jay halstead prided himself in having a damn good poker face. literally and figuratively. at a card table, on an undercover mission, whatever. it was kind of a prerequisite of the job of detective, to be a good liar. and hailey upton saw right through him. "i have no idea what you're talking about," he lied, fingering through the case file on the desk absentmindedly, fluttering through page after page too fast to absorb any information from the document.

there's   always   a   monster   under   your   bed,    something   sinister   lurking   in   your   closet ,   masking   behind   innocence   like   a   newborn   baby.   if   this   job   has   taught   her   anything   ...   it's   how   to   read   people.   to   identify   their   tells   when   caught   in   a   fabrication.   colorless   lips   quirk ,   baby   blues   fixated   on   co   -   worker.     ❝     mhm   ...    ❞       digits   remain   in   loose   hold   of   disposable   cup ,   head   slightly   tilting   to   examine.     ❝     so ,   you're   saying   ruz   is   the   one   who   decided   to   spike   my   coffee   with   salt ?    ❞       the   pranks.   they're   something   she's   grown   rather   fond   of   since   becoming   a   member   of   intelligence.    a   lighthearted   change   from   the   precarious   assignments   tasked   to   the   unit.   a   chuckle   escapes   maw ,   eyes   narrowing   in   on   her   fellow   detective.     ❝     okay.   well ,   just   know ,   i'm   going   to   remember   this   while   i   plot   my   revenge   on   the   two   of   you.   so   watch   out.   ❞       there's   humor   laced   between   syllables   before   discarding   her   tampered   with   java.

[ 1. ] sender steps between receiver and an aggressive stranger, voice low and steady: "walk. away."

[ 2. ] sender teaches receiver self-defense, hands firm on their hips as they adjust their stance.

[ 3. ] sender presses their forehead to receiver's, voice breaking as they murmur, "i don't know how to fix this, but i'm not leaving."

[ 4. ] sender shoves receiver out of the way of a projectile.

[ 5. ] sender combs their fingers through receiver's hair in the aftermath of a traumatic event, whispering words of comfort.

[ 6. ] sender whispers, “i’ve thought about this all day,” before pinning receiver against a wall for a searing kiss.

[ 7. ] sender wipes away the receiver’s falling tears with their thumb and whispers, “i’m here."

[ 8. ] sender patches up receiver's wounds, hands trembling as they whisper, "you can't keep doing this to me."

[ 9. ] sender shoves receiver into a hiding spot, hissing, "stay here or i’ll kill you myself."

[ 10. ] sender finds receiver drunk at a party, sighing. "let’s get you home."

[ 11. ] sender is discovered sleepwalking by receiver.

[ 12. ] sender steals receiver’s weapon and presses it to their own chest, daring: “go ahead. prove me right.”

[ 13. ] sender ‘accidentally’ flashes receiver while changing, purring, "see something you like?"

[ 14. ] sender whispers, "you’ll ruin me," before biting receiver’s lip hard enough to draw blood.

[ 15. ] sender takes over while receiver is giving themselves stitches, promising to handle it.

[ 16. ] sender frantically grips receiver by the shoulders, "don't you dare close your eyes."

[ 17. ] sender fixes receiver’s crooked [ tie / jewelry ], teasing, "nervous?"

[ 18. ] sender shakes receiver out of a nightmare, comforting them in the aftermath. "same nightmare again?"

[ 19. ] sender brings hot tea and medication to a [ hungover / ill ] receiver.

[ 20. ] sender invites receiver to dance with them, insisting, "what? this song's perfect."

[ 21. ] sender leaves a single rose on receiver’s windshield with a note: "you’re being followed. smile."

[ 22. ] sender pins receiver’s wrists during a sparring match, grinning, "yield."

[ 23. ] sender playfully steals something from receiver, initiating a chase. "come and get it, then."

[ 24. ] sender drapes a blanket over receiver, accidentally waking them. "sorry, go back to sleep."

[ 25. ] receiver returns home only to find sender already there. "finally."

[ 26. ] after a pleasant night out together, sender asks: "can i kiss you goodnight?"

[ 27. ] sender wipes the blood from receiver's face, murmuring, "let's get you cleaned up."

[ 28. ] sender shoves receiver against a vending machine to dodge security, breathless. "act natural."

[ 29. ] sender wakes receiver in the throes of a nightmare, reassuring them, "it's okay, it's not real."

STILL, she doesn't move. not a first. but despite it, or more correctly, in spite of it, her jaw tightens, arms locking where they are: that same breath she never took aching inside her lungs — he always does this. turns tenderness into a game, vulnerability into something else. and maybe that's what burns more than anything. because she sees it, hears it, feels it. just beneath all the bark and bite, there's something real. and it terrifies her.

a breath leaves her, then. not quite a laugh, not quite a scoff. it's lost, she thinks, somewhere between like everything about this. “ don't flatter yourself, ” buffy says, and it's almost biting, but she's not even trying to hide the crack in it as his hand lands, grazing her shoulder like it belongs there. like it always has. she turns, finally. lifts her gaze to meet him like it's some kind of punishment [OR] maybe a challenge. her eyes catch the porch light just enough to glint, but there's no fire there. not the kind he's used to, anyway. this one's softer. TIRED. a bruise she hasn't had time to press down on yet. “ then try harder. ” it sounds more like a beg than an insult. a dirty truth that's been growing in her throat for weeks. “ you have to try harder. ”

god knows she is. trying harder to ignore it, to bury it, to forget the way his voice lingers around her in the quiet. to pretend the hollow in her chest isn't shaped like him. to hold the line. TO BE: the slayer \ NOT: the girl. to want less and need nothing. to convince herself that this isn't when it is. she is trying so hard to be strong, but if she's anything --- anything at all --- she's heartbreak embodied. grief with a name and a grave and a golden halo. she is swallowed down and snuffed out and stitched into silence, just enough to pass as fine. just enough to keep going. because this is what she does and that's what she is — buffy shakes her head, barely, a twitch more than a gesture, eyes suddenly glassy with everything she won't let fall. “ i can't— ” it comes out small. WRECKED. like it cracked on it's way up her throat. she doesn't finish the sentence. finds something akin to a gentle peace in knowing she doesn't have to. it's already written in every inch of her.

hands   are   dirty   :   from   sin.   from   corruption.   blood   of   victims   like   invisible   ink   clinging   to   your   flesh.   you   are   still   a   monster   with   teeth   sharp   like   razors ,   with   a   one   track   mind   :   kill   the   slayer.       but ,   no ,   that   isn't   what   your   brain   demands   anymore.   desire   runs   deep   in   your   veins ,   love   for   a   fragile   lamb   with   a   streak   of   heroism.    everything   has   changed.   vampire   meets   slayer   :   wants   to   kill   slayer.   but   not   now.   now ,   vampire   meets   slayer   :   wants   to   protect   slayer   with   everything   he   bloody   well   has.    ❝    tell   me   what   it   is   that   you   want ,   slayer.    ❞    he   can't   keep   up.   one   minute   she's   begging   for   his   help ,   the   next   she's   begging   for   his   absence.

digits   clutch   gently   at   her   arm,   tugging   ever   so   slightly.   face   me ,   he   thinks ,   look   at   me.    ❝    to   shut   me   out ?   can't   do   it   because   we   both   know   that   the   next   time   you   and   little   sis   run   into   a   jam ,   you're   gonna   need   me.    ❞       he   knows ,   just   how   pitiful   her   little   scooby   gang   is.   the   only   one   with   a   half   a   pint   of   power   is   the   witch ,   but   she's   a   loose   canon.   he   knows   that   she   needs   him.     maybe   he   gets   off   on   it.    ❝    that   what   you   want ?   maybe   i'll   disappear   off   the   bloody   grid ,    ❞    cerulean   optics   narrow ,   boots   shuffling   back   once   he   allows   her   arm   to   go   free.    ❝    but   it   won't   change   the   fact   that   you   need   me.    ❞    she   can   hide ,   recede   into   the   shadows   and   pretend   she's   okay   ...   but   he   sees   right   through   her.   he's   the   only   one   who   sees   right   through   her.

#𝙵𝙻 ⸻ it starts like the moment before the storm. air too thick, silence too heavy, something electric thrumming between them. faith shifts, jaw tight, a dull throb in her ribs where corelia landed the last hit. a cheap shot, maybe, but faith had it coming. had all of this coming. she rolls her shoulder back, wipes at the corner of her mouth where blood beads red against her thumb. like she cares. she's been hit harder, broken worse, but still — it stings. AND CORDY? she looks like she's barely winded, standing there all poised and dangerous in the dim light of her bedroom, like she's the one calling the shots.

...       𝐀̲𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍  ‚　 \       cordelia : “ you can stay and i'll break something else, or you can run. ”        ¡.   

there's a breath sucked in, slow. faith's tongue running quietly over her teeth as she lets the words settle. the sting in her body is nothing compared to the heat in her chest. the one that burns hot. that twists and twists, and feels too much like shame. like fear. she laughs instead, lets it trickle out, a crack through the tension. “ damn. didn't know you had it in you, queen c. ” the slayer's voice comes out rough, a little breathless. she hates that.

there's a shift in her stance as the instinct to fight continues to crawl at the length of her spine; a slippery, familiar friend. cordelia doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink. she just keeps looking— staring —at her with that same steady, unreadable gaze that digs claws into the slayer's skin. and faith, she should move … RIGHT? should leave. shouldn't let herself be seen like this, standing here with blood in her mouth and something desperate in her eyes. but she doesn't move. not yet. “ color me all kinds impressed. ”

you're   already   pretty.   a   homecoming   queen.   a   gorgeous   mess.   now   ...   how   to   be   deadly   :   that's   the   real   challenge.   or   is   it ?   there's   a   demon   weaving   darkness   around   your   bones.   it   was   your   choice ,   one   made   for   the   better.   save   yourself ,   queen ,   little   voice   in   her   head   urged.     and   that's   what   she   did.   knuckles   ooze   crimson ,   lacerated   and   bruised.   she   may   be   riddled   in   flaws.   she   may   be   lacking   humanity   ...   but   she   is   resilient.   angel   taught   her   that.   wesley   taught   her   that.   gunn   taught   her   that.   her   boys.   her   family.

❝    there's   a   lot   you   miss   when   you   become   the   enemy.    ❞    voice   is   stern ,   unwavering.   hand   moves,   digits   carefully   betwixt   stem   of   brass   candlestick.    thank   god   her   boss   is   stuck   in   the   stone   age   with   his   decor.   heavy   and   bulky   make   for   a   great   weapon.   chestnut   optics   survey   unhinged   slayer ,   she   almost   looks   ...   worn   out.   breath   heavy ,   blood   staining   maw.    ❝    look ,   i'm   giving   you   a   chance   here ,   okay?   you   can   run.   maybe   hit   a   salon ,   get   some   highlights ,   shake   things   up   in   a   positive   way.    ❞       she   isn't   naïve   enough   to   think   that   faith   will   take   the   bait.     she's   gone   rogue,   she   unpredictable.       cordelia   is   just   relieved   that   the   slayer   can't   hear   the   aggressive   beat   of   her   heart   rattling   her   chest.        

heels  echoed  like  a  dare  against  the  rooftop’s  edge ,  city  lights  flickering  beneath  them  like  a  thousand  secrets  waiting  to  spill .  lois  had  been  chasing  whispers  again  —  diamond  thefts  with  flair ,  claw  marks  at  the  scene ,  and  a  name  stitched  in  silk  across  every  police  report  :  black  cat .  she  didn’t  believe  in  coincidences ,  and  she  definitely  didn’t  believe  in  bad  girls  without  a  good  reason .  “ you’re  not  as  good  at  hiding  as  you  think , ”  she  called  out ,  voice  steady  —  curious ,  not  hostile .  fingers  tight  around  her  recorder ,  eyes  sharper  than  the  skyline  behind  her .  “ but  you  are  damn  good  at  making  an  entrance . ”  a  beat .  the  wind  tugged  at  her  coat .  “ so  what’s  your  angle ,  cat ?  thrill ?  payback ?  or  just  bored  of  playing  nice ? ”

all   eyes   are   on   you ,   cat.   the   culprit   of   the   city.   the   star   of   the   show.   there   is   an   artistry   to   the   legendary   pick   -   pocket ,   a   proficiency   in   scrutinizing   the   outline   of   a   bank   vault ,   an   elegance   in   pilfering   bountiful   diamonds.   moonlight   spills   silver   over   the   ambiance ,   correlating   with   tresses   framing   features.   paws   are   sticky   with   greed ,   ebony   latex   taut   over   frame.    ❝    who   says   i'm   hiding ?    ❞       perfectly   shaped   brow   elevates ,   sage   optics   observing   journalist   from   rooftop.    ❝    maybe   i   just   like   an   audience.    ❞       for   once ,   maw   is   not   filled   with   deceit.     only   truth   prevails ,   this   time.

help   me,   please   :   that   fearful   vocals   echo   within   your   ears   like   a   wardrum.   a   woman   :   you.you.you.   terrified   of   a   man   :   doug.doug.doug.   sometimes ,   you   still   feel   bruises   under   the   skin   when   you   press   the   right   way.   sometimes ,   you   still   feel   the   weight   of   stockholm   syndrome ,   of   the   more   scattered   nightmares.   hand   remains   steady   against   belly   (   against   currently   unknown   bun   in   the   oven   ) ,   when   athena   emerges   into   the   conference   room.   fatigue   is   evident   in   the   pull   of   her   features ,   a   state   maddie   knows   well.   ❝   definitely   two   feelings   i   know   well ,   ❞   there's   a   softness   in   her   voice ,   smile   meager   as   she   stands   to   greet   the   sergeant.   ❝   yeah ,   of   course ,   ❞   hand   motions   toward   the   chair   beside   her   before   she   slips   back   into   her   own.

❝   we're   looking   at   a   case   of   domestic   abuse.   um ,   the   mother ,   janine   davis ,   was   hiding   with   her   daughter ,   monica ,   from   her   husband   -   gavin   davis ,   ❞   jaw   stiffens   at   the   memory   of   the   call   :   fear ,   there   so   much   fear.   ❝   he   found   her   …   ❞   tears   well   in   chocolate   orbs ,   edge   of   teeth   nibbling   at   bottom   lip.    ❝   the   call   cut   out   and   when   police   arrived ,   the   home   was   empty.   ❞   she   knows   that   fear.   she's   felt   that   fear.   ❝   she   was   afraid   and   i   —   i   couldn't   help   her.   ❞   it's   the   worst   part   of   being   a   dispatcher ,   the   helpless   feeling   that   washes   over   when   failure   dominates.