Chapter Text
Uncle Michael’s face didn't just go pale; it went hollow. His knuckles were white against the phone. His body vibrated with a frequency I’d never seen. He’s an emotion reader, he usually absorbs the room- but right now, the emotion was absorbing him.
“Uncle Mikey?” I whispered.
He looked like a dead man whose soul had gone on a long, forced vacation. He didn’t respond. I waited. 1... 2... 3... I hit ten seconds before he finally looked at me. Not in my eyes, but at a glass sitting solitarily on the marble counter.
“Darcy,” he said, and the way he said my name sounded like a confession.
“What happened? Is it Dad?”
The air in the room hummed silently. Every tick of the clock was a physical strike against my ribs.
I caught my aunt Lia emerging from the hallway out of the corner of my eye, tuning into our conversation. A curious expression played on her face.
“What’s wrong with Dean?” She asked, twirling a strand of her silky black hair around her slim fingers.
“The mission,” he choked out. “There was an explosion. Dean’s in the ICU.”
The world tipped. I felt the blood drain out of my limbs as if I’d been hung on a cross. My hands scrambled for the counter, my fingers searching for anything solid in a world that had just turned into smoke.
“But he’s fine, right?” My voice trembled. I prepared to hear the words that have haunted my dreams countless times since learning about their career in the FBI.
Uncle Michael’s throat visibly showed him swallowing. No sound came out. The emotion he was 'reading' from the phone was clearly drowning him.
"ICU," he finally choked out. He didn’t have to say the rest. In our family, we didn’t need words to hear the death toll.
My hands reached for the nearest counter to steady myself from falling. My heart started pumping so much blood, I could practically hear the thumping in my ears. Another person came to mind. My dad wasn’t the only one on this most recent mission-
“What about my mom?” I asked. If my mom got caught in that explosion, I would throw up.
“She’s fine.” He assured me.
I wish it made me feel better knowing mom was at least okay. But it didn’t do much. This wasn’t real. He isn’t on his death bed. I couldn’t quite grasp the idea that my dad was caught in an explosion. It feels unreal. Someone placed a firm hand on my shoulder.
“Darcy?” It was my uncle. He can read anyone’s emotions from a mile away. “Do you want to sit down?”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t look at either of the adults standing in front of me. The floor melted into the made up scene of how the situation might have played out.
You must have gotten distracted for a second, but that second was one too long. Only something or someone vital to the case would divert your attention and catch you off guard. But what?
I want to, no. I NEED to know. Once the profiling gates open, there is no way of closing them back. No matter how hard I tried.
I didn’t feel my uncle’s strong arms carry me to the couch. Didn’t hear the words of comfort they tried to provide. Didn’t hear mom come in and kneel in front of me on the couch.
I only snapped out of it when warm hands cupped my own. The roleplay of the crime scene changed to my moms ocean blue eyes. Her thumbs rubbed my hands in a soothing motion.
“Honey?” Her voice was weaker than usual, and I processed how messy her appearance was. Her nose was noticeably red, eyes shiny and red from crying.
Her face visibly relaxed the moment I came back to the present.
“Hi, baby.” She said,
Hearing those words were like fingers tightening their grip around my neck, choking until the first sob tore like a broken cord. I flung myself on mom, desperately clutching onto her beat up clothes. She smelled like jet engines, but the rose petal perfume she wore still lingered underneath the dirt. Her grip on me was just as tight as mine on hers. She’s scared too.
My mom must have been there when the explosion happened. Breathed it.
Lived it.
“Oh, baby.” Her words trembled as much as my body did in her arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I could hear the guilt swallowing her alive. I can only imagine how much mom is blaming herself for what happened.
“What happened?” I want to hear it from my moms point of view. I could tell she didn't want to talk about it, but the justice part of her told her I deserve to know.
“Our UNSUB had an apprentice we hadn’t considered. Your father pieced two and two together and without warning ran back into the barn to get an important possession out.”
My mom choked on air. “It all happened so fast Darc, i’m-”
“Don’t apologize, mom.”
I knew how torturing it must be for her. Seeing her husband run back into the battlefield and not come back out in time.
Sleep wasn’t an option that night. The covers wrapped me in a cocoon, its warmth nowhere near as real as my dads. I circled back to the last time I had seen him. The day he and mom left for the mission, replaying the encounter;
..
.
I was already having a hard time the day of their departure, so hearing both of my parents were leaving due to more voodoo FBI cases, it just pushed me off the edge.
I had snapped at them, saying words I didn’t really mean, to make them feel just an ounce of the pain I feel every time they leave for a mission.
My mom overworks herself to the max, and I was so sick of hearing sorry. Like it would automatically wipe away the repetitive sin she acts on. My dad is the calmer one, knowing the fine line between professional work vs. personal overdrive.
I ran out after saying words shaped like knives. Tried to run from the guilt that bashed me for saying such cruel things, about a situation they really couldn’t control.
The weather was nice that day so a cool breeze hit my face, cooling my neck every time it pushed back my hair.
I rested my chin on my knees, arms hugging my legs. Minutes later, heavy footsteps hit the patio's wooden floor until a shadow loomed over me. I didn’t move, didn’t look up. I knew who those footsteps belonged to. My dad sat down next to me, staring out into the forest with me.
“I get it,”
I could see him shaking his head from my peripheral vision. “Us leaving every month feels unfair. Feels like we don’t care enough to try and stick around longer to be with you.”
I held my breath, suddenly feeling how tense my face was. He turned so he was facing me, but was petty, and didn’t look back at him.
“Darling, the reason why we work so hard, is to give you the life we never got the chance to experience.” He told me. I gave in, turning to look at him.
It’s hard to stay mad at either of my parents, but it’s especially hard to stay mad at dad.
“Yeah,” I finally said. “-but I hate seeing mom overwork herself so much. And I hate seeing you come home covered in filth from whatever it is you guys do.”
My dad hadn’t flinched, hadn’t shown signs of disapproval. He hadn’t lectured me on how serious their positions in the FBI are. He just listened. Allowing me to express the emotions I’ve been bundling up in a ball, and throwing into the back burner. His calloused hand held mine. A reminder of how hard of a worker my dad is.
“Darling, you have such a big heart.” He chuckled. “It’s a blessing and a curse your mother passed to you.”
Dads hand gave mine a strong squeeze. “How about this; after this mission, I promise to only work during the office hours of the day. I can’t promise I’ll be able to force your mother to do the same, because she’s stubborn.” He frowned saying the last part about mom. “Let me guess, that’s another trait I inherited from her?”
His frown shifted into a smile reserved only for my mom and I. “Perhaps.”
Without warning, he pulled me into a crushing bear hug. He kissed the top of my head, holding me a second too long. I didn't think twice about it then. I didn't know he was saying goodbye to the version of us that was whole.
.
.
.
The following days didn’t get better. Especially once day 8 hit.