the cat lady —-

of all the people that would knock on the deputy’s door at five in the morning, while wade would stir in the wake of another police’s failure, robbie never have expected it to rosalyn. fletcher, perhaps, for work. daisy, even, who he still wondered why he did not arrest tonight, why he let her go while some of her friends (he assumed) got in. robbie had been utterly exhausted. today did not seem to want to end; the deputy had left the station not more than forty minutes ago, and his empty home did not hold the same peace it usually provided. the silence was heavy with today’s implications and robbie practically punched the radio open.

his brain short circuited as she spoke, something about him calling her doctor white, it seemed. wasn’t she, though, a doctor? fletch had requested the aid of doctor white, not rosalyn. not rosalyn, who used to smoke in silence next to red’s wall with him, while he listened to the night. not rosalyn who spoke of elephant mugs and shared experiences with stupid people. both of those women were the same, though. and perhaps he’d thought that at least one of them was his friend, or … was on the path of being a friend. the damn knife in his back said otherwise.

still, even though robbie’s feelings had been hurt, he would do what he always did : bottle them up, put them aside, and ignore them. maybe he’d follow fletcher’s example and punch a wall, but that could wait another time, where all his limbs felt like lead. he felt depleted, and that was probably the reason why the door opened wider for rosalyn, an invitation to come in. she did look worse for wear, and a small part of robbie felt sorry for her.

“please come in,” always polite, he was raised well. “rosalyn.”

the door closed without much a sound, and robbie felt suddenly underdressed, vulnerable in his own home. while his own appearance was usually well-put together, he knew he looked a mess, an old sweater on (it read the name of an old unit, faded), his sweats hanging low, hair wet from the quick shower. seeing roz, though, she did look as a mess as he was, and that settled something in his chest.

gesturing to the kitchen table, inviting her to sit as he prepared the coffee (he let his forehead fall on the cabinet for a second, what the hell was he doing, he should be asleep, she should be asleep, josie should be found and dead, six feet under) any fight he could have had in him, gone. “if you’re looking for a fight, i’m really not in the mood.” leaning his back on the counter, the deputy kept his eyes the coffee, watching it fall and drip in the pot.

Part of her was expecting him to send her away, giving her any excuse in the book to get her to leave and go home where she probably should have been right then — and he wouldn’t be wrong. It was nearly five in the morning, nocturnal animals were beginning to burrow into their respective dens despite the sun not peaking out from the horizon quite yet. There’d been countless moments like this where she’d be gazing out the window, watching the sunrise with a forlorn expression as she wondered if she’d be able to make it through another day — and she almost did the very same thing only minutes earlier, but her mind had been occupied on other things. 

On someone.

And it bugged the hell out of her. 

Swallowing thickly, Rosalyn stepped inside his house, eyes looming the unfamiliar space with a slight hesitation. She didn’t go over to people’s houses — to men’s houses, no less. The woman wrapped her cardigan tighter around her small frame, the loose braid that gathered her long, dark dresses unkempt and tangled over her shoulder. She looked like a mess, she felt like a mess, but at least Robbie appeared to be in a similar boat if not more so. To be fair, he probably had more reason to be than she did.

Rosalyn hesitantly sat down at the table, perched stiffly upright. Tense, and she could tell she wasn’t alone in that. She looked up at him from her seat, tongue poking at her cheek when he refused to meet her gaze. "And even if I was?” she questioned, rather than answering him outright. “You let me in anyway. There must be some part of you that is.” A bad attempt at humor, sure, but even she wasn’t laughing.

"You’re pissed that I helped Fletcher,” Rosalyn began, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “You resent the fact that you weren’t told of my involvement. I get it, but...” she shook her head. “It wasn’t my secret to tell. It was his. You know that, don’t you?”

Fletcher looked from Roz to Robbie and then back again, trying to figure out what it was that was making him feel like the intruder in his own office. Maybe it was the way Roz had leapt away from him or the way Robbie couldn’t quite look either of them in the eye, gaze flickering between the two of them. It wasn’t his business what was going on between the two of them because if either of them wanted him to know, one of them would have told him. Robbie was his first friend in Wade and probably his only friend, at the rate that things were going, and Roz– well, he doubted she’d tell him anything even if there was a gun to her head, but that’s just how she was.

He was happy to tell Robbie exactly what was going on here, but that would require him telling his deputy, not his friend, that he’d given sensitive information about an active investigation to a civilian. And he knew Robbie, knew him well enough to know that he’d carry that knowledge and keep it to himself, and hell, he’d even get himself in trouble for it, but Fletcher would rather shoot himself in the foot than see someone he cares about take the fall for his choices.

As subtly as he could, he slid the file with all of Roz’s notes off his desk and into a drawer, out of sight. But, of course, he was also trying to hide his busted up hand, and his fingers were throbbing and uncoordinated, sending the file flying to the ground. Fletcher bent quickly to pick it up, tucking it into the back of his jeans because, well, he could make Robbie leave if he really wanted to, but he didn’t. “I feel like I missed a birthday,” he said, glancing between his friends. “Or like someone died and no one’s telling me.”

He turned to Robbie, trying to read the man’s face – normally, it was so easy, the quirk of his brow to say he was annoyed, the press of his lips to say he was thinking, the lines around his eyes when he smiled. But now, Fletcher couldn’t tell a damn thing. “Dr White,” he said, not looking at her. “Thanks for coming by. If you want to leave me and the Deputy, we’ll finish up here.”

between rosalyn and fletcher sudden awkwardness, as if the deputy had marched into some kind of secret meetup, whatever suspicions robbie had about their relationship morphed into something else, as soon as his brain registered rosalyn’s words. glancing down at her research, robbie did not have to hold the file to know what it contained. god, the many hours lost on memorizing it, to find a tiny details they might have missed, that might give them a clue …he had looked at it enough for a lifetime to recognize it everywhere. his feet brought him a step forward and at the same time, fletcher seemed to get the memo and subtly tried, without much success to be honest, to hide the file in his desk. not before dropping it on the floor, one loose sheet coming to robbie’s feet.

“hold up,” robbie brought up a hand, stopping rosalyn’s escape, before bending as well, picking up the rebel sheet. the deputy looked at it, some notes written on it. didn’t need to be a genius to assume this was rosalyn’s handwriting and robbie did not stop the frustrated sigh escaping his lips. he threw the paper on fletcher’s desk, a silent you missed one hanging over the gesture. noting the way the other man’s hand glistened, knuckles angry red. that explained the hole behind him, but robbie couldn’t find any spare concern to give right now.

hands on his hips, he regarded both of them, acting like nothing was wrong. the weight of the day, heavy on his shoulders, the stress of seeing another fucked-up, paranormal shit, summed with this issue …

“you had to know that this was a bad idea.” he looked into fletcher’s eyes, noted the cold of his hues and stoicness of his face and it angered robbie. not long ago, that same man ripped him a new one because he thought his deputy had chosen not to call him upon receiving josie’s autopsy report. that new information regarding the case had to be submitted to him, at all times. robbie hadn’t realized then that this was a one-way kind of request. well, fletcher was the primary on this case, and if he considered robbie just as any other cop who would help on the case, so be it. robbie would gladly delegate his position to any of their colleague. ellie would be a good replacement.

“rosalyn could lose her licence over this, she’s a civilian … you could lose the whole case, fletcher.” scrubbing at his face, he tried to control his words, keep his emotions from colouring them. if both of them did not care enough to share this with him, what on earth was he doing here? why on earth did his own anger matter. “if the mayor gets wind of this, he’ll close the whole fucking case…and don’t say you didn’t tell me to protect me, mios dios, you know i will be suspected by association.” robbie barely looked at rosalyn, remembering the last times they spoke, and wondered at what time did she started analyzing the file. remembered her words, still, after the spring celebration, the small apology in the cafe. she did not owe him anything. did fletcher owe him anything? no. another sigh.

“well, was it worth it at least? did you find anything”

She shot Fletcher a look as he glanced between them, eyes pleading for him not to play detective when it came to her and Robbie’s relationship — not that they had much of one to begin with, but as always she tended to stray away from conversation she deemed unnecessary. That was certainly one of them. “Thank, Fletcher,” the woman mumbled then, moving to exit before a hand was promptly brought up, causing her to pause in her step.

Shit. Despite how much she wanted to look away, her eyes tracked each and every one of the Deputy’s movements, from when he bent down to grab the stray piece of paper (stupid, clumsy Fletcher) to when he dropped it back on his desk. Averting her gaze would prove to be a sign of weakness, a face she was not about to put on now. No — doing so would simply undercut all of her work thus far. 

She couldn’t argue with his words — it had been a stupid idea, one that she knew was idiotic from the beginning. However, although she’d never admit it out loud, Fletcher was her friend. He’d come to her desperate, in dire need of someone to trust in an otherwise distrustful situation. Rosalyn understood how difficult it could be to let someone in, and while this wasn’t necessarily the same thing, she couldn’t help the burning feeling that arose in her stomach the second Fletcher handed her that autopsy report. A sense of duty, perhaps.

“Blunt forced trauma on the back of the skull, caused from the inside out. So if you know of any way someone could take a blow to the head, but not have it happen externally, be my guest.” Rosalyn answered adamantly, crossing her arms. She stared at Robbie for a long moment, jaw clenched.

“Other than that, no. Nothing substantial.” The doctor pursed her lips slightly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get home. Unless there’s something you need from me, deputy?”

Carrying far too many snack packs in her arms, DJ felt herself slip into autopilot as soon as she stepped foot in the convenience store —- she had one goal in mind: get enough drinks and enough snacks to get through that night (which promised to be as long as possible). The funeral, and the fact that it wasn’t quite a funeral, to begin with, had taken a toll on DJ. She still wasn’t sure in what way and she knew she’d never quite figure it out; not because it was that complicated but because she’d go to immense lengths to avoid thinking about it. 

Rosalyn’s voice came as a sort of horn, calling her back to reality. DJ had to do a double-take. “Honestly, I can believe it. It’s not the first time he’s done this. He gets really chatty sometimes.” Including with me. “Yeah…” That last word left DJ’s lips with a struggle, a small and humorless chuckle coming afterward. She tried to make it seem like the funeral hadn’t influenced her current humor. “It was weird and… unexpected and all sorts of things. Can’t believe someone did that to Josie and Red.”

Rosalyn rolled her eyes, perhaps a bit more impatient than she normally would on any given day. Everyone was in a similar boat, though, and while she was anxious to get home after the exhausting morning she’d had, she haphazardly decided to wait it out. The glass or two of white she’d have when she got home would be more than worth it. “He should learn how to multitask. It’s not that hard,” Rosalyn shrugged as the other did, lips pursing ever so slightly. “’At least the cops will be on it more than ever, yeah?” she arched an eyebrow, a bit of guilt setting in seeing as she’d dismissed Red’s complaints for so long. The doctor had assumed he’d been suffering from some sort of trauma-induced dementia, but especially after seeing the autopsy report, she’d learned how absolutely wrong she was. “More than they were doing before. I think they’ll handle it. Don’t you?” she pursed her lips. “Still...makes you wonder what happened.”

“…Yes?” Mason replied, though uncertain. She has to rack her brain to remember the last time she got her shots. Though she’s confident she has got them at least, the date is a bit murky. “No, yeah, I definitely did,” she concluded, now recalling when she was dragged, by the neck, to a doctor’s office in Boise after admitting to a new friend that she hadn’t been for a check-up in years. It was in that Idaho medical office that she was also administered a number of shots. The tetanus one hurt the most. 

She watched Rosalyn work with great interest, not one to shy away from blood or gore. Even when her own body was the subject. “Mmhm,” she answered. No need to tell the good doctor that she had once tried to stitch herself up by following a tutorial on Youtube. The internet was truly a wondrous place. Mason has no doubt, however, that the doctor’s handy work would be infinitely better than her own. The numbing agent Rosalyn had used had already began to work and Mason could hardly feel a thing. The human body had always fascinated her, to an extent. The fact that the body fought so hard to keep itself alive was a marvel, and almost made Mason want to treat her own better. Almost. 

“So,” she began, “Do you usually work at the clinic?” Mason’s money was on ‘no’ being her answer. This woman was far too dexterous and capable to waste her talents on simple suturing. 

A dark brow quirked at the girl’s uncertainty — it would have been charming if Rosalyn was the type to be charmed by such things. She found it difficult to understand how anyone could be so lackluster in taking charge of their health. Sure, most people didn’t remember when or if they got certain shots as it all tended to blend together, but Rosalyn wasn’t like most people. A bit of a freak of nature, organized to the point of being secretly neurotic. “I’ll have the nurse check your records just in case.” Rosalyn affirmed, eyes laser-focused on the gash before her. 

“Well, good. Then you know what you’re in for,” she narrowed her brows, quickly working to stitch the area up with her equipment. She’d always been dexterous, remembering all of the times her superiors in med school would compliment her on her ability to perform a running whipstitch in what seemed like record time. The corner of her lips turned up ever so slightly at the thought, confident in her own skillset even despite all the other qualms she may have had about herself. 

Magdalena was a small person, so her carrying anything was a sight to see. Her inability to buy a car (in this country) wasn’t helping either. So, she made due, balancing the two large shopping bags on the back and front baskets on her baby blue bike and pushed it alongside her from the grocery store to Rosalyn’s house. She didn’t need to make any more money than she did caring for Mr Griffiths, but when she heard Dr White needed some help getting stuff done for her, she’d decided to be a good samaritan and use her free time to help out.

Struggling to balance the bags, she looked like a kid carrying an oversized toy, the way she wrapped her arms around the paper. She tried not to look at the lawn while she hurried over to the front door and knocked, using the heel of her foot.

@rozwhite​

She was exhausted, which wasn’t much different than usual considering her busy schedule. It wasn’t uncommon for Rosalyn to work through the night, finding that the time of day didn’t matter much when she was operating on someone under the blinding light of the operating room. These days, she was preoccupied with other thoughts, however — ones that she felt completely and utterly stupid considering she’d never been the type to get involved in other people’s affairs. Josie Johnson. The name was on everyone’s mind, hers included, and it was proving to be quite distracting.

So distracting, in fact, that she’d completely forgotten that Magdalena was due to come by to bring her some groceries, flinching slightly from her position on the couch when she heard a knock on the door. “Uh — coming!” she called out, folding the throw blanket she’d been enveloped in into a neat square before moving toward the door. “I meant to keep the door unlocked...” Rosalyn said by way of an apology, stepping aside to allow Magda in. “Did you have trouble finding anything?” She was a very particular person, which could make shopping for her incredibly frustrating.

Her fist was hovering right in front of the door, as if an invisible force was preventing her from bring able to connect her skin with the wooden frame. Had she officially gone mad? The funeral had put everyone on edge, word of Josie’s disappearance spreading like wildfire even before the premises had been emptied. She’d even been stupid enough to take part in the conspiracies, playing the part of detective with DJ from the confines of her own home, as if anything could have been solved that way. Fletcher should have never brought her so close to this, that much had become abundantly clear when she bowed her head in shame and declared that she’d found next to nothing that would assist the police in the dead woman’s case. Had she really gotten her hopes up, become invested in this case, for nothing?

And then there was Robbie, unable to get his face out of her head in the hours that’d passed since she left the police station. Was it shame? Disgust? Regret? Not that anything had happened between them — why would anything happen? — but his reaction had felt like a punch in the gut. Doctor White. So informal, so lacking.

Nearly five in the morning; he was probably asleep, or getting off a shift that become far longer than expected — she assumed the latter. Her own REM cycle had become incredibly unordinary since becoming  doctor, so she was wide awake. Though, she had the sneaking suspicion that this alone was not the cause for her insomnia. 

But then, she knocked. And then, he answered.

“I —” a pause, the entire situation she found herself in dawning on her. Rosalyn noted the dark circles under his eyes, ones that rivals her own. His appearance, so casual, made him look far more...human. If that was even possible, because from what Rosalyn had discovered, Robbie was, perhaps, the most human person she’d met in a long while. 

“The only people who call me Dr. White spend eighty percent of their time in the hospital.” She swallowed thickly, fists clenched tightly at her sides. “I’ve never treated you. I’ve never even seen you there.” Rosalyn stared at him for a long moment, finally allowing the breath she didn’t realize she was holding to escape her lips. “Do you have coffee?”

detectivewright·:

Fletcher wasn’t used to care. He was used to his bad decisions turning into jagged scars that no one asked about because he was a cop – he was supposed to have wounds that didn’t heal right, and he was supposed to grit his teeth and bear it. He watched Roz as she approached him, and, slow, hesitant, he extended his right hand and unfurled his fist for her to look at. “Thank you,” he said awkwardly because that was what you were supposed to say, and he meant it, but the words were uncomfortable and stiff with disuse coming off his lips. Maybe, one day, he’d send her a singing telegram. Thank you for being a friend. He smiled, just a hint, at the thought of how much she’d hate it.

Fletcher cleared his throat. The file, right.

“I was going to see if we could get you fifteen minutes alone with her body,” he said dryly. “Now…we’ll be lucky if we ever see her again.” God, he wanted a cigarette. Something that would burn through him, make him feel something. Even the throbbing of his hand had faded to the background, never as crystal clear as the moment of impact. “I’ll look these over,” he said appreciatively, nodding towards her notes. He couldn’t think about what Josie’s head wound meant, not now at least. There was too much white noise taking up every inch of his brain, and he needed some quiet to read this over, process it, and think. He hadn’t even fully processed that Josie was missing yet, how was he supposed to process the ways in which a person could get a fatal head wound with no external blow?

Fletcher took a deep, steadying breath before lifting his eyes from his hand in hers to her face. Exhaustion had robbed him of the capacity to guard his thoughts, and he needed to say this because he needed her to know, needed to give one of the few people in his life here, in Wade, who actually helped make it all easier the credit she was due. “I know what I asked of you, Roz,” he said sincerely. “And I know it wasn’t easy or pleasant or even particularly fair on my part. But you did it anyways, and…” He shrugged. Neither of them were particularly fond of big declarations of emotion. Already, he was teetering on the line of too much, too soft, too vulnerable. And yet… “Thank you,” he repeated again, this time, with feeling.

the following hours were tedious, emotionally charged, especially with the Johnsons. fletcher was incisive, determined to get answers from people and where his tone got sharp, robbie tried to counterbalance with empathy. he left the johnsons, after the detective had taken his own leave, with a small squeeze to caroline’s shoulder. they were all under pressure, and the deputy couldn’t imagine what the family was going through. unable to grieve, unable to say their last goodbyes. the line of bystanders needed to interview was long after that, and the kanes kept assuring them that they didn’t know what happened. robbie could see their anxiety, trembling hands betraying their honesty.

fletcher left at some point, when key witnesses had all been interrogated, their statement securely written in their pads. robbie could see the exhaustion, the heaviness of the event.could remember the night where they read the autopsy report together, where fletcher had wondered why. why now, why him, though that he did not say out loud. a sigh escaped his lips as he removed his jacket and rolled the sleeves of his black shirt (has he had known that all this had would happen, robbie would have brought a change of clothes). time to get to work.

robbie emerged out of statements-taking-hell a few hours later, dragging his feet in the station. nothing. nothing of interest had popped out, and beside closing the funeral home down, the large yellow tape moving with the wind around the property, the department was at a standstill. exhaustion could be noticed on his face, but his movements, if a bit slower than usual, did not betray his state of mind. they were all rattled from what happened, but he had a job to do. still, it seemed that josie was decided to make this whole investigation difficult, and if robbie was absolutely honest with himself, he did feel like he was under prepared for this. he wasn’t some hot shot detective from chicago, far from it.

the deputy did hope that his boss had taken the time to breathe a little, though he was prepared for another full blown outburst at this point. his features were rapidly schooled after the initial surprise of noting the presence of one dr. white through the glass of fletcher’s office, as he made his way. they were … friends, right? right.

his fist rattled against the door gently before he opened it. “hey boss,” his voice paused the moment he saw both their hands in one another and he couldn’t help the rise of one eyebrow. looked like they were …more than friends. especially with the soft look on fletcher’s face (that was not something robbie saw often on the other man’s face). he cleared his throat, felt his own shoulders suddenly heavy. well, good for them. people deserved to find some peace and support in these complicated times, fletcher and rosalyn more than anyone, in his opinion. “statements are all done. perimeter secured and brandt is coordinating with the allen county to alert them of the situation. in case they find something.” robbie’s eyes kept looking between them, mostly because he realized he’d just given updates on a current investigation in front of a civilian.

“dr. white, pleased to see you here. you’re both doing ok?” robbie was ready to be dismissed, to get the hell out of the the office as soon as possible.

The doctor lightly dabbed the red-stained knuckles with a baby wipe, eyes looming over the cuts revealed below for any signs of debris or depth that would require stitches. Part of her wanted badly to pry into his own frustration, to see what lay beneath the sore hand and the shattered wall, but she refrained. Rosalyn knew better than to ask because it would only serve her own agenda — it wouldn’t help Fletcher. And, frankly, the less she inquired, the less he would when the opportunity presented itself on her end. 

Still, she was a bit surprised at the softness in his voice, the gratitude that fell from his lips as she tended to the wound. Pressing her lips together in a tight line, she only met his gaze for a quick moment before grabbing a few tissues from the box on his desk and a few strips of scotch tape, wrapping them around the area and then placing the clear adhesive on the outskirts of the cuts to hold the paper there. “Pick up some gauze on your way home. Change it at least twice a day and make sure to dab it with Neosporin,” Rosalyn responded, voice quiet and polite; her way of saying ‘you’re welcome’.

The door to the office opening caused her to jump, startled by Robbie’s sudden entry and instinctively moving away from Fletcher. Clearing her throat, the dark-haired woman’s eyes instinctively flickered down to the open file. She didn’t know why she hadn’t expected to see the male there, in his own workplace. Perhaps she figured he’d be heading home by now — but, then again, with what he had revealed to her that morning at the diner, his usual hours weren’t one of them. 

“Deputy,” Rosalyn returned the greeting, a bit put off by the way he addressed her despite the fact that it was perfectly acceptable. Dr. White — it was just so formal. “Perfectly fine. I was just —” she crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “Giving the sheriff some of my research.” The doctor gestured to the file, suddenly freezing once she realized how blatant of a statement that was, especially since her red penmanship was splayed out besides Josie Johnson’s me.

“I mean —” Rosalyn struggled to cover her tracks. “I should probably let you get back to work. I’m sure you’re both...busy.” And yet, Robbie was still blocking the doorway.

I don’t have one. It’s far too...bizarre for even someone like me to figure out. All that I know for sure, though, is that there’s no way in hell she died of natural causes. Someone wanted her dead.

Daphne, obviously. She’s the only one I can stand to be around for more than five minutes. 

She’s also the only one that I know I can trust. For anything, no matter what. I’d kill for her.

@onceangel​

Fletcher didn’t know what to do with his hands.

He’d come back to the station after taking statements from Red and his daughter, from the Kanes, from anyone even remotely relevant to the discussion of what had happened to Josie’s body, feeling a bone deep kind of tiredness, the kind of exhaustion you couldn’t shake, not even with the strongest cup of coffee. There was resignation in him: that he might not be able to do this, or, what was more terrifying still, that doing this, going down this rabbit hole, might destroy him. He’d locked himself – or at least, thought he locked himself – in his office as soon as he’d gotten back from the funeral home and poured himself a drink from the bottle of whisky he kept in the bottom filing cabinet in case of emergencies. And hell, this was an emergency alright.

But the liquor did nothing. He barely even tasted it. No, he needed something stronger to cut through the white noise, felt something bubbling in him, and, without warning, he stood up, slamming his fist into a chunk of drywall behind him, hissing as he felt the skin of his knuckles turn to ribbons and his hand came away bloody.

He’d deal with the hole later.

Searching his office for something to bandage his torn fist, he didn’t hear the knock, barely registered that someone was coming into his office, nearly jumped out of his own skin at the sound of Roz’s voice. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he snarled, whirling around, his heart in his throat, only calming – slightly, ever so slightly – when he realized it was his friend. “Today’s not the day to be sneaking up on cops, Roz. We’re all a bit…” Jumpy? Rattled? Unnerved? Circling the fucking drain? He couldn’t speak for everyone, but. Well. He wasn’t feeling great, to say the least.

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly because he knew she wouldn’t pry, because he knew that she was one of the few people who would accept what he gave her at face value and not ask questions. Her and Robbie were a lot alike in that regard. “Did you need me for something? What’s going on?”

The closest thing to gauze he was going to find in here was an old grey Wade PD tshirt, left behind by the last man to occupy his office, and, not meeting Roz’s eyes, he wound it tight around his injured hand, praying she wouldn’t ask.

The hole in the drywall that mounted behind Fletcher wasn’t lost on her, nor was the fresh smell of blood that she’d become accustomed to in the operator room. Eyes lingered down towards a cradled hand, which had become stained with red. It didn’t take a detective to connect the dots, and while Rosalyn had never injured herself in a fit of rage, she absolutely understood how it could possibly come about. Especially now.

The dark-haired woman closed the office door behind her with haste, knowing that this wasn’t exactly a scene that either of them would want someone walking into, damage or not. “I’ll make sure to wear my wallet chain and my fifteen-pound utility boots next time,” Rosalyn retorted sarcastically, not about to change her default attitude just because he was in a sour mood

Taking his words at face value, despite not believing a word of them, the woman instead answered his question by dropping the manilla folder on his desk. “I looked this over. Made notes,” she lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “I couldn’t find anything that stuck out to me too much, except for one thing...” Rosalyn opened the folder, moving her pointer finger to the section in question. “Signs of blunt force trauma on the back of the skull...but seemingly caused from the inside out.” The doctor shook her head. “I’m not a detective or a forensic specialist, so I don’t know what that means, and there’s definitely more that I made notes of on here, but...obviously this doesn’t scream natural causes to me, either. And I don’t understand why the Mayor is trying to frame it that way.”

Letting out a breath, Rosalyn almost allowed him to do his little song and dance with a t-shirt before finally submitting to an eye roll. “You’re going to put a dusty old shirt from god-knows-where on that? Just — stop,” she stepped around the corner of the desk, taking a small pack of baby wipes out of her pocket. “I don’t give a shit how this happened, just let me keep you from getting a staph infection.”

No one had expected the scene that had unfolded at the funeral — a distraught Red and a town already prone to gossip thrown into a frenzy of hiked breaths and low whispers. Just the other week, the neurosurgeon was hyping Josie Johnson’s death up to a tragic case of dementia, the rumors of cannibalism simply a cruel joke that spread like wildfire. The autopsy report had a couple of...unique aspects to it, but surely nothing that someone a bit smarter than her with a criminal justice background wouldn’t be able to figure out. 

But now? Everything was up in the air. Maybe if Rosalyn had been quicker to get back to the sheriff about her findings, things would be different — she didn’t know how, no, but just maybe.

It was a bad day for her to be stopping by; she knew that Fletcher was probably stressed enough as it was, but she couldn’t delay for much longer. And, besides that, she was curious for answers much like everyone else. After approaching his office door, Rosalyn gave a little knock to the half-opened door and stepped inside, clutching the confidential folder to her chest. “I’d ask if this was a bad time, but...” the doctor shrugged, “seems like that’s going to be the norm from here on out.” She cocked her head to the side. “You, uh, holdin’ up alright there, Sheriff?”

The funeral had been a bust — more than that, it had turned into something else for the people of Wade to talk about, to speculate on like they were experts themselves on all aspects of mystery and death. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so sad, so pathetic. And, considering the little that Rosalyn had learned from reading over that autopsy report, Josie’s body disappearing happened to be in line with all of the weird.

She’d visited the convenience store, anxious to restock her white wine collection that had unexpectedly run low. After the day thus far, she had the sneaking suspicion that she was definitely going to need it, whether or not she ended up going to the Conifer Lounge like she planned with Daphne. Standing in line, Rosalyn tapped his foot impatiently as the cashier carried on a useless conversation, turning her head to the side absent-mindedly before locking eyes with none other than DJ. “Can you believe this guy? Like, save your conversations for your fucking break,” she muttered, shaking her head before changing the subject. “Quite the show this morning, huh?” It’d be weird if she didn’t bring it up; it was on everyone’s mind.

  Though she’d not been invited, Freya stood, planning on joining Rosalyn in the cafeteria. She’d been starting to feel a little hungry, anyway, so that would be her excuse if Roz decided to protest - I was already headed that way. What else am I supposed to do? Easy enough. Plus, Freya had an uncanny ability of managing to get her way more often than not, one way or another. It was a secret skill she possessed, and never hesitated to utilize. 

   “Good, ‘cause I’m starving,” She reached for her own bag - a small shoulder parcel, in the shape of a peach, with lush velvet materials, too pretty to be paired with her very simplistic outfit. 

  Her nose wrinkled at the scolding. It’d already gotten the hint of a reddish sunburn across the nose of it, despite it only being April. “Three hours isn’t so bad. I’d just be waiting around at home otherwise, and what’s the fun in that?” - Rosalyn wouldn’t know it, but Freya would escape her house any chance she got.  “Yeah, just the monthly check-up. I had a problem a couple of months ago with my meds, so… the doc is up his own ass ‘bout if I’m gonna even out again. I feel fine.” 

She took in a large breath once the other invited herself to join, knowing she should have expected as much. Freya — the patient who was most certainly not hers — had a way of making herself aloof to Rosalyn’s otherwise perpetually sour mood, which apparently was a skill in itself. “I suppose there’s nothing I can say that would make you consider other dining options?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. Of course, she already knew the answer.

Continuing on with their walk to the cafeteria, Rosalyn hiked the strap of her bag further up her shoulder, maintaining a careful distance from the woman as she typically did with most people. “Well, for one, there’s less sick people and stressed out medical workers running around. I also assume that you have a television, or at least something to keep you better company.” Anything for me to get some peace and quiet, she almost added.

“‘The doc’ only seems to be concerned about your well being,” she reminded Freya sternly as they entered the cafeteria. “It’s not about how you feel, it’s about keeping you alive and healthy. It’s reckless to think otherwise.” Rosalyn gave her a once-over. “Did you bring anything to eat? The food they serve here is...sub-par at best.”

“yeah, i think it doesn’t taste as desperate as red’s. though i do hope he didn’t, thanks for that.” robbie shrugged after having a test. it was relatively alright, though he did think it might have been overpriced for the quality and the service. hoped the barista had indeed not spit in his beverage. he thought about the spring celebration as well, and the mention of red’s had brought a flashback of what happened with daphne the same night, and robbie was absolutely not ready to even broach the subject with anyone.

“did you know, that, ah, elephants can hear another elephant’s trumpet noise up to 6 miles?” robbie does not remember all the facts previously gathered many moons ago. marina used to love them, and during the small amount of time robbie had been at home, his daughter had impose her extensive knowledge of elephant facts. i missed her, suddenly. he wondered what she was up to, what kind of animal was she into these days? robbie forced himself to another taste of his coffee. “i used to be into bears, when i was a kid. used to have all sort of stuff. my abuela, she used to give me those sweaters, and we didn’t even have snow for christmas and …” his hands gestured to the large width of the sweaters his grandmother used to give him. “there was always those big bears on them.” the tidbit of information, shared from a distance place in his past, should sit bad with him. rosalyn and robbie did not share private information. they were used to late night meets, next to red’s grey walls, accompanied by comfortable silences and roz’s witty remarks.

robbie wondered, for a moment, what he was doing. imposing himself on rosalyn’s alone time, sharing this outdated, boring piece of his past. robbie was a bit stupid, that he was. wade did not know anything about robbie rivera. not where he was from, who he was with, why wade. it was best this way, and it worked well enough for the past years. an angry conversation in a parking lot after an exhausting day was not going to change who robbie was. “sorry, i guess … i don’t know why i thought that the bear was relevant either.” a small laugh escaped his lips, as he let his fingers drum slightly on the side of his cup. “and i mean, that’s not really fraternization.”

he paused, a small smile plastered on his face. “the only thing i know now is that … you like elephants. and you know that i had a childhood.” shrugging, he leaned back (when had he leaned all this way?), adjusting the shirt plastered on his skin. the deputy tilted his head then, observed her for a moment. she did look tired. guilt stirred somewhere deep in his stomach; maybe she would have preferred to be left alone. he knew he usually did after a long night shift. “and fraternization? really? i know i was, an asshole to you the other day but … hope you don’t consider me the enemy.” an olive branch, meant that he acknowledged the residual awkwardness between them. robbie wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t take it; wouldn’t be the last time he lost touch with someone because of his inability to manage his emotions.

A light, unfamiliar, chuckle left her lips, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “Everyone needs someone to look out for them,” she remarked sarcastically, following his lead by taking another sip. “I tend to watch when people make me my drinks, either way. Unless it’s Daphne — she knows I’d kill her if she ever tried to poison me.” It was becoming easier and easier to relax into the conversation, a feeling she’d long forgotten especially when it came to new people. Of course, she’d known Robbie for quite some time, now, though it had only been surface level. Perhaps she didn’t want to admit it — perhaps she wouldn’t admit it — but it felt nice to let someone in a little. To let him in a little. 

Rosalyn arched a dark brow at his fun fact about elephants. “Is that one of those weird animal things, kind of like how cats are able to sense earthquakes?” she propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. “I have this image of you sweating bullets in a ridiculous Christmas sweater. I hope you have photo evidence to back up your claim.” The woman smirked softly, looking down at her mug. “No, no — it’s okay,” she shook her head, beginning to feel quite silly. “It’s, um, nice. To hear about...you. That is.” God, she probably sounded like such a fucking psychopath. It was uncomfortable, to express herself, even if it was in such a minuscule fashion. 

Nodding as Robbie spoke, she lifted the coffee to her lips once again. “I also know that you work for the police department,” Rosalyn added, somewhat smugly, before taking a sip. His next words cut into her more than she expected, clearing her throat to distract herself from the unsettling feeling that bubbled up in her stomach. “I — no, of course I don’t,” the woman assured, pursing her lips slightly. “It wasn’t — I shouldn’t have started shit. That’s — it’s something that I...” she trailed off, taking a second to get her thoughts together. “I’m not...I’m not good at this. At...” Rosalyn sighed frustratedly, combing her fingers through her hair. “Talking about feelings. Or emotions or...any of it.”

Mason took a moment to reflect before responding. She had been scaling a fence – legal – attempting to get onto private property – not so legal – but she’d hurt herself before she made it all the way over, so technically she hadn’t broken the law. Did doctors have to report their patients if they were hurt while doing something illegal? Mason didn’t think so, but she wasn’t sure. Wasn’t there some kind of doctor patient confidentiality? 

“I  was climbing a fence,” she admitted, half because she couldn’t think up a better excuse and half because she was fairly sure about that confidentiality thing. “And I guess a bit of the chain link must’ve got me in the leg. I tried to get it to stop bleeding but it just wouldn’t. No matter how much pressure I put on it.” 

Dr. White was a cool almost centering presence, highly efficient and to the point. Mason idly wondered if she’d always been like that or if it had been something she picked up in medical school. Nonetheless, Mason felt like she was in good hands. The second that thought passed another was quick to take its place: A woman like this might know a thing or two about the state of Josie’s remains. That was something that had continued to stump Mason who was not, and never had been, particularly knowledgeable on human anatomy. Back when she was investigating a case in Cheyenne, Wyoming she had made friends with the local medical examiner. Despite being just an all around cool person, the good doctor had been an invaluable resource during her investigation. Maybe Dr. White could be that for her. 

Brow arched at the admission, a bit surprised that the woman decided to admit to scaling a fence — especially since, judging by the moment of silence before the reveal, it most likely was an illegal act. As much of a hardass as Rosalyn could be, though, she was more aloof when it came to these matters more than anything. Besides, there really wasn’t a reason for her to call the police seeing as she didn’t know where the fence was, nor what purpose she had for climbing it, and she knew that Fletcher and the rest of the Wade PD had better things to worry about.

“Must have been a large fence,” she muttered, attempting to keep her tone even and non-judgmental — something she reserved for being on-shift. “No wonder. It looks like it went at least half an inch deep. Have you had a tetanus shot in the last five years?” Rosalyn asked, standing up and moving to put a pair of latex gloves on.