HoneyDrabbles

Three weeks earlier.

 Crossroads bar and grille was packed tonight; every wobbly stained table crowded with people, you couldn’t even slide a dollar bill between people at the old chipped bar- but that was to be expected of the only bar in their little town nestled in the woods and marsh. A town too small for street lights or sidewalks or where the biggest news of the decade was a barely stocked family dollar coming to the edge of the town didn’t have many options to pass time outside of getting piss drunk, hunting, or shooting up drugs. Augusta only drank the occasional cider when she wanted to watch a game at her work -much happier sitting at home nestled with some novel and her bulldog Billy- but she couldn’t fault the rest of the town for settling for other options, desperate for human interaction to break up the monotony - and it paid the rent for her busted up little trailer out on Amberdeen road. Crossroads was the  place to be in Cross, had been for forty years and would probably be for another forty more.

  “Hey Augie!” Charlotte twittered from behind, flashing her bright smile that earned her tips hand over fist. The older woman was a regular favorite at the bar, leaving men falling over themselves as she gave them little winks as she took their orders. 'Never let age stop you' she had said once, flipping her full black curls over her shoulder. Of course, she could say that because at forty five somehow she was still rocking the body of a twenty three year old in their uniform shorts. Augusta was only thirty and she was sure it wasn't her age that kept her from getting dates or men to ogle her like *that*- not that she was sure she even wanted that, to be honest. “Could you grab that table that just sat down? I'm absolutely drowning with Barny celebrating his fiftieth at the bar there. They're running me ragged."

 An obnoxious ‘I’ll run you ragged, baby doll!’ sounded from somewhere from behind her. “Of course, Char. Let me know if you need any help running your food or drinks,” Augusta offered with a kind smile. Most of her tables were just got their newest round of orders in anyway.

 “Thank you, darlin’! I owe ya!” Charlotte chirped.

 The table was surprisingly a group of unfamiliar faces.

 Unfamiliar handsome  faces.

 “Hi, welcome to Crossroads. What can I get y’all started with?” She greeted, hoping her cheeks weren’t too flushed when the oldest of them, mutton chops and deep blue eyes met her gaze with a friendly smile. She thanked the gods above that she decided to do up her ginger hair in nice curls and bothered with some makeup tonight even if it was just for tips.

 “Could we get a round of beers for the table? Whatever you have that’s popular is fine,” the man hummed. Deep and smoky, like tobacco and whiskey. The british accent took her by surprise even more than his looks. She had never seen anyone visit here from any farther than North Carolina. “You lads want anything?”

  “Yer name and numb-” the one with uncanny cobalt eyes and a mohawk began to reply before the sound of a loud thump under the table and hiss from him cut him off. Scottish too? The man next to him - the prettiest fucking man she had ever seen in her life with a baseball cap with the union jack on it - shot him a withered look and he pouted back. “Naw, we’re good.”

  Augusta had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing at the poor man’s dejected look. “Alright, a round of budweisers comin’ up. I’ll get them for ya, my name is Augie if y’all have any questions or need something.” She offered a chipper smile, watching the scottsman’s pout melt away at the gesture before heading off. The only one who didn’t give a smile or noise back was the hulking beast of man with buzzed blonde hair and thick thighs that struggled to fit on the tiny chair beneath him. Would have been a comical sight if his glare didn’t threaten violence with a flicker of his pretty brown eyes.

  She dropped off the beers with a polite smile, dutifully ignoring how the scottsman leaned back in his seat to watch her ass as she set the drinks down on the table. Even being a big girl she was used to men acting a fool around her while she worked, there wasn't a lot of options when you knew everyone in town through church, school, or blood. Course, it was usually after they were shot down by the other waitresses and women in the bar and they were already three sheets to the wind. Maybe he just hadn't spotted Charlotte behind the bar yet or thought she was an easier lay as the "fat girl". When she straightened she could have sworn the big silent brute sucked in a breath, was he... sniffing her?

   "So what brings you all from across the pond? Ain't seen your faces around here before."

  A quick look flashed between the men, too fast to figure what it could have been before the bearded older man was offering a polite smile, "visiting an old friend. Don't get a lot of visitors out here, I take it?" 

  A snort escaped her before she could suppress it, "here? God no. What would anyone visit here for unless you got family out here? We don't even have a grocery store here, not exactly screaming vacation luxury or nothing."

  "Aw, I'm sure there's at least some fine sights around here to see," the pretty one smiled, and oh did her knees knock a little at that mega watt grin. He really should be on magazine covers or something. "So far what we've seen is lovely." Maybe it was just her imagining things - wishful thinking- but his gaze dipped down along her body as he spoke. She was sure her cheeks were bright red from how fiercely they were burning.

 "The views at home must be real lack luster if that's the case," she quipped, earning a chuckle from them. "Are y'all staying in town with your friend or did you find a place to stay?" There wasn't any motels or Air bnb's to rent until maybe the next town or two over. 

 "We're staying at some old house out past the canal. Think the road's called Marshall Lane or something," mutton chops replied after a beat. She must have shown some recognition on her face at the description because he lifted a bushy brow at her, "you know it?"

 "The old cabin out there, right? It's been vacant for a while now since old man Donny passed a few years back. Didn't realize it was for rent, hope it's not too dusty in there for y'all. Used to visit over back in the day to drop off some treats for him on my hikes through the woods there." The property was only about a thirty minute walk through the dense woodlands to her place and probably the only place she could take her walks without being met with a shotgun for trespassing onto someone's property. She didn't mention that though, they were still strangers after all and she wasn't a total idiot no matter how handsome the strangers were. 

"Ya can drop off treats whenever ya'd like," the scottish one grinned wolfishly, leaning his big beefy arms on the rickety table and making the beers slosh in their bottles. "D'love so pretty company. A regular little ol' ridin' hood." That earned a loud snort from the pretty one and a hefty kick beneath the table from the grumpy one she'd guess judging from how the table shook. 

Augusta raised a brow, looking between them all with a bemused smile. She hoped they visited more during their stay they were certainly entertaining if nothing else. "Mmm my my, what a big ego you've got, grandma." She offered a little playful wink to the scottsman and nodded to the rest. "I'll leave y'all a minute to look over the menu. Feel free to flag me down if you need anything." She could feel their eyes on her as she bustled back to the kitchen. 

She guessed they didn't plan on eating as the menus sat untouched and unopened on the caddy while she quickly went about checking on the rest of her tables. Drinks refilled, checks dropped, dishes swapped as the room got louder as more bodies shoved their way inside, milling about the bar and worn pool tables. By the time a few hours had passed the bar was in full swing with raucous laughter and the loud bang of pool cues against cue balls and the handsome strangers hadn't barely touched their beers, milking them glacially as they kept their eyes on a swivel around the room. 

"I think that new table is looking for something," Augusta mumbled, leaning on the bar and stretching her back as she waited for her drinks. "Been eyeing around the place like they're waiting for someone to jump 'em." 

"I dunno about all that but they sure been eyein' that fanny of yours all night," Charlotte grinned wickedly over the tab, looking pointedly behind her. August glanced back over her shoulder sneakily and sure as shit all four pair of peepers were glued to where her hips bent, swaying idly to the grainy music playing off the ancient jukebox. She felt her cheeks burning as she whipped back forward as mutton chops looked up and met her eye and she had to pretend like she did not just catch them all staring. He looked unashamed at getting caught, a smug smirk tugging at his mustache that made her equal parts flustered and annoyed. "I don't think they're hungry for food tonight, sweetheart. You should go ask them if they'd like you for desert."

Augusta grabbed her drinks from her with a scandalized huff, her cheeks nearly as red as her hair. "Char!"

Charlotte for her part was unmoved by her friend's sputtering, shrugging a shoulder nonplussed like she didn't just tell her to offer her pussy like a treat to a bunch of strangers. "What? Girl, you have had a longer dry spell than most states. My first marriage was shorter! You *need* to go out and enjoy yourself. Ride some dick and live a little," she purred.

"I will have you know I do just fine with my vibrator and my imagination, thank you very much. Men come with too much hassle and complications," August sniffed, raising her chin haughtily. It wasn't glamours and yeah, her little pink vibrator couldn't cuddle her at night or make her laugh but it also couldn't cheat on her or run out on her either. 

"You make me sad, girl. If you don't get one of their numbers tonight I'm gonna grab it for you!" Charlotte threatened loudly as Augusta carried her drinks away, leaving the ginger shooting a mean look back at her while she made her rounds. Thank the gods that the bar was loud as hell tonight so at least she didn't have to worry about them hearing about her sad love life over the crowd. 

She let another hour pass before she stopped by again, their bottles finally nearing empty as they all sat hunched over their table. The air around them felt weirdly tense as she approached but when she greeted them again it dissipated like mist after an early morning, all smiles (save for the big one) leaving her wondering if maybe she was just imagining it. "Y'all want another round or are y'all okay?" Another shared look between them; there and gone, before mutton chops offered a smile and shook his head, sliding a crisp fifty across the stained table. Big spenders it seemed or they were really confused on the conversion rate here. 

"Keep the change, darl'." He hummed, his smile only growing as Augusta nearly choked on her spit, looking wide eyed between the bill and him. 

"Honey that is way too much. I promise it's like twenty tops," she quickly argued, brows furrowed like she felt like she was taking advantage, which she did. 

"Keep it." He argued simply, already shrugging his jacket back on off his chair. She watched, mouth open as they all stood and made her realized just how much they all towered over her. The big scary one was practically brushing against the low ceiling with how tall he loomed. A smile and a nod and they turned back towards the door, falling in line like soldiers on a mission, not a glance spared back.

 The air was thick with humidity, heavy enough to feel like she were drowning every time she tried to greedily suck in a gasping breath into her starving lungs. Augusta Owens stared up at the branches twisting high above her, blocking out the sun as she clawed at the dirt and soil with chipped fingernails. She didn’t know how deep she was in the woods that surrounded the small barren town of cross, couldn’t guess how many miles that scumbag had dragged her out away from civilization. In the distance the far sound of howling dogs echoed through the thicket. Maybe a hunter would happen upon her body nestled in the brush. She hoped they found her before their dogs did otherwise it might make identifying her a bitch.

   Overhead she watched the golden streams of sunlight flicker through the rustling leaves, a carolina wren twittered from a low hanging branch, spanish moss fluttered like curtains in the breeze. She supposed if she had to die anywhere she was grateful it wasn’t in a dirty basement or the back of a truck. She was brought into this world deep in these woods, it only made sense she’d leave it here there too.

   Her vision was growing fuzzy around the edges as she struggled to drag air in between her bloodied lips. It probably wouldn’t be much longer now she figured. She could only pray she got enough of that bastard’s DNA under her nails from clawing his face up that they’d catch the rat bastard. Swarmy, sweet talking son of a bitch. He was a regular in her bar for two weeks now and offered her a ride home when he spotted her broke down on the side of the road. It was stupid, she knew better but she thought she was safe with her pocket knife tucked into her shorts. She wasn’t a little waif of a thing, disposing of her should have been a hard task, she had been betting on it. But he had lifted her fat ass like it weighed nothing when he dragged her out of his truck after driving her far out miles from where he was supposed to take her. Swore his blue eyes flashed an unearthly blue when he strangled her, thought she felt the scrape of claws on her throat but that was probably the oxygen being cut off from her brain.

  She remembered him tearing her clothes like wet tissue paper, though. Panic had stabbed through her so fiercely then that she acted on primal instinct even though she was battered and broken in several places, clawing at his face and eyes though it seemed like it barely did a thing to him. It wasn’t until she grabbed the pendant from her neck, a long silver key her mother had given to her when she was just a little girl that she wore daily, and used it like a knife stabbing it deep into his eye that he relented. The bitch howled and screamed something fierce and she could have sworn on her mama’s soul that his face was smoking like he was burning. Spitting up blood she laughed meanly in his face as he cursed and stumbled away, leaving her to bleed and wheeze her last breaths on the hard forest floor.

  The dogs sounded closer now, like they’d be on her any second but it’d be too late she was sure. Her vision was filled with black spots and her lids felt so heavy. She only had one thought as she slipped into that black void.

  She hoped that bastard hung for this.

 The air was thick with humidity, heavy enough to feel like she were drowning every time she tried to greedily suck in a gasping breath into her starving lungs. Augusta Owens stared up at the branches twisting high above her, blocking out the sun as she clawed at the dirt and soil with chipped fingernails. She didn’t know how deep she was in the woods that surrounded the small barren town of cross, couldn’t guess how many miles that scumbag had dragged her out away from civilization. In the distance the far sound of howling dogs echoed through the thicket. Maybe a hunter would happen upon her body nestled in the brush. She hoped they found her before their dogs did otherwise it might make identifying her a bitch.

   Overhead she watched the golden streams of sunlight flicker through the rustling leaves, a carolina wren twittered from a low hanging branch, spanish moss fluttered like curtains in the breeze. She supposed if she had to die anywhere she was grateful it wasn’t in a dirty basement or the back of a truck. She was brought into this world deep in these woods, it only made sense she’d leave it here there too.

   Her vision was growing fuzzy around the edges as she struggled to drag air in between her bloodied lips. It probably wouldn’t be much longer now she figured. She could only pray she got enough of that bastard’s DNA under her nails from clawing his face up that they’d catch the rat bastard. Swarmy, sweet talking son of a bitch. He was a regular in her bar for two weeks now and offered her a ride home when he spotted her broke down on the side of the road. It was stupid, she knew better but she thought she was safe with her pocket knife tucked into her shorts. She wasn’t a little waif of a thing, disposing of her should have been a hard task, she had been betting on it. But he had lifted her fat ass like it weighed nothing when he dragged her out of his truck after driving her far out miles from where he was supposed to take her. Swore his blue eyes flashed an unearthly blue when he strangled her, thought she felt the scrape of claws on her throat but that was probably the oxygen being cut off from her brain.

  She remembered him tearing her clothes like wet tissue paper, though. Panic had stabbed through her so fiercely then that she acted on primal instinct even though she was battered and broken in several places, clawing at his face and eyes though it seemed like it barely did a thing to him. It wasn’t until she grabbed the pendant from her neck, a long silver key her mother had given to her when she was just a little girl that she wore daily, and used it like a knife stabbing it deep into his eye that he relented. The bitch howled and screamed something fierce and she could have sworn on her mama’s soul that his face was smoking like he was burning. Spitting up blood she laughed meanly in his face as he cursed and stumbled away, leaving her to bleed and wheeze her last breaths on the hard forest floor.

  The dogs sounded closer now, like they’d be on her any second but it’d be too late she was sure. Her vision was filled with black spots and her lids felt so heavy. She only had one thought as she slipped into that black void.

  She hoped that bastard hung for this.

- -

this customer is making you nervous as fuck. you don't think you've been inappropriate with him in any way, just polite and friendly as you sorted out his refund. the problem is that he's massive, easily taller than simon by a couple of inches and he keeps looming over you blaming his difficulty understanding english as to why he keeps getting closer and closer. he's practically mounting the customer service desk to peer down at you (and you have a horrible feeling he's trying to get a look down your polo top).

you're beginning to panic so you do the only thing you think to do (which admittedly is pretty stupid looking back on it) and make your excuses to leave the customer service desk to find one of your friends. or at least find a colleague who will act as a witness if this guy gets any creepier.

gaz handles it like a champ. as soon as he spots the creep following you around he's there. arm around your shoulders and tucking you into his side at the kitchen consultant's desk. his customer service smile is fixed on his face and he refuses to even acknowledge this giant arsehole of a man, just keeps talking to you softly and shows you the kitchen he’s working on. kyle’s beautiful brown eyes only briefly leave your face so he can point out another favourite part of his design, he never once looks over at the creep. it works to soothe you, especially being so close to him. after ten minutes of being blatantly ignored, the creep walks off muttering under his breath. hopefully he’s left the store but unfortunately it’s around that time that kyle has a couple walk up to him asking him if he’s free for a drop in consultation. before he agrees he checks in with a gentle “you alright if i take this appointment, yeah? come straight back if that guy is still hanging around. i’ll deal with him.” he looks so serious you believe him. you reassure him that you’ll be fine and he gives your arm a gentle squeeze before you separate from his warmth already missing the slightly woody scent of his cologne. before you’re completely out of earshot you hear the couple cooing over how cute kyle was with you and his reply of “well, it’s not exactly hard when she’s one of my favourite colleagues…” and the fondness in his voice makes your cheeks heat up. 

-

johnny nearly trips over you as you’re crouched behind the paint desk. “steamin’ jesus, what’re ya daein’ under there hen?” you hush him quickly and silently with a finger raised to your lips. you don’t want to speak because you know the giant is still out there looking for you, you thought you’d given him the slip near the paint brushes but then he’d rounded the end of the aisle so you darted for the relative safety of the paint desk. johnny crouches down next to you and whispers “are we hidin’ from someone? is it simon?” you shake your head and go to answer him but then your blood runs cold as you hear that familiar accented voice. “excuse me? i was wondering if you might help, i’m looking for the fräulein who was helping me?” johnny shoots a look at you and you squish yourself further into the corner of the desk hoping against hope that johnny won’t give you away. thankfully, johnny straightens up from behind the desk with his most charming customer service grin “sorry pal, i’ve no’ seen her. ‘s only me on the desk the day.” the creep sounds nonplussed at johnny’s thick glaswegian accent (you’ve certainly never heard it ramped up like that in all the times you’ve spoken with him) and a little crestfallen when he starts to reply with “oh, perhaps you’d be good enough to -” johnny interrupts him, voice still pitched in a friendly manner but you can hear an undercurrent of tension “naw, sorry pal. i’m busy pitin’ the hems oan the tins. is there anythin’ i can dae fer ye mixin’ wise?” there’s a moment of silence and you watch johnny’s smile slowly slip off his face, his lips thinning into a stern line. “ah, um. no thank you. perhaps she will find me.” the creep sounds a little nervous now if the uncomfortable laugh he lets out is any indication. “aye right. well i’d best be lettin’ you get oan then eh?” johnny shifts on his feet slightly so his calf brushes up against your arm. after another tense moment you hear the lumbering footsteps of the giant move away from the desk. johnny looks down at you with a mischievous grin, “i’ve got to say bonnie girl, you look a right sight down there.” you only feel a little bit bad when you punch him lightly in the leg and he yelps in shock as the blush on your cheeks spreads down your neck. 

-

simon is less than impressed when you duck under the chain across the warehouse doors and flatten yourself against the noticeboard out of view from the shop floor. “you stupid? chains up which means the forklift is out so you need to be too.” he’s pissed off and thinking about how much paperwork he’ll have to fill out now because you didn’t bother to think about the cameras in your dash for safety. he takes a big step towards you before swerving off to the side to block the customer that has just appeared at the chain. “the fuck do you want?” he practically snarls. ‘this isn’t the fucking caff.” simon squares his shoulders and glares at the oversized dickhead that’s wasting his time. “well? can’t you fuckin’ read? staff access only. and you’re not staff so fuck off.” simon barks at the man, not letting him get a word in edgewise to start bitching about stock or whatever it is that he wants. simon couldn’t give a shit, he just wants the customer (and you) to fuck off promptly so he can start moving pallettes around. the customer just blinks and takes several steps back before turning away. you let out a shaky sigh and thank simon quietly. simon hums in acknowledgement and sweeps a critical eye down your lightly trembling form. “he botherin’ ya?” at your nod he hums again before jerking his head towards the back of the warehouse “go put a hi-vis on and sit in the office, i’ll come get you when i’m done on the ‘lift.”. when simon comes back into the office two paper cups of tea in hand thirty minutes later, you offer him a small smile and catch his lips twitch up briefly before he turns away to plunk his cup down on top of a cluttered filing cabinet. 

-

price practically walks into you as you come flying around the end of the plumbing aisle. it’s unusual to see you so far away from the customer service desk and looking so flustered. “alright, love?” his hand is on your elbow as he asks. you crane your neck round to look behind you, too worried about that customer to enjoy his large warm hand on your bare skin. price straightens up and drops his hand away from you when he spots a customer behind you, in his opinion the customer is moving a little too fast to be considered casual. price bristles slightly when he catches the dark look on the gentleman’s face. oh no, he doesn’t like the look of this one at all. especially when you look at price and mouth “help” quickly. price steps forward and puts you at his back, blocking the creep from getting any closer. “can i help you, mate?” his gruff voice is just shy of sounding friendly and you watch his back muscles shift under the black polo top he’s wearing. “no thank you, i wanted to speak with the little woman some more.” god the customer is weird, you shudder a little at being referred to as a “little woman”. price shifts to block the customer’s view of you more fully as he does you notice the back of price’s neck has gone a little red. “not possible. i need her for a job.” price’s words sound like they’re being ground out through gritted teeth in response. “i’m sure simon would be more than willing to help you.” you jolt a little when you spot simon at the customer’s shoulder. a man shouldn’t be able to move so silently in steel toed safety boots. you catch a brief wince flicker across the customer’s face when simon’s hand comes down on his shoulder, slightly too hard to be entirely polite. “ah, um, yes. perhaps that’s for the best.” simon leads the customer away and you step up beside price to thank him. he looks deadly serious when he turns to face you “any time love.” his stern blue stare softens slightly and you’re sure you catch his gaze flicker to your mouth briefly before he clears his throat and turns away “c’mon then. back to the returns desk with you.”. 

- -

AN: i have very much hidden from customers in the warehouse and behind the paint desk at B&Q. don’t be like reader (or me) and hide in the goods-in area, you will get shouted at for it. 

You knew it would. Know that part of being a woman in this world means living in near constant hyper-vigilance; with an acute awareness of your surroundings.

Should have known better. Should have been more aware. Should have kicked and screamed. Should have fought back.

It’s disappointment that curls around your mind like a serpent and sinks its fangs in deep, floods you with venomous, paralyzing thoughts.

Paralyzed. That’s a good word for it. Pinned against that bookshelf and presently burrowed beneath the blankets in the dark, body curled in on itself with trembling hands tucked tight to your chest. Small. Meek. Trapped in a body that betrays everything you taught it to do. Disappointed that the months of training you endured in the aftermath proved useless when tested outside of a controlled environment and theoretical scenarios.

It happened again–and you let it.

“Bubby?” Isobel is strapped in her car seat, kicking impatient little feet while Johnny works to unfasten the belt across her lap.

“Yes leannan?”

“Why’re the polis here?”

His hands go still, hovering above the buckle, and he turns his head over his shoulder just enough to glimpse the two lids standing on your front stoop. The air in his lungs rushes out of him, chin falling to his breastbone as the panic winding tight in his chest slowly unfurls.

This is home. Isobel is safe. Everyone is safe. This isn’t that day, he reminds himself, but seeing them on your doorstep strikes flint against steeled nerves. The carefully compartmentalized part of his brain that he reserves for work wrestles itself free from its confines and floods his body with adrenaline. Makes the hair on his nape stand on end and the muscles in his jaw tighten until it aches from the tension.

With Isobel extracted from the car, perched on his hip and her book bag slung over the opposite shoulder, he turns to nudge the car door closed, just in time to see your door crack open. Watches the two men present their badges and a folded bundle of paperwork. Gnashes his teeth when he sees, even from the street, wide and fearful eyes that scan everything behind them. Eyes that note his presence and dart away to catalog the next detail. Trodden snow and parked cars. The woman across the street, walking her dog. Surveying your front yard with the same scrutiny he does an engagement zone. 

Isobel squirming in his arms tears his focus away from you, forces him to register the burning sensation at the tip of his nose, the tops of his ears, cold winter air surely biting into her skin just as mercilessly as it does his own.

“I dunno. Let’s get ye inside, aye? Dinnae want to find any missing fingers or toes tonight.” 

To anyone else it would look like he’s taking his time with the ice, treading carefully with the little girl in his arms so as not to send them both crashing down into the snow. Anyone else would see lids next door and mind their own damn business.

Johnny’s never been particularly good at that.

Their presence alone is enough to raise his hackles, to pull the pin from his nerves and toy with letting the hammer fall. Just enough to see if they’re as trained up as the SNP says they are. But all that’s likely to do is scare you more, and he can’t have that. He just found you, just started to get to know you. He’ll be damned if he lets another rash decision chase a pretty thing like you away. 

The thought of it twists and knots in his stomach, plucks at the out-of-tune strings wound through his heart in a weeping facsimile of something he doesn’t dare put a name to. Can’t name because it gives it too much power. Makes it too real.

It’s slow going, pretending to fumble with the keys in the cold. Feigning indifference as he grapples with “—in custody, for now—” and “—press charges?” 

The snow and ice outside is a brilliant, blinding white. Inside, all Johnny can see is red. 

Charges? What on earth happened that she needs to press charges for?

“Bubby, too tight,” Isobel grouses, and he loosens his arm around her with a sigh, lowering her to the ground to help with her jacket and boots. 

“‘M sorry, Bell. Didnae mean to squeeze ye so tight.” Curls bounce around her face as she teeters on one foot, hands on his shoulders to keep her balance.

“It’s okay.” She shifts to her other foot, pulling free of the fleece-lined boots. “Ye’re makin’ a twisty face again,” she observes, and her brows mirror the pinch of his own.

Too damn observant.

“Ah know,” he admits, and his chest heaves with another sigh, reaching up to smooth the crinkles in her forehead with his thumb. “Dinna worry about me and muh twisty face. How ‘bout some hot cocoa? We’ll warm up and then see about supper, hm?” Her face splits into a toothy grin and he softens at the sight. Lets her latch onto his hand and drag him into the kitchen.

“May we come in?”

No.

“Of course.” You take a step back, pulling the door open just wide enough to let the two officers through. Melting snow pools on polished hardwood under their boots, and you quickly herd them towards the carpeted sitting room before the water can warp your floors. You sit opposite of where they do on your sofa, big fluffy robe pulled tight over flannel pants and a pullover.

“He’ll be released on Thursday morning, unless ye’d like to go ahead with the charges for—”

“—No.” Your fingers curl into your palms. “Just the restraining order. I—” Can’t see his face again. Don’t want to be in the same room with him again. “—just the restraining order. Please.”

The shorter of the two nods and produces a pen from his coat, scribbling something in the margins of the papers he holds before sliding them across the coffee table towards you.

“Tha’s the station an’ phone number,” he says, tapping on the notes he made. “We’ll ring ye when he’s released. An’ we’ll ‘ave the protective order in place by tomorrow. He shouldnae be botherin’ ye anymore.”

All you can manage is a nod and a whispered, “Thank you.” They’re kind enough. Most people are.

Until they’re not.

——

It’s dark outside when you hear a knock at your front door, and your hand immediately reaches for your phone, breath forced out of your lungs by the panic squeezing them inside your chest.

There’s a muffled voice. A giggle, followed by shushing and shuffling feet. “Dinnae want to spoil the surprise,” you hear in a familiar lilt.

Johnny?

You draw a relieved breath and wince when your nails press into the marks on your palms, angry crescent moons, and pull yourself up off the couch to peer through the edge of the curtains.

Johnny and Isobel stand, the former holding the latter, on your stoop, small pan of… something, in Isobels gloveless hands.

Bewildered as you are, you shed the blanket from your shoulders, smoothing a hand over your rumpled jumper, and hurry to the door, fretful over Isobels fingers in the frigid air.

The door cracks open, and with it, so do their smiles. 

“Hi, bonnie—”

“—Surprise!” they say at the same time. 

You stand dumbfounded in your doorway, hand braced on the wooden frame, and Isobel holds out what might be something of a cake beneath a mountain of whipped cream towards you.

“It’s a trifle,” she proudly announces. You turn a questioning eye to Johnny.

“Didnae have the fixin’s for a proper cake,” he supplies. “Figured it would be a sort of… olive branch.”

Olive branch? Why would he need—?

Clipped memories from several days ago replay in your head. Coming home. Sitting in the car. Johnny calling after you. Practically running away and slamming the door on him. Shutting him out.

And here he stands, thinking he’s done something worth apologizing over.

“You don’t need- you didn’t… oh, come in out of the cold, will you? No sense in freezing out there.” You push the door open wider, beckoning them in.

“Thought ye’d never ask,” he teases with a wink and shuffles inside, following you to the kitchen with Isobel in tow behind him.

“Here, let’s put that on the table.” Isobel gladly relinquishes the pan and you’re relieved when you feel its warmth seeping into your fingers, a little less worried about both of their lack of proper winter attire. “I’ve never served trifle… would bowls be best?” 

“Aye, ye’ll probably need spoons too. More of a pudding than a cake,” he says as he settles himself in a chair, Isobel quick to clamber up onto his lap.

You’re surprised by your own lack of nerves. The dishes don’t clatter together when you pull them from the cabinet as they have in recent days, and you don’t feel so uneasy with your back to them. Don’t feel the need to look over your shoulder when Isobel thrums her little fingers on the wooden table, or the deep rumble of Johnny’s voice, speaking to her in hushed tones.

You’re safe here. Safe with them.

Johnny’s right about the dessert too. It’s warm, freshly made, and it’s made for a bit of a runny affair, melted whipped cream seeping into custard and some sort of cake on the bottom.

“It’s good. Thank you for, um… Thank you for sharing.” You spoon another bite into your mouth before you can shove your foot in it. Isobel seems to be in another plane of existence entirely, too absorbed with the confection smeared at the corners of her mouth. The same can’t be said about Johnny. He’s focused wholly on you, dessert in front of him a secondary matter. Tertiary, even, with Isobel perched on his knee and his arm looped around her midsection.

The warmth in his eyes has shifted, burns brighter, in a seeking sort of way. Searching for tinder to catch on. More air to billow and blaze. “Can I ask ye somethin’?”

You settle your silverware in your bowl and fold your hands in your lap, pulling the inside of your cheek between your teeth when your nails slice into your palms again. “Sure.”

The silence isn’t uncomfortable so much as it is heavy, laden with the weight of his unspoken question as he continues his assessment of you. For a moment, you wonder if maybe it’s you who owes him an apology.

“Havnae seen ye for a few days. Yer car’s nae moved and yer curtain’s been closed. And last week, when ye–” He pauses abruptly, mulling over his next words carefully. “Ye looked like a green recruit, fresh off the field.”

Terrified.

Shell shocked.

“That have anythin’ to do with the fellows who dropped by today?”

Your eyes flick between his, the bowl on the table in front of you, and Isobel–still lost in her own little microcosm. Untainted by the dark things lurking just beyond her understanding. You knew he’d seen them. Knew he might ask about them at some point. What you hadn’t expected was a trojan horse in the form of a trifle. Thought you would have more time to think of something to explain the situation away.

This isn’t something he should be burdened with. Not over you. Not when he has Isobel to look out for.

When you finally meet his eyes again they’re no less dim. Still searching for words buried beneath ash on your tongue.

“I… Yes. It did.” You swallow, shove down the knot working it’s way up from your chest. “I was followed, out at the shops,” you lie. “The man, he wouldn’t leave me alone, so… the shopkeeper called for the polis. He left me alone after that, but they still took a statement.” You glance towards Isobel again. To give yourself reprieve from the intensity of his gaze and to ensure she’s not listening too closely to the conversation being had. “Guess it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. They came by today to… to let me know he’s in custody. Wanted to know if I wanted to press charges.”

He’s quiet, unearthly still on the wooden chair, staring hard at the expression you’re doing your best to keep calm.

“This happen before?” he questions, hand curling into a fist on the table. 

“No,” you lie–again. 

He nods, a near imperceptible tilt of his chin. “Are ye filing?”

You nod in return. No need to go into the specifics. 

His shoulders relax a fraction when he looses a long breath. “No wonder ye wouldnae come near me that day,” he muses aloud. “‘M sure my givin’ ye a fright in yer car didnae help much, either.”

“It’s not your fault,” you interject.

“Maybe so, but…” His eyes drift with his words, searching the patterns of the wood grain for something. “Can I ask ye another question?” When he looks up at you again, you nod. “Promise ye’ll tell me, if anythin’ like that happens again? Dinna like the thought of ye dealin’ with it on yer own, lass.”

“Tell ye what?” Isobel queries, bowl of trifle empty in front of her, but his gaze remains firmly on you, and you don’t think he’s willing to take no for an answer.

“Okay. I promise.”

Next>>>

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