#will wood is great. mr. wood if you're lurking on here and you see this i think you're great.

[outlying-hyppocrate]

will wood is such a person. honestly.

[imagine-darksiders]

Sunnydrop X Reader X Moondrop

Montgomery Gator x Reader.

So for those of you who like my Fnaf summer camp au, I've written this little drabble of Y/n's first possible meeting with abandoned Sunny and Moondrop.

Sorry it's not quite so good as the other stuff I write, I haven't been feeling like myself lately :)

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There's an immense and imperishable serenity surrounding Glamrock Lake, unparalleled in its grandeur and extraordinary in both depth and size. A body of water so vast should be daunting, but with gentle waves that lap at a sandy shoreline and water fowl nesting amongst the bullrushes, it instead exudes a harmless, bucolic air that could soothe the soul of even the most tempestuous beast.

You can certainly understand why Faz Co. decided to build a Summer camp all the way out here, far from the humdrum of modern life.

Sitting with your bare feet dangling over the edge of a rickety, wooden pier, you lean back onto your palms and gaze languidly up at the sky as the last of the sun's rays sink below a jagged treeline, stealing away the lingering warmth of yet another evening.

This will mark your third night at Camp Fazbear, and for as much fun as you've had so far, you aren't averse to moments like this – a little downtime, a few minutes of peace while the kids are busy in the mess hall finishing their supper with the animatronics.

The latter had certainly been a shock to the system when you were introduced on your first day. As the company mascot - Freddy Fazbear - engulfed your hand in his comparatively enormous paw and have it a hearty shake, you found yourself coming to the dawning realisation that you probably should have researched Faz Co. just a little more thoroughly.

Your soon-to-be Camp Director, Richard Meadows, had made brief mention that you'd be working alongside animatronics during the initial interview, but back then, you naively assumed he meant the kind you'd see in some backwater restaurant in the ass-end of nowhere. Robots modelled after animals, strumming banjos with clunky fingers and staring at you with their cold, lifeless eyes.

However, upon arriving just three short days ago, you quickly learned that you'd only been right about them being modelled after animals...

An exasperated sigh slips through your nose, aimed at nobody else except for yourself.

Allowing the very tips of your toes to skim the lake surface, you lazily swing your legs over the water and send pond-skaters zipping about frenetically to escape the ensuing ripples.

“Sorry, guys,” you offer down to them, “Best get used to this though. I think tomorrow is the kids' first lake swim.”

Predictably, the little insects don't deign to respond.

Fair enough.

Lifting a hand, you rub tiredly at the corner of an eye as your jaw unhinges to release an obnoxious yawn. Mr Meadows had invited you to play cards with him later tonight after the campers retire to their beds, but though you appreciate his offer, you know you'll end up declining. It's barely nine, and you're already dead on your feet.

'SNAP!'

The abrupt sound of a splintered branch pierces the peaceful silence like a gunshot, throwing your heart straight up into your throat whilst your stomach takes a nose-dive into your shoes.

That had definitely come from the forest's tree line which looms behind you just a few, measly metres away.

All at once alert, you whip your torso around and almost crick your neck by twisting it violently towards the trees, your eyes on stalks as you scan the shadows.

At your back, the forest lurks like some, great beast of old.

Ancient balsam firs and red spruces have grown into a vast, indomitable labyrinth that stretches in every direction for as far as the mortal eye can see. Fifty million hectares of trees, and so much of the area still uncharted.

These trees are old. So old that some of those growing deep at the forest's centre have turned to petrified wood.

It's down more to instinct than experience that you revere this forest.

Anything could be lurking within the thick, tangible shadows.

Case in point, whatever had just snapped that branch.

A squirrel, perhaps? Or a raccoon?

… No, you decide promptly. The snap was significantly loud, belonging to a tree branch, not a twig. A piece of wood that size would have to have been broken by something much heavier.

Swallowing thickly, you hope to christ you aren't about to come face to face with a bear, or, god forbid, a moose.

“Hello?” you blurt, making your presence known.

Little else but a breeze hushes across the camp in response, disturbing a forest full of leaves that whisper like millions of tiny voices under the dying sunlight.

You wait... and wait some more, hardly blinking for fear of missing something.

You're concentrating so hard on catching movement within the treeline that you don't even notice the crickets have stopped chirping, and the birds in their trees are utterly still and silent. Nature is holding her breath right alongside you.

Suddenly, motion.

Your eyes dart slightly to the left and freeze upon an object that emerges tentatively from behind a wide, dark trunk. It's unexpected appearance sends you scrambling up onto your feet and standing to attention at the end of the pier with your muscles snapped tight in anticipation of a swift escape.

For some time, it's all you can do to watch on apprehensively as the object moves further into view until the last remnants of daylight shine upon a smooth, pale surface, finally giving you something to recognise.

It's... a face... A yellow face, perfectly round and made of plastic casing and silicone, adorned by two, blank eyes that sit widely atop a beaming grin - a grin so vast it stretches from one cheek to the other, never once slipping, even as shock pulls your jaws apart.

The face hangs just a foot above the grass, still half-hidden behind the tree trunk, tilting this way and that until you're hit by the absurd and frankly shuddersome notion that it's assessing you.

It's only fair then, you suppose, that you should assess it in return.

“What on Earth...?” you breathe to yourself, brows drawn together to form a rigid line above your eyes, “Is that... an animatronic?”

You recoil in surprise when at the sound of your voice, the face spins in a circle, whirring all the way around on an axis until it's the right way up again.

Definitely mechanical then.

Something about the revelation eases your thundering heart to a more manageable grumble.

Not a bear. Not a moose. Just a short, grinning animatronic no taller than your knee, if the height of its head is anything to go by.

Just like that, you're at once embarrassed to have been so frightened of such a small bot that's likely only wondering why you're sitting out here alone while the other counsellors are busy having fun in the mess hall with the kids.

It hasn't uttered a sound, save for the near-imperceptible clicks of machinery it emits as its strange head tilts left and right like the wheel of a car, as if it can hardly bear to keep still.

Belatedly, you start to wonder if it's waiting for you to offer up an explanation.

“Oh! Sorry!” you announce abruptly with a little jolt, “Sorry, you, uh... startled me. Hi!”

The animatronic recoils a little, and you're further stunned when several vibrant, orange spikes spring up from somewhere behind its head, as if until now they'd been laying completely flat against the surface, hidden away for a purpose you can't hope to understand.

“You must be one of the camp bots,” you try, clasping your hands together in front of you awkwardly, “I don't think we were introduced yesterday during induction. I'm... sure I'd have remembered you.”

It's face turns and sticks at a sharp right angle and it peers up at you, grinning that unwavering grin. Yet still, it remains perfectly silent.

Shifting on the balls of your feet, you press your lips together until the silence once again becomes more oppressive than you can stand. “I'm Y/n, one of the new counsellors.”

Nothing...

“It's... nice to meet you?”

“... Nice...”

You blink, taken aback for a moment before you realise that the scratchy whisper of a sound hadn't been just another breeze rolling through the forest. The animatronic can speak.

“Um, yeah?” Perplexed, but now far more curious than alarmed, you find yourself venturing a few, hesitant steps closer, smiling down at it. “It's nice to meet you.”

Perhaps... it's some kind of prototype?

Something else emerges from behind the tree next to its head and you instantly freeze mid-stride, shooting the new object a glance. Once again, you feel ever so silly when you realise it's just a hand. A single, yellow digit extends from the bot's closed fist, pointing up at you indicatively.

“... Friend...?” that well-worn voice utters.

“Oh – I...” Uncertain, you glance around as if you might find an appropriate response hanging in the air somewhere nearby. “I... Are you... asking if I want to be your friend?”

Total motionlessness from the bot.

And then, at last, you catch just a hint of motion, a bob of its head. A small, but unmistakable nod.

Your smile returns from where it had fallen and you offer the animatronic a one-armed shrug, replying, “Well... Sure, I mean, I don't see why not?”

Later, you'll look back on this moment and wonder what might've happened if you just said a simple, concise, 'No.'

A change comes over the animatronic all at once, both literally and figuratively. With the reluctance of a stag leaving the safety of his thicket, the bot moves out from behind the tree trunk. And like a gangling scarecrow unfolding itself, it stands upright.

You're put on the back-foot immediately.

“Oh god,” you murmur, sliding one, bare foot backwards until it leaves the grass and finds solid wood beneath it once again. At your sides, your hands knot themselves into quivering fists, bound tightly enough to give a glimpse at white bone bleeding through the skin.

This animatronic is not little. Not by a long shot.

Limbs that resemble skinny tree branches unfurl until it stands taller than Chica, then taller than Freddy, until you'd put money on this new bot easily standing taller than any of the animatronics at the camp. In the last embers of daylight, it pauses to peer down at you, giving you an uninterrupted glimpse of the tattered, striped trousers that hang from its mechanical hips and the overall filth that cakes its plating, covering up what must have once been a dazzling coat of paint.

On creaking limbs left dark by rust and age, the animatronic takes a step.

It covers in that single step the same distance you would achieve with four, sizeable strides, surging into your space with its face tilted to stare down at you, whilst yours tips further and further back just to keep looking it in the optic.

Breath unsteady, you wet your lips, inhaling through your nose as if the scent of pine needles and crisp, evening air will fill your lungs with courage instead of useless oxygen.

“... Friend...” it rasps, pushing the rays around its head forwards until you feel as though you're staring up at the sun itself, locked within its pale, burning gaze.

The lake stands behind you like a waiting wolf, its jaws open to catch you should you take another step back into its icy waters. Suddenly, all of its serenity has fled and you're left just as afraid of the water as you are of the trees.

The animatronic's hand lifts into the air and it stretches its fingers out towards you, moving slow whilst it observes your darting eyes.

“What are...?” Your words die on your lips fingertips of cool silicone ghost delicately across your cheek. You'd flinch away if you weren't so afraid that any sudden moves might provoke it.

“H..Haah,” the animatronic seems to breathe, an impossible feat, given its lack of lungs. “... Soft... soooft, little friend~...” There's a faraway lilt in its voice and careful consideration in its touch, exerting the kind of gentleness one might use to brush their fingers across the petals of a flower.

You take a breath, peeling your cracked lips apart to tell the bot to back up, to stop touching you, but all of a sudden, a different voice twitches your ear.

“Rookie?”

All the air seems to rush out of your lungs as you flick your gaze towards the camp and find a hulking, familiar figure standing there, staring back at you from behind his over-sized aviators, a kayak tucked under one arm.

“Montgomery,” you choke, hating how your own voice catches in your throat.

Montgomery Gator... Life-guard of Glamrock Lake and an integral member of the animatronic team at Camp Fazbear... You don't rightly know whether to be relieved or even more terrified.

Montgomery has made no secret of his disdain for you. From day one, the surly bot slapped you with a demeaning nickname to highlight your inexperience and started going out of his way to insult, berate or torment you.

Now though, he's probably the only person who can help.

'If,' your brain unhelpfully interjects, 'he chooses to do so.'

Ever the pessimist...

The gator moves forward by a mere inch, lifting one leg to place it down in front of the other.

But it seems even that was enough.

In a blur of dizzying motion and screeching metal, something large explodes out of the treeline and hurtles straight for you on all fours.

“No!” Monty hollers.

You've barely had time to turn and face the newcomer when you suddenly feel long, lanky arms snake around your waist, and before you can utter a yelp of shock, you're being hoisted up into the air and slung over a narrow shoulder. A cry for help is swallowed as the world around you starts to move. Fast.

“Sunny, get back here!”

Kicking out to try and dislodge the enormous hand pressed down on top of your thighs, you plant your fists on a solid, metal frame and force your head up, blinking blearily at the swiftly diminishing light filtering in between the trees. You're in the forest, and something is hauling you away from camp at a terrifying speed. Most bafflingly, it isn't the yellow animatronic – Sunny, you imagine – that has you held captive - because Sunny is whizzing silently through the trees behind you, keeping almost perfect pace with who or whatever has you thrown across their shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Behind him, you can make out the green and yellow flash of Montgomery Gator as he hurtles after you. But although Monty may have full mastery of Glamrock Lake, out here amongst the spruces and pines, he's a fish out of water.

Helpless, your eyes begin to stream as you watch him fall steadily behind, his pistons working overtime to try and keep up, but you know as well as he does that it's a lost cause. These animatronics, whoever they are, pull away from the gator with ease, one grinning down at you with its permanent smile and the other keeping a firm grip on your thighs as you're whisked away into the unassailable forest, shrouded in the darkness of night.

[ayanacam]

Stand Still

:02

Five months ago...

July 17th, 2022

The nursery was a pale mint blue, accents of gray, white, and yellow surrounding the walls. The furniture was a crisp white wood. A crib and dresser on opposites of the wall, fitting perfectly in the vision Christen had been wanting ever since she had graduated high school and had worked in her friend's mother's baby store. She knew yellow and pale blue was a neutral color, meant for any gender and she had perfectly executed it. Everything was perfect.

Christen's hands caressed her belly, her stomach protruding slightly since she was entering her second trimester. She had gotten around to finally picking a day to go and get checked. She had found out she was two months pregnant, realizing that the stress and "flu" symptoms were actually her pregnancy hormones all out of whack; however, she couldn't have been happier to find that she was expecting. Something she had been wanting with Dallas since their first year of marriage.

Thank god for miracles... Christen thought.

"Baby?" Dallas' voice sliced through her silence.

She turned, her eyes washing over her husband. Blue button down shirt and a simple sweater, pair of dark wash jeans and khaki Clark's covering his feet. He looked delectable and her libido sky rocketed with another glance.

Dallas smiled, knowing. Lately Christen had been insatiable, her hands and mouth everywhere over him within the last few weeks; especially with the fact of painting the nursery. He had been practically naked and what should've been a week paint job, turned into three.

"Alright Mrs. horny," Christen blushed. "Everyone is starting to arrive, come on."

Christen giggled, her hands covering her stomach before she moved towards her significant other.

"You ready to tell them?" Dallas gathered her hands into his.

She nodded, butterflies filling her stomach consistently at the thought of telling her family and friends that they were going to have a child. Everyone had expected them to come back from their honeymoon pregnant, but all that glowed was her tan skin from their vacation in Tahiti.

"Hey," Dallas pulled her into his chest, squeezing her gently. "This is a happy moment. Don't let the years of failed tests reign over the positive one."

He always knew what to say, Christen smiling as she looked down. Her button down baggy shirt covered what she knew was there and it made her happy. For awhile she lived with a baby without someone knowing. She got the bliss of knowing that the baby was just hers and Dallas' for a few months. No constant calls of checking in and overbearing parents, she wasn't quite ready to give it up.

"Alright, come on."

Dallas could see the gears turning inside of her head, eventually going to lead her into regression of the choice to let their closest family and friends know that they were soon to be parents. He placed his lips upon her forehead and interlaced their fingers together. He gently tugged at her, away from the nursery.

They descended the staircase, their family and friends all over the house. Some in the living space or in the kitchen attached. The house was buzzing.

"Hey! It's Christen." Logan yelled.

Everyone joined, a smile lighting her face.

"Hi Logan." She chuckled, walking over to him, embracing him shortly.

"What's going on? How are you?" Logan grinned.

"I'm great," she beamed. "You?"

He nodded, "I could be better but all's well that ends well."

She nodded, "Well if you need to talk, I'm here for you."

"I know." He had a small sad smile. "It's good to see you sis."

"Good to see you too baby bro." She punched his shoulder in playful manner.

Others eventually, one by one and groups, had said hello and began to eat the food Dallas had cooked. For about an hour and a half, everyone socialized, drinks were continuously poured and food consumed.

"Alright, alright, alright!" Dallas exclaimed.

Everyone's chatter had slowly quieted, Christen's nerves slowly building in anticipation.

"So I know you guys are all wondering why we have brought you here, even though we were all together about and week and a half ago for Fourth of July." Dallas chuckled.

Christen's eyes filled with tears as she took her next breath, "I know you guys were expecting us to be pregnant the moment we stepped off the plane from our honeymoon."

"Oh my god," Christen's mother Amelia gasped.

"We've brought you here today, to tell you guys that we are four months pregnant." Dallas smiled, looking down at her stomach, his hand gliding over the material covering it.

Everyone began to yell, cheerfully and loudly. Multiple group hugs and kisses were shared as everyone took in the news. Christen was crying and Dallas was beaming, so proud of what they had created and were now starting.

"Wait wait wait, you mean to tell me for four months I didn't know you were pregnant?" Amelia smacked Dallas' arm.

"Ow, Jesus woman." His hand soothingly rubbed the spot she had hit.

"Christen?" Amelia's gaze landed on her.

"We wanted to be sure we could make it past the first trimester. We didn't want you guys to get your hopes up." Christen guiltily shrugged.

"Well nevertheless, I'm happy for both of you. Congratulations son." Chris, Dallas' father, had clapped his shoulder.

"Thanks pops. Means a lot." Dallas smiled.

For the rest of the night, things had gone smoothly. Questions that were asked, had been answered and the nursery was shown to everyone. For the first time Christen's heart was content fully. As she looked around, everyone in her home was just as ecstatic as she had been when she found out.

Dallas and Christen had eventually ushered everyone out, the last wave and car leaving soon after they announced they had an early morning for a doctors appointment and a La Mas class.

"Thank you." Christen kissed her husbands chest.

"For what?" Dallas looked down at his wife.

"For giving me everything I could've ever possibly wanted." Christen played with the clear buttons.

A small grin graced Dallas' face as he looked at his wife being a slight mush. He knew she hated being one but had her small moments here and there.

He tilted her chin, "Thank you for being everything I've ever wanted."

Tears brimmed the sides of her eyes before Dallas pulled her into a sweet kiss. They stood on their porch, the lights a low glow. They were content and blithe.

Present Day...

January 16th, 2023

It was dimly lit in the interrogation room, a small overhead light swaying over the head of the table. Christen squinted, laying her head onto her forearms; the headache stronger than ever. The pain medication was doing nothing to subdue, her edginess more noticeable than ever as Andrew rubbed the small of her back.

"You okay?" He questioned.

It had been restless nights, ever since the unfortunate scene of events a week ago. It wasn't okay, but at this point she didn't know what that was.

"I'm fine." she responded quietly.

"You sure?" Andrew leaned, matching her eyesight.

"No, but if I'm here I must be." She admitted.

"You know Chris, we can do this another day. We don't need to rush anything. The trial isn't for a few months anyways." Andrew confirmed.

"I don't want to do this later. I don't want to get to a place where I am at least on the verge of being fine and reopen wounds." She fanned her hands around on the table. Her breaths had quickened. Her heart was racing uncontrollably, something she hadn't been able to confine the last few days.

"Christen." Andrew's voice broke.

"What?" Her eyes, filled with salty teardrops, were glassy.

"Do you want to do this another day?" Andrew asked, slowly.

She shook her head, her shoulders slumping forward; her weight resting against the middle of the cracked black table. It seemed like forever before the detective who was handling the case walked in, closing the door behind him. He nodded towards Andrew and opened his mouth as if to try and express his sympathy, but nothing came out. There was nothing that he could say that would make what he was about to say any easier.

"Ms. Collins."

Christen looked up, dried tear stains marking the redness of her cheeks. Her eyes were puffy and besides her cheeks, the rest of her looked sickly and pale. He wasn't about to comment on that though, he knew better not to.

"I won't ask you what you're feeling. I know whatever it is, isn't good and we won't rehash that." A slight pause, a deep breath followed suit. "I came across some information about your late husband. Dallas Collins."

"What information would that be?" Andrew's brows furrowed.

"Dallas Collins had been money laundering for what seems to be like, the past four years. Documentation of the accounts we found offshore and in other banks suspects that he might've taken them over from a person in a higher position who had retired."

Christen's eyes had widened, her hands shaking slightly. Her mind raced as she wondered how she couldn't have known. She had always handled the bills, the taxes, anything that meant paying companies and government officials. Her mind wandered around into the small dark corners of her brain to see if she could scour anything she could remember about anything. If something had been off or if Dallas had ever shown fear about money or people.

"Apart from that, it seems like Dallas was also involving himself into the underground drug trade, selling millions worth of cocaine, heroine, and methamphetamine's. Dallas must have gotten himself into some nasty business with a guy named Grant Valente. Do you know that name by any chance?"

Andrew's mouth was dry. All those accounts he had been handling for Dallas, multiple cards and bank accounts. He should've known. As Andrew looked over to Christen, he realized that Christen was looking even worse than before. She was like a sheet of white, pale as ever and a small sweat had broken over her skin.

"Ms. Collins?"

"No, I don't." Christen blankly answered.

Her mind was reeling, all over again. Dallas showed no fear or concern for anything dangerous lurking around their lives. Everything was always, "I'll handle it" or "It's fine baby, nothing to worry about" with a kiss placed on her lips and something else filled her mind as she was whisked into something romantic. Nothing ever screamed at her, nothing but happiness in what was turning out to be fucked up a world.

"Nothing at all?" the detective questioned softly. "Anything that could be weird. Multiple bank accounts, prepaid cards, late night phone calls, reflection of questions when you asked anything?"

"We had multiple bank accounts. Something about savings and how it would help us with retirement since the health benefits from his job were apparently shit." Christen's head was pounding, her face stuck into a frown.

"Alright that's good, anything else?"

"I never checked his wallet, but I always saw a lot of cards whenever he pulled it out, just from what I could see." Christen's shoulders moved.

"Anymore, can you think of a time he ever seemed to be secretive."

"If Dallas was secretive he had something sweet or romantic planned out. I don't think I've ever seen him being secretive about something like this." She murmured softly.

Her whole world, in which she thought was a good one, was turning out to be something completely different. She had no idea that her late husband was apart of something so dangerous and sickening. Her stomach was turning, bile rising up her throat as she continued to ponder about his late night activities.

"Also, Ms. Collins," the detective knew he was about to officially break her.

"Yes?" Christen looked up, the light too much for her migraine to handle.

"From looking into Dallas's bank accounts, we found some activity we feel you should know about. Dallas, it seems, was leading a double life from the payments we've looked over. Dallas had a wife in New York, Manhattan to be more specific. They had two kids."

Andrew's eyes grew, "Bullshit!"

The detective grew, opening the file that was laid out on the old beaten up table. His fingers skimmed through a few pieces and packets of paper before pulling out a few pictures, Dallas laced within each and every one of them. Andrew had snatched the file, looking over the woman and two kids pictured with Dallas, smiling and happy. Christen broke, officially sobbing into her hands. Andrew was yelling, while officers had made their way into the room to get Andrew off of the detective.

Christen was tapped, her head not registering anything she was hearing in reality. Her mind wasn't set on what was going on now.

"Ms. Collins, can you hear me?" A cop, dressed in blue and black.

She nodded slowly, her eyes resting on the blue ones that crouched in front of her.

She looked around, the room completely destroyed. The table had been flipped and papers were scattered. The small space was wrecked to the fullest. Andrew was being restrained in the corner, Christen finally coming into her senses and hearing his wails to defend her cheating husband. She stood, pushing past the cops holding Andrew gently aside. She stood and looked at her friend of years, her hands softly grasping his face into them.

"It's okay, Andrew. It's okay. You're okay." Christen consoled.

"It's not true Chris, he loved you. Everything in him screamed love for you." Andrew cried.

"I know." Christen lied.

He didn't love her, Christen knew this. If that was the case, he wouldn't have had a double life. He wouldn't have lied and cheated. Wouldn't have given another woman kids before her. Wouldn't have even had another woman. Did the woman know about her? Did she know about her and Angela or what Dallas had been doing for the past few years? Christen sank to the ground with Andrew as he held his head between his hands.

"I can't do this Chris. I didn't know he-"

"I believe you." Her voice broke, there was nothing she could do.

"I'm so sorry." Andrew stared blankly at the cold ground.

Christen shrugged, sitting beside him leaning on his shoulder. She didn't have any fight over her, but something was brewing beneath her skin. Rage, dangerous and threatening. She wanted to know so many unanswered questions. She didn't know if she was strong enough to have them answered or to meet the other woman.

"Ms. Collins, it would be best for you both to leave." Christen looked up, the detective a little disheveled as she saw the pity in his eyes.

She nodded, her hand closing around the width of Andrew's arm. Pulling him out of his small trance of disbelief, he realized he needed to be moving. He saw the detective, his pride coming into play before knocking some sense into his self.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get physical." Andrew hung his head in shame.

"Understandable, you guys led a life that was normal, stable and ordinary. It's a lot to take in in such a short period of time." The detective placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Do me a favor," Andrew looked up, "This is the address to Caroline Davis' house in Manhattan. Give her a visit. Or talk to Christen about it and get her to visit. They're pretty broken as well."

"Did they know about her and Angela?" Andrew interrogated.

The detective's facial expression was all he needed to see to answer the simple question, that yes they did know about her. Andrew sighed and took the slip of paper before he walked over to Christen sitting in the waiting room of the police station. From what Andrew could see, Chris was broken in every sense of the word. Not only had she lost her husband and baby in an ugly fight that was only meant for Dallas. She just found out that her whole life was a lie, yet she was supporting him.

"You ready to go?" Andrew fingering the small piece of paper in his pocket.

She nodded, her throat constricting as she tried to hold herself in the station. She didn't want to be perceived as weak. Of course the situation at hand warranted emotions and breakdowns but that wasn't her, not in the slightest. Andrew escorted her out of the lobby, multiple cameramen and microphones thrust into their face, together and separately.

"Is it true that your husband was apart of a major drug ring?"

Apparently so.

"Are you going to testify against Monica Stratford and Grant Valente?"

With everything in me.

"Is it true your husband had an affair?"

Fuck him.

"Ms. Collins, are you pregnant with your husband's baby?"

No comment.

"Will Angela get justice?"

She hoped.