#graveyard-ripper

ivory grimes does not knock on misty rucker's door, a habit stemming from long before she knew how easy it is to get under the officer's skin. back then, getting a reaction out of her co-worker had been a touch more difficult, though the flirty dynamic the scholar had eventually coaxed from the older woman was the only effective method to shut her up. the christmas party is long underway, and the doctor's usual professional attire has been replaced with an ( unmistakably short ) black dress and heels. her hair is tugged back in a low bun, subtle ringlets framing porcelain features. 

it is no longer uncommon for the princess to venture into the kitchen, especially in the late hours of the night. though the hushed voices should set off warning signs in the geniuses overactive subconscious, the docile, familiar tone ( from one of the few people she trusts ) ensures her safety. a habit that has become like clockwork, the royal rounds the foot of the staircase into the warm, surprisingly empty kitchen to be met with an unfamiliar ( yet familiar ) face, mimicking the features of the woman opposite the table.

it has been a few days since ivory grimes found it necessary to use her office at the station. with a job like hers, the majority of work can be accomplished at home. nevertheless, the day comes when her current files need to be swapped for new cases, and she finds herself rummaging through the cabinets in the early hours of the morning. dressed in plain slacks and a low-cut blouse, her attire differs much from the christmas party. . . is that why everyone is looking at her so funny ?

❝ need some help, grimes ? ❞

kellerman's voice floats from the end of the hallway, where she leans with a cup of coffee and a smirk. the doctor rolls her eyes, turning back to the cabinet she digs through.

❝ do i look like i need help ? ❞ she quips.

❝ depends on who you ask. ❞

the scholar's gaze snaps back to the bemused blonde, murderous only in intensity. the snide remark is perfectly timed ; misty rucker rounds the bend as if on cue, dressed in a plain company t-shirt and work pants, a holster on her hip. the genius feels pale features turn slack, any angry retort dying upon her tongue. god, she looks so fucking hot.

❝ rucker, why don't you carry those heavy files for our baby genius ? ❞ kellerman snickers, bemused gaze locked on the now dazed brunette as she takes a sip from her mug.

ivory grimes is blessed with a handmaiden who cares for her with the devotion of a mother, and a cook who tends to her with equal tenderness. if not for the knowing gaze of those two women, no one would know the slight puffiness around the edges of carefully lined eyes is due to an afternoon of tears. the princess is an expert at donning a crafted facade, a polished demeanour that paints her as perfect, though a trained eye can see the cracks in that porcelain veneer.

her dress is simple for someone of royal status, though more elegant than her daily attire. the princess has never been one to draw attention to herself with lavish ensembles, though even in the simple garment, with dark hair falling in waves across pale shoulder, she catches the eye of most in the room. it is the one night each year katherine plans extensively for ; the castle is flooded with the land's most wealthy suitors, housing rulers from both near and far. equally, it is the night ivory dreads ( the presence of strangers in the place she considers safe does not sit well with the young ruler, and combined with their extensive trysts to woo her, she is visibly on edge. )

shoes click against vinyl, haste echoing through the hospital corridors. detective kellerman had made a point to seek the psychologist out during her lunch break, delivering news that made her blood run cold mid-presentation. the briefing was wrapped up quickly by the stammering professional, who excused herself under the excuse of a family emergency ( in reality, those familiar with the office dynamic, and her relationship with misty rucker, knew all too well that she was lying. )

room 304, the nurse at the front desk had practically yelled it after the rushing brunette, who was willing to take it upon herself to check every room before the employee could flip through her lengthy chart of patients. when she rounds the doorframe without bothering to knock, dark, widened eyes land on misty rucker ( resting in a hospital bed and looking very much alive, aside from her casual appearance. ) the doctor freezes where she stands, some of the colour returning to her complexion.

it is a beautiful afternoon across the royal landscape ; the sun rises high without a cloud in sight, and even the castle workers seem in good spirits. it is the type of day where the princess would remain perched on the library windowsill, a book in her lap as she allows the sun to warm often glacial skin. of course, she spends the rainy days there too, curled up in the armchair in front of the fireplace. 

"misty is outside chopping firewood," mary anne had chimed upon catching sight of the princess, who wandered into the kitchen in search of water. upon seeing the colour that floods high in the royal's cheeks at the mere mention of her daughter, the cook continued.  "perhaps you should check if she requires assistance."

      the night had begun in wrath, then driven to sorrow, ending in adoration and eventually pleasure. usually, ivory grimes has no complaints about how she winds up pinned beneath her lover. their dynamic is just as confusing now as it was on the day they met. nonetheless, any demands from the embalmer to keep quiet are met with the unfamiliar agreement of 'yes, babe' despite that said requests are a futile expectancy ( though surely the older woman discreetly comprehends an unfortunate reality       her ultimatum is not going to be adhered to. )

the sun glistens as it reflects against a surprisingly undisturbed ocean, the sand, and finally, porcelain skin, illuminating what is so often untouched. at first, it had seemed strange to the doctor to be so bare around the rucker family ( or rather, in front of anyone who is not misty rucker. ) though as the holiday gathering persisted and heat continued to rise, causing even that thin tank top to stick to now sunkissed skin with the dampness of sweat, misty's lips had brushed against her temple in loving, gentle reassurance. it will be okay.