Conrad?” Taylor asks, perching on the floor in front of the full length mirror.
“I-“ You laugh a little, “I met him at work, we both worked on this yacht over the summer. And I think if you spend any time with someone in that place you either hate them or become inseparable. And apparently me and Conrad were the second option.”
“Inseparable huh?” Taylor grins.
“Oh no no I just mean he’s like the only person in Cousins I spend any time with nowadays,” You laugh, “He’s just a good friend.”
“Really? Because the way he looked at you earlier didn’t look like friends, right Belly?”
Belly glances up from the mirror and you notice her pause momentarily, swallowing a lump in her throat, “I don’t- I mean I guess I didn’t notice.”
You offer her a smile and there are the faintest hints of her returning the gesture but they disappear quickly.
Conrad had mentioned to you that things had changed with him and the Conklins ever since his Mom had passed. He mentioned that the start of the summer was shitty but that things had worked out afterwards, when you and him became friends. But he never mentioned it in too much detail. He preferred to tell you of the years before and every memory of summers he had with them.
“You’re not looking for a new years kiss then (Y/n)?” Taylor asks you.
“No, no, not me,” You shake your head, “I don’t even know who I could see myself with.”
You set your makeup bag out onto the floor and Taylor plays music through her phone and the conversation dies down into the three of you singing along to the music instead. Belly’s quiet though, you can tell. It might be the day you’d met her but anyone could read that something was off.
———
You’ve smoothed your hands over your dress a million times and it still doesn’t seem to sit right. But you ignore it when you hear the door open again and more guests pour inside. You grab your phone from the bed and run a hand through your hair before hurrying outside and towards the stairs.
The party is already spilling through the entire house, oddly busy for how quiet Cousins felt during the winter. Jeremiah must’ve invited everyone they knew and told them all to bring friends.
You shuffle past a bunch of people you don’t recognise, spotting the familiar curls of Jere across the crowd to give you enough of a focus of where you were heading. The music was loud and you needed a drink.
“There you are!” Taylor grins when she sees you, “I was just about to come and find you.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to change again,” You smile, glancing down at your dress again.
“Well it’s good you didn’t, you look killer,” She encourages, “Right Belly?”
“Yeah you look really pretty (Y/n),” Belly smiles a little bashfully in your direction as if she’s silently trying to apologise for something. Maybe she knew how it came across earlier, because you were already at least 70% sure that this girl didn’t like you, and you weren’t even sure what you’d done.
“Oh come on we have to dance to this one,” Steven grins, reaching over for Taylor’s hand and dragging her with him into the mass of people that were seemingly forming some sort of dance floor.
Belly steps around the kitchen counter so she’s stood closer to you as Jeremiah is busy chatting to a boy you didn’t recognise. You hadn’t seen Conrad yet.
“So how come you’re here for the new year?” Belly asks you, taking a quick sip from the red solo cup in her hand.
“Oh, yeah, well I told Conrad I didn’t have plans over the winter break and he told me to come and stay with them since they’d be here alone,” You nod, “And I didn’t have anything better to do.”
She nods, “So you two are pretty close then?”
“Well,” You shake your head, “We’re just fast friends, I don’t think it’s much more than that.”
“Conrad never makes fast friends,” Belly shakes her head, “And this is like the happiest I’ve seen him since… everything.”
You swallow the lump in your throat. Before today, you’d never thought too much about things between you and Conrad. You liked being friends with him so much that you were scared of ruining it - and thinking of him as more than a friend would definitely ruin that. You thought you knew Conrad’s type and you weren’t that. He saw you as a friend, the way a guy is different with the girls he doesn’t see something with. You’d convinced yourself of that early on and it was only today where your thoughts of that had started to change a little. Maybe he could see you as more than a…
No. He was your friend.
“Speak of the devil…” Belly’s voice trails off as she finishes off the rest of her drink.
“Okay who are these people?” Conrad comes up behind you, the crowd behind him pushing against him so much so that he reaches out a hand to your waist to stabilise him a little.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” You return, glancing up at him as he comes to stand beside you, his arm bumping your shoulder.
“Jake and Peter say hi but they’re in a beer pong tournament apparently that’s too important to leave,” Conrad explains, grabbing a beer bottle from the open box and cracking it open.
“I’ll try to catch up with them in a bit,” You nod, glancing back over your shoulder as if you’d catch them in the crowd.
“I’m going to-“ Belly clears her throat, “I’m going to find Taylor.”
You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, like you’d just been caught in the act or something. You’d never thought there was tension between you and Conrad when the two of you were together but it felt that way now and you couldn’t explain it.
“It’s weird seeing you in a dress,” Conrad comments softly, leaning down so that you can hear him a little better.
“Weird?” You practically grimace at the word, frowning a little up at him.
“A- a good weird,” He stumbles slightly into the words, “A good weird.”
“Learn how to compliment a girl Fisher,” You narrow your eyes at him, “Better than that.”
He rolls his eyes at you and grabs a red cup from the stack of unused ones, “What are you drinking (Y/l/n)?”
———
You’ve just about managed to settle into the party, and you’ve now been roped into the beer pong tournament that has absolutely strayed from being a tournament anymore. It’s just games of beer pong that don’t end. You’re on a team with Conrad and you’re playing Steven and Taylor, who are losing by two cups.
“Okay aim for that back one Taylor, any of that back line,” Steven encourages, his hands clasped together as if he’s praying,
“Steven you’re not even good at this stop coaching me,” She rolls her eyes, tossing the ball and watching as it bounces away from the table.
Steven suppresses whatever comment he was going to say and instead just wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling him into him, “We’ll get them next time.”
“You’re up (Y/l/n),” Conrad nods, leaning back against the wall behind the two of you, arms crossed as he watches you.
You throw the ball and it bounces once, landing in their front cup with a splash.
“That’s my girl,” Conrad beams, looping an arm around your shoulders to pull you into his chest.
“My girl?” Steven laughs, “Can you two just shut up and get married already?”
You hear Steven laugh, and so does Taylor, and Jeremiah, even Belly. And Peter, Jake and Allie were only a few metres away, they probably overheard it too. Were all of them thinking it?
You can’t explain it after that. You pull yourself abruptly away from Conrad’s chest, probably a little harshly. He looks down at you with a frown that quickly turns into utter concern when he sees your face, your frantic eyes.
“Wh- (Y/n) are you okay?”
“I’m sorry I-“ You drag a hand through your hair but no more words come to mind on time.
Instead, you turn and push as frantically as you can through the crowd until you reach the door to the garden, hurrying down the steps before anyone can catch up with you too soon.
———
The beach was eerie and peaceful at this time, at winter too. For as far as you could see, it was just you. You were stood on the sand a few feet away from the crashing waves. Your arms were wrapped around your torso to keep in some of the heat and you were already starting to shiver. It was nearly midnight in the middle of winter; of course you were freezing.
“(Y/n)!” It’s Conrad’s voice coming from behind you, but it sounds deeper when he’s worried, more like a bellow.
You don’t turn around.
“(Y/n) you had me worried sick, I didn’t know where you’d gone,” He breathes out a sigh of relief, “You must be freezing out here I-“
“Why do they all think something is going on with us Conrad? And why is Belly acting so weird with me? And why can’t they just accept that they’re friends? And what have you said to them about me?”
You turn around to face him and it’s as if everything rises to the surface in that exact moment.
He looks at you with worry on his face but it quickly dissipates into something more level headed as soon as your questions land.
“Okay,” He raises his hands as if in surrender, “I know they’re being assholes about us two together, but that’s just what they’re like, Steven’s an idiot and Taylor always wants to know people’s business, I promise they don’t mean any harm.”
You don’t respond.
“Belly’s weird with you because…” He takes in a deep breath, “This time last year, when my Mom was sick, I was dating Belly. It ended before my Mom died and we’ve figured out a way to be friends since but I think it’s just weird for her to see me with someone- someone that I’m close to.”
You feel your heart skip a beat, just for a second.
“I’ve told them a lot about you, I talk about you to them probably as much as I speak about them to you. You’re important to me (Y/n), and I want my family to like you.”
“But we’re just fri-“ Your voice shakes in the cold, “I mean you don’t see me like that-“
“Earlier,” He cuts you off, “When I first saw you tonight, I should’ve said you looked beautiful. That I think even with a thousand people at that party I don’t think I could find anything that would make me want to take my eyes off you. That even with a hundred voices and a million songs I don’t think anyone will ever say something that interests me as much as every word that you speak. That for the past few months I’ve felt exactly like that. That I wait for you to call and I’m sure I would talk to you every moment of the day if I could. That you look beautiful in that dress and you look beautiful every other day too, even more so when you don’t even think you do. I should’ve said that tonight and I should’ve said that long before tonight too.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, feel the blood pounding in your ears, and yet all you can focus on is him.
“The truth is I’ve been lying to you, (Y/n),” He shrugs his shoulders, “I told you that you were the best friend I’d had. And that part’s true. But where I lied is that I don’t think I could ever convince myself to be just friends with you. I’d spend too long trying to make you laugh, focus too much on every detail so that I could remember it for next time, swap my shifts to shittier days just to see your face. So I’m sorry I lied to you, but-“
You see it then. It’s Conrad. Is it Conrad? Is it really the boy you’d been spending so long convincing yourself was just a friend?
“Kiss me.”
He pauses, swallowing the lump of nerves in his throat, “I-“
“Kiss me,” You repeat, more certain of yourself.
Conrad steps forward, closing the space between you. One of his hands falls to your waist almost instinctively, the other cupping your cheek softly. His eyes flick between yours, dropping to your lips before coming back to meet your gaze. And then his lips are on yours. Soft and hesitant at first, quickly met by the pressure of his certainty. His lips move against yours like the two were made for each other, his hands holding you like they were carved for you. You feel yourself moan against his touch as his hand draws to the small of your spine to pull you closer into him, craving more of your touch.
He only pulls away when the two of you are gasping for air, his forehead coming to rest against yours. His chest rises and falls in rhythm with your own.
“That was-“ You breathe out but all of the other words disappear as you’re interrupted by the echoing chorus of a countdown from the house.
Conrad’s eyes are on you and his lips curl into a smile, “I think our new years kiss was a little early.”
You laugh as their countdown gets closer and closer to zero.
“Kiss me,” Conrad is an echo of your own words from before, more certain of himself now that his veins are flooded with adrenaline.
Three… two… one.
Your lips are on his. Soft, longing, neither of you wanting to break away.
“Happy New Year, (Y/n),” Conrad whispers the words like he doesn’t want the breeze to take them away from you, his hands on your waist holding you like he would never let go.
“Happy New Year Conrad,” You return, your cold hands cupping either side of his flushed face.
He wraps his arms around you, radiating every ounce of heat his body had left as your head rests on his chest, watching the sparkle of fireworks across the other side of the coast as they ignite into the sky. And you’re sure then that Conrad would never let those same fireworks die out. And you could stay like this forever.
Summary: Felix Catton was the embodiment of everything you hated, yet you loved him like you never imagined one human being could love another. But as with all good things, you didn't know what you had until it was stolen from you.
This Chapter: Your first experiences with Saltburn and the infamous Felix Catton
Word count: +3500
Warning for the entire fic: 18+ for explicit content and language. Enemies to lovers vibes. Oral (fem & male receiving), p in v sex, fingering, ...
Jealousy, voyeurism, secrets, toxic relationships, mentions of death. Oliver being his creepy little self.
ANGST/smut/fluff (do I ever write anything else? lol)
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Saltburn has altered my brain chemistry and Felix won't leave my mind so I had to give him his own mini series. Tag list is open for those who want on it ;)
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All these and older fics are also on AO3 If you want to support my writing you can Buy me a KoFi or feed me with a lovely comment ;)
***
You weren’t just in love with Felix Catton. It would be an insult to the depth of your feelings for him to call it that. You loved him like you never imagined one human being could love another.
Felix Catton was sunlight personified. He lit up a room like no one else could, drew people to his light without even trying.
You couldn’t see it at first, blinded by the riches and the money. But it wasn’t about that.
Felix was more. More than you bargained for, and far more than you deserved.
But as with all good things, you didn’t know what you had until it was taken from you.
He was staring at you but looking right through you, no life left in his teary eyes where he lay on the ground in the middle of the maze, golden wings spread out beneath him. He looked so pale, almost inhuman. Like an angel, fallen to the earth.
It was dark and quiet in the maze, the statue looming over you like a bad omen.The music and happy chatter in the distance might as well have come from another planet. Behind these walls there was no music playing, no laughter, only grief.
Your hands were shaking, grabbing at his chest almost violently, your sadness turning into anger. Don’t you fucking leave me here alone in this place. You promised you wouldn’t leave me alone out here.
Elspeth’s desperate sobs kept filling your ears: “He’s not breathing, my baby’s not breathing, oh god he’s not breathing.”
You wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole, swallow every single person here and the whole of Saltburn with it.
What good was it without him? What good was any of it?
What good were you?
***
1 year earlier
The first time you set foot in Saltburn you had no idea where to look first. Everything was so beautiful, shiny, luxurious, authentic. Excessive.
You had heard all the stories about the infamous Catton family and their household but to walk through it, observe it all with your own two eyes, was a much different experience.
It felt like a lucid dream and in the midst of it all stood him.
Felix Catton.
Beloved son and brother, life of the party, everybody’s best friend, infamous fuck boy.
He had a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, chatting away to whoever gave him attention, male or female, it didn’t matter, they all hung on his every word.
You couldn’t stand him. Not even specifically him but people like him. Pretty rich kids. Life was so easy for him it just wasn’t fucking fair to the rest of you.
“Here,” your friend shoved a drink into your hand and gave you an encouraging smile,”It’s a party, Y/N, can you at least try to look like I’m not holding you at gun point here?”
“Sorry,” you sighed, taking a sip from your drink as you followed your friend through the endless garden of the estate.
It was hot, it had been like this for a couple of weeks now even though officially the summer was yet to start. The only relief was a soft evening breeze and the ice cold drink numbing your throat. You weren’t even supposed to be here, your friend had snuck you in, encouraging you to experience a true Saltburn party for yourself. You’d been curious as hell, so of course you’d said yes.
A decision you were already regretting.
You hated these people, it was all so shallow, and meaningless, and a million miles away from your world. But you didn’t want to seem ungrateful for the -unofficial- invite so you danced with your friend and drank, smiled and pretended to fit in. At least the alcohol made it easy for you to fake your way through the night.
You were losing yourself in the music when your friend leaned closer to you on the dance floor with a grin and a whisper into your ear,“He’s been staring at you for the last 10 minutes.”
“Who?”
“Felix. He’s so fucking hot, girl, you should go to him and go for it.”
You laughed while you continued dancing,”I think not! I may be drunk but I’m not that drunk, Bella.”
“Come on,” she tried to encourage you.
“No thanks, why would I even be interested in him? He’s just a rich asshole,” you pointed out, taking another sip from your drink while your eyes drifted off to Felix. He was standing with a group of people by the side of the dance floor and the maze and his eyes were already on you. You looked away again quickly, shaking your head with another chuckle while you finished your drink.
“See?!” your friend poked into your side with a grin,”You sure you’re not interested?”
“I’m not interested in spoiled little rich kids.”
“Girl, there is nothing about that man that is little,” your friend joked and then almost choked on her own laughter. You couldn’t help but join in.
“Shut up,” you pushed her back playfully.
“No but for real, Felix is a good egg, the best out of all of them,” she pointed out and you rolled your eyes in judgment.
“That isn't saying much, is it? They're all rich assholes.”
“Felix is nice though,” she insisted,”He’s always kind, and so welcoming, and always in a good mood.”
You snorted,”Please, if my family was this rich I’d always be in a good mood as well, fuck. That guy hasn’t had to struggle a day in his life.”
“That’s pretty presumptuous of you,” she pointed out.
“It’s written all over him, come on, he’s a walking cliche, Bella.”
You friend shrugged her shoulders,”Alright, whatever. It’s your loss, I hear he really knows how to please a girl.”
You couldn’t help but laugh again,“That guy? I highly doubt it. Everyone wants to fuck him anyway, he doesn’t even have to try and be good at it. Girls will lay at his feet either way. And guys.”
“I’m just saying, you could take the test and find out for yourself, what have you got to lose?” she teased.
“I think I’ll manage fine without having Felix Catton in my life, thanks. I’m gonna go get another refill.”
You left your friend on the dance floor but you quickly came to regret that decision.
You’d been fine on your feet while dancing but now as you were trying to move through the crowd you suddenly felt dizzy, as if someone had put something in your drink, or you were just a whole lot more drunk than you had initially thought. The ground seemed to be moving under your feet as you fought to keep your balance. Something you were failing horribly at and just as you were about to lose the fight entirely and fall down onto the grass two strong hands came to rest on your shoulders, holding you up.
“Whoa, hey, you alright there, love?”
You looked up to meet his eyes. God, he really was freakishly tall, you had never felt smaller in your life.
“Felix,” you breathed.
“Hi, there,” he smiled at you and opened his mouth to say something else but it never reached your ears as you were too busy vomiting out your guts all over his shirt and shoes.
***
“Here,” Felix handed you a glass of water with two pills in it.
You were sitting on the edge of the counter in one of the guest bathrooms downstairs. It was a blur how you got here, you vaguely remembered Felix carrying you into the house and holding your hair back while you threw up into the fancy toilet.
You looked up at him, your vision still blurry. You noticed he had changed shirts and was barefoot now.
You hesitantly took the glass from his hands but didn’t drink it yet.
“It’s for your stomach, I’m not trying to drug you, promise.”
His voice was kinder than you'd imagined and you carefully took a sip and then another one until you could feel the liquor settle in your stomach. It wasn’t making you feel worse so you drank some more.
“Thanks,” you whispered.
“I haven’t seen you at one of these parties before,” Felix stated.
“No, I…I’m new.”
He smiled. Felix Catton smiled at you and it was like looking directly into the sun.
You took another sip from the drink he handed you, avoiding his gaze, giving yourself a moment of respite. He really was breathtaking up close, even you had to admit that.
”I’m really sorry about your shirt,” you then sighed.
“That’s quite alright. You’re not the first girl to throw up on me.”
You laughed.”Okay, good to know I’m not special.”
Your words made him chuckle.”So do you have a name, new girl?”
“It’s Y/N,” you answered hesitantly.
Felix repeated your name attentively. Why did it sound so much better coming from his lips than from your own?
“You can crash here tonight if you want,” he suggested,”Plenty of guest rooms to choose from. Or one of our drivers can take you home.”
“One of your drivers?” you shook your head with a smile, his words bringing you back down to reality really fast,”Jesus, fuck, you and I come from such different worlds, it would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic.”
“I can ditch you outside of the gates and make you walk home,” he teased,”But that would be cruel, wouldn’t it?”
You shook your head with a sneer and then sighed.
“Look, it’s whatever you prefer,” he added casually.
You finished the last of the drink and got up,”I think I’d just prefer to go home, by myself. Thanks for this, but I’m okay now.”
“Okay then,” Felix nodded, a small intrigued smile forming on his lips as he watched you leave the room.
“See you at the next one, new girl,” he yelled after you.
***
The second time you talked to Felix was two weeks later. You had been going with Bella to the Saltburn estate a couple more times since then. She had developed a little crush on Oliver, one of Felix’s new friends who seemed to hang around the house all the time. She had felt a little anxious going there on her own, so she begged you to accompany her and you did what any good friend would do.
It had nothing to do with Felix or Saltburn. Not back then anyway.
You had spent the entire afternoon lounging around the pool with a big group of people. Bella had taken the opportunity to get closer to Oliver who seemed charmed by her interest in him and happily engaged in conversation. You mostly stuck to yourself and soaked up the sun while you read your book. Felix hadn’t approached you once but that didn’t stop him from stealing glances at you every time he thought you weren’t looking.
When the sun was starting to go down you said your goodbye to Bella and Oliver and decided to head back home. You had called a cab to come pick you up by the gate, where Felix found you having a discussion with the taxi driver.
“I have the money I just don’t have it on me right now,” you pleaded but the asshole wasn’t budging.
“Money now or I’m not taking you anywhere, sweetheart,” he insisted.
“I can give you half now and the rest when I get home, come on, it’s not a problem. Do I look like I don’t have money?”
“You rich kids always think the rules don’t apply to you, don’t you? Pay up front, or you’re walking.”
You sighed annoyed, ready to plead your case some more when suddenly you heard someone calling out your name.
It was Felix.
You weren’t sure what surprised you the most, the big beaming smile with which he walked up to you as if you were close friends, or the fact that he remembered your name. You hadn’t spoken to him since your embarrassing display at that party weeks ago. He’d seemed happy to ignore you after that and you had done the same, feeling no interest in getting to know him further.
“You forgot this, love,” he smiled at you and wrapped a jacket over your shoulders, the sleeves were about four sizes too big for you and the whole thing almost came down to your knees.
You were completely lost for words.
He leaned in a little closer to whisper in your ear,”I think you left your money in there as well.”
He tapped on the pocket with his finger and you could see a few 10 pound notes sticking out.
“Felix,” you sighed,”You don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?” he feigned innocence,”This is yours, now pay the good man before he ditches you and makes you walk home.”
“I…okay, fine,” you sighed, giving in and taking out the money needed to pay for your ride home.
“Perfect,” the taxi driver grinned,”Pleasure doing business with you.”
Felix stood with his hands in his pockets and a satisfied grin on his face while the man opened the door and waited for you to get in.
You sighed again and looked back into his big brown eyes.
“I’ll pay you back,” you whispered before getting into the car.
“That’s not necessary, new girl,” he called after you and gave you a big wave as the car drove away with you in it.
You hated that it made you smile.
****
You hated to admit that you were starting to enjoy the weekly parties at Saltburn, it had become your guilty pleasure weekend activity.
Bella and Oliver had grown closer together and you couldn’t deny you enjoyed his company as well, he seemed different from all the other rich kids and you had a strong feeling that he was just pretending to fit in, much like yourself. Neither of you spoke of it but when you looked into his eyes you knew, and you knew he knew as well. Neither of you belonged here.
Felix was mixing drinks behind the bar when you put the money you owed him on the counter.”Here.”
He gave you a smile and shook his head,”I told you that wasn’t necessary.”
“Yes, it is,” you insisted.
“Really it was nothing, it was barely 4O pounds.”
“And I’m sure in your world that’s considered nothing but in mine it’s….,” you swallowed the rest of your angry words before you would say things you’d end up regretting later.”Just take the damn money.”
He lifted his hands up in defense and laughed,”Alright, fine, I’ll take the money, thank you for paying me back, what the fuck?”
You sighed annoyed and walked away from him, leaving him shaking his head in confusion.
You went back to ignoring him for the rest of the night, or at least trying to. You couldn’t help but find yourself looking at him from time to time. He was always chatting to someone, always laughing and drinking and looking like he was having the time of his life. You wondered if at least part of that was an act, if it ever exhausted him to play the ever friendly host and life of every party. Nobody was happy all the time, weren’t they? Not even Felix Catton.
You looked away when he stared back at you, ignoring the emotions that started bubbling up in the pit of your stomach. You felt strangely drawn to him, and you hated yourself for allowing that feeling.
Bella was the one to pull you out of your thoughts and onto the dance floor and you went willingly, losing yourself in the music and the rhythm. When a few guys came to join you both you didn’t think much of it and you happily let them dance close to you. It wasn’t after some time that you noticed Bella wasn’t there anymore and there was one guy in particular who seemed to have some issues with personal space. His hands were traveling further up your hips and under your shirt while he started grinding up against you.
Your hands on his chest tried to push him back a little bit as you tried to dance away from him but his hold on your hips was too strong.
“Hey, come on, stop that,” you politely tried to create some distance between you both but the guy ignored all your attempts. When his hand tried to slip under the hem of your skirt to feel up your ass you were ready to throw punches at this jerk. Just before you could make your move someone grabbed your hand and slowly but firmly pulled you away from the guy.
Felix.
Before you realized what was happening your back was pressed up against his large chest, his hands on your waist as he danced behind you, his face buried into your hair while he made eye contact with the guy in front of you.
“Sorry, mate, she’s one of mine, off limits,” he stated, as if that explained everything.
And apparently it did because the guy just smiled apologetically at Felix and stepped back immediately.
“Hey,” Felix winked at the guy,”India over there is looking like she could use some company, shoot your shot, man.”
The jerk gave him a big smile and two thumbs up.
You wanted to punch both of them.
You were no longer in need of rescuing but Felix still kept dancing with you. His hands were gentle on your hips, keeping you close but not too close, giving you the freedom to step back should you choose to.
But you didn’t make that choice.
Your body betrayed you by leaning into him, allowing him to nuzzle your hair and your neck, putting goosebumps all over your arms and Felix smiled when he noticed. When his lips brushed your ear your brain finally kicked back into gear and you broke out of his embrace, surprising him.
“Some nice mates you have there,” you pointed out as you turned to look at him,” And one of yours? Do you have like a spare set of everything? Even girls?”
Felix just shook his head with a bashful smile.
“Of course you do,” you then sighed,”Why am I even surprised? God, you are so…”
“What?” he asked, a playful grin on his face,”What am I?”
“Annoying,” you blurted out,”Privileged, full of yourself, ignorant.”
Beautiful, enchanting, mesmerizing.
“Alright, don’t hold back on me now,” he laughed, seemingly amused by your anger and that only angered you further.
You bit your tongue and then shook your head,”You know what, forget it, I don’t even know why I bother.”
You wanted to turn on your heel but Felix reached for your hand, lacing his long fingers with your much smaller ones and keeping you close to him.
“Why do you bother?” he then asked, intrigued, eyes locking with yours,”Why do you keep coming back here when you clearly hate everything about this place?”
“Because my friend…”
“No, no, no, your friend isn’t even here tonight, that’s an excuse. Why are you here?”
Your mouth opened but the words weren’t coming out. Because you would rather die than admit why you were really here.
“I like big parties where I don’t have to pay for anything,” you lied, avoiding his gaze. Felix just laughed and God, you wanted to wipe that beautiful smile off his gorgeous face so badly.
Then he leaned down to be able to stare deep down into your eyes, his voice nothing but a whisper,”You’re a pretty little liar, new girl.”
His deep voice and intense stare were enough to shut you up entirely and you had to look away from him to find your voice again.
“I had him, I didn’t need you,” you then blurted out.
“Didn’t look like it to me,” he shrugged.
“I would have handled it,” you insisted.
“The right thing to say is thank you, Felix, that was pretty nice of you,” he teased, making your blood boil.
“You…ugh…,” you angrily turned your back on him and stormed off the dance floor.
“You’re welcome,” he yelled after you with a big smile on his face,”See you at the next one, Y/N.”
“Asshole.”
You wanted to hate him, you really did, Felix Catton stood for everything you despised. But you could still feel the warmth of his hands on your hips, feel where his breath had grazed your neck until your skin erupted in goosebumps, feel how deeply his eyes bored a way straight into your soul.
You hated how you didn’t hate him at all and above all else you hated how he reduced you to just another Felix groupie. That wasn’t you.
He had no idea who you were.
And he could never find out.
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