#lostinthewildwest

Thank you <3

        𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐳𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦. He hardly was able to keep his eyes open, the music luring him to sleep as his sat slump in a chair. His drink (with only a half-quarter left) had grown warm by sitting next to the fire, his fingers curled around it as if the weight of a bottle was comforting enough. 

        Between the moments of opening and closing his eyes, he had observed Graze looking at Javier. A pattern emerged. Every time he closed his eyes, seconds later he would open them and Grace was spotted looking at Javier each time he repeated this motion. There was something more than enjoying the music, her gaze spoke more than words ever could.

        ❝ Of course, I’d like to know, ❞ he replied, his voice tired but still keeping some enthusiasm nearby. Alcohol lingered on his breath. ❝ Who cares what the gang thinks? It’s too late to care about any of that now. ❞ Whether he was talking about the way night was bleeding into morning, or something else entirely, he didn’t clarify. ❝ Yer in love, I just know it. Ya’ can’t lie to me about that. Nobody lies when they’re in love. ❞ He chuckled and lolled his head to the side, grinning in his tired, drunken stupor.

        Andrew has been speaking with another agent when Grace walked up to his door. He didn't realize how silent it was outside his office, no tapping of fingers against the keys of a typewriter, no mindless chatter and laughs, a passing greeting, a knock on a door, footsteps. It was dead quiet when Grace walked through. His agent was in the middle of a passionate discovery (something he thought would gain him a promotion at the year's end) until he closed his mouth, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He retrieved his hat and mumbled an "excuse me" right as he exited the room.

        Andrew stood still before he quickly sprung into action, a hand gripped her shoulder as he moved her into the room. He pulled out a chair and sat her down, he stood beside her as his hand hovered above her shoulder.

        He had utilized female detectives in the past, they were taught basic self defense skills, and carried some form of weaponry on them. But if violence was to occur, a Pinkerton agent in disguise was going to be nearby. For Dutch's case, he figured Grace would worm her way in easily, win his heart and loyalty would be set. Surely Dutch wouldn't lay a hand on her, nor allow anyone else to. She wasn't to participate in any robberies. If she did, well, then that would be another matter. But he didn't want her to engage in any criminal behavior, it would be a judicial case waiting to happen.

        This wasn't supposed to happen. The state of her, walking all the way to his office. How many people saw her? No policeman came for help?

        ❝ How did you get here, Grace? ❞ He asked firmly, his voice measured. His hand went to his pocket and he pulled out a handkerchief, offering it to her. In her state of shock, he limited any touch towards her. Who's blood was this? Hers, or someone else's?