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 gwen wrinkled her nose and offered the red head a small chuckle, shrugging her shoulders playfully. “c’mon, if you really wanted to talk me out of beating you up you’d have to be way more persuasive,” she advised, as if she wasn’t a twig that was physically incapable of harming a fly.

“Okay, um... how about... you should definitely not beat me up because I’m a good person. Really good. Like, stairway to heaven good,” she drawled, voice drawn-out for dramatic effect. “I go to fundraiser carwashes, I rescued my dog, and I always use my turn signal.”

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Issy chuckled at her response, and listened as she answered. There had been a variety of answers from the people she’d asked, all of which were interesting. “Too busy? Doing what?” She chuckled. Even if people had busy lives with busy jobs, eventually they must feel like something was missing. As much as she knew she didn’t need someone like that in her life, she knew it was reassuring, and nice.

“Working, mostly, but also raising both a huge great Dane and a human teenager,” Stevie explained with a little chuckle. Granted, her daughter was with her dad for summer vacation, but her point still stood. “True love is gonna have to wait until I’m sixty, at least.”

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“Looks like this year is the year of firsts.” He paused for a moment, taking a sip from his drink. “First time I missed my own birthday. How did I do that with a family like mine? Your guess is as good as mine.”

Stevie looked up and over to the side, watching him with a raised brow. “Hey, happy belated birthday. I, uh, got you a gift--” She slid the bowl of complimentary mixed nuts across the bar towards him, finishing the move with a little ta-da gesture. “Nobody should forget their own birthday, but I reckon it probably happens quite a bit.”

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“—okay, but would you rather live your life not in love with the person you were with until the day you die, or die on the day you meet the love of your life?” She raised an eyebrow in the other person’s direction. Issy had been asked it earlier by a colleague, and couldn’t get it out of her head.

“I love a good ol’ grim start to the day,” Stevie teased. “But... probably the first one. I don’t need to be in love with someone to be happy with them. Plus, I’m too busy for the whole love-of-my-life thing, anyway. Hell, I’m too busy to even go to bed on time-- there’s no way I could pay enough attention to someone else.”

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   “i totally understand why guys love superhero movies so much. i saw wonder woman last night and i feel amazing. i can do anything. like, i could beat you up right now.”

“I love your passion, but, y’know, maybe don’t beat me up,” Stevie said, wearing an expression that was trying to look worried, but was clearly just humored. “I’m pretty sure I haven’t done anything to deserve it.”

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“It depends on the situation. Sometimes we go because the caller sounds hysterical, so we go to calm them down and make sure they don’t do something stupid. Sometimes they don’t even give much of an explanation. Like, if the operators hear screaming or anything that could indicate an emergency, they make us go to check it out at least.”

“Geez. That’s nuts. I’m not sure if you or the poor restaurant workers have it worse,” Stevie joked, huffing a soft chuckle. The time she’d spent working in the food industry had, luckily, been in the kitchen, so she rarely had to deal with any situations like that. “Are those usually your weirdest calls? Or do they get weirder?”

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     DOOR  TO  DOORS  REMAIN  a  task  detectives  more  often  that  not  elect  for  beat  cops.  preferring  to  hear  what  vhe  can  first  hand,  dillon  finds  verself  stood  outside  the  third  door  on  their  list.  a  few  houses  down  from  the  missing.  vhe  raps  ver  knuckles  on  the  front  door.  FOUR  TIMES,  hard.  “ detective  jones.  do  you  have a  minute  to  talk  ?  ”  vhe  queries  when  it  swings  open.

Stevie hadn’t even heard the knock. It was her great Dane lazily barking at the door that drew her out of her office, where she’d been diligently typing away on her computer for the last couple hours. She swung open the door and took a second to examine the figure standing on her porch before realizing that, no, they’d never met before. “Detective Jones,” she repeated, cementing the title in her brain. “What’s there to talk about, exactly?”

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Jessica Chastain at Hotel Martinez during the 70th annual Cannes Film Festival at on May 24, 2017 in Cannes, France.

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“Is it insane of me to almost cringe every time I see one of these?” Lacey asked with a lightness in her words trying to keep her smile in place. It had been months since the breakup happened but it was as if the flower brought it all back. “It’s really pretty though.”

Stevie looked over her shoulder at the sound of a voice, mouth turning up into a little smile when she saw the flower in the woman’s hand. “I guess it depends on why it makes you feel that way. I try not to attach to much to flowers since they’re, y’know, kind of everywhere.”

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“Normally I’d advise ya to wait for an ambulance, but you ain’t looking so hot,” he said, rolling up his sleeves. Two and half years in medical school hadn’t prepared the homicide detective for shit but this he thought maybe he could handle. “What did you do to yourself, anyway?”

“What? I’m fine,” Stevie drawled, hand going up to cover the bruise that was already forming on the high point of her cheekbone. Just minutes before, she’d gotten clipped in the face by the edge of her car door as she tried to get out of it, and the mark was quickly appearing. “I can just stick some ice on it and call it a day. --And maybe some concealer, actually. Does it really look that bad?”

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“Okay,  be honest.” She turned her phone so it was facing the other, displaying some guy’s Tinder profile. “Hottie or nottie?”

Stevie narrowed her eyes at the phone screen, taking in the little profile picture along with the guy’s listed name and age as she considered her options. “Well, it says he’s twenty-one, so based on just like, morals alone, I don’t think I can say either way,” she answered, looking back up. “I like his smile, though. It’s nice, and maybe not one-hundred percent murder-y.”

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“I just want to know why some people call the police for every little thing. If I have to go to McDonalds one more time to hear a grown adult bitch about how charging a few cents for ranch is ‘unconstitutional’ then I might actually lose my mind.”

“Do you actually get dispatched for that kinda thing? I always assumed that the 911 calls about ranch dressing would be dismissed.”

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                    Rushing over to avert a tantrum crisis, Dan wiped the guacamole from around Heather’s eyes despite her protests. Once he was done making sure it didn’t get into them, she stopped grizzling and started spooning it off her own face and into her mouth. At the sound of a voice, Dan laughed and looked towards the copper-haired woman. “They’ve got more potassium than bananas too…” Where he learned that he didn’t know, but he sure it was a fact. “Hopefully your dad wasn’t there to clean your face up afterwards, though.” He chuckled, wiping another dollop from the end of her nose. 

                        Watching the man clean the mess from his daughter’s face reminded Stevie of her own kid back when she was little, and all the accidents and near-misses they’d gone through (for Stevie and Florence, though, it was mostly Tic-Tacs in the nose and applesauce in the hair). Thankfully, Florence was a teenager now, which meant no more weird food-mishaps. “So, really, she’s just being very health-conscious. It’s never too early to take care of your potassium levels,” Stevie joked, shrugging casually. “Ah, no, my dad was not there. It was my roommate, bless her soul. Although, y’know, my dad’s a real seventies kinda guy-- very hippie, very rock and roll. He probably would’ve just told me to rock on and be myself.”

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“Okay, pretend money is no option.” He said, mostly because in Sebastian’s life, it wasn’t, it’d never been. “What’s the craziest thing you could think to give someone? Not an airplane or a house or anything like that.” 

“A human hand.” Stevie paused, then shrugged. “But that’s only if you’re talking like, real, actual crazy. Otherwise, I dunno... I guess it depends on the person you’re giving it to. A house is crazy to some people, but to others a pair of show tickets would be crazy. The hand, though... the hand would be nuts to most folk.”

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Elijah felt embarrassment creeping up his spine at his unwarranted outburst, and he would have very much liked to have disappeared in that moment, but as evidenced by his behavior, he was absolute crap until he got his coffee and he was not leaving without it. “I- sorry,” he said finally, reluctant and humiliated. 

She wasn’t expecting his apology-- usually, people throwing fits or yelling at strangers didn’t really know how to apologize and move on, so Stevie was a bit surprised. Appreciative, but surprised. “Thanks,” she said. “It’s no big deal. Everyone has their moments.” The redhead paused to take a sip of her drink, then looked at the stranger. “Rough day?”

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“Oh, it’s true,” Kane assured, tapping his forehead knowingly. “I read it in a science magazine.” A few quiet moments passed and he turned to face her more. “What matters do you have knowledge on, then?”

“Right on, turtles. What a talent.” Stevie chuckled and flipped a strand of hair behind her shoulder, considering an answer to his question. “Food, music, Bonanza,” she said, not entirely joking about the last one. “And, honestly, a barrage of other useless trivia. I’m pretty full of it.”

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“Oh god, no, take that back. That was me and my ex’s song. Like, I could tear up just thinking about it.” 

“Sorry-- don’t cry,” Stevie said. She reached out an apologetic hand but didn’t actually touch the other girl, as if she might break her. “Well, y’know, if that was your song, maybe it’s good you’re not together.”