Hostage | Brooklyn Nine-Nine

Ten

Fawn

I step out of the shower and, surrounded by steam, wrap my body in a large towel and my hair in a smaller one. Streams of condensation fall off my bathroom mirror and as it starts to clear, I begin to get dressed. After getting into my undergarments, I slide a pair of light grey joggers on and can't help but let my eyes fall on all the battle wounds, on my back and my waist.

Dozens of scars decorate my skin, the smaller and lighter ones have faded, but the bigger and deeper ones are just vicious, rough and startling. Distinct marks from misfired bullets that skimmed or broke skin are seemingly placed between the scars, dark and bold. Memories come flashing back and I try my best to not let them bother me, but it's so difficult to simply forget about them with all the violence and anger lining them.

Bruises and scratches are easy to forget as they easily fade away, but the bigger injuries stain my mind like they stain my skin. Frustrated, I storm out of the bathroom, unable to focus my head on anything but the past. I barge into my bedroom and practically throw myself on my bed, angered huffs leaving my lips. After spending a few solitary minutes being furious with myself for letting those memories flood in again, I try to pull myself together. Tired eyes are rubbed, damp hair is scraped back into a messy ponytail, arms slide into a large cardigan and I sink underneath my warm, soft duvet, hoping to get some sleep.

Which is immediately interrupted when I hear a 'smash' sound come from the kitchen.

Instinctively, I jump up and become twice as cautious than I usually am. My door is slightly ajar and even though I can't see the kitchen from inside my bedroom, I'm able to hear someone enter the house through whatever was smashed. "Shit," I whisper under my breath, careful to not make my presence immediately known. Slowly and silently, I lean over to the side and reach into my bedside drawer, feeling around for my pistol. Once my fingers touch the cold metal object, I swiftly pull it out and hold it close to my chest, as I crawl out of bed and towards the door.

Silence. 

There are no footsteps or any indication that someone is nearby, so moving carefully, I inch the gun in front of my chest and start to poke it out of the door, ready to defend myself. 

Still no movement. 

Maintaining a level of cautiousness and level headedness, I creep out of my bedroom, my eyes darting all around the room until they land on the large pile of smashed glass on the floor. I look up to realise it's the window closest to the fire escape, so this attack must have been planned somehow. Just as I go to walk towards it, someone sneaks up behind me, grabs my ponytail and yanks it harshly, to which I sharply inhale. 

I try to twist myself around so I can shoot my attacker, but whoever it is swiftly smacks the gun from my hand, twists that arm uncomfortably around my back and pushes me forward slightly, moving into the living room area.

"You have no idea who you are messing with," I snap, a few pained grunts leaving my lips. The attacker scoffs in response before he leans into my ear and whispers, "I do." The voice is slightly muffled, but I instantly recognise it and for a brief second, I freeze. In that slight hesitation, I feel the attacker pull something out, shoves it into my left arm and a sharp pain follows, to which I try my hardest not to make a distinct sound of being in pain. Then, the attacker pushes me over the small glass coffee table in the centre of the room, which smashes and various shards of glass pierce my skin like splinters.

When I turn around, I see the masked attacker as he leaves through my broken window, his dagger still lodged in my arm. I groan slightly as I reach into my left pocket, pull out my phone and first call for an ambulance, which will take a significant chunk of money from my bank account. Once they tell me that they'll be there within a few minutes, I immediately flick through my contacts to find Jake's contact to send him a message:

Apartment has just been broken into, can you call police?

Now waiting for ambulance to arrive
Read 12:07 AM

I wait for a text back, but instead, I'm greeted with a FaceTime call from Jake. I answer it and I'm greeted with a very worried looking Jake, who is struggling to quickly put on his jacket. "Fawn, are you okay?" He pants, his eyes darting all over my appearance. 

I lower my phone to show the knife in my arm and respond with, "Oh yeah, don't worry, I'm fine," in a jokey tone. Jake mumbles some curse words under his breath as he grabs his keys and rushes out his door. "I should be there in a few minutes and if the ambulance arrives before me, make sure it doesn't leave without me there with you, alright?"

"Dude, honestly, it's fine," I reply, trying to remain calm and collected, "I've had worst injuries, trust me." Defensively, Jake shakes his head as he gets into his car and starts the engine. "I don't care. You've just been stabbed and I can see the glass shards in your skin; you are injured and whilst I don't know the extent of the hurt you received from working in the armed forces, I've always hated seeing you hurt, so wait for me to get there! Alright?"

I feel myself smile at his protective nature, so I tell him that I'll wait for him to get to my apartment but remind him that the ambulance and medical team will be here any moment. "Just wait for me," he asks, sending me a serious look before he hangs up. 

A heavy sigh leaves my lips as I carefully lean against the wall, being careful not to further injure myself. I look down at my arm and helplessly watch the streams of blood fall down. Knowing that removing it has a large possibility of making additional damage, I have to leave it be and listen to my ragged breathing, my lips shaking slightly.

The pain starts to twist to an intense stinging and there's a burning undertone, my head starts to grow dizzy and trying to take deep breaths makes the pain feel worse. Luckily, I then start to the sirens of an ambulance and as I go to open the door, it swings open to reveal a heavy breathing and disarrayed Jake Peralta, his hands clenched and his eyebrows threaded with concern.