Ten Feet of Pure White Snow (Nav and Wooseog)

[Wooseog Ryu]

"It is 'Agent' Nelson, not Officer but I would understand why you would be confused." Nelson was quick to correct Dean after the Officer had addressed him with the improper title, woefully unaware of how rigid it made him seem. But Nelson had worked long and hard to get where he had gotten today, and figured the outside world would see it as much as he. His badge had never lost it's shine from the day he got it, and it was displayed proudly to the backdrop of his brown, woolen vest.

Nelson slowly hunched over his desk to get a look at Marco, he admired dogs, especially the K9 dogs, he could hardly imagine working in an airport without them. "Good boy, Marco," Nelson said, it sounded like a cross between talking to a dog and talking to a child. "Highest quality, I would say," Nelson added, reclining back in his seat. His facial expression tightened when he heard about the cocaine, of course he hadn't suspected her to be smuggling icing sugar across the border. He sympathized with Dean's look of surprise when it was revealed Dahlia was a small link in a big chain.

"Unsuspecting as they come, innocent as they come." He shuffled through the files until he pulled out a single piece of paper from the mix, and put on a small pare of spectacles to read it. "In 2006, Dahlia Harper was pulled over by a police officer for driving between the hours of ten to six while still a new driver. She had driven to pick up her inebriated sister from a house party, the officer who spoke with her decided against charging her. This is the extend of Miss Harper's record, she's live in Chicago her entire life, too. She is of the same stock as the other victims of said fish." He motioned his head towards the other files. "Rebecca Meuller, Madison Derkson," Nelson paused and shifted uncomfortably, "Elizabeth Doyle." He offered up the paper-thin files of the women he mentioned, all like Dahlia, squeaky clean.

Nelson was glad to see Dean's interest in the task, knowing it would be daunting to many, but Nelson saw something in the young officer. "It would be a one-off, to start, but judging on what we can get done," Nelson grinned and arched his eyebrows. "Michael Anderson, director of the Chicago FBI, is a personal friend of many years." He decided to let the implication play itself out in Dean's head as they got further down to business. Nelson rotated the screen of his computer towards Dean, where Dahlia was sitting still on her bed, picking at her fingernails nervously.

"I consider myself to be a man of compassion, I try as I must to reflect the image the Lord has in mind, but in our careers there is often little leeway for compassion. Speaking to these three girls, hearing their stories, it upsets and angers me," Nelson said, turning off the computer monitor once the female officer arrived in Dahlia's cell. "What I want to do here, is find the man she calls Roy, whoever he turns out to be. I would like to clear the name of Miss Harper, and if possible, Miss Meuller and Miss Doyle for the so-called 'crimes' they committed." He was careful not to mention Miss Derkson. He paused as he thought of the best way to word his proposal, without it sounding like a shot in the dark.

"We can offer Miss Harper her temporary freedom to help us with whatever she knows about Roy. He's been operating this game in Chicago for at least fifteen years. Places he eats, shops at, if he has a property he took her to, friends she knows. Anything that Miss Harper can give us, I want to know. She said earlier that she remembers everything? I want you to put that to the test." Nelson arched his fingers as he reclined once again in his chair, letting Dean take in all the information, and admired the quizzical look on Marco's face.

 

[Nav]

Dean didn't often try and rub elbows. There were faster ways to climb up the food chain, he knew, but he was going his own route—the right route. He started as a cadet and graduated to a beat cop. From beat cop, he was put into a squad and worked blocks for a number of years before he was finally admitted into the K-9 program. All of his merits, though few compared to many, were earned by the fruit of his hard, dedicated service. Few rookie cops received such praise as Officer Reyez did, but praise didn't often equate to rank. He might have been a damn good cop, but rising in the ranks took schmoozing. It took talking to the right people and getting them to appreciate you, not as a cop, but as a person. People liked Dean, but not the right people.

He was another cog in the machine, another gear in the mechanism, but what Agent Nelson was offering was a serious proposition that took a moment of considering. He understood exactly what the man's cliffhanger was trying to do. Michael Anderson, director of the Chicago FBI, is a person friend of many years. The thought rolled around in Dean's head for a moment, trying to digest what it meant for him. He stood to gain a lot of he could successfully help Nelson, but fail? Fail and he could be even worse off than where he was. He looked down to Marco, whose head was still resting over his left foot. The chocolate brown eyes of his canine companion staring at him devotedly. When their eyes met, Marco's tail began to slowly sway back and forth.

He could stand to lose Marco.

"Can I ask you something, sir?" Dean asked suddenly after Nelson finished hanging the deal in front of him like a chunk of bloody, raw meat in front of a wolf. It was hard not to be tempted, that was for sure. Dean was ravenous to progress and move forward, but he didn't know what sort of strings were attached to the little scheme. It put him into an uneasy state not to hear any drawbacks; any cop would have jumped at the chance to get ahead, but Dean was not just any cop… he was hesitant and thoughtful. He saw everything for the opportunity it presented, but also its drawbacks. Nelson didn't seem like a man to just offer up goodies for free. "Why me?"

It could have been luck, he supposed. Perhaps he was the one who found Dahlia, so Nelson went with him, but Nelson didn't strike him as the type to just go with anyone who came along. He seemed cold and calculated, even his love for God and Jesus seemed more strategic than faithful.

"So, the woman is just going to be released? Like, completely free released or do I need to be with her at all times?" Now that was proving interesting. It was hard to believe that Dahlia would be any kind of flight risk, given her background, but Dean had learned that people would do peculiar things in terrible situations. If Dahlia decided to up and flee to Mexico, there would be nothing he—or Nelson—could do about it. On the other hand, the idea of spending every waking moment with a stranger was less than appealing; Dean appreciated being able to punch out at the end of the night and go home, rarely bringing his work with him.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

Nelson had spoken to Dean on probably one or two different occasions, but even then it was all in passing. His black curls and valiant German shepherd made him stand out among the officers, his name was one of the few Nelson didn't struggle to remember. But due to their lack of contact, he had prepared himself to meet any skepticism that Dean may have towards the offer. It was more than a lot to take in, it was a career path, a chance to break open a case that top agents had been struggling with for years. Honestly, Van Bly figured it might just be a shot in the dark, it took an internal battle to decide whether it was worth it, but whether it was just a hunch, or the Lord speaking to him, Nelson felt the need to push forward.

"Why not you? Do you have doubts about your capabilities with the presented task?" Nelson asked curiously, a psychological trick to show he could whisk away his offer as quick as he presented it. Nelson asked himself the same question, why him? A large part of it was that Nelson knew he couldn't do it himself; the toll would be too much if he failed a fourth innocent victim, he couldn't see another disappointed face through the thick glass windows of the jails visiting room. That was the part he wasn't going to tell Dean, the part he felt he didn't have to tell. It was more than his selfish, self-preservation that urged him to go with the young Officer.

"To be frank, you remind me a lot of myself, when I was a young man out of the academy," Nelson said, leaving it up in the air to whether that was a compliment or not. "The way you spoke to Miss Harper, you were stern, but you never faltered, and she pulled every trick a woman her age has. You're logical, but I think there's more to that, perhaps you haven't tapped the full potential." Nelson wasn't much of a salesman, so he was simply saying what he knew to be true. "The best and the truest, alas, are the fewest, but be one of these if you can. That poem? My wife, Rose, has a collection of old periodicals from that time. I've never met anyone else who's even heard of the writer, but you, and Miss Harper, perhaps you're old souls, but you paid attention in class didn't you?" Nelson asked, grinning. This was probably the most he'd ever talked to a co-worker.

After ample time had passed, Nelson flicked the monitor back on as the security officer was leaving Dahlia's holding room, Dahlia looked visibly upset, and was pacing the floor. "Plus, you're the first foray into our world she has ever had, if you and I walked in there side by side, she would trust you over me. It's psychology." He had a collection of psychology textbooks in his office, they were his wife's, but she had since retired.

Nelson toyed with the idea of sticking Dean and Miss Harper in an FBI safe house, but wasn't yet sure if that was absolutely necessary, so when Dean posed the question, Nelson had to consider it. "Not free in the way you and I are free, there will be conditions. Normally the accused would have to be with a guard twenty-four seven, but in this case, perhaps an electronic monitor would suffice. What would you say? Do you think Miss Harper poses a flight risk?" Nelson asked, thinking he should get the opinion of Dean's gut instinct, since he was the man Nelson wanted to have on his case.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Dean. It is a large undertaking, with lots of work involved. You're fortunate in such a way the blowback would be on Miss Harper or myself if things go sideways, but if we work together I don't see that happening." He turned towards his screen again, to catch a glance of Dahlia giving the middle finger to the camera, it forced him to chuckle, and for the first time in what may have been ever, Nelson cracked a joke. "Perhaps the offer I should have come at you with was a chance for advancement if you spend some time with a lovely young woman," Nelson smirked and looked between Dean and Marco. "I hear she's single, too."

Of course, Nelson was only making a joke, personal involvement between the two would be strictly prohibited beyond a platonic stage. "Take the night if you must, Dean, I am a patient man. I'm not too sure I can say the same for Miss Harper though."

 

[Nav]

Of course he doubted himself, what kind of question was that? He doubted himself at every turn he made. He doubted himself whenever he chose to reach for his gun, or chose not to. He doubted himself whenever he got a call, and he certainly doubted himself whenever he stopped someone. Dean was still figuring out the language of his gut and sometimes it was hard to differentiate between a true gut feeling and a knee-jerk reaction. Just a few weeks ago, he had watched a cop—a friend—be arrested for police brutality against a citizen, and while he didn't disagree with the charges, he knew his friend had only done what he had done because he was scared and running on adrenaline. He had shot a man dead who had threatened him because he believed his life was in imminent danger.

Dean had been in those situations plenty. The situation where he truly wondered whether or not he'd be able to go home at the end of the night, or if his flag of service would be delivered to his mother's home. He decided not to answer Nelson's question, especially to express his self-doubt. It was best to keep that to himself, he decided. Averting his eyes, he looked back down to his dog. This time, Marco raised his eyes and wagged his tail again, as if he knew his owner needed a little bit of moral support. He wished he was more like his dog: Marco always seemed to know, but Dean? Dean not so much. Doubling over, he gave his dog an affectionate pat on the top of his head.

"I certainly didn't growing up," he admitted when Nelson asked about his schoolwork, feeling it was the first thing he could interject on. "I was a terrible student in middle school and most of high school. My dad got shot and when he died, I just sort of had to get my act together, you know?" The death of his father, as the death of a parent usually was, was immensely impactful on young Dean's life. "My dad was a poet, so I devoted a lot of my time to reading up on it." But that was neither here nor there. Fearing he was derailing the conversation, Dean shrugged it off.

Scratching his cheek, Dean took a moment just to consider. It was a big task, he knew. It wouldn't be easy and he was risking not only life and limb, but his career. High rollers like the man who set Dahlia up wouldn't play politely or kind. If he put himself in a bad situation—it was over. Hell, if put Dahlia in a bad situation… his stomach churned like it had just been filled with cement and it was beginning to harden. He had to swallow just to keep down his lunch. "I realized the enormity of the undertaking, I assure you." His eyes flicked to the small surveillance screen, though he didn't smile when Nelson cracked the poor taste joke about the woman's romantic status.

"I don't need the night," Dean concluded, "I'll do it. I don't think she poses a flight risk, no. Some ankle jewelry wouldn't hurt." Ankle jewelry was an old coined cop term for an ankle satellite tracker, which would keep Dahlia in check at all times. Perhaps it would help serve as a reminder that she was a free woman—but only in the sense that a dog was free in a fenced in back yard.

"I'll do it," he repeated, "But only if I get to keep my dog."

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

Nelson listened considerately as Dean offered a bit of information about himself, noting that this was one of the first real conversations he'd had with staff since arriving. But if Dean was going to help Nelson, it was probably better for them to get to know each other just a little bit. Outside of the airport, Nelson was a mystery, the only thing you could pick up from his office was that he's a Christian, and he has a wife and daughter, judging from the Victorian-esque family photo that sat on his desk. His expression turned apologetic as soon as Dean mentioned his father.

"My condolences, it is never easy to lose a loved one," Nelson offered, having lost his own father at a young age, but Nelson and his mother had been better off for it. "A poet? Certainly a lofty ambition. I love reading them, but I'd be damned if I could ever write one myself." Of course it was no surprise that a man who told his wife "God bless" in lieu of "I love you" couldn't express his emotions through writing. As Dean took his short time to consider the task, Nelsons eyes were flitting between Dean in front of him, and Dahlia. The girl was very expressive, and seemed to wear her heart on her sleeve, he was interested to see how she'd react to him and Dean approaching her with a possible ticket to freedom. She was probably going to cry. Nelson would let Dean deal with that.

"Enormous would be the right word. Fifteen years active that we know of. Four smugglers that we have caught. I tell you, I'm not in this for attention, but stories like these pull attention if they get solved. You'll have to be prepared for that too." The way Nelson was talking almost seemed like he was trying to talk Dean out of it, but that was not the case at all. He didn't want the young Officer going in unprepared, that would fall on Nelson. Everything the two did together, would fall on himself, so was going to be as thorough as thorough gets. Then Dean agreed, but he had a condition. Nelson smirked and looked at the dog from over his desk.

"Well, Marco, how would you like to join the FBI?" He asked the dog. Nelson didn't have a problem with Dean keeping the dog, it probably would have been cruel if he didn't let him. Who knows? Having a K-9 dog might come in handy chasing down a drug peddler. Nelson took an empty briefcase from under his desk and began to stack the files together, Dean was probably going to want to use them in the coming weeks, or months depending on how much progress they were able to make and how quickly.

"I suppose I should have my chat with Miss Harper," Nelson said with a brief pause. "Then we can offer her the opportunity, but I don't imagine her snubbing a chance at her freedom. It will be the only chance she has." Nelson was going to make sure Dean was in the room when they broke the good news to Dahlia. He wanted Dean and Dahlia to have an amicable relationship if they were to work together, and he also wanted Dean to be a lightning rod for the young woman's gratefulness (but he brought a handkerchief just in case.)

"I'm glad you decided to help Dean. You understand why I don't want expectations to soar, but I see great things in the future. I feel compelled by the Lord, and the instincts in my being to follow this path." With that, Nelson stood up with a briefcase full of papers, shook Dean's hand (stopping short of shaking Marco's paw,) and lead the way to the holding cell.

 

[Nav]

Dean shrugged off the condolences. They were nice, he supposed, but moot. His father's passing had been a long time ago and he wasn't quite sure what had possessed him to bring it up. Even with superiors, Dean didn't often like to talk about his life. He discussed football and games, or chatted about whatever gossip was swirling around the department, but he wasn't usually so willing to open up about himself. He had nothing worth hiding, but he didn't see anyone at the department as being his friend, necessarily, either so he didn't see any need for them to know anything more about him than the surface facts. Dean could only scratch his temple and sweep his hand back through his curls uncomfortably as Nelson pursued the poet vein.

"Yea," he answered, curtly putting an end to the conversation, "I guess each to their own, right?" Poetry still didn't tickle Dean's fancy the same way it did some people. Time to time, he enjoyed reading it, but he had never felt compelled to pick up a pen for himself. Glad for the change of conversation, Dean turned his attention back to the surveillance monitor, eyeing Dahlia as her pixelated, slightly fuzzy form swirled around her cell. He couldn't say the new conversation was much better than previous. His superiors always told him that every man joined the police force for recognition, at least in part, and Dean couldn't say if they were right or wrong about that.

What he could say was the idea of the entire case blowing up in his face, for good or bad, did not sound appealing. In his head, he was screaming about how bad of a decision he had just made, but he kept quiet and swallowed down his fate. He couldn't back out now; it was too late.

"Sure," Dean's responses had become less forth-coming, answering Nelson in one or two word statements as he rose out of the chair. Immediately, Marco sprung up and spun in a circle before looking up to Dean, tail bouncing. Dean couldn't help but look down at the mutt, whom he knew was hoping they were going back to work. He was so distracted by his partner he very nearly missed Nelson's hand being jutted out to him. Jolting, Dean reached to give him a one time, firm shake. "Well, whatever the Lord compels you to do, then." Too bad Dean didn't believe in God, because he could seriously have used some internal guidance in that moment as he asked himself over and over 'what have I just gotten myself into?'

Giving Marco's leash a soft jingle, the pair scurried out from behind the desk and moved to follow behind Nelson as he led the way back to the airport's holding. "Before we go any further," Dean cleared his throat, jogging a stride to catch up to Nelson's side, "Is it safe to assume that you've already cleared all of this with my direct supervisors?" He still had the police department to think about, but if Nelson was going to be taking up a lion's share of his time, Dean needed some of his duties relieved at his home department. He couldn't exactly spend several days a week sweeping Marco through airports and mail centers during day, and chasing a drug dealer during night. If you assume, you make an ass out of 'u' and 'me' Dahlia's voice tickled into the front of his mind and he expelled a snort.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

Agent Van Bly was smirking as he and Dean made their way through the airport. To some, it was an unsettling scene, seeing the stone-wall agent smirking like he knew all of the world's secrets, but to others he looked like a man filled with determination, and hope. Dean's simple sure was enough to drive Nelson out of his seat, and into a career-making case. But making a career wasn't what Nelson had in mind, he was at the precipice of retirement though he didn't feel like it. For once, he wanted to bring a story back to his family that would make them smile instead of frown. "To each their own," Nelson had responded in an unusually chipper manner.

"You're uneasy, Dean. I can hardly place the blame on you. My first case, I believed I had soiled myself," Nelson offered while the two of them walked together. He wasn't blind to the younger officers hesitation, in fact he found it to be quite comforting. "Healthy skepticism. Without it, I probably would have found another agent to handle this with me," Nelson said, trying to be as re-assuring as he could. Even Dean's questions about his superiors made him snort with what seemed to be a laugh. In truth, many of Dean's direct superiors were afraid of Nelson Van Bly.

"Consider this a bonus. My own superiors trust my instincts, your superiors trust mine. I've digressed my plans. You may speak with Brian if you must, he will relay to you the same story." Nelson had planned everything ahead of time, from the hour and a half it took to catch Dahlia and bring her in for questioning, Nelson had spoken to all the right people. He approached the holding cell with careful optimism, and stopped in front of Dahlia's. Nelson passed a smile to Dean, and offered a hand to shake. "Five minutes, I'll be back. Listen for the buzzer."

----

"Ye, who sometimes, in your rambles.
Through the green lanes of the country,
where the tangled barberry-bushes,
hang their tufts of crimson berries...
Over stone walls gray with mosses,
pause by some neglected graveyard,
for a while to muse and ponder
on a half-effaced inscription..."

The buzzer went off. It was an alarming sound, not one that any officer was likely to miss, the "click" on Dahlia's lock was heard, and the door was presented to Dean. Within the holding cell, it clearly hadn't taken long for Nelson to connect with Dahlia, who was trying to fervently recite a poem for the man, who sat back and grinned in amusement.

"Written with little skill of song-craft, homely phrases, but each letter, full of hope and yet of heart-break," Dahlia paused and racked her brain. "Full of all the tender pathos, of the here and the hereafter; stay and read this rude inscription. Read the song of Hiawatha!" Dahlia announced the line with fervor, and Nelson looked quite impressed, even giving her a solo round of applause for her performance. Dahlia bowed politely as if she had given a curtain call, but smirked at the older agent. "That's hardly a fraction of the poem, sir, and I remember all of it," Dahlia swore, a hint of pride detected in her voice. "Sir. Forgive me, but I don't think you came to hear me recite The Song of Hiawatha. If you may forgive me, why have you shown up?"

Nelson shifted in his chair, smiling at the young woman before him with hesitance. "Miss Harper. My colleague and I believe you have been lied to. My colleague and I also believe we have found a thin, but persevering ray of light . It poses a risk, but without it you are condemned to our penal system." It was like Nelson was inviting Dean into white-water rapids, but he wouldn't have done it if he didn't trust the young officer.

Both Nelson and Dahlia were glancing at Dean and Marco as they were invited in. Nelson's smile remained steadfast, but Dahlia looked like she had just gotten tazed, and quickly directed her glance towards the ground. "Officer Reyez," she said respectfully, going back to twiddling her thumbs. Nelson glanced at Dean with a look of confidence and nodded his head, he trusted the young man to choose the right words, Nelson wasn't going to pick them for him for that would be too easy. Dahlia managed to muster a smile. Hopefully but conservatively, her lashes batted, and Dean saw the first genuine smile he would ever see from Dahlia.

"You and your colleague... You Might have found a ray of light? Is it true?"

 

[Nav]

Wait for the buzzer.

The instruction were simple enough, but sitting and waiting with apprehension creeping an increasing amount of weight on his shoulders could have made him squirm. All he responded with was a nod, which was all he needed to, because the big heavy door felt shut with a reverberating click. Looking down at Marco, the dog flipped his ears back and whined back up at his master. "What've you gotten us into, ya goober?" he asked quietly to the dog who, unsurprisingly, didn't reply. Instead, the pooch bumped his nose into Dean's hand and gave it a small, singular lick across his knuckles. Marco wasn't his dog, though he had been in charge of the animal's care.

In fact, Marco belonged to the Chicago Police Department, though they had been introduced three years prior and took to each other quickly. Without hesitation, his superiors teamed him up with Marco and the pair had been inseparable since. Though Marco went home with Dean every night, and stayed the weekend with him, he was property of the city, and Dean always wondered if he had stayed in the force as long as he had because of his friendship with the dog. After all, he had a Bachelor's degree in physics, there was other work he could find—and had considered finding from time to time. The work on the force was rewarding, but exhausting. Not just the type of exhaustion that could be swept away with a good night's sleep, no, this was a mental, bone deep exhaustion that came from dealing with too many bad people for too long. Rarely, did Dean see positive occurrences in his line of work.

Maybe Dahlia's case would change that, but he had the shrinking suspicion it would not.

The buzzer went off like an annoyed rattlesnake, both dog and handler jumped to attention. The lock clicked open and Dean immediately went to pull the door open. Immediately, his gaze met with Dahlia's, though the moment was fleeting as she quickly looked away and attempted to bring a smile to her lips. He stepped into the room and behind them again the door slammed shut. This time, neither Marco nor Dean jumped at the sound. He stood tall and firm, his lips pressed together in a neutral expression. Dahlia greeted him curtly, but the smile on her face as she looked up to him seemed genuinely optimistic.

Clearing his throat, Dean quickly realized that Nelson was waiting for him to take control of the situation. "Perhaps," he answered, looking to the woman and pretending Nelson wasn't there for the time being. "But the ray of light is what you make of it, honestly. If you say you remember as much as you do and we find the information to be valid, then yes, there is a ray of light. If you've attempted to deceive either of us, then no, you'll end up right back in the same spot you are now." Dean wasn't one to blow hot air up anyone's skirt. The fact of the matter was that Dahlia still stood a damn good chance of rotting in prison for the next ten years. If, for some reason, they couldn't catch Roy… Dean dismissed the thought before it evolved too quickly.

"What we are offering you is freedom, with some conditions. You'll be allowed to walk free, but you will be working closely with agents and officers to pursue your ex…" what could he even call Roy? "acquaintance. If we are able to catch him and clear your, and several other young women's, names, then life as you know it will return to normal. Unfortunately, if Roy evades us or you are unable to help us attain him, then we are stuck back in the same situation."
"You'll be under surveillance, naturally. Check-ins, mostly, but you'll also be equipped with an ankle bracelet tracking device."

Marco laid down again, breaking Dean's train of thought as his nails tapped against the tile floor. "Is this something that would interest you, Miss Harper?"

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

Even the grainy cameras in Nelson's office could have noticed the tension in the room between Dean, Dahlia, and Nelson, as soon as Dean and his dog walked in. Marco was probably the least nervous of the bunch, his wagging tail brought a smile to Dahlia's face though, who would have petted him if she hadn't known it was against the rules. Whatever Dean had to say, Dahlia was listening intently, mind immediately jumping from the twenty-two part poem she had memorized to the here and now. The woman nodded her head eagerly when Dean brought up her memory.

"My memory is everything I say, and more, Dean Reyez! I remember your pupper's name is Marco. I remember he's trained to sniff out cocaine, heroin, MDMA, weed, ketamine, and, hmmm." Dahlia paused for a second as if she had forgotten, but was really just trying to boast the one skill she knew she had. "Methamphetamine, right?" Dahlia asked, tapping her finger against her chin like she honestly had to think about the drug. Nelson looked amuse, and arched his eyebrows at Dean. "Also, I remember the capital of Azebaijan is Baku. Will that help?"

Without the fear of imminent doom hanging over her head, Dahlia was back to being the girl Dean had first met, as personable and social as they came. A ray of light was enough, a ray of light was all Dahlia had ever needed to keep on keeping on. As soon as Dean and his colleague got her thinking, there would be no turning back for Dahlia, right?

"Conditions and freedom come hand in hand, Mister Reyez. You of all people should know that," Dahlia quipped delightfully, hardly giving away the fact that she had been sobbing and screaming hysterically not a half hour ago. Nelson cleared his throat to avoid a chuckle, considering the fact Dahlia and Dean might bring each other to their wits end. The mention of Roy put a dent in Dahlia's walls though, and for a second she looked stunned. "M-my ex. Roy?" She was grateful when Dean corrected himself.

"He's less than an acquaintance, sir, despite the love I hold for the man he pretended to be," Dahlia said, wanting to be clear she held little loyalty for the man who sold her out. "Y-you're sure it was Roy though? " She asked Dean, just to be sure. Before Deaon could answer, Nelson impatiently interrupted.

"There is not a single doubt in my mind, ma'am." Nelson kept his gaze cool but let Dean do the rest of the talking. Dahlia looked between the two men and contemplated. She was more than "interested" in the decision before her, she had no other choice.

"Yes sir. I will do whatever is in my power to help you, and Mister Van Bly find Roy. If he's guilty, I hope to never see his face again. If he's innocent." Dahlia looked at the cell she was enclosed in, knowing the real deal was probably much left comfortable. "I will cross that bridge when I come to it. What do I have to do Dean Reyez?" Dahlia extended her hand, offering Dean an olive branch of her own. In truth, Dahlia was doing whatever she could to make sure she got to see her sister, her friends, and her kitten one last time.

 

[Nav]

Marco was a good dog. He was all fun and games, a good drug dog who took his job seriously, but he also took his master very seriously. As the conversation progressed, Dean mostly fell quiet. Not out of disinterest, but careful listening. The minute Dahlia extended a hand out towards him, her hand jutting out from behind her where Marco couldn't see, the dog snapped his teeth and flattened his ears. He puffed up and curled back his lips to his gum-line, revealing the very sharp powerful teeth beneath as he immediately put himself between Dean and Dahlia. The dog didn't know the difference between a criminal and a flamboyant young woman, and when Marco was on a job—he was on a job. A low rumbling growl managed to squeeze past his teeth from deep within his chest before Dean managed to reach out and smack the dog ever-so lightly on the back of the neck.

"Marco," he scolded, his voice steady and monotone, but firm enough to send the dog scattering backwards while his lips fell back into a impartial position. An almost sheepish smile crossed Dean's expression, like a father proud of his son that his kid had stood up to a bully and won, but knowing he also couldn't condone the behavior. Clearing his throat and swiping the expression from his face, Dean turned back to Dahlia. "Sorry about that," he said, reaching over to shake Dahlia's hand politely, "He won't hurt you," unless Dean told him to, but he kept that thought to himself, "He just knows he's still at work and most people he has to deal with are trying to hurt me, him, or both."

Police dogs were not trained to be friendly, family pets. They could be vicious creatures and there was certainly no denying the predator that still lurked beneath Marco's fur. With one simple hand gesture, which was nothing more than Dean opening his palm towards the floor, Marco laid down with a plop on the tile, grunting very softly occasionally as if to express his displeasure.

Dean wasn't over the moon she had accepted the offer. It felt like the right thing, knowing it would put them one step closer towards catching and convicting a long-standing criminal whose crimes could have hurt hundreds… thousands… over the years he had been in operation. Still, it was hard to be excited when he had only taken but the first step. Already, he could see the road ahead of them falling into place, brick by brick, and it wasn't a pretty road at all. It would be tough and winding, narrow and dangerous… uphill the entire way to the end, whatever the end may be. Letting his hand drop back down to his side, he glanced sideways as Nelson, as if expecting him to interject, but when he didn't, Dean continued.

"We'll start with getting you tagged. All of your metrics—fingerprints, palm prints, personal identification information, photograph—will all be logged into our crime databases. We'll assign you a tracking tag and I'll take you home for the night. You do live in Chicago or thereabouts, don't you, Miss Harper?" She had been trying to exit through the Chicago airport customs, but he supposed that didn't necessarily mean she lived in Chicago. "You've been too over-stimulated for the day, I'm sure. You're exhausted, hungry, frustrated—so you'll be too frazzled to interview. Tomorrow, we'll start the interview process. This won't be like any job interview. It will be a long, grueling day of me asking the same questions over and over until I'm confident you're remembering correctly," he paused for a beat, "and that you're not lying to me."

Interrogation work was something Dean was familiar with to some extent. He had been allowed to train with a few detectives on a number of occasions, but Dahlia was a whole new ballgame for him. As far as experience and training went, he knew he was behind the eight ball… and he'd be spending a whole hell of a lot of time trying to play catch-up.

"Depending on we derive from the interview, we'll go from there."

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

Marco's harsh over-reaction wasn't enough to make Dahlia react, she didn't even flinch as the vicious dog bore his teeth at her, but she knew he could tear her apart if she had any ill intentions. Even the normally stoic Nelson jumped when the dog began growling. Not Dahlia though, Dahlia gently pulled her hand back and rested it over her lap with a grin. Animals weren't what scared her, they never had been, and even when Dean tried to apologize for Marco's behaviour, Dahlia wasn't having it. She shook her head with a grin.

"Don't be sorry, he's a working dog. He's a good dog," Dahlia mused, turning her head towards Marco with a complacent expression. "Yes you are a good dog," she said dryly, but made no more sudden movements from that point forward. From the day her mother yelled at her for petting a seeing-eye dog, Dahlia learned to keep her hands to herself with working dogs. She took Dean's hand gently in hers, her own handshake was limp, she sort of just let it hang before her like a Princess expecting a kiss, but she got that trait from her mother. "Nobody is trying to hurt you in here, Marcy-bear."

Nelson cleared his throat to derail the pleasantries, if he was trying to somewhat lowball expectations with Dean, he wanted Dahlia to know there was a lot of hard work to put in. Nelson was also taking note of how Dean handled himself, and liked what he saw. His gut was telling him he had chosen the right man, and in five minutes of speaking with Dahlia as a human being, he was already impressed. He had asked her to recite the longest poem she knew, his eyes widened when she began with Henry Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha, and recited it from memory, part of it. He was curious to see if she really did know the rest, it would take about an hour to recite in full.

Fingerprints, Metrics, Photos, that was all easy. It irritated her that she was going to have a criminal record now, but that was the least of her worries. What did this all mean? She had jumped for the chance at freedom, and almost passed out when she heard she was going to get to go home that night, but what exactly did she get herself into? Did this just mean she was going to take the officer to all of Roy's old haunts? Whatever it was, she was in it lock, stock, and barrel now. Roy betrayed her, used her for evil, and violated her body. She still felt him, down there, the thought made her want to vomit. She tried to focus on home.

"Highlands Tudor Manor Apartments, South Cregier Avenue," Dahlia answered like she was still being interrogated, but softly smiled. "I actually get to- you're taking me home? Officer Reyez, Agent Van Bly, I'm sorry I-." Her choked words made Nelson reach into his pocket for the handkerchief, but she politely declined. Dahlia took a deep breath, and composed herself, she had done enough crying today. "I'm sorry. I'm fine. Y-yes, the interview. Whatever you need to ask, whatever you need to know I will tell you. I don't lie Dean Reyez, I never lie."

Nelson chuckled in amusement at Dahlia's challenge to Dean. Only time would tell if she was telling the truth to them right now but for the moment, Nelson was going to trust her. "Officer Reyez I believe this would be a good spot to conclude our first, and only short day ahead of us. There is a long road, both your minds and spirits will need rest," Nelson said, "Dean, no doubt I can trust you to fax me her file once you are finished at the station?" He was going to let Dean handle everything to do with Dahlia. He felt like he had more digging to do, for in the FBI, there was no end to the digging that could be done.

 

[Nav]

"Don't worry, ma'am," he noted her face fall the moment he began to talk about a record, "It'll be expunged if we're able to clear your name." It had generally surprised him to see Dahlia react so little to Marco's display. The girl had been nothing but emotional during their every interaction, yet when a very large shepherd snarled and bared his teeth at her, she reacted like a month watching her daughter do a cartwheel for the umpteenth time… delightfully unimpressed. He quickly brushed aside her reaction, or lack thereof, and continued on with the topic at hand, which was, of course, the next twenty-four hours. By now, Dean was nearing the end of his shift. He couldn't get his eyes on a clock, but he could feel it. His body was genuinely tired, his joints were beginning to ache from standing for so long, and the pit of his stomach was growling aggressively for his supper.

Dean didn't smile, he rarely did, but his expression was relaxed and as near to neutral as one could be without being dead. There weren't many reasons for him to smile—he didn't have any family in the area, few friends, and a string of broken relationships behind him. It was sometimes Marco's requirement of food and potty in the morning that got him out of bed on his days off. Without the dog, he wasn't sure he'd ever get up at all if it wasn't for work. There was a solemnness about him. It wasn't necessarily an emptiness, but it was a sternness—like a man who had been pushed around in life a little too much, a little too long.

"You never do a lot of things, Miss Harper," he pointed out Dahlia's incessant need to pointedly ensure that nearly every statement she made was an extreme. "But yes," he continued listlessly, beginning to fidget with the hem of his jacket. Not from nervousness, but discomfort. His joints were screaming, his back was hurting, his eyes were beginning to blossom a fuzzy pain behind them. "You'll be able to go home tonight. Before I drop you off, you'll be instructed as per the perimeter allowance of your tracking anklet. So long as you stay within the city and suburbs, you'll be fine." If she travelled too far, or out of the state, an alarm would be sent back to headquarters and they'd be on top of her faster than white on rice. He was certain she would never try and run away, he mused in his own head, nearly cracking a smile at his own joke.

Nelson cut through their conversation and it nearly surprised Dean. He had been so busy making fun of Dahlia in his own head he very nearly forgot about the supervisor's presence. "Yes, of course," he answered without a falter, snapping back into reality, "I'll fax it over tonight as soon as I'm done, certainly. Good night, sir." Once he left, it would be just him and Dahlia. Truthfully, Dean wasn't quite sure how to feel about that just yet. In some regards, he felt he could trust her, but there was something off between them… Dean just couldn't quite decide what that was.

"Well, Miss Harper, if you're ready, we can go. I don't think I need to put you in cuffs, do I?" Of course, he didn't even really have a secured backseat in his squad, as the backseat had been transformed as accommodation for K-9 unit dogs. That meant she'd have to ride shotgun, which felt exceedingly unnatural for him to think about. He hadn't had anyone sitting in the front seat of his squad for four years now… and the last person who had had met an unfortunate early demise.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

Expunged. Dahlia's heart could have simply melted at that glorious word. Only minutes ago she was certain her fate was sealed, she had already began planning what she'd tell her family. The hardest part was accepting that she wouldn't be able to see her fur-baby again, Shoe the cat. Without Shoe waiting at home for her, Dahlia didn't know how she would have made it through the past eight years. Even Marco, snarling and all, was enough to remind her of her little darling at home, which is why she didn't show fear.
Even if they failed, even an extra second of freedom would be worth it.

Ears perking up, Dahlia's pensive mood seemed to vanish when Dean noticed her little verbal tick. She laughed both at herself, and the fact Dean picked up on that. "Never." Dahlia repeated the word like a mantra. It was one of the few things she picked up from her father, who "never missed a damn day of work in his life," or a damn day of drinking. She didn't like to admit it was her fathers habit though, so didn't mention it, she would almost never mention him.

"There are only two options when it comes to commitment, you're either in or out. You can't live a life in between." Dahlia repeated a quote of the month from her old workplace, that she remembered not being changed the entire seven months she was there. "I don't like being fickle, Dean Reyez. I tried lying once but it didn't suit me, and if you don't lie, you don't ever have to remember anything. That's my secret." Dahlia said, explaining her logic in such a way that made Nelson's head spin around. Dahlia had been so busy rambling though, she almost forgot to comment on the tracking device. "Wait."

"You mean, I will get to leave my house too?" Dahlia asked in clear disbelief, her only knowledge of this sort of stuff came from crime dramas for her, but she was often too squeamish to finish a whole episode. "I don't even leave the city often. So, I'll get to see my family and everything? Gosh, I mean, I know I'm still up crap creek sans paddle here but I don't know what to say. I'll do everything I can not to let you down, sirs." Dahlia said, still holding back her emotions but letting a single tear fall that she quickly wiped away. As Agent Van Bly got up to leave, Dahlia (slowly) extended her hand towards him. "I could hug you, sir."

"Please. A handshake will suffice, Miss Harper." Nelson took her limp hand with a stoic expression, and then turned to offer a sharp nod to Dean. "God bless," he said before slipping out. Despite anyone elses religious beliefs, Nelson would always offer his Lord's blessings. Dahlia smiled before he left, then let her head drop, with the older man gone it was a little easier to cry, but she still tried to smile and hide it.

"I'm sorry, about earlier. About all of this. The whole time I was sitting in here, thinking that if i had been smarter, and nod trusted so easily. It's stupid. Dumb things happen to dumb people, huh?" Dahlia said, shrugging her shoulders and looking back up at Dean when she had managed to get a grip. "I don't think I need handcuffs, you wouldn't want to bruise my gentle wrists, now would you?" She half-scolded, half-teased him before standing up. She was careful not to move too quickly around Marco, and stood still with her hands folded before her until Dean lead the way. "I guess I'll have to repack my bags?" Only now did it clue in how long of a night she was in for.

 

[Nav]

Dean rested his hands against his utility belt, still holding on to Marco's leash, though looser than before. After being scolded so sternly earlier, he seemed content just lying down and staying out of trouble for the time being. His eyes would open and close sleepily, though he seemed to be keeping at least half an ear on Dahlia at all times. "Well, I don't plan on bringing your groceries," Dean pointed out as she asked about leaving the house. "You'll be allowed to leave within the predetermined perimeter, yes, and within certain hours. Go outside that perimeter and the police will be alerted. At that time, you'll be arrested again until it can be determined if you were trying to escape," he explained idly, though judging from her reaction, she seemed to have no intention of trying to flee.

Instead, she seemed more pleased about being able to see her family than anything. For that, he was glad; the last thing he really wanted to do was deal with a manhunt against a woman who had decieved him. If she was lying and pretending, she was damn good at it, because she seemed sincere. Dean continued to trust her until further notice. "The police department won't be supporting you," he continued after a moment, "If you have a job, you may still have to work, though you must be available to me at short notice." Of course, most jobs didn't let a person come and go as they pleased, but that was a problem for Dahlia, not himself.

"Sometimes, bad things happen to good people, too. Or good things happen to bad people. In my line of work, I've seen a whole lot of things," he said, looking to Dahlia just in time to see her shrug. "We all make mistakes, miss. We misjudge people, I misjudge people sometimes." The jiggling on Marco's collar cause the dog to rise up and shake off the sleep. A tired yawn rolled out his long tongue and he lazily flopped his head against Dean's leg. Clearly, a long day at work had taken a toll on his partner, too. "You know, we all just go through doing the best we can, I guess, and when things go wrong we just… we just have to try and fix it." Like Dahlia. She couldn't ignore her problems, certainly not when the police and the FBI were involved, but she could try and rectify it. For both of their sakes, Dean hoped they managed to rectify it quickly. The idea of working for the Bureau was an exciting one, but also intimidating. He hadn't been lying when he said he doubted his skills.

Hitting the buzzer, the door was unlocked from the outside and Dean stepped out, Marco hot on is heels. He glanced back to Dahlia, snorted a sigh through his nose. "I thought I told you I don't care about any bruises," he tipped his head a little, smirked, and looked back ahead of himself. "Yea, repack your bags and follow me. We'll head out through the employee dock. My car is parked out there. I'll take you down to the station first, so we can get you all set up, then home. You don't have a car here, do you?" he looked at the wall and squinted. It was a geometric cinder block wall with white paint smeared across it. It was bland and sterile, but it was neutral enough to allow him to think about how they'd proceed. Perhaps it would be in their best interest if Roy didn't know she was out… not yet.

Per protocol, Dean didn't help her pack up her belongings. Instead, he just turned and looked at her through the doorway, waiting for her to finish with an expectant look upon his face.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

Dahlia pretended to let out a disappointed sigh when she discovered she in fact hadn't found somebody to run her errands for her. "Darn it," she quipped jokingly. In reality, even the idea of normally mundane things like grocery shopping excited her. She couldn't wait to restock her fridge with fresh veggies and juice. Heck, she'd probably buy herself some ice cream too, she felt like she earned it after this ordeal, her stomach still needed to settle though. She was taking mental notes of everything Dean was saying, she didn't want to accidentally screw up and throw away this opportunity. "Gotcha. I don't like leaving the house after dark anyways, Chicago can be a dangerous city for a lady."

She was all smiles until it came to the topic of work, right, how could she have forgotten? "Hmm. I work at a dentist's office most days, I'm a secretary there! My boss is a longtime friend though, I'm sure I'll be able to talk it out with him. I'm also a hostess on weekends, for the busy nights so." Dahlia was trying to plan things out but realized she was thinking out loud, and that her schedule probably didn't mean much to Dean. "I'll figure it out," she said. Money was tight enough as is, maybe she would rethink the ice cream.

Dahlia just had to laugh at the idea of bad things happening to good people. While she liked to be humble, Dahlia figured herself to be a generally good person, she tried not to get angry or hateful, but somehow it always came back on her. "Life's a very funny proposition, isn't it Dean Reyez?" Dahlia mused, if "funny" was any sort of way to describe the day she had. In one day she had lost a man she believed had loved her, almost gotten locked up, and agreed to be a pivotal part in an FBI investigation. She was going to throw up when she got home. Even though she never drank, Dahlia felt like she needed a drink. They arrived back to the room where her belongings had been so crudely scattered about, and she turned to Dean with a frown after his comment about bruising.

"Really, you don't care one bit?" Dahlia asked him, pretending to be dejected by his comment, when she was really just being cheeky. She began packing when he asked if she had a car with her and she shook her head. "No sir, I don't drive, my eyesight is too poor," Dahlia mentioned, folding up one of her dresses formulaically, "and my bank account is too poor." She laughed at the painfully true statement but kept at the repacking. She had a method she used, but it was obvious she was in a rush to get out, some small items she just threw in the bag, even if it bothered her.

Lastly, after everything was packed, Dahlia kept out a pair of socks (cat themed) and a pair of pink, high-top converse, which were much more her style than the clunky sandals she arrived in. Lacing them up, she requested Dean's help getting her suitcase down from the table. "It's a little too heavy for me," she commented with a grateful smile. "Okay Officer Reyez, I am more than ready to get out of here. Would you, do you mind if I call my sister?"

 

[Nav]

It was protocol not to help, and Dean was usually a man who liked to follow protocol. When it came to his job, Dean very rarely strayed from the paved path given to him. He tucked his nose down and did his work exactly, usually better, than was expected. So her question did take him off guard. He paused, his hand hesitating at his side before he stepped back into the door and helped her pull it off the table. The only reason he had done it at all was because his assignment wasn't technically for the Chicago PD and he was fairly confident Nelson would have frowned had he not agreed to help. The wheels of the luggage back neatly on the floor, Dean turned away and began to lead her through the airport.

"I once believed everything in life was for a purpose," he said, going back to their previous conversation. The airport around them was as busy as ever. The tiles under foot gleamed white and everywhere were people milling around. There were two glass elevators leading to an upper floor which had the appearance of a food mall. And in the middle of several large open areas were blue fabric covered seat. The air was cool and only the faint aroma coming down from the food area gave it any scent. "You know, the whole 'everything happens for a reason'? But I've seen too many kids die to believe it anymore. Life isn't a very funny proposition at all, you're just a little spoiled." As an officer, Dean had seen the worst Chicago had to offer; her statement of 'being a little dangerous for a lady' was a bit more of an understatement than she probably understood.

"As for your sister, wait until we're out of the airport. No cellphones in the back rooms. Oh, also, about your cellphone—your calls and texts will be monitored from now on." Instead of taking them through customs and out to where the baggage carousels would be, Dean cut left and led her down an 'Employee Only' door. He swiped his badge through a series of airlock doors. They passed by several offices and survelliance rooms, but were eventually dumped out at the employee parking lot. Most of the cars were pretty typical, but the police car was hard to miss. It was as subtle as a freshly popped zit, and probably just as welcome in the rearview mirror of drivers. It sat squat to the rain washed tarmac, its black paint glossy with newness. Immediately, Marco began to jog because he knew exactly where he was going.

"You'll be riding shotgun," Dean called out to Dahlia as he popped open the back door and let his dog jump up into the spacious and decked out back seat. A water and food bowl were both built into the frame of the car, allowing Marco to hungrily lap up some water before he went to lie down on the dog bed sewn into the lining. Shutting the door behind him, Dean moved into the driver's seat. The car seemed to growl when the ignition caught and the engine turned. "You can call your sister now."

Reaching over, he turned down the dial on the communication radio, but it would still pip on and off—fuzzy and crackled voices shooting back and forth regarding police calls, pull-overs, and dispatchers. It was chaotic and it seemed like they were speaking their own language with all the shortenings and acronyms. Once she was in and buckled, Dean pulled out of the parking lot and back on to the main streets, passing through security, before exiting on to the highway back into the city. "It's about a half hour," he said, "To the station. So—keep it short with your sister, alright?" He didn't have time to waste on two chatty girls. "And don't tell her about… this…" he made a swirling motion with his hand, as if to suggest the police and the police car, "Until we can decide on how we're going to move forward, this needs to stay a secret. If Roy is who we think he is, he could try and send a hit out after you if he knows you're out barking. Got it?"

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

Dahlia didn't look too impressed with Dean's dismissal of her off-hand comment. He had taken her attempt at banter a little too seriously, and had offended her for it. "I don't doubt you've seen some of the worst things the world has to offer, in your line of work, Officer," Dahlia said, a little irked but keeping her sickeningly sweet facade up. The world "spoiled" had clearly gotten to her though, while she knew she was luckier than a great many people, she would not consider herself spoiled, and this man knew her for hardly an hour and he was calling those sorts of shots. "But, despite what you think of me, I am no stranger to the cruelty of man. I would appreciate it if we both kept assumptions to a minImum," Dahlia said solemnly, wrinkled her nose and kept her eyes straight ahead. Just because she was polite, that didn't mean she wanted to be a pushover.

If her beaten, artifact of a flip-phone was any indication of Dahlia's status in society, she scraped by on what she had. Even now she was disguising the fact that she needed glasses, and has needed them for years, but she simply couldn't afford them. She had also gotten good at ignoring the pain her toothache caused her, she could hardly afford to fix that either. Sadly, she tucked her phone back away, eager to speak with Evelyn as soon as possible. "I have no problem with you folks monitoring my calls, but you might get a little bored, fair warning," Dahlia said with a self-amused grin. When they finally stepped outside, Dahlia had to stop. Her knees felt weak, she swore she could have kissed the ground.

She caught on late that she would be riding shotgun, and hurried to catch up with Officer Reyez, struggling to get her suitcase in the trunk. "Are you sure I can't ride with the pup?" Dahlia asked, seeing if she could incite a reaction from the officer, while grinning mischievously. She gently let herself in the passenger's seat and folded her hands across her lap, not wanting to touch anything. "So this is what it's like," Dahlia said, looking over all the equipment he had. Her eyes lit up with glee as she was finally given permission to call her sister, and she hit the first speed dial and started ringing her up, she took in what Dean was telling her, but the last line made her heart skip a beat.

A hit? After a few more rings, the call didn't go through, Evelyn hadn't picked up, which was probably for the better. The color had run from Dahlia's face after hearing that, and she turned frantically to look at Dean. "You think he's going to put a hit on me? Like, the Godfather?" Dahlia asked, referencing the only sort of "mob culture" she knew. She began to sweat nervously as she shakily tucked her phone away in her pocket.

"What do I do? I mean. Officer Reyez, I can't lift a suitcase, how could I fight somebody who wants to kill me? He texted me earlier! Do you think maybe he knows?" Oh dear, this was making the whole world outside spin, and Dahlia closed her eyes to ground herself. "It's okay," she whispered to herself, opening her eyes and looking out the window towards the side-mirror. "Every day in every way, life is getting better," She repeated to herself a few times, mouthing the words. That was the real mantra she used, in front of a mirror most mornings to get her through the day.

"Dean Reyez. Should I be alone with this man walking free? It is obvious now the man I spoke to was all a lie, I don't want to know what else he is a capable of." The idea of a hitman coming at her in the night shook her to her very core. Dahlia was starting to wonder if maybe jail was the safest path. Oh Gosh, she was really going to be sick now.

 

[Nav]

There was no reaction from Dean, not from her snapping backtalk or her snapping attempt at wit. When she attempted to tease about sitting back with his dog, he just shot her a bored look. There was a human being down there, deep in his core, that had revealed itself on precious few occasions—mostly when he was looking down at Marco. Even as a kid, he never really knew how to interact with other kids. He was a hideous child with gangly arms, a smattering of freckles, and greasy black hair that no girl ever appreciated until he was well into his twenties. By the time he had truly blossomed into a dashing young man, it was too late. The cold and aloof attitude towards any other person was mostly instilled into him by that point.

He could communicate well and didn't have trouble being around people, but he just generally chose not to, when he could. There was nothing particularly charming or endearing about Dean, but there were glimmers of such promise… promise of a warm-hearted, fun loving young man, glimmers that had been bullied out of him long ago. As Dahlia went to ring up her sister, Dean sat back deep into his seat and kept his eyes on the road. He patrolled slow, mostly because cars around him slammed on their brakes whenever they saw him in one of their mirrors. He wasn't looking for anyone to pull over though, and gently coaxed his car through the traffic. A part of him was interested in eavesdropping in what Dahlia had to say to her sister, but the woman must never have picked up because Dahlia folded her phone back into her lap after only a few minutes.

It shouldn't have surprised him that she didn't realize that someone might want to bring harm to her, but it did. His brows arched up his forehead and he shot her a sideways glance for only a second before quickly returning it to the road. "I doubt it," he shrugged, "He probably thinks you're in prison… like the others." She didn't seem to need anyone to explain to her why there might be someone out after her if she knew she was a free woman. She probably knew too much. Roy could slip pass the police with ease, it would seem, but with help from someone who may know more about him tha he cared to let on? It would be a big risk and it'd be easier to end the threat than to let it walk about with cat socks.

"You wanted your freedom, remember?" he reminded her, "If you're intent on getting some kind of security, it may only draw additional attention to yourself." It caused him to pause and think a moment. Was Roy the type to be suspicious enough to spy on his ex-mule's apartment? Just to be sure? Nelson hadn't mentioned anything about it, but suddenly Dean was struck with a pang of unease. Even something as simple as a light being on at the wrong time in her window could tip off Roy that she wasn't as locked up as he probably thought she should be. When he had first took the job, he had assumed it would be all about getting the information from Dahlia to be put to use, but it had quickly become much more than that.

Her life could legitimately be at danger and here they were trying to use her like a pawn.

An anxious sigh escaped him, "Tell you what," he began, "Why don't you stay at my house tonight. You have luggage. I have a washer, if you need to wash something. If it makes you feel better—just until we have a better idea of what this Roy will do and is capable of… and willing to do. You don't have to, of course," he pulled into the police station and parked the car. The idea of offering up his guest bedroom to anyone made him sick… especially a girl stupid enough to become a mule for her boyfriend, but he knew he would never be able to ease the guilt if something happened to her because she went home and he did nothing to help. If she declined, than that was on her, but he couldn't just not offer. It went against his nature, for better or worse.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

"Dean Reyez," Dahlia addressed him by his first and last name a habit she picked up whenever somebody made her nervous. The fact that he was ignoring most of what he said both frustrated and amused her. Dahlia fancied herself as a girl who could get a read on people pretty easy, but with Dean Reyez, it was a little more complicated. The two of them couldn't have been more mismatched, as Dahlia was sure Dean would find out. Even as a child she had an infectious energy about her, and as she grew so did her energy, but it didn't seem to stick with Dean. "You must be a delight to have at parties," Dahlia said, winking so Dean knew she was merely teasing. Teasing the man who had been making her cry not an hour ago.

Dahlia started shaking nervously when she put the phone away. It wasn't strange for Evelyn not to pick up her phone, where she lived it was a novelty that she even had a phone, but somehow she was still worried. "My sister is a nun," Dahlia explained, despite the fact nobody had asked. "Roy met her before too, should I be worried about her safety?" She asked. Despite the fact Dean sounded confident Roy wasn't out for her blood, Dahlia had a penchant for worrying, especially when it came to her sister. Evelyn was her whole world. Dahlia was still having a hard time believing that she was speaking about Roy like he was her sworn enemy, when a few weeks ago she swore she could have married him.

"Like the others, huh?" Dahlia asked, not finding any comfort in the fact the other victims of this bastard were safely in jail. "He sure knows how to play a girl, he had me fooled," Dahlia said half-saddened, and half embittered. He had said everything she wanted to hear, and she hated herself for it, but she fell for it all. He was considerate, he was smart enough for them to banter for hours, he knew the type of girl she was. Dean on the other hand had no idea who she was. He wasn't being rude, but she heard the scrutiny in his voice. She was a ditz who fell for a man, that's what he saw.

"You know, I'm not a floozy, Officer Reyez," Dahlia chose to defend herself, despite the fear of Roy's retribution still sitting in the back of her mind. "I took a chance, I fell for the wrong person. I wasn't after his money, his status or anything like that. For the first time in a long time I thought I had found somebody who made me happy. I should have been smarter though, if it's too good to be true, it usually is," Dahlia said with a soft, dejected sigh, before snickering to herself. "Funny part is, he met me at my psychologist's office, it must be part of his plan, go for the ladies he thinks are broken." Dahlia tried to be as frank and open as she could without sounding like a charity case, she didn't want pity, but at least a little bit of respect. She had a lot on her plate.

"You want your freedom remember?"

Well, duh. She didn't want it, she needed it. The only way towards it was putting her life on the line it seemed. She supposed he was right about security around her place too, it might turn heads. Her building was guarded by the frail, old landlord, Edgar, Dahlia adored the man but it wouldn't be difficult for an intruder to overpower him. She tried to rack her brain for ideas, but little did she know, Dean would have the most logical idea.

"Y-your place?" It wasn't ideal, for either of them, she knew that much. Dahlia knew he wouldn't be offering if he didn't have a sliver of concern, it seemed like the smart thing to do. "I mean, it is safer right? I would hate to impose like that though, I can tell it's not what you'd prefer." Along with that, Dahlia was dying to see Shoe, and craved her own bed, but her safety was an even bigger concern. "I just need to make sure my neighbour can feed my cat. If it's okay with you, I would feel much safer your way," Dahlia said, accepting his offer but hanging her head apologetically. "I'm sorry."

 

[Nav]

They didn't immediately get out of the car when Dean parked. Though Marco sprung up from the back seat and had his nose pressed to the glass, creating smudges across it as he whined and waited for the door to open, Dean didn't act as quickly as he usually did. "I am not a partygoer, generally," he explained, taking her comment a little too seriously, but what else would he have done? He knew she was trying to poke at him a little, to reveal all the parts of his personality than were less than palatable, but Dean wasn't about to just let her make him feel a certain way. He was a good human being and a good cop, he didn't need to be the vivacious, warm, life of the party.

"I think for safety, we just need to take one day at a time. I'm going to review some of the case files that we have on this Roy fellow tonight, but as far as I'm aware, he doesn't have a history of bringing harm to his mule's families." He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he sat and thought for a moment, Marco whining increasingly louder behind him, "Think about it this way, Dahlia. Roy is using young women to do his dirty work. He's getting off scot-free because those who manage to get past security and bring the drugs into the States… well, then he gets his product to sell. He'll keep using these women until they're caught and put in jail and it's the perfect disposal system for him. Once the women flame out as his mules, they're put in jail where they can't pursue him for anything."

It was a clever system, even Dean couldn't argue that. How Roy managed to convince so many women—at least four now, but probably more across the country—to fall in love with him and take these extravagant trips was beyond Dean. Then again, Dean wasn't exactly the type to be able to rope in one long term girlfriend, let alone be able to convince several women, in only a few weeks of meeting him, to fly to a drug-source country on vacation and make them unwitting mules. There was a very small part of him that was jealous because he lacked such charisma. It wasn't that he couldn't be fun and light-hearted, but it was easier to remain closed off to people he didn't know well, especially when he was a cop. As a police officer, people tried to use his own emotions against him—so it was easier to pretend like he just didn't have them.

"Anyways," he popped open his door and slid out. He didn't really care of Dahlia was a floozy or not, all he cared about was that his dog was dying to get out of the car and go home and, truthfully, so was he. Opening the back, he let Marco spill out before grabbing his leash. Of course, just because he pretended he wasn't really listening didn't mean he wasn't. He made careful note of everything she said, especially the part about the psychologist's office. It interested him, though he wouldn't tell her that for now. The less she knew, the more she'd just… talk. And that was the kind of talk that was completely honest.

"Don't be sorry," he clarified, shrugging as he began to make his way towards the police station, pausing only a moment to wait for her, "I offered, anyways. It's just temporary. I'm sure we can get you set up in a hotel eventually." But, depending on violent Roy proved to be (if at all), maybe she would eventually need to be swept up into a safety program. The longer they could keep it so Roy didn't know she wasn't in prison, the better.

The old police station was nothing like the steel and concrete monoliths around it. It was built back in God-knows-when with stones. The walls were thick as a medieval castle and the windows almost as mean. There were only small flickers of light within and the thick wooden doors were closed as he expected them to be. Still, the opened without a key the minute Dean pulled on them. "You coming?"