Work Text:
Don stared at his phone, thoughts racing. He read the text again.
Drinks at Tracy’s whenever you’re free
He didn’t even know Ian was home yet. Charlie usually let them know right away when Ian returned, but he hadn’t heard from her. This text message pointed to such a great departure from normal that Don wondered if Charlie even knew that Ian was home.
He read it again.
Drinks at Tracy’s whenever you’re free
If Ian was saying Don could come whenever, then Ian was already there. At 2:00 in the afternoon. On a Monday. Instead of finding Charlie.
Don’s concern grew. He set the phone down on his desk and tapped his fingers absently on the wood. He should go as soon as possible.
Pressing the intercom, Don called for his secretary. Miss Jones was in the room within seconds.
“How can I help you, director?”
Don tapped his fingers a few more times. “What’s my schedule like the rest of the day?”
“A meeting with the building operations manager at 3:30, otherwise you’re pretty open today.”
Don nodded and let out a slow breath. “Ok, reschedule that to tomorrow. I’m taking the afternoon off.” He stood and started gathering his things. “Only call if there’s an emergency.” He looked up and caught the surprise in Miss Jones’ eyes. “It’s a personal thing.”
Miss Jones gave him a quick nod. “Yes, sir. I’ll get it taken care of.”
“Thank you.”
“Is that all, director?”
Don glanced over his desk one last time. “Yes, that’s all, Miss Jones.”
She left immediately. Don followed her out and wished her a good night, texting at the same time.
On my way
—
Don shut the door to the private room at Tracy’s bar and sat in the open armchair. Ian was already in the other, working intently on a sketch. There was a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on the table between the two chairs. Don poured himself a measure and added some to the little that remained in Ian’s glass.
‘He looks awful,’ was Don’s first thought as Ian glanced up from his sketchbook.
“Don,” Ian greeted in a low voice.
“Ian,” Don replied.
Ian went back to drawing, and Don took a sip of whiskey as he studied his brother-in-law. He supposed Ian didn’t look too different from normal. It was the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion dragging his shoulders down, and the darkness in his eyes that made Don think Ian wasn’t doing well right now.
He wasn’t sure what to do. He had never seen Ian like this before. He had seen Ian after he killed people, seen him after he had beaten someone for information, and he had never seemed affected. Either Ian was brutally good at compartmentalization, which was a definite possibility, or this was something else.
Whatever was causing it, Ian was affected.
“You asked me once,” Ian began suddenly. “How I deal with all the death and destruction.” He flipped his sketchbook shut with his left hand as his right set his pencil down next to his glass of whiskey. He switched the book into his right hand and tossed it into Don’s lap.
Don set down his glass and picked up the book, but paused before opening it. He waited to see if Ian would say anything else. The sniper gestured at the book in clear permission to open it.
“I get it out of my head. I draw things, come to terms with them, and then put them out of my mind. For most of the cases I work, this only takes a few minutes. Some cases take more.”
Don nodded and braced himself. He had seen Ian do many sketches over the years, usually of wildlife, and he knew how detailed his drawings could be. Opening to the first page, Don didn’t let his breath catch in his throat. He exhaled slowly as he surveyed the picture. It was the view from a rifle scope. The crosshairs were centered on a man’s forehead, dangerously close to a hostage’s head, too. The woman was clearly terrified; the knife against her neck had drawn blood. The man was angry and seemed to be yelling. Don could feel the urgency, the fear, the need for immediate resolution.
Don turned to the next sketch. His breath did catch this time. It was the same people as in the last drawing, and still from the perspective of Ian’s scope. The man was laid out on the ground with a bullet hole in his forehead. A pool of blood haloed his head. The knife lay by his side. The woman was scrambling to her feet, a hand reaching in from the edge of the page to help her.
Don glanced up to meet Ian’s gaze. His face was still tense and shadowed, but he didn’t speak. Don didn’t either. He returned his attention to the sketchbook and turned the page. This time it was a different man laying on the ground. Ian had drawn him just as a boot, probably Ian’s own boot, kicked the guy in the stomach. The man didn’t look afraid though, or pitiable. He looked angry and mocking.
The page after that showed the same man sitting on a curb with his hands cuffed behind his back. His lip was split and bleeding and his shoulders were hunched. He wasn’t mocking anymore. He was wary and defeated.
Don took a moment to sip some whiskey. He didn’t really want to see more of what was in this sketchbook. He still didn’t know what to do about Ian though, or what Ian expected of him. He didn’t know why Ian had invited him here in the first place.
Don flipped randomly through the pages, catching glimpses of people in crosshairs, people held hostage, people being beaten, people dead or cuffed or at gunpoint. There was one of a man standing expectantly, holding a whip. But they all filled Don with dread.
He found the sketch that Ian had just finished. It was of a man on his knees, cowering before Ian, who had his pistol aimed at his head. Don glanced at Ian again and noticed he had grown even more tense.
“What’s the story with this guy?”
Ian took a drink before responding. “That coward surrendered the second he saw me. I cuffed him and handed him off to the Oklahoma City field office. He’s a con man that’s scammed quite a few people out of a lot of money. And he abused his wife and children while he was at it.”
“Jeez,” Don breathed. He handed the sketchbook back to Ian, who flipped it to a fresh page and picked up his pencil again. “Do you always come here?”
Ian didn’t look up from his work. “To Tracy’s? No. Usually, I have time on the road, so by the time I’m home I’m decent company.”
“But not this time,” Don pointed out.
“Like I said, sometimes it takes longer.”
“And you don’t do this at home?” Don wondered why Ian wouldn’t go to Charlie. She would help him with anything he needed. They were completely devoted to each other.
Ian looked up. “I can’t go home like this, Don. Not while I’m still-” he cut himself off.
“Still what?”
Ian shook his head and went back to his sketch. “Homicidal.”
‘What in the hell am I supposed to say to that?’ Don wondered.
“Which is why you’re here to remind me not to kill people,” Ian continued.
“You’re not going to. You have more control than that,” Don reassured them both.
Ian’s hand paused. “I know. But I saw his family not long before I found him. You have a kid and another on the way. I have a kid on the way. Believe me, Don, if you saw this family, you would want to kill him, too.” He went back to drawing.
Don didn’t doubt it. Anything with kids was hard to stomach, but it got a hell of a lot harder to deal with after Isaac was born.
They settled into a comfortable silence, Ian sketching and Don sipping whiskey. Nearly an hour later, Don’s phone beeped.
1 new message
Don opened it. It was from Robin.
I stopped by. Miss Jones said you left on urgent personal business?
Don rubbed a hand across his forehead.
“Is that Robin?”
He looked up to see Ian watching him and nodded.
“You best let her know where you are then,” Ian said quietly and returned to his drawing.
Don was grateful for Ian’s ability to read him. He was just beginning to decide if telling Robin would be a violation of the trust that Ian had placed in him by inviting him into whatever this was called. Decompression, maybe?
“Thanks,” Don murmured. He typed a quick response.
Helping Ian with something. Not sure how long it’ll be. Don’t tell Charlie.
Robin’s reply was just as quick.
Everything ok?
‘Not yet,’ Don thought.
We’ll talk later
Don tucked his phone back in his pocket and the silence resumed.
—
Over the next several hours, Ian worked through whatever nightmares were dragging him down. Don counted six more sketches that he made, pausing to sip at his whiskey between.
It was after 6 o’clock when Ian shut the sketchbook again. He tucked it into the backpack that had been leaning against the far side of his chair.
Don set his glass on the table and looked Ian over. He still looked exhausted. He didn’t look nearly as tense though, and the shadows were gone from his eyes.
“Thanks, Don.” Ian gave him a nod and stood. He picked up his bag and shouldered it. “Don’t worry about the drinks. I’ve already covered it with Tracy.”
“Ian,” Don began. Ian paused and looked at him, tense again. “If you ever need anything, this or anything else, I’ve got your back. You know that?”
Ian relaxed a bit and gave him another nod. “Yeah, I know,” he answered quietly. “See you around.”
“Yeah, later.”
000000000000
“You look exhausted,” Robin greeted him at the door with Isaac hanging from one of her legs.
Don laughed, relieved to be home. “Thanks, dear. It’s good to see you, too,” he snarked. He scooped Isaac up in a hug. He held him long enough for Isaac to giggle and started to wiggle away. Don set him back down and smiled as he scampered away to play.
Robin smiled at their antics. “What did Ian need?”
Don’s smile fell, and he turned to walk down the hall to their room. “To decompress after a hard case.”
Robin’s hand on his arm stopped him. She turned him back around, surprise written all over her face. “He needed to decompress and it was urgent enough for you to leave in the middle of a work day? Do I even want to know what happened?”
Don shook head. “I kinda wish I didn’t know. He’s had a hard life.”
“He’s ok though?” Robin wrapped her arms around Don’s waist and leaned back so she could still see his face.
He nodded. “He’ll be alright. He just wanted to sort through some stuff in his head before he went home. Charlie will cheer him up. You know how they are.”
“Clingy because they never know when he’s leaving again?” Robin quipped.
Don laughed and shifted Robin so she was standing next to him. He put his arm around her and they walked down the hall together. “Yeah, more or less.
“Well, I know how to cheer you up,” Robin said in a sly voice.
Don glanced down at her with a grin. “Yeah? How’s that?”
“Your dad called and said he’s making brisket on Wednesday.” Robin laughed as Don was clearly caught between disappointment and excitement. “And I was thinking we could just order pizza tonight and watch something on tv after Isaac’s in bed.”
He pulled her in for a kiss. “It’s working already.”
She smiled into it. “I knew it would.”
000000000000
Charlie watched Ian with concern. He had a very simple system for his sketchbooks: the ones with black covers contain things he doesn’t want to think about anymore, the white cover ones are harmless. Since Ian returned from a case yesterday evening, he had spent a noticeable amount of time in a black cover sketchbook, and it was worrying her.
At present, he was sitting in a chair pushed back against the living room wall, drawing intently, Archie laying at his feet. Ian had been there when Charlie got home from CalSci an hour ago, and except for when he got up to greet her, he had been there for the whole hour.
Charlie shifted in her place on the couch. Her second trimester had brought relief from the occasional nausea, but it also brought an unfamiliar bump in her abdomen. Sitting was different than it used to be.
She shifted again trying to find a comfortable position. Her bump shifted back at her.
“Ian!” she yelled, thrilled. Ian dropped his pencil in surprise and they stared at each other for a moment. Archie raised his head to look between them.
“Get over here,” she grinned. She had started to feel their baby kick two weeks ago, but Ian had been gone. He didn’t know about it yet.
“Charlie-” Ian began in a weary voice, as he bent to pick up his pencil. Archie whined softly, looking up at Ian.
“Ian, get over here!” she demanded again, cutting him off.
He flipped his sketchbook closed with a clenched jaw and stood. He crossed to stand in front of her.
Charlie ignored his attitude and grabbed his hand, pulling it down to where the baby was still moving around. It only took a few seconds before a little hand or foot or elbow or knee was sliding under their hands.
“Charlie,” Ian breathed.
She looked up at him and tears sprung to her eyes at the look on his face. Gone was the tension. In its place was wonder. Ian was staring at their hands in awe, a smile curving unconsciously on his lips.
He looked up into her eyes. “Charlie,” he repeated.
“I know. I haven’t let anyone else feel yet. I wanted you to first.” She smiled even as tears fell onto her cheeks.
Ian pulled her shirt up so he could put his hands back down on her skin. Their baby rewarded this with another kick, and Ian fell to his knees. He let out a shuddering breath and kissed her stomach.
“Hey, you in there. I want you to know that we love you already. You will be loved for every single moment of your life,” Ian told their child. He bowed his head and took a few breaths, and then chuckled as he was rewarded with yet another kick.
Ian’s eyes were suspiciously bright as he looked back up at Charlie. Her tears were streaming freely now. She wasn’t even trying to stop them.
Ian stood from his knees and sat next to her on the couch, keeping a hand firmly in place on her stomach. Archie meandered over and jumped up on the other side of Charlie, laying his head down next to her hip.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so distant today,” he murmured into her hair as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Bad case?” she sniffed, watching their hands tense in response to another movement from their baby.
“Yeah, professor. It was bad.” He pulled her closer and kissed her curls.
Charlie leaned into his side and wiped at her face with her free hand. “How can I help?”
“You already did, Charlie. This was exactly what I needed.”
“That was baby, not me. How can I help?” she argued.
Ian hesitated for just a moment. “Don’t ask me to leave. Please, just never ask me to leave.”
“Never,” Charlie confirmed immediately. She snapped her head up to look at her husband. The suspicious brightness in his eyes had grown into actual tears and Charlie was stunned. She had never seen him shed a tear before. Not on their wedding day, not any of the times she was in danger, not even when he’d been shot and thought he might die before he made it back to a hospital. “Ian, we will need you forever. You can’t leave us.”
Whatever happened on this case had shaken Ian, Charlie thought. She reached up to wipe a tear away.
“I will never understand how people can hurt their children,” he murmured. “Imagining a life without you and our baby makes me feel like I can’t breathe.”
“Don’t imagine it,” Charlie ordered. “You’ve seen enough bad things in real life. We don’t need imagined ones giving us nightmares, too.” She put her hands on either side of his face, and wiped another tear away with her thumb. “I, Charlie, take you, Ian, to be my husband until death do us part. You’re not getting rid of me, Ian. Ever.”
He gave her a jerky nod and then shifted her around in his arms so her back was leaning against his chest. He brought his arm around her so both hands could rest on her bump. Charlie rested her hands on top of his, and they felt the small movements of their child until he or she settled a few minutes later.
Ian tightened his hold around Charlie. “I’ve been talking to Sanders. When baby comes, I’m taking a break from the field. I’m going to do training instead and be on reserve should something happen in the area that I can respond to without being gone long. We’ll reevaluate things after a few months. I’m also taking leave. I’ll be home for at least the first two weeks with you.”
“Ian,” Charlie said, her breath hitching. “That’s, that’s great, Ian. I-”
“I can’t wait to meet our child,” he rumbled, and Charlie started crying again.
“You’re going to be a great dad,” she replied quietly.
Ian stilled for a moment before relaxing. “Thanks, professor.”
00000000000
Don compared how Ian looked right now to how he looked two days ago and felt relief flood through himself. He watched as Ian served Charlie a piece of brisket before putting some on his own plate. Gone was the tension and exhaustion and darkness. Instead, he seemed lighter than he had in a while.
Ian glanced over to meet Don’s eye and gave a small nod. Don nodded back and returned his focus to his plate.
“Ian!” Charlie called suddenly. She shot her hand out to grab his and put it on her stomach.
There was silence in the room as Ian and Charlie waited with Don, Robin and Alan watching them.
Then Ian and Charlie both relaxed, grinning at each other. Ian chuckled. “If you keep yelling like that every time the baby moves, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”
Charlie laughed. “I thought you had nerves of steel,” she teased.
“Yeah, me too. Then I met you. Turns out I had a heart all along, you were just off being brilliant somewhere without me.” Ian smirked as Charlie melted.
Don was shocked at the blatantly romantic statement, and at the complete turn around Ian had had in the last two days, but mostly that he had referred to Charlie as his heart.
“You’re going to make me throw up, and I just got over morning sickness,” Robin sassed.
“Shut up,” Charlie mumbled and pulled Ian into a kiss.
“Hey, no, do that later,” Don chimed in.
“Yeah, after we leave,” Alan agreed.
Ian gently separated himself from Charlie who pouted.
“Fine.” Charlie started to serve herself some vegetables and then abruptly dropped the spoon. “Ian!” she chirped, grinning. She grabbed his hand and put it on her stomach again.
“Come on. Some of us are hungry,” Don grumbled.
Ian just laughed.