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whump-town · 4 years

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Nation Of Two

(Hotchniss/Hotly, language warning)

(You can also read the full text here)

It’s no secret that Emily Prentiss and Aaron Hotchner make a great team. Nearly in sync in every way possible. To outfits and biology- it’s fairly uncommon to stumble upon two people who seem to share everything in common and yet nothing at all. Mild-mannered to a short fuse, wildly protective, and a force to be reckoned with and yet what had created those similarities could not separate them more.

At the same time, Morgan had never seen two people get under each other’s skin as often as those two. In one breath, they’re moving in tandem the next arguing over a cup of coffee. Communicating through a single glance shared across a busy room and then at each other’s throats.

Dave had just broken up one of their more heated arguments. Given the profanity riddled sarcastic retort Emily had thrown as a final blow, Morgan could make a fairly educated guess that they were arguing about the headache Hotch is attempting and failing to hide.

Arguments over injuries and ailments always procure the worst scenes. They get heated, worse so when Hotch is the injured party in their das reich der zwei. Their Nation of Two- the dream team, in it together till the end of the line. The line, of course, being injuries. They want to protect everyone and when that spotlight finds itself pointing at one of them, it creates a unique kind of challenge.

A pain in the ass.

“Reid,” Hotch’s rough baritone breaks through the precinct. “You’re with me,” he announces, his dark eyes purposely flicking to Prentiss. “We’re going to the dock.”

Reid realizes he’s now been roped into this. Going with Hotch means he’s siding with Hotch and like a fool, he’s only got one option. He sets the marker in his hand down on the table and sends Rossi a panicked look- knowing he’s the only person who can help him at this point.

The older man offers him a short shake of the head- great, he’s really screwed.

Prentiss’ jaw clenches as she glares at Hotch, her fist clenched at her side. What point is he proving right now? Look at me, Aaron Hotchner, all buff and big because I’m going to get an ear infection going outside in the snow without any protection for my busted up ears! So manly, so cool.

Fuck him.

She hopes he gets an ear infection, it would only serve him right. Asshole.

Picking up Reid’s discarded pen, she sets back to her work. At least this way one of them would be getting something done.

__________

“Hotch?”

The snow had started coming down harder once they got in the car. Reid had learned a long time ago that as sensible as his boss was, one of the largest mistakes you could make around him was getting in a car while the man was angry. And as worrisome as the car ride had been- the tall, lanky creature standing on the dock is shaping up to be worse.

“FBI!”

Reid blinks, just watching in confusion, and fear as Hotch keeps his solid pace up.

“Identify yourself.” No one’s supposed to be on that dock. Hence the yellow tape wrapped, practically, all the way around it. If he could see the tape through the snow then surely so could the figure.

Hotch comes to a staggering halt, fingers itching to draw his gun.

“Step closer,” the figure shouts over the snow, “and I’ll slit this little bastards throat.”

A father-son duo… admittedly, Hotch wasn’t expecting this. “Just let him go,” Hotch replies, evenly. His hands raise, slowly, making sure everything stays just as it is. “We can talk- tell me your name?” The kid looks no older than sixteen and terrified. Trembling.

“I'm not going to jail!” The man shouts, “those girls had it coming! They deserved it!” The father jerks the boy closer, his son’s body covering his. “Now, fuck off!” He pulls them closer to the edge.

Hotch’s heart is thundering in his chest, he’s really not in the mood to watch a father kill his son. “Just- Just-” he falters and that’s all it takes. Hotch shouts in horror as the father throws both himself and the son over the ledge. He’s aware of Reid shouting his name but he tears off for the desk. The whole way losing articles of clothing- his phone, his gun, his jacket-

The water hits like a punch, stealing the air from his lungs. He breaks the surface and his face burns from the freezing water and the wind. He shakes his hair out of his face, searching for blood or hair or- His eyes zero in on a small splash, a hand breaking the surface.

He dives back under, muscles burning as he forces his way through the water. There’s a mass of murky movement, two bodies in motion. Hotch struggles to tell son from father for a moment- a moment too long. A hand reaches out and grabs his leg, puling him down too and he knows.

With all the force he can manage he kicks down at the hand, a sickening water muffled snap coming to his ears. Hotch wraps his arms around the smaller figure, his lungs burning and body growing tired. He kicks them up but there are other limbs connecting with the soft tissues of his body. The cold has numbed his body and he doesn’t feel the pain that should be coordinated with those blows.

His head breaks the surface and all he feels is pain. Up his sides, in his lungs, and his face. “Stop-” his head goes back under the water, a wave knocking them back under and over. He has to fight harder to get them to the surface and the body in his arms turns limp- like a ragdoll.

This time Hotch’s head breaks the surface and there’s no pain. Just numb, soft cold. Hotch hooks his arm under the kid’s armpits, resting his head on Hotch’s chest. He lays on his back and starts to kick, starting the exhausting and long trip back to dry land.

“I see him!” It’s Reid, his voice edged with panic. “Hotch! Keep swimming you’re almost there!”

A wave hits and Hotch is forced back under. His body stops fighting, for a moment his brain screams but his body just sinks. It’s not even a fight. The water stops feeling like water- it’s warm and… well, somethings just can’t be explained. His body is detached, his thoughts slowing.

Jack-

The water fills his lungs and the blur of the world turns black.

Emily-

Sharp pain in his chest-

Burning lungs, his eyes shoot open looking and seeing nothing. Water and stomach acid burning the back of his throat and on his back he chokes- the water starting to slip back down into his lungs when he’s seized by his belt and shirt sleeve, heaved up onto his side.

He gags, chest burning as water is forcibly removed from his lungs. He attempts to struggle away but it’s to no avail. His body is not responding.

There are hands all over him, burning warmth spreading through his veins. Like lava. “Hello Agent,” an unfamiliar face greets. Hotch just stares at the other man as he’s vaguely aware of being laid on his back. A large hand cradling his neck. “Your friend told me dove in that water,” both men’s eyes wander to the dock and the waves crashing into it. “You suicidal or something,” the medic says with a shake of his head, “ or just stupid brave?”

The Emily in his head answers “stupid brave” but Hotch can’t manage anything more than a wheezing breath. It’s taking all he has to manage that. The medic keeps talking, going on about how Hotch is either crazy lucky or an unusually good swimmer.

“Reid?” He croaks, his head feels heavy, wrong but he can see a familiar blur in a sea of red vehicles. How? How did he get out?

The medic stops his talking and frowns down at his patient. “Is that the scrawny one?”

Hotch swallows thickly and nods.

The medic nods back, “he’s okay. Looks a bit like a drowned rat but he saved your ass.” He motions with his head to their left, just slightly up the bank. Reid is sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, a shock blanket around his shoulders. “He’s a tough kid, though.”

Hotch keeps his eyes locked on him, assessing the situation. Reid is stronger than he gives him credit for.

A sudden weight is placed on the center of Hotch’s chest, a foot on his sternum. To his own ears his cry of pain is muffled. Vaguely, he’s aware of the sound of a monitor making frantic noises, the medic’s voice drowning in with it. Someone shouts his name but the black encroaching on his vision is too much. He succumbs to the lava in his veins.

__________

Morgan knocks at the open door, hoping to draw Reid from his silence. “You okay, kid?” The nurse had said he was fine. They thought he was in shock but his core temperature hadn’t dropped that much thanks to the EMTs fast work at warming him up. That hadn’t spurred him to say anything though.

He hasn’t said a word since they pulled him from Hotch.

Reid keeps rocking himself, knees tucked to his chest and arms around his shins. He’s still freezing and it’s all his fault. He should have been faster.

“Hotch!” The adrenaline is pumping back through Ried’s body, knees and hands shaking as he watches the waves hit the side of the dock but Hotch’s head doesn't come back up. There are no bubbles coming to the surface, no signs of a fight happening below the surface. “Hotch!”

It’s been a minute but when Hotch dove in he was under for nearly two.

Seventy-six seconds.

Even if Hotch is a good swimmer-

Reid pulls his jacket off, stripping layers of clothing from his skin. This is such a bad idea. So bad. 911 has been called, back-up is on it’s way but that’s no good if Hotch drowns.

“I hate this job,” he mumbles, staring into the water. “I hate it. I hate it. I hate it! I hate it!” He tears into it, knowing that this is bigger than his slight aquaphobia and the freezing sting of the water on his skin. “Hotch!” He takes a deep breath and plunges into the water.

It hurts. Burns. It’s like a thousand hypodermic needles kissing his skin.

He pushes his hair from his face, scanning the water. Looking back to the dock he estimates he needs to go about five more feet to his right. Using long strokes he cuts through the choppy water, a wave hitting his face. He has to stop and recover, blinking the sting from his eyes. “Hotch!”

And it’s still freaking snowing.

Reid is begging Hotch to pop up. To hear his deep voice berate Reid for getting wet too.

He hates this job.

Reid dives under the next wave, forcing his eyes to open under the water. He’s afraid to see what he’ll find. His fingertips hit something hard and covered- hair! Reid pushes himself down further, lungs burning but he’s found someone and he can’t come up yet.

He wraps his arms around the trunk of the other person- his brain supplying Hotch was wearing a white buttoned down shirt and the hurt digging into his skin is blunt like a button. He kicks with all his might but the body- Hotch- doesn’t move. His lungs are under too much pressure and with a silent cry he kicks himself up the surface.

“Argh!” He screams into the air, lungs burning in an entirely new way. He takes two deep breaths, treading water to gather his breath. He can’t give up. He goes back down. His panic is driving his heart rate up, making his oxygen last in even shorter amounts.

His hands connect and he has to remind himself to save the energy of being happy. ‘Come on’, he pleads. Reid tucks Hotch closer, one armed wrapped around his chest and the other extended above his head. Feeling for where the water breaks to air.

Every muscle in his body is screaming. Lactic acid building up in his muscles and if he had the air to he’d scream in anguish.

His fingers sting and with a new burst of energy Reid’s head emmerages from the water. He gasps for water, his cold cramped fingers losing their grip for just a fraction of a second. Hotch slips from his grasp but Reid’s scream is muffled by the waves crashing around them.

They’re going to die and it’s his fault.

He’s crying, tears streaming down his numb cheeks. He has to stay level headed, he has to fight.

That’s what Hotch would do.

Right, Hotch.

Reid pulls him closer, flipping him into the rescue position. Head above water, breathing or not- it has to be enough. Hotch won’t forgive him, ever, if Reid saves Hotch to leave behind that boy. A killer or not.

The water is well beyond cold enough to, hypothetically, protect from brain damage.

Reid has to pray that's enough.

He goes back under. His lungs hurt nearly as soon as his head goes under, the cold water hitting his forehead is strangely… nice. The rest isn’t.

It’s harder. All of it.

The current twists him, his muscles tired from swimming. If he can’t find this kid soon, they’re all going to drown.

A wave above crashes hard, it’s force pushing him down.

He sees nothing.

It’s all just black and freezing.

He kicks into something and whirls around, finding flesh and hair. Reid pulls but the kid doesn’t move. For a moment, Reid nearly leaves him. His lungs are burning, his body exhausted, and with a long fight still ahead… The bodies had hesitation marks. Shallow marks where someone young- someone incapable of murder had done as requestied but not whole heartidly.

The kid isn’t a murderer.

Reid kicks upwards with all his might, his head feeling like it’s going to explode.

He breaks the surface and could sob with relief at the sight of the shore lit up with emergency lights. “Help!” His voice croaks, breaking. There’s no way they can hear him. Reid pulls the kid so he’s on his back, just as he had Hotch, and begins to tug them both in the direction of Hotch’s freely floating body. “Help!”

He rolls onto his back, taking a wave to the face. He recovers quickly, a new surge of adrenaline working through him. His limbs are shaky but working. “Alright,” he says to himself, floating for a second to gain control. “Let’s do this.” He grabs the back of Hotch’s collar and the kid’s shirt and kicks with everything he’s got. Hoping that the waves hitting his face can push him towards the shore.

“Kid-”

Reid flinches, his whole body recoiling. He blinks slowly raising his head in confusion. “M-Morgan?” He looks around him, surprised to find hospital tile and not the wet sand he’d left Hotch on. “What-” his mouth is impossibly dry, his body still cold.

Morgan takes a step closer to him, weary. In nothing but a hospital gown and a pair of hospital socks Morgan can see his friend’s bony body. It’s no surprise he didn’t hold up well in the freezing water- he doesn’t have any fat on his body to keep him warm!

“I brought you some clothes,” Morgan lifts Reid’s bag up. He sets it down on the bed beside Reid, allowing him easy access to the clothes. What he’s not expecting is for Reid to start crying. For a moment he’s just struck, he has no idea what to do. He takes a tentative step closer, putting his hand on Reid’s shoulder. “Hey,” Morgan gathers him up in his arms, holding him close. “Kid, what the hell? What's wrong?”

Reid shakes his head, pushing his face into Morgan’s warmth. He just wants someone alive, someone warm to hold him. “I’m sorry,” he sobs. All he can think about is Hotch. “I tried, I did!”

Morgan pats his back, “what do you mean? What are you talking about?”

Reid’s chest heaves, his sob taking him by surprise. “Hotch!”

“Oh,” Morgan pauses for a moment, not sure what all he should tell Reid. “Kid, Hotch is…” fine might be an overstatement. A little rough but- “Hotch is sitting down in the ICU with Emily, right now.” He rubs Reid’s back, shushing him gently. “Kid, he’s fine. Hotch is gonna be fine.”

Reid pulls his head back, “what?”

That can’t be true. Reid saw.

The EMT pulled the buttons on Hotch’s perfect white shirt open. His chest bare and unmoving, as pale as the snow under his back. CPR wasn’t working. Reid saw. His ribs were bending under each compression but nothing was working.

He was dead.

Reid saw. Hotch was dead.

__________

“We caught the pulmonary edema early,” the doctor promises them. His tone is light, hopeful. “He’s on a course of diuretics to clear his lungs and on oxygen until his stats come back up but he’s already doing much better.” He nods his head, clearly happy to give them a good prognosis. “There was some irritation in his right ear so I want to start him on a course of antibiotics for that, to get ahead of the ear infection.”

Emily snorts, both her hands coming up to cover her mouth but her shoulders are still shaking with the force of her laughter. It’s a horrible moment of reacting to news the wrong way but an ear infection? “I’m so sorry,” she manages to force her palm against her lips. Forcing her smile down. “I’m- I really am sorry for that I don’t-”

The doctor holds his hand up in a clear sign of acknowledging her apology. “It’s perfectly fine,” he reassures her. “Everyone has different reactions to these sorts of things.” His smile is a strange mix of sadness and amusement as he recalls giving grimmer news than this to families and garnering a similar reaction. “I assure you, it’s not the first time someone’s laughed.”

Emily isn’t sure whether to feel reassured or sick. She lowers her hands and wipes at the bottoms of her eyes, beyond the point of caring if she looks like a raccoon or not. “Is he- Can you take me to him?”

The doctor looks at the little group behind her, all looking equally as eager to his patient. “It’s against protocol to let all of you back, yet, but I can let one of you back.” There was a name, someone Agent Hotchner had managed to call out for. “He was asking for a-a…” he can’t remember the name though. “An Emma or-”

“Emily.”

The doctor nods, “yes. He asked for Emily.”

“Well,” Emily looks back at the other’s. Swallowing the lump in her throat she says, “I’m Emily.”

The doctor claps his hands together, “well, then come with me.”

Emily looks back over her shoulder once- to JJ and Rossi being left behind in the waiting room- and offers them a small wave. Smiling sadly when they wave back.

“He was alert when I went in a few minutes ago,” the doctor tells her, coming to a sudden stop. “Try not to get him too worked up-”

She’s partially aware of what he’s saying from then on out but her attention is on the man on the bed. The man intently watching her from under the oxygen mask across the bridge of his nose. The doctor pats her shoulder, offering a smile and she nods and smiles back despite not having a clue what he’s just said.

Stepping into the room, she hesitates for only a moment before taking his hand and sitting on the edge of his bed. “Hey.” He’s cold to the touch and she sets to rubbing his fingers between her own to warm them up. “How do you feel?” With her distraction in place, it’s easier to ignore the obvious pain in her chest. Tight and wrong.

He’s too pale for even him, shivering under the layers of shock blankets and heating pads pressed around his body, but he offers her a warm smile. Reaching up with fingers that are still too cold to work properly, he fails to pull the mask from his face. She pulls it down for him, tucking it under his chin.

“Hey,” his voice is weak, hoarse from disuse. “I got an ear infection,” he rasps at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

She keeps the mask pulled back for a moment longer, leaning in and kissing him tenderly. She runs the side of her finger along his jaw, clenching her teeth in a failed attempt to hold her tears at bay. Carefully, she places the mask back on his face. Feeling a sick twist in her stomach because she’s glad it drowns out the sound of his labored breathing. “Serves you right.”

He smirks at her, a goofy lopsided little thing. Oxygen deprived or still cruising on his adrenaline high he says something, intangible between his slurred exhaustion and the hiss of the oxygen over his face. She makes just enough of it out to lift the mask back up and asks, “did you ask me if I’d still love you if you were deaf?”

It’s hardly the time to be having “would you still love me” hypotheticals when he’s hardly awake. Especially when his breathing is still so rough and if it gets any worse it’ll be her fault. Then she’ll have to kiss her visitor’s pass goodbye. Still, she can’t help but love him and his stupid questions.

He nods.

“I think so,” she places the mask back down. She runs her hands through his hair, smiling as he curls himself closer to her. “I mean, you don’t listen to me now, what would change?” She chuckles after she says it and he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling at her. That’s when her chest gets tight, her emotions bubbling up as he frowns up at her with those big old sad eyes.

She almost lost him. Permanently. This time there would be no Paris for recovery, Afghanistan for penance- just permanent goodbyes where the last things they said to one another were cruel misguided words. Things that didn’t matter because that’s how the world works.

The credits cut before the movie’s over.

Romeo and Juliet isn’t a love story.

And he dies on a dock.

No more Sunday’s spent in his backyard. The two of them tangled in a hammock meant for one person. A book balanced on his chest, his voice a deep rumble and the only sound in the world- “ I had taught myself to covet nothing. It was not a loathing of death that froze me. I had taught myself to think of death as a friend. It was not heartbroken rage-”

No one could properly replace him.

She’d never felt this comfortable with another human being. To try on clothing, twirling in place to show him that it not only has pockets but it swishes when she moves. How many men would look up from whatever teen magazine quiz he was reading and raise an eyebrow in approval? Noting she also wouldn’t have to shave above her knee in it either.

He pushes the mask away, twisting the flimsy plastic from his face. “Come here,” he manages, breathless. “Let me hold you.”

She’s momentarily adamant to get too close. He’s hurt and tired and- pulling her closer. “Fine but only for a minute,” she caves and she always caves when it comes to him. It takes a minute to work around the machines and the wires, then moving so she’s not laying on him. “I mean it, Aaron.” She tucks her head closer to his chest, breathing in the natural scent of him. Just Hotch.

“You scared us,” she whispers against his chest.

She’s close enough now that he can smell her conditioner. “I scared myself.” It’s not like drowning was something he was looking to do.

Emily looks up at him, turning her head on his shoulder. “Let’s not do that again then?”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” his voice is rough again, breathing ragged.

She reaches up and pulls the mask back over his face. Gently raking her nails through the hair at the side of his ears. “Get some sleep, huh?” He’s just a big softie and she knows that playing with his hair is going to put him out like a light. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” he mouths, eyes dropping already.

And how is she gonna say no? “Always,” she whispers. She holds him closer, scratching at his head.

She’s waiting for his soft snore but now she wraps him up in her arms. Enjoying his proximity. He may be a stupid man but that’s what she signed up for.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #spencer reid #derek morgan #hotchniss #hotly

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yeet-or-be-hawed · 5 years

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Golden Sands Arthur Morgan x Reader Angst

Inspired by the lyric “My lover stands on golden sands” from Beyond the Sea. First fic but I had to write this! I hope you guys enjoy ❤️

Trigger warning: violence, cussing, character death

Years after Arthur’s death, Y/N contemplates what could’ve been done had she been just a few minutes earlier.

__________________________________________

“Another.” You tell the barkeep at the Saloon in a flat voice. You watch blankly as he fills another shot of whiskey and pushes it towards you. You can see the concern in his eyes, as you’ve basically lived at the bar for the last week.

“You alright?” The barkeep said cautiously, “I usually keep to ma own business but you’ve outdrank almost all of my regulars, even ol’ Joe over there!”

A man in a corner jolted up out of his drunken half slumber, grumbled something inaudible before slumping back over into a position that you couldn’t help but notice looked quite uncomfortable. “I haven’t been alright for some time now.”

You can feel just with that one simple exchange every damned memory that feels like a dagger in the heart. Unsure of whether it’s being back in Valentine where you met, the booze, or maybe a little of both, you could feel the pain in your chest bubbling and decided a run down saloon in Valentine wasn’t the place to lose composure. You knock back your shot, tip the bartender, and stumble out the doors of the saloon.

It’s been years since you lost him, but no matter how much time passes it never eases the pain. No amount of killing, drinking, gambling, or stealing could take your mind fully off of what happened, off of him. You walk over to the general store and buy as much liquor as you can hold in your satchel and thank the merchant. You couldn’t help but notice the look of concern in his eyes too, and wonder if they looked at every drunken bastard that way. As you walk down the steps and towards your horse, you pull out a bottle of your ol’ reliable. The label on the Guarma Rum has always been the same, tasted the same, and gotten you shit faced all the same, it never changed. You found yourself wishing to live in a world that was unchanging, a world where the ones you loved didn’t leave and you were always happy, but then again you thought, without change you would’ve never met the gang, and most importantly Arthur.

You climb on your horse and as you’re about to open the rum, a shaky voice pulls you from your thoughts. “I-I...I know you!” You turn and see a small man with dark hair, and as you turn you see the recognition in his eyes and it quickly turns to anger. “You!” He spat with a thick Italian accent “You killed my brother!”

“Calm down, partner, you got the wro-“

“I will not calm down! And I know it’s you, you’ve got the same scar down your brow, it’s been years now but I swore I would never forget your face. I held my brother’s dying body after you shot him!”

“There’s your mistake fella, if it was me it would’ve been a corpse in your arms, not a dying man.” And with that, you give your horse a light kick with your spurs and speed off. It’s always better to get away than to risk getting your head blown off by the law or some deranged local. You hear him yelling and cursing you as you go, trying to follow you on foot but he was lost in the dust, and off your mind.

As you open your rum, your mind wanders back to the same place it seems to stay most days. On him. On them. On everything that you’ve been too little too late for. It seems like your entire life has been too late.

Too late to get out of a robbery. This particular robbery went south when you got greedy, you knew you had gotten more than enough but just five more minutes, just one last safe. You laughed at yourself and thought ‘you’ve got this, and you know you’d kick yourself for not hitting that last safe!’

Unfortunately for you, the sheriff had been closer than you expected because by the time you stepped out of the bank your horse was already tethered to another lawman’s horse and you had guns aimed in your direction from all sides. You cursed yourself, you knew better than to get greedy, especially in a new town. You knew you should’ve studied the towns habits closer and kept a better eye on the sheriff, but you were desperate for money, and greatly underestimated the law in this stupid cattle town.

You gave no fight when they took you to the Valentine jail house, where you were put away to rot. The days went by slowly and were very boring. When you tried to strike conversation with the sheriff he would ignore you, and the deputy would antagonize you to the point to where you told yourself if you ever made it out, you would strangle that man. But on the fourth night of your extended stay in Valentine, you were asleep on the cot when you were awoken by a couple of loud drunk bastards that had been arrested. You couldn’t get a decent view with the low lighting, but they were both men, one a lanky fellow, closer to your age and the other a gruff looking man with a beard, covered in dirt and belligerent. You laid back down, and as soon as your head hit the pillow, one of the men spoke to you, “heeeeyyyyy pretty lady,” he was so drunk his words feel out of his mouth clumsily and elongated. He surely wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning.

“I’m trying to sleep, mister.”

“Arthur...the names-“ he stopped mid sentence to vomit, unfortunately right into his friend’s shoes.

“Damn it Arthur, my shoes! Maaaaa shooooooeeeesssssss” the younger man jabbed him with his elbow then started laughing, obviously as enebriated as Arthur.

“Lenny Lenny listen... I’ll buy you some shoes. Nice shoes! Does the lady like shoes?” Arthur was so drunk he swayed as he spoke and as he swayed you could see more of him in the dim lighting, you had to admit he was pretty cute. Thus sparked interest, and the pair of you talked most the night until he passed out mid sentence, unable to hold back the drunken slumber. That night changed your life forever, because when Lenny and Arthur were released Arthur demanded to pay your bond to your extreme disbelief. At the time he said it was for keeping him entertained for the night, and you believed him. He invited you to join his gang, and you accepted as you had no where better to go. This was perhaps the only time in your life being too little too late worked in your favor, the other times weren’t at fortunate.

Too late, when you and the gang were cornered by the Pinkerton’s, Hosea held at gunpoint. Even though you were a fast draw, you still weren’t fast enough to shoot that damned Pinketon that killed Hosea.

Too late, when you saw Kieran leave camp, you debated chasing and offering to go with, if you had seen him just moments before, maybe you could’ve stopped the O’Driscolls from beheading him.

Too late, when things went south in Saint Dennis, and you made it to the docks just in time to see it pulling away, with Arthur aboard.

Too late, when you had to watch Arthur’s condition slowly worsen to tuberculosis. This one hurt you considerably, knowing full and well if you had gone to Strauss just a few minutes before Arthur, it would’ve been you going to Downe’s ranch.

Too late, for the worst day of your life. Too late, catching John on the road after everything went awry, asking where Arthur was, and he pointed to the mountain. You were riding your horse harder than you ever have, and your heart dropped as you heard the single gunshot. ‘Let that be a hunter,’ you tell yourself. ‘Let that be a misfire, let that be anyone other than Arthur be shot. God please let him be okay.’ Your blood runs cold when you see the body lying lifelessly on the ground. “Arthur!” You scream, holding back your sobs and you jump off your horse and run to him. You stop dead in your tracks when you see his face. The eyes you could get lost in for days were closed, the hands you held were cold, the lips you kissed were bloodied, as was the hair and beard you loved to absent mindedly play with. And his beautiful, lovely face, the face that melted your heart and taught you to love, was made ugly with a bullet hole and fresh blood. You couldn’t hold back your sobs any longer, and you cradled his body close to you, praying it was some god awful nightmare and you will wake up any minute next to him, but it wasn’t a dream and again, you were too late.

Too late, after Arthur’s death it was your one and only goal to make Micah pay for what he did to you, what he did to Arthur. For stealing the only good you had in your life and turning it foul and empty. Never in your life have you felt more rage than the day you tracked his gang to the top of a snow covered cliff. You were suspicious when no one was around to stop you, but you told yourself they must be out working a job, and you would be there when that rat bastard returns, to send him to Hell in the worst ways imaginable. It wasn’t until you saw him there, dead for days with a dusty layer of snow. Years of pain and anguish come all at once, and before you could stop yourself you let out a cry of fury and unload all of your bullets into his face. Tears streaming down your face, you look down at the sight you thought would finally make everything better. Micah, cold and dead, his face no longer recognizable from the bullets you unloaded into his head, but your bullets weren’t what killed him, and you felt no better, if anything you felt worse. Too late, to take revenge for everything good that was stolen from you.

At this point, you were slammed to say the least, you reached into your satchel and to your disappointment, it was empty. Looking up, you realized where you were and tears instantly welled up in your eyes. You didn’t know if you subconsciously led your horse here, or if God had given you a devine coincidence, but you found yourself at Horseshoe Overlook. Most wouldn’t recognize it from any other grassy area in the woods, but you had too many memories here. You drunkenly stumble to the spot Arthur set up camp. After you joined the gang, he always made sure your tent was near his. Something shiny poking out of the ground catches your eye, and you pick it up. You let out a soft sob, it’s an old bottle of Guarma rum. You sit down on the ground where you think Arthur’s bed would’ve been and think back to one of your fondest memories.

Not long after joining camp, there was a celebration for a man named Sean that had been rescued. Arthur walked up to your tent with two beers in his hand and held one out in your direction, “we’re throwin’ a party tonight to celebrate ol’ Sean bein’ back, why dontcha join the fun, and have a little drink?”

Arthur was already drunk, but not as drunk as the night you met. You laughed, “Okay Mr. Morgan fair enough, but I’ve got my own drink of choice.”

Arthur let out a hearty laugh, and you didn’t know why but it caused you to blush furiously. “Oh ho now, and what’s the lady’s drink of choice?”

“Guarma Rum, the best there is!” You proclaim as you pull it from your bag.

“Makes sense a girly girl would be drinking a girly drink.” He teased.

“Oh really?” You challenged “how about you and me have ourselves a good ol fashioned drinking contest with my liquor of choice, and we’ll see who the real girly girl is.”

He lifted an eyebrow up at you and stuck his hand out for a shake. “You got yourself a deal, Y/N! I hope you know what kinda trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Oh, I think you’re the one who’s in trouble Mr. Morgan.”

You chuckle as you recall how drunk he got, and started flirting with you, whispering drunk nothings in your ear, before he passed out, head straight in your lap. “Looks like I win, Arthur.” You said to him gently, stroking his hair. He grunted, and was out like a light.

Hands shaky from liquor and sadness, you hear a slosh inside the bottle, and to your surprise there is just half a chug left. Wiping the tears from your cheeks you take the last swallow of the rum, and even the sweetness of the liquor isn’t sweet enough to take the sour taste of sadness off your tongue. You watch the sun set in the distance, and let yourself fall into an alcoholic slumber.

You are awakened by the sound of a shotgun cocking, and shoot up, instantly regretting moving so fast as your head was swimming. The small Italian man was now standing above you, hate shining deep in his eyes.

“You thought you could get away didn’t cha?”

“I-I-“ you stumble still drunk, but before you can say anything else, you hear the gun fire, and see the blood start leaking from your chest, and everything goes black and cold.

__________________________________________

Everything around you feels warm. A warmth you’ve never quite felt before, yet still feels familiar. You can smell lavender fields and hear the chirps of spring birds in trees, but wait, wasn’t it late fall? And why are all of your aches and pains gone? Everything from the dull pain in your lower back from riding so long down to the old bullet wound you had from a bar fight about a month ago.

Bullet wound. Your eyes fly open and your hands immediately go to your chest, you’re memories flood back, a drunken pitiful night and an angry man. An angry man with a shot gun. Your eyes are fuzzy and it’s hard to see, everything is shrouded in golden light, and as your eyes begin to focus, you notice your shirt is as crisp and clean as the day you bought it, no bullet holes. You stand, hands still at your chest, and look around. Youre on a beach, waves lazily washing upon the sand, and a figure-no, a man. Your chest tightens as your eyes focus. Those shoulders, those arms, and as he turns, you feel the first bit of joy you’ve felt since the day he died.

You break into a clumsy dash across the sand, and fall into his arms. Looking up, you see his smile, and kind eyes, just as lively and bright as the day you met. Gone were the bags under his eyes, the sickly pale look of his skin, and the haggered breathing. “Hey darlin’, I’ve been waitin’ for ya.”

More tears fall from your eyes onto his smooth skin, once again the healthy sun tanned color you knew, and he held you tight, and you finally feel safe again.

He pulls you away and looks into your eyes, those stormy blue eyes looking right into your soul and loving every piece of it. “Welcome home, pretty girl, we’ve missed you.”

You both turn, and there further down the golden shore was Lenny, Hosea, Ms. Grimshaw, Kieran, and Sean. You reach for Arthur’s hand, and remember what true happiness and family feels like after being without for so long. Finally, you’re home.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur x reader #fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead spoilers #hosea matthews #van der linde gang #fanfiction #reader insert #first fan fic #angst #character death

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justjessame · 3 years

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Takes One To Know One Chapter 3

Negan ate his fill, and what I couldn’t finish of my own. I offered to call for more, but he refused the offer.

“Well, you can’t refuse me everything,” his eyes widened and so did his smile, but I rolled my eyes and took up a walkie talkie I had tucked in a drawer. Batteries, even the rechargeable ones we used, were sparse so we used this form of communication sparingly. Calling down to the laundry and getting an affirmative that they heard me, I asked for a full change of clothing, eyeing the lanky man sitting comfortably in front of me. “Yes, skin out,” I smiled as Becca repeated my orders back, confirming the order before asking if she should have a toiletry set gathered as well. “That would be great, and-” I stopped and tilted my head as I bit my lip, shaking my head. I had to admit there was ONE thing I would be at a loss to guess the size of his outfit. “Shoe size?” He gave me a size and I told Becca. “Have Greg or Max bring those up, please?”

Once I’d signed off, tucked the walkie back into the drawer once it was put in standby mode, I gathered our dishes. “Does this mean I won’t be spending the night in the clink?” I chuckled.

“We don’t really have a jail,” I shrugged. “If we don’t trust you, you die or you get put back outside the gates.” Either way was a pretty permanent end. “You won’t have free reign,” I warned, in case he got the urge to go for a stroll during the dark hours. “But you will be in the same wing as my advisors.”

“And you?” Another shake of my head as I piled everything on the tray. “You don’t stay in the same area as your ‘advisors’?”

Licking my lip I looked up to see that he was studying me. “I wasn’t disagreeing with you, I was thinking that you’re incorrigible.” Handing him the tray, I picked up my weapon and nodded toward the door. “Yes, we share the same wing. Everyone has their own space, you’ll have your own room, but I don’t think wandering is in your best interest.” He carried the tray while we moved back down to the cafeteria where the second shift of dinner was being served.

When we came into the room, no one kneeled, it wasn’t required during meals. But a few of the little ones did stop eating to come hug my knees as Negan moved toward the kitchen to return the dishes. When he turned back he saw me surrounded by tiny people who were telling me all the things they were learning in school.

“Your ABCs sound amazing, Abigail,” I rustled the redhead’s curls as she smiled up at me with a huge gap where she’d recently lost her second front tooth. “Even with that missing tooth.” The blond haired, blue eyed boy who was tugging at my free hand, demanding attention had Negan grinning at the sight. “Yes, Caleb?”

“Who’s that?” His eyes focused on Negan, far filthier than even our current gardening group and I knelt down beside the little one to whisper in his ear.

“He’s not scary, I promise.” Caleb’s hand was tight on my fingers and he nodded as I reassured him of his safety. “If he makes one bad move, we’ll make sure he doesn’t make another, alright?”

“OK, Meg,” he turned and kissed my cheek then hugged me tight around my neck. Then the others gave me hugs in turn before returning to their dinners before they grew cold. I was smiling at how normal and simple it seemed, the kids and their happiness, before returning to our newest member.

“Come on,” I turned back to take him toward the living quarters, back upstairs but on the opposite side of the building, where I had taken residence and John, Greg, and Max all had rooms. “One of the guys will bring up your things, well your newer things, but I can give you the tour of your space.” Negan didn’t find it difficult to keep pace with me, his legs were longer than mine by miles, but he also didn’t make it seem like he was doing me a favor either. “There are more rooms than we use, all over the grounds honestly, but that’s because people make bad choices.”

He snorted, and I knew he understood. “Even with the young ones coming fast and furious?”

“I guess you noticed that we have a few more buns in some ovens,” I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. “Yeah, while we have our fair share of idiots, we also have good people who understand that we’re fucking lucky as hell. They take advantage of our safety and our abundance of supplies and life keeps coming.”

“How bad is the mortality rate?” I sighed. Even before the world went to shit, maternal and infant mortality wasn’t great, but now? “That good?”

“It’s actually about the same as before,” I bit my lip and thought about how hard I was working to figure out how to work past it, to end up with mother and baby every single time, healthy and happy. “Thousands of years of evolution and we have NEVER figured out how to make it safer.” I was shaking my head when we came to the hallway that the men had claimed for their own. “Here we are, the testosterone territory.” Negan chuckled as I pointed out their rooms, separated by at least one other room between each, and with plenty of extras available. “Any preference?”

“You letting me pick?” I could tell he thought it was a test of some sort, but I shrugged. Why did I care, I didn’t live on this stretch of corridor. Negan studied the rooms that were available and I watched him, considering each from his point of view, as if it were my own in his place. I’d pass by the ones occupied by the other three men, which he did without so much as a pause. While it would be tempting to pick the room nearest the entrance of the hallway or the one at end, that would also poise you to be the first or last in the line of defense and make you on edge or on watch, personally. The bathrooms were joint, every two rooms shared, which was another reason the three men who lived along the path didn’t live close together, so I’d pick a room that wasn’t shared with one of them on that basis as well.

In the end he chose a room somewhat midway down the hallway, with no one to share his bathroom with, where he could see both entrance and exit. A room I would have felt as comfortable in as I thought he would.

“Each room has two twin beds, since they were set up for college students, so you can push them together to have a bigger one.” I offered, walking in to show him around. “A desk, a chair, the usual. The bedding is clean, but if it needs to be aired, just take it off and we can walk it down to the laundry tomorrow.”

“Are you gonna be my babysitter, Megan?” I rolled my eyes again. “Don’t think I EVER had a babysitter that looked like you-”

“Hey,” John’s head popped around the doorframe and I turned to see him glancing around the room as if he was expecting to find me naked and Negan doing who knew what. “Greg’s bringing up the bath shit, but here-” He came in with a load of clothes and a pair of newer boots. “Becca asked me to bring these up when I happened by.” He set them down on the nearest bed, careful not to toss them or show aggression, since he knew I wouldn’t appreciate it with Negan being given a room so close to the three of them. “I should hit the shower.” His eyes met mine and I nodded. A clean John was a far more appreciated John. “I’ll find you-”

“Later.” I promised, and his face, so serious when he came in with Negan’s new clothes broke into a smile that could light up a room. He left and Negan’s soft laugh reminded me of our audience. “As I was saying,” I went on, flipping the light switch beside the open door. “You have electricity, no limits, but we’re on solar and we try not to go nuts with any of our shit.”

“Just gonna pretend like your boy there didn’t rush off to wash his nuts so he could fuck you senseless later for a reward?” I leaned against the wall and waited for him to get whatever he needed to off his chest. “Damn, was I that fucking-”

“Are you finished?” I had shit to do before John could come claim his prize, as it were, and the tour of Negan’s room was taking longer than I planned. He’d stopped talking so I went on. “The bathroom has the same ‘rules’, water’s hot and it’s safe, but we try not to go for the hours long showers or baths.” He was staring at me and I moved on. “Your toiletries will have soap, shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste, and washing cloth, plus a towel. Toilet paper or what amounts for it is in the room there, and while we all pitch in, your rooms are YOUR responsibility. You clean up after yourself. I’ll show you the ropes for that tomorrow, while I’m babysitting you.” I turned to go, but I stopped for a moment. “I really hope that you aren’t here to try something stupid, Negan, cause it would suck balls to have to kill the male version of myself.”

“I don’t get to see where the much hotter version of myself sleeps?” He shot back as I walked out his door, I didn’t answer, just laughed as I shook my head and left him to figure out how he planned on making his new room his own.

I was still amused when I got to my rooms. Negan was an interesting distraction so far, I’d give him that. And I hadn’t been completely teasing when I told him that I hoped he wasn’t holding some sort of dual purpose that would make his life forfeit. Taking down my hair and brushing out the kinks that came from keeping it piled up during the day so I could relax my scalp and change into something a little more comfortable for John to take off of me, I thought about what I could allow Negan to ask for without having his brain matter ruin my boots.

If he was lying and was a member of another group, a group that needed to barter supplies or wanted to merge, we could negotiate, possibly. I considered our vacant spaces and our surplus of supplies along with our greenhouses and our gardens, not to mention our livestock. I had a number, population wise that would be workable. While I hated lying, this new world of ours seemed to make it necessary.

I knew there was a slight chance that he wanted my place at the top, that he was a true threat to me and mine, but something told me that if Negan wanted to reign supreme he wouldn’t be subtle. He’d come in and take what he wanted, but then again, he might be subtle and use that charisma that I’d seen peeking out during our time together. I didn’t have plans to let him run rampant and free, at least not until I could feel him out better. He could shadow me for a while, at least until I had a better idea of what his plans were.

I changed out of my functional and day clothes into a nightie that was anything but battle ready. Black, satin and lace, it came to just above my knees with thin straps and hinting at the curve of my breasts, I shook out my long loose hair and flexed my bare feet on the soft rug that the former resident had left behind. I was pouring a drink when the sound of John’s knuckles against my door announced his arrival and I sighed, thinking that at least now I could have some enjoyable distraction.

John had gone back to his room, pouting once again that I wasn’t willing to let him spend the night, but I liked to sleep alone. And I had explained to him, and the other two, that our situation wasn’t love or a relationship in the traditional sense. It was a mutual agreement. If John, or Greg, or Max wanted more then they could go find it. Somewhere else.

I was back in the nightie, pouring a second drink, when another knock came to the door. I sighed heavily. John had done a marvelous job of relaxing me, but I knew that Max expected his own fair share of reward and Greg probably thought he’d get his own ‘gold star’ as it were. Dealing with another needy male ego wasn’t something I looked forward to, but ignoring the knock would only lead to something more unpleasant.

Taking my drink with me, I opened the door fully prepared to tell whoever waited on the other side that I was far too tired to play another round of praise for the good boy, but when I opened the door I came up shorter than usual.

His eyes were crinkled with mirth, and he bit his lip as he took in the black satin that barely covered me. Negan, leaning against my door frame as if he did it every night, smelling like soap and mint and looking like he was hungrier than he had been during dinner.

“Is that hooch?” His eyes landed on the glass in my hand and I shook my head and huffed out a breath. “Damn, you really do have everything here, don’t you?”

#negan x ofc #The Walking Dead #alternate universe

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