Ten Feet of Pure White Snow (Nav and Wooseog)

[Wooseog Ryu]

"The current time in Chicago is ten twenty-seven AM, myself and all the crew would like to thank you for choosing American Airlines, and ask that you please remain seated as we come in for our landing."

"Landing," ugh, the word sent shivers down Dahlia's spine. Landing had to be the worst part about flying, as far as she could tell from flight number two in her twenty-seven years of living. But how could she complain? She was coming back from Jamaica, and more tanned than the fair skinned redhead had ever been in her life. It had been the vacation of a lifetime for her, beating out her weekend in Minneapolis when she was twelve by a sizeable margin. The best part was that she got to spend it, or at least the first half of it with the man of her dreams, the man that she truly believed she was starting to love, Roy.

Most of Dahlia Jayne Harper's twenties had been a bum wrap, doling out doldrums and emptiness year after year. Living just outside of downtown Chicago was expensive, even more so when one was living alone, as Dahlia was. Her and her cat, Shoe, shared a neat and cozy little apartment, but keeping up with rent meant she worked, a lot. She had gotten the job of an administrative assistant at an established dental office because her childhood friend ran the practice; on weekends she was a waitress at the Parrot Cage restaurant. Every time she scrimped and saved, something always seemed to come up. First she needed braces, then it was her glasses, and one year she needed stitches from being bit by a chihuahua. "Dahlia," her sister would say, "you are the unluckiest girl I have ever met."

Roy changed that though, and oh how he changed it. Dahlia had never had much in the way of relationships since high school ended. She didn't think much of the men she knew, frankly. Her father had spent most of the money he planned to leave his family trying to find God at the bottom of a bottle. Her boyfriends from high school painted a portrait of pompous jerks that she felt sorry for more than anything. Roy was none of those things; Dahlia felt it the minute they spoke. He asked her about the book she was reading, which was the same book she brought with her to pass the time on the flight, The Sea Wolf by Jack London. It was a ponderous book, and she only read it because she owned it, but when Roy spoke about it, even the stale writing came to life.

His charisma won Dahlia over almost instantly; the problem was he made her feel foolish as she giggled like a schoolgirl at everything he said until she went red in the face. She was at a loss for words when he asked her to join him on a vacation, she almost cried but instead scooped him in her arms. "D-darling of course. But I could never affor-." Dahlia still felt bad having Roy pay for everything, she offered every single time, but he never gave her the time of day. Of course he was going to fly her to Jamaica. It had been seven days since they set off from dreary Chicago, and three days since she had seen Roy.

"Oh gosh," Dahlia felt her stomach start to turn and her ears start to pop as the plane began its descent. The elderly couple she was seated next to didn't seem to mind her though; they had probably seen it all in their years of travelling. This was her second time flying, and the first time she had Roy holding her hand through it all. The woman seated next to Dahlia laughed when she, on impulse, grabbed her hand, she gave it a gentle pat.

"Almost there, honey, we made it." She said with a wink. Dahlia instantly felt just a little more comfortable; she felt her toes scrunch up against her sandals, the gift that Roy had gotten her. In truth, she was never much one for sandals, but he did get her a gift, and a vacation, the least she could do was be polite. Dahlia thanked the woman next to her when they landed, and breathed a sigh of relief. She had hardly got a page of reading finished either, as Ferris Beuller's Day Off on the small screen seemed like a more pleasant way to spend the better part of a four hour flight.

Dahlia would have kissed the tarmac if she could, but they had to spend about a half hour before they let everyone off, the standing around wasn't too bad though, at least they were on solid ground now. The husband of the woman who's hand Dahlia grabbed got her carry-on bag for her, and she thanked him, a little embarrassed now that the ordeal had passed. Her bag matched her sundress with a subtle pink color, but it was also emblazoned with a cat stitching she had done herself in her spare time.

On her way off the flight Dahlia whipped out her battered, pink flip phone, which had served her well for the last five years. She hit speed dial, and without missing a beat her sister picked up.

"Good morning Evy, dearest sister," Dahlia chirped through the phone to her no doubt groggy sister, who couldn't stand the early or late morning hours. "My flight has landed, I think I'm going to be meeting Roy though, I'll have to give him a call. Could I please, please ask you the biggest favor and get you to feed Shoe for just one more night? Just in case? Thank you darling, you are the best. Kisses!" With that, Dahlia hung up, knowing she owed her sister a pizza; it was the only payment Evelyn accepted.

She got her passport ready on the way off her flight, it showed off her wide green eyes and cascading red hair but only differed because she couldn't smile. Dahlia had a hard time trying to recreate the stone-faced expression in her passport photo, she much preferred smiling. She thanked the woman at the gate, and picked up her phone to dial Roy while humming a song. Even Chicago seemed brighter today.

 

[Nav]

The airport was a sea of faces moving in an unseen current, flowing like water to their destinations like a wide river down the aisles. Small groups would sometimes stop and cause a small eddy, but the others would flow around the outside and continue on their way. It was midday, the worst time to arrive. As the group of three men were ushered through security, jumping the metal detectors and body scans, Dean squinted. He could feel the heat reflecting off all the bodies in the terminals. It was hard to breathe. The air, recycled, smelled heavily of diesel and he was sweating even before he had reached their destination. The three officers split up, each with a dog leash coiled tightly in their hand, and Dean took his beat down to arrivals. He was the epitome of authority with his gun hanging idly at his hip and his crisp black uniform painting an intimidating portrait of his athletic form.

The dog strolled around immediately to his right. It was a monster of a creature, but the officer and his dog seemed to have an understanding, though it hadn't always been that way. Back in the days, when the pup was fresh from the pound, he was a raw bundle of unspent energy, crammed into a canine shape several times too small for his personality. He ended up growing to twice the size the department thought he might, but that could happen with German Shepherds. The pair, Office Dean R. Reyez, and his drug dog Marco, trotted through the crowds without concern. Marco was whipping his head back and forth, ears pricking and falling as he worked his nose. People seemed interested in staying out of their way, some even swinging all the way out to the edges of the hall to avoid interrupting the officer's path, but it was no matter. He kept strolling along idly, knowing that Marco's nose would intercept anything that came their way.

Had anyone asked anyone back at the Chicago PD, they would have said they had never seen Dean ruffled in all of the seven years he had been on the force, and that day was no exception. He took every step in slow motion compared to almost everyone else around him, all desperately power walking or jogging to make their flight. His curls were midnight black but his eyes were the most wonderful shade of blue—indigo darts that weren't heavy or blunt, just apparent.

His beat around the airport was a weekly affair and it usually ended up to be a boring afternoon. Usually, he and Marco, and the rest of the police dog team, were off doing more exciting busts—warehouses, mail facilities, hotels, schools… but their weekly trip to the airport very rarely usually revealed much of anything. Sure, people tried to smuggle things through the airport all the time, but they were usually caught long before they ever made it so far as the arrivals gate. So, his time was usually spent letting Marco bounce around on his leash while his mind wandered. It was an easy enough job, but dull. Already he was beginning to plan his evening grocery shop: eggs, butter, milk…. Eggs, wait… he had already said eggs. Dog food, oh shit, he couldn't forget the olive oil again. His grocery list was so entertaining and distracting that it surprised him when he felt Marco's leash go taught, nearly lurching him off his center of balance as the large black Shepherd lunged into his collar. His claws clacked against the tile flooring as he tried to launch himself in pursuit of something… or someone.

"Easy, easy," Dean hushed the dog, his voice a husky drawl as he snapped into attention and followed his dog's lead, feeling a beat of excitement enter his chest. Whatever the dog had locked on to, he was adamant and wouldn't let up. There would be times he'd pull so violently into his collar that he'd begin to wheeze as he choked himself, causing Dean to break into a jog after his partner. Feeling the slack on the leash, Marco picked up a run, weaving in and out of crows a short ways until he cam barreling into a crowd of new arrivals. Immediately, his nose dug into the hip of one woman and he sat down.

He gave his signal for his find by sitting and looked expectantly back to Dean, clearly desiring his reward for a job well done.
"Miss?" Dean said, reaching out to gently tap the woman's shoulder. She was redhead and didn't appear outwardly nervous like he would have suspected, but he had been around the block enough times to know that judging a suspect by their facial expressions was unwise. "Miss? Can you come with me, please? My name is Officer Reyez and I'm going to conduct a random search on you. We will go to a private interview room. If all is well, you'll be on your way in less than a half hour."

Marco, as if annoyed he hadn't been rewarded, stood up and sat down again, as if to emphasize that he had found something. Each time, he looked back to Dean with those Rootbeer brown eyes and whined. Finally, getting his just desserts, Dean slid a hand into his pocket and produced a small dog nugget, which Marco quickly devoured with a violently wagging tail.

"Are these all your belongings?" he asked, waving his other hand to gesture, "Do you have checked luggage, as well?"

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

No answer, strange. Dahlia half expected to see Roy waiting at arrivals when she showed up, he said he was going to meet her there, right? Dahlia shook it off, traffic in Chicago was just dreadful around the airport, and it was probably best if he didn't talk on the phone while driving. With a nonchalant shrug, she found herself gravitating towards the cafeteria, she was dying for a chai tea latte which apparently wasn't a big thing in Jamaica. She dialed Roy one last time to leave him a message, and went on her way.

"Hello darling, its me. Uh, it's Dahlia, I mean! Just arrived at the airport now, were you still going to pick me up? Let me know if anything's come up, I can always call a taxi," Dahlia said, though dreading the idea of paying upwards of thirty dollars for a ride from the airport. "Anyways call me! Miss you tons." Dahlia hung up after a quick kissing noise. She always felt silly talking on the phone, she sighed in self-regret at how Roy would react to her awkward, clunky message

She was so close she could smell the freshly brewed coffee emanating from the Starbucks, but that's when she felt a small, wet nose push against the side of her thin sundress. She almost jumped but stopped herself, she pun around to see what was behind her. It was a dog! Dahlia had to tell herself to resist the urge to pet the on-duty dog, but she was pretty darn close. Only realizing the officer behind the pooch afterwards, Dahlia offered both of them a friendly smile.

"Yes sir?" Dahlia responded to his inquiry with utmost curt, her West Virgini-esque accent was always good for charming people. Though she couldn't think for the life of her why Officer Reyez would be stopping her of all people. Normally she had an excuse when dogs came poking at her, she was perpetually covered in cat dander, except for today. She had never been in trouble with the law before either, but one of the few things her father taught her was, "yes sir, no sir," being her only script when dealing with authority. She offered the officer a quick nod when he asked to conduct a search, it was probably just protocol, less than a half hour and she would be out of here.

"Yes sir of course, is something the matter?" Dahlia asked as she walked alongside him, wishing she had worn better shoes so she could keep pace. "This is just my carry-on, I have another bag that should be arriving, I think it said carousel eighteen?" Dahlia offered whatever information she knew to this Officer Reyez. She knew she had done nothing wrong, but she still couldn't help but feel nervous. She watched him carefully and followed him closely, trying to see if she could pick anything up from the way he was behaving, but she couldn't pick up anything.

 

[Nav]

It was the same question he got almost every time: is something the matter? He smiled at her politely, though it didn't seem to reach his eyes. He was the type of man who had all but been born in a suit. He was a serious man with a serious gun who rolled of the police assembly line in Chicago, Illinois. He had a standard issue handsome face with the ubiquitous square shoulders and defined jaw. He was close shaven all the time and he spoke with a calm, husky voice and clipped legalistic words. Life had little colour for him and no shade of grey, either. It was all black, white, right, wrong, legal or illegal. He could have been a swimwear model if he had the charm—black, clean cut, and a recipient of a humor bypass, but if you wanted efficiency, he was your man.

The Police force had been his childhood dream and he lived it like he was an all American action hero. He couldn't keep a girl though, cycling through them faster than his razor blades. The job always came first with him—his dog second—and he couldn't stand to have anything before those two. Airport duty, however, was the less appealing part of his job, so he was more at ease there then he would have been anywhere else. "No ma'am," he replied, his accent twinging and hinting on something almost Southern, though not quite committed to it entirely, "Just protocol." It was a lie, but it was a standard issue lie. His dog had sniffed her out and it might truly be a false alarm, perhaps she had had a little too much fun at a club the night before… the scent of drugs lingered on people long after it was off their person.

"This way, please, ma'am," he let his hand drop from her shoulder, and guided her along by walking tightly next to her shoulder. At his left hip, Marco bounced, his ears rising and falling once more—he didn't seem to get the memo that he wasn't on the clock anymore. "Alright, we'll be pulling your luggage from the carousel for you and just going through everything," he explained, "I assume you know why we have these protocols, yes? Just to keep everyone safe." If she was looking for clues from his, neither his body language nor expression gave away anything—he was about as neutral was one could be without being dead.

As they approached a 'Authorized Personnel Only' doorway, Dean leaned his cheek against the radio at his shoulder and depressed the out button. "Four-nineteen to 17C?" he said, a crackling voice returning a moment later.

"Four-nineteen confirmed, Reyez. Take 'em in."

Pushing through the door, he led her down the stark white hallway and waved her into a small interview room that was set up with two chairs and a single plastic white table in the center. The room wasn't overly aggressive, and looked like a cubical in an office.

"Please set your bag up here," he motioned for the table, unclipping Marco's leash and motioning for the dog to go lie down in the corner while he pulled nitrile gloves over his hands. "So, all we're doing today is a baggage search. My dog picked you out for narcotics. Have you been around narcotics at all recently, ma'am? A party? A friend? Anyone who may have had access." Once she had placed her carry-on on to the table he unzipped it and began to go through it piece by piece. An airport official would eventually be in to join, but for the time being, it was just the two of them.

"You may sit, if don't want to stand," he continued a moment later, pulling out some of her personal belongings, quickly inspecting them, before placing them on the table, "Where did you visit?"

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

Something definitely wasn't the matter, this was the mantra Dahlia would repeat to herself until this officer apologized for taking up her time, and let her go. She could hardly blame the man for doing his job, he seemed to fit the bill of stoic officer perfectly, but that didn't stop her from being just the tiniest bit irritated. Four hours wasn't a long flight, and a week wasn't a long time away from home, but as soon as she had heard her sister's voice on the phone Dahlia had been struck with a touch of homesickness. She would be there soon, even if she wanted to, Dahlia didn't know how to break the rules! She had even measured out her 3.4 ounces of liquids precisely. She was innocent, but why did she feel so guilty?

The walk down the hallway began to make Dahlia's stomach turn even more than it had on the flight, she started to get dizzy unless she was watching her feet. Everything about this was new to Dahlia, she had never been grounded let alone spoken to by an officer. Dahlia left it to her sister to be the rebel, she was always picking fights and arguing. Any sort of confrontation made Dahlia tense up, even though she had done no wrong. She decided to speak up, lest this man form an opinion on her and judge her based on it.

"Um, excuse me sir," Dahlia tried to interject before they approached the small intercom, and she quickly shut her mouth again, eyes darting towards the ground nervously as she bit her lip. She nodded quickly when he asked her about protocol, even straightening out her hunched posture. "Yes sir! I understand completely, it's just," Dahlia paused, " I'm quite sure you hear this frequently, but you might have the wrong person?" Dahlia suggested the thought shyly, seeing as how the Officer didn't seem intent on veering from the task at hand, and apparently her luggage was the task at hand. The thought of pulling her luggage from the carousel just seemed silly though, but she begrudgingly nodded her head again.

Her carry-on bag was pretty typical as far as travelers go. She packed a second pair of shoes, pink Converse that she wished she was wearing, and a few spare outfits. She now regretted leaving a pair of her underwear in her carry-on as Officer Reyez snapped on his nitrile gloves and got to work. There were gifts in the bag too, Dahlia had bought myriad cat toys knitted with the colors of the Jamaican flag, as well as the other quintessential tourist gifts, keychains, shot glasses and the like. "That one is for my cat," Dahlia said with a coy grin as the Officer pulled one of the toys from her bag, hoping to at least put a dent in the tension in the room. She would have been fine watching him go through her personal items, until he mentioned why.

"Narcotics!?" Dahlia's mouth fell agape at the very thought, and she met his eyes with a look of shock, and slight fear. "Like, drugs? No! Not at all! Sir, I promise you I've never touched a drug in my life, I was raised better." Dahlia began to become more nervous the more she thought about it, the idea was preposterous. She tried to think back through her vacation, to see if there was any possible chance she would come in contact with any substances. Nope. Still preposterous.

"Sir. I had a glass of champagne once, when I turned twenty-one." Dahlia told the officer as he continued to root through her bag, her brows were beginning to knit together in fear though. "That was the only time I ever touched a substance, I-I." Dahlia would have kept rambling, but Officer Reyez had his own line of questioning, and she was more than happy to oblige if it meant getting out of here faster.

"Jamaica. I was visiting Jamaica. It was my first time out of the country sir. My boyfrie-." Dahlia paused, thinking about Roy for a second even though she was staring down a no-nonsense officer. They had never made it official, but he paid for her trip, and she wasn't any sort of gold digger, Dahlia was better than that. "My boyfriend invited me, he joined me for three days but left for business. The last three days I spent alone, I was either at the pool, in the cafeteria, or in my room. I swear sir, I would never do something like this. I swear."

 

[Nav]

She was right, he did hear 'you have the wrong person' quite often. He had also learned, during his years on the force, that when someone said "you had the wrong person," it usually meant that they were the right person. He kept that little inner monologue to himself and just smiled stiffly, but politely, as he continued to work through the carry-on. None of it surprised him really, though it wasn't usually the belongings in the bag where drugs would be stored. His fingers massaged along the seam of the luggage and along the spine of the piece, more common place hiding spots for illicit substances. His eyes raised to meet her when she motioned to the cat toys, "That's lovely," he remarked, though his tone sounded anything but.

"Yes, ma'am, narcotics," he answered her outburst with his own steady peace, "Marco here is a trained narcotics dog who works on the Chicago PD team. He's trained to sniff out even traces of a variety of different narcotics. It may be nothing," he answered, noting her nervousness but keeping his eyes on his hands as they worked. Marco's nose was so keen that he could smell drugs on someone who had merely brushed up against a drug user the day prior. As such, he gave a lot of false alarms for that reason, but any alarm given by a drug dog was an alarm that had to be pursued.

"Jamaica on vacation?" Dean was on the verge of asking more questions, though she had already answered some of them without being prompted. "And did you pack all your bags yourself? Do you know what's in all of your luggage, ma'am?"

There was a knock at the door before she had time to answer and Dean's gaze snapped up and levelled with it. The woman who popped her head into the door was a lady of—her age does not matter. She was tall and very slight with grey hair and eyes that sat uncomfortably far apart on her face, pierced by a slightly too long nose down the middle. Her uniform was crisp and clean and challenged even Dean's uniform for professionalism. Everything about her just spoke to a stiff attitude, though she smiled politely all the same. "Officer Reyez, getting started without me?" she asked curtly, as if she was annoyed by his actions but didn't want to directly bring it up.

Her shirt was an officer blue and the badge on her left shoulder denoted her position as a TSA agent for the airport. Her hands were cased in nitrile gloves and Dean had seen her wearing them so many times, he couldn't help but muse that her hands were made of nitrile gloves.

"It's just routine," he answered, though the woman was already on to Dahlia.

"Miss, may I have your boarding pass and identification, please?" her hand was extended expectantly, leaving no room for argument. All the while, Dean just turned back to what he was doing.

The carry-on bag had been completely emptied and finding no hint of drugs or tampering, Dean was content. His judge of character had gotten pretty good over the years and he hadn't imagined they would be finding anything on the woman. Her reaction seemed genuinely surprised, but more importantly, he could see the confused panic setting in behind her eyes.

"Miss, your boarding pass and identification," the TSA Agent spoke snappishly, clearly not amused the passenger hadn't foreseen her question and jumped on it immediately.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

So talking about her cat didn't seem to win her any points with Officer Reyez, but she couldn't say she was surprised given his demeanor. Immediately after the man's curt, yet unamused response, Dahlia shrunk. "Sorry," she said softly, clasping her hands together on her lap and pointing her eyes downward. This felt awful, like getting caught stealing cookies from the jar times a million. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or perhaps she got too much sun, but Dahlia felt like she could start crying then and there, wanting nothing more than to see her boyfriend and get taken home. She began biting her freshly painted nails out of nervousness, and began to sweat. She glanced over at the dog in the corner when the Officer introduced him, conflicted on whether she could be mad at an animal or not.

"Good boy," Dahlia said quietly, turning her head towards the dog and smiling. "I have allergies sir, pollen and things like that. I taKe medicine for it when it acts up. I have some of the medicine in my bag, do you think that's what Marco could be smelling?" She suggested, thinking of any logical reason why they would stop her of all people. She hated judging based on appearances, but she felt like she was the last person to be a suspect in anything to do with drugs. There was a subtle change in her attitude, however, when the man asked if she remembered what she packed. Her ears perked up and a smile spread across her face.

"Yes sir I do! I always pack everything myself, and I remember everything." Dahlia said, almost as if she was bragging. Truthfully, Dahlia had the memory of five elephants and it was both a blessing and a curse, however today it seemed like it was going to help her. "You know what's on my carry-on already. My suitcase has two more sun-dresses, like this one, five tops, two pairs of shorts and two pairs of capris," Dahlia paused to think so she didn't sound like a robot, but she didn't need to pause. "An extra pair of sandals, hair dryer, straightener, toothbrushes and all the toiletries, no alcohol or parabens sir. Six changes of underw- uh, delicates" Dahlia said, for modesty's sake. She would have kept going, but jumped when she heard a knock at the door.

"Carousel eighteen, the luggage tag is a picture of my cat," Dahlia quickly finished what she was saying, trying to be as much help as possible as the woman entered the room. If Officer Reyez intimidated her, this woman downright frightened her, she couldn't say why. There was something about her personality that seemed harsher, the more people in the room the more Dahlia felt overwhelmed.

"Uh, yes ma'am right away!" Dahlia responded to her question the second time, after having spaced out the first time around. She was almost going tunnel-vision, but picked up her small pink purse right away to grab her ID and boarding pass, sliding it across the table gently. "Dahlia Jayne Harper, twenty-four, this was my first time out of the country ma'am," Dahlia offered, to catch her up on what Officer Reyez had let her miss. She was slipping her feet in and out of her sandals, feeling the sweat start to get sticky and unpleasant.

The picture on her ID was taken on the eighth time, with only the ghost of a smirk remaining on her lips, not smiling was often difficult, but if they had taken the picture while interrogating her, the photo op likely would have gone smoother. Green eyes, red hair, one-hundred ten pounds (but was that really necessary?) They had just about everything about Dahlia they could want to know, what else was there? Now she just felt nervous that Roy would be looking for her, but she hadn't felt her phone vibrate.

"My boyfriend, Roy Harland, he's supposed to be picking me up. Is there any way you could page him? Ma'am, or sir, just to let him know I'm okay? I'm afraid he might be worried about me," Dahlia asked, she only wished he was with him now, this whole ordeal would be much less draining.

 

[Nav]

"Ma'am, my dog is trained on cocaine, heroin, MDMA, weed, ketamine, and methamphetamine. Unless your allergy medications contain one of those, I'm going to say that was almost definitely not the cause."

Her little comment did cause him to smirk, though it was all internal. His face remained neutral in its usual manner—not entirely unfriendly, but not particularly welcoming, either. He had mastered the professional look: just enough friendliness to not look like a psychopath, but not much more. The things that came out of people's mouths when they were being investigated always amused him, as they'd say just about anything to sway the suspicion away from them. He was still having a hard time grappling with the idea that the young woman before him could be carrying an illicit substance and while Dean's gut instinct was usually pretty spot on, he knew it wasn't perfect… Marco's nose was much more reliable than his gut to English translation.

The woman was overly descriptive with her luggage packing practices, explaining things well down to her underwear (which Dean really didn't have any interest in hearing about), so he was thankful when the TSA Agent, one Miss Greta Hansen, announced herself. The pair quickly exchanged information and once she snapped up the woman's, Dahlia's, identification and boarding pass for review, and to pick up her luggage, she was out the door. The lock slammed shut behind her and caused the entire frame to rattle. Typical, Dean thought to himself and began to haphazardly move her carry-on luggage aside without bothering to repack it. If she was cleared to go, she could pack it herself later.

"Your boyfriend is waiting for you?" Dean, realizing he was getting lost in his own thoughts, zoomed back into reality again. "You can call your boyfriend as soon as we're done here, ma'am."

Meanwhile, as if wanting to get a word in on the conversation, Marco whined in his corner and Dean shot him a look. When their eyes connected, the dog's tail enthusiastically began to sway as he tilted his head and looked next to the woman. "What?" Dean asked the canine, causing the big Shepherd to leap up to his feet and creep towards the woman. He dug his nose into the heels or her sandals, beginning to lick the cork-like material. With his tongue connecting against the chunky heel, he sat down and looked back to Dean. There wasn't any more communication that could have been made between the dog and his partner and Dean knew better than to ignore it.

"Ma'am, can you take off your shoes please? Marco, go lie down."

The dog, whining dejectedly, let his tail droop as he moved to go sit back in his corner. This time, he never removed his gaze from Dean. Even when another knock at the door should have broken his attention, he didn't stop watching his master, though Dean immediately looked up to see Miss Hansen hauling in a large piece of luggage. Sure as shit, there was a damn picture of a cat on the tag, just like he had assured them. Somehow, Dean was having a hard time picturing a drug dealer toting around pictures of their cat but hell… life took all types. The woman wordlessly dragged the piece of luggage up on to the table, giving Dean a casual nudge to get him out of her way and began to pull apart the contents of her checked bag. Though Dean hadn't reorganized the carry-on, the TSA agent was merciless… clothes and toiletries were dumped out unceremoniously across the metal table, a toothbrush fell on the floor, and neatly folded clothes were immediately unfolded and tossed into piles.

She was bent on a mission, it seemed, and nothing was going to stop her from getting through every little nook and crannie of that piece of luggage. When it was finally empty, which took her all of about thirty seconds to rip through, she held up the empty bag and began to knock around on the seams and edges. "This needs to be X-Rayed. I'll be back."

As quickly as she had arrived like a whirlwind of activity, she was gone again… carrying the empty piece of luggage with her.

"Miss, your shoes?" Dean asked now that the interruption was gone again.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

"Oh," Dahlia whimpered in a rejected way after the man cleverly deduced that her allergy medicine probably wasn't what was getting Marco in a fuss. "You see, I don't even know what half of those substances are, sir." Dahlia began to get a little impatient, but remained as polite as possible. It was hard to remain polite now though, her bubbly personality was quickly fading, and frustration was starting to break through. She crossed her arms sternly as the man continued pecking through her goods.

"Innocent until proven guilty, right?" Dahlia placed her elbows on the table, looking at her poor, ravaged carry-on curiously, she expected an apology when they realized she was innocent. Ugh, perhaps next time she'd plan a road trip, flying was shaping up to be more trouble than it was worth. She wasn't going to let this dampen her return home though, it was nothing, it was the equivalent to a bug bite, she had loved Jamaica. Soon she'd be back home with Roy, cuddling up against him on the couch and sipping that chai tea latte. Oh Roy, Dahlia hoped he wasn't mad, or worried for her. She was mad and worried enough for both of them.

The woman entered the room like a hurricane and left gentle Dahlia frazzled and somewhat frozen. She was glad to sacrifice her ID and boarding pass if it satiated her, even for a minute. Officer Reyez may not have been the most personable man ever, but he spoke to her like the person she was instead of a suspect. When he asked about her boyfriend, she, too had to regain her thoughts and blink herself back to reality. Dahlia didn't want to wait until after this interrogation to see Roy, if only he were here right now. But what could he do? What could anyone do? Dahlia was nervous but didn't know why, what if they actually found something? Dahlia couldn't in a million years afford a good lawyer, and she could hardly open a pickle jar let alone hold her own in jail. Oh gosh, that was a word she wasn't even going to think about.

"Yes my boyfriend. He worries about me a lot," Dahlia said honestly. Roy was the type of man who would always make sure to walk on the sidewalk closer to the road, and drive twenty times more carefully with Dahlia in the car, no man had ever been such a gentleman. She almost got lost reminiscing until she felt a familiar wet nose on her heels, her head swivelled to face Marco.

"Oh?" Dahlia swiveled her head to look down at Marco, offering him a complacent smile and sighing, there was no way she could be mad at him. "You wanna see my sandals huh? Go ahead mister Marco." Dahlia kicked her sandals off gently, scrunching up her toes and admiring her freshly painted nails. Roy wanted to see her in the sandals, she simply had to make her feet presentable too. "They're a gift though, my boyfriend picked them out. Be careful okay?" Dahlia was half speaking to Marco and half speaking to Officer Reyez, that's when she heard the door click a second time and tensed up, she had her suitcase now, and seeing Shoe's picture dangling from the handle made her even more homesick.

"Please, be gent-," Dahlia couldn't finish her sentence before the carnage began. The inspection of her luggage looked like the opening scene from Saving Private Ryan more than a routine inspection. Her jaw fell agape again (Dahlia swore it was going to fall off,) but she kept her mouth shut, like a good girl. She cringed as her toothbrush hit the ground with a little bounce, but finally spoke up when she got her hands on a birthday card that had been folded neatly inside one of her dresses. "Don't bend that! It's important." Dahlia announced, looking steadfast for the first time since she was dragged in this little room. The card itself was designed for somebody turning seven, complete with partying animals and cake. Next to the seven was a hand-drawn eight and a quaint smiling face. "To Edgar, my partner in crime. Love always, Dollie." The note said. Dahlia kept it close and furrowed her brows. "It's a joke, he's my landlord. I've never committed a crime in my life." Dahlia pouted.

"Do I miss my shoes?" Dahlia asked in genuine confusion after Officer Reyez made his request, she hadn't even noticed she'd been slipping them on and off while her luggage was massacred. "Oh! Oops, of course." Her cheeks went red and she bent over to pick them up, placing them on the table. "Just be gentle, they're a gift remember."

 

[Nav]

Innocent until proven guilty, eh?

Dean's eyes levelled with her for just a split second, his brows raised, though he didn't say anything at all. In an airport, there was no judge, jury, and trial… just a conviction, though he didn't bother to point it out to her. The only proof needed was his dog's nose, and if he found nothing, then she'd be free to go. His suspicions were beginning to finally stir in him though when Marco pointed her out not once, not twice, but three times now. Whatever the dog smelled, he was adamant about getting Dean's attention over it. His gut told him the girl was innocent, his dog told him the girl was guilty and when push came to shove, he trusted his dog more than he did himself.

Ms. Hansen came in and left like a tornado on a path of destruction and the shock in the woman's face was undeniable. So shocked she was that she was absent-mindedly slipping her shoe on and off again, like she was stuck in some kind of repetitive loop—like a record stuck in a bad scratch. Finally, she extended them out to him and Dean took them by the straps, bringing them towards him and flipping one of them around over and over a few times. He had seen concealment with shoes before, especially clunky heeled sandals like the one's she had been wearing. A gift she had mentioned, which got the officer's brain chugging. Not heeding her warning to be careful, Dean slid a small pocket knife from his utility belt and sliced a small puncture through the bottom of the heel.

When he extracted his blade again, the tip was coated in a waxy, bone-white substance. The shock registered on his face before he could hide it. When the blade was withdrawn, Marco leapt up from his resting position and began to thrash his tail back and forth, his ears pricked, nose twitching. In his head, Dean had to remind himself that she innocent until proven guilty. Perhaps it was stuffing of some kind… perhaps it was just the plastic of the shoe… but he knew better. He could see the faint glimmer of the substance as he rolled it back and forth in the light.

Sliding the blade along the seam of the shoe, Dean popped out the entire sole and out dropped several tied off baggies containing white powder. They scattered across the table; the baggie he had pierced oozing the powder like it was bleeding. Setting the one shoe down, Dean reached for the second and peeled the bottom away… revealing another set of baggies falling loose.

The TSA agent women returned, shaking her had at Dean as she entered the room. "All clear," she announced, holding up the luggage before setting it to the side of the room for the time being.

"Can you get me a field test kit for cocaine?" Dean asked, not lifting his eyes to meet her.

"A field test?" she questioned doubtfully until her eyes managed to hawk in on the baggies, "Oh… oh."

In the moment it took the TSA Agent to get the field test, Dean had continued to inspect the shoes, but all that were left was the cork walls of the heels and the straps. The woman was only gone for a few moments before she returned with the small plastic satchel that, in it, had two tubes of liquids. Using his knife, he slid some of the white powder in and cracked open the tubes. With a bit of rigorous shaking, the test liquid went from pale yellow to a violent purple shade.

"Miss, you're under arrest for—" Dean was struggling to get the words out, as even he was fighting with it, "For cocaine possession."

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

The longer Dahlia stayed in that little room, the slower time seemed to get. After she thought ten minutes had passed, she glanced down at her dollar store watch to realize the second hand hadn't even made its way around. The fact that Marco seemed hell bent on finding something did nothing to calm her nerves either. Feet bare against the chilly tile, Dahlia began to break out in goosebumps as well, and wrapped her arms around herself tightly. She wanted to protest when she spotted the pocket knife in his hand, but her heart had leapt up into her throat, and she could hardly get coherent thought together let alone a sentence. "Hey," was all she could muster, in minor annoyance.

Then he made the cut. Dahlia didn't particularly care for the style of sandals, but given that they were a gift from her man, it made her angry to see Officer slice into them. "Ugh," she muttered, folding her arms and glancing back towards her feet. He wasn't going to find anything but he was going to owe her a new pair of sandals. But then, at the tip of the blade... What the fuck was that?

"NO!" Dahlia's high-pitch shriek may have echoed through the entire airport had the room they were in not been (relatively) soundproof. She shot up from her seat in a heartbeat, trembling hands covering her mouth. "No, no, no! I swear to you, and Jesus, and on the life of my sister I would never, never! It's not mine! It's not mine I swear!" Dahlia had just barely kept a lid on her cool before-hand, but now she was a blubbering mess. Shaken to the core, she felt a sharp chill shoot up her spine and travel through her entire body. She was stunned, and didn't realize when the woman arrived back with her suitcase, saying it was "all clear."

"C-cocaine?" Dahlia whimpered, eyes daring between the two agents that held her future in their hands. How could this have happened to her? Was it- no, it wouldn't be Roy. He loved her, and he looked out for her, he couldn't have known this. Dahlia felt the tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, she hardly realized they had been forming. She fell back into the chair with a gentle thud, and let her arms hang limp beside her as she continued to mouth "no, no, no." She swore she was going to throw up.

"Sir please. Ma'am I wouldn't- I could never-," Dahlia spoke in fractures, entirely choked up and in shock. Her wide eyes kept staring at the desecrated sandals until she went tunnel vision. "This has to be a mistake, it has to! I-if I knew it was there I would have come to you i-immediately! Look at my record, I've never broken a law in my life sir, ma'am I promise..." Dahlia went on blubbering and promising, even after she had been arrested. When trying to think of how this could have happened, Dahlia hardly entertained the thought that Roy would have set her up. She loved him.

"Me, my boyfriend, we had to have been set up sir! They were a gift. H-he said to wear them to the airport so he could see me wearing them," Dahlia tried to explain with what little information she had. She quickly stretched out her freckled arm to offer them a vein. "Test me, do whatever you need to do, take my blood take anything." Dahlia begged, jumping between behaving like a cornered animal and a child caught red handed. She stamped her feet on the ground in frustration when they didn't immediately pull out a needle.

"Stop it, please." Dahlia succeeded, rubbing her arm nervously. She had been digging her fingernail into her thumb, and it had left a cut that had began to bleed. Once she noticed the cut though, Dahlia exhaled slowly, finding composure. "May I please trouble you for a glass of water? And perhaps a bucket of sorts, I am afraid I'm going to be ill," she said, meeting the mans eyes in desperation as tears continued to flow down her freckled cheeks. "W-what do I do now? I'm innocent. I know and I swear and I promise I am innocent. How do I prove it sir?"

It seemed like these two seemingly uncaring officers were her only lifeline; Dahlia was silently praying to wake up from this nightmare.

 

[Nav]

Her response was startling but not at all surprising. He had seen it how many times now… people begging for a second chance, promising him up and down it wasn't their fault, that they didn't know. He was a good man, Dean, but he struggled to find any sympathy for anyone in her situation. All his life, he had been cautious; he spent his time carefully analyzing everyone around him because it was easier to find a reason to push someone away than fight to keep them close. His mother had always told him Dean, you should find a nice girl! but he never did. It was easier to not keep anyone in his life, so, it's why he spent all his time alone outside of work. He could work himself to death and not have to worry about a fight for coming home late, for leaving the toilet seat up, for not putting away the dishes….

Being alone was always easier, and the woman on the opposite side of the table just gave him more proof of that.

The woman began to cry, tears bursting forth like water from a dam, spilling down her face and Dean just looked at her blankly. "Ma'am, I really need you to calm down," he interjected but she kept rambling on an on. Whether she couldn't hear him over her sobs and sniffles or simply chose not to hear him, he didn't know. Instead, he just waited and watched. He waited as she continued on, throwing her arm at him and pointing out a vein—looking for any way she could prove her innocence, but that was well above Dean's paygrade. Even if he did know for sure that she was set-up, he couldn't do much for her. He was a mid-level beat cop with an eye on a detective position, but he was still a few years of seniority away from making that climb up the ladder.

Hooking his thumbs against his belt loops, he watched with unburdened propriety. Finally, her outburst calmed down. He wouldn't have exactly called it acceptance, but she reached a point where she seemed to realize that sobbing uncontrollably would get her nowhere. "Sure thing, ma'am. We can get you some water and a bucket in a moment, but first, I am putting you under arrest for the possession of a controlled substance and attempted smuggling across borders. Anything you say can and will be used against you, do you understand?" He didn't move for her immediately as she hardly seemed like a thread, but he was poised in case their conversation took a bad turn.

Meanwhile, the TSA Agent with a beaky nose and hawk-like eyes excused herself from the room, likely to begin initiating the mounds of paperwork that went along with an airport arrest, leaving just the sobbing redhead and himself. Immediately, Dean relaxed when her presence was gone. He had never felt very comfortable with TSA Agents.

"What I'm going to have you do now is spread your legs apart and place your hands on the table," he explained, his voice deep and even, "We are going to do a frisk search to ensure you have no weapons on you and then you'll be transported to a temporary holding cell here at the airport. Once everything is sorted, you'll be transported to the local station for booking." He felt inclined to explain how things would happen to the girl. He could see the distress burning in her eyes and frowned for her. She looked genuinely confused and distressed, like she was just going to sit down on the floor and never get up again.

"As for proving your innocence, I won't have much part in that. Once we transport you to the police department, you'll be working with a detective and a lawyer. Everything'll get sorted."

The justice system worked like that, or so Dean believed. That's what it was for, and he put all his faith into it always.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

Dahlia took a few moments composing herself, wiping the tears away from her now bloodshot eyes, and trying to catch her breath through choked sobs. There were waves of annoyance washing over her when the Officer suggested she calmed down, she looked up at him under furrowed brows, but decided to keep her choice words to herself. "Has that line ever worked for you before?" Dahlia asked out of mild frustration. She knew when she was angry, being told to "calm down" had quite the opposite effect. But now she had no other choice, her pathetic blubbering even made her cringe. "Forgive me sir, but I can't calm down. I'm certain you know all too well what happens in jail to people like me, Id much prefer going out on my own terms."

Dahlias veiled threat against her own life fell to a hushed whisper, realizing the officer could probably care less what happened when she was taken away. It wasn't the first time she had thought of it either, noting the only person who would truly miss her would be her kitten. Evelyn loved her, but Dahlia's sister was as strong as iron and would forget when the grief passed. But maybe, Roy? She didn't know what to think right now, it was coincidental that the gift he got her was the catalyst to this whole mess. She didn't want to think of him as guilty though, he had been the only light in her life for as long as she could remember. She had spaced out for the briefest of moments, but when she came to the Officer was asking if she understood. She didn't, but she had a response anyways.

"I understand that you're throwing my fucking life away for something I didn't do. Asshole!" Oops. Dahlia caught her mistake as soon as she said the words. Without a moment of hesitation, she threw both of her hands over her mouth and her eyes went wide like a deer caught in the headlight. She shook her head and her red waves bobbed with her, Dahlia never spoke like that, swearing was hardly in her vocabulary at all. "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that sir." Dahlia apologized, still shocked at herself for speaking out of turn like that. She nervously dug her nail into her thumb until she cut skin, and blood started to pool beside her now bare feet.

Standing up without argument, Dahlia placed her hands on the table obediently and spread her legs apart. The unflattering position made her break out in goosebumps, and she started to cry again, but this time much softer and more controlled. She had never felt so powerless in her life, and knowing how harsh and uncaring the man was about her situation just made it seem all the worse. She hated him, him and the joke of a system he worked for.

"I've seen rapists go free, and murderers get out on technicalities. Thank God you're here to round up the poor and the downtrodden though, you're like a modern day knight," Dahlia said, venom behind the faux-sweetness she was putting into her voice. As her hands hit the table, and Dahlia slightly spread her legs she began to shudder. She hated being touched, especially by strangers, she squished her eyes shut tight and ignored the goosebumps, flinching and gasping whenever Officer Reyez touched her.

"Sir. I know you're not stupid, and I know skepticism is your job. But I can't even mastermind making important doctor's appointments, or deciding on the best cat food let alone an international drug smuggling operation. Sir please, please. If I go to jail I am not going to make it, you know that." Dahlia, who was just teetering on a hundred pounds said. "Believe me sir that's all I ask, I was set up, I was framed, don't think me a criminal, I can't stand that." She turned her head around and her shimmering eyes met with his, she forced herself to smile. Her mother always told her that Dahlia was too sweet to resent; Dahlia never believed her, but now she needed her mom to be right. She opened her mouth to speak again, but was cut off from the text-tone of her cell.

"Meow." The little sound indicated a new text message on Dahlia's battered old phone, it was followed quickly by another brief "meow," and Dahlia's eyes met with the Officer's own cautiously. "I don't assume you want me checking that, that's probably Roy wondering where I am," Dahlia paused and pursed her lips, want nothing more to pull out her phone and call him, but stayed on her best behavior. "If you could do me a single kindness, sir, could you please check? You can confiscate it from me, but please. ." Dahlia asked, hopeful it was Roy coming to save her, but what she got was quite the opposite.

It was Roy. His name was flashing, and it said there were two messages. Contrary to Dahlia's train of thought though, there wasn't a concerned boyfriend waiting for her, but an apology.

"I'm truly sorry, Dollie." The first message read, followed by the second one a moment later. "You're the bravest woman I've ever met." And that was the last contact Roy ever hoped to have with Dahlia Jayne Harper, now that he had sent her down the path of destruction.

 

[Nav]

Nobody at the department really liked Dean much, yet no one disliked him. He was a bit forward, a little intrusive, but it was clear to be seen that those mannerisms were due to caring and not any intent to be objectionable. He was put in the force as a kid and had always impressed his supervisors with his work ethic and attitude, but he had never been one of the 'the boys.' He never really overstepped his privileges, though it was observable that his ways were never the department's ways. In his face, he was stoic and removed though something flashed beneath the surface of his hardened expression when she began to yell at him. It was a normal part of his job, he should have been used to it and he did what he could to handle it, but it burned within him like his gut had just been set on fire.

Inhaling sharply through his nostrils so his breath made a soft whistling noise, Dean unhooked his thumbs from his belt loops and held his hands out to her as if that would calm her. "Ma'am, please calm down," he reiterate as she began to throw about cusses. Even though she quickly corrected herself and apologized, Dean couldn't shake the feeling. He felt guilt for her and what he had done to her, even though she had been the one to bring drugs across the border—knowingly or unknowingly. Dean stiffened himself militarily and cleared his throat; he composed himself like an actor about to go on stage. "I know you're upset, but I'm not the one who just was caught trying to smuggle drugs across the border."

That was crude and unprofessional, he realized, but his eyes remained steady. She could insut his system all she wanted and any last shred of guilt he had felt for her began to wither away. His gut instinct had been that she was innocent, but no part of him wanted to try and help her in any way if she continued to snub him below her shoe like a worn cigarette butt. "Place your hands on the table and spread your feet," he repeated again, his tone becoming snappish. She did as she was told and he slid the handcuffs from his utility belt so he could snap them over her wrists, tying back her shoulders and keeping her arms behind her back. From there, he stepped back.

As she began to reason with him, only shortly after her explosion, Dean seemed to ignore her. Or, if he heard her, he didn't show it. He pointed at Marco who laid down obediently again, having sat up with the commotion and yelling. "We're going to a holding cell. A female officer will be there to give you a more thorough examination and pat down."

The phone lit up on the table and his eyes were drawn to it. He had no reason to show her any kindness. He was, after all, in her words an asshole, but he snapped up her mobile anyways. "I'm truly sorry, Dollie," he read, flipping to the next message, "You're the bravest woman I've ever met." With the messages read, his brow furrowing at the contact name, he slid the mobile into an investigation bag and popped it on to the table to be collected later. The texts corroborated her story that she had been set-up, at least to a very mild degree, though it wouldn't be nearly enough to clear her from the charges. Hell, anything short of a full-blown confession from this 'Roy' would land her in jail.

He couldn't shake the hunch that the name 'Roy' sounded familiar and not just because it was a quasi-uncommon male name, but there was something more to it. Roy, Roy, Roy… how did he know that name? It didn't matter; he quickly tried to shake it off.

"Let's go," he swiped his identification card on the card reader and swung the door open, directing her out with a brisk wave of his hand, down the hall, and into a holding cell. "Once we transfer you to the police station for booking, you'll be allowed a few phone calls… to lawyers, to family members, to Roy. Whatever."

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

As Dahlia stood with her quivering hands over her mouth, she realized she had struck a chord with the Officer, even if he was determined not to show it. He was a man doing his job, and she was being no better than a grumpy senior shouting at a baffled cashier. But this had to be different, right? He was ending her life, this man and his dog were her grim reaper but then again, Dahlia did have a penchant for turning everything into a melodrama. "I- I didn't mean it sir, I promise-," She continued to ramble, but Dahlia didn't expect his response to be so cold.

"I'm not the one who was just caught trying to smuggle drugs across the border."

Dahlia tightened her lips into a graceful half-smile like she had met an honest defeat. Ducking her head and folding her hands together in front of her, she peeked up at him. "Do you intend to be cruel, Officer Reyez?" Dahlia peeped, knowing her choice of wording had been thoroughly unladylike, but Dahlia was certain she didn't deserve to be teased at this time. "I am in shock, I am scared, I acted out, I apologized. I guess your implication is that I am, excuse my language, the asshole in this situation. Since you've already decided I'm guilty, maybe I am the asshole. If that's what you've decided, then I'm sorry." Dahlia pouted her lips and turned to face the table. "I only ask that you don't find enjoyment in this," she asked.

She was like a child caught in the cookie jar, but after her outburst she seemed strangely resigned to her fate, masterfully holding back any tears. Her face showed any guilt, but she didn't feel, just the frustration of being powerless, it was the frustration she had felt her entire life. She didn't appreciate his snapping tone, but didn't snap back, "I'm complying, sir," Dahlia assured him. She cringed when Dean pulled out the handcuffs and tried to move her hands.

"I suffer from ITP, I bruise very easily so be gentle. I would hate for you to be accused of mishandling a lady," Dahlia said, in any other circumstance Dahlia would have passed a wink, but not here. The playful, happy glimmer in her eyes had dulled, and her expression was spacey, vacant. It felt like they were walking down a long, never ending hallway with no doors, or nobody coming to get her out. "A thorough examination? Someone snuck drugs into my shoes. I don't think somebody could sneak drugs in my...". Dahlia couldn't bring herself to say the word, and wrinkled up her nose. "Never mind," she conceded. Going silent when he agreed to read her texts for her, but still thanking him "There is still graciousness in the world," she said softly, vacant grin remaining until he began to read.

"D-Dollie?" The childish nickname made Dahlia come to a realization, and she felt her heart sink immediately, she knew who it was without being told. "What does he mean sorry? Why would he apologize?" Dahlia thought the idea of Roy being behind this was inconceivable, they had been dating for months, and he had been nothing but a perfect gentleman. "I mean he gave me the sandals but... No. We've been together for weeks he paid for everything, it doesn't make sense! I told him I loved him. I-I let him into my bed," Dahlia said, but regretted saying it out loud (she wasn't that type of girl!) But Dahlia had always been one to wear her heart on her sleeve.

With those messages, the last flicker finally left her eye, and she hung her head, beaten and utterly alone. "Okay," Dahlia said, as the Officer finished giving her instructions, she dragged her feet down the hallway. Now the metaphorical hallway from before seemed a lot like death row. "Dead girl walking on the green mile," she quipped, some black humor to stop herself from doppling over. "And sir. I get horrible, horrible cluster headaches at night. Please don't let them withhold my medicine, it's perscription, you'll find them in my suitcase." With that last, friendly request, Dahlia sighed and trudged forward with fate.

 

[Nav]

"Ma'am, do I look like I'm enjoying myself?"

The question was simple enough, but the fact of the matter was that Dean Reyez was not enjoying himself. This was the exact reason why he hated airport duty. He loved being a cop, especially working with the canine unit, but taking the blame for people was always a trying experience. People rarely sought to put the blame on themselves and always believed it to be the officer's fault—you did this to me, this is your doing, why are you doing this to me? I've seen other people get off, why am I being arrested? and rarely realized the situation for what it was. Dean was just doing a job—a job he wasn't getting paid very well to do. He didn't often get appreciation and he risked life and limb every day. There had been days he went back to his apartment with his hands shaking because he had been shot at.

No one ever wanted to take the fault for their situation. The fact of the matter was that the young woman he had just put cuffs on had carried an illegal drug over the border. Whether she knew about it or not, it didn't matter. Internally, he kept trying to remind myself that her situation was, ultimately, her fault. To some extent, that was true. Company one selected to be around was one's own choice and risk and if he was to believe her story, then she had gambled on love… and failed. It wasn't overly surprising though. He had seen plenty of women like Dahlia before: women who were smitten by the handsome, suave, high-roller guy and never thought to question why such an awesome partner was showering them with unrealistic and lavish gifts and presents.

In the deal gone south, Roy lost a couple hundred thousand dollars worth of product, but Dahlia was losing her life. Sadly, she wasn't the first he had seen; she certainly wouldn't be the last, either.

Dean didn't pay much mind to any more of her comments and, instead, just gently guided her along. If she bruised, she bruised. No one would question it. "You know," Dean sighed, finally acknowledging that she was speaking when she asked about the text messages again, "I've seen a lot of people in your situation in my lifetime, you know? Lots of pretty, young, smart girls being taken advantage of by a drug dealer because he's rich, suave, good looking. You two met, right? And you didn't think you had a chance? Maybe you thought he was too out of your league? But he pursued you anyways? You were shy and uncertain at first, but when he kept showering you with gifts and compliments, you gave in. You told him you loved him, right? You went out on dates and next thing you know, he's sending you to a drug source country, giving you a gift, and having you smuggle drugs for him. It's how drug smugglers do it so they can keep their hands clean. You take the fall if you get caught." He shrugged, knowing he was telling her too much, but he felt obligated to explain it to her in laymen's terms.

"He would have been easy for a TSA Agent to pinpoint, but you? You can't look guilty or nervous for something you don't know about. You look just like a college student on vacation. You're the perfect mule, 'cause that's all you were to your boyfriend: a mule."

He unlocked the temporary cell and it swung open with an angry creak on its heavy metal hinges. Waving her inside, he moved to remove her cuffs so she could move around the little metal box with a single cot and a toilet. It was a temporary cell, but the one she was going to wouldn't be so temporary. "A female officer'll be in soon to give you an examination, alright? What's going to happen next is I'm going to go work with my supervisor. Meanwhile, you are legally allowed to access legal counsel at any time. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be supplied to you. Do you understand?"

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

With a moment of honest contemplation, Dahlia tried again to see the man behind the uniform. Was he really enjoying this? Maybe she had read him wrong. Conceding, Dahlia shook her head to admit that she had been wrong.

"No. I suppose you're not enjoying yourself. From what I believe, jobs like these numb a man, or harden a man, enjoyment must become something difficult to come by, especially on the job." Dahlia knew the only way she could make this any harder on Officer Reyez was if she had continued sobbing hysterically, or swearing. He was a soldier, and she was his charge, he wasn't going to help her out of pity or guilt, and a part of her had known that from the offset. Rambling was the equivalent to struggling in quicksand, and his silence made that glaringly apparent. She thought he wouldn't hear another word from the man, and when he began making assumptions about her, she wished she hadn't heard another man.

"Mhm," Dahlia nodded along to what he was saying like she was at a book club without a book. The expression she wore flickered back and forth between amusement, anger, and veiled sadness, but since the Officer was leading her down the hall, it wasn't like he could tell. Wrong, wrong, wrong, she was shouting in her head, but she knew ditzy, duped, college girl was definitely the impression she was giving off, Dahlia felt it couldn't have been farther from the truth. "You know what happens when you assume, don't you Officer? You make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me." Dahlia had been waiting to use that line for years.

"I knew I had a chance, of course I had a chance. The gifts were my least favorite part though, I hate to be spoiled. And really, really? Do I seem shy to you Officer Reyez? No, you haven't met anyone in my situation, you have merely met similar people in similar situations." Dahlia felt as if she had taken some sort of upper hand in their cold-war of words, but knew it meant nothing as she was still under his thumb. She felt her upper hand crumble and his next set of harsh words though. Her eye twitched when the Officer called her a mule, despite the fact he was using the proper term; for a second she felt like lunging for his weapon, but that would just be ridiculous.

"Oh," Dahlia said as she was lead into her bare cell, it was the perfect home for a minimalist. "You have a way with words Officer Reyez, your wife is a lucky woman. I thank you for performing your duty so diligently." She wasn't sure if she was more angry with the Officer, or with Roy, but she felt like she could kill both, but the anger was so much so that all she could do was chuckle. "Be honest and true boys, whatever you do boys, make this your motto through life. Both now and forever, be this your endeavour, when wrong with the right comes to strife." Dahlia ignored his final question, thinking a lawyer wouldn't do her much good right now, so she began to recite a poem which reminded her of the Officer, oddly enough. She was quick to be cut off though, as a voice echoed down the hallway from the intercom.

"Officer Dean Reyez please report to security as soon as possible. Dean Reyez, to security."

The voice of a stoic man made Dahlia jump and glance back at Dean at the doorway, from the way he reacted to the call it appeared she had discovered his first name. She tilted her head and flashed him a tight eyed smile. "Be honest and true Dean, whatever you do Dean. Make that your motto through life."

 

[Nav]

Numb.

He considered that for a moment—was he numb? Or had he always been that way? Perhaps he just really hated airport duty. He did, in fact, hate airport duty. More importantly, he would have rather had someone shooting at him than Dahlia… at least someone shooting at him would have been a little more cut and dry than the woman he was hauling off in cuffs. She was mumbling somewhere between denial, anger, and all-knowing. She almost seemed pleased with her disagreement of how she had acted and become a mule, but Dean knew better. Some good looking, rich, suave dog had tricked her out of her pants and into sandals. Not bad, Dean almost mused, he had gotten laid and found someone to smuggle his drugs. Not a bad deal at all.

He felt bad for Dahlia though. She was still in some whimsical denial land where her boyfriend hadn't up and dumped her the minute she snagged up his plan. He wondered if the young woman expected him to return… maybe she still thought he was the good guy who would come and explain everything away. "Mmm, is that so?" Dean decided to humor her, listening with only one ear as she explained how she was different from everyone else. That was fine with him, he supposed. After today, he'd probably never see her again, except perhaps her court date where he'd have to testify on his behalf. It always made him wonder, listening to people being arrested for a crime, what was going through their minds at the time. All he could say was that Dahlia's brain sounded as discombobulated and confused as a giraffe in a snow storm.

He grabbed ahold of the heavy metal door and nearly swung it all the way shut, leaving it open just enough that he could lean in on the door frame and gaze in on her as she recited a poem he was familiar with. He had heard it before, but why she decided now was the time to recite it, he didn't know. Overhead, the loud speaker crackled like an old record and cut off their conversation. Dean's head titled to listen in, hearing his name and internally muttering a curse in on himself.

"Then up and be doing," he continued, "Right only pursuing and take your fair part in the strife." He pulled the door shut. The heavy metal rocked on the doorframe and the keys clacked back and forth, unsteady and spooked. He slid the little port window shut, as was protocol, and turned to head to the security office. Dahlia's memory quickly left his mind. He made only a brief stop to pick up Marco, who had been patiently waiting where he had been told to lie down. Immediately, the big, young shepherd sprung up and affectionately began to wag his tail as Dean collected his leash and the pair wove through the airport again towards the central security offices.

They were a long way from the police station, but a few detectives and officers were bound to be swooping in at any time to collect Dahlia. He rolled his arm to the side so he could glance down at his watch. Perfect—only four more hours until his shift ended. Without knocking, Dean swiped his security clearance and the office doors popped open.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

Dahlia knew it was stupid to get any more frustrated than she already was. This man was going to think what he thought of her, nothing could change that. He probably thought she was some whore, or gold-digger, nothing could change that. Hell, she didn't even know why she wanted to change his opinion, but with every scarce moment he gave, Dahlia perceived a slight. "It is so," Dahlia said curtly, eyebrows knitting together. "I'm not the girl you think I am." She laid herself down in the bed, throwing her arm over her eyes, her headache already setting in. When recited the poem back to her, Dahlia smirked, but didn't move. "You're smarter than you look."

"Adieu. Dean Reyez." And with that, the door shut, Dahlia was alone once again. Alone. This place wasn't too different from her apartment in some ways. It was sparse, it was quiet, if there was a pink carpet and cat wandering around she could have been quite comfortable here. Only when Dean left did she allow herself to start crying again. "You fucking asshole," she said, burying her face into the uncomfortable pillow. "Dahlia you stupid, fucking asshole." The way Dean acted had her feeling like maybe she did deserve such a fate. She had told herself she wasn't going to trust a man ever again, Roy had changed all of that.

---

"Roy Novak, Roy Halina, Roy Everett. Roy the drug lord." If the girl that Officer Reyez just hauled into a holding cell had a hair color other than red, he would have missed it. But the story of the impossibly charming Roy and his heartbroken, redhead consort was a story that was all too familiar to Agent Van Bly.

For FBI agents, the airport often became a second home. Terrorism, drugs, weapons, it was here that the seeds were planted. As a man in his fifties, Nelson Van Bly had seen just about everything their fine country had to offer, and then some. The "hardening" effect that Dahlia had mentioned must have taken hold of Nelson from the first day, he couldn't remember the last time he felt empathy. His face showed it too, he was a man of immense stature but the most intimidating part about the agent was his dead eyes and unflinching frown. Nelson had spent so much time in the airport, he finally decided to set up shop there. His office, decorated with crosses and pictures of Jesus and Mary, was a place often avoided by any other members of staff.

His eyes were drawn to her camera. Dahlia Jayne Harper, he had written her name down, catching the mess from the corner of his eye before zeroing in on it. He had been watching the exchange between Officer Reyez and the girl with intrigue, and he was watching them both now as Reyez made his way to the office promptly, and Dahlia further descended through her loss of senses. Her crying had quickly turned to praying, but the praying became cursing God pounding on the wall. And the cursing became singing. Nelson had to admit she had quite a large voice for such a little woman, he was caught off guard by the soothing nature of her voice as she sang about laughing at God. He was a man to never laugh at God, this world was too dark to believe God would ever laugh with him. He was still absorbed in the lyrics by time Dean stepped into his office, and he quickly turned down the volume on Dahlia's camera, clearing his throat.

"Hello Dean. How are you feeling today?" The man asked, his gravelly voice clearly trying to force itself to sound friendly, which looked to physically pain him. "Surely you're proud, knowing that the streets can rest easy without fear of Miss Harper flooding them with drugs," Nelson said. It was hard to tell if the man was joking or not. Despite his conservative nature, the agent had a progressive streak to him that made him skeptical, or downright angered by the fruitless war on drugs. Something about his energy was different though, like he was eager to show something off, any sort of energy uncommon for Nelson. "Take a seat, Dean. I'd like to commend you and Marco, then I'd like to discuss the near future."

On the table between the two men there were a few files scattered about, but the largest was marked "Roy Novak." Nelson was not stingy with said file and handed it over to Dean. The only image on file came from a grainy security camera, showing a clean shaven man with black hair and a suit, but the poor quality made everything else difficult to distinguish. The second thing one would notice about the file, was that there was no hard evidence this Roy existed, just the testimony of five female witnesses, and notes that Van Bly had taken himself. In fact, everything was done by Van Bly himself. If he wasn't such a neat freak, it wouldn't be hard to imagine these files connected by string on the wall of a storage locker.

"You've stumbled across a big, big fish, Dean." Nelson leaned in with a smile that he intended to be polite, but came off more frightening than anything, his thin lips vanishing and buggy eyes widening. "How would you like to help out the FBI?"

 

[Nav]

Marco was trotting obediently at Dean's side as they made their way through the busy airport terminals. His nose was twitching back and forth like a rabbits, but he must have known he was off-duty because his tail just kind of bounced behind him, his ears flopped out to the sides, and he paid no particular interest to anything except the pretzel stand when they walked past. Immediately, his ears perked as he honed in on the golden, warm pretzels hanging from the racks and gave a small whimper. Dean merely jingled his leash and he dropped the idea, going back to following at his commander's hip.

The pair came into the office, which was every place Dean didn't want to be. It wasn't so much he didn't like Agent Nelson, as it was the man just made him uncomfortable. Nelson was stiffer than his suit. His face was about as pliable as his own mother's unleavened bread with the same pasty pallor. When he spoke, Dean could hear the army in his voice, and while he had never asked he would have guessed Nelson was ex-military. He held himself like a mannequin, even his hair seemed plastic-perfect. Even Marco seemed to shy away from him whenever he was around, and Dean trusted his dog's instincts on people than he did his own. The big shepherd immediately shrunk away and stood behind Dean's legs instead of at the side of them.

"Officer Nelson, nice to see you," he greeted formally, tightening his hand around the leash gripped in his hand, so tight the leather was beginning to carve into his palm, though everything became slick with sweat there. Nelson made a few comments about Dahlia Harper and his mind reeled back to her, though he wasn't sure he could rest easy just yet… whatever Nelson had planned, he didn't know, but he was confident the man had something in that mind of his. Why else would he have called him down?

Stiffly taking a seat, Dean did what he could to clean the sweat from his palms by rubbing them on the knees of his trousers. Marco took that as a sign to lie down next to his chair, his big snout lying over Dean's boot. "Thank you sir," he said, pausing to clear his throat, "Marco is a quality dog, sir." He really couldn't take much credit, anyways. He never would have stopped Dahlia had Marco not been so incessant about her. "A sample has been sent to the lab for confirmation on the substance in her sandals, but I'm confident it's cocaine." The powder was consistent with cocaine, anyways, and the field test had come back positive for the drug, but for the conviction, they needed stronger proof of the substance's origin—and the lab could do that.

His eyes tilted down to the mess of files and papers on the desk, causing Dean's eyebrows to creep up his forehead in surprise. Normally, his involvement with such cases ended with the suspect being hauled off to the department for the detectives to deal with. "I didn't really stumble across anything, sir," Dean pointed out, "I stumbled across some poor, unsuspecting girl who just got played by a big, big fish." He reached over and pulled the grainy photo closer, inspecting it for a second before returning it to where it had been. He had been expecting Nelson to start grilling him regarding anything Dahlia had said, but his offer was much, much different.

His heart began to beat out of rhythm in his chest and his eyes snapped up to meet Nelson's face. Never had Dean taken him for a jesting man and the seriousness of his expression old him he wasn't wrong. "M.., me, sir? With the FBI?" Though Dean had been with the force for a few years, most still considered him a Rookie. A damn good Rookie, but young and inexperienced all the same. "I uh…" he had to wipe his palms again, "I don't know what to say, sir. I'm honored. Of—of course. What will I… Marco… be doing?"