ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a homocide

                      “—I try to be.”

            Glancing his way once more, she drifts and reaches into             one of the bags, grabbing two plastic forks. 

          “—C’mon, lets eat and tell me about your day.”

      "You're assuming there's something to tell?"

                  Honestly, most of the time he doesn't even leave                   the flat if nobody forces him, and when, then he                    goes far off like the last time.

                  Light shrugging when he releases the dog, head                   tilted just slightly. It's almost funny how they both                   take a similar pose.

    A gentle smirk once he shuffles and cracks the door     open, just enough for her to slip in. Once done, she sets     all the takeout on one of the chairs, before crouching and     petting his four legged friend. 

               ”—hey baby, I would’ve brought treats if                    I knew you were gonna be here,” 

            Ruffling the fur atop the hounds head, blue hues glance up at David. 

                    “—I thought you’d like chinese.”

                  He shrugs lightly, teeth dragged over his                   lower lip, and he tries to avoid her gaze.                    Somehow he always ended up back here,                   even if he feels like getting away. It never                   really changes. Some things one can't run                   away from.

      "You're an angel. And she'll be fine — "

                      “—-Hey. Figured I’d stop by and say hi.”

      "Not rather that you thought I'd be starved        to death, mh? Pure coincidence?" 

             there’s a knock on his door. 

                                   ”—-david?” 

      " — can't say I expected you." 

Though not necessarily replaced, the grimace did disappear as she shifted to face him.

        “I did something… it was stupid.”

Words muttered, the irritation at herself so blatantly obvious, she sighed, her hands restless as she rested them on her knees.

                         "It's fine."

                      No. No, I’m not. Not really.

Pushing her hair back, she forced that little smile of hers, the kind one makes when wincing. 

                      "You don't have to."

          “I’m not asking to move in with you.”

She wouldn’t do that. No. She hadn’t told him exactly what had happened, had she? No — she tended to avoid that particular subject. Be it their work, or her time locked in that warehouse, wrists bound. The gun pressed against her temple, or watching another — plenty others — being shot point- blank.

She hadn’t told David that.

He does, in fact, not have the slightest clue of what happened. If he had, he would  react a whole different way (most likely,  one not too different from twelve years  ago, gunpoint, Tracy, no word even making it into his head, because she was not Trace, of course not, and the way he loves her is a whole different one from the way he loved Tracy, but she is just as important, and  he would kill for someone like this again,  or do worse). 

Instead, he just gives her a slight frown because he does notice she's keeping something from him.

           "Are you alright, Joan?"

We see a deadly sin on every street corner, in every home, and we tolerate it. We tolerate it because it’s common, it’s trivial. We tolerate it morning, noon, and night. Well, not anymore. I’m setting the example. What I’ve done is going to be puzzled over and studied and followed…forever.

She’s glad she has this. Somewhere she could go where she could feel at ease, trusted, and trusting, but most importantly, where she could do these things without any feeling of obligation. Quite often, the latter was something she didn’t have at the Brownstone. Here, however, was a different story. Here, she could relax. Mentally and physically.

Stepping through, ensuring she wasn’t dragged by Stella rather than going through willingly, she pursed her lips for a moment, hand pushing back her hair.

     ”…I’m looking for my own place.”

                     " — lost fun at pending between places?"

The thumb that brushed over his knuckle was almost a testimony to that, as they made their way down the hall. Nothing she consciously de- cided, and nothing she could imagine him doing so. But here they were.

Those are things left unsaid and yet he was more than sure that she was aware of it. It lays in the  small smile he gives her now, eyes wandering  between the woman and the dog with little change of the obvious fondness laying in them, and in the way he moves when he makes a step forward to open the door for both.

Her smile will automatically broaden at the rottweiler that barrels its way towards her. Bending over just slightly, she’ll clap her  hands upon her knees, before petting the beast, kissing the top of her head the way she’d not do so with any other animal. Only Stella managed to get such treatment.

He made a lot of bad decisions in his life, and he's the first one to admit them. (Not necessarily regret all the right ones, but admit them.) Two things right now he is sure do not belong to them — letting both Joan and Stella in. It had been hard enough after all this time to trust, but somehow Joan sneaked in and — well, it's easy to trust a dog, all in all. 

send me a ship and I’ll tell you who: …

—— nachtalp, wasntguardingtacobell

shops for groceries

This duty is shared pretty evenly. When taking Stella for walks, they’ll take it in turns on who gets the groceries, and who gets coffee or hot-dogs from the nearest vendor.

kills the spiders

Neither. David usually does the paper and glass trick, butJoan just tends to ignore them. If anyone kills the spiders,it’s Stella, though only accidentally when she tries to playwith them.

comes home drunk at 3am

Again, neither. They’re a little past that stage, though theymight sometimes come in late a little tipsy after a few toomany beers.

makes breakfast

If she has time, Joan. She tries to let David sleep in, know-ing how little he gets. Then again, when she can, she hasa habit of staying in with him, so breakfast becomes a groupactivity. It’s usually kept simple, as neither are exactly thebest cooks — generally, it’s eggs and bacon. They’re nowon first-name basis with the nearest street vendor, though,so quite often neither. It depends, really.

remembers to feed the fish

David, usually. Eventually, they’ll give up on keeping fish altogether, and the tank will find itself at the Brownstone.

decorates the apartment

Joan tries to encourage David to do it whilst she’s out doingcase work, and when he can’t sleep, which is pretty muchevery night. Somehow, it will still take a month to completeat the very least.

initiates duets

Usually, oddly enough, it’s David, and it takes a little coaxingto get Joan joining in. They tend to stick with the classics ——i.e. Van Morrison, Bruce Springsteen, etc.

falls asleep first

Answering with an easy smile of her own, she pushed her hair back, glancing quickly around for her jacket. 

               ”No, you know what she’s like…”