oh, hello there

Arguments were the worst. It was even worse when it was from heated argument with your boss who you had been secretly running off with your arrangement of affair.

The deal was made primarily for sexual satisfaction and business transactional purposes. Of course, HR would’ve had everyone's throats by now but it was all for the fun and thrill that came all with it. Especially getting accustomed to Lord Baddingham himself. 

New Years Day meant a lot of things for people, yet for you it had meant accidentally sleeping with Tony after a drunken make out with him at five in the morning. Your brain couldn’t rack up much of the details that occurred that early morning but it certainly left you all whipped all over him to keep wanting more of it. 

Finding yourself lingering in the hallways, hoping you would catch a glimpse. Often taking longer to pack your stuff for the day before heading back home, or purposely making yourself be the last person to leave a meeting with all employees together.

You think that none of those things would’ve probably never worked and yet here you are, multiple times in the sheets of your undone bed with him laying naked with you. 

You didn’t let yourself sink into the situation you were in, if you had thought too hard about it would only let you overthink and send yourself into a spiral that you wouldn’t be able to pull yourself out of.

It was better to be ignorant and blissful at the sort of consequences we could bring ourselves into. There was a sense of risk of someone being able to catch the two of you's little secrets and throwing it somewhere for it to erupt the company and Tony’s reputation in half.

There is always the act of denying, and forever you would be denying of it.

The last few weeks were spent nearly all in your flat. You could recall there was times where both of you had converse over drinks or some light television to catch up on other programs to ransack and make fun of. Funny enough, Tony had taken a liking for it and would purposely make the both of you do it quite a few times. 

Other times he would just spend longer, just a few seconds longer where it would’ve meant for him some kind solace from the loud and racketing for working television 24/7. Tony had always driven himself to his further limits and pressed on them to see what he was capable of. Many could say how awful he was, and truly he was. However, he had that match lightning that couldn’t possibly be blown out. His effort to tear up and maul someone on television and make sure their career or reputation would be tainted in bad lighting was almost like watching a real time Shakespeare tragedy to occur.

His hatred and greed was fuel. It drove him and it drove him insane. So, of course, a person like you who was stubborn and opinionated was gonna lead to some crashes between the two.

And sadly last night it was a wreck. It had led to some untasteful remarks and heated cruel words. it was purely made of destruction. So much so, it had led things to breaking off.

It’s hard to describe the mood of your room. It was right after you two had sex and the argument had occurred right outside of the hallway. From the light casting shadows out of your bedroom window, you can almost see the foot marks you had left on the wooden floor from all the pacing around last night. The white sheets were disheveled but the right side of your bed was nearly untouched from where he lay. You practically pushed all the pillows onto it, to try to bury his scent that was still there. Your fingers rake over the static TV that Tony pushed into the bedroom for the both of you to watch and yet it was there, now collecting dust and somewhat tears that you silently cursed as you caught reflection of yourself on the black screen. 

“it’s over.”

He said it out loud enough for you to hear, and he knew how much your guy's relationship was by now. It wasn’t because the sexual intercourse wasn't good or your business relationship wasn’t thriving, but rather it had become recognizable it was no longer just money and sex. 

You felt as if a fool, way too much of a fool to have brought up the feelings that had been silently brewing for the past months you had together. You should’ve know better not to get entangled with your married boss, and very much so of the fact knowing that feelings should’ve been out of the picture.

That was the deal. No feelings. Tony and you had agreed to not let the emotions interfere, and somehow you had lost grip on your heart and nearly fainted out of the feelings that you had been tightly grasping out of guilt. 

And last night you nearly felt your heart break.

Tony for the next few weeks had completely ignored you. The meetings were always consistent with using his assistants to go and send tasks you had to do at the office. Tony had moved some of your personal belongings out of his office. You found a box full of them by the end of the day at work as Tony left, not a word to say to you. There were business parties where Tony didn’t introduce you to any of the celebrities or working businessmen that were presented there, purely leaving you out of the picture as he gushed about Sarah Stratton in James Verker's show. Tony wasn’t much of a handsy person and all of sudden he was whenever she was around. In the past, you would have Tony near your side most of the time and he always purposely made you wait longer to sit next to dinners or events, where now you’re  thrown in the back—out of his sight, put in tables with unfamiliarized people. 

This complete 180 had churned your stomach and there were times you were nearly holding back tears in the small office in the back. You were just his working employee, what you were meant to be at the start of your employment here. Only meant to send in scripts that were enough to cast on in drama fictionalized shows and hope Tony didn’t grouch over them. You practically came into work as if nothing happened and there was no remaining past behind the between you two. 

By now you were the first to leave a message to his assistants of all tasks, first to have run out the door before bumping into anyone after the Declan show, and even going as far making excuses to not follow through meetings. You were piling up scripts and leaving them out on his doorstep of his office, just to avoid the look on his face. 

The same coldness he had sent you back with, was now received on his own end.

You were walking in the hallway and it was after lunch, everyone was buzzing about the upcoming events and the new star that was invited to be interviewed by Declan. You were trying to sneak some last due finalized scripts for a show that executives and producers have been eager to start on.

Your scripts were brand new and finished, warm off from a printer and ready to be read, skimming over the writing and felt that small prideful tug on your chest. They were nearly slipping off from your sweaty hands. You fix them up in your arms and begin to pray Tony wasn’t in his office so you would just drop them off and leave for the day. As you crossed the hallway and peek through the window to his office, you caught a glimpse of Cameron Cook sitting in there. Her legs crossed and she was dressed all in black. 

Her hair was done up and she had these red stiletto heels that added this exterior of her role as producer. Tony approached her and wore this smile that was so charismatic yet so malevolent. She was sitting in front of his desk as Tony stood there quite close to her, his fingers lightly brushing her knee as her skirt was raked up against her bare thighs.

You stopped walking.

Before you could feel your heart sink to your stomach, the papers in hand had spilled over the floor. You picked up all the papers, cursing under your head; someone crossed the hallway and found you, and had kneeled down.

“Always such in a rush all the time I see,” James perched in, while helping you pick up the remaining pieces of the script. “No lady should be in a rush like this.

“Vereker, I’m always in a rush.”

“Tony keeping you on his toes?”

“Tony can keep doing that while I do much more important stuff.”

“What, like sulking?”

You ripped the papers off his hands into yours and fixed your hair. “Thank you, James, but I gotta turn this in before they have my head on a stick.“

“Hold on, hold on,” He pulled you back to him by your arm. “I actually need you to do something for me.“

“If it’s about Sarah and trying to sneak her again to the control room so y’all can do whatever you want—“

“No, no, thank you though. Quite had a good one last time,” James wink and chuckle. You pull back your arm and attempt to not roll your eyes.

“The two of you need to stop doing it everywhere, especially at work. The both of you at this point can get caught and possibly cause a whole scandal. Since you know, you have a lovely wife back home.”

“We have nothing to worry about.  Besides, you’ll only understand once you do it the first time. Work sex is wonderful and just so—“

“Ah, ah,” you held your hand up and shut your eyes, “yeah, just stop. Either way I need to—“

“Hold on,” James got in front of you once again, “I need you to do me a favor, and by favor I need you for the next five hours.”

“What?” You scoffed. “You’re crazy. I wanna be at home and not want to spend another second here.”

You dodged him and tried to walk off but he captured the same pace beside you.

“No I'm not, and I know for sure you’ll love this!”

Your mind wanted to push him off and escape to your car, but your curiosity silently perch in.

“Spit it out then.”

“I got this major event going on at my show, I gathered all these gorgeous and top most ranking beautiful models from different countries; Greece, Mexico, Egypt, and so many more! Sarah though had a brilliant idea of combining our models next to the people we have working here in Corrinum. We hired a ton of makeup artists, hair stylists, or any other kind of stylists to come over and to give makeovers to our female employees working here.”

“Wait, so you are bringing models to stand next to our female employers to be together in a…model show?”

“Precisely! And the dresses are made from actual fashion runway designers who are famous. It provides some fame for them while giving a morally good message that all women look beautiful."

Of course Vereker came up with this bullshit.

“…don’t tell me you wanting me to be part of this—“

“I want you to be part of this.”

“Are you damn out of your mind? No!”

You were about to leave out of the door from a hallway, but he pulled you back.

“Please, please. You are perfect for this! You are able to represent all the hard working women who are out there who don’t get appreciated enough. You have the beauty and intelligence. We actually have perfect dress that will fit you so well—“

“Oh god—“

“Come on!” James shook me a bit as he placed his hands on my shoulder. “Think about it. You will help women out there feel empowered. You’re one of the main geniuses behind the top television drama shows on our program and have done so much to contribute. Besides, it would be fun to flaunt all that talent and beauty to find a romantic man out there.”

“I’m not trying to find one.“

“Oh I know, you want one that’s married, which isn’t a good route if you’re not trying to be a homewrecker.”

Your cheeks got a bit hot red and if fumes can spew out of your ears, they would right now.

You cleared your throat. “I do not want a married man. I’m just sick and tired of men being all pieces of shits at the end of the day. I would rather not let my day be ruined by some man.”

“Then show yourself and find a man that won’t let you be shoved into the runt! You are Y/N L/N, put some respect on your name and they will.”

Your narrowed your eyes.

There was that slip of consciousness leaving as you considered his words.

“Am I convincing you?” James hold a somewhat amuse ecstatic smile

You rock on both of your feet and let out sigh. 

“…is the dress pretty?” 

────

The backstage was running around with racks of clothes being pushed and ladies in heels, with almost feathers in their hair and clouds of hairspray wavering through the air. Your fingertips ran through the fabric of the dress that tightened on your waist, and the color strung you a bit. It was the color of red. Not bloody red or the neon light red that sting your eyes. It was a melancholy tint of darkness to it that made you think of red wine being poured in clean clear glass at midnight. It reminded you of lifeless parties and everyone mindlessly taking sips while boozing off. It reminded you how each glass of red wine you received was his hand with a smile that no business partner could conjure him out of. Yet, you were able to do that to him so effortlessly with not a twitch of a fingertip.

Your eyelids shut gently and shook your head back to the present; the smoothing brush painting your lips red and the blush being patted on your cheeks. You hands were sweating by now and they clumsily tried to pull up the straps on your shoulders. 

“Hold still, darling,” a woman with stick pins into her growing gray hair was cinching the small corset on your back. Your can hear yourself grunt and almost lose breath by the pull of strings.

“I-I think that’s good."

The lady nodded and called out for another trying to touch up the few last moments of your makeup. James ran through the chaotic backstage, running through the dressing rooms with a wide smile and too purely white tuxedo.

“Wow, y/n. you look more gorgeous than ever!”

From behind, a lady had her fingers on the clip of your necklace and taking it off. Your hand twitch up and place the pendent close to your collarbones. 

“What are you doing?”

“We just taking off your personal necklace to put on the one pair with this dress,” they held a velvet black box and gently opened it to reveal a teardrop diamond necklace that grew bright once you taken a peek 

It costed more than half of your life.

“That is just…wow.”

“Now that one is better, put it on!” James exclaimed.

The pendent necklace was pulled away gently and the cold diamond replaced the empty spot on your neck. The ladies holding the other were unsure where to put it.

“Here,” James lightly took the necklace from the ladies  and made sure to put it into his suit pocket, “I’ll make sure it’s safe. It’s a pretty one especially. Who gave you this necklace?”

“Uh—a friend. Back home.”

“Places everyone!”

────

Declan walks down the steps of the crowded filming set. People taking their seats in the tight knit auditorium. The audience was growing with sponsors, investors, working people, and some of their own kind; the Corinium employees. Before Declan could set his mind on where to sit, a set of footsteps followed with the click of heels were coming from behind him.

Tony appeared behind him with stature that was noticeable, along with Cameron Cook.  The two had grins; except one was more smug than the other, and the other simply wanted to go home and get rid of James Vereker’s nonsense.

“Lost there Declan?” Cameron took a few more steps down as the two men followed behind. 

“I didn’t expect this amount of people on Wednesday night. What is James exactly trying to do?” 

Tony hummed at Declan’s question and lightly groaned, “He and Sarah try to do a fundraiser event so the two can have a better set for themselves in their talk show since I refused to give them any more money. So, James had this idea of a broken down version of runway fashion to promote self love and empowerment.”

“But he did seem to collect some legitimate models,” added Cameron as all three of them spotted available seats. 

“Yeah, well—paired with our lady employees,” Tony buttoned up his suit’s blazer and sat down in the middle of the two. 

“Our?”

“James and Sarah decided to appeal to the bit of wholesome idea of inviting some of the Corinium employees to the stage. They get to wear all the fancy dresses, feel beautiful, and poke out the hearts of people's chest so they can donate. As well using actual models to gain some male audience for tonight.”

Declan simply scoffed and shook his head, mildly amused but crossed his leg on the other. “And why aren’t you up there, Cameron? I would expect this to be your playground.

“Not for James and Sarah. And I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself in front of the clear view of the audience.”

“Ah, I think you would’ve fit right well in there,” Declan managed to contain his grin. 

Declan and Cameron continue to talk, while Tony only let their replies of conversation slip from one ear into another. His eyes settled on the clock up above the stage. He knew that he would go back into his office expecting on his desk of screenwriter’s papers. Tony kept staring at the clock and his foot tapped into rhythm that fastened a little by little out of a second.

“Who’s in the show, Tony?” 

Tony’s head slightly snapped as he stray away from the clock out of his vision. “It is Deidre, Daysee—uh Valeria Jones."

“Valeria Jones? Why her, she isn’t even an employee here?”

“They didn’t have enough people,” Tony leaned back into seat and wore a grin that meant no good. “which isn’t surprising and it means that either this show is gonna be comedic relief or some shit show.”

“And you’re somehow gonna let this air out to television?” Cameron raised an eyebrow knowing how much of a tight ass Tony was on what was allowed to be shown on his program.

“I told James if this goes well and earns us some viewers, I let him do this same old event once a year—but if it fails, he has to come back to his senses and fuck off.”

“Oh, well isn’t that great,” mumbled Declan. 

The lights above the audience dim in and out, signaling everyone to take their seat and prepare what kind of gag exactly James Verker had up in his sleeve. The show started off with stage lights brightening and the welcoming applause vibrating the room. James walks up front with a standing mic and tailor white tux, with a tuck in red poppy in his pocket. 

“Good evening, folks! It’s so lovely to see all of you here with us on our special and exclusive show tonight!”

The audience did some more clapping with a couple of people yelling. Cameron subtly leans in to whisper to Tony.

“How much do you wanna bet that this show is gonna be an absolute wreck and James will only cry about this afterwards?”

“Oh, there’s no need to bet,” Tony's lips turn into a grin, “that white tux is already a horror show by itself.”

Cameron and Tony laugh under their breath. Cameron tries to lean in close to him and made sure the two had some viable contact. In which Declan noticed and nearly wanted to roll his eyes since Tony seemed to indulge in it. At least he looked like it.

“Tonight, we’ve been planning to do something different and do a couple switches to make it extra special for all of you here,” James picks up his mic stand and walks to the other side. “We love to have our utmost gorgeous models who have been on runaway and dedicated their whole lives to it. These women are celebrated on their looks on stage for how long their careers last but rather focusing on the prim and proper of what we are shown day to day, I want to share the focus of the women here tonight in this room!”

“Since when did he bloody write well? Couple months ago he barely spell out words when he’s dead sober,” muttered Declan to Tony.

Tony furrowed his eyebrows as he continue to listen to the speech. “Yeah, yeah it sounds…”

“Coherent,” Cameron finished the sentence, “he probably got someone who knows how to sound at least half better than him or at least writer for his speech.”

Tony momentarily stare at James until averting his eyes to the clock above.

"Yet I know many of you in this room wouldn't stand a few wholesome words and only tempted to see beautiful strong women—who have few talents slipped in there."

The audience clapped and so did the three sat in there, half impressed for the strong introduction and drawn open red curtains of the stage.

And out came the gorgeous women with features unlike others, they dressed perfectly and made them out to be dolls. A mock runway show that manage to grab women, who weren't just pretty women, but were fantastic enough to had ran farther than most had expected. Jobs that had the usual working men; and now were taken by women with curls and heels with weight of power.

The audience had done their few share of whistles and continue to do so with each lady walking out with curated dresses on the stage. James stood off to the side and clapped each time, his eyes staring off on some women that walk by and held this smug smirk.

Declan sat there almost unbothered but nodded of the impressive jobs and accomplishments of the models, even raising an eyebrow to utter words of "world peace organizer".

While Cameron just sat there and clapped once a while, her focus was mostly for this odd show to end; to work on her endeavors that were larger than this mess.

Tony, on the other hand, seems to wander his eyes on the women. He would be liar if he didn't find any of the women attractive and made him eye at them once a while.

Yet from his mind, he was suspiciously waiting for the ball to drop and let James embarrass himself as he always done in the past. Maybe enough for him to end with his idiotic ideas and leave Tony's brain to rest.

Tony gently sat there comfortably in his seat, and watch the women walk out, enjoying the show like the rest of the dogs in the audience.

Soon enough, Sara Stratton had waltz out near the last few minutes of the show. The audience clapped loudly and for the dress she worn confidently of the strong color of gold.

"Most of you know my wonderful co-host of Sarah Stratton, and my, doesn't she look amazing?"

The audience loudly yelled and Declan looks short off hand to Tony, who was growing close to Cameron and whispering some unknown joke he couldn't make out from the loud crowd.

"Women such as Sarah not only exist in model photo shoots or front page of magazines, they exist from anywhere from where there is beauty and talent; just like how it exist here."

"That's right, James," Sarah smile into microphone, "I'm proud to be involved in program such as this one, where most of my co-workers and crew are gorgeous women who put the time and effort of their work. And for that, everyone—I would like to introduce you all to them."

Daysee was the first to enter the stage. A yellow pastel dress with short puff sleeves and soft makeup that made her glow from the stage lights. Right as Deirdre came in, shockingly beautiful with the purple dress and the kind of glam that made her not at all recognizable. Although not an employee of Corinium, Valerie Jones strut in with her turquoise dress of the fashionable 80s; while most say it would be tacky wear for a show like this, Valerie Jones manage to pull off the weight and wore a smile that ray of confidence.

"And for our last—"

"But definitely not least," Sarah added, with chirpy tone, "our wonderful screenwriter, who manage to make any boring project far beyond than any. Ladies and gents, I welcome her to you!"

A click of heels enter the stage, nervous steps and slight peek out from the velvet curtain; for you to appear some angel with stunning red dress.

You enter in carefully, as the audience clapped loud enough; becoming aware how surreal it felt up on the stage.

It felt so warm underneath the lights and made your skin feel so fuzzy, stepping more into the stage along with the other women.

James exclaimed out your name and you could see a couple of men stood up from their seats. The whistling and spew of complements, the dress moving gently against your feet and pooling nicely on the furnished stage.

Declan widened his eyes and didn't expect you—you out of all the people here, would be on the stage gorgeous to threads. He let out huff with amusement and glance at Cameron.

Only to see Tony paralyzed on his seat.

A face too stunned to speak.

"Is that—?" Cameron couldn't even finish the sentence, just as you made small strides and hug the women on stage.

"Bloody hell, it is," Declan scoffed and seem to slowly clap.

"She never does this stuff, she barely makes an appearance with our recent award show."

"Well, seems to me James might've cast a spell on her to end up there."

Tony still didn't speak: eyes still trained on you.

You reach to the tail end line of women, standing along with Daysee who couldn't help but giggle at the sight of you.

"You—wow, just wow!" She continued to smile and you shook your head with a grin.

The crowd continue to clap and some suspected men had stand up with their shared agreement.

Declan glances one more time to Tony.

He hadn't said a word since you enter the stage and haven't even made a chuckle of some sorts. His hands were limped and face stature, it almost as if he didn't blink.

Declan couldn't help himself, and yet the smug grin landed on his lips. He eye up at you from the seat and stood up with a loud whistle with two fingers.

The whistle had took you by surprise and you glance at Declan on the front row street.

"Woo! That's our screenwriter!" He continue to let out yell and the rest of the crowd cheer louder.

Tony nearly snapped his whole head to Declan and his mouth parted. If he could, he would about right now growl at him.

A sheepish grin landed on your face and you made a small wave to Declan. The men and women behind stood up to clap for the rest of us on the stage and you were engulfed by the sight. Always writing the lines and dialogue for all them to stand here. The roles reverse and it was you here on stage instead.

And somehow it didn't carry off the weight, as you notice the shadow area beside Declan and find Tony staring at you. The first time you've recall of him finally glancing towards your way in past few months.

James had begin talking on the microphone once again and you couldn't pick up any of wording, as it seem you had been yank back and entirely daze just from the way Tony had looked at you.

Without you knowing, Tony was feeling the same way. The dress gain to capture all those parts of you into that moody dress. That made him ache silently in his chest, cause you were just as lovely as he remember—and somehow even more tempting.

It was uncharacteristic of you of the dark red dress and painted lips, falling perfectly on you with prominent curves and face that made Tony stare at you all over once again.

And a hand on the armrest clenching for misery—for how his body reacted from the sight of you.

"Why don't you take a spin miss screenwriter?" James yell out and beamed.

You blinked half twice and fumble with the fabric of the dress, sweating as if you were guilty to be on this stage with him right there front row.

Eventually, you spin around and the tiny gems on the dress begin to shimmer a little, accentuating the curve on your back.

The men behind Tony made this awful dog holler and whistles. He heard the kind of talking made in locker rooms, and men in suits in offices. And here again from the back of him, that made him tighten his fingers on the armrests.

Declan sat back down on his seat and was laughing of the ridiculousness of it all. He glance at him with his eyes burning through you, and you entirely oblivious from how radiant your smile was from all the admirers.

"You were right," Declan said loud enough for Tony only to hear, "this is horror show to ya."

Tony crank his head to him, clenching to all his leftover sanity and tightness of his suit trousers.

All the rest of the models ran up on stage and went to celebrate the fellow women employees.

"I can't thank you enough! To the models, makeup artists, costume designers, fashionistas, the crew, and our talented women in our business. Till next time everybody!"

Inflated balloons fell from the ceiling above and popped glitter. Your wrist was pulled by one of the models and you made one last walk on stage, hitting one more spin and small wink for the audience.

The rest of the audience begin to leave just as they did, and the men behind were now chasing off for some bone. The room becoming more empty by the second

"Jesus, what a show," Declan laugh once more and Cameron shook her head with a smile.

She was about to say something to Tony to ridicule the absurdity, all for him to stand up abruptly and walking off to the double doors of the auditorium.

"What was that all about?"

Declan watched and listen to the slam of the door, letting a gruff scoff. "Crawling like a centipede."

────

Escaping was a lot harder than you anticipated; popped bottles, the loud band arriving with trumpets, men quickly turning to women, and James out of his drunken mind. The show was a success, and while most were celebrating with the others, you were searching for the dressing room to change and leave.

The walls buzzed and vibrated, the band being so loud with it's ruckus and laughter from walls away. You were secluded into a dressing room with the vanity's warm lights, and mirrors facing you with this clear unhappiness warning into your face. Your thoughts clouded for no near judgment to be made, as you only wish that you would get rid of the thoughts of Tony being tangled with them. 

And if so, why would it matter? He had seen you dress in a gown that felt like a costume the longer his eyes settled on you; the way his hands crinkle around the arm rests of the seat. While you parade on stage for other eyes to bat yours, still fooling around so you can center in his only gaze.

Your eyes face into the vanity mirror and your lipstick begins to smudge through its corners, begging to sweat it off from the sweet rise inside of you. 

You mumble few curses under your breath and nearly preparing your listed goodbyes to head off home. The door opens gently by the turn of the knob and with a small step, you were blocked from walking any further—with Tony standing in the doorway.

He was caught off guard as he seemed like he was contemplating whether to enter or not, and here you were opening up the door as if allowing him either way as I always do.

For a half second the both of you stare at each other from the small jump of surprise.

“Tony, I—I thought you already left,” your eyes glanced at his expressionless face and the papers in hand he had. Through sneaking glances, you realize it was your script that you dropped off earlier.

“Some investors came by and well then other groups came blabbering about something and I just…”

Tony begin to lose his words and the both of you were running out of words to keep you two mindlessly there. Until he perk up seeing that your lipstick was smudge.

“You have a bit um—“ he try to point it out but you silently curse under your breath forgetting about the lipstick.

Your hand instinctively covers your lips and wiping the last bit of smudge, turning yourself back to the mirror of the vanity. You took couple steps away from Tony, who was still standing in doorway, before eventually closing the dressing room door for you two.

Your thumb began to continuously rub the bottom lip of yours, but you slowed down and lowered your head with a soft sigh. As Tony stood behind and kept his gaze momentarily on you.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice sounds strained in the quiet dressing room.

“…you agree to do this,” Tony stated like it’s a fact, “you said yes to being a mock up model in James Vereker’s show.”

“I mean,” Tony straighten up and half glances you through the mirror, “we always had talk about how stupid James’s ideas are—“

“You did. You always said those things.”

Your hands reached for the weighted necklace and patted for the clip behind your neck. The crushed shaped crystals lay out on your chest, wavering that last bit of control of what you wanted to say.

Tony scoffed and almost clenched the slight bit of his jaw. “This is James Vereker we are speaking of right now. The man drives you insane and you even joke about his unpleasant moments during work.”

“You might be right about that, but he was nice enough to think I’m beautiful and talented enough to be in a show with a line up of models who've done far greater things I’ve done.” 

Your words feel heavy now and you submerge the last bit of anger, but it begins to crack through—and Tony knows that. He knows when the anger begins to show and how you begin to fall short with your responses while being direct. He knows all of those and memorizes the way your fingers try to take off the necklace.

Tony watched you struggle with the necklace and took short steps behind. “It’s right there—“

“I know where the fuck it is, Tony.”

The silence hit. Both of you didn’t say a word at all.

It was so easy to read his face yet it became unreadable, and left with no traces of expression. It grew harder where Tony’s thoughts were. You begin to think he might get angry and yell at you like he’s done with the rest of the people in his life.

Yet he didn’t say anything. Tony continued to stare and draw out an exhale. Your fingers tried to unclip the necklace slowly again, but you still couldn’t do it. Your hands were placed above the vanity table and with hair covering your face. 

The floor creak. Tony reaches out again and didn’t say a word, as he slowly unclip the necklace from behind your neck. A subtle brush of his fingers against your skin and letting go of the expensive necklace. You grabbed the necklace as he finally unclipped it, and you held it in your hands to place on the table; until Tony’s hands appeared and seemed to be putting on another necklace on you.

Through the mirror, you glanced up and found a familiar necklace being put on yourself, a slight glow shining from the small diamond cluster in. 

Tony catches the sight of my eyes slightly widening and you managed to speak again:

“Where did you get this?”

“James was dancing around near the bar and he look like he took too many shots. Once he step a foot on the bar, the idiot almost fell in front of all the models and this spilled out of his pocket.”

Tony secured and made sure the clip was on, your fingers drifting over the necklace. Tony watches from behind and through the mirror. 

“He was keeping it safe for me before you get any bad ideas.”

“Well, he wasn’t exactly safe enough for it to drop like that,” Tony muttered but you still placed a hand over the necklace over your chest.

Underneath your palm, your heart began to race and you pulled it away, settled in the rush of adrenaline. 

“You still kept it on,” Tony pointed out. “I noticed it a couple weeks ago at our meeting with everyone.”

“It is my favorite,” you silently admitted. “Doesn’t really mean anything though.” 

Tony didn’t speak much after but he linger behind you, to whether retaliate or say something for unspoken months that had passed. 

“It took you that fast to move on.”

“Pardon?” Tony’s voice hardened slightly and glances at you again through the mirror.

“I saw you,” your head was low and almost quiet, “you and Cameron in her office, flirting with her like it’s your second nature at this point.” 

Tony furrowed his eyebrows and unpocket his hands. “Cameron? Cameron Cook?”

Your hand slapped on the vanity and turned around with a rush of anger. “Yes, you and goddamn Cameron Cook. I saw the two of you inside of your office when I was about to drop off the script.”

Tony’s face nearly turned to scowl. “Were you stalking or something? Jesus, woman! You can’t even learn the boundaries.”

“Boundaries? You’re the last person who shouldn’t even so much as speak any boundaries, recruiting me as your mistress!”

“You knew what you were getting yourself into,” Tony bark back. “You’re acting some victim but you knew I had the band on my ring finger and have children of my own, but you ignore it by passing colors!”

You didn’t say anything but somewhat tears began to warm your vision, and cursed at yourself for falling already emotional from your perpetuating anger. All these planned words and sentences of wanting to make him feel how the sound of his name had made your stomach sick from all this grief, and now you are falling wasted as if he could melt off your words like warm wax. 

And you hated him for that, and the fact he could make you feel the worst you ever felt as if illness had infected you; and somehow holding out affection from a man who rarely shows it, but it all makes it better when he does it only with you.

Your voice cracked open from all the agonizing pressure and the disgust of jealousy of seeing a woman be with a man who’s already been with too many.

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I feel as if I could ever be the victim when I’m just as awful as you are!” 

Tony's eyes glared unbearably and the muscle of his jaw twitched. “Well I’m glad one of us is aware of it enough to know that!”

“If it means being slightly better than you in that scenario, then I’ll gladly wear it!”

“Just like you wear this?” Tony spat and glances at you, in this dress that has not only made him tight in his chest, but annoyed of how much you and yourself still had effect on him. “Wearing these type of dresses when you barely wore any kind like these before, because you hated it."

“What makes you think you know me and my sense of dressing? Or anything about me at all?”

“Because I sat there and saw you on that stage, and I had wonder where the fuck I’ve gone to miss that side of you!”

The breathing between you had stopped.

The whiplash and intake of the words suddenly had made the two of you realize where all this yelling gotten you two in.

To dish out all the anger, but withering to threads that are becoming undone of the flesh feelings undressing themselves. 

Tony stares at you and you did the same: eyes becoming tear filled.

“I’m not—“

Tony stops himself and somehow breathes it, as if it pained him enough to even think of them.

“I’m not the man you want. Not you. Not…not—“

“It’s not my choice, Tony,” you voice back carefully. “I would’ve made the choice long ago to rip every attachment away from you but I can’t, I can’t at all.”

“It’s not fair.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“No, no,” Tony shook his head furiously and step close, “it’s not fair that you are shutting me out as if I didn’t share the same pain. Making me out to be a man who can easily turn to others.”

“What about her, and the way you—“

“Because she’s enough to feel something! Something, even how shallow or lack luster the feeling is—“

“I didn’t want anyone, I didn’t want any man’s touch on me.”

“I wanted anything to forget your touch!” Tony's voice cracked. “It’s the fact that none of it works enough for me to forget it and I’m the idiot in the audience while the men look at you, and I had you—and I lost you!”

His words failed and his chest heave. Tony stared at you so lost. 

“…”

You place a hand over the necklace and your nails scrape against your skin, and a tight grasp for the pendant. There was a heavy weight on your chest. 

“I don’t want it off of me.”

Tony continues to gaze at you and his chest nearly holding on to pain aches. 

“I don’t want it off of me,” you repeated it, affirming it out loud. “I don’t want your touch off of me ever.”

“I don’t either. I don’t ever want to stop wanting you,” Tony admits, barely audible but enough for you to listen.

He continues to gaze at you.

His dress shoe stepped in and you took a half step back away, your lower back gently being bump to the edge of the vanity, and eyes staring at him.

You blinked a little too fast, as if the tears became loose and weak. Or from the odd rise out of your chest when you see his face close enough to fan your breath against his.

Tony eyes at you and nearly doesn’t blink to hold onto you. 

“I only ever want you to make me feel something, more than something,” He whispers softly. “More than any other.”

A breath caught in between; tears that silently shed and came across the two of you.

Tony raises his shaky hands but retreated, but your forehead pushes to his and the same old calloused hands cup your face. 

The both of you breathing in each other and mouths parted. Tony slowly brushed his lips against yours that tasted the smudge lipstick and salt tears caught between his hands. You brush back against his.

Tony pushed through the small inch of his lips to yours for an attempted kiss, clumsy and saddened of how much he missed you.

Laying soft pecks against his lips and tracing where his once lips were. You kissed him and kissed him, falling shortly to press a longer kiss to draw out and his hands to hold you from the waist and back.

Tony wiped the tears and kissed them off from your cheeks and inner corners, slowly kissing you all around and reaching the same old warm spot on the right side of your neck.

A soft pant slip out of you and Tony pecks you all around even more. He couldn’t get enough of you, and the fact he’s back to loving you as if you were his. Tony pulled back and stared at you with his hands cupped on your face, all surrender when it came to only you. 

You stared at him and pressed quicker on his lips, tugging his suit and knocking off all the makeup items off the vanity as he softly pushed you to it.

Tony begins to pant as well, and becomes overwhelmed to fall back to you with you in his arms. He touches you all around and remembering the slants and curves all at once. 

You guide him backwards to get away from the vanity and Tony continues to kiss you thoroughly with his hands on your face, squeezing you and grasping on.

“I missed you,” you panted out so deeply.

“I miss you more than ever,” Tony replied with a weight full of breaths. “You and the selfish comfort, all of you.”

You shook your head and he nodded back eagerly, stealing another kiss to shut you up. 

Instinctively, your hands fall on his clothed suited chest and his were placed on your strapped shoulders. 

While the both look at each other, and earn an answer from the dying pants.

Tony starts to guide you in the room and pushes off the racks of clothes out of the way, hands on your waist to properly press you on the lounge sofa. You kissed him back, halting him and running your hands up on his chest. 

“People are out there,” you said, managing to huff it out. 

“I know. The door is locked,” he said it against your lips and placed both of his hands on your back, noticing the secure tightness of the corset. 

You didn’t reply and gaze at him. 

“I don’t want it to be fast.”

“I’m not going fast. Not even with those men out there,” Tony pecked your lips and nibbled a little roughly, “not when they got to see you like this and become entertainment for them, as if they got the chance in the world to have you like this.”

“I wasn’t going to let them—“

“Oh really? They saw you practically on stage begging to be fucked.”

You scoff and resist a grin to form on your face and Tony turns you around quickly for your back to face him, seeking out strings to pull and make you undone. 

Tony pushed your hair and trail bites on your skin that led to the corset, and went lower with knees almost bend over to reach. His hands rushing to pull off the form knot and with you patiently heaving. 

He makes short off glance and sees the two of you in the reflection of the mirror, your face warning in some pleasure but tempting to hold back. 

Tony continues to stare through the mirror, his fingers finding the stitch zipper of your dress—slowly frees you from the eyes of others and begs to see you all bare underneath to love. 

The dress begin to sag and fall unfit from your strikingly aroused body; hands holding onto the last bit to cover you and Tony standing up as he retraces back with kisses up to your neck. 

Tony’s hands become frantic as he try to rip off his blazer and slick tie, giving you this dark stare and you pressed up against his chest, fully slipping your tongue to his mouth. 

He responds by slipping his wet salivated tongue, and so use to his need for dominance, he surprised you by allowing you to explore him—tugging the dress off of you along with. You push off his suspenders off his shoulders.

Your chest was blushed in soft pinks and reds, your plush breasts exposed and panties to conceal what is left on you. Tony takes every inch into his vision and rakes his hands over your waist.

His suspenders hang out and footsteps shuffle against kicked off heels across the room, finding yourself being fully pushed to the sofa lounge. 

Tony unbuckles his belt and the sound of metal grew apparent, he slips it off quick and lowers himself. 

You sat there lips slightly open and watched him as he was above you, slowly sinking your nails to the couch and allowing him on top of you.

He continued to devour you and your lips were all reddened, all wet from his salivated kisses and biting you. He wanted you, wanted you so much that he needed to just bite your dainty flesh. 

The scent of his cologne on the ripped off clothes was clouding you and you pathetically grind yourself against him through his dress pants, your open slit all soaked and leaving a mark on his hard bulge under.

Tony sucked up a restrained breath, somehow lost it and blew out a heated breath to your face. “I thought not to make it fast.”

“Doesn’t mean to go easy,” you panted out and unbutton his white button up, “come on, like you said, I’m begging to be fucked.”

You push off his shirt from his shoulder blades and Tony pushes your thighs upwards: spreading you open.

“Oh, is that so true?” Tony slightly mocks in this soft and irritating voice. “You wanna be fucked?”

“Uh huh,” you said, sweet and playful. “Can’t you do that? Old time sake?”

Tony and you were a few inches apart from each other's faces, as you unbutton the top button and unzip his pants.

“I don’t know, you seem to ask so nicely,” Tony grabs your chin and opens your mouth wide open, as you pull his trousers down. “I'd rather have you doing all kinds of things instead.”

“Are you sure about that?” You finally pulled the last bit of fabric, freeing his hard member and the girth of him. “I have a feeling that could change.”

“Yeah?” Tony panted, grabbing your thighs and pulling you in close.

You eagerly nodded, inner thighs so slick and wet from all unnecessary talking. “Yeah.”

The head of his cock pressed against your aching slit and slowly—and so slowly, makes a long stroke as he enters all of himself inside of you.

The both of you audibly gasped, warm and wet flesh coating his hard cock that felt it would finish from the tightness.

You huff out a soft cry of a whine, as Tony presses his nose to your temple and hisses under his breath. 

The springs of the couch creak and he slowly keeps going with his pace, steady and somehow thrusting firm roughness. 

The couch’s fabric beneath your bare body, while his hands and lips were on yours; while heaving of how you feel inside. 

Tony doesn’t know how he managed to get you like this once again, even for his tactics and odd behavior—all the while you were someone who barely made a wink out of selfishness. He believes by now you would be gone or out the door, but even impulsivity and buried feelings have their earned rewards. 

Somehow Tony pulls you up just as he sat on the cushions, still buried inside of you and moving his hips along with yours. You lower your lips and carve out warm planned spots to land on his neck and fall shortly to his mouth.

Tony smooths out your hair sticking up and matches the pace, and lovingly kisses. Himself moving up and down in you, often tightening around him and letting out muffle moans out of weakness.

He pulls you even further to be on top and you fully straddle him. You sunk back into his cock and let out a shiver.

There was a rise in your chest, and before a louder moan can leave out of you, his hand covers your mouth.

“People—still out there,” Tony breathed out. “Trust me, I would let you but we can’t—“

You silently glare at him out of annoyance and were pulling off his lap to tease him; edging him and getting a rise out of him.

Tony notices and lazily smirks, landing a hand on your bum and pulling you right back on top of him. 

The head of his cock is right deep in you and his hand guided your face to view each other from the mirror. You caught the view of your bare back and Tony’s head tilt up with his eyes darting around your face. And there you were, riding his dick and letting him touch wherever you like. 

You bit your lip and watch his hips thrust in you in strokes, watching him through the mirror and falling so wet of how well he takes care of you. His hand squeezed on your face and kissed you on your shoulder. That's all warm and sweaty. 

There was a pathetic whimper that left out of you and you grind with his cock and watch how Tony shuddered, groaning for himself against you.

And you watch through the mirror, gasping for breath and seeing Tony practically take all of you.

Tony blinks open his eyes and let out ragged breath, seeing you were distracted and half glance at the mirror as you still kept going.

The both of you find each other through the mirror. Your thighs were aching and the skin was slick, sliding in and out of you thoroughly to deepen himself into you.  

You fully glance back to him and his eyes that were beginning to drown you apart. He had this look, not the kind of amateur lust or the same sexual satisfaction that has been firmly printed as a business interaction.

Tony stares at you with eyes half lid and nearly falling apart underneath you, gazing and squeezing your hip—letting out huff that made his eyes soften more. 

You were so close to speaking, but a weak tremble went through your legs and shook. 

“C’mon, you got it,” Tony placed his hands on your bare back and made sure you didn't stop. “You're almost there.”

Your head hangs low and your hands grasp on his face. 

Tony turns his lips to your hand, kissing it and slipping his other hand to the nest of your hair. 

You intentionally bump his nose to yours, landing a sloppy and timid kiss. You were making a lot more noises and Tony had given up on shutting them out, slowly wrapping his arms around you.

“No—you, first,” you manage to say.

Tony firmly shakes his head and uses one of his hands to slip in between the two of you. His thumb gently being pushed to your clit—rubbing small circles. 

Your legs were about to give out.

Inside of your stomach felt tight and coiled in turns, a small reaching climax and sweet moans for you to spill out. Tony continue to keep the pace, slowly stuttering and lowering his head to your shoulder—his hands biting your back from behind you

Your vision spotted and blackened, as his cock inside began to twitch from all of you. He made sure to keep going, and yet was failing from how close he was.

Just as you were; heaving, tight, and blowing all your breaths inside his mouth to drown in. While all Tony did was slightly smile and hold the back of your head to keep you there.

You came just as he did. 

A loud trumpet horn was muffled in the background with the walls of the dressing room. It’s a blur as to where you saw stars in your vision and Tony steadying you as your body limped over him.

His breaths were pressed against your shoulder and he guided you back down on the lounge, your back comforted by the fabric's softness. 

You laid back down and Tony hovered above you as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes wander around your face and let you take a second.

Your body was trembling and you had to gaze back at how his face seemed concerned about you. Your eyebrows knitted back but he kissed you before any question or reply could ruin it.

Your hands slipped back to his face and fingers smoothing his cheek bones. 

Tony kept on kissing you, as if he wasn’t already exhausted and ran out of air for him to continue. Somewhere in the back of his head though had crept of what could be his guilty conscious.

Because he had you here and managed to slip you back to physical love he had just poured onto you, he didn’t want to take chances of letting you go just yet.

He pulled back for a second and had wished the courage to say something now in the quiet room, but your lips pressed onto his to seal the silence.

Returning to the crime of the scene was a kind of headache that no investigator could want, not even so much for a private kind.

The odor of blood was beginning to rub a scent on your clothes and the signage outside of the window, with lit up words that flicker ever once a while had gave migraine. You check again on the clock hanged on the wall, and begin to tap away your foot. Only for a knock on the door to crack bit of the silence.

You stood up and check through the blinds, before unlocking through the several lock pins and unveiling Cole behind the door.

His face had the same stature of expression; the kind that meant he was visibly through his wits end and annoyed. And yet he made sure to come all this way.

"No word?" You asked, as Cole walked in with his fedora low and let out sigh.

"None. Silent as ever."

He gently took a seat of the hotel room you had payed off. The place was the cheapest in the vicinity and fastest for you two converse over any possible ideas for the case, even if it mean working with investigator not being affiliated with the LAPD.

Cole gently took off his fedora and try to smooth out his wrinkle suit from the long day. You took a seat across from him, the desk chair that had wheels about to pop off.

"No word as well?" Cole glances at you and you shook your head.

"Nothing. Just the letter you and the LAPD receive."

"A letter that is about to be burn off from Rusty hands if we don't find this killer," Cole stretch out his neck and his limbs lay loose on the lounge chair; soft veins appearing of his calloused hands.

"I think I do the same for a killer that has too much pride and ego, for him to swallow up and kill women for pleasure."

"A manic," Cole states, "a kind that knows how to efficiently kill and leave no trace for clues on paper to be delivered on station."

"And I thought the LAPD were the best officers in country, especially a case such as this," You stood up and briefly took steps near the window that had the flashing sign.

Cole eye at you from the chair.

"We are, but even we have our troubles--unique ones, if I must say so."

"That's just the state of California, or even the area of Los Angeles. A whole other world living in this place."

Cole didn't reply but kept staring directly towards you. He softly stood up and near against you to the window, a spot where you were peeking out the blinds for anything that could be occurring.

"I would say having the letter in hand could be great start, but I'm guessing your pricks had pick it up."

"They're not pricks," Cole firmly said, not wanting to sound frustrated but did otherwise. "They're just officers doing their job."

"And I'm trying to save people, not for the beneficiary of another rank of promotion."

"Me too, the difference between you and I though is I have enough guts to know my practices of solving unsolved cases aren't ethically done."

"And murder isn't as well," you bite back, almost testing and warning him off to continue on. "And I never said my practices were ever done ethically correct."

"And I never said murder was either."

His voice almost became resigned and the shitty rolled off edges of wallpaper held his clothed back.

There was silence that came afterwards that didn't felt awkward or unease, rather the two of you clearly were too tired to make up some clear sense of the four linked murders.

You look down short off hand, and find a pack of bought cigarettes from a store you went earlier today. You leaned against the wall next to the window, as a light had slipped in from outside, and drift over the two of you.

Out of your coat pocket, you grabbed a lighter; it was beginning to die out each flicker of a flame. Just fast enough, you manage to steady one burnt amber glow.

Cole caught the sound of a slight rip of a box and your fingers plucking out a cigarette. The butt of the cigarette hang off your lips and the flame caught the end of it; the lighter was blown out, it was only Cole and you with this stingy comforting smell.

All the while, Cole only had eyes on you. A smoke curling off the edges and he leans against the wall, out of mere acceptation that the both of you were restless. It was already stupid enough to chase with two weakened minds.

You peek over to him and slightly gesture to the box of cigarettes in hand, shaking them to catch his attention.

"No, no. I'm fine," Cole shook his hand and head.

"I thought you use to smoke."

"I've never smoke before."

"Yes, yes you have. Your car had a couple dead ones crumple inside the ashtray."

"And how do you believe they were mine, could've been Rusty."

You took a drag from your cigarette and glance a bit around. "No, Rusty is messier and litters them anytime if he gets the chance."

"And who said he doesn't do that with my car?"

There was grin to your lips and you shrugged, "not the kind to keep neat and tucked away for it to be hidden. Only someone would do that if they're trying to hide their tiny habits once and while."

Cole tilt his head and still held his composure of stoicism, "are you implying that I'm some unknown, unclear tobacco enjoyer?

You didn't reply half as quick this time. Only to slowly lend out your hand with your cigarette held in between two fingers, all direct towards him. Cole's eyes went from the outstretch invitation of your hand and to your expressionless face; tempted as he reach out with subtle of welcoming.

He pick it in his slow pace and places it onto his lips. Naturally, he took a drag and leaned back near the windowsill. You crossed your arms and take a view outside the window.

Cole reach out and unhooks the lock from the window, pushing it open for some air to drift inside and the flashing neon lights buzzing.

"We save some patriots from an awful room like this," He comments, "no one would be able to sleep with that sign so close to the room."

"There's no luck with that bed either," you added. "Feels as if the bed frame wobbles even how weightless you can be."

"It probably collapse if I was on it."

"Yeah, you might not wanna add too much on your list."

Cole blew off some smoke and his eyebrow raise a bit taking a look at you. "List?"

"You drive like a manic," you took the cigarette back from his hand gently, "if you weren't a detective, they would've charge you for vehicle manslaughter."

You took a drag and Cole stares almost wanting to scoff, yet he falls into this restrained grin as he looks away.

"I only earn a couple of scratches."

"And dents," you smiled and tilt you head, just as he pluck back for the cigarette once again.

"My worst quality is being bad driver, compared to others back in station I said I'm doing a whole lot better."

"Really? Your only worst quality?"

"Can't think of another," Cole murmured and gaze out of the window.

You only stare out as well and drawn back to silence in the room.

"I use to be so up tight with these cigarettes," you mention, half lost in your thoughts,

"What'd you mean?"

"I use to hate the smell. It felt like it always rank somewhere, even how long ago someone had taken a blow off of one. I forbid them away from my apartment, sooner I found myself taking a try, like some woman who hasn't had sat down for some kind of pleasure."

"…you forget almost all the time when you live in a place like this," Cole mutter back.

"Not when you escape from home and almost tempted to always seek for the pleasure."

Cole paused on his gaze out from the window and glanced to you almost startled.

He wasn't so sure if the comment had been slight jab to himself, or you had felt or done the same things of what normal individual shouldn't be partaking.

Yet he couldn't tell from the look of your face and the dab you did on the cigarette, burnt ashes falling to the carpet.

"I had told Marie I would stop smoking."

You turn your head to him, he lower his head and had his back lean against the wall.

"It always the same thing she had told me since marrying her and having the kids," Cole started, "always meant for the wedded live I had committed and knowing my spouse also hated the smell of them. Use to be a bad addict once."

A small snort left out of you and Cole peeked back to your misfit of amusement. "The kind of words I wouldn't have expected to hear about you."

"Hard to believe?"

"With the all pressed iron suits and obeying the laws like some golden rule boy; it's almost hearing an angel taking its first shot."

Cole snickered and by now the two of you shared a chuckle.

"I mean it," he manage to say. "I almost went through three packs a day and had usually done it back then with military."

You had softly blink at the flickering signage and tilt your head.

"It's how it goes," you peer at him from beside you. "All kinds of things that eventually make you unhealthy, and with all the weight from the world, it becomes harder to uphold the kind of person you were before."

"Before," Cole repeated it back, thinking of enlistment and the brash ignorant personality, held from full of ambition. The kind he remembered through pressed memories that once are recollected—and let him nerved and disturbed.

"All that smoking," Cole nearly scoffs and shook his head. "It might as well been a taint to the already glorified image of myself."

You caught the last few words he almost wanted to keep for himself, and yet had slipped off from the desire of saying it to someone else.

And somehow being told to the outskirt female investigator with no connections anyone in the city.

It could've been the reason why he had told you in the first place--you had no one to tell.

While the small part of Cole had enjoy the two of you in cheap bought hotel room; a cigarette to share and the smoky smell off from you.

"You do too much thinking, detective," a quiet sigh was let out from you, just as you handed the last bit of cigarette to him.

Cole reach out and slowly took it. "You don't wanna finish it?"

You shook your head lightly. "Seems like someone needs it more than I do."

"And who said you don't need it?"

"I got you," you said all the sudden. "That's all I needed."

Cole eye at you for a second for his breath to catch. And you had playfully flick his fedora, before fixing it on his head with one hand.

"Don't let the ghosts eat you alive. Gotta a lot drive to not let you hold up against that. And someone like you, I know you got more than enough."

Cole titled his head and your fingers were still kept on the brim of his hat.

"And what if it all runs out?"

"As if," you shook your head and lean in close. "I wouldn't let you."

He huffed, letting out an earned smile to his lips. Cole continued to mirror the same tilt and eyes that flicker of colored lights from the window.

You stood there almost half awake. The days have been leaning more into this quiet ease, easing you back and reminiscing your once normal life before the Doctor. By now, the company was the warm street lights and crickets that croak underneath dying grass; while you were smeared in dried blood.

The chest of yours heave in the flush sweat and adrenaline, eyes that have a mind of their own, and feet that tremble the longer you stood outside of the sudden cold of a summer's night.

There was no one out. The street was empty and too quiet for there to be no loud barking dogs; or neighbors caught in late night movies though the flaps of curtains to peek in.

The buzzing of the AC sat on the windowsill. It was behind you and the standing, looming house.

You could hear the dying breaths of the AC inside of the home.

A ball begin to slowly form inside of your throat and fingers on the sides of you had tremble: all for two pair of hands appear and yank you from behind.

The nature of your instincts kicked in and you started to push off whoever was behind, even screech a little and dig your dirty fingernails through the cloth of sleeves of a trench coat.

They pushed you off and hissed under their breath, and you spun around with raised hands covered in spill of blood.

The Doctor stares at you.

His expression slowly unraveled. His eyes took the sight of the open cut on your arm, that’s gushing small amounts of blood that drip over your limbs. Your jeans that had your knees cover in dark patches and a white top that smeared all your guilty conscious of this side of the road to see.

If there was any guilty conscious.

The Doctor slowly meets your eyes; his breathes fastening inside of him, shaken and holding out the assumption of what horrid thing had just occurred inside of the home while he was gone.

You shook your head and begin to mutter out a ramble, stepping like some zombie.

"No, no. It's not--it's not what it looks like, please--"

"Don't you dare speak," the Doctor sneer and stepped in. It causes you to take a step back and almost stumble.

You continue to walk backwards and the Doctor follows right in front of you. You couldn't make out his face in the street and slowly shake.

"I--it happened so fast!" You reasoned. "It got to him before I could get him out of it and he just stare at me so—"

"Don't lie to me right now."

"How could I lie to you!?"

"And how could I trust you?"

"It's me," your voice whimper and it sounded as if a cry, of the sweat and evidence on you. "It's me, it's me. You know me!"

The Doctor doesn't say a word. Only this stare he has glued on your face and the awful realization of the scene inside the house. A scene all made by hands and fingerprints of yours. Enough for a human to be slammed onto the wooden floor, creating a split right through, and just as the knife repeatedly went through the chest.

You raised your hands up to your head, clutching through the threads of your hair and tugging them to gain some ounce of punishment.

"It happened all so fast," you voice out. "He just--he just ran at me and I…he was different, so different. He was someone else."

"Did you see anyone or anything in there?"

"No," you shook your head and glance to the house, the doorway closed and blinds open for it be dark inside.

"I mean it, tell me the truth--"

"I am telling the truth!" You screamed. "What's the use of me lying when I have his blood on myself!"

The Doctor grabs your wrist to pull you away from the out open sidewalk. Your hand was nearly limp as he took hold of it, and instead, he had place both of his hands on your shoulders—pushing you to the outside wall of the house.

Your back physically hit a hard blow and you let a pained yelled. You had squirm under his grasp and let out dying pants to push off his weight, with your already weakened arms that were aching of sores and pains.

You manage to free your hand but he disarms you quick, pinning it to the wall and making you halt all at once.

The Doctor's eyes became clear: fully engross and enraged. They were wide and hardened, never once leaving you out of your sight. He shove you to wall as if you weren't already up against it.

"He was just like you, he was just wanting to help. All he ever wanted was to get rid of what was inside of there!" The Doctor yelled and tighten his grip on you. "You think you any better? After doing something like that?"

"He would've killed you, just as he would've done to me if I weren't quick enough to get out of there."

"Oh, I can manage myself and get out of situation than be a coward and take someone's life. It was something else inside of him, not him! And you knew that!"

"And do what, huh? Let him take my life as well, he would've done it the chance he got me."

"You don't know that."

"Neither do you!"

The Doctor holds you tighter against the wall, and by now you didn't even bat an eye to the growing pain on your lower back.

"Where's it?"

"What?"

"Weapon. Where is it?

He grabs the bottom of your jaw and forces you to tilt your face to his, his fingers wanting to spear through your skin and only restraining to keep of what is left of his composure. The Doctor holds no weight for any man or woman to kill another, especially the kind who's selfish enough to still believe they're the victim.

He knew the set of consequences of what is left to be stuck with a strange creature in a locked house. The kind to be unpredictable and clearly wasn't civil enough to cooperate. He believed there was chance of stripping it away, gaining a man to return to his normalcy.

And here you were, fucking it up without a given chance from the vulnerable fear for your life.

The Doctor wants to blame you, and somehow goes longer to stare and think of what to do with you.

A dead body stuck inside a house with lost keys and no lights on to keep away company. While all under, the wooden floors of edges and scratches; all sinking slowly with pools of blood to weigh the whole house down.

You gulped down your scratchy throat, eyes prickling and darting off all directions around his face, later settling on his eyes.

"Please, don't."

"The weapon, where is it—tell me, now."

"You think I'm horrible."

"It doesn't matter what I think anymore, there's blood all around for it to not be decided by me."

"I don't care that, I care enough that you won't leave!"

"You killed someone," the Doctor states, all cold like. "A breathing, functioning person—"

"He was no longer a person after he was possessed. Not anymore, not like that."

"And we could've saved him, in what part of that you can't seem to understand that?"

"You know you wouldn't been able to--"

"Not enough to decide to become a killer, I would've tried!" The Doctor growled.

A Time Lord gaining his high moral ground, as if his isn't already twisted in his gray complexities.

Your strength came back to you in a second from anger, shoving and stepping him off.

"You're blaming me? You're gonna blame after you suddenly had enough courage and guts out from your blue box, to wind up here to get critical on me?"

The Doctor visibly tightens his eyes and steps in.

"I didn't make the choice of taking someone's life in under five minutes. I'm not being critical. I'm telling you the truth and what you've truly done, because in no way in shape or form I would ever let you lie for murder."

"Lie? We all have lie tonight, just as Mike had lie back there. He knew the danger he was to us being in that same house as him."

"And you? Am I risking myself being near you?"

"No, of course not. I wouldn't had done it if it weren't for you!"

All for a short second, the Doctor froze. Your voice that had sounded almost pathetic and full of prickling despair, had made the Doctor all stress for how his heart and body had ache.

Recognizing in the dark he was still inch away from you and still here in your vicinity, while you stood with blood on yourself that stench off from your clothes. Not enough to even scare him off—only to steer him back closer.

Your breath was caught and you eye at him silently, for him to stare back a second longer.

The Doctor steps away from you. You no longer can see his face. He turn his back and seems to lower his head, his hands that were trembling and his converses shuffling away to the driveway of the house.

You were there behind him, almost holding tears that were mist in your eyes. Soon it was gonna hit you, preparing you for how longer he can look at you with such horror in his eyes. And only thing you can do now is stand; loathing in dirty clothes and remembering when there was nothing but once care in his eyes.

Your chest was in pain from the mere thought of it.

A dog begin to bark, behind a rattling barbed wired fence of a neighbors yard.

The barking continue and you can hear its paws hitting the fence multiple times, and you manage to glance where the dog was. The thoughts and emotions somehow sank away, and the reaching numbness had settle inside for your hands to fall asleep beside you.

Your lips twitch and you were close to speaking.

The Doctor suddenly moves.

So quick that it had made you flinch all together. He made long strides on the concrete and push open the door for it to creak.

You didn't make a single inch in your spot, only breathing heavy and glancing back and forth; from barking dogs and the Doctor inside the humid house.

"Doctor," you called out in middle of barking, voice tired and scratch. "Doctor?"

There was no respond from inside. You took subtle steps and linger outside of the open doorway.

It was dark inside. Some filter light that came from blinds drawn open. Light that play almost as figurines of shadows and hallway all bask in darkness.

There was nothing.

Nothing at all.

"Doctor—Doctor!" Your patience was wavering and off nerves return to the pit inside your stomach.

There was no response again and you slowly inch close inside, shoes scuffed and amount of weight carried on your lungs.

Your memories became haywire and the plunge you had felt as the knife had enter inside, and your drive pushing further as you kept going again and again. All for your muscles to contract and eyes dilate.

"I mean it, Doctor. Get out of there! The entity can be in there get--"

Your voice slipped off as you gaze on the wooden floor. A smear, or more of a streak had appeared there. A crimson color kind and one that smell iron the longer it sweep across the floor.

The concrete scrape against your shoes as you took a step back. Your eyes widen and you inhale sharply from the sight.

From back of the house, something had clatter to the floor. Soon, the Doctor walk out of the house and you physically step away with choked breaths.

He carry your personal bag in his hand and a brown parchment bag on the other. The Doctor catches your glance and stuffs the brown bag inside of the trench coat.

He stepped out of the house and close the door.

"…is he--"

"In the kitchen. I didn't move him," The Doctor pats himself down and grabs his sonic screwdriver, a slight buzz on the door knob and it was securely locked.

"Is he really gone?"

He pauses a short moment and moves his head to the side, not really glancing at you.

"He's gone."

You didn't say anything.

He continue to move the knob and make sure it was lock. By then, the Doctor turn back to you and hand your bag back to you.

You flicker your eyes to the bag and him, reaching out to grab it.

"Did you have anything else in there?"

"No," you murmured and shook your head, "just this and…the knife."

"I got it."

He move past you and walk around the perimeter of the house. You stood there and caught him in and out of the backyard, slowly closing gates and making sure no window was left open.

The Doctor returns back to you, and watches the daze stare you have on the house. He was eyeing at your clothes and how the wound on your arm, and how awful he was to leave alone there for a couple minutes.

He shouldn't have thought so much to leave you there, not even for a second knowing what was in there.

Yet, there was no reason for you to kill that man.

Just how there's no reason for him to stay here with you.

"The TARDIS isn't here."

You blinked and glance at him: "Why not?"

The Doctor stares for a bit and tilts his head, looking at the wound still on your arm.

"It's better it's not here. Besides, your car is here."

"Someone could see us."

"Not with me around," the Doctor meets his eyes to yours and didn't so much as blink, unwavering of his odd composure and tad bit of protectiveness. "New car. New plate. New everything."

Your eyes begin to trail down and fall on the pocket of his coat. You can see the bag peeking out.

"…what about the knife?"

The Doctor continue to stare even when your eyes weren't on his and hands slightly wanting to reach to you.

"Taking it to the TARDIS. Got something to handle for it."

"For a murder weapon?"

"Again, the TARDIS will handle it," the Doctor repeated himself. "The entity is locked inside of the house and be stuck to its foreign surroundings, soon it will adapt it all of it and be consume by the end of it as there will be no one entering a murder house for a good reason."

"…we--we can't just let it be stuck in there forever."

The Doctor surprises you by raising an eyebrow, almost expressionless. "And let you kill again out of human instincts?”

Somewhere in your face muscles had jump a twitch, and you nearly felt a scowl form on your lips.

In some way you thought he wanted some response out of you, so you went against it and didn't peep so much of a word.

Just as the Doctor had stare at you with same old brown eyes of his and eyes that went unscathed the longer he stared of you.

While some sick part of him had wanted put his mouth on yours and rub away all the blood remain on your skin with his hands. All clutch to your brain and flesh for all of it to go away.

Making you pant all those fears away and allowing him to swallow them up with his greedy mouth.

The Doctor finally quirks his head off to the car parked on the other side of the road; your car under the large tree shadowing it.

He was tight on casualness and still withdrawn in frustration of the kind of mess you've committed.

And somehow the Doctor offer his hand to you and felt your hand accept it with timidness wrapped in your limp body. A thumb rubbing off a droplet of blood on the back of your palm.

"C'mon," he almost murmurs and tugging you to the direction where he was face to, "car is over there."

You wanted to say something to get a raise out of him and backpedal all of it to see the kind of person you were.

Yet, from the grasp of your hand and making a dash to your car with bag up knife in his pocket—there was no escape, not even from the Doctor.

He was tightening you up only to his hand

You glance back to the house and hearing the running AC. Falling short and looking below to your shoes crossing the road, and peeking over to his.

For the years of jazz and nasty talking that has filtered through you from the streets of Los Angeles, it a does a number to you on your outlook of roaming humans from across a dining table.

A war that has scorched and ripped a piece out of everyone, to only replace in hopes it would toughen the skin and minds of people who wish to return in the comfort of loving hands; to fall in wasted fields for men to drag elsewhere.

The celebratory that rang through radios and bold printed newspapers, that no ones shock couldn't been able to handle to another soft cries for a missing warm spot on cushion seat. A promise made to all that the normalcy would now return and the hardening retrieved would disperse, once you set a foot back home.

And here you were, seeing those same men now loathing in spit drinks of a bar and feet propped on the stool.

You were no kind of woman to judge on civilian men, who clearly a needed a drink to drown out for what had plague them ever since, but you made a checklist of patterns that you unconsciously tick off once in while. And the reason you necessarily didn't judge so much was because you were just as lonely as them, seated in this same downtown jazz club.

All were searching for some keen connection, as for you and the constant denial of wanting one too. There was a jazz band that appeared on the clubs weekly performance. It was always the same band as you recognize their faces, just as they recognize yours. There a was booth you hogged each time from the back and would ask one or two drinks before settling on the singing.

A lady that usually wasn't the typical jazz singer for her odd stare and drinking she did, yet her ivory eyes held more authenticity than any you seen. The club wasn't new neither too old. It was most telling it was the hot spot to run off to once it gets dark and escape whatever the hell was going out there.

And the funny coincidence is that you found some familiarized faces from work you attend to. The typical officers and investigators that passed routinely by your desk. A police station where you were ransack in most of the time. You only work as a clerk, typically typing away on the sealed files and reports that most officers just throw on the whim after a day of the streets. A 9 to 5 that was suitable to leverage the necessities to bide your time but mostly observe the working men. Especially ones that were promoted in weeks pass. Some of them didn't say much as they saw you, a couple that clearly eye you up and down for a potential something but the slight grimace of your face told them off (if they ever got the hint).

You mostly stick to your desk and often chatted the other clerks, only women half the time and they were always pestering you if you gotten a man to take care of you. Not that you hated the idea but yourself had gotten accustomed to a single life in somewhat peace that dealing with another person in your vicinity felt consuming. Was it the slight fear of committing? Perhaps so. But, there was some denial that stir in your chest of finding someone in the packed city of lonely walkers, searching for the same.

In the beginning of the year, a traffic detective bump to your desk and he seem to humor a lot of the other officers as well. You seen him a couple times before, along another detective that appear by his side who was a little more serious. Not entirely, of course, but he had this flare of assertiveness and focusing on his job. While his friend more lenient on the jokes and always making the other detective laugh a couple times.

You were flickering through some reports you received in the morning, since there was shootout in the middle of night. You had expected they would dump it all on you: nose in the papers and hands scrambled on the desk with a pen.

A hand knocks on the wooden desk of yours and you look up to see the same traffic detective: the plaid of his blazer and green tie.

"You must be one of the clerks that sorts out all kinds reports and files? Lady in charge at least?"

"Is there something wrong, detective?"

"Oh, no, you're alright miss. Just had finished a case with my partner and, well, we had a long night and were curious to have a supported hand to help us out."

The eyebrow of yours perks and you settle the pen on the desk. "What unit are you in?"

"Traffic detective," He pulled a chair and smile, giving his hand for a shake. "Forgot my manners, it's Stefan Bekowsky."

You shook his hand back and begin to question on why a traffic cop was at your desk, all the while you dealt with the boring patrol officers that arrested people stealing fruits off from street markets.

"We deal with registrations of cars and addresses that all overlapped each other. As well sorting the timeline and witnesses we took the time to list."

"Seems you and your partner have it handled."

"Oh, Cole always writes down in that small pocketbook journal he has. Always scribbling some new clues that popped up or statements from witnesses."

Oh right. You had assume the other you had seen was Detective Phelps. The one who occasionally was printed on front newspaper for his talent of catching the whiff of a criminal; always ahead with the clues and a fedora low enough with a journal in hand. The most you seen of him was from his back and the side profile of his face, not that he was mysterious but from the rest he did poke out like sore thumb. He seem he always took care of the tedious trouble of filing out paperwork before it hits in any of the clerk's desk.

"Seems he has done half of my job," You remark.

"Cole is one of hell work alcoholic and while he does spend most of his time here, I think we prefer someone to carry the weight…"

Bekowsky spare a smile at you and your head titled at him, a knowing smile in return for what he had implied.

"I won't mind the weight, but what would your partner would think?"

"I'll convince the man and don't you worry for that old war hero, I have good feeling he won't hate the idea."

Your mind had thought otherwise, but you didn't seem to question the trust, only gave in to see what could occurred.

A few days had passed from the small proposal Bekowsky had landed you in, and by then you spent the night on your desk. Your hands cramping from the amount of typing and pushing off files to archive. A body was discovered near a famous restaurant. Soon it was found out later the body was a once famous actor from recently released film, and the paparazzi buzzed around. All flies smelling the stank of material to write for the newspaper.

The police station was cramp and the phone lines were continuously ringing, either were answer or slammed down like some clerks and officers had done. It seem the whole place was called in such a late night, especially someone such as you who a lot of them had depended on, and you weren't the only one feeling the weight. You stood up to grab at least a cup of coffee and almost wobbled in heels for how long you sat there on the chair. The walk was short and somehow long, before reaching a corner and finding Detective Phelps rounding the same corner under his fedora. He halted at the sight of you and stopped before he could bump into you. The same brown ironed three-piece suit; a silent gaze and attempt of polite smile on his face.

You did the same, well at least formally. You blinked at him like some fool unaware to do.

"Cole, did you say yes to cream, or no to cream on that coffee? I might've dump quite a lot in there already."

You peeked behind Phelps shoulder and found Bekwosky with two mugs in the corner stop of the break room. Soon enough, Bekwosky sees you and brightened up as he called out your name.

"The whole party is here! I guess the LAPD is really on a bust tonight."

"A famous accidental death does that," Phelps said, glancing between you and his partner. "I suppose you were the clerk that Stefan had mention. I should introduce myself--I apologize for my poor manners--"

"Oh, Cole, she knows ya. Almost the whole building knows the badge number and name right from the tip of their tongue."

"And I guess a famous detective does that to police station," you stepped in and half recover on your daze stare on Phelps.

You hold out your hand with soft cough to clear the nerves, stating your name for a start. Phelps smile a little more friendly and shook your hand with a nice grip. The nice photographs of him on newspaper and drafts of files couldn't even recreate how he looked in front of you, enough to feel your chest to fasten and your eyes to linger.

"She's got a clear and organize way of reporting on files, as well storing them in case we need to do cross check for any similarities from past cases," Bekowsky sipped in his mug and busied himself in the break room.

Phelps had gaze at you and often would periodically dart for any movement, or what you somewhat thought could be the reason for the stare he had on you.

"That would smooth out a lot of the hard ends we keep missing for paper work, and it would be greatly appreciated to have your work on our files," Phelps remarked, "but I don't want to load it on you, knowing how most officers can rely a lot of their work mostly from you."

"Hasn't really stopped me before, Detective," You answered honestly. "Besides, you two did do a couple mistakes on the last case—for the lady's steal on the car."

"Really?" Phelps raise both his eyebrow.

"I believe Bekowsky can be a little less formal when it comes to criminals and final statements."

You half glance at the man near the coffee, with Phelps following your gaze. Bekowsky shrugged.

"The lady gave much more of a hard time for me and Cole. Besides a few words won't paint of how mouthy she was."

"What did you say?"

"Oh nothing bad, Phelps. Just--give the lady a chance," Bekowsky looks half past you and nodded. "She might be good recruiter."

"She already works here. Shes already the most qualified."

The statement was nothing but the truth and you had enough self confidence to know you can handle the work, but the firm words coming out of Phelps might've did a soft hurdle in your stomach.

"Phelps! Bekowsky!" Captain Leary enter in, barking for his detectives. "Doyle is waiting for you in the morgue with the body. Seems you two might have the murder of the week."

"Murder?" The two men utter out.

By then, Bekowsky down the whole mug as fast he could and ran out the nearest exit of the building for the car. Phelps seems prepared to leave (half forgotten of his cup of coffee), before falling a glance back to you. He made small salute and soft smile.

"See you soon with a report."

With a tip of his fedora, he follow Stefan soon out into late night streets--as you stood there not aware of what could come.

Stolen cars and addresses of suspects fall on your desk, with the casual accidental car crashes and filing any inaccuracies. Always catching Phelps out in doorway, and sending off any information that you caught from words and statements of patrol officers.

Detectives Phelps and Bekowsky work well enough to put in their reports, enough that Phelps had share his notes and evidence he collected through the case so it would be informative for the sealed report. It seem Phelps head was always on work and he constantly crack a case before it can even settle on file cabinet. Quick on his feet and badge to show he only ever meant business, however that never meant he was able to dodge the L.A. chaos.

His impressive record kept everyone on their toes and LAPD begin to promote Phelps in higher lengths, soon on the homicide desk and a partner carrying a silver flask. Even through the changes and constant murderers, he return back to you with the cases and had believed of the work being safely stored.

A particular early morning that return in your memory, that had cause Phelps and Galloway nearly slip in with wet dress shoes inside of the station. A handcuffed man being pulled by the arm from Rusty and looks tempted to throw a punch. The man squirm all around and cursing out loud to both of the men.

"Get your pig hands off me, I'm not the one who killed her!"

A couple turns of heads were listening on to the commotion, just as yours peeked in with your own wet pair of heels and soaked umbrella. Phelps sees you just as you enter and you weren't sure if it was you brain playing tricks, or his eyes stare at you with soft steadiness. He called out your name and approach quick.

"I need your help, a cross check with the case we have and another we did last week."

"Last week?"

"Right, it was the body we had found in Broadway Hollywood. Lady in her mid twenties and was a blonde--"

"And had that strange boyfriend that was our possible murderer to the case?" You finished off his sentence and Phelps nodded profusely.

"Yes, yes that exact one, but we might've found another man who could possibly link back to other case through the same manner of killing and related suspects"

You blinked about to respond but Rusty had thrown the arrested man to an officer, ordered to put him in interrogation room. "We don't know for sure, Phelps. For all we know this man could've been just as insane as the last boyfriend. All men unaware how to use their violent war nature on poor women getting the life time of mistreatment."

"It wouldn't hurt to try, or least cross any kind of possibilities to go further on your investigation," you explained.

"And that's why you're the clerk for a reason."

"Detective Galloway," Phelps push in and nearly glare at Rusty. "If there is chance to clear out any possibilities—it is our responsibility. Just as hers."

"Oh come on--"

"Take care of the man, Rusty," stated Phelps firmly.

You blinked how quick Phelps took the time to defend you but you hanged away the umbrella near the entry and signal Phelps. "This way!"

Phelps follows you through quick, leaving disgruntle Rusty on his own. Phelps was steps behind your wet footsteps on the fresh clean station floors, and soon to the downstairs basement of quiet offices and file cabinets. You went to a locked door and kicked around a plant vase with the hidden key underneath.

The door was unlocked and creak open to a thousand more file cabinets store away in the dark. Phelps switch the lights on and observe the packed room.

"Too much crime for the City of Angels."

"Too much webs and dust in this place," You added.

Phelps begin to walk through the isles and took the lead of searching for the name, finally found with the letter and initials. Phelps stare half confused inside the cabinet and you subtly reach close to him beside, flickering through.

"It's right here," the file came out smoothly and Phelps opened it, reading the content inside as fast as possible.

His hand fumble around his suit pocket and he took out brochure pin. You knitted your eyebrows but he held the brochure to you and a photo tucked inside the file: the victim wearing the same kind.

Your eyes widen meeting his, and he nodded now—determined and almost hint of excitement.

"I thought the station didn't want to push it."

"It seems to me we should've," Phelps push the sliding cabinet away and genuinely smile to you. "I owe you this one. I know any officer and clerk would've miss this one."

You nearly smirk. "Go off and solve the case, detective. Your compliments are filled to the brim."

Phelps smile a little wider, noticing the tilt of your lips and looks at you once more before running off upstairs to throw the man into prison for life.

The slight boredom you had previously with the other officers was gone and your head was already on work before you set anywhere near from it. Now daze on what new findings you search for and tad pieces that work of Phelps.

The priority subtly move without you consciously doing so, and you only realize once you look at your desk of the awful sight of papers piled in.

"You gotta be kidding me," you mumble under your breath.

"Is everything alright sweetheart?" Linda asked quietly, beside your desk on her separate typewriter and stacked of reports.

"Yeah, I just assume the files would be less for the ugly weather today."

"You begin to wish so but even the weather can do so much dearie," She stopped her typing and glance, "you would like some help? I don't have a lot of work on my own."

"No, no, you're alright Linda. Just--let me get settle in, with coffee at least--"

Your named was called out and by then another drop of file hit your desk by the patrol, yet they pass by without saying a word to your face. The two were speaking over plans of near bar.

"Excuse me, you know can bring the file at least to my hand instead of throwing to my desk like a fetching dog."

The officers turn around mid halfway of their laughing and raise an eyebrow, almost tick off a woman had called them out.

"It's no biggie, you always finish them right up in few minutes. Always have something to complain don't ya?"

Your face almost turns. "Complain?" You repeated.

The men in blue police uniforms nearly snicker and begin to chuckle out of some sick amusement.

"Oh come on, don't give your pretty face some wrinkles, you wouldn't like looking like miss Linda here."

They cackled once more and shove each other as they left. The door closed and the background noise clear up the stank of their voices. You glance back to Linda on her desk, only lowering her head and typing away.

"Linda, ignore those two bit men--"

"I'm not in the mood and you should listen to them too," her chair scrape the floor and she stood up, with a frown. "Do your work."

She walked out and by then you slowly slumped on your chair; rubbing the negativity on all the papers stacked.

The day stretch out and the place was emptying out, with only a couple night dispatchers working on the landlines. The lamp was warmly lit on your desk, that casted shadows across the large room of empty desks.

You huffed out a breath on the open tan file and the doors somewhere in the back open. Your instincts flare and you straightened up from the chair of nearing exhaustion. You were glued to the seat but slowly reach out for the drawer, hoping any of the officers lack of securing weapons.

A figure appeared walking and through the dim light of passing windows, you catch the face of Phelps.

"Detective?" Your voice carried through the room and soon he turned, surprised he sees you in this hour.

Phelps walked in further and soon his face falls under the warm light, his eyes catching the exhaustion warning on your face and the leftover work spilled on your desk.

"Aren't you supposed to be out? Or at least home?" Phelps looks up at the clock above placed on the wall. "It's Friday night and someone such as you shouldn't even be working at all."

"I guess the night is young enough for making up work of incompetent police officers."

The words slipped out before keeping them to your thoughts and the regret face planted onto you. Yet, Phelps slightly grin, the kind that seems apologetic but also good nature.

"Seems they did catch you at the right time, and unfortunately I seem to do as well."

Phelps slipped out a file of case report; one that he most likely had cracked and solved tonight. You took the file off his hand: just as your hand grazes his.

"Solve another one. Quite on a roll," You smile tiredly.

"Just doing my job. Gotta keep L.A. safe one way or another."

"Well, that in itself has to be done through miracle worker, but knowing you I might as well think you are one."

Phelps fixed his fedora and contain a prideful smile but his contemporary humbleness drew him back. "I ensure you, that I'm no angel of some sorts, only help the city as best as I could."

"You came all this way to return the report?" You asked, taking a glance at the window. Dotted city lights and dark sky above, all vehicles speeding for whatever kind of luck.

"Really didn't mind coming back here. The place is always empty with night dispatchers and all, as well avoiding drunk officers."

"Drunk officers?"

Phelps took a seat near your desk and peek at the cases on your desk. "Rusty was supposed to be with me but he was caught up with other detectives and officers that were thirsty after a days of work."

"Funny, a couple patrol officers had dropped a file on me to escape for some drinks."

"Sounds like it could be them knowing their behavior," Phelps tilted his head and skim through papers. "A robbery on wedding store?"

"Yeah, they had to stop this mother and daughter. They cause quite the wreckage," You commented, now leaning back in comfort of your chair and Phelps near by.

"For a wedding dress? Isn't that exaggerating a bit?"

"Not if the dress is made out diamonds. Apparently the daughter was caught in affair and her fiance was attempting to gain back his financial spends, that meant also the arrangements of the weddings, and I believe that didn't sat too well on the lady."

"And the mother came in to support her?"

"More or less. The mother seem too old to even know how to drive a car, even less to be a getaway driver."

Phelps couldn't help but chuckle and flipped over the pages, clipped with photos of wrecked wedding store and car hitting a street traffic light, as well the droopy mugshots both the mother and daughter.

"Wouldn't had mind for this to be my case."

"Yeah, the case of wedding dress snatchers does smell like Detective Cole Phelps scent signature on it."

Your eyes are drawn to his hands spread out and his movements assess his kind of ease. His fingers folding halfway the corners of pages and his eyes skimming through words in silence. A glint of light appeared below the lamp of yours—you caught a band on his ring finger. There was a pause to your breathing.

"Wedding dress snatchers sounds more appealing than pestering car snatchers trying to convince you of doing no wrong," Phelps replied calmly, closing the file and seeing the couple left of reports for you to overlook. "How much to go through?"

His question retrieve you from the agonizing pause you got hit. A couple words were stammered and you shook your head. "I--well, I got--a little bit more to go through. Maybe two or three at least."

The stammering was caught through but Phelps didn't push and merely thought it was your exhaustion kicking you through now.

"Would you like some help?"

The offer was tempting and sweet, and a small part of you did want to accept it but you shook your head.

"No, you don't really need too. Got enough work under you badge, and besides I'll just do them tomorrow," you picked up the papers to be neatly tucked away. "I got it under my control."

You shuffled around: putting away bleeding ink pens and wasted paper off to the trash can. Phelps follows your movements and stands up, swallowing dry in his throat.

"Not even one? It's no sort of problem."

The rustle of paper stopped. You nearly scoffed—your eyes settling on him.

"Why are you always so nice? Usually the cops don't paid no time on me?"

The question seem accusatory more than it should be and even Phelps seem to not expect of what could be hostility in your tone. And somehow Phelps didn't see it as manner of rudeness.

It was silent longer than it should be and he recognize through your face you wouldn't do anything until he spoke.

Phelps takes a second longer of his gaze on you, moving around and clearing his throat to think.

"I suppose I'm not just any cop--a detective for the matter," He insisted. "And any detective would know a look of help from someone who's too scared to ask, and I want to help. No games or schemes to win for my pride, just…here."

The hands of yours gently pressed on the wooden chips of the desk. The defense slipped off like an ice sheet melting.

Phelps nervously twitch with his hands. "I--I'm sorry I didn't--"

"No," you quickly said and shook your head, the corners of your eyes being soften. "I shouldn't have spoken that way to you. I'm sorry. Just so much time is spent here you expect the worst kind to be hit with."

Phelps stood there and lower his head, his fedora covering his eyes before raising once more.

"If it makes you feel better, most of those men don't even know what they're doing half the time. Drinking and staying at bar for hours? Sounds like lost men to me."

There was gentle shake to your head but a quipped grin. He notice and carefully smile back through dim light.

The feeling repeating even once he left that night from the station, a soft goodbye and polite salute. And only for it to repeat again on your own.

The homicide desk couldn't hold no weight of Detective Phelps, or at least there was something going on more than you were let on. He was reassigned to the vice desk and you were told by Rusty, who only wander the hallway with his new partner being Bekowsky.

"Now, it isn't our famous clerk?" Rusty was the first to see you and Bekowsky smile at you once you came into his view.

"Now that's duo I wouldn't half expect."

"Two partners left by Cole, that's who we are," Rusty grumble.

"Oh, don't tell me you actually felt sentimental after him leaving ya," you tease the old man and he swats your arm lightly.

"Best not to believe it," Bekowsky said. "Might mean he might leave you as well to us."

New station, new people, and new clerks were now in his freshly famous promoted life. It didn't really hit you until Bekowsky mention.

"That's work, I suppose," you shrugged and walked along with them, a face that had withdrew away for half a second.

Rusty tilt his head to you and deducted your face. "Might do us much better. Don't put all your morale on him, kid."

Your eyebrows furrowed at his statement and you hadn't stopped thinking what he could've meant by that.

Even here on the table of yours inside the jazz club. Spent out through your threads and hands that ache of soreness of slow typing; to replace a nice cold glass in your hands. Yet not enough to rub away the familiarly of all the men in here.

The band had finished a song and couple of people had clapped, and you mindlessly did the same while you were still in your thoughts. The smoke of cigars seem to cloud your vision and mind.

"Miss, would you like a refill on that?

A waiter had appeared and you nodded back with tilt of your chin. By now he left with the same order you took, and you heard another song starting with the piano. Your legs shifted and you had forgotten the newspaper pushed under them.

The newspaper was slipped out carefully by your hand and you smooth out the wrinkles on it, eyes drawn to the tabloid on the front newspaper.

LAPD DETECTIVE CAUGHT HAVING A LOVE AFFAIR WITH JAZZ SINGER ELSA LICHTMANN.

The news spread quick. The suspension and demotion barely took place last night, and now the rest of the city had knew the tight knit secret of Phelps.

You hadn't seen Rusty or Stefan. You had wonder if they had heard as well. Most likely, but if anything the two were quiet for the better. And you felt obligated to do so, but the man that had saw your potential and keep you company of long nights on your desk, the kind of man who defended you with this confine trust with no verbal restraint—was somehow the same man who took the bruise and fallen for someone.

The door gently open and a dark figure through the smoke had crossed the club. Your head was stuffed in the newspaper and a hand planted above the glass cup. The music swelled all around you and people were entering and leaving, just as waiters were taking checks or ringing them.

You folded up the newspaper and lean back in the booth of yours. The figure already pass the booth, sitting at a table in the corner. A couple of men at the bar raise their heads and seem to whisper to take a look beside you.

The waiter came by again and placed a fresh new drink. Just as the welcome man in corner of his table raise his head and peek behind the brim of his fedora, eyes recognizing you.

The same waiter that had attended you had now walk up to the corner table.

"Anything you would like sir?"

You were thoroughly done with your glass as you down it. The ice rattle inside of it and you were preparing the leave; standing up from the booth, setting down the money on table, and face away from the photograph on the newspaper looming on the booth seat.

Two men begin to bicker loudly on the bar and one even left in rush, fuming out of his ears and bumping into you. You manage to get out of the way and stumble back, observing the men cursing out at each other but the odd silence from the table in the corner had caught you. The plains of your shoulder tense.

Phelps sat there on the crooked stain table, the one that's barely clean or acknowledged in the establishment. A distance away from the table, the other wall had the only light to see him and his face, as the maroon wallpaper had edges peeling.

Phelps stare at the glass in front of him, and eventually, glance with no thinking—finding you there staring at him.

He didn't look away as you would expected and continue to stare as he pushing himself away to the corner to not be noticed.

Your hand curled up beside you. An empty seat in front him: a quiet and fear invitation.

Your feet had a mind of their own—you walked.

The both of you were seated there. Waiters pass by with trays and cleaning off near empty booths, and the both of you stick to your eyes on the glasses in front of you: enough for you to engulf the tension Phelps carried.

You make up the courage to glance at the view of him. Phelps was sluggish against the chair and almost his whole weight being carried by the wall behind his chair. Usually he would taken off his fedora, but tonight in public club such as this, he stuck to it and covered his eyes. Squared in his shoulders and his fingers running against the glass cup's design.

You observe for a silent moment.

"How much have you drink?"

His fingers stopped a second, before meeting your gaze. "One glass."

"Not so much of drinker?"

"I suppose not," Phelps looked at the other wall beside the table and let out gruff sigh. "I hope I would've been tonight."

"Can't push your luck on alcohol, only turns you sore loser on wasted drinks."

"And I'm already halfway on the mark," he pick up the glass and took a sip, a brief glance of his face under that croon in saddened wrinkles.

You didn't reply or deny it. You watch him take the sip and lower his head, wiping his mouth from the back of his palm and laid his hands down the table.

The silence perch in.

"Where now?"

"Where what?"

"Unit, Phelps. Which unit now?"

"…Arson."

"Arson?"

He nodded and continue, "They didn't want to fully push me out. I was suprised they didn't but I assume my past records hold enough significant weight for me to stay."

"But, Arson is the lowest rank."

"The lowest rank for me to fit in."

"…Fire burns quick. You won't find any murders or criminal activity that is present. It be all ashes by the time you get there."

"Might ease my mind. Might give me a rest," Phelps said quietly.

"You want that?"

"I don't have a choice here," Phelps firmly states, his body rigid of leftover of stress and anger.

"No, you did, but you decided to sleep with another and throw your career on the stake."

That instantly made him shut up. It seem what you had said in front of his face, with the affirming voice he remembers of yours—it made him sink in his loathing.

He stares at you, almost unblinking. As if he remember you and the desk of files as he always found you beforehand. And you did the same, for the jazz singer in the back to sing a lullaby to comfort him in his falling.

Even you, as well.

You suck up some shaky inahle and vision fogging in warm tears held in your eyes.

"Jesus, Cole," you lightly shook your head at him. "Just—why?"

He only kept staring at you with no response. You looked away, ashamed and almost regretful of the tears you were about to shed.

You closed your eyes to keep the composure.

A chair spine creak snd you felt the table shift from absent weight of arm.

Only to feel a hand nervously being gentle as to reach for yours, fingers brushing and soon loosely holding the shaky hand of yours.

You blinked open your eyes with tears falling off from the brim, but you had looked back--finding him tilt in his fedora and holding your hand with the same shakiness.

Cole raise his head and found your gaze in the same state as his—tears he hadn't wish they fall right when you were in front of him.

Your cheeks became damp and soon Cole lean in, as he brushed your hand once more.

In the back of club, where everything is nearly dark and have reason to hide, he found himself pressing his lips inside of your palm and the back of it.