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rqgnarok · 4 months

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leave a light on - nolan price

prequel for love you better now, but can be read individually

fandom: law & order, law & order special victims unit

wc: 4,735

warnings: canon presence of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, and hospitals. female reader.

summary: nolan's wife gets shot. he tries and fails to deal with that.

author's note below! masterlist / ko-fi / ao3

Nolan misses Liv’s call thrice before he calls for a recess.

The first two he’s stuck cross-examining the DA’s witness and he doesn’t realize how many times Liv has tried to get him on the phone until the third time she calls. He can’t answer, obviously– Judge MacNamara is lenient but not enough for Nolan to take a call in the middle of the day– but the call goes to voicemail and his screen lights up with Liv’s other attempts to reach him.

He immediately knows it’s bad. And he immediately knows it’s about his wife.

His chest constricts with his panic, breath catching and refusing to enter his lungs as his brain tries to catch up to the situation. The courtroom is suddenly too small and suffocating, his tie a noose around his neck.

It takes McNamara calling his name several times and the DA snidely wondering if the defense needs a minute for Nolan to somewhat snap out of it, pressing on Liv’s contact before the judge finishes adjourning for the day.

“Nolan,” she says, shaky.

Not Price, which is what he’d expect from his wife’s coworker. They’re all friends, sure, but during work hours they fall into the habit of keeping everyone at arm’s length. Not right now, for some reason, and Nolan is tiptoeing the line between fine and about to crumble on the courthouse steps from a knock-out panic attack.

“What happened?” Because something must’ve happened. His wife has one of the most dangerous jobs out there, life-endangering experiences being the norm and coming home not-dead being a good day. But if Liv is calling– if Liv is calling and (Y/N) isn’t…

Nolan has been psyching himself up for this day since (Y/N) first told him about joining the police academy. He’s still somehow not ready.

He will never be ready for this.

Olivia hesitates for a second too long and Nolan’s fear gets the best of him. “Olivia. What happened?”

Her voice cracks at (Y/N)’s name. Nolan grips his briefcase so tightly on the way to the hospital that his hand goes numb, nails digging into the skin of his palm until it’s red and tender.

The knot of anxiety in his belly doesn’t unclench despite the quick, easy ride to the hospital. New York traffic seems to be doing him a favor, but it isn’t the physical distance he’s worried about. That one at least he’s able to cross. There’s nothing he can do if his wife is… if she…

Nolan finds a sea of cops and NYPD blue as soon as he crosses the threshold into Bellevue, worried and talking over each other as they watch over one of their injured own. None of them are familiar faces and his panic increases tenfold, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears drowning out doctors, officers, and detectives.

Suddenly, the sea of people parts for her, and Olivia is in his line of sight, giving Nolan’s brain something to focus on other than the never-ending possibilities of what he might be facing here. She looks disheveled, shirt askew and vest still halfway on; her hair out of place, and her expression haunted, but no blood. There’s no blood on her and it's an important distinction for Nolan to make when she seizes his free hand in hers.

“Nolan,” she says, and her voice sounds like static, just like it did on the phone. It isn’t the line but Nolan’s brain filled with noise, like cotton in his ears and mouth and eyes stopping him from receiving the world clearly. “Nolan, are you okay?”

“What happened?” he asks again. Liv hadn’t explained, not really. She only told him that (Y/N) was hurt and they were taking her to Bellevue. You should come too, she’d said, and should had sounded more like need, which did nothing to soothe Nolan’s raising hackles.

Nolan’s breath stutters. He knows what happened, but he can’t comprehend it. The hand holding his briefcase is shaking. He asks once more when Liv only blinks at him, mouth open and no words coming out. “What happened?”

“We were chasing a suspect via foot,” and Nick’s there, too, by Liv’s side, like an apparition Nolan might’ve conjured. His brows are furrowed, jaw tense. “We caught him mid-rape and separated to cover more ground. No one had mentioned a gun during their disclosures, he wasn’t supposed to be armed.”

“(Y/N) caught up to him first,” Liv continues, voice dry, shaking her head. “He– Shots went off but we didn’t know– he must’ve known we were onto him. Got his hands on a gun after the first wave of assaults.”

Nolan bites the inside of his cheek. He tastes blood and thinks of his wife, and stops.

“She was alone for two minutes tops,” Nolan wonders if Liv thinks she’s being reassuring. “She’d been shot, we called a bus right away.”

“Where?” Nolan asks tightly.

Liv blinks. Nick answers, “What?”

“Where, where in her body was she shot, how–” he struggles for a full breath and only comes out half successful. “How bad is it?”

Silence.

“Did you– did you not see her?” he wonders, biting. Nolan turns back and forth between his wife’s coworkers, losing his patience. “Were you there, was she– Jesus, Liv, how bad is it?”

“The bullet hit her chest,” Nolan loses all fiery, defensive passion right then and there. His own heart stops for a second, or at least that’s what it feels like when his chest is engulfed by a pressing ache that numbs him all over.

“They took her straight into surgery,” Nick continues when Nolan doesn’t say anything to that, unable to leave his partner to the wolves. “Liv rode with her in the ambulance but there wasn’t– it’s in their hands now. They’re taking care of her, pal, okay? She’s getting help.”

Where was the help when she was alone chasing after a fucking criminal, where the hell were you, huh he wants to say; wants to shout and curse and point and make a scene, but the words get stuck in his throat and in the next blink he finds himself seated in the waiting room, still surrounded by cops.

God, Nolan thinks, pressing his fingers to his tightly closed lids. When, in their fifteen years of knowing each other, could he have seen this coming? The bright-eyed, furiously righteous kid halfway through law school and the pretty girl who took one of his classes as an elective, only to completely destroy one of his classmates during a debate that made up half their grade.

Nolan had watched, mouth barely open in amazement as quiet, back-of-the-class (Y/N) didn’t flinch while delivering the final blow and bringing her team to victory. She snuck out before he could talk to her– do something stupid like congratulate her with stars in his eyes and an invitation for coffee on his tongue, but it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter because the next weekend his roommate dragged him to a party and she was there, she was everywhere now that Nolan was unconsciously looking out for her. He ran into her in the hallways from one class to another, in the library, at parties and restaurants. It was like the world was screaming at him here! Here, look this way! Here it is, the rest of your life waiting for you! All you gotta do is look!

He’d been there for hours already, bored and annoyed out of his mind when he saw her across the room. After nursing the same red cup of warm beer and looking at his watch every couple of minutes, calculating the appropriate time to bail he saw her. She’d been leaning against a wall, her expression changing from concealed humor to disbelief to a laugh that had her hiding behind her hand, entertained by whoever she’d been speaking to.

Who it was, Nolan doesn’t remember. He doesn’t even think about the cliche of it all, how the world faded when their eyes locked across the room and (Y/N) gave him a smile, shy, shrugging and turning back to her conversation.

The funny pressure on his chest didn’t dissipate when he finally got a chance to exchange words with her. After the final exam, Nolan left the lecture hall and sat heavily on a bench by the door, catching his breath from the adrenaline of a month worth of study finally being over.

(Y/N) was there, too, smiling sheepishly up at him as she crouched against the wall, elbows on her knees. Her expression brims with shy recognition as she nods. “How’d you do?”

She was talking about the exam. Nolan’s embarrassed to this day by the time it took for him to catch up. His cheeks were flushed when he answered. “I’m, uh, not flushing out yet, I hope.”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“Ask me after I’ve slept some 12 hours,” he sighed, messing nervously with his hair. “Things usually seem less dire by then.”

“Would some coffee do the trick?” and Nolan didn’t know it then, but (Y/N) was nervous, bravery swelling inside her chest as she asked him for the first day of the rest of their lives. In the end, she’d been the one to catch up to all the signs, all the serendipitous opportunities to finally end up where they were supposed to.

“Coffee can work,” Nolan, young and eager, said slowly. He couldn’t stop grinning, high with lack of sleep and the attention of a pretty girl. “You’re buying?”

“It’s only fair,” she shrugged, but there was something giddy about her expression that he still sees in her face to this day sometimes, bright and young. “You look like you’re about to drop dead.”

“And I still seem like worthy company?”

“I think we can pull a few good hours out of you yet,” a few hours, a few years; Nolan will be as sleepless as he was then on his wedding day out of pure excitement. They’ll have spent the night before the ceremony talking on the phone while they slept in separate rooms because their friends are sentimental little fucks like that and wouldn’t let him even kiss her goodbye before the big day.

He’d described the few hours apart as agony in his vows, had made the crowd laugh and (Y/N) cry with the sentiment, and he wishes he hadn’t now. He shouldn’t have said a damned thing, shouldn’t have manifested any sort of agony into their lives because now the illusion cuts off sharply, and then he’s back in the waiting room, a nurse calling (Y/N)’s name while he plays with his wedding ring and bites the inside of his cheek, staring blankly into the hallway.

Liv’s still there for some reason, as are some other officers and Amaro, while the others hunt down the man who landed their friend in the hospital. Munch had snapped at the Captain when he told him he couldn’t stay. Fin had to lead Amanda out of the hospital by the shoulders, too stricken to do it herself.

Liv and Amaro stand when they hear the nurse but it takes Nolan a few moments to gather himself back together enough to pay attention. She tells them, gently, “She’s out of surgery. She lost a lot of blood, but only some of the bullet’s fragments hit her heart. It was touch and go but the doctor was able to extract all of them.”

Nolan’s lungs open up and he gets the first full breath washing over his body since Liv called. He must make a sound, because the attention in the room shifts to him, suffocating and inquisitive. His vision blurs for a second, not because of tears but adrenaline, his heartbeat pumping in his ears.

“She’s extremely lucky,” she continues, and she’s looking right at Nolan when she says this, like it's supposed to help. Like that’s what luck means, almost-but-not-quite bleeding out while your heart is stitched up back together. “Most people with injuries like this don’t even make it past the ambulance.”

Nolan closes his eyes in anguish. He presses his closed fists against his forehead, elbows on his knees, back hunched. It’s almost like he’s trying to disappear into himself, away from the image of an ambulance opening its doors when arriving at the hospital only to be met with his flatlining wife, the sound echoing through his brain and overriding every other of his senses.

“There’s still a long way to go,” she continues, softer, realizing she’s hit a nerve. She turns to Liv and Nick, who are paying rapt attention even as Nick walks close to him to put a hand on Nolan’s shoulder, tight and steady. “She won’t wake up anytime soon. Her body needs rest and to recuperate from the most acute of her injuries. And the doctor would like to talk about next steps once she does.”

Next steps, Nolan thinks. Next steps, the only next steps he’s aware of are those that lead to his wife, the nurse walking him to her room. Olivia and Amaro trail behind him like a couple of guard dogs, standing alert for any sign of Nolan backing out or collapsing into his grief.

He just might. He feels queasy, nauseous with exhaustion and worry. But then he sees his wife, and, really, nothing else matters.

“Sweetheart,” he says, devastated, walking to her bed across the hospital room. “Oh, honey.”

Despite his eagerness to touch her, Nolan flails when (Y/N)’s finally within arms reach. She looks asleep for one blissful, hopeful moment, but then Nolan blinks and the light settles; the ashiness of her skin, the uncomfortable placing of her body, the blank expression devoid of dreams or nightmares or consciousness.

He’d usually be embarrassed to have a witness to such a personal display of affection, but not even Liv and Nick standing tall at the door can stop Nolan from eventually cupping (Y/N)’s face in his hands and kissing the apple of her cheek, lingering and gentle. He’s afraid of touching the rest of her, of jostling her too badly, but the steady noise of the heart rate monitor is a constant, loud reminder that (Y/N) won’t fall apart that easily.

Liv and Nick linger behind him, talking quietly amongst themselves in sharp whispers. It might or might not be an argument, and in Nolan’s mind it feels like both an eternity and a couple of seconds. He would kick them out if he could gather the energy to care about it. Eventually, Benson takes a few apprehensive steps into the room, seemingly having lost whatever fight she and her partner were having.

“We’re on our way out,” she murmurs. “There’s a lead on our guy, the Captain’s calling us all back to the precinct. But if there’s anything…”

She trails off. Nolan doesn’t answer, studies instead the bridge of (Y/N)’s nose and the shape of her eyebrows, tries to count her eyelashes and catalog the bruises on her face. Liv sighs defeatedly and reaches for him.

“Whatever you need,” Liv says firmly with a hand on his arm. Still, her steady presence is undermined by the way she keeps looking at (Y/N) like she’s already attending a funeral. Nolan suddenly can’t stand her, even if she rode the ambulance with (Y/N) to the hospital and kept her semi-conscious until the doctors took her off her hands. “We’re here for you, alright? All of us, Nolan. I’m serious.”

“Thanks,” he says, voice rough and cracked from swallowing down his panic and tears. He clears his throat but it does little to clear up his words. “Thank you, Liv. For everything.”

Her lips tighten in an unpleased line, but she nods and leaves the room with one last squeeze to his shoulder. He’s being ungrateful, the fact doesn’t escape him. Liv’s the one who found her, who held her hand in the ambulance before they drove her off to surgery. Nolan owes Benson his life.

The thought alone makes him so nauseous he has to clench his eyes shut, jaw tight, entire body trembling. God, what would he have done? What will he do, if something happens to (Y/N)? She isn’t out of the woods yet and if something goes wrong, if her body decides to cave in, if the wound gets infected, if there’s something they didn’t catch, if, if, if, if–

He lifts his head and catches his wife’s face, lax and motionless. Once again, the panic settles. He hasn’t gotten the chance to let it unfold the way it needs to.

“I finally got you on your own,” Nolan says, soft, careful not to disturb the semblance of peace in the room. (Y/N) doesn’t answer, no matter how badly Nolan wants her to. “You’re very popular. A tough one to find these days, you know.”

She wasn’t even supposed to be in today. Cragen had called mere hours after they’d gone to bed– at the same time for the first time in weeks– and Nolan had done his best to stay up after the phone rang and (Y/N) began quickly getting ready. She’d kneeled next to his side of the bed and Nolan had leaned in to kiss her without thought, an automatic notion he wishes he’d paid more attention to now.

I’ll call you when I can, she nudged her nose against his temple before pressing a kiss there. Nolan had already been half asleep at that point. Love you.

Love you back, Nolan mumbled, jutting his chin forward blindly. One more.

He continues as if (Y/N) had spoken. “You’ve got half of the NYPD out there waiting on you. The nurses are rioting, but I don’t think anyone’ll leave until you wake up.”

Nolan’s voice loses the battle, it breaks right at the end of his sentence and so does his composure, eyes burning with tears that for some goddamned reason just won’t fall.

“Please,” he begs to the sky, to God, to no one. “Please, please, please. Wake up.”

He presses his forehead to his wife’s limp hand maybe a little too harshly. Even if the skin is cold and her grip is nonexistent, the relief the touch brings Nolan has him sobbing.

An hour ago she was in surgery, out of reach and sight even if she was already getting help.

Three hours ago she was bleeding out in some alleyway in Queens, struggling for her radio to call for help. Seven hours ago she was kissing him goodbye, smiling against his mouth despite the dark nature of the sudden case because Nolan kept pulling her in for one more kiss.

One more, one more, one more, his pleads begs now. Wake up and give me one more, sweetheart, come on now.

“Please, honey,” he whispers, wet and nasal with emotion. “I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready yet, I didn’t– I don’t–”

The words don’t come. Nolan chokes, holds (Y/N)’s hand in his own, and breathes, breathes, and breathes.

—

Life moves on.

Nolan doesn’t cry. God knows why, but he can’t, his body on automatic while his mind solely focuses on (Y/N)’s condition. The nurses know him by name and he makes record time to the apartment and back to the hospital for showers and quick naps, some food for the little appetite he has.

He doesn’t even think to be offended when his boss places him on indefinite leave. Nolan can’t bring himself to care, he would’ve stacked up every sick day and vacation time available to stay at (Y/N)’s side as much as he could anyway.

The squad offers to stand guard almost daily, which Nolan appreciates, but his object permanence has gone to shit. Whenever he doesn’t have eyes on (Y/N) his panic rises again like a tidal wave, never quite crashing but dwindling whenever he sits next to her at the hospital, hand on her ankle or arm or somewhere he can easily look for her pulse, weak but steady.

It’s desperate, he knows, and more than a little pathetic, but Nolan feels like he’s allowed. Until (Y/N) wakes up to tell him he’s been worrying over nothing he will do as he pleases.

He talks to her. It’s another coping method that borders on delusion but no one has called him out of it yet. Not even Liv and Amaro, who have caught him more than once speaking quietly into the lull of the hospital room, holding his wife’s hand and drawing soothing motions with his thumb against her skin.

Mom drove into the steps again. The ones in the driveway? They were already loose from last time and now she has Dad driving through every Home Depot in North Carolina to find the right match.

Jill sends her best. Last time I saw her she was talking my ear off about her kid’s college fund. Apparently her husband lost half of it during Tuesday night with the boys, whatever that means.

Munch says he owes you 20 bucks from the Giants game from two weeks ago? Which is weird, because you haven’t watched a full game since, like, ‘02. Not like you’re missing anything, but still, your accuracy to outsmart Munch in his own line of work is pretty outstanding.

It helps. Or it helps enough; whenever he ventures over what they’ll do once she’s awake and at home together the illusion breaks and so does Nolan’s voice. He trails off, feeling foolish, the weight of his delusion pressing on his chest.

“It’s not silly,” Munch tells him during one of his visits, the book he’s been reading to (Y/N) resting on his lap. “It’s helpful and it doesn’t hurt anyone. You’re talking to your wife. If I’d done more of that back in my day then maybe I’d still be married.”

“To which one?” Nolan asks, his lips tingling with the want to almost smile.

Munch points at him as if saying yahtzee. “Exactly.”

He’s so sure it calms Nolan more than you’d expect. So far Munch is the only other person who talks about (Y/N) like she’s still alive and thus, the only one who doesn’t make inexplicable helpless rage wash over Nolan whenever they’re in the same room.

He’s the one with him when (Y/N) wakes. She does so in a panic, waking Nolan up from his uncomfortable sleep in the chair next to her bed. It’s a sudden flail after another as her heart rate monitor goes crazy and she doesn’t answer any call of her name, terrified and in pain.

It’s awful. Nolan doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how she almost tears at her stitches mid her panic while doctors and nurses gather around her and kick Nolan out with quick accuracy. There’s nothing he can do to help and he knows it, but he’s never supposed to be in a position in which he can’t help her.

He’s doomed to watch from a glass window, helpless, as his wife suffers without anyone to reach out to.

She woke up but had to be sedated, a nurse tells him after, it’s normal for patients to be unaware of their surroundings after waking up from long periods of unconsciousness. We still haven’t been able to determine neurological damage, so we’ll have to wait until it wears off.

“Kid, kid, hey,” Munch says, oddly alarmed after coming back from the cafeteria with two coffees and finding Nolan sitting outside (Y/N)’s room, crying into his knees. “What’s wrong, what happened? I was gone for fifteen minutes–”

Nolan tries to explain but the words get caught up in his throat, his grief taking over his sense of logic. She woke up, he meant to say. She woke up and she didn’t know where she was and I stood by like an idiot to watch her suffer.

After he’s talked down from a panic attack he says, voice a mere croak. “She woke up. They don’t know– but she woke up.”

Munch sighs, visibly relieved as he squats next to Nolan, squeezing his shoulder in support. “Good. That’s good, hey– Nolan. That’s good, okay? That’s one step closer to getting her back. This is good.”

He repeats those words to himself like a mantra. This is good, this is good, this is good, and doesn’t dare to close his eyes for something other than blinking until (Y/N)’s conscious. It’s hours later, deep into the night when she opens her eyes again, groggy and disoriented, blinking into the dark hospital room.

“Honey,” he says, quiet and so, so relieved. (Y/N) doesn’t appear to hear him and a flash of fear seizes his heart. He presses the button and calls for a nurse, edging closer to the bed. “(Y/N/N). Hey, honey, you with me?”

Arduously slowly, (Y/N) follows the sound of his voice. She blinks at him, gulping and saying, dry as the Sahara. “Nole.”

It’s the most glorious thing he’s ever heard. The smile that pulls at his mouth is unconscious, ripped from him almost against his will. He goes to touch her face, hands shaky and reverent. “Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me.”

He offers her a drink and grips her hand all through the nurse’s examination, which she passes with flying colors. While she’s tinkering with her IV, (Y/N) asks him, “Bellevue?”

“Yeah,” he says grimly, thumb rubbing soothing motions against her skin, trying to infuse some warmth.

“Shot?” she wonders next.

Nolan hesitates. “You don’t remember?”

“Guessin’,” she slurs, tired, blinks getting longer each time she closes her eyes.

The nurse pipes up then with the same explanations she’s given Nolan the past few weeks: the bullet to her heart, the long-lasting surgery, and the even longer coma. (Y/N) nods in all the right places but her head rests against the pillow and her expression remains blank, like she’s not retaining any information.

“Anyone… else?” she asks.

“No,” Nolan responds, watching how tension falls off her frame when he confirms this fact. He wishes he felt the same, a selfish part of him wishes it had been someone else; Liv or Amaro or Fin here in this hospital bed instead of his wife. It’s true, even if the thought is followed by guilt. “No, everyone’s fine, honey. Working their asses off and worried out of their minds, but okay. It’s just you.”

(Y/N) hums and then promptly falls back asleep, breaths settling into an even rhythm. It’s then that his eyes water and his tears fall on the scratchy hospital sheets where (Y/N) lays. Oh, Nolan thinks, almost surprised by them. So this is what it takes.

Nolan bows his head and lets himself cry in silence. His breath keeps hitching, and the nauseating feeling of panic he’s been nursing for weeks finally explodes. He can’t feel his hands and feet, body numb all over.

The next time he looks up, hours later, is because (Y/N)’s reaching to touch his face, tender and shaky. He snaps to attention like a soldier called to his battalion, but there’s no trouble chasing after them, no bad thing happening for once. They’re okay, alone and safe in her hospital room while nurses and doctors and visitors keep passing by just outside the door.

“You haven’t slept,” (Y/N) croaks out as she drops her hand from where she’d been gently pressing at the bags under Nolan’s eyes, tired from that simple movement. Her chest rises and falls with breaths that are a little too labored, but her eyes are fixed on her husband, worried. “Nole.”

It almost makes him smile: (Y/N) worrying about other people while she lies with a hole in her heart on a hospital bed. Nolan would laugh if he were sure it wouldn’t immediately turn into crying again, but there’s nothing funny about this. Nothing.

“‘m alright,” he promises, weak and croaky and wet from previous cries. (Y/N) looks a little too out of it, but also like she doesn’t believe him for a moment. He amends: “I will be. And so will you. You’re gonna be okay, honey.”

happy new year!!! i wanted to start the year giving you a little something after being so absent the last couple of months and i've had this piece in my drafts for ages! it was originally waaay longer but i thought i'd end it on a happy note and maybe make a part two if anyone's interested?

anyway! i hope you guys enjoy what has become one of my favorite pairings to write and i hope you had a good time last night and a great 2024! thank you for reading!

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octoagentmiles · 1 year

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do you have any hcs for barnacles and dashi ? I'm rewatching it and many episodes start with the two of them in the main area , oftentimes there's a third person involved but it's always the two of them so they must spend alot of time around each other :O 10 / 10 bonding

Had to think hard about this since Dashi's role in the main series is so small—but you're actually so right 👀 10/10 buddies 👍

You'll get my headcanons I promise but first you gotta listen to me infodump, okay? Deal:

I personally headcanon that Dashi was one of the first Octonauts, she hasn't been around a super long time- but at least long enough that she was probably around for the first Octopod, and that would give her and Barnacles (and the other OGs) plenty of time to get close.

We know Inkling canonically founded the Octonauts, but I imagine that it was actually Barnacles who picked out the crew—over various fateful encounters (Kwazii, Peso), or already knowing them (Tweak)—with the two exceptions of Dashi and Shellington.

Shellington heard about them through the kelp vine by pure chance, and got himself a job via determination. Then, at some point—he recommended Dashi to Barnacles or Inkling, and got her a position as an intern. (He knew her through her photography; she took pictures for him once or something like that.)

I also headcanon they weren't called The Octonauts yet at that point. I headcanon that Dashi came up with the "Octonauts" name during her first few days, and they kept it. (Coincidentally, the first Octopod crashed during those first few days. T'was completely unrelated, I promise 😅)

Fast forward: I've been thinking about Dashi in AnB a lot lately, and the one question that keeps coming up is: "Why did Barnacles make her the Captain of the Octoray?"

They haven't addressed it in the show yet, and it felt a little bit like the writers just wanted her to Do Something, y'know? So I went back to rewatch some of her main series episodes, and this scene from The Surfing Snails stuck out:

This scene shows how much he trusts her. He trusts her to make the right calls, and to be careful. He shows this trust in her again in the Wild Windstorms:

"...I'm ready for this!"

"I know you are, Dashi."

I REALLY wish they had spent more time giving her some kind of arc, showing this trust being built. She absolutely deserved an arc like Peso's, where we could've seen her growth and her bond with Barnacles getting stronger. It would've made the Octoray thing make much more sense, and I would've loved to actually SEE her evolution from "getting stuck in a whale shark" to "inventing stuff with Tweak" to the level of respect that Barnacles clearly has for her in S4 and Beyond, but instead it feels like all that stuff happened off-screen.

I also wanna point out real quick; that Dashi is one of the select few characters to ever call Barnacles by his first name only. This is something that the writers frequently use to emphasize closeness between Barnacles and someone else (Kwazii, Natquik, etc), and Dashi has done it twice. I'll admit I thought it was an error the first time, but then I caught her doing it again in Sac Actun. SO CLEARLY THEY ARE CLOSE. YES? WE AGREE. YES.

ok I'm done. pleasure doing business with you 🤝

*slams hands down on table* MISC. HEADCANON TIME ‼️ (which technically, could all totally be canon until the writers finally decide to give us real information ✨)

She has 100% read ALL of his books and journals, at least twice. Sometimes he gives them to her so she can beta read them, and she's also helped edit a few.

She has written her own journals, mostly in the form of scrapbooks, that she shares with him too. He has a first edition signed copy of one of them.

She made friendship bracelets for everyone on the ship after the Octopod was rebuilt, and he keeps his on his desk. It's still in mint condition.

I feel like at least ONE of the cameras in her collection was a gift from him.

She is trained on how to steer the Octopod manually. Considering the only two on board at the time who knew how to do it were Barnacles and Tweak—her showing slight interest was the only convincing he needed to teach her.

Sadly, she's never needed to use this skill. Yet.

She learned how to play harmonica when he decided to learn accordion, so they could duet together, but she got the hang of it much faster than he did.

They work out together sometimes. She's much stronger than she looks—and has won an arm wrestling match against him at LEAST once. She's also beat him in a foot race; it was almost a very close tie, and she needed to lay down for an hour after—but she did it. He will never live either of these down.

They definitely gossip in HQ sometimes, when it's just the two of them.

#*very long dramatic exhale* i have so many thoughts about dashi. anyway-#octonauts #dashi octonauts #captain barnacles #please excuse the slightly off captions in the surfing snail images - they came like that in the clip and i didn't feel like redoing them #also i forget what episode had dashi calling barnacles his first name for the first time 😭 that's why i didn't specify-#but i DO vividly remember it so i didn't imagine it i promise hgdjfk <3 #it was in like s1 or 2 (p sure 1) and she was in the octopod trying to get a hold of him in the gup-a like ''dashi to barnacles?'' etc etc #but anyway: PLEASE anb give us a barnacles and dashi episode!! show us their friendship 🙏🙏 i beg #also this post is Not Ship. i mean idk what anon's intentions were- but as far as i go this is Not Ship 👍❌ ty <3 #dashi beat barnacles in an arm wrestling match back in her early days when she still had Strong Cave Diving Arms™#but the foot race was more recent. all the octonauts have strong legs from all the swimming they do but dashi's also a SURFER so 👀#i feel like these tags end abruptly but idk what else to say so 🤲🤲 you've reached the end of the post‚ have a nice day 👋👋#the end #le fin #<3

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