#had to inspect the crime scene of the murders he did its when the dots

[allxgene]

Menthe & Wriothesley

Menthe is the melusine who gave Wriothesley soup when he was cold and starving during his nights slumming in Fontaine. Menthe gave him the soup and he was so hungry wolfed it down, she chided him to slow down and he did after a few coughs. Sadly he was so distracted by finally getting a meal after a week he didn't get her name before she returned to her nightly patrol.

Wriothesley only found out later and from Sigewinne who the melusine was that essentially saved him from dying of starvation. Wriothesley always finds time when he's in the overworld to check up on Menthe.

She is in on the sticker game with Sigewinne and got her own stickers done.

[rustic-space-fiddle]

The Umbrella Academy City police force is completely useless without Eudora and here is evidence that I am correct and they are dumb

They arrested Diego [for the suspicionof the murder of Eudora Patch] based on two pieces of evidence: 1) his fingerprints were found at the crime scene, and 2) he and Eudora used to argue a lot.

This is stupid.

The two pieces of evidence could easily be used to bring him in for questioning, but they hauled him in like he was already convicted for the crime. The amount of police they rounded up just arrest this one fool is SO STUPID.

I HAVE ISSUES with some of this evidence.

For one thing, they must have some high-tech fingerprint collector/scanning technology because as far as I could tell, the only thing in that room that Diego touched with his bare hands was Eudora’s face and coat, and maybe the floor. The floor is carpet, so they definitely coudn’t get fingerprints off that. DNA? Yes. Fingerprints? No. What about her face? Given the mixture of oils that already exists on people, especially on their faces, it would be EXTREMELY difficult to pull off a fingerprint intact enough to incriminate him. Again, DNA? Possibly, yes. But fingerprints? Possible, but unlikely. As for her coat, far more likely. possible. I’ll give that to them. But “all over the crime scene”? Shut up, no they were not. BS.

Their second piece of evidence is barely credible, almost moot. They argued a lot? So do a lot of people, especially if they’re talking to Diego. Granted, one could argue that the fact that they’d dated in the past and he clearly still had some feelings to throw in her direction could be seen as a motive, but despite arguing, they didn’t seem to be in an unhealthy relationship.

NOW FOR REASONS THAT ANYONE WHO WALKED IN ON THAT CRIME SCENE AND DID EVEN AN OUNCE OF INVESTIGATION SHOULD HAVE KNOWN IT WAS NOT DIEGO WHO KILLED PATCH:

WEAPON USED. Since when has Diego ever used guns? Even on vigilante work were the opponent has a gun and drops it, Diego doesn’t grab it up and use it. He uses knives and hand-to-hand combat exclusively, as a rule. “Real men throw knives.” Given the knowledge that Diego had been arrested for vigilante justice in the past, they should have almost immediately ruled him out when they found out that it was a GSW.

LOCATION/PERSONEL ON PREMISES. This is a shady af motel. People die at shady motels all the time. That’s already a hazard. If they asked the fella at the front desk even two questions, they would have learned that Eudora showed up asking to search the place, with evidence that TWO DANGEROUS INDIVUALS WERE STAYING THERE. She had the evidence with her to prove that she went there on mission. The guy at the front desk has no obligation to withhold information about her searching from them because she was not a guest at the hotel and therefore did not fall under the “don’t ask, don’t tell” rule, it was the investigation of a murder (the murder of a police officer, no less), and given that the hotel was now a crime scene, they would not need a warrant. They would also learn that the room in question had been rented out by TWO PEOPLE named Cha-Cha and Hazel, which immediately sound like code names even to the untrained ear, especially when spoken together. This then begs the question: where are said Hazel and Cha-Cha? (This isn’t even the only question that would be asked afterward—its just the most absolutely frickin obvious.) They aren’t there? FIND THEM. GET A DESCRIPTION, AND FIND THEM.

RECENT SHOOTINGS. ...did they forget that they had at least two shooters on the loose? Shooters with no self control and kiddie masks? Why did they not connect the dots? Eudora goes in looking for two people, finds a room used by two people, gets shot, and then those two people go missing. WHAT A COINCIDENCE.

THE CRIME SCENE ITSELF. Here’s what they see: Eudora, on her back, about halfway between the open door behind her and the open bathroom in from of her. Her gun on the ground. A pool of blood beneath her. The open grate near the bed. These are all just the basic “oh look I have eyes” things that they can see. Upon closer inspection (aka their fricking job), they would see: A CHAIR WITH REMNANTS OF DUCT TAPE AND BLOOD ON IT. BLOOD ON THE TABLE FROM KLAUS BANGING HIS FACE ON IT. BLOOD ON THE OPEN GRATE. A BULLET HOLE EITHER IN THE WALL NEAR THE BATHROOM, OR A BULLET ON THE FLOOR (we see blood pouring out her front, despite being shot in the back, so it must’ve punched all the way through). EVIDENCE THAT TWO PEOPLE DID LIVE THERE (slightly less because the cleaning lady got in, and they did try to keep their footprint small, but sTILL). TO ANYONE WITH A BRAIN, IT IS CLEAR THAT THERE IS MORE TO THIS CRIME SCENE THAN MEETS TWO SECONDS OF LOOKING AT IT.

EUDORA SPECIFICALLY. They found her on her back, because Diego rolled her onto her back from her front after finding her. By that time, she was already dead and had been for several minutes. What happens when you die? Your heart stops, which means blood stops pumping. Judging by her position is relation the blood pool and her GSW, the amount of blood beneath her vs the amount of blood on her front, and it’s clear she was rolled over. By whom? Well, they said they found Diego’s fingerprints, so we’re going to assume (since they seem to like presumptions) that it was Diego. Alright, we’ve figured that out. Now, let’s say that she was still laying on her front. The bullet hit her in the back and went through her front, so the shoot her was behind her. However, judging by her gun on the floor and the direction she was facing, one could conjecture that she was focused on another target, one that prevented her from noticing the threat behind her. Was that target Diego? Could’ve been, but even though Eudora would tase him without question, people don’t often pull guns on people they know. It’s still possible, however, so I’ll let them have it. Going back to the idea that Diego rolled her over: why would he do that? To steal her badge? Her gun? Both were still there, so no. Motives are unclear, but it still doesn’t prove that he killed her.

GUNSHOT RESIDUE. This would take longer, and they would have to bring him in for questioning in order to get this information, but this idiot never takes off his suit. Wipe him down to gunshot residue. Didn’t find any? Darn. Looks like you jumped to the wrong conclusion. I won’t hold this on them, simply because they didn’t have a lot of time (apocalypse, duh), but lets pretend that this is a TV show with TV show time and that the testing would take like two hours or something. Of course, they’d still have to bring Diego in for questioning, but that’s not arresting him. That’s just how investigation works. We’ll ignore this because mostly i want to focus on the stuff once could figure out with just a couple hours of legitimate thought.

BASICALLY, what I’m sayin is that they arrested on Diego on some of the thinnest evidence on the planet. A child appearing out of a blue wormhole and telling me that he’s 58 trapped in a 13-year-old body is EONS more believable than the spiderweb threads they bagged Diego on. It’s absolute bull crap, and Eudora would be ashamed of them for such shoddy police work.

Also, to the one cop who literally said “You killed a cop, a**hole!”: You are stupid and unprofessional and I cannot believe they gave you a loaded weapon. You are not an investigator, you are the large man they get to haul people in. You are not even smart enough to figure out who done it in the first place, so you got a lot of guts throwing around such slanderous phrases as “you killed a cop”. Either shut the eff up and read the man his rights, or turn in your badge and gun and go watch the soap operas you so obviously wish you were in.

[theajaheira]

unbearable

read it on ao3!

“I called Dottie to check in,” Collins said. “We’d had a date scheduled for the pictures, but then Miss Fisher got that party invitation out of the blue, and I thought, well, it might be nice to surprise Dottie with a long-distance telephone call anyway. But Miss Fisher picked up, and hearing it was me seemed to worry her, and she wanted to know why I was calling and then if it was something to do with you, and I said, no, don’t worry, the Inspector’s fine, nobody’s dead—”

(a role reversal inspired by blood at the wheel, wherein one lady detective mishears a message instead.)

to celebrate me being accepted to my dream college, i stayed up till 1am writing mfmm fic and FINALLY locked this damn ending down. feeling pretty good abt myself, y’all.

It felt almost as though Miss Fisher had taken the sunshine with her. She had departed from Melbourne for a soiree at some wealthy friend’s country estate, cheerfully tossing a “don’t solve too many murders while I’m gone!” over her shoulder as she did so, and not an hour later, it had begun to rain. They were well into the third day of gloomy, gray weather, and Jack was doing his best to pretend that it was the cloudy skies that had him feeling frustrated and restless.

It wasn’t, though. Clearly not. Though the more inventive criminals weren’t out and about in the rainy weather, there was no shortage of telephone calls about car accidents and attempted muggings and mediocre things like that. Jack had never been frustrated by police work, and he had never felt restless doing paperwork in his office. He’d stayed where he was because he appreciated every part of his job, even the more procedural aspects. Something like a little bit of rain wouldn’t have him feeling lonely.

But feeling maudlin due to rain was at least slightly excusable. Feeling maudlin because a woman he had no clear connection to was out of town for a mere two weeks was bloody ridiculous. Even if that woman was Miss Fisher, who seemed to bring life and light wherever she went, and whose absence seemed pervasive. His office felt oddly incomplete without her barging in on some ridiculous—

“Constable Collins!” shouted a near-hysterical voice, and Jack’s office door slammed open, revealing none other than Phryne Fisher.

Jack stared. He had seen Miss Fisher in various states of disarray before, but in comparison to a half-unbuttoned shirt or a flash of stocking, this was total chaos. Clutching her handbag, Miss Fisher was wearing mismatched high heels, one stocking, and a slip, her usual dressing gown thrown haphazardly over the whole mess. Not only that, but she was soaking wet from head to toe, as though she had run all the way from the train station without stopping.

“Miss Fisher,” said Jack stupidly. “Aren’t you due back next week?”

Miss Fisher stared at him, mouth half-open, and collapsed against the doorframe. She was shaking.

“Phryne,” said Jack. Worry twisted his chest as he crossed the room to her, gently gripping her shoulder. He hesitated, glancing into the front office; though Collins was staring at them with his mouth half-open, no one else seemed to have noticed Miss Fisher. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to give them some privacy, and so he tugged Miss Fisher into the office, shutting the door. “What on earth is the matter?”

Miss Fisher jerked her shoulder away from his hand as if burned. She raised shaking hands to her hair, patting it down. “I am going to have words with Constable Collins,” she said, in a strange, dangerous tone of voice. She swayed on her feet.

“Well, I’m sure you have reason to,” said Jack carefully. “Might you sit down before you do so?”

“No,” said Miss Fisher.

Jack didn’t really feel like trying to explain to an entire precinct why an ill-dressed, soaking wet Miss Fisher was angry at Constable Collins, particularly when he wasn’t quite sure himself. “At least dry off a bit,” he suggested, and pulled out his desk chair, removing his overcoat from where he’d draped it over the back of the chair.

Just as he was crossing the room again to tuck the overcoat around Miss Fisher, Dot burst in, equally drenched but a bit more well-dressed. “Oh, Inspector!” she gasped, and burst into tears; Collins, who seemed to have followed her, pulled Dot hastily and awkwardly into his arms.

“Dot, it’s fine,” said Miss Fisher a bit thinly, shrugging off Jack’s hands. “Hugh, may I speak with you in private?”

“Miss Fisher, you���re soaking wet,” said Jack quietly, reaching out again with the overcoat. “I don’t think—”

“I’ve taken care of myself quite well before you came along, Jack, I don’t think I need your input at this juncture,” snapped Miss Fisher, swatting his hands away. Jack, stunned by the force of her anger (and quite unsure of its cause), backed off, watching her with worry. “Hugh, I should like to speak with you in private.”

Collins glanced nervously up at Jack.

“Go on, then,” said Jack. At least someone might know what was going on.

Collins let go of Dot, squeezing her hands, and headed out of Jack’s office. Miss Fisher followed, still looking more than ready to kill something.

Dot was crying very hard. Jack shut the door, still completely lost. “I’m so sorry!” she wailed. “She got the phone call and she just took off! I was helping with breakfast or I might have missed her, she ran so fast I only barely managed to catch the same train as her—”

“Ran?” Jack repeated.

“I don’t know what’s wrong!” sobbed Dot. “She was in a state all the way to Melbourne, wouldn’t even talk to me, just sat there staring out the window, and then when we got to the station she just started running again because she said a taxi couldn’t possibly come soon enough to get her to City South—”

“And I’m assuming Bert and Cec crossed town to drive you here?”

Dot sniffled, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at her face. “Our hosts must have called Wardlow and let Mr. B know Miss Fisher had run off,” she said shakily. “I don’t know what she heard, Inspector, but if it’s anything to do with you—”

There was a knock on the door. Jack opened it. Collins was standing there, ashen. “I, um, there was—the phone lines have been bad,” he said. “Because of the rain. Miss Fisher misheard—”

“Hugh, I will thank you not to bother Inspector Robinson with something that is most certainly not police business,” said Miss Fisher sharply from behind him. “Dot, come along.”

“Miss, what—” Dot began, still sniffling.

“Dot, come along,” said Miss Fisher again. She sounded near tears herself.

“Miss Fisher, if there’s anything—” Jack began.

“Thank you, Inspector, but your services aren’t required,” said Miss Fisher. “If I can just—”

Jack stepped deftly around Collins. Without a word, he tucked the overcoat determinedly around Miss Fisher, who stared up at him with wide eyes. “You’ll catch your chill,” he said gruffly, “and being obstinate about it won’t help anyone. Melbourne is better for having you in it, Miss Fisher.”

In the moment before she hurriedly turned away, Jack was quite certain he saw Miss Fisher’s face crumple. He felt Dot push gently past him, watched as she tucked her arm gently around Miss Fisher’s waist, and couldn’t look away as Dot carefully led Miss Fisher out of the precinct. Miss Fisher looked back, once, at the door, and it was directly at him; it was as though she was drinking the sight of him in.

“Collins,” said Jack. “What was that?”

To his surprise, Collins looked steadily up at him and said, “Sir, you know I hate to keep things from you, but Miss Fisher informed me of my mistake in confidence. I don’t think she’d be happy if she knew I betrayed that confidence.”

“If it’s official police business,” Jack began, a warning in his voice.

“But it isn’t, sir,” said Collins. “I can assure you of that.”

There was a horribly artistic murder the next day, the sort that usually had Miss Fisher popping up out of nowhere and cheerfully pointing out clues that Jack would have found eventually. He was already pre-irritated when he saw the sigils and symbols carved into the table around the victim’s body; this was the sort of thing that attracted Miss Fisher like a moth to a flame. But she didn’t turn up for the duration of the entire crime scene inspection, which struck him as more than odd.

Collins didn’t seem at all surprised. Jack noted this, and kept it under wraps until they were heading out with the limited evidence they’d discovered. Halfway to the car, he stopped, and waited for Collins to turn.

Collins did. “Sir?”

“Seeing as Miss Fisher did not turn up at this crime scene,” said Jack, “and seeing as her lateness has likely impeded our investigation, the information you’re withholding has now become police business.”

“But sir, Miss Fisher isn’t a member of the police force—”

Jack fixed Collins with a look. “Are you saying Miss Fisher hasn’t been of help to us in these past investigations?” he said. If he wasn’t so determined to find out what the hell had upset Phryne so much, he might have felt a bit guilty about winding Collins up.

“N-no! No, sir, I just—”

“Are you saying we don’t value her contributions to case work?”

“No, um, I mean, yes? I mean, sometimes you get a bit angry when—”

“Collins,” said Jack. “I believe I’ve made myself quite clear. Why might Miss Fisher have avoided this crime scene?”

Collins wavered, looking genuinely worried. “I don’t know how she’ll feel about—” he began.

“I ask with Miss Fisher’s best interests in mind,” said Jack, his voice softening almost involuntarily. “I can assure you, Collins, I won’t do anything with this information that might hurt her.”

This seemed to relax Collins. He was a good lad, Jack thought, a man of integrity and kindness; his reticence to risk Miss Fisher’s trust spoke well of him. “I called Dottie to check in,” he said. “We’d had a date scheduled for the pictures, but then Miss Fisher got that party invitation out of the blue, and I thought, well, it might be nice to surprise Dottie with a long-distance telephone call anyway. But Miss Fisher picked up, and hearing it was me seemed to worry her, and she wanted to know why I was calling and then if it was something to do with you, and I said, no, don’t worry, the Inspector’s fine, nobody’s dead—”

The phone lines have been bad. Because of the rain. “What did she hear,” said Jack hoarsely. It wasn’t a question.

“She came in and told me that I clearly didn’t know what I was talking about,” Collins continued uncomfortably. “Because there you were, absolutely fine. And I said I didn’t know what she meant, and she said she’d heard me say you were dead, and I told her what I said and then she looked horrified and she said please don’t tell Jack—um, the Inspector, I mean you, that’s just what she said, sir—she said please don’t tell Jack I ran all the way here, it’s humiliating.” He shifted from one foot to the other, looking miserable. “I don’t know if it was the right thing to do, telling you, sir,” he said. “I’ve never seen Miss Fisher in such a state.”

“Nor have I,” said Jack, heart pounding.

This wasn’t, strictly speaking, true. When little Jane Ross had been in danger, Phryne had been beside herself with worry. Jack didn’t doubt that she would have run the entire way home on foot if a car hadn’t been immediately handy. But Jack had never once imagined that he might inspire that same complete lack of reason—that fashionable Phryne Fisher would step into the first shoes she could find and run to the train station in her dressing gown. It answered more than a few prevalent, pressing questions that Jack hadn’t realized he’d had.

“I understand your hesitance, Collins,” Jack said quietly. “I admire it. I’ll do my best to make sure Miss Fisher isn’t further upset by my knowledge.”

Collins looked extremely relieved. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I really do like Miss Fisher, and—and I didn’t mean to upset her, it was the phone lines—”

“I’m well aware,” said Jack, lost in thought. It seemed he would have to check in on Miss Fisher.

Miss Fisher, as it turned out, had indeed contracted a rather intense head cold from her impulsive run through most of Melbourne. When Jack finally dropped by Wardlow, Dot opened the door with a look of thinly disguised exasperation on her face. It was not directed at him. “She tried to escape through the window and help with your murder case,” she said. “Why she can’t just lie still and get better, I will never understand—”

“May I see her?” Jack asked awkwardly.

Dot went a little pink. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be proper,” she said, slow and considering, “but then I think it really would do her some good to have a visitor.”

Jack took this as a yes. Letting Dot take his hat and coat, he ran a hand awkwardly through his hair (though he hadn’t been out in the rain long, it still felt damp and messy), steeled himself, and headed up the stairs to a bedroom he had never once visited, hoping like hell he wasn’t tracking mud all over Miss Fisher’s floors.

He felt a bit like an intruder, upstairs. His nightcaps with Miss Fisher had largely been restricted to the parlor, with a few brief forays into the kitchen to grab a scone or two. This dimly lit hallway was unfamiliar to him, and yet easily recognizable as Phryne Fisher’s home—the art prints on the wall, the decorative sconces, the tasteful wallpaper. Miss Fisher had excellent taste. Jack stopped outside a door that was very slightly ajar, then knocked.

“Dot, I told you, I’m napping,” came Miss Fisher’s voice, somewhat muffled.

“It’s not—um,” said Jack, cleared his throat, and realized he really should have thought this through a bit more than he had. Things always seemed to fall into place whenever he was in this house; some part of him had stupidly expected this to still be the case.

There was a very long silence. Then Phryne said, “Come in, Jack.”

Jack did.

Miss Fisher was propped up against an unholy amount of pillows, looking rather small and fragile amidst the many comforters tucked expertly around her. Rare were the times that Jack saw Phryne without makeup; none of those times had been because she wanted him to see her that way. It was Phryne at her most vulnerable, and it was almost enough to make Jack want to turn away, give her some privacy.

But then he noticed something. Clutched in Miss Fisher’s arms was his own grey overcoat. “Did you know I was coming?” he asked, for a moment unable to process what Phryne Fisher all but hugging his overcoat might mean.

“No,” said Miss Fisher, and hastily pushed the overcoat away from her. It fell off the side of the bed.

“Can I have my overcoat back?” said Jack.

“No—I mean, yes, of course, yes, it’s your overcoat.” Miss Fisher had gone a bit pink; she looked rather unhappy about it.

Jack hesitated. “Phryne,” he said. “I…spoke to Collins—”

“Damn the boy, I should have known he’d cave,” said Miss Fisher, a half-frightened laugh in her voice. “Yes, I thought you were dead, Jack, what of it?”

“You ran halfway through Melbourne in your dressing gown,” said Jack, not sure where he was going with this, only that his heart was pounding and he wished Miss Fisher would stop smiling like this was some kind of a joke. “Phryne, you could have been hurt, you could be more seriously ill than you already are—”

Miss Fisher’s smile was shaking. “Jack, please, I don’t—I can’t talk about this,” she said unsteadily.

“It seems to me as though we might have quite a lot to talk about,” said Jack quietly.

“Well, I don’t—I don’t want to talk about it!” said Miss Fisher, an angry flush rising in her cheeks. “I don’t have to if I don’t want to and I don’t want to, Jack, and I’m sick—”

“Sick, and still trying to make escape attempts?”

“Oh, why can’t anyone in this house keep their mouth shut!” burst out Miss Fisher (Jack decided now wasn’t the time to point out that Collins wasn’t technically a part of Miss Fisher’s staff). “Have you ever considered, Jack, that there are some things I just don’t want you to know about? It isn’t any of your business if I choose to run all the way to Melbourne in my dressing gown—”

“You seem perfectly all right with making my business your business at every point in time,” Jack retorted, stung. “And yet you’re furious if I ask for at least a little more transparency?”

“I think you should leave,” said Miss Fisher, glaring at him over the blankets.

“I think I deserve at least one answer when someone I care about—” Miss Fisher flinched as though she’d been hit; Jack only barely recognized this, “—throws herself in danger because she thinks I’m dead—”

“You’re being incredibly melodramatic, Jack, it’s not as though I threw myself in front of a moving train—”

“Phryne, this is serious,” said Jack, and his voice caught. “You’d have me believe that our partnership is something that matters little to you beyond the crimes we solve and the nightcaps in your parlor, but I sawyou in the office—”

“Stop.”

“—and you looked as though you might crumble to bits—”

“Stop, Jack.”

“—and we need to talk about this, this isn’t something we can just brush over and hide away—”

“Well, it damn well should be!”

Jack stopped. Phryne’s eyes were glittering with tears. He’d pushed too far, he realized, taken for granted that Miss Fisher was, at her core, unshakable. He swallowed, hard, then crossed the room, stooping to pick up his overcoat.

“Leave it,” said Phryne in a small voice.

“It’s my coat, Phryne,” said Jack, exhausted.

“I thought you were dead, Jack,” said Phryne. Her voice was shaking; such was the effort she was putting into holding back tears. “I can’t talk to you about this. I don’t know how.”

Jack picked up the coat, then sat down on the edge of the bed, bundling it up and handing it to Phryne. She hugged it to her chest. “All right,” he said quietly. “So we don’t talk about it and we go back to normal. Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” said Phryne. “That’s what I want.”

Jack nodded. “Then I suppose I should—” he began.

Phryne reached out without a word, her fingers stroking his cheek. Jack’s breath caught in his chest. For the first time, he admitted to himself that he had thought about this moment, more than in passing, and wanted it more desperately than he had ever expected. But she looked so shaken by whatever it was she felt for him, and he had never, never wanted that.

She wasn’t ready, Jack realized. But he could wait for quite a while, now that he knew there was something between them to wait for. He let his head fall forward, resting his forehead against Phryne’s. “It’s all right, Miss Fisher,” he said, and the name felt less like a formality and more like an endearment. “I’m all right. I promise.”

Phryne gave him a flicker of a smile and closed her eyes.

There was a knock on the door. Phryne jerked her hand away, flattening herself against the pillows; Jack took the hint and stood up. “Tea, Miss?” Dot called. “Or are you already climbing out the window with the Inspector?”

“Yes, Dot, it’s all an elaborately staged break-out attempt,” Phryne called back, looking extremely amused. Jack smiled a bit; she smiled rather unsteadily back. Still not quite better, then, Jack thought, but she seemed closer to her usual playful self than she had been before. “Do come in, I could use the company.”

“And doesn’t that make me feel appreciated,” Jack quipped as Dot entered with the tea tray. Before he could lose his nerve, he reached out, quickly squeezing Miss Fisher’s hand. “I really should be off,” he said. “Crime never sleeps, and the string of murders—”

“Oh don’t talk murder with me, Jack, you’ll make me want to really break out of my own home and help you investigate,” sighed Phryne dramatically. That easy smile was back again now that Dot was in the room, which both comforted Jack and made him feel a strange sense of loss. It had been messier, her vulnerability, but it had also been more honest. Less shadows and subterfuge. “If you must be off, be off, and leave me to my extremely boring convalescence.”

“I’ll do my best to drop by again,” said Jack, “make it a bit less boring,” then added hastily, “if I’m welcome, of course,” because their conversation had, as always, left quite a few things ambiguous.

“You’re always welcome, Jack,” said Phryne, her voice softening. Everything did feel so much easier when Dot was in the room—a reminder to both of them that nothing could be too intimate, too revealing, too honest. Jack thought that that probably wasn’t a good sign, but didn’t care: he wanted Phryne to touch him again. He wanted to comfort her, wanted to help her, and now that he knew he could—

Dot cleared her throat.

Realizing that he had been staring at Phryne long enough for it to look odd, Jack stood, hoping he wasn’t blushing himself. “Um, you can—you can keep the overcoat,” he added awkwardly, “I have. Many overcoats,” and then hurried out of the room. It then occurred to him that I have many overcoats was not the note he wanted to end such an intimate exchange on, and so he stuck his head back into the bedroom, added, “Goodbye,” and realized that this was more awkward.

Phryne was smiling, though. That made things relatively all right. “Till next time, Inspector,” she said, and snuggled back into the pillows.

The victim had been in his late sixties, well-dressed, no identification. He’d been placed strategically in the middle of the street, in front of a car with a bloody fender, but according to the coroner, the cause of death was poisoning. There were no visible injuries under his bloody clothing, which raised quite a few questions about whose blood had been on his jacket—

“—can I see that, Jack?” chirped Phryne, peering over his shoulder.

Jack jumped, flinging the coroner’s report into the air and sending papers flying everywhere. “Miss Fisher, have you heard of knocking?” he demanded.

“Well, Dot’s finally released me from house arrest—”

“Is that what they’re calling bed rest these days?”

“—and I checked in with Collins to see if you needed my help, and he said he thought you might,” Phryne finished.

“I didn’t say that, sir!” Collins yelped from the front office.

“You two do seem to have a history of mangled messages,” said Jack, mouth twitching.

Phryne’s easy smile froze on her face. There was a strange, strained silence, and then she said, much too loudly, “So about that murder?”

“Are we just going to avoid the subject entirely, then?” said Jack. “It seems a bit difficult to—”

“It says here that the victim was poisoned,” said Phryne, still in an aggressively loud tone of voice. Was she blushing? “Can you tell me a bit more about that?”

“Well, it’s cyanide,” said Jack, bemused. “Fairly straightforward. Phryne, am I not at least allowed to mention—”

“No,” said Phryne.

Deciding not to press the issue further, Jack stooped to pick up the coroner’s report at the same time that Phryne did. As they reached for the paper, their fingers brushed.

And Jack truly didn’t know what possessed him. It was just that Phryne had looked so small amidst all those pillows, sans red lipstick, close to tears. He reached out for her hand, and he took it over the coroner’s report, holding it quietly and tightly. He couldn’t remember how to be frightened of her snatching her hand away; all he could think was I cannot bear that look on her face.

Immediately, Phryne dropped the corner of the coroner’s report she was holding, ignoring it in favor of gripping Jack’s hand as tightly as she possibly could. She didn’t say anything, but the expression on her face was terrifyingly open, terrifyingly vulnerable. Jack felt as though he had been entrusted with something well beyond his ability to care for. “Miss Fisher,” he whispered, and couldn’t think of a way to end the sentence.

“Sir?” called Collins from the front office.

Phryne jumped away from Jack in a way that reminded him a bit of a skittish baby animal. “Yes, Collins?” he called back, standing up with some frustration; as inappropriate as the time and place was, he’d felt like they were getting somewhere.

“I should go, I should—” Phryne was babbling, already drawing back.

“No,” said Jack, “stay,” and caught the sleeve of her coat just as Collins stepped into the room. “What is it, Collins?”

Collins directed a bewildered look to Jack’s hand on Phryne’s sleeve, seemed to decide (correctly) that any line of questioning about said hand wouldn’t end well for him, and said awkwardly, “Um, there’s—there’s a witness to the poisoning who just turned up looking for the deceased.”

“Splendid,” said Phryne very loudly, directing a hugely plastic smile in Jack’s direction. “Isn’t it lovely when the solutions just turn up on your doorstep?”

“Miss Fisher,” Jack persisted, well aware that he was fighting a losing battle, “we were in the middle of a discussion—”

“No we weren’t, we were making small talk,” Phryne chirped, tugging her sleeve free of his hand and sailing past him. “Besides which, Jack, you’ve always impressed upon me the incredible importance of prioritizing work before one’s personal life. You’re the witness?” she added to whoever was waiting outside Jack’s office.

Jack leaned back against the desk, a mixture of exasperated and distraught. It wasn’t right, seeing Phryne this affected and not being able to do a single damn thing about it. All he wanted to do was be there for her, in any capacity she felt ready for; it ached, knowing that she might not be ready for anything at all.

The solution, as it happened, had not turned up on their doorstep. The witness ended up being the murderer, the person implicated by the witness ended up being the perpetrator of a different crime entirely, and now Jack was going to have to file a ridiculous amount of paperwork caused by this rigmarole of a case. Generally, the solving of a complex puzzle like this one left him buzzing with a quiet, pleased energy, but with Phryne’s smile free of its usual sparkle, all he could really think about was the people who had gotten hurt by this ridiculous mess. He hadn’t realized how much Miss Fisher’s determined joy had helped when it came to the tougher cases.

“Nightcap?” he found himself asking as they left the station.

Phryne let out a soft, quiet laugh. “You really are worried about me, aren’t you?” she said lightly.

“What makes you think that?”

“Usually you wander into my home as though you’ve lost your way to your own,” said Phryne wryly, gaze pointed purposefully ahead. “I always have to pretend that I wasn’t waiting up for you.”

This took Jack by surprise. “You’ve been waiting up for me?”

Phryne did look at him, at that. “You didn’t know?” she said, and there was that look in her eyes again. Vulnerable, and somewhat frightened by it.

Jack cleared his throat, feeling a bit awkward. He felt as though she might take any excuse to get out of this conversation if it became too honest. Carefully, he said, “I suppose I assumed you had better things to do than to wait around for me.”

“A sensible assumption to make,” said Phryne. She bit her lip, exhaled, and then—oh. Her hand, small and sure, slipped into his, entwining their fingers. She didn’t once look away from him.

All rational thought was knocked out of Jack’s head.

“I think I am, though,” said Phryne, and gave him a nervous, self-deprecating smile. “Waiting around for you. Quite unusual, really, considering my tendency for passionate yet largely loveless romantic connections.”

Jack’s heart was pounding. He couldn’t find a single appropriate response to that.

“Jack, when I thought you were dead, I…” Phryne trailed off, her smile trembling. “I was without reason,” she said. “I couldn’t think beyond the fact that if I went to the station, things would all make sense again.” She swallowed, hard. “We make sense,” she said. “What we do together—that makes sense to me. It isn’t at all traditional, and that bothers me, because you have always struck me as the sort of man who values tradition—”

“Well, I spent the better half of last year falling madly in love with a flighty socialite who regularly breaks and enters, so I’d say you should throw that theory out the window,” said Jack before he could stop himself.

He was rather expecting Phryne to draw back, but she exhaled, almost a laugh. “I suppose that’s fair,” she said, eyes shining.

“You don’t look at all surprised,” said Jack, a little startled.

“Oh, men fall in love with me all the time,” said Phryne, waving a hand. The remark didn’t have time enough to sting, though, because then she said, “I’m saving my energy for being utterly shocked that I fell in love right back.”

Jack stared at her, mouth half-open. Weakly, he said, “Is this why—”

“Why I’ve been an utter mess?” Phryne gave him a small, tired grin. “Well, it’s largely the cause. It certainly doesn’t help to realize you’re in love the exact second you think the man you love is dead.” Her smile faded. “Those horrible hours when I thought you were dead, all I knew was I wanted you here, with me, and that I would never have the chance to tell you—” She swallowed, tugging her hand away from Jack’s to wipe roughly at her eyes.

Jack rummaged in his pocket and fished out a handkerchief, dabbing at her face.

“Don’t patronize me,” said Phryne a bit waspishly.

“I love you too, Phryne,” said Jack dryly.

And somehow, that was what did it. One moment, Jack was lowering the handkerchief to pocket it again, and the next, his arms were full of Miss Fisher, both of them kissing clumsily and ungracefully in their effort to be as close to each other as possible. Part of this might have been because Phryne was crying. Part of this was certainly because they had been waiting a good year and a half for this moment, which was a terribly long time when one courted death on a daily basis.

Phryne was the one to pull back, burying her face in Jack’s shoulder. She was shaking. “Phryne,” Jack whispered, kissing her hair, trying to reassure her through touch alone. “Phryne—”

“Jack, my heart is a terrible judge of character,” said Phryne shakily, “and I did not want to fall in love again.”

Not for the first time, Jack rather wished he’d been the one to drive the knife into Rene Dubois. “We’ll muddle through,” he promised.

“You’re a detective inspector,” Phryne persisted. “Your reputation—”

“That didn’t seem to bother you when you were turning up to solve all my cases,” Jack reminded her.

“And what happens if I never marry you?”

“I didn’t think for a moment that marriage was on the table,” said Jack gently. “I don’t see the point in pressing the issue if it’s something that’ll make you miserable.”

Phryne looked up at him with a wobbly smile. “You really are a noble man, Jack Robinson,” she said.

“It’s hardly nobility to want you to be happy,” Jack objected gently, and punctuated the statement with a slightly less desperate kiss. It was all but dizzying, kissing her this casually. It wasn’t something he’d ever expected to have with her. “I love you,” he said again, very softly. “I hope it doesn’t frighten you off.”

“Not much frightens me off,” said Phryne, tossing her hair and giving him a genuine grin.

“I’m well aware,” said Jack. Then, “Some things should, though.”

“We can have this discussion at a later date,” said Phryne, her grin widening as she looped her arms around his neck. “For now, though, I rather think I am going to busy myself with being ridiculously happy. That or I’ll have a good cry. It’s a bit up in the air at this juncture.”

“I’ll take you home,” said Jack.

“I’ll take you home,” said Phryne, her grip tightening around him. “I still have to return your overcoat.”

“You don’t still want it?” Jack teased gently.

“Why should I?” Phryne tilted her head back, smiling up at him. Her eyes flitted blatantly to his mouth. “I’m certainly not one to settle for anything less than the real thing.”

Jack grinned, and kissed her again, this one slower and more languid than the others. There was no undercurrent of urgency in this kiss, nor was it tinged with a desire to comfort: this, Jack thought, was kissing Phryne solely because he wanted to kiss Phryne, and it was an experience unlike any other. “I love you very much, Phryne Fisher,” he whispered, pulling back just enough for his lips to still brush hers when he spoke.

He felt Phryne’s hands cupping his face. “As I love you, Jack Robinson,” she whispered back, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him again.

Jack awoke at the quiet creak of the bedroom door opening. He blinked, winced at the sunlight, realized his arm was still thrown over Phryne’s waist, and felt a rush of joy that was all but dizzying in its intensity.

“Hmm!” said Dot, giving them both an amused look, and set the breakfast tray down in front of the bed before quietly exiting the room.

“She’ll never let us hear the end of this one,” said Phryne, and let out a happy sigh when Jack kissed her shoulder in response.

[sociallyawkwardfoxwriter]

Write for 365: Day 229

Detroit: Become Human AU Part Three B

After giving him one more look of disgust, the lieutenant went to speak with one of the officers going through a stack of papers on a table. Even though Lieutenant Todd interrupted him, his analysis completed successful during his tirade. The results showed the blood to belong to the victim, which meant there was still no proof of another human involved in his death. A lack of fingerprints on the handle provided further proof to solidify the murderer being a deviant. Before straightened up to head to the kitchen, he returned the knife to the exact position on the ground it’d been upon picking it up.

The integrity of the crime scene must be maintained.

Three pieces of evidence in the kitchen greatly increased the possibility of reconstructing the events that led to the victim’s death. A bat near the kitchen entrance had traces of thirium on the wood in splatters that suggest it got there when he struck an android. One of the table chairs lay on the ground like someone had tossed it aside, probably to get it out of their desired path. The spot where the murder weapon had been stored previously showed traces of thirium that matched the same android those on the bat were from.

Rather than reconstructing the scene immediately, Tim headed down the hall to the bathroom to make sure no other events would cause conflict. Small amounts of thirium spotted the floor, but its presence there did little to confirm or deny his current hypothesis. The bathroom door squeaked open to reveal a room that looked just as grimy as the rest of the house did. Some thirium and blood dotted the sink where the deviant placed its hand flat on the counter, suggesting the deviant went to the bathroom after killing the victim to wash off. The next logic step would be using the shower to wash off the blood more effectively, so he pulled back the curtain to find obsessive writing covering the walls.

“rA9?” He bent down to closer inspect a strange statue, some dried flowers and a few other offerings placed in the of the stall. “What does this mean?”

“Tim! Where the hell are you?”

“Coming, Lieutenant.” The man stood impatiently by the kitchen with his arms crossed over his chest and his foot tapping rapidly against the floor. “I believe I know what happened.”

“Do tell.”

“The victim struck the deviant multiple times with the bat, until the deviant took the knife and stabbed him. He attempted to escape by throwing the chair in the deviant’s path, but it knocked it away and continued to pursue the victim to the living room where he finished stabbing him and wrote the message.”

“Great work, but that doesn’t help us find him. No one saw anyone leave through the front.”

Lieutenant Todd opened the backdoor, then stepped down the small set of stairs that led to the yard. “Any tracks will be gone by now.”

“No, this type of soil would retain them. The only tracks here are a pair of size tens worn by one of the officers. The deviant went to the bathroom to wash off and engaged in obsessive behavior that suggests it may still be in the house.”

“Where?”

Instead of responding, Tim returned to the hallway near the bathroom to do a more thorough job of investigating the area. A few items were knocked off the bookshelf shoved against the wall, like someone hit it while in a rush. All it took was a quick glance up to find an attic door he could easily reach if he climbed on top of the shelf. While Lieutenant Todd asked him what he was doing in an annoyed voice, Tim pulled himself into the attic.

After winding his way through the clutter filling the attic, he found himself staring right into the eyes of the deviant-still covered in splatters of blood. “Please, don’t tell them I’m here. They’ll kill me.”

“Lieutenant, I’ve found the deviant!”

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[aiimaginesbts]

Race Against Time: Chapter 5

Jungkook feat. Reader and the rest of BTS

Genre: Angst, Thriller, Darkfic

Warning: This fic is about murder cases, and may include some graphic imagery. Please read with caution.

Word Count: 3,893 words

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | Epilogue

Disclaimer/Copyright

The ringtone of your phone, soft as is, is jarring on Jungkook's ears the morning after consecutive late nights. It's extremely frustrating, but the cool time between their serial killer's attacks is the only window of opportunity that they have to analyse the cases. Not that it's doing them much good.

The motive of the murders are still unknown. None of the victims have anything in common other than the fact that they were girls from the same university who decided to spend one night outside. The buddy system is clearly not a deterrent for their killer, as each time he strikes, a pair of poor girls are abducted only to be killed, one after another. His first victim of every pair didn't stand a chance, losing their lives immediately only to become a tool at his disposal; a map for Jungkook and his team to use in maddening, fruitless attempts to find the other girl.

Yet the first girls are not as pitiful as their partners. The former at least died swift deaths, while the torture their friends had to go through was prolonged and excruciating. Jungkook can't help thinking that it is his fault that they all died. That his incompetency is the reason that more has to be sacrificed for a mysterious purpose, and the previous girls' deaths are in vain because he hasn't managed to get even one step closer to the murderer. While the first girls were impeccably clean save for the numerous amounts of clues left behind for Jungkook, the second girls were found in the most horrible states; dirty, worn, sometimes mutilated, with nothing useful to find off of them beyond their IDs. It is sad – and frankly, sickening – to think about, but their bodies have been damaged, destroyed by the elements, and as far as the autopsies can tell, provide nothing to point to the person that led them to their demise other than having the same Taser marks that clues Jungkook in on the method used to subdue them.

No, if there is anything to be found, Jungkook is certain that it lies with the cleaned, untainted bodies of the girls who were killed first. Their earrings, all different and still unknown if the victims had owned the jewelry or if they came from the killer. There is no doubt that they were clothed by him – the chances of two girls wearing the exact same white shirt and shorts are very small, and they're now talking about four girls. Four girls. Four cases. Eight victims in all. Jungkook has sighed as he looks over the photos and clues over and over again, only coming to a dead end every time.

Sleep deprived and grumpy, Jungkook groans and lifts his pillow to flip his head underneath it, trying to ignore the jostling of the mattress as you move sluggishly to reach towards the bedside table to grab your phone. Every night he comes home late he finds you still awake, greeting him with a smile. You insist that you're only staying up because you have a lot of work to do, but he knows you by now. He wishes that you won't worry about him so much, but that is as impossible as it is for him to stop mulling over his cases until he gets to the bottom of them. From beneath his eyelids, he can tell that the sun hasn't quite risen, yet it's already warm, a warning of the scorching day this is about to be.

"Hello?"

"Mm-hmm. Wait, calm down." Despite craving for a little more sleep, Jungkook can't help half-heartedly listening to your conversation, even if he can only hear your side of it.

"What?!" The loss of grogginess in your voice is accompanied by an increase in volume, making him jump and sit up, knocking his pillow onto the floor. He looks at you with curiosity and finds that your eyes are already on him, wide and panicked under furrowed brows.

"I'll tell him to go over right away."

As soon as you hang up the phone, he pounces on you. "What was that about?"

"It's Jimin," you say, already coaxing him to get off the bed and get ready. "He found someone dead in his parents' backyard."

Jungkook is relieved to see that the neighbourhood is sparse of people when he and his team arrives. Since the first case, this string of murders has received a lot of attention, which mostly impedes their progress and puts that much more pressure on them to solve the cases. However, he knows that this lull in the surroundings won't last very long. Already some neighbours are gathering around Jimin's childhood home, no doubt roused by the chaos happening at the back of the house. If this is the work of their killer, the clues need to be collected and analysed immediately, not simply because a bigger crowd will only cause a distraction, but most importantly because it means that there is a girl who will die unless they can get to her first.

Being torn between hope and dread is an awful feeling. If he strikes again, perhaps Jungkook can get one step closer to end this, but the cost of a life is just too high a price. However, it's not like they have a choice, as Jungkook looks down on the dry earth of the backyard already roped off by one of the officers, there is no doubt that this dead girl is the ninth victim of this cruel murderer.

All the tell-tale signs are there; the miraculously clean body despite being laid upon the ground, the same loose white shirt and blue shorts and bare feet. As Namjoon and Jin, who arrived moments after Jungkook did, crouch down with gloved hands to examine the body better, Jungkook's eyes are drawn to the earrings that are attached to her earlobes. He has seen those bright blue glass globes before. Heart thudding loudly, he takes several steps away, waving off Namjoon's call for him to dig in his pocket for his phone. Trying to calm the unease growing inside him, he dials your number and taps his foot on the ground as he impatiently waits for you to pick up.

"Hello, Jungkook? Aren't you supposed to be at a crime scene?" Your surprised voice greets him without preamble.

"Yeah, I'm here right now, but I had to call you," he says mysteriously, holding back on his words simply because he doesn't know how to say it.

"Is there something wrong?" The concern that immediately colours your voice is unmistakable to his ears. He desperately wants to reassure you but how can he, when he's full of worries and doubts himself?

"I just want to make sure you're okay." His relief when you picked up the phone is fast dissipating. "Maybe it's better if you stay at home today."

You hum an assent without asking him of his motives. "Ga-In and I are planning to discuss some of our research work today. I suppose I can ask her to come over instead of meeting at the university."

Your easy agreement with his wish makes Jungkook feel a little better. There is never any doubt in you that he is always looking out for you, and will always clue you in when it's the appropriate time to do so. "Just make sure that you don't let anyone you don't know in. One more thing."

"Hmm?"

"Do you still have those earrings you got when we went to Venice?"

A momentary silence ensues on your end of the phone as you put two and two together. "They were still there the last time I checked," you answer carefully. "I'll look again and let you know, okay?"

Jungkook nods before remembering that you can't see him. "That would be great, thanks."

Before he can hang up, you continue, "I don't know if this is of any help, but if you remember correctly they're not that expensive."

"They're not that common here, either."

"You're right," you agree with a small sigh. "I'll call you back after I check. Good luck babe."

By the time Jungkook returns to the heart of the crime scene, Hoseok and Yoongi has already arrived and everyone is waiting for him to inspect the body as well as the clues before everything is bagged and tagged. In the deceased girl's hair is a white flower, about five centimetres wide, with five round petals above five spikier-looking white petals underneath. Another locket is strung around her neck, holding coarse brown powder that looks suspiciously like dirt.

"We think he stuck something inside her mouth again," Namjoon informs Jungkook before he can ask about the final clue. He nods, a signal for Jin to open her mouth, which the zoologist does with a small shudder. As they have suspected, Jin carefully fishes the discovery inside another bag and narrows his eyes at the specimen.

"Is that another larva?" Jungkook asks, memories brought back to the horrible chase near the river that ended in futility.

At Jin's nod, Yoongi groans as he sets up his field testing kit. "Don't tell me we're going to have to search in the damn rivers again."

Yoongi's complaint is met with a rueful smile from Jin. "No, no, these don't live in the water. They –"

"Mind if I run this sample right now?" Satisfied that they won't have to look in an impossible location again, Yoongi addresses his question to Jungkook, shaking the locket. "I'm sure you know that we don't have all day."

Ignoring Jin's puff of his cheeks at being cut off by Yoongi, Jungkook nods his approval before turning back to the others. Hoseok is already bursting with the information that he has to share, so Jungkook motions for him to start. "This is aquilegia pubescens, or more commonly known as alpine columbine. There's no mistaking it. However..."

"What is it?" Jungkook prompts, knowing that it can't be anything good.

"They're usually found on open, rocky slopes, really high up."

The news of a possible trek in rocky terrains immediately makes the whole team dispirited, until Jin interjects. "I don't think we'll have to do that. These larvae is from a hawk moth," he points to the brown insect dotted with white spots along the length of its body, "it burrows into the soil to pupate, and there can't be a lot of that on a high rocky mountain, can it?"

"I agree with Jin," Yoongi adds as he concludes his test. "This is soil from a forest. It's quite acidic and very organic, probably due to leaching of calcium carbonate and clay."

"So she's probably somewhere in the forest," Namjoon suggests.

"She might be near the base of a rocky slope," Jungkook concludes.

"I've been studying the flora of the county since I've been invited to work with you, and there's only one place that can house these flowers anywhere near the ground," Hoseok announces proudly. "It has to be Holling Forest. It's about a half hour's drive from here."

"Let's move out then," Jungkook commands, then remembers something important. "Have you seen Jimin, the man who made the report?" He asks one of the officers.

The younger man shakes his head, looking very concerned himself. "By the time the first officers arrived, he'd already left. But his parents are inside the house."

After thanking him, Jungkook rushes into Jimin's childhood home. It's a place Jungkook had been to many times before as a youth, and the familiar scenery gives him a pang of regret at not visiting for so long.

"Mr and Mrs Park, I'm sorry to see you again under these circumstances." Those are the only words of greeting he can offer the two people he is so fond of after such a long absence. Fortunately they are understanding and mostly too shaken to give him any sort of reprimand, but the only information they can offer of Jimin's whereabouts is that he left looking distraught after finding the body and making the report.

Deciding that time is of the essence, Jungkook can't waste it on finding Jimin and ultimately joins the others to head to the forest after ordering the officer he spoke to before to find Jimin. The speed with which they deciphered the hints left behind for them gives Jungkook a little hope, but he should have known that things will not continue so smoothly. A mere five minutes has passed when they get stuck in a traffic jam, sandwiched between other cars that leaves them no choice but to wait until the accident ahead is sorted and cleared up.

It is already about two hours since they found the body when they finally reach the edge of the forest. Scores of tall trees loom before them, as if daring them to enter and explore the depths before the limited time granted to them runs out. Jungkook is more than aware that the window given to them to find the next victim grows narrower with every case, and it's with that reminder in mind that he pushes forward, leading the search and rescue teams north.

"Why are we heading this way?" Jin asks, puffing behind Namjoon, whose long legs allow him to keep up with Jungkook's determined pace.

"Chances are she's near a rocky slope, right? That's this way," Jungkook points to the direction they're heading towards. "We will walk there and spread along the base of the mountain to search for her."

Most of the hike is silent, everyone conserving their energy and channeling it into their steps, growing closer and closer to the base where they split into two groups and walk in opposite directions. Even Hoseok and Jin, the talkative two are quiet so that the only sounds that greet Jungkook's ears are the twigs breaking under their feet and soft noises made by the inhabitants of the forest that cannot be seen. He wonders how Yoongi and Namjoon are faring in the other team.

It was thankfully only a short while later that they see the answer to their prayers – a small wooden cabin, a scant few meters away from the slope. The area seems deserted, but there is no telling if there is anything – or more importantly, anyone – inside the cabin.

"Should we call out to see if anyone is inside?" Hoseok suggests, sounding a little timid and unsure of himself.

Jungkook tries to weigh his options as he circles the perimeter of the structure. It only has one door and two windows, both boarded up, effectively preventing them from assessing the interior. So far the killer has left the girls for dead, not bothering to remain to observe their demise. If the second girl really is inside, she is most probably by herself, although he has no idea if she is gagged to prevent her from making any noise.

"Is anyone in there?" Jungkook finally decides to throw caution into the wind by calling out. They have no time to lose. If the second victim to the kidnapping this time around is in the cabin, they need to rescue her before whatever time-based contraption that the murderer has set up gets in motion.

Jungkook's shout is met by a momentary silence. Then –

"Oh my God, is someone there? Please help me, I'm trapped inside!" A frantic female voice answers. The members of Jungkook's search team look at each other with shock and jubilation. This is the first time they have managed to discover the victim still alive.

"Is there anyone with you?" Anxiousness is imploring Jungkook to make a move, but he knows that he needs to be cautious.

"No, but I'm tied to a chair so I can't move. Please, please save me!" With that, she bursts into terrified sobs. He can feel the eyes surrounding him zero in on him, waiting for him to dole out his orders.

"The only entrance is the door, Agent," one of the men confirms Jungkook's findings.

"We're running out of time, aren't we? We should go in and save her. I don't see any point in waiting," Jin pushes.

Neither does Jungkook, but something feels off.

"Something smells weird," Hoseok points out.

"It's kerosene," Jungkook surmises. The odour is certainly out of place in the forest.

"Maybe the owner of this place uses it to light fires," another of the men hypotheses.

Tilting his head up, Jungkook is inclined to disagree with the idea as he cannot locate any chimney, but everyone agrees that the only step they can take to rescue the girl in time is through the door. Still ill at ease, he holds his gun at the ready and twists the doorknob. It is surprisingly unlocked, so he pushes it hard, opening it wide with a loud slam.

A sharp click followed by a small bright light greets their eyes mere seconds before their senses are suddenly assaulted by scorching heat, vivid colours and blinding smoke. Somehow a fire has started the moment Jungkook opened the door, covering every inch of the room and going beyond it to the other one. Even as he coughs from the acrid smoke and his eyes water and narrow, the pained, shrill screams coming from the room opposite the one Jungkook is facing pushes him to move forward. However, he doesn't make it two steps before strong hands grab his shoulders to pull him back out of the cabin.

"Let me go! Can't you see that she's burning to death inside?!" Jungkook channels his anger, frustration and guilt towards Jin, who looks just as surprised and overwhelmed as he is, but with enough sense to stop him from barelling into the roaring flames.

"Are you crazy? The whole place is already on fire! There's no way you can reach her!" Jin counters.

He is right. With Jin's strong arms joined by Hoseok's, Jungkook can do nothing but watch as the two men pull him away from the blaze that is already growing out of control. His eyes take in the floor of the cabin which is curiously lined with a carpet that is of an indistinguishable colour. Of course. The kerosene that Hoseok noticed has probably been left to slowly soak into the carpet from a container inside, and Jungkook would bet anything that the material extends into the other room. If they had arrived sooner, perhaps not as much fluid would have spilled, the fire wouldn't have raged so much so quickly and he could have rushed in to save the victim. But they are, once again, too late.

The other team arrives not long after, but without the proper gear necessary they are helpless against the building inferno. None of them expected to encounter such a situation; anticipating to find a thirsty, lost girl wandering around the forest at best and a dead body at worst, most of them are only equipped with water and first aid kits. As they wait for the firefighters to arrive, they can only discuss the latest development in hushed voices while watching Jungkook fume with anger.

That bastard knew that this would happen. The killer set Jungkook up for this. Knowing that he will lead the search and rescue team, as the lead investigator, he has to be the one to open the door. To set off the trigger for the flare that started the fire. To cast the weight of her death upon his shoulders. This is personal. Jungkook has suspected so for a while, but now he is certain.

The realisation causes him to jump with the reminder that he is concerned about you as well, and he desperately takes his pocket for his phone. As expected, the great outdoors doesn't provide a cell signal, but at some point you've left him several missed calls and one message, which he taps open at once.

"Both my blue Murano glass earrings and the diamond earrings you bought me are gone. Ga-In is here and Jimin also stopped by so I should be fine, but please call me back and tell me what the hell is going on."

Like a light switch finally being flicked on in a pitch black room, everything starts to make sense. The studs similar to the ones you used to wear in school. The elegant silver ones that adorned your ears the night he danced with you at prom. The gold earrings he thought were unusual, a gift from your parents when you were accepted into a prestigious university overseas that delighted you. You had worn earrings either close or identical to the ones found on the first girls found in each case, all of whom were dressed in a similar fashion to yours, especially at home; light-coloured oversized shirts paired with comfortable shorts. A mockery towards Jungkook, a way to tell him that her attire in their private home is no secret to the killer from the start.

Only one person, other than Jungkook, has the ability to know such details about you, dating back to your school years. With that, the locations start to make sense. All the information I need do lie with the first victims, Jungkook realises.

"Is something wrong?" Namjoon voices his concern, mistaking thr look of intense concentration on Jungkook's face as frustration and anger towards himself. The assessment isn't very far off, but Namjoon probably can't even begin to guess the full reasoning behind Jungkook's shaking body as he pieces the puzzle together before jumping onto his feet.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

Jungkook ignores the confused shouts and calls, quickly growing fainter as they are slow to move after being shocked by his sudden departure from the scene. His steps are even wider and faster than before although he is fatigued by the exhausting and maddening day, and when he meets the firefighters as he finally approaches his car, he doesn't waste much time talking to them, only giving them the necessary details to get to the fire before throwing himself inside the vehicle.

Only thoughts of you fill his mind as he races home. It takes Namjoon several tries before his call is answered by Jungkook. The small team that Jungkook has assembled has scrambled to follow him back into the city, but lost him on the way. Trying to keep the panic out of his voice the best that he can, he informs Namjoon that you may be in danger, and that he is heading home right at that moment.

Namjoon promises that they will get there as soon as possible with directions from Yoongi, but when Jungkook arrives, he doesn't wait for them before entering. The deceptive impression of safety that the front door offers is short lived when he finds that it is unlocked. A horrible sight meets him in the living room where he has spent many hours conversing with you over the hot beverages you made him; the body of a pretty girl with short black hair and slashed throat laying on the floor. If Ga-In is dead, that means you...

Even if he knows it's useless, Jungkook frantically searches his own home, yelling your name over and over again, heart thundering in his ears. As he has expected but unable to accept, you are nowhere to be found.