Dylan O'Brien Imagines

Patching You Up-Mitch Rapp

I was covered in dirt, sweat and blood. I looked up at Mitch to see him looking just like me. I put my gun back in my waistband as I looked at the blood pooling at my feet.

It wasn't supposed to go down like this. It was my first mission and I wasn't suppose to kill anyone. It wasn't that kind of mission. We had originally planned on gathering as much intel as we could and then report it back to Hurley. It went downhill when one of the target's security guards recognized Mitch from a previous mission.

"We should umm. . . We should probably get going." Mitch said, eyeing me. I let out a shaky breath as I tried to stop my hands from shaking.

I gasped when Mitch grabbed my shoulders, making me look at him. "Y/N," he said softly. He hesitated before continuing, "Let's go back to the hotel, get cleaned up and we can wait for Hurley to give us more instructions."

"Okay," I whispered before I followed him out of the warehouse.

We drove back to the hotel in silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mitch sending me hesitant looks. I repeatedly opened and closed my shaking hands, taking deep breaths to calm down.

"Y/N," he sighed.

"Don't." I cut him off. I looked over at him, silently cursing myself when the tears started to fall. "Don't try to give me that "it's okay" bullshit. I don't want to hear how you know how I feel. I don't want to hear you say how hard your first mission was or how hard it was when you killed your first target. Save the sob story for someone who doesn't feel like shit."

I ran my hands through my hair, looking away from him. My leg bounced as we continued to drive back to the hotel. When he put the car in park, I tore off my seatbelt and jumped out of the car.

When I got into the room, I threw my gun on my bed. "I'm going to take a shower," I mumbled.

Without thinking, I pulled my shirt over my head. I heard Mitch's breath get caught in his throat when I was standing in just my bra and jeans. I was too distracted to care that he saw me half-naked.

I took a shower, scrubbing off the dry blood, most of which wasn't mine. When I got out of the shower, I looked at myself in the mirror. I sighed when I saw at least a dozen bruises forming over my body. I got dressed and left the bathroom.

When I opened the door, I froze. Mitch had taken off his shirt and was trying to clean a knife wound he had gotten on his right pec sometime during the fight. I sighed when he hissed in pain.

"Here," I sighed, throwing the towel onto the chair. "It's easier if someone else does it." I took the gauze from his hand and signaled for him to sit down on the counter. I turned around and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the minibar.

"You don't have to do this, Y/N." Mitch mumbled, unable to look at me.

"Just shut up and sit down." I said, firmly. He put his hands up as he sat down. I poured some whiskey on the gauze and moved so I was standing between his legs. "This is going to hurt," I said, ignoring the red rising to my cheeks.

As I started to clean his cut, I noticed him staring at me. "What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he stuttered.

I studied his face before sighing, "Okay." I continued cleaning his cut. When I finished cleaning it, I examined the cut. "It's not too deep so it won't need stitches. I'll just cover it so it doesn't get infected. . ." I looked over at him to see him still staring at me.

"What?" I asked again, trying not to be annoyed.

"You're good at this."

"Thanks, I guess. . ." I said, looking back at his wound. I used medical tape to keep the gauze on. I tried to ignore the weird look on his face as I pressed the final piece of tape onto his torso.

I gasped when he reached up, placing his hand over mine. "I'm sorry I screwed up the mission."

"It's okay. It wasn't your fault they recognized you," I said unable to look away from his gaze.

"Still," he said. "They almost killed you and it's my fault."

"Mitch," I sighed. I gasped when Mitch used his other hand to cup my cheek and pressed his lips to mine. It took me a second before I started kissing him back.

Our lips moved in sync as he slid off the counter. His hands wrapped around my waist as my hands pressed to his chest. We pulled away when neither one of us could breathe.

I studied his face as we struggled to calm our breathing. "Y/N," he started to say. I cut him off by pressing my lips to his again. Our tongues fought for dominance as he picked me up and carried me to the bed.

I gasped when he dropped me onto the bed. I smirked as he climbed on top of me. He leaned down, but stopped. He pulled away and just looked at me.

"What is it?" I asked, suddenly getting embarrassed.

"I'm sorry for today. I let it get personal and you almost got hurt because of it. I won't let that happen again. I promise, I'll do a better job of protecting you. I'll act more like a partner. I'll have your back like you have mine. I promise, you getting hurt, will never happen again."

"You can't promise that, Mitch. There is always a possibility of one of us getting hurt."

"Then I won't let it be you," he said quickly before pressing his lips to mine.