#and on the inside im cursing them out like a damn sailor and wishing my own trauma upon them so they shut the fuck up

[starbberryblue]

oh. oh wow.

I really appreciate the PTSD representation of Kabru Dungeon Meshi because very often traumatized characters end up leaning heavily into the "flight" portion of "fight or flight" but the reality is, many of us get pissed off when we're scared, or have the urge to hit back when we're triggered. It's easy to understand why: a scared person is easy to empathize with. An angry person--a violent person--is less so.

I have PTSD and it's taken a long time for me to get comfortable with the anger that wells up when I'm afraid. Like Kabru, when I get triggered, there's an immediate wash of, I'm going to fucking kill them.

Like Kabru, I never act on this impulse. It's just there in my brain, trying to take control, so it can protect me.

When Kabru is triggered and thinks, desperately, Maybe I should kill him! in order to avoid eating monsters, the scene is played for laughs. But under the inherent comedy of the moment (which I can recognize even if I can't make myself laugh along) is the reality that Kabru is deeply traumatized and is trying to manage his emotions so he doesn't endanger his relationships. For Kabru, a character built to maneuver with ease around the social interactions of humanoids (using the DnD term here), his past is not just a justification for his desire to close the dungeon; it's not just a way to create tension with Laios; it's not just an avenue for him to connect with the Canaries. Kabru's past and his lack of coping with it actively sabotages his relationships and even puts him at renewed risk, just like real PTSD! And I just think that's neat! sob.

[imaginesmai]

Alfie Solomons-Bad words and bad luck

Plot: Alfie and you have a bet going on; if he doesn’t say any bad words until night, you’ll let him do whatever he wants in bed. 

Warnings: bad language (it’s Alfie, come on), fluff and a little bit of violence at the end.

A soft pillow rubbed against your cheek when you moved your head, warm blankets enveloping your body. The first rays of sun were filling your room and, behind you, Alfie’s nose nuzzled your neck. It was a winter morning; the window was frozen and your nose was cold from being outside the blankets all night. Sundays were your official day off, and you didn’t think about leaving that bed soon. Alfie didn’t have to work on the bakery, and your library was closed that day. It was perfect.

-          Pet? -he asked, his voice rough and deep. You felt his arms drag you closer to his body.

-          Yes darling?

-          Can you, yeah, stay fuckin’ still, love? Cause I can’t fuckin’ sleep, right. -he grumbled, gripping you tighter.

-          Do you think you can curse a little bit less? -you laughed softly and turned around, so you were looking at his perfect bearded face. -You punish your guys when they say bad words in front of me. Then, look at you, with your sailor mouth.

-          That’s, love, that’s ‘ncalled, isn’t it? -he opened one eye. – Those lads don’t know how to fuckin’ behave in front of a, right, fine lady like you.

-          And you do? -you teased, kissing his lips softly.

-          If you keep wearin’ that attitude, pet. -he was fully awake by then. -I shud be puttin’ my mouth to ‘nother use, hm?

You laughed again, feeling happiness fill your chest. You had been in a relationship with the dangerous gangster for five years, and each day was like the first one. He found you after the war, in the streets like a stray dog. Your now ex-husband has throwed you out of your own house when he found out that you were not pregnant with his child; he wanted to be a father when he came back from the battle field and left to the war with that dream. That night, he roughed you up a bit and put you on the street with just a little suitcase.

What was supposed to be a nightmare, turned into a lucky strike after a month. Starved, lonely and scared, you were found by Alfie when he was going back home one night; and after a talk and a bath, he decided to keep you with him. Sure, he found your ex-husband and hang him from his insides from a tree; but apart from that, he was a calm and sweet man with you.

-          I’m hungry, Alfie. -you complained, feeling your gangster’s hand traveling down your nightgown.

-          Come on, pet, don’ be like that, right? -he said, face buried deep in your neck. -Lil old me ‘ere wants to fuck you good, don’ I?

-          Let’s make a deal. -you got up from bed, readjusting your nightgown. -If you can spend all day without saying any bad word, tonight we’ll do as you please.

-          Sure ‘bout that, love? -he let out a deep chuckle. -Cause I can, yeah, restrain mysel’, but I’m not sure, am I, that you’re gonna endure tonigh’.

-          Who do you think I am, Mr Solomon’s? -you arched your brow. -You won’t even last to midday.

-          Keep watchin’ me, love. -Alfie got up too and left the room to make breakfast. -I’m gonna be the fu- best, I mean, right, best da-, no, I’m gonna be the best gentleman!

The day turned out to be quite funny. At breakfast, Alfie was mostly quiet. You were not a talkative couple, as the gangster liked to communicate with grunts and scoffs, and sometimes his accent was so closed that you couldn’t even understand him; you were okay with that, as you preferred to be shown you’re loved that to be told. However, that day was not because of that. Each time Alfie opened his mouth, he had to stop himself before saying “fuck” or “damn”. And stopping midsentence made him more nervous if that was possible; so yeah, it was being hard for him not to say bad words. After lunch, you took Cyril out for a walk. It was cold, with clouds in the sky, and a few droplets of rain; and, of course, the dog didn’t want to go out.

-          You kiddin’ me, dog? -he scoffed, running a hand through his beard, frustrated. -You see this, right, love? This fuc-dog, knows bout our deal, yeah. And is on your side. Knows whats ‘appening.

-          Alfie, it’s cold! -you gave him his cane before he could ask about it. -Cyril knows nothing, just that he doesn’t want to get out. Don’t you?

Your little talk with the dog made Alfie scoff; why did you give attention to the dog and not to him? Cyril barked happily and licked your face, making you fall to your butt between laughs. Alfie had to pull his belt before he crushed your body with his, and without saying another word, he opened the door and left with Cyril.

Your walk was peaceful and calm; once the dog discovered puddles, he loved the decision of taking a walk while it was raining. Soon, and even if he was a little angry, Alfie’s arm found your shoulders and bought you closer to his warm body. You snuzzled you face against him and wrapped yourself around his waist. You talked to a few people, stopped in some showcases and Alfie paid a quick visit to the bakery. It was your free day, but you didn’t mind, as you knew that it was important for him. There, Ollie greeted him and told him that everything was going on just fine. He left you for a while to watch one of the machines, and, not wanting to be inside, you waited for him by the door.

One of Alfie’s man followed you outside, making sure you were safe. Cyril, who had been left alone tied to a post, barked happily when he saw you again. You were petting the big dog’s head when Alfie and Ollie came back.

-          We’re don’, love. -he smiled and took the dog’s belt. -Keep an eye on those lads, will you, Ollie?

- ��        Of course, sir. -the boy replied. -Have a good-

-          Ollie. -you called him again sweetly. -Did Alfie say any bad words?

-          Wh-what?

-          You don’t ‘ave to say anything, right, boy. -he warned him. -Pet, you weren’t with me, yeah. So, it doesn’ count.

-          But it does! The deal was not bad words in all day. Ollie? -you asked again.

-          I…- the boy could feel the threatening stare of his boss. -I’m sorry miss Y/N, I can’t really remember.

The boy ran away quickly, shutting the door with force and making Cyril bark at it looking for danger. Alfie laughed and put you under his arm again, making you pout.

-          That’s not fair! He’s too afraid of you to say the truth.

-          Love, lad’s fuc- just loyal, isn’t it? -he kissed the top of your head. -You’ll, yeah, ‘ave to believe me.

-          I bet you said more swearwords down there that actual words. -you scoffed. -You’re-

-          Yeah, a liar, love. I know. -before you could talk again, he beat you to it. -Can you beliv’ there is a fuc- a fun fair in town?

-          A fair? -you frowned. -Where? And who told you that?

-          Ollie’s cousin, yeah, he has had a little’ un. So, I asked ‘im and he told me little thin’ was at the fair.

-          Can we go? -your eyes lighted up, forgetting about your little argument. -Please, please, I’ve never been to one!

-          What? -he turned to look at you. -You’ve never been to a fair, pet?

-          As a child I couldn’t afford it. And well, before…

-          I, right, I’m takin’ you today, ain’t I. -he interrupted you, smiling. -It’s gonna be the fu-best day for you, love, yeah.

Who was more excited about it, you didn’t know. It was hard for Alfie to keep his excitement away from bad words, but so far, he was doing well.

The town fair was huge. After letting Cyril free, he was a free dog who went and came as he wished so he could find the way home, you stepped inside it. There were a lot of people, and you found yourself gripping Alfie’s hand for dear life. He nearly punched a poor kid when he pushed you without meaning it and shouted to a woman who pulled you away from his grip. Your first stop was a little roller coaster where you forced Alfie to ride with you. Then, you watched a magic show; the best part was that it ended quickly, and Alfie sarcastic comments started. After that, Alfie bought you cotton candy, and you sat in a bench eating it and laughing.

-          An’ he fainted, right. -Alfie told you. -My ol’ man ate, right, so much cotton candy, that he fainted, love. Right in front of my face, ain’t he.

-          And you left him there? -your stomach was hurting from laughing so hard.

-          Couldn’ do anything, could I. -he smiled. -He was fuc- heavy, my ol’ folk was heavy, right pet.

-          So, you can carry a bag full of rum, but you can’t help your dad?

-          You saying I’m a bad, yeah, a bad son? -he smiled and leaned forward. -Take care, yeah, pet, cause I migh’ be a bad daddy tonigh’.

His lips found yours and you could taste the sweet candy in his mouth. It was really intoxicating, and your hands found his soft beard. You expected it to be sticky with sugar, but it was surprisingly soft, and you couldn’t help a soft moan leaving your lips. How you wished to feel those lips between your legs. With care of not lifting your dress, you sat in his lap; watching for any type of discomfort from his back to go away. Alfie only gripped you tightly and soon you were making out in a bench away from curious eyes. Your hands were tugging softly at his hair, and his smacked your ass suddenly. You parted lips for air once again, and when he leaned forward to catch them, you moved again, and he found instead your cheek.

-          You’ll have to wait until tonight, “mate”. -you told him, giving him a sweet peck and getting up.

-          You’re, yeah, you’re a bad girl, ain’t you? -he got up, too, adjusting his tight pants. -Fuc- Wait til tonigh’, love, cause you’re gonna wish you ‘aven’t done tha’, right.

-          I’m so scared. -you mocked him. -Come on, Alfie. I’m not leaving the fair until you get me one prize.

And he did, more than one. He went without thinking to the shooting stall and left the man with his mouth hang open when he took out his own gun and knocked over all the tricked tins. You didn’t know if the man gave you the teddies because Alfie won or because he got scared. But you walked home with a teddy bigger than you while Alfie carried a little unicorn and a dolphin. It was already night time when you were getting too tired to carry the damn thing.

-          Pet, you okay down there? -he asked. He had offered to carry the teddy, but you had refused; you were carrying it all the way, even if you couldn’t see where you were going.

-          Yes. Of course, I got it. -after a while you added. -Where are we, by the way? How much until home?

-          I see, yeah, totally got it, right pet. -he laughed. -Jut ‘bit more, yeah. I can see Cyril from ‘ere. Keeps guard like a good dog.

-          I can’t wait to fucking feel my arms again.

-          Wha’ was that, love? -Alfie’s laugh got louder, and you smiled at his true happiness. -You better watch, right, watch that mouth, don’t you?

-          Alfie, I swear-

-          No bad words, Y/N. Or I’ll ‘ave to punish you, right, pet? And, ‘ell, you ain’t gonna like it, yeah.

The little road to your home was made between laughs and jokes, and when you arrived Cyril nuzzled against your legs before going to the backyard. Alfie opened the door and you ran towards your bedroom to leave the big teddy on the bed, hearing Alfie’s laugh from behind you. Maybe you should have seen him before or felt that something wasn’t right when you were running up the stairs. The lights were off, and as your hands were busy, you didn’t turn them on. The last step of the stairs was the worst one, and you felt that your arms were going to fall off; so, you left the teddy in a chair and caught your breath, ready to take it again and go to your room.

Three things happened at the same time; the first one, you heard a shot fired downstairs, Cyril barking like crazy and Alfie calling your name desperate. Then, an enormous body appeared in front of you and pushed you back. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if you had been in the first floor, or down with your amazing boyfriend; but you were at the top of the stairs, and the last thing you remembered before hitting your head hard was another shot being fired.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alfie saw you running up the stairs like a mad woman, and he laughed loudly. He couldn’t remember a time where he was that happy, and each day was grateful for having your cheerful form with him. While you went to your shared room, he walked towards the main switch. Alfie turned the lights on and waited to feel the light in the living room; but it didn’t happen. Trying once again, he looked towards the light box and saw it open. Cyril low growl made him understand that he hadn’t let it open, and before the man behind him could blink, Alfie turned around and shot him between the eyes. His next reaction was to call out for you while Cyril barked and chased a smaller man, who ran away terrified of the dog.

Walking as fast as his leg let him, he arrived to the stairs in time to see the big man push you down. Life seemed to stop for Alfie, and all he could hear was your surprised gasp and his ragged breathing. He knew that his legs could not carry him fast enough to caught you, so he did the only thing he knew; he shot the man in the head before he could even think about hurting you again. A loud thud broke him out of his gaze, and he ran up a few stairs to break your fall. Not that it was really useful, as when he caught you, your wrist was bended in a strange angle and a huge gash covered your head.

-          Love? Don’ fuckin’ do this to me, yeah, pet. -he shook you while he noticed neighbours calling at his door after hearing the shots. -This better be a damn joke, right? Cause, if something happen’ to you, I’m losing it, Y/N.

-          Sir? -he heard a voice outside. -Sir, are you okay? We heard shots!

-          Call a fuckin’ ambulance, you idiot! -he shouted back, feeling the tears filling his eyes. -Be useful and get som’ help!

Alfie kept cradling your body in his arms, trying to get the blood out of your beautiful face. It didn’t matter, more came out of the wound and he couldn’t keep your clean. Cyril was sitting at your feet, letting out sad whimpers and rubbing his head against your leg, waiting for you to pet it. When the doctor showed up, Alfie was a mess of cries and anger, and he could only show her one room where she could treat you. Another man came in, to help the doctor, and soon everything was the same except the puddle of blood and your absence.

While you were being treated, Alfie cleaned the floor and called Ollie; after a few minutes, some boys were in your house trying to figure out who hurt his boss’ girl, and others were looking around town for the guy who ran away. Ollie dragged the bodies away, and made it seem that no one died in there. They told the doctor that you had fallen down the stairs, and she was smart enough not to ask questions. She stitched you up and put a bandage around your wrist; then gave Alfie some pain meds and left. He sat with you in the bed, waiting for you to wake up.

-          Boss? -Ollie asked from the door.

-          Don’ have a ‘ome, boy?

-          We’ve found the guy who ran away, sir. -Alfie looked at him but stayed quiet. -He’s at the bakery, being held down. We are waiting for your orders.

-          Keep him there, right. Good tied down, get out a tooth or two, yeah. -his voice was low. -Goin’ to make ‘im regret he was born. Wait ‘til mornin’, boy.

-          Goodnight, Mr Solomons. -after a while, he added. -I’m going to stay here the night, if you don’t mind. Just to make sure nothing else happen. Or if you need anything. If you want that, of course, boss.

-          ‘key. -he whispered.

When the boy left, he smiled a little; Ollie was a good kid, and it felt good having someone caring about him. He stroked your head softly a few times, avoiding your wound, and laid with you in bed after taking off his clothes and yours. Your soft breath was hitting his neck, and your heartbeat was his proof that you were alive and that it was worthy waiting until next morning to kill that bastard. With your small body hugging his big one and a lot of bad words and threats running through his mind, he felt himself drifting off consciousness.

-          You said fucking. -your soft voice woke him up, and he wasted no time in kissing all your face.

-          Fuckin’ ‘ell, you gave me a lil scare back there, right. So, I’ll be damned, yeah, if I let you out of my sight anytime soon. -you kept laughing as his beard tickled you. -Anything hurts, pet?

-          I’m fine, Alfie. -you smiled, and sat on his hips.

-          Wha’ are you doin’? Don’ you know nothing? -Alfie complained, trying to get you off him. -Y/N, you’ve been pushed down the stairs, yeah, so take it fuckin’ easy.

-          You lost the bet. -you raised a cocky brow. -I heard you, saying all those bad words.

-          Are you joking, lov’? -he laughed. -Our stupid bet ain’t nothing compared to our problem. There was some lad in our house, right.

-          Big bad gangster is scared now? -you laid with care on him and started leaving soft kisses on his neck.

-          Lil ol’ me’s not scared, pet. I’m jus’ worrie- motherfucker, Y/N. -he moaned when you sucked a hickey under his ear.

-          As you’ve lost, I’m in charge tonight. -before he could say something, you added. -And my brave and amazing gangster needs to rest, so let me pleasure you. 

-          Pet? -he smiled at you, pushing your hips against him.

-          Yes, darling?

-          You’re gonna be the death of me.

[victorianoir]

The Detective and the ManFatale, Part 4

Onward!!!! Part 4!!! The end of the ManFatale arc!!!! If you’re like “WTF is this?” you can read all of it by going to my MASTERPOST for The Detective and the Tech Guy. If you want to read this chapter on fanfiction.net, you can do that by clicking >THIS<.

Enjoy!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He'd just had to steal a parking spot from a little old lady who was just barely able to see over her steering wheel, and he felt bad about that, he really did. But it meant he was able to catch up to Sarah fast enough to be able to see her enter the office building she'd told him about earlier.

Just like she'd said, the building was off of Melrose, in SoHo. But he didn't follow her inside. Instead, he moved behind a short palm that was planted in a courtyard off to the side, complete with benches and planters. He leaned against the trunk of it and stared at the entrance.

He was old hat at this now, after a few days of tailing that asshole Fake Cartwright. Robbie. Pfft.

Maybe tailing his girlfriend while she was working wasn't the greatest thing he'd ever done in their relationship, granted. And she would probably be so mad at him if she knew he'd gotten in his car and followed her as best he could without getting too close, knowing she was way too smart to let herself be followed as closely as he wanted to. He'd nearly lost her a few times even, but he'd gotten back on track eventually, not wanting to be directly in her line of sight because she was a damn detective and she knew what his damn car looked like.

But it scared him to death hearing her yell, the dial tone…Seeing those papers scattered over the floor as though she'd had the file in her hand when Not-Cartwright had broken in, grabbed her, and yanked her out. God, the things he'd been unable to keep himself from imagining on the way there.

And then when he saw she was safe, when he held her in his arms, having to watch her leave again to go someplace potentially dangerous, and with no cell phone, no way to contact him, or more importantly, the police. That mean Detective Casey guy. God, that guy was a jerk. But at least he'd be able to back Sarah up if she called him, if she was in danger.

So Chuck had done the only thing he could think of to make sure she was okay. He'd followed her. He did have a cellphone. And a vested interest in her safety, damn it.

And he was going to watch those doors like a hawk. If this Jerald Brown fellow wasn't the upstanding tech guru Chuck had always figured he was in spite of never meeting him face to face, Chuck would take him down himself. He'd played flag football in junior high P.E. He knew what he was about.

He waited, waited…waited some more…

Until he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He ducked back behind the palm tree as best he could and watched as the man he now knew wasn't Robert Cartwright strolled up the sidewalk towards the building, in his off-white suit, pale pink tie, suede shoes. A chill went through Chuck as the man stopped and took his sunglasses off, peering up at the very same building Sarah had just gone into to meet the man this imposter hired her to investigate.

His phone was in his hand immediately. He didn't have a direct line to Detective John Casey, but all he had to do was press three numbers.

There was no reason why this man should know what was happening in there. There was no reason why this man should know about this building in the first place, unless…well, unless he knew. Had he followed Sarah, too? Or had he followed Brown?

How did he know?

Oh God. God, Sarah didn't have her cellphone. And now he was going up the steps. If Chuck followed him, he wouldn't be able to stop him. This man was a seasoned criminal and possibly a killer. He definitely had a weapon.

God, he was opening the door.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"There's a woman being attacked inside of an office. A man went in there and he's attacking her. He has a weapon." He gave the address, told the operator she needed to hurry, and he hung up again.

It killed him, absolutely destroyed him, to move away from the building. He felt like he was dying as he spun on his heel and sprinted back to his car. He was leaving her in there, alone, and he was so terrified he was on the verge of a breakdown. He was angry with himself, sick with himself, and still he got into his car, turned it on, and with only a half glance back at the building his girlfriend was currently inside of with an angry, potentially murderous conman, he sped away from her.

God, he hoped he was doing the right thing. He hoped to any deity that was listening that he was doing the right thing.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Sarah's hand twitched automatically, ready to draw and put this imposter on the ground with a hole in his chest, but before she could do anything else, there was a loud bang and the arm of her chair exploded in splinters.

She yelped and fell out of the chair onto the floor, holding her hands up, her life having just flashed before her eyes.

That had been an extremely precise shot, not meant to hurt her…a warning that he would hurt her if she gave him any sort of reason to. He'd just missed her but she had scratches on her wrist and the back of her hand from the splintered wood exploding next to her.

"Stand up, kick your gun over here, Miss Walker," he demanded coolly, the South African accent gone. His American accent sounded practiced, too, however. "And then keep your hands in the air. You move wrong and I'll shoot you between the eyes. I've got nothing to lose now. Don't think I won't shoot a pretty girl…"

Sarah stood up and carefully went into her holster, pulling her gun out, setting it on the ground and sliding it across the tile floor to the conman.

"You stand up, too, ya fat fuck," the imposter said to Brown, reaching behind him to shut the door as much as he could with how he'd broken the handle getting in.

The private investigator and ex-Pinkerton detective felt anger start to rise inside of her. Not only did this fucker take a shot at her, he was going around calling good men 'fat fucks' too? She clenched her jaw, unable to help herself.

"You think you're a big boy now that you have that gun pointed at us," she said, keeping her hands up. But God she could feel that knife at her hip, and the ones strapped to her thigh and her fingers itched for them. But the only safe thing to do was to throw verbal barbs at him, so she kept going. "You can insult Mr. Brown when you've got a gun trained on 'im, but I bet just a few days ago, you were kissing his ass, weren't you?"

"Who the hell do you think you are, bitch?" She narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Sarah Walker, private investigator. Without those legs, you'd be working at an Abercrombie & Fitch spraying perfume at teenagers."

She inwardly smirked. He might be a dangerous conman, and a smart enough criminal to have gotten away with his ruse for this long, but he hadn't done his homework apparently. He had no idea she'd been a Pinkerton detective. He had no idea whom he was dealing with.

"You picked the wrong P.I. to hire, Cartwright," Brown said, his voice a little shaky as he stood behind her, still at his wife's desk. "She's not just good at her job, she has a moral compass, and a nose for sniffing out criminal lowlifes."

"I did all right, didn't I? Who's standing here with the gun?"

"What are you gonna do?" Brown asked, seeming to gain a bit more confidence now. "Kill us?"

"Yes, actually. I am. Nobody knows we're here." That was true, Sarah thought miserably. Chuck only knew that she'd gone to an office building in SoHo off of Melrose. There were a handful of them. And he'd have no way of knowing if something bad was happening to her. God, she wished so hard for his paranoia, his idiotic jealous paranoia, that worried crease he'd had between his eyebrows…Please, Chuck… Maybe she could telepathically project terror at him and he'd feel something. They were close enough, emotionally bonded, weren't they? She'd never been so connected to anyone else in her entire life. Wasn't that how that weird crap worked?

Please, please, please, Chuck…

"What did you do with Cartwright?" she asked. If she could just get him talking, she could stall whatever it was he meant to do with them.

"I didn't touch the rat bastard. It wasn't me," he groused. "Wish it had been. He was a lousy piece of shit by all accounts, swimming in his money, an asshole to everyone, greedy."

"So he is dead, then. Who did it if it wasn't you?"

"He's dead. There was a storm, destroyed his boat probably. Found some wreckage where I was in Point d'Esny. Also found his body. Nobody else was on the beach so I took everything I could carry, took his body out onto the water, and dropped it with a bag of sand. Got rid of his boat altogether. Wasn't until a few days later I found out he was a Cape Town big shot. But he was a recluse, too. Nobody ever really saw him much at all. Perfect opportunity for me." He shrugged, and Sarah watched for any opportunity she might have to catch him off guard, but this obviously wasn't the first time he'd held a gun on someone. And she was sure this wouldn't be the first time he'd killed either…if it turned out he got that far.

And oh God, what would she do if he started shooting to kill?

"How did you even pull this off?" Brown asked.

"Easy. When the guy was alive and had less dead-bloat than he had when I found 'im, we looked pretty similar I guess. His IDs all worked long enough for me to forge new ones. Nobody asked any questions when Robert Cartwright showed up in Los Angeles for business. The checks all worked, the bank tellers all let me walk right in, the credit cards worked. I've made a fortune off of this guy, all because he was a shitty sailor."

He kissed the tips of his fingers.

"You're deplorable," Sarah said.

"Mmhmm. Deplorable enough to kill you two so I can get away with it all."

Brown cursed. "You aren't getting away with a damn thing!"

"I am. I've already destroyed any records that I was ever here. I've sold most of his African possessions, withdrawn every last cent I could from the banks. After I'm gone, they'll probably file a missing persons report." He chuckled and grinned a now twisted version of Alain Delon's smile. She wished she could apologize to the French actor for ever thinking he was similar.

This asshole wished…

ManFatale, Chuck had called him near the beginning of this damn job. She'd made fun of him then, but now she saw just how right he was. There was a good chance she was dying here today, in this office with the knitted pillows. Underestimating this bastard was her downfall.

"You don't think they'll dog your steps no matter where you go?" she asked then, starting to let anger overtake her fear. She liked anger better. It was better than giving in to despair, despair that she'd seen Chuck for the last time not an hour ago, climbing into his fuel-efficient car, after trying to make her take his phone. Maybe if she'd taken it, she could've secretly hit the emergency button on it.

What was he going to do?

What would he do if she died here today?

Oh, God…

No. Anger. Anger was better.

"I've covered my tracks."

"You haven't covered shit. The FBI, the CIA, the NSA, they've all got guys who find pieces of shit like you every single day. You aren't getting away it with no matter what you do to us," she hissed through her teeth.

The imposter angled his gun down suddenly and shot, sending a bullet clattering into the ground at her feet. She screamed and clasped her hands to her mouth, jumping away. He raised the gun and shot again, hitting the desk right next to her hip and she fell to the side, onto the floor. Brown knelt down behind her, a protective move, but this time the bullet that came from the imposter's gun was true.

Brown hit the tile hard, a hole in his shoulder as he cried out in pain.

Holy shit!

Now there was fear inside of her. Abject fear as she acted fast, grabbing Brown's hand and making him press it against his wound. "Just hold it…press down, you'll be okay…"

"Get up," the imposter growled at her, stepping closer. She ignored him as she tried to help the injured man. "I said get up!" he yelled this time, grabbing her by her hair and yanking her to her feet.

She heard sirens in the distance and she knew as his eyes darted to the side in momentary worry that this was her one and only chance to get herself and Jerald Brown out of here alive.

Sarah Walker, P.I. struck fast. She swung her left arm around, clamped her fingers around his wrist and pushed the gun away from her temple where he'd been holding it. He pulled the trigger, breaking the window behind her, and the sound of it startled him enough that she was able to bring her knee up and back and slam her heel right between his legs.

He yelled in pain as she snapped the arm that had the gun down across her knee, hearing the crack of his bone breaking and the clatter of the gun hitting the floor. She kicked it away as he fell hard onto his back and she crawled onto him, slamming her fist down into his face, over and over and over and over again until he put his non-injured arm up and begged her to stop.

Just then the door burst right off of its hinges, police officers racing inside.

"GET ON THE GROUND!" an LAPD officer barked, and in spite of the fact that he might not be talking to her, she crawled down onto her knees and put her hands behind her head. She didn't know who or what had brought the police here but she wasn't about to be shot for trying to explain right away when they were attempting to take control of the situation.

Once the yelling stopped and the police had clambered over to Brown who was still conscious but whimpering, an officer grabbed her by her arm and hoisted her up. "My name is Sarah Walker, private investigator. That man broke in while I was in a meeting with Mr. Brown and held a gun on us. He shot him. Tried to…tried to shoot me, too." She was breathless, and she realized that in spite of being in scenarios with guns, bombs, and other terrifying situations, this had been one of the closest shaves she'd had.

And she had a lot more to lose this time.

She had to press her lips together and blink a few times to keep the rush of terrified tears at bay.

"All right, miss. Just come over here and sit in this chair. Your name again…?"

"Sarah Walker," she murmured, trying to take deep breaths. "I own Walker Investigative Enterprises. I've-I've got a P.I. license."

The two officers exchanged flat looks. "A P.I., huh?"

This had been too traumatic for her to find the willpower to give them dirty looks for that.

"Get an ambulance here, we've got two men in need of medical attention," one of the cops said into their walky-talky. "One gunshot wound. Another with abrasions to the face, broken arm."

Sarah thought about how badly she wished she could've given him more abrasions to the face, and she thought maybe she was starting to feel more like herself now that the danger had abated. Though her ear was ringing bad from that gun going off so close to it.

"You're Sarah Walker, that's Jerald Brown…and who is this guy?" The cop gestured to Fake Cartwright.

Paramedics rushed in then, tending to Brown first and getting him lifted onto a gurney.

"A criminal," Sarah said. "If you look up Robert Cartwright, you'd find this man's picture. But he-he isn't Robert Cartwright."

"Huh?"

She explained the situation to them for the next three minutes, accepting the strong coffee one of them gave her, and the blanket the other one wrapped around her shoulders. She didn't know when she'd begun to shiver. And it wasn't from the cold.

As she realized she was just barely keeping from slipping into shock, suddenly there was a shuffling of people at the door and Detective John Casey was there, his hulking figure taking up the entire doorway practically. "Whatever she said about him, it's true," he said, pointing over her shoulder. "Cartwright's an imposter." He pulled his badge out as he walked into the room and flashed it at the officers. "I'll handle the questioning from here, officers."

They both nodded and moved away.

And that was when she looked up to see Chuck step out from behind the detective, his eyes finding her immediately.

"Sarah…"

"Chuck!"

She left the coffee and the blanket behind, surging to her feet just in time for his body to crash into hers, his arms so strong as they folded her up against him, so warm and safe and everything she'd needed the moment this had all ended.

Sarah felt her boyfriend's lips against her hair, and then her temple, and her cheek, and he just held her so tight. She didn't ever want to let go. Ever.

And she heard him curse, his hand coming up to brush over her hair. "Are you okay?" he asked finally. "Did he hurt you? I'll kill him."

"Maybe not the smartest thing to say in front of the LAPD, idiot," Casey grumbled from where he was standing over Chuck's shoulder.

She ignored him, though, burying her face in Chuck's neck and letting herself cry just a little. She'd been so scared she'd never see him again. So scared she'd never feel this. Or eat one of his waffles he made that were never thick enough or cooked as much as she wanted them to be because he didn't put enough batter in, and didn't leave it in the iron long enough. Because he was too impatient, like a little boy.

"I'm okay," she gasped out, trying to hold back still and not doing a great job of it. "I'm okay. I love you."

"I love you, too," he said immediately, holding her even tighter, pressing his lips against her temple and keeping them there.

She finally pulled back, letting him cup her face and kiss her properly, and then he kissed the remnants of the few tears she'd shed away. "What—How?" she asked.

"I…" He winced. "I was worried. Super, super worried. I had this weird feeling in my gut letting you drive off to this meeting with no cell phone or anything. So I…gah, I followed you. I know you—you probably…" He huffed at her impatient look. "You're right. Let's table that. I was waiting outside, 'cause I'm your man and I wanted to have your back in case things got cray. But then while I was waiting, I saw that fake-ass mother fucker walk up with his cheesy as hell B-List sunglasses and that shit-eating smirk, and I knew right away that you were in trouble." A smile began to grow on her face as she watched him start to get riled up now as he told his story. "I was going to run after him and strangle him or roundhouse kick him in the jaw or somethin' but then I figured I'd most likely get shot and you'd never forgive me if that happened. So I called 9-1-1 instead and got in my car to come find Cas—Casey—Detective Casey." He cleared his throat at the glare the older man sent him.

"You're insane," she breathed, swallowing another sob and throwing her arms around his neck, letting him lift her enough that her feet were dangling a few inches off the floor, and they stayed like that for long enough that Casey finally cleared his throat.

Chuck set her down and she resisted the urge to kiss him again, longing in her gaze as she peered up at him for a moment…And then she turned to John Casey and nodded.

"Yeah, well…S'a miracle we even got here when we did what with this moron driving like a fuckin' grandma."

"What?!" Chuck spun on his heels to face the LAPD detective. "That's not even true! I was going fast! Things were whizzing past my window!" He let go of her arm with one hand and mimicked swishing his hand back and forth past his head manically.

"Right. Sure. Walker, I'm gonna need you at the station. Your secretary here only gave me the highlights. He can't talk and drive at the same time." Casey turned and headed for the door.

"Are you serious right now?" Chuck asked, his pitch getting a bit higher. "Secretary? How many times do I—?" They both began to follow after him then, Sarah's fist twisted in Chuck's sleeve, pulling him along. "Oh. He's messing with me, isn't he?"

She heard the amused grunt from the cop as he pressed the button to call the elevator, and she saw the small smirk on his face. It made her feel so glad to be alive.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

It had only taken twenty minutes for Detective Casey to eject Chuck from the room where he'd taken them for questioning. She'd had to watch as he interrupted one final time—"Sarah, tell him about…"—then Casey's patience, which had been wearing thin already no doubt, snapped. He stood up, grabbed Chuck by his arm, and escorted him out of the room, shutting the door in his face.

She'd had to smirk inwardly at the cute, offended sounds of confusion that her boyfriend made until he was locked out on the other side of the door where he could no longer interrupt.

Casey'd finally sat down across from her again, and she'd told him every last detail she could, even letting him have the files she'd kept in her briefcase that she'd had during the meeting with Brown, in case he'd needed convincing.

"So what made you so sure of Jerald Brown that you ended up focusing most of your efforts on investigating your client, rather than investigating the guy he was paying you to investigate?" Casey asked, forty-five minutes into their meeting.

"Part of it was the fact that I spent three days tailing him, going through his background, his financial records, combing through his personal life, and I'd found absolutely nothing to make me think he was anything other than a good businessman, and a good man in general. Not that he was without faults, but none of it was illegal or reprehensible. No illicit affairs, no fraud, nothing untoward." She shrugged.

"And the other part?"

"Chuck insisted he was a commendable man."

Casey scoffed. "You took him at his word?"

"I always do," she said, holding her chin high. "He knows who is who in his own industry, and he's a commendable man himself."

"Don't get defensive, Walker."

"I did my homework. And on the other side, I had this guy who, for all intents and purposes, was very smooth, seemed to know just what to say to every question or comment I had during our meetings, and…this was the key…the more time I spent in these meetings with who I thought was Robert Cartwright, the more I got the feeling he wanted me to find something wrong."

Casey grunted, thunking a pen against his chin a few times, thoughtfully. Then he narrowed his eyes. "I get where you're going. Instead of wanting you to just check and make sure this potential future business associate was on the level, and being relieved when you kept coming back with confirmation that he was, Cartwright seemed like he was digging for some dirt on him instead."

"Exactly. It was sneaky. And it made me super suspicious."

"Hmng," Casey tossed the pen on the table and pushed his chair back. "Don't blame ya. That was pretty good work, Detective. Don't take this the wrong way," he started, which was always a stellar way for another person to start a statement, she thought wryly, "but I'm curious as to why ya didn't just take the money and let this lie."

Sarah crossed her arms and stood up from her chair, nibbling on her bottom lip. "I'm not that kind of P.I., Detective Casey. I want to make a living off of this P.I. business I'm building, but not at the expense of innocent people, and not to aid and abet criminals. I'm operating on the right side of the law."

"So no adultery cases, huh?" He grinned a bit lecherously and she glared at him.

"If someone comes in offering me the right amount of money to try to catch their partner with someone else, depending on the person and the case, I might accept. But what business is that of yours?"

"It ain't. Lighten up. Yeesh." He held his hands up defensively, one of the gestures that infuriated her the most when men did it at her.

"Is that all you need from me?"

"Yeah. But make sure to stick around for a week or so while we work on this case. We may need the FBI in on this if he's committed crimes like this before, and they'll be bringing the South African and Cape Town authorities in, I'm sure."

"I will," she said, getting up and walking towards the door. "Oh. Here." She came back and set all of the work she'd done down on his desk. "I'm sure you folks'll need this." He deserved the snarky smirk she sent him, and the look on his face told him he probably knew he deserved it, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud ever in a million years.

"Thanks. And uh…make sure you take care of that hand. Don't think I didn't see you trying to hide the scratches. Was that his face that gave you those?"

She looked down at the scratches on the back of her hand, and now on her knuckles from his face, just as Casey surmised. "Yes and no. His face, but also, he shot at the arm of the chair where I'd just been and the wood sort of exploded and caught me."

Casey winced. "You gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Just a little home first aid is required. Nothing deep."

"Good." There was silence between them then as she nodded and went for the door. "Walker."

She stopped and looked at him over her shoulder, her hand on the doorknob. "Yeah?"

"We've got officers watchin' him now where he was admitted to the hospital, and when they've set that arm and gotten his face fixed up," she noticed a particular thread of pleasure in his smirk at that, "they're takin' him to his own cell here where I'll question him personally while we wait for FBI to send someone. That is to say…you did some damn fine work."

She smiled. "Thanks. Oh. Did Jerald Brown…?"

"He's gonna be fine. I'll email you where they took 'im if you want to visit tomorrow. He'll be kept at the hospital for a few days."

"Good. And yes. Please do. Thanks."

He nodded and she stepped out of the room, finding Chuck sitting a bit dejectedly in what she thought might be a perp chair at the end of someone's desk. Thankfully, whoever's desk it was seemed to be gone for the day.

She gestured for him to followed her with a flick of her head and a smile when he lifted his chin from his chest and met her eyes.

And she clung to him as best she could while still being able to walk to the elevator.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

She was quiet the whole ride back to her apartment, curled up in his passenger seat, having kicked her heels off and pulled her legs against her chest, her forehead leaning against the window as she gazed out on the late afternoon street.

And the sun had finally set, the sky still light out but darkening by the time he pulled into a parking spot in her apartment complex. They'd left her car in free street parking where she'd left it before her meeting with Brown a few hours earlier and they'd get it later, tomorrow most likely. She hadn't seemed as worried about it as she was about finally going home, so he'd promptly driven her from the police station to her place with no stops in between.

Now they sat in the comfortable warmth of his car, the engine off, silence permeating…

Until Sarah turned to look at him, smiling softly, and then she reached out and took his hand, not looking away for even a moment as she breathed a quiet, "Will you stay with me?"

He felt everything inside of him crumbling and never in his entire life had he ever wanted to protect anything or anyone as much as he wanted to protect Sarah Walker. Not trusting his voice, still shaken up from what had nearly happened, he nodded vigorously instead, and she smiled a bit harder.

They got out and headed up to her apartment, his arm around her shoulders the whole way, and he used his key to let them in, turning on the lights for her as she tossed her purse onto the entryway table and kicked off her heels again, shrugging her jacket off.

It was then that he saw her hand. There were bloody marks on the back of it, cuts on her wrist, and red welts with dried blood and most likely bruising underneath on her knuckles.

Nothing else mattered as he made a beeline for her and gently picked up her arm, cradling her hand and wrist in his comforting grip. "Sarah…"

"I know, I know…but it's fine. I've had worse."

"You've let this go for hours."

"I've had worse, Chuck. It's okay. I'll just ice it—"

He shook his head vehemently and pulled her through her apartment to the bathroom. "You have first aid?"

"You know where it is from where you burned yourself on the coffee pot."

"Oh…oh yeah. Um…remind me, though."

Seeing blood on her hand, her own blood, knowing she'd been hurt, knowing she could have been worse than hurt, was starting to catch up to him suddenly. And he was trying so hard not to let her see. He didn't want her thinking he was going to be a basket case about her chosen profession. That every little cut she got made him crazy and sick with worry. But this had felt like a big deal. A really big deal. And he had no idea what would've happened if the police hadn't shown up, if he hadn't called them.

"Hey," she breathed suddenly, and he cursed himself a little, knowing he'd let it all show on his face anyway. "Hey, look at me." She cupped his face and forced his gaze to hers. Her blue eyes reassured him immediately and he had to resist the urge to melt into her, hold onto her for dear life. "Chuck, are you spiraling because of this?" she asked, presenting her injured hand to him.

He nodded, putting his hands on her hips to keep himself steady.

Her good hand stroked his jaw and his eyelids fluttered. "Please don't. I'm okay."

"Help me maybe not spiral by telling me where that first aid kit is and I can clean you up a bit."

"It's right here, in the cupboard under this drawer." She shifted to bump her hip against the drawer she was talking about. "But…before you do that, would you mind if I took a shower?"

He shook his head and leaned in to kiss her on the forehead, a slow, long kiss. He understood the request at a deeper level, but he wouldn't say it out loud. She needed some time alone after everything. She'd almost been killed, watched Brown get shot right in front of her, and had cops swarming her, and finally the questioning at the station and being trapped in the car with him as he drove her home.

"Thank you. It-It'll be a quick one." She slid past him, dragging her fingertips over his abdomen as she went to the shower and turned on the water.

"Take your time, baby. I'll have a martini ready for you when you're done." On second thought, as she gingerly started to unbutton her blouse, he waited for her to realize he was still there and turn to meet his gaze before he said it again. "Take your time."

Understanding dawned on her features and her shoulders drooped a bit. He thought her chin might have quivered and he just turned on his heel and left before he was tempted to gather her up in his arms and hold her some more. She needed to be alone for a bit, though, so he went into her kitchen and started preparing a few martinis, two to start with, one for each of them. He didn't know how many of these she was going to need, but he'd make her as many as she asked for.

And he waited, enjoying the texts Ellie had sent him throughout all of this, the one about Clara pushing herself up to sit for a few seconds before falling again. The look she gave her mom like she didn't know if she should cry or not. It warmed him from the inside out. And he'd been so cold before. Unable to get rid of that terrifying sensation he'd had when he'd screeched to a halt next to the office building, seeing the police cars haphazardly parked, lights still blinking, the ambulance there, someone being wheeled into it…

He'd seen it was Brown, that he'd been shot, and he tried to tear into the building, only to have Casey and two other officers have to grab onto him and nearly take him down to the ground. When they got him to stop, Casey barked, "He's with me", and he yanked on Chuck's tie, pointing in his face with a "Slow down, kid".

That was all it took for him to gain control, afraid this detective might knock him out altogether if he didn't take a breath. And he let Casey take point, shaken to his core until the moment he stepped into the room and saw his very own detective sitting there, alive, no bullet holes in her like the man downstairs'd had.

He felt a chill go through him as he stood there peering out into the courtyard of Sarah's building, watching an older woman take down a few shirts she'd hung on a clothesline and toss them into a basket. Her tabby cat made a figure-8 around her legs in the meantime, finally following her inside as she hobbled up the steps and into the building.

Chuck let himself get lost in everything for a few minutes, going through all of the worst scenarios that thankfully hadn't happened. Sarah was alive and well, currently in the shower, washing off the remnants of her harrowing ordeal.

He'd heard everything that had happened to her in Mrs. Brown's office while she told the grumpy detective—before said grump kicked him out. He supposed he couldn't blame the guy for it, though, because he'd caught himself interrupting too often. No matter how many times he apologized, he never learned, and his punishment was sitting out by himself for the remainder of the conversation.

But Sarah had been shot at multiple times, and every time Not-Cartwright had purposely missed her, his intent being to scare her. That made Chuck Bartowski angry. There was an extra level of pathology to lord your power over someone in that way, terrifying them before you kill them, making them suffer… It made him feel so disgusted, and then he thought Sarah must have come into contact with psychopaths like this guy before in her line of work.

She was an incredible bad ass, the coolest, strongest person he'd ever met. And he was sure no matter how often she'd come face to face with these crazy assholes, it didn't make being shot at any easier to handle, especially when it was so cruelly done to terrorize her. By the shakiness in her voice when she'd told them about him shooting her chair and then at her feet, and finally at the desk next to her hip, before sinking a bullet into Mr. Brown, the man she'd been attempting to protect, Chuck could tell it had gotten to her. Genuinely.

Maybe he shouldn't announce it in front of the LAPD, but deep inside, Chuck wasn't sure he'd be able to hold himself back from murdering that guy if he'd had a crack at him when he first got into that room and saw Sarah there, her face so pale, the blanket around her shoulders, the bun she'd had in her hair when he'd seen her last half pulled out… He'd discovered later that the man had grabbed her by her hair and yanked her up to her feet by it.

Chuck thought he'd like to do the same to him, but instead he'd pull his spine right out with one hard yank. Mortal Kombat style.

"Thought I'd bring the first aid kit with me because I already know you'll refuse to take no for an answer."

He spun on his heel, letting the curtain fall back into place and cover the window to see Sarah had wandered in, her step light like a cat's so that he hadn't heard her come in. Granted he might've also been a bit distracted.

But then she set the first aid kit on the table and frowned deeply. "What's wrong?"

"Huh? Wrong?"

"You turned around and looked like a rabidly angry gorilla or something for a second."

He just shook his head and sniffed in amusement. "It's nothing."

"Chuck…"

"I was thinking about what he did to you, and maybe imagining myself doing one of the Mortal Kombat fatality moves on him. That's all." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged, slowly wandering over.

She widened her eyes. "I don't know what those moves entail but you said the word fatality, so that sounds a little serious, buddy."

At least that shower had made it so she seemed a little more like herself. Less shaken, more settled. The almost-unnoticeable shiver she'd had before was gone.

"It is. I have to be honest with you, Sarah. Part of me is angry with myself that I didn't just follow him and body tackle him into the ground then and there."

Her eyes flashed, concern and even a bit of frustration in her face. And then she put her hand on his chest, her fingers curling against his shirt as she shook her head. "Chuck, don't say that. Please never do something like that. He had a gun. He would've killed you."

He clenched his jaw and looked away.

"I-I'm not trying to make it seem like you're weak or incapable, baby. I'm really not. Just—Listen to me. I'm trained in combat, I have extensive training and years of experience using guns. I had a gun with me, as well as the knives I always have strapped to me. Hey, look at me. Please." She put her good hand on the side of his face and pulled his eyes back to hers. "I was nearly powerless in there. He had me, Chuck. If he hadn't slipped, let his guard down for that one second…" Her voice drifted off. "My point is that someone trained, like me, could have easily died doing whatever it is you might've done in that moment instead of what you ended up doing." She stroked her hand through his curls. "Which was the right thing."

"I know." He gently slid his hand around her waist and pulled her a little closer. "It just felt…terrible. Watching him go in there, knowing you were about to have him burst in on you. And knowing now what he ended up doing, that you were hurt and Brown was shot. What if I could've stopped all of it?"

"What if you couldn't have but you tried anyway and ended up being shot yourself?" Her eyes searched his. He couldn't come up with an answer to that. "What would I do, then? What would I even do if you were shot, Chuck? I can't even begin to think…" She let out a harsh breath, shaking her head. And he held her tighter.

"I ran away from you. I left you behind."

"You saved my life," she said in a much steadier voice, her features hard, willing him to understand. "What you ended up doing wasn't just the right thing, Chuck, it was incredibly brave."

He winced a little. "It didn't feel very brave."

"You could've let your worry for me, your fear, overtake you and you could've run after him, tried to stop him, and ended up getting all of us killed…but instead you called the police, knowing that they'd have more of a chance of stopping him than you ever would. And you went to get Casey involved, which…" She paused. "Why did you get Casey?" She blinked, her brow furrowed as though the question had just struck her at that moment.

Chuck swallowed thickly. "I was afraid they'd believe the wrong person unless you had someone they trusted vouching for you. And I knew Casey would be the perfect person to be there for that."

She beamed at him so suddenly that his heart felt like an insane amount of weight had been taken off of it. And then she hugged him tightly, and he hugged her back similarly. "You're brave and brilliant, Chuck Bartowski."

He felt so much pride in that moment, hearing how proud she was of him, how grateful she was, how impressed she was, in her voice, feeling it in the way she squeezed him, kissed his cheek.

"And you're a bad ass and the best, Sarah Walker. So I guess we make a good pair. Maybe I can be your assistant."

"No," she giggled, kissing his cheek again and then pulling back. "I will let you take care of me, though."

"Oh, gladly," he said with as much warmth as he was capable of, and then he gently pushed her to sit in the chair at the table and went to grab a bowl, putting some warm water and soap in it, then wandering back with that and a cloth in hand.

He scooted close to her and let her drape her hand over the bowl as he silently cleaned the cuts that didn't look so bad now that she'd showered. She only winced a little at the cuts on her wrist when he was gently rubbing ointment over them, and then he wrapped a light bandage around all of it.

"I look like the bride of Frankenstein's monster," she said with a giggle once he finished.

"She wishes," Chuck answered, watching as Sarah turned her arm a bit to look at his work. "What?" he asked when she gave him a quiet, searching look.

"You did a pretty good job here, actually."

That made him smile. "Listen, I grew up with a big sister who's wanted to be a doctor ever since she found out what a doctor was. Do you know how often I got wrapped up in bandages through all the years I spent under the same roof as her?"

She laughed. "Was it often?"

"Often enough." He chuckled. "She got better at it when she was actually in med school and I guess I picked up some things, little tricks of the trade. Don't ask me to stitch a wound shut, though, because I will faint."

Sarah snorted. "That's cute."

"Is it?" he drawled dubiously. He got up then and straightened his back, feeling a few pops, then put the bowl away, the bandages and the first aid kit, and when he came back out, Sarah had finished her martini.

She held the glass up towards him and pouted a little.

"Another?" he asked, receiving a smile in return. He chuckled and took her glass, leaning down to kiss her forehead, then went back to the kitchen to make her another. "Hey, you want a flavor in it this time? Maybe some lime? I saw a lime in your fridge."

Sarah was standing next to him suddenly—those cat-like silent feet of hers—and he nearly jumped. "Sorry. Didn't mean to sneak." He shrugged at her wince. "You just…You've never put flavors in a martini for me before. It's always just been a traditional, perfectly dry martini. What's gotten into my Chuck?"

"If you want me to make it like I always do, I can." He shrugged again. She was looking at him steadily, that look of hers that saw right through him. And he sighed. "It has nothing to do with the martini, but-but I guess today sort of put into perspective for me that you're not…"

"What?"

"Immortal. Indestructible." His throat was dry then and he looked away, swallowing.

"Did you…think I was? Like some kind of comic book character?"

"No. Of course not." He sniffed in amusement. "But what you do is dangerous and it's something I'm going to have to come to terms with. I hadn't before this because I guess I…haven't had to yet. But I have to now."

"Chuck, I'm okay."

"I know you are. So am I. We're okay. And that's not something that's gonna change, no matter how many ManFatales try to take you away from me."

Sarah smirked at that and gave him a side-eye. "No fucking way anybody is taking me away from you. And vice versa," she added, pointing at him a bit threateningly.

"I didn't just mean romantically." He chuckled. "I meant…uh…you know."

"Oh." She sobered significantly. "That, too. And yeah…maybe this time we can try some lime in the martini. I have some pineapple slices, too. Maybe some of the juice…?"

"Splendid idea," he said, giving her a warm smile. And they stood side by side as he prepared more martinis for them to enjoy.

They eventually found their way to Sarah's bed, stretching themselves out over it and leaning back against her headboard. She'd since fallen asleep, her harrowing ordeal earlier on in the day knocking her out soon after she curled herself up on his chest.

He just held onto her, looking down into her face. She looked younger when she was asleep, so at peace, without any worries to speak of. But then his eyes latched onto her wrapped hand and wrist that was slung over his chest and he frowned.

She was a private investigator. And as awesome as it was, as hot as it was that he was dating someone so damn cool, he couldn't let himself forget how serious it was, too. How serious it could be. He'd never want her to give up what she wanted to do, who she wanted to be, so that he had better peace of mind when she went to work, the way the boyfriend of an accountant might. His girlfriend wasn't going to stop being a private investigator, whether he was awful enough to want her to or not.

And so…Chuck Bartowski was determined instead to support her. To be here on the hard days like today. To protect her when she needed him to. To bandage her cuts, hold her, make her martinis, and let her fall asleep in his arms.

Because being with Sarah Walker, P.I. was so much better than being with some accountant who sat in an office all day. The worry, the nerves, the adrenaline, and even the fear, were all worth it because she was worth anything and everything.

This was her, he realized, looking down into her face.

These cases with genuinely bad dudes wanting to do her harm because she was good at her job, because she was working to take them down, were all part of what made her…her. The danger, the chase, the high stakes…that was all part of her.

He loved her.

That included everything that made her who she was. That included this. And those moments of fear, the danger…

No matter what this career of hers brought them, this wouldn't ever change. He was ready for the bumps and bruises he'd get in the meantime himself. He was ready for the hurdles and hardships ahead. He thought he was ready for just about anything.

Because this was their life now.

And he wouldn't trade it for the whole universe.

[arcadeguk]

of liquor and love

prompt: a drunk bts member comes to your apartment only sees your roommate opening the door and he drunkenly spews out how much he loves you to your roommate thinking that you weren’t there, when actually, you heard every word he said and you tease him about it the next morning (anon aa) - anon, i swear to god, you’re gonna break my heart

genre: the fluffiest of all fluffy good luck

pairing: taehyung x reader

a/n: this is most definitely turning into a 7 part series. drunk bangtan being all soft and squishy?? throw in a bunch of au’s?? im thriving!!!

you land with an unladylike plop on the couch. to say you were grateful today was over would be an understatement. in fact, no greater lie had ever been told. you’d knew it’d be a suck ass day before you’d even opened your eyes - the stench of burnt coffee grounds and the pleasant morning symphony of your roommate seoyun cursing like a sailor started off your less-than-stellar day. you’d wanted to die by lunch, and by the time you dragged your sorry ass off campus that evening, you were completely gone - a shell of your former self. a plethora of different things could fix this sour mood: a shower, a face mask, alcohol, or an ice cream binge. but the one thing that you knew would completely turn you around would be hearing the voice of your favorite person in the whole entire world. without a moment of hesitation, you tap taehyung’s contact name, call, and place the phone on speaker. you’re sure you melt into the driver’s seat when he answers:

“hey buttercup, whatcha doing?”

kim taehyung played many roles in your life: absolute number 1 best friend in the entire world, champion beer bong partner, flawless wingman, and the greatest, strongest emotional crutch you could ever ask for. he was so unbelievably important to you in so many ways, and you value the friendship above any others you had. he was sweet, caring, attentive, funny, outgoing - to sum it up; fucking perfect. which was why hearing his voice at the tail-end of such a disaster day like today was such a godsend.

“driving home from my last class. tae, im not kidding, i’m dropping out. i don’t even like college. who even cares? i don’t, i honestly do not ca-”

“alright miss y/n, queen of mental breakdowns at the worst times, let’s take a breath here, hm? how about you focus a little less on your day, and focus a little more on driving? or do i have to come get you, again? for the what, tenth time this week?”

you can practically see the smile on his face, one meant to be cute, annoying, and maybe a little sarcastic - but you see right through the playful little face - the smile is meant to calm you, relax you and bring you back down to earth, instead of stuck in your own head. taehyung is sunshine, freshly cut grass, and a warm breeze - whereas sometimes your mind (mixed with the perfect concoction of stress and exhaustion), sometimes results in rainy, stormy days. but taehyung always knows how to bring you back to the meadow-like paradise he creates just for you.

“you had to come pick me up once and you act like you rescued me from the pits of hell,” you grumble into your phone, “but i wanna hear about your day instead,” you say, waiting patiently for an answer from him.

“honestly, nothing special to report. other than seokjin passed his midterm - which, he’s a little too over excited about if you ask me. it was an art history class he took once a week, for fuck’s sake. but we’re going out tonight to celebrate - he’s buying, trust me - i wouldn’t go otherwise.”

“so, you and the boys are planning on having a drunken night out,” you sum up as you pull into your apartment complex.

“that’s it y/n, you’re all caught up in the dramatic and glamorous life of kim taehyung. by the way, you’re more than welcome to join us. drunk you is the funniest version of you anyway.” he says with a chuckle, and you physically wince as you recall the last time you’d been drinking together: it involved one too many shots of vodka and a ruined pair of taehyung’s jeans.

“i’m good,” you tell him, trying to hide all the little tells of disappointment in your voice, “i have more homework than i know what to do with. i’ll gladly take a raincheck, though?”

taehyung laughs through the phone, his deep giggle crackling over the phone speaker. “suit yourself. i just don’t know how many opportunities you’re gonna have to relive seokjin’s glorious victory of a B+ in a class about dead artists.”

“tell you what,” you offer in return, “take an extra shot for me,” you can’t hide the smile on your face, and take a moment to imagine what his might look like on the other side of the phone. butterflies flit around in your stomach, and you push them back down before you get the chance to even wonder why they would be there. that was way too much to even think about right now. taehyung? god? the perfect human? the only person you trusted and loved completely? um, yes, obviously. whoa wait, love?

your distracted mind is suddenly yanked back to the present when you hear taehyung’s low voice growl back at you, “do you one better”, he mumbles, “i’ll take three.”

the day’s earlier conversation had all but faded from your mind, and you were balls deep in a massive midterm paper that you’d waited until the last possible moment to complete. you’re perched on the couch, coffee table covered in articles and sources and books, looking more like a warzone that a living room. you barely hear the knock at the door, or the three knocks that follow. you don’t register seoyun’s annoyed and over-dramatic huff as she rises from her bed, or the pounding of her feet as she stomps to answer the door. you don’t hear the door open either, but your ears do finally perk to attention when you hear taehyung’s voice.

it’s low, the sound rising from somewhere deep in his throat and bubbling out of his mouth, just like the foam that rose off the top of the beer that put him in this state. taehyung’s voice is low, his words are slurred, and you wish, selfishly for just a moment, that he could bury that slow and heavy tongue of his somewhere deep in your mouth. you can’t hear what he says, but seoyun gives a “wait here”, and walks into the living room, hand on her hip.

“taehyung’s here. he says he needs to talk to you. that it’s super important - which, i don’t know what could be so important at 2 am on a thursday but -”

“nO” you squeak, fighting to keep your voice above a detectable level, “seoyun, whatever you do, don’t let him come in. he can’t see me like this. i’d rather die. i’d rather drop dead right now. i’m covered in pimple cream, my hair is a disaster, i don’t have -” you’re panicking, the sheer thought of taehyung seeing you, seeing this,

“since when did you care?” seoyun cuts in, giving you a raised eyebrow. it takes all of 4 seconds of eye contact for it to completely click for her, and your deepest secret becomes seoyun’s little secret too.

“you like the cute little drunk boy stumbling around in our hallway right now, don’t you?” she asks with a sly smile, and you can only stutter. “i have a genius plan, follow me.”

before you can say “god seoyun please no”, she has you tucked you behind the front door, opening it just so that you’re perfectly concealed. she throws you a wink, and then gives a whistle to taehyung, who’s successfully bumbled his way to the neighbors.

“tae! hey, hello, you alive there buddy? i’m really sorry, but y/n went to bed, she’s asleep right now. can i take a message?”

taehyung whines from the hallway, and you can hear his arms and shoulders hitting the doorframe as he throws himself around like a child.

“but i reaaaaally need to talk to her, seoyun, it’s so important, the most important,” he says with a bubbly hiccup, and seoyun laughs, turning to the side and wiggling her eyebrows at you. you squint, imploring her to please not give you away, but you know taehyung is too drunk to probably know his own damn name right now. “well, how about you tell me, and i’ll tell her in the morning?” she offers, and taehyung scowls, concentrating hard on seoyun’s face as he tries to decode what she said. he takes a deep breath, and says:

“okay, but you have to promise to tell her. but first, you should know that i’m *hiccup* drunk. i’m pretty drunk. i don’t think i remember getting drunk, but i know that i am very drunk right now. which is why *hiccup* i’m saying this. because i’m drunk. because the boys made me. well, that’s not true. not really. ‘cause the boys went *hiccup* to another bar, and i didn’t want to go. i wanted to come *hiccup* here. i wanted to see y/n. i wanted to see her pretty face when opened the door, how her whole stupid pretty little *hiccup* face lights up. she gets so excited when she sees me, seoyun. did you know that? she gets so fucking excited. like seeing me makes her whole day. and my heart just turns to a mushy pile of mush. i’m not kidding it turns to *hiccup hiccup* complete mush. everytime i see her, i wanna pick her up. i wanna give her the biggest hug, and just wrap her up in my arms. i wanna bury her inside my coat when we walk around campus and she gets cold. i wanna kiss her forehead and watch her nose scrunch up. i wanna *hiccup* cuddle with her, i wanna fall asleep with her head on my chest. i wanna fall asleep knowing that she’s right next to me, that she’s safe and that nothing bad can happen to her while she’s there. i *hiccup* wanna love her forever and ever, seoyun. i love her so much, but we’re friends. and i’m, i’m okay with that. i think. i know she *hiccup* just wants to be friends right now, and i don’t wanna push her to be something else. but, i love her. so much. you *hiccup* don’t understand. i love her alot.” taehyung finishes, and lowers his head to look at his shoes, shyly playing with his hands.

“oh. my. god.” seoyun takes a step backwards to see you behind the door, eyes wide and a panicked gape on her face. “do something” you hiss, and she just shakes her head in shock. seoyun doesn’t have the time to do anything, before taehyung speaks again, “seoyun, remember how i said i was really drunk? c-can i sleep here? i’m too tired to walk home,” he slurs, and seoyun rolls her eyes, before grabbing him by the jacket and yanking him into the apartment, slamming the door and shoving him towards the kitchen. she catches your incredulous look, and she simply shrugs with a grin, “i am not gonna let your secret lover get arrested for public intoxication, or let him sleep on a park bench. what kind of friend would i be, hm? to ruin the romance before it’s even started, i would be -”

but neither you nor taehyung are listening to her. his searching eyes finally find you, pressed up against the wall, the same spot you’d been glued to ever since taehyung started his speech. “y/n” he breathes out, a grin breaking onto his face. his eyes are hooded, bloodshot, and he looks so, so sleepy. the alcohol buzzing in his blood seems to make him glow, the golden radiance that always surrounded him burning brighter than it usually does. you can practically feel the warmth radiating off him, and the only thing you can think about is how nice it would be to feel that warmth pressed up against you right now. taehyung’s own mind might be fuzzy, and he feels like he’s floating in his own head, but one clear, undeniable thought comes through, one that rings in his eardrums and makes his blood buzz even harder than the vodka does: cute. wanna kiss.

he drunkenly pushes seoyun out of the way, and stumbles his way down the hallway, pushing open a door he just knows is yours. taehyung collapses facedown on the bed, humming softly as he gathers the pillows and blankets around him, bundling himself up into a nice little cocoon in your bedsheets, and within seconds, he’s out.

“make yourself at home,” seoyun snorts, leaning on the doorframe to your bedroom. she turns to you with a clever smile, “so what do we do now?” you shrug, and sigh, “let him sleep it off, i guess.” seoyun returns the shrug, and brushes past you. you grasp her arm as she passes, and whispers, “do you think he really meant that? like, all that stuff he said, that was real?” seoyun sighs, glancing back towards his sleeping figure on the bed. “honestly, i don’t know. i hope so,” she says with a wink, and saunters her way down the hall, waving behind her, “after all, they do say that alcohol is the best truth serum.” and tonight, you really hope she’s right.

morning light breaks through the living room windows, dappling across your face, and instantly waking you up, a whole half hour earlier than normal. you groan, before rolling over and realizing your bed must have most definitely shrunk during the night. flailing your arms around, you realize that you’re not in your bed at all, but yet on the sofa. your blurry and sleep deprived mind puts two and two together much faster than you’re ready for, and the memories of last night come rushing towards you at full blast. taehyung. his drunken ramblings about being in love with you. him. asleep. in your bed. you secretly hope that someone will come knock you out.

a door opens, and seoyun emerges from her bedroom, puffy-faced and pouting at the light of morning. her expression changes to confusion at the sight of you on the couch, but it soon fades into a knowing smile as she shakes her head and shuffles to the kitchen.

you follow close on her heels, and lean against the counter. “so what’s the plan here, just wait for the drunk boy to wake up?” you question anxiously, and seoyun takes a nonchalant sip of her coffee. “that’s the plan. unless you’ve got something better,” she smiles with a wink.

the smell of coffee and toast wakes the sleeping boy, and he manages (with great effort) to wrangle himself out of the cocoon he created. the morning of sheer confusion and then muddled understanding continues, as it dawns on taehyung - the memories of last night come raining down on him. all that he did, all that he said - fuck.

taehyung lets his nose guide him to the kitchen, where he finds you and seoyun, talking closely together with only a coffee mugs’ length between you both. you glance up and see him standing there - wrinkled t-shirt, crumpled jeans, and hair mussed to high hell. seoyun chokes on her coffee, and manages to splutter out “i’mgonnagoshower” before racing off to the bathroom.

taehyung shuffles towards the counter, and settles as close to you as he dares - close enough to feel remnants of warmth radiating off you - the exact warmth that both of you had dreamed about last night.

“listen, about last night -” he starts, but you cut him off, strongly and abruptly.

“did you mean it? if you remember it, i mean. and if you do remember, then you know exactly what i’m talking about. but i - did you mean it?”

he frowns ever so slightly, and bends further into your space. you wish you could move, towards him or away, it didn’t matter - but right now, the proximity has you paralyzed. the warmth you yearned for last night now swirls around you in columns - encompassing the pair of you, making you feel more loved, more cared for, than anything ever before.

he leans in so close that you can feel the light tickle of his breath on your earlobe, as he gently lifts a finger to brush your hair away. he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, gnaws it for a second, before letting his full pout gently rest on your ear. when he speaks, it’s like the earth underneath your feet shakes. your entire chest shutters, your bones rattle, the deep timbre of his voice threatening to make you crumble into a heap of rubble on the ground. that hand that isn’t toying with your hair finds your waist, and you hope that the heat radiating from his hand leaves a golden tattoo on your hip. he speaks, slowly, sure, his tongue full of confidence and his voice full of love;

“every word, baby. i meant every word.”

your stomach drops, your heart rises, and your pupils blow. you pull back ever so slightly, and your eyes meet. a gentle smile spreads on his face, and his face lights up with anticipation. the butterflies you’d been feeling for weeks now suddenly explode - creating a scene of gnashing teeth, sore lips, fingers tangled in hair, breathless panting, and an explosion of gold.

hours later, taehyung is waking up from his second hangover nap of the day. he whines as he rolls over, reaching his arms out and wishing you could be there to fill the empty space, instead of your pillows. he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand, planning to send you a plethora of sad faces, hopefully enough to convince to skip your last two classes and come home to him. instead, he sees his groupchat exploding with messages:

2:45pm

jimin: everyone alive?

jungkook: barely

hoseok: define “alive”

2:46pm

namjoon: you guys won’t believe the night i had

yoongi: no yOU guys won’t believe the night I had i’m not kidding when i say being abducted by aliens would have been a more likely way for my night to go

jungkook: it’ll be a weak ass story compared to mine this i promise

seokjin: NOT ONLY was the night meant to celebrate MY accomplishment, but i have one-up-ed you guys YET AGAIN my night was superior no one can tell me any different

2:47pm

taehyung: well, come on guys. i wanna hear all about it.

2:49pm

hoseok: hold onto your panties, ladies.

anon i really hope you liked this i’m so nervous i’m sweating

[shibyn]

and the wind sounds like the world’s sigh

persona 4 & 5 | shiho-centric, investigation team Near the end of May, Shiho transfers to a sleepy town called Inaba for a fresh start. However, Inaba isn’t the sleepy town her parents thought would be best for her— its on edge with unsolved mysteries, and Shiho finds that there’s a bit more behind what meets the eye regarding some of her classmates and a TV screen.

chapter 2 | 3.8k | ao3

Shiho smiles. She tries to force her grip on her phone to loosen up, even just a bit, so her knuckles don't creak against it. In the classroom beside her, Morooka shouts loud enough she's sure the whole school can hear him. It makes her tense up a bit-- he wasn't that pleasant of a teacher first impression wise. He had scoffed when she walked into the teacher's office, and he grumbled the whole way to the classroom. She just hopes today's an off day for him. 

Shiho jerks awake as thunder cracks outside her window. The shutters rattle outside, and she can feel her bones vibrating with the resonance. Sheets of rain crash against her window, deafening, yet a mere white noise compared to the thunder. Sudden alarm hums in her veins, and she groans, knowing she won't sleep anytime soon. Her mom told her about this, hadn't she--? The neighbor warned there was going to be a storm tonight. There's been a lot of storms recently, her mom recalled the neighbor's words. She rolls on her side and tries burying her head in blankets and pillows so it could maybe muffle it all, but it's fruitless. The air still cracks with the thunder and her whole room is lit with a flash. A dread settles in her bones when she looks towards her closet door. The Yasogami uniform hangs on the door handle like a mourning flag. The yellow looks solemn in the dark, occasionally illuminated a sickly glow by the lightning outside. She hadn't tried it on, yet-- it felt like an acceptance of her fate if she did, but-- really? She's already here. Might as well deal with it. Yet-- and yet-- The buzz of her phone is sudden, even in the noise around her. She feels around for it-- her hand eventually brushes against the plastic case underneath her pillow, and she pulls it out. Clicking it on, the brightness nearly blinds her for a moment, even though it's on its lowest setting. Ann [1:42 A.M.] hhhhhhhhhh inui's gonna killl meeeee i dont care about  the ancient olympics >:// can fail this test ,, pls,, i havent slept in days,,, Shiho snorts despite herself. The sky rumbles outside, and she keys out a response. Shiho [1:43 A.M.] idk... if you started earlier you could've had more time to sleep :// Ann [1:43 A.M.] what are u doing up young lady u better be going back to sleep and dont give me that!! u know my heart is dedicated to rewatching sailor moon Shiho [1:43 A.M.] says the one who messaged me sailor moon would want you to forgo watching her show and to study Ann [1:44 A.M.] have u even SEEN sailor moon? shed be in the same boat im in She's miles away, miles and miles away. It-- god, it's going to be awful, tomorrow-- Ann won't be there. She won't be there, she won't be there waiting at the metro, she won't greet her in the mornings with the smile that lights the days. She doesn't want to go, she can't go, she doesn't know anyone there, she doesn't want to go-- Shiho takes in a steadying breath. Her phone buzzes even though she hadn't responded. Ann [1:44 A.M.] ur first day is tomorrow, yeah? hows the uniform? Shiho [1:45 A.M.] [image attached] what are your words, oh fashion goddess Ann [1:45 A.M.] hm.... it'll look cute on u definitely one hell of a uniform... doesnt beat shujin plaid, tho ;)) have u gotten any sleep? Shiho [1:45 A.M.] I have, worry about yourself !! I dont wanna go The uniform looms in the corner of her eyes. She's tired, so tired, her knees ache, she wants to go home. But now this is home-- this house, in the middle of nowhere, Inaba, filled with moving boxes and tense silences and unspoken thoughts. It's been like that since she left the hospital, even at the old apartment back in Tokyo, and-- when has home felt like home? Ann [1:46 A.M.] i know im sorry ill be here for ya, yeah? just one year there you can do it!! Shiho squeezes her phone. She wishes she could have an ounce of the confidence Ann has for her. — Ann [8:14 A.M.] so?? first impressions?? Shiho [8:14 A.M.] its,, like any other school? maybe smaller than shujin? i might just be use to having the school smack dab in the center of the city, tho Ann [8:14 A.M.] isnt it just hills and hills out there?? god... its kinda spooky to think about that... no crazy tall buildings within miles... Shiho [8:15 A.M.] hey, i think it's pretty quant out here Shiho smiles. She tries to force her grip on her phone to loosen up, even just a bit, so her knuckles don't creak against it. In the classroom beside her, Morooka shouts loud enough she's sure the whole school can hear him. It makes her tense up a bit-- he wasn't that pleasant of a teacher first impression wise. He had scoffed when she walked into the teacher's office, and he grumbled the whole way to the classroom. She just hopes today's an off day for him. Ann [8:15 A.M.] sure, sure how does it feel?? being one with nature?? ahh the cool spring breeze, the pollutionless air--!! Shiho [8:15 A.M.] i think that pollution is finally messing with your head Ann [8:15 A.M.] HEY!!! The door slides open abruptly beside her, making her jump and nearly launch her phone down the hall. She shoves it quickly into her pocket, swiping at her skirt for dirt that wasn't there. Morooka sneers, which looks kinda strange with his overbite. "You kids these days and your damn phones..." he spits, and stalks back to the podium without another word. Her hands shake, so she clenches them to keep them still. She takes a deep breath, thinking, please let this be a woke-up-on-the-wrong-side-of-bed morning, and steps in after him. The first thing she notices is that the class is dead silent. They stare at her owlishly, and briefly, she thinks something's wrong. Is her uniform crooked? Backwards? Inside out--? Her hair weird? The humidity might've made it flick up in weird places-- She spent so long this morning making sure everything was alright, though it was more out of an anxious habit rather than to make a good impression-- Was-- was she walking weird? She straightens her back, eyes focused on her feet, right, left, right, left, one after the other-- she didn't think her limp was bad today-- Her fingernails bite into her palm and stands beside Morooka's podium. It's okay, it'll be okay, she thinks like a mantra, trying hard not to show her nerves. She won't--can't-- let something like being introduced to class let her stumble. They're looking because they're curious, she reasons, which does a significant amount to reducing the tension in her back, they're not looking because they're malicious. They're not looking because you walk weird. They're not. It's okay.

"Lets hurry an' get this over with before I waste any more of my time," Morooka says, scowling in her direction. The tension regrows along her spine from his scrutiny. Just as she opens her mouth to introduce herself, he cuts her off-- "Due to some trashy circumstances, this kid's been tossed to this dump not even a quarter through the stinkin' year. Couldn't even wait till the end of the semester, huh?" He looks towards her, as if actually asking her.

Her limbs suddenly feel like they're locking up under his mocking glare. Her mouth goes dry. Is this for real? she thinks, a bit astounded, because wouldn't the teachers here be warned of-- "I..." she starts, maybe to say something back, because he's looking at her like he wants an answer. But-- what is there to say? What answer can she give? She doesn't want to be here, he doesn't want her to be here, so-- Is this what it was like for Akira? Shiho thinks fleetingly, glancing towards her new classmates yet not at all-- none of them wear an expression, an indication, even a hint of what she should do-- he-- he had it so much worse, didn't he? People thought he was awful before he even stepped foot in the school-- "Well? Hurry an' tell them who ya are." He sounds agitated. He motions back towards the class like it's a dismissal. Shiho chews on the inside of her cheek and tries to steel her nerves. "I'm. I'm Suzui Shiho," she says, trying not to trip up with all the eyes on her, "It's nice to meet you." "You shits better not think about tryin' anything funny," Morooka says abruptly, his eyes darting from boy to boy with a nasty glare. "She's comin' straight from Tokyo, and while that place is a shithole and full of assholes, none of you baboons can measure up. I better not see any funny business goin' on later!" Are— are teachers allowed to curse this much? Shiho blinks, glancing towards him. She doesn't know whether or not to be grateful-- it's hard to tell with the mix of insults in his words. No one in the class looks put-off by his word choice, which doesn't exactly help. "You, you're gonna sit over there," he says, motioning vaguely in the direction of the second to last row of desks, near the door. She takes this as her leave, trying not to acknowledge the eyes following her as she sits down in her seat. The girl next to her is silent, staring openly, chin propped up in her hand, eyes half-closed. Some people towards the front of the class crane around in their seats, peering at her. She tries to ignore the stares, the whispers that quietly arise, and she twiddles her thumbs. This is awful, awful-- Soon enough, Morooka starts teaching (can she call it that? it's more aggressive than any teacher she's ever seen-- Ushimaru can��t even top it) and focus is shifted off her for a while. She slips her phone out of her pocket, trying to discreetly hide the fact that she's on it. Honestly-- she doesn't care. Her body's too tense and high strung and she really just wants to see Ann. Ann [8:16 A.M.] shiho? ya still there? Shiho [8:24 A.M.] I think my homeroom teacher beats ryuji in terms of how much he swears Ann [8:24 A.M.] oh!! did u just get introduced to your class!! how was it!! Shiho [8:24 A.M.] not. the best? i kinda just want the day to be over aren't you meant to be focusing on class Ann [8:25 A.M.] youre much more important than whatever ushimarus talking about :// besides!! u say that as if we didnt text each other during class time at all !! be sure to message me when your break and lunch is!! ill try to keep messages in those time so i dont get ya in trouble so early on so!! im gonna go radio silent for now so ya dont get scolded good luck!! ♥♥ message me if ya need anything!!! The corners of her mouth lift up ever so slightly. — Shiho's never been one for being the center of attention. It was just a guarantee, being quiet-natured and friends with a foreign-looking student that everyone seemed to have a vendetta against. Ann's always been the one to dispel unwanted attention previously, too. But she's not here-- so when a couple of students crowd around her desk after class ends, she can feel herself freezing up. "So, you're from Tokyo, too!" One peppy girl says, her hair pulled into a half pony tail. "What chance! It's so rare to get transfers here in the same year! And for them to be from Tokyo!" "I wonder if it's gonna be a trend, like more people from the city will come flooding in," the girl with glasses says. "How's the jump, huh?" The boy who sits in front of her asks, sitting backwards in his seat to face her. She bristles at the question, ice creeping in her veins. He grins innocently, to which she realizes of course they wouldn't know, don't worry, its just weird phrasing, "Seta-san didn't say much about it. What about you? From the city to the middle of nowhere?" Its quiet for a beat, and Shiho really wished they weren't looking at her. "It's... alright, I mean," Shiho says slowly, trying to choose words that aren't too strong in feeling. She had lived in Tokyo for her whole life, and the countryside is so, so different, but she doesn't know how to explain the feeling to these people. She doesn't think any of them will really understand what it's like to be plunged into silence after being surrounded by noise her whole life. "It's... kinda nice being able to see an actual hillside when I walk around, though?" The girl with glasses giggles at her response. "Nature over industry, right? Seta-san adjusted pretty quickly, so I don't think it should be a problem for you!" Well, sure. But that's also Seta-san. Seta-san probably wasn't booted from his home, his friends, his life, all because of the decisions that were outside of his reach, and then dumped off in a place so different, so far away from all he's known. She isn't Seta-san, and she doesn't want to be here. Shiho smiles instead and pinches the back of her hand. "Hopefully." "Have you had the chance to wonder around Inaba yet?" the boy in front of her asks idly. Shiho briefly wonders how long break is, so she doesn't have to sit through much longer of this. She wishes this could just end. She wishes the day would end. "I have," she says, trying to ward off the strain in her spine. "Um, I didn't get to see much, though. We only went to a noodle place, really, which wasn't far..." "Oh! You mean Shishio's Noodle Bar?" One of the girl chimes. Shiho can only nod yes, because she doesn't really know what place it was and it seemed like the proper thing to say. "I love that place! They just put the right amount of sauce on, and the perfect amount of meat in!" the girl gushes, "There's tons of independent restaurants around here, and all of them are incredible!! You really need to try them all, Suzui-san!" Shiho tries to say something back, maybe like the noodles were great or what are your favorite places or just ok, because that seems like the things to say, she can't just give up having an okay school year here just because she doesn't want to be here, right? Even if her skin is crawling at the prospect of conversation with strangers. Ann would want her to try, wouldn't she? And besides, these people-- they're trying to make the effort to talk to her, she has to at least respond. Maybe they want to be friends? But— she finds herself drowned out the second she opens her mouth. "Oh, have you been to the Steak House recently?" the glasses girl asks, unknowingly right over Shiho's quiet words, "they added a new flavor and a kebob option! It's super tasty!" "No way! I gotta try some now! You wanna come with me after school?" "Definitely! You wanna come, Asahi?" "Oh, hell yeah! I'd never pass up going to that place!" "We can go if it's not raining after school. I swear, all it's been doing is raining! Some spring it is..." "It's karma! We didn't get much snow, so now we have tons of rain." Ah. Suddenly, it's like a void has grown around her and the people lounging on the desks around her. She knows these people are trying, maybe, trying to welcome her here, to make her not feel lonely, maybe to be friends, but-- she doesn't feel there, not physically, with people talking all around her, and-- She squeezes her phone. It'd be rude to pull it out and text Ann, wouldn't it? These people seem nosey, they might ask her who-- "Ah, isn't the Steak House near where the police are hanging out, though?" The boy asks solemnly, arms crossed over the back of his chair. "The street might be blocked off, since they're investigating every corner of Inaba." The glasses girl grumbles aloud. "What a pain! I swear, they're just everywhere now-a-days, especially since Tatsumi went missing..." Tatsumi. Shiho remembers that name. She remembers the police officer asking her and her father, in the dark of night, if they knew where the kid was. Wasn't he a student at Yasogami? These-- these people don't seem particularly alarmed that he's missing. "I, uh--" Shiho starts, curiosity bubbling out of her. Should she even ask-- well-- it's a little late to recoil, with the curious expression on the boy's face and the two girls peering at her. She swallows, and starts again. "I-- who... who is Tatsumi Kanji?"

The reaction... isn't what she expected, if she's being truthful. The boy's mouth twists into a brief sneer, the girls scowling. It's like she spoke words of taboo, and not someone's name. "Tatsumi? He's just a punk." The boy waves it off, like he isn't someone missing. "All he knows how to do is pick a fight. Some first year asshole-- thought he was on top of the school..." "Don't worry about him, Suzui-san," one girl says politely, yet it's the furthest thing from it, "he's probably off with a gang doing who knows what-- drugs, getting drunk, whatever. He's total a creep." And. And it hits her like how it was with Akira. She remembers dimly, words of warning, pointing fingers, averted gazes, all regarding a transfer student with curly hair and dorky glasses, don't speak to him, he's a criminal, you know? Akira only wanted to live quietly, and yet-- his whole life in Tokyo, shattered, from day one. Yet-- yet he was nothing like what people said, he wasn't a bad person. Ann trusts him, trusts him wholeheartedly. She told Shiho that he's exactly the dork that he looks like, he loves Big Bang burger challenges, he loves cats, he's a prankster, he-- he didn't deserve to have everyone scorn him-- And she remembers the quiet confession of Mishima to her, his hands shaking violently, eyes glassed over, he told me to. He told me to ruin Kurusu's life, to share the criminal records. All because of Kamoshida-- Shiho doesn't know Tatsumi Kanji, doesn't know if he's actually a creep or a punk or an asshole, but he's still missing. Shouldn't-- shouldn't they in the least care--? "Hey, lay off." They all turn— there's a group of kids sitting in the middle section of the classroom, two of them glaring. The two glaring are both brunettes, and there's a black-haired girl trying to divert their attention, with quiet 'don't start a fight, you guys--' yet with a hard look in her eyes, and a gray-haired boy sitting down, a mix of a scowl and a simple frown on his face. His eyes are sharp, but he's not stand-offish as the other two. A girl scowls in front of her. "What are you talking about, Hanamura?" "Tatsumi isn't some creep or asshole. All of you just are judging him without knowing who he really is," the brunette girl says, fists clenched by her sides. "I don't know about that," the boy in front of her says languidly, "Don't you know the kind of deals he's been making with those biker gangs? He's a delinquent, through-and-through." The brunette boy looks ready to retaliate, but the bell cuts him off before he can start. The people around her disperse, her seat mate returns, and class starts. Shiho fiddles with her phone, and wants to leave. — Shiho resorts to fleeing from the classroom when lunch begins, hoping to avoid any curious classmates and to maybe figure her way around the building. She opted out for lunch, anyways-- she left the box on the counter, knowing that she might not be able to eat with her stomach roiling with nervous energy from being in this school. The halls are sparse with students. Some talking, some wandering, some staring. She bristles, knowing she’s like a sore thumb in this school-- in Inaba, really, which is apparently so countryside that a new family moving in was about the most intriguing thing around. That can’t possibly be true-- sure, Inaba wasn’t big, the high school even smaller, but there’s no way that this community was so tightly knit that everyone knew everyone so anyone outside of the goddamn place was the most interesting person around, with stories of places so far away. There’s a train station here, it can’t be like there’s no outsiders around. She just wishes Ann was responding so she could keep her attention off the lingering looks and curious glances. She heads up a flight of stairs, trying to scope a library she might be able to stake out lunch in for the rest of the school year. It’s always quiet in the library, and hopefully it’ll keep any students from trying to talk to her. Especially with just being there, in the classroom, surrounded but alone, included but only because of proximity-- she doesn’t think she has the guts to really talk with anyone today, anyways. She might not have the guts to talk in the next few weeks-- she’s never been the new kid, never been in a different house, never not been surrounded by busy streets, she’s only known her home in Tokyo. She can’t find the library or any club rooms, which is kinda strange. Maybe they’re on the first floor? There’s another set of stairs ahead of her; it’s either the rooftop, or another floor that might have them. She doesn’t see anyone else heading up, so it must be the roof? Ah. Well, she’s still got time to explore. The roof might be a place of solitude if the library isn’t. Kinda ironic, she thinks fleetingly, footsteps quiet as she goes up. The hallway is bright with light from a set of doors-- it’s the roof. There’s no signs or anything to keep students out, so Yasogami must be one of those schools where the roofs are open. Shujin wasn’t, but it’s not like anyone really cared. She briefly wonders how things would be if they did. She opens the door, and the wind immediately seems to pick up the second she does, sending her hair whipping around behind in her pony tail.  The air’s weighty with rain soon to come, but it’s only fairly cloudy out. Ah, wow-- the roof is clean, free of abandoned desks and instead has an applaudable amount of solar panels set up. There’s a couple of students up here already, talking amongst themselves and picking at bento boxes resting on their laps. It’s a big, open space. It’s nearly strange not to see tall buildings blotting out the sky, or casting long shadows over the rooftop. It sets the roof as a whole different entity in her mind-- her knees ache, but not in the same crippling way they did on Shujin’s, when she stood up there with Ann and Akira and tried to keep face while looking down. It’s bright, clean, and she can see the sky. So. Maybe it is a kind of fresh start. She still hates Inaba and wants to be back in Tokyo, but hey, it’s something.