Getting on track.

They made me full time at work! (yay)

But that also means I’m currently working full time and taking two college courses! (boo)

It was like being a patient, which was preferable to being an inmate. Her demeanor was professional without being cold, and he appreciated it.

Molly smiled briefly, then took him by the wrist, extending his arm past the bars with their white lacquer that was peeling in places. There were flakes of it on the floor by her feet. The cage was anachronism, as was the institution, but there was good money in this, and the dentist had already said that Willy would need braces in a few years. Not to mention the car insurance, the house payment, there were so many things-

"Doktor." Sergei managed to speak, his voice raspy enough to scratch against his throat. He couldn’t allow himself to die. Not just yet. There were businesses he needed to finish first. People he needed to contact in case he were to perish. But there were secrets that would have to be uncovered. And Sergei didn’t trust any of Mason’s staff with his secrets. A large tattooed hand tried to reach out for Molly Foster, fingers managing to wrap around some part of her forearm, tugging at it gently but urgently. His stomach burned. His blood felt like corrosive acid.

Molly felt the tug on her arm and was startled by it, her eyes jolting away from her work to the dying man's face. She wouldn't ignore him, of course. and her eyes stayed fixed on his face as he spoke. It didn't make much sense, though he had lost a lot of blood. Molly didn't know the name Jack Crawford, but she did know that it would be unlucky to deny the last request of a dead man.

"See, it’s just cute when you wear mine.” The curve of her hips disappearing down into the waistband of his boxers, the soft curve of her stomach, the shapes of her breasts unburdened by a bra. Will gives her an appreciative once-over and smiles lopsidedly.

Molly watches him struggle with the bra for a few more seconds, then she steps back over to him. Her rib cage might be smaller than his, but her hips and thighs certainly aren't, and the fabric of his boxers rides up her legs as she steps around him. She inspects the clasp of the bra for a second, then reaches forward and slips it off of him, instead reaching for her discarded cotton bra from the bed. She loops it around him and the fabric gives enough for her to actually close it in the back.

"See?" She says, sticking a finger in between the band and his skin. "Stretchy." She grins, licking her lips and taking a step back, then she slips her hands into the waistband of his boxers in a weak approximation of the way she's seen him saunter around the house.

Send me a ‘✉’ for a drunk text from my character.

[text] hey hye molly heyyy eyy

[text] i’m durnk agian

"Well, I didn’t have anyone sitting next to me on the bus in high school mom. Plus there was baseball… I mean… I know dad had baseball too, but… maybe he was better at handling all of it than I was. I mean… I walked away… I panicked… Dad… he didn’t panic like that did he?" Willy knew all sorts of stories about his father, and in each of them the man was a shining memory and a beacon of something true and honorable… something impossible to live up to. Certainly not for a kid who had nightmares most nights and who could read judgement in other people’s eyes. Or the kid who grew into a man who dropped out of his sport and a near sure thing career due to panic attacks.

It would be dishonest for Molly to say that she had handled Willy leaving his college's baseball team to enroll in a police academy well. She had been heartbroken, in fact, and more than a little angry. Not at Willy, though.

You can't have my son! Haven't you taken enough?! She had shrieked, remembering heavy footsteps in the summer house hallway, the sound of glass breaking, Will yelling, gunshots and the sight of a streak of blood on the wall, shooting that deranged man twice in the head-

She was far away. She forced her eyes to focus on Willy again, and she smiled.

"No, your father never had panic attacks, not that i know of. But, Willy.." She shook her head. "You have a career now. You're good at your job. Your social life just sucks. Mine did, too, when you were young and your father was gone. But I met Will, didn't I? And Will was.." Her voice trailed off as she took a moment to think.

Send me a ‘✉’ for a drunk text from my character.

[text] hey hye molly heyyy eyy

[text] i’m durnk agian

[text] uuuuuuuuu

[text] uuuuuuuuuuuucks

Send me a ‘✉’ for a drunk text from my character.

[text] hey hye molly heyyy eyy

[text] i’m durnk agian

[text] rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

[text] rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

I promise I haven’t done anything reckless since I talked to you yesterday!

"Well, I met your father in high school, so what do I know?" She's gotten better about talking about him, the further away from the tragedy she's managed to get. Still doesn't say his name, though.