Ten Feet of Pure White Snow (Nav and Wooseog)

[Wooseog Ryu]

"O-oh?" Just a moment ago, the room was full of warmth, Dahlia felt like she had hit some sort of jackpot when she got to see her kitten again, and for that brief moment, all was well. However, Dean mentioned that they had to talk, and that's when it all changed. Dahlia was a little worried, maybe Dean would have to bring Shoe back home tomorrow, or maybe he had forgotten to get something from her apartment? Whatever it was, Dahlia was certain nothing could take away from the happiness she felt when her normally surly cat began nuzzling her. Dahlia was wrong.

"You. Wait. You're done?" Dahlia looked at Dean like she didn't believe him at first, but from what little she knew of him, she knew Dean Reyez wasn't a man to make jokes. "Y-you're leaving? Like that?" Dahlia said, in a bout of disbelief. If her expression made her look like a scorned lover who had walked in on an affair, the sinking feeling she felt inside was much worse. Suddenly uniting with Shoe felt a little too much like a final meeting, she couldn't find the words.

For a few moments the silence hung in the air between the two, Dahlia was too shocked to speak, and Dean had dismissed her and her fight like it was nothing, like she was nothing. A flurry of emotions flew through her, but the one she felt most was anger, or maybe even hatred. Her eyes hung on Dean's for a painfully long while as she relived the past two days. She had told him everything. Everything. Dahlia hadn't even told Evelyn about their uncle, her sister had found out with the rest of their school. Now she was supposed to spill out her guts again? For a moment, Dahlia thought Dean had been in her corner, but despite all the kindness she could never believe that now. She wanted to scream, she wanted to call him far worse than an "asshole."

"O-okay. Thank you, Dean, for all you've done. I'm gonna hold Shoe now, if that's okay," Dahlia said, despite the fact Dean had already given her permission. She stepped outside and pulled her cat out of the carrier, she tried to be strong in front of the Officer, she didn't want him scoffing at her, the strength vanished when she looked her purring kitten in his eyes. "Baby, baby. Why?" Dahlia asked the cat like he would have some answer, but he looked as quizzically perplexed as she did. Dahlia knew she could be frustrating, was she too much for Dean to put up with? And, oh God. Evelyn was at her apartment? She wasn't supposed to be there. Dahlia knew that five minutes of Evelyn acting ugly was enough to turn somebody off the Harper family for years, had that been the case?

But it was too late to ask anything now. Dahlia sat in that hallway for well over an hour, with occasional knocks to let Dean know she hadn't ran off. Her thoughts were poison to her at the moment; if Dean and the FBI couldn't help her, who could? Sure, there was another cop somewhere who would take her case, Dean had said; but it killed Dahlia to consider her life an unpleasant burden being passed around, her life was all she had. The more she thought, the more she realized she couldn't simply walk away like Dean could, the more she realized this may be the last night she spent a "free" woman. Dahlia took a deep breath, and opened the door, stepping back inside with an expression as cold as ice.

"I can't fight anymore, Dean. I'm sorry," Dahlia said almost immediately after walking back in, and placing Shoe back in his carrier. She felt broken, her voice fell to an uncharacteristic, stuttering mess, and she couldn't look Dean in the eyes even though she sat in front of him. "Tell Mister Van Bly I'm sorry. Tell the women he wanted to help I'm sorry. I'm sorry Dean. I can't do it anymore. Bring me in tomorrow, or tonight. Do what you have to do." Dahlia mentioned the hardest part of her decision in passing: the fact Roy would get away with this. She felt like she could kill him herself if she had the chance, but now it felt like the chance would never come. It wouldn't.

Dahlia sat at the table across from Dean and his dinner and his beer, her eyes lingered on the beer a little longer than it should have, and Dahlia shrugged. "Can I have one of those?" She asked him hopefully. "This is probably my last night making any decision on my own. You'll be done with me tomorrow. I think I've put up with enough shit in twenty-seven years to warrant a drink, huh?"

 

[Nav]

He didn't really expect Dahlia to understand and she didn't in all the exact ways he had anticipated. Not a single part of him expected to be met with anything friendly, but he just wasn't up to the job. He wasn't up to Dahlia's emotional rollercoaster, he wasn't up to Evelyn's accusing bitterness, he wasn't up to FBI standards. "I'm sorry, Dahlia," he admitted truthfully, "I am a beat cop. None of this… none of this I'm trained for. I don't know what I'm doing and if anything, I'll just hurt your case rather than help it." He knew his actions with Evelyn hadn't been protocol. He should have been able to handle her himself, make her believe, send her off content with his lies…

But he hadn't. He had ended up folding and giving her Van Bly's number. He was sure the man wouldn't be impressed when he heard from her eventually, whenever that would be, and he'd probably be tossed off the case for it anyways. Might as well save everyone the trouble and step down himself, leaving Dahlia's case to a more experienced agent. Settling down on the couch as Dahlia went out with her cat, Marco swung his head out from around the corner. His ears flopped out to the sides and he kept licking his lips, hesitant to move forward. Eventually, he slid ahead and made his way towards the sofa.

First, he nuzzled his nose between the cushions, whining pitifully before he finally bounced up on to the couch and settled in comfortably between Dean's legs. His big head rested against his master's stomach and he continued to look up at him with loving eyes. Whenever Dean did glance down at him, his tail would begin to gently wag back and forth and his ears would flop backwards in an attempt to garner his attention enough for an ear rub or a head pat. Periodically, Dean would reach down and give him a scratch just to keep him content and calm as the pair drifted in and out of napping.

It was when Dahlia finally returned did Dean sleepily open his eyes and roll his head to the side to look at her. A perfect brunette curl fell across his tanned forehead and his eyebrows rose. "You fought through so much in your life…" he echoed once she had finished her grand speech filled with can't, wouldn't, and won'ts, "You survived and fought through so much, and this is what is causing you to fold your hand? You always tell me not to assume things, you know? Yet you're over there assuming I'm stepping down because I can't put up with you or that I'm done with you. That's dumb, I'm sorry. There is no other word to explain that thought in your head than dumb."

He shrugged lamely, waving her towards the fridge so she could help herself to a beer. "I'm stepping down because I believe you deserve a real shot and I can't give you that. Every moment I've been trying to work this case I've been scrambling for my bearings, just barely able to keep my head above water. Maybe… just maybe, I'm not stepping down because of you, maybe I'm stepping down because of me. Maybe the universe doesn't always revolve around you, you know?" he stood up, shooing Marco off the couch, "Maybe it'd be really nice if you stopped thinking about what you wanted and started thinking about what other's need, that's what I'm doing. You're not just giving up on yourself, you're not just putting yourself in jail—you're keeping several other women in jail with you, too. And you know—I'd love… I'd fucking love a chance at real success like this job."

"You think I love being a beat cop? You think I like living in this shitty little apartment I can barely afford and I'm a month behind on rent on? No, no, I fucking hate it, Dahlia. And this agent job could solve a whole lot of my money and image problems, but it wouldn't help you or those women out, would it? No. No, I can't help you or those others. I just.. I'm not.." he huffed, tuning and looking down at Marco who was lying anxiously at his feet.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

Dahlia didn't enjoy being scolded by Dean, not one little bit, but the worst part of it all was that so much of what he was saying made sense despite how contrary it sounded in her head. She ground her teeth and tried to remain steadfast, but it was the gentle word "dumb" that threw her off the handle.. She knew Dean was trying to be tactful, but that comment brought her anger to a forefront, her hugging of Shoe quickly turned into a vice-grip.

"Dean!" Dahlia shouted in a way that could have grabbed the attention of a stadium; it wasn't because she was particularly loud, but Dahlia raising her voice was almost surreal. "I am fucking dumb! I'm a fucking mess! And you think you're not up for the task? Fuck that! I can hardly handle the stress of being a waitress for C-Christ stake!" Dahlia's anger was making her fumble with her words. Her face grew redder and redder the more she talked, and she even stamped her feet around but it was too soft to make a racket. Evelyn used to find Dahlia's tantrums hilarious, it was like she couldn't even take getting mad seriously. The tantrum soon stopped though, and her face fell to a mix of shock and and solemness. She wished Dean hadn't mentioned those other women.

"Are you under the impression I am doing any of this for me?" Dahlia asked, genuinely surprised. "Ariel Doyle, Rebecca Meuller. If it was only my life at stake I would have given up around the time I began telling you about my delightful past. But it isn't about me, of course I want to be free." Dahlia eventually (finally) loosened her grip on the un-disturbed Shoe, and set him down in the bathtub before went back to the fridge and grabbed the cold beer Dean had offered; since Dahlia never drank, it probably wouldn't take much to get her red in the face. She did her best to drink slowly but when her temper flared, that didn't really work.

"If I could take the place of those women, I would," Dahlia said, pausing and looking back up at him. "You said so earlier, I don't care about myself. I'd take both of their places if I could, but can I? No. I can't. And I'm not a detective, and I'm not a hero, and for Christ sake Dean I can hardly make it through a night without a panic attack. And now you're telling me that I'm keeping these women in jail?" His choice of words surprised and upset her, but at this point Dean was probably just as frustrated at she was, and was probably aiming to prod at her.

"That's cold, Dean, that's ice cold. You want a chance at success? You have a chance at success, you... you... man." Dahlia said in frustration. Goddamnit, she couldn't explain it, but somehow, Dean walking felt like some sort of final nail in the coffin. He had showed her kindness but he had also showed her coldness, however, when Dean went on to describe his own situation, Dahlia felt like she could have lost her temper again.

Her lip twitched occasionally as Dean described his situation, a part of her wanted to concede with an "okay then, leave," but Dahlia didn't want that. "Everything I told you Dean, about my past, about all that stupid fucking shit I've put up with. Then lying to you, and saying it made me stronger? Maybe I sound selfish but maybe I deserve to be selfish for once. I don't want to relive that, I can't relive that. I-I believe in you, Dean." Dahlia had taken a seat on the far end of the couch away from Dean. She gently gripped Dean's forearm and looked at him with wide eyes, blinking away the glimmer of a tear. "I'm sorry I yelled okay. I'm sorry if you think I'm selfish and dumb. You're probably right. I've lived my whole life not being selfish and that got me here. Please, Dean, please don't give up."

 

[Nav]

The frustrations they had possessed for one another had reached a boiling point and now seemed to be violently boiling over. Violently, at least in terms of Dahlia and Dean. Neither of them seemed to be particularly terrible people. In fact, their boiling over argument was rather petty and quiet, as neither of them were particularly irrational or raging individuals. Not once did Dean even consider cussing her out or flinging insults just because he was distraught with her, and he was very distraught with her, but Dean just wasn't the type of person who acted on his anger in such a way. Instead, he remained deliberate with a deep, annoyed frown pressing into his otherwise handsome face.

"You can't take their place," he reminded her, meaning Ariel and Rebecca, "But you can fight for them. Maybe you can't handle the stress of waitressing but you're in luck—this isn't a waitressing job. I'm not telling you you are the reason they're in jail—they're in jail because they got duped the same way you did. I'm saying that you have the opportunity to help them, help yourself, and you're throwing it away with a tantrum. Your greatest weakness isn't that you struggle with the stress or that you're afraid or that you're uncertain, it's that you're giving up for no good reason at all."

In his eyes, Dean knew he was giving up also, but was doing so in order to see to it that Dahlia, and those other women, had the best shot of freedom they could get. He knew he was inexperienced and uncertain; he didn't know the first thing about pursuing down a high-rolling drug trafficker. He was a beat cop, for God's sake, and one that hadn't had even a decade under his belt. Inhaling sharply, he fell quiet and let his breath slowly expel through his nostrils as he closed his eyes and tried to get his blood pressure to come down.

"You're not going to relive it, Dahlia," he reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, curbing himself before he blurted out that her records were public domain of the police force and everything she had ever said in an interview was available for any officer to read. Deciding it was unwise, he remained silent for just a moment to clamor for his composure again as her tone changed from anger to conviction. She flip-flopped faster than he could keep up with and one moment she was calling him cold (and he wouldn't disagree), and the next she was telling him about how she believed in him.

No part of him understood what she had endured… he had never treated a woman like that, nor had he ever been treated like that, so he didn't understand. He had gone through his own problems, was going through his own problems, but everyone responded to life's trials and tribulations differently. Dean responded by becoming a closed off shut-in… Dahlia well… became Dahlia, in all of her fiery, passionate glory.

"Fine," he sighed. If it came down to her just giving up or her keeping on with his presence, he'd keep on… even though he wasn't convinced he would be any help to the investigation. His eyes opened and shifted down to the grip she held of his forearm, brows raising as if he wasn't really sure what to do about it. "Fine, but you need to stop using your past as an excuse, Dahlia. What happened to you was a great, terrible thing and I'm never going to tell you to get over it, but you need to grow past it. We ain't getting no where if your head is in the past and not in the present."

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

By time Dahlia and Dean's spat began to draw to a necessary conclusion, Dahlia knew she could have kept going, but that was probably just the effects of the booze, it indeed hadn't taken much. It was Dean who conceded at the end, anyways, not for lack of trying on his part; Dahlia looked at him with an expression of thoughtful befuddlement, for a split second she wished she had talked Dean out of it. No, Dahlia had almost hoped that she would talk them both out of it. Maybe she was going crazy from stress, but there was a part of her that kept prodding her towards the idea of taking the sentence and being done with it.

Dahlia slowly let go of Dean's forearm, she hadn't been gripping him hard, but slightly tighter than she had realized. "Oops," Dahlia said. She didn't want to give up; she looked at Dean, looking both grateful, but also a little pained. The road ahead terrified her, but it at least there was a chance, prison was so final. She was relieved that Dean would fight with her.

"Thank you." Dahlia said simply, pulling her hand back to herself and lowering her head. She knew what Dean went on to say was true too; she was holding herself back by way of her own emotions. Dahlia grew up always being strong for her sister, but now that was almost hard to believe she had any strength. "I know. You're right. I have to be better, I-…" It finally caught up to her how stupid she must have looked arguing in her pajamas with damp, frizzy hair.

"I'll be better, Dean, I swear it." Dahlia also began to realize how tired she was, barely hiding a yawn despite a meager attempt. "It's just, he outsmarted me once, Roy. I want to think I'll be good enough to not let it happen again." Dahlia hoped with Dean keeping her in check, they would be able to outsmart Roy, that's what she hoped.

A little set-up had already been made for Shoe in the bathroom, including a piece of newspaper out of the tub, and another one inside, Dahlia also put out his water and food. She knew that he wouldn't make a mess, but went to check on him anyways. "I spent the evening taking notes, I guess I can tell you everything I know tomorrow…" Dahlia said, nearing her own bedroom door. She watched Dean a little guiltily while she lingered at her bedroom door, but didn't want to give him time to regret his decision he made, so she decided it would be best to sleep now. "Thankyousomuchforeverything." The door shut, and Dahlia's light flicked off.

 

[Nav]

He reverently rubbed his fingers along the silken sheets after his alarm went off. His bed never felt so comfortable when he was going to sleep, but when he woke up in the morning, it felt heavenly. He pressed his cheek into the cool, velvet pillows while the comforter kept him warm in its irresistibly soft folds, like a billowing cloud. He was awake, but his body was resisting movement with everything it had. All he wanted to do was lie in bed a little longer… a few more minutes, another hour. UUnfortunately, the snooze alarm began to beep, reminding him that he had already taken his five minutes of extra grace.

Kicking his feet over the edge of the bed, he forced the blanket back, letting it pool at his waist as he just sat there for a moment and smoothed down his hair. The bags below his eyes were aggressive and dark and his expression was pinched with sleepiness. Following his usual morning routine, he slid out of bed and slipped on a t-shirt before shuffling out of the room and towards the bathroom. He didn't even think it was unusual that the bathroom door was closed and swung it open, only to jolt back in surprise when two glowing eyes shot back at him.

"Shit!" he yelped without realizing it. He was always so alert and on his game, but when he was at home… he just let himself relax. He stopped paying attention, stopped being alert, so the cat darting out of the bathroom and through his legs, vanishing into the apartment, scared him more than he would have liked to admit. In response to his master's surprise, Marco bolted from the couch and came barking to the bathroom, causing a whole ruckus. If Dean hadn't been awake before, he certainly was now and that was not the foot he was hoping to start his day with. "Dahlia!" he shouted, knocking on her door, "Get your cat!" His words weren't necessarily unkind, but they were brisk.

Marco, all sorts of hyped up from the commotion and the flash of cat, was sprinting back and forth through the apartment—bouncing over the furniture, yapping, and barking loudly as he slammed around. Not even a glare from Dean seemed to be enough to get him to settle down. Instead, he just kept bouncing around, threatening to chase the cat if he made his location known, but he was too excited to put his nose to the ground and find the cat, either.

"God…" Dean muttered, shoving Marco out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. He stepped around the litter box with a curse, and nearly tripped over the dishes of food and water. After a few moments of effort, Dean had finally reached the shower and quickly clamored into the steamy hot jets of water that seeped the tension from his shoulders. Over the gush of water, he could hardly hear Marco's barking. What had he gotten himself into again? He tried not to even think about it as he massaged the shampoo into his curls and took his time—spending every minute he could ignoring the cat, the dog, and the slightly crazy girl outside his bathroom door.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

By the time the morning came roaring through the window, Dahlia had already been up for a half-hour, mastering her tiptoeing skills through the apartment. Finally she felt rested, waking up with a sigh and a semi renewed vigor for life. She had lost said vigor the night before but only for a moment, she felt determined now not to let it happen again. Then there was Dean, Dahlia hardly knew how she would face him again after last night. On the outside she was a boisterous extrovert, on the inside she was a frightened little introvert who wanted to apologize for everything she said. Maybe she had kind of bullied him into taking her case, but she felt like she made the right decision, and that Dean had too.


"Dahlia!" She darted back into alertness when she heard her name called.


"Dean!" Dahlia called back as she swung her door open, she was surprised to see Shoe darting around the apartment. Her Shoe was a timid creature, who seemed to live his life for soaking up the attention of women. "Ohh, sorry." Dahlia cringed when she saw the cat behaving uncharacteristically, and squatted down. "Darling. Come here now." Dahlia said authoritatively, to a cat that was already running towards her, he glared up expectantly until she picked him up. "He's not like this normally, he's probably just nervous with two men in the house. Aren't you Shoe-bear?" She asked, the cat meowed back, almost sounding like he responded affirmatively.


Dahlia had been a good houseguest, she checked the bathroom to make sure there was no mess before Dean got there, and flushed two clumps of kitty litter down the toilet so there was no smell. She had also combined her plethora of papers in a neat little pile; along with a few of the items she had asked Dean to pick up. Feeling fresh from the shower the night before, Dahlia merely applied a spritz of perfume and was ready to go. This prepared-ness left her with extra time to tie her hair into her signature waterfall braid; she also wore the pink sundress she had worn on the plane. The dress was her favorite, making her feel more at ease.


"Gentlemen, please! We can all be friends you know." Dahlia tried to play peacemaker between Marco and Shoe while Dean was in the shower; only when she talked to the animals did she seem in her element, and both of them calmed down quickly. She remembered the deal though, and slipped Shoe back into his carrier. Shoe didn't mind, Dahlia had spent so much making sure it was comfortable (and equipped with a mini food and water dish!) it was no wonder she was near the poverty line. After all that business was done with, she began making breakfast, a few eggs and a few pieces of toast, with tomato; she even made enough for Dean too.


Elsewhere in Chicago, Agent Nelson Van Bly was ready with a safe house, but stuck dealing with an entirely different type of Harper.

 

[Nav]

More than anyone could have guessed, Dean R. Reyez needed that shower. He stepped into the jet of water, toes flinching as they touched the chilled ceramic floor. His mind was in shreds; he wasn't sure he'd ever get it to be calm again. The warm drops darkened his hair, which almost seemed impossible, and trickled down his back. His eyes fell closed over and over, blinking open just long enough to pick up soap or shampoo and rub it against the appropriate body part. Had he been able to, he would have stayed in there forever, but after about six minutes of soaking and cleaning, he reached for the dial and shut it off. Immediately, the cooler draft coming up from underneath the bathroom door smacked into his skin and caused goosebumps to rise.

Hurriedly, he reached for his towel, blotted himself dry, and tied it around his waist before scurrying out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. He dressed in his standard issue blues, crisp and dark. He was the epitome of authority, especially when he slipped his belt over his hips and clipped the badge onto his chest. Epitome of authority, or at least he would have been, had his hair been dry. Instead, it hung around his cheeks and neck in loose, glossy black curls that were still shinning with moisture. They bounced flamboyantly with each movement he made and he kept moving to hastily push them away from his face, but they seemed adamant about returning to their original location.

During his time in the bathroom, Marco had quieted down and had plopped himself back down on the sofa, watching Dean walk across the living room by tilting his head so his root beer brown eyes could follow. "Dahlia," he called to her, coming into the kitchen to see the image of her exactly like he had seen her the first time they had met: straight off the plane. Of course, she was notably missing the sandals she had been wearing; they were in a sealed box somewhere in the evidence offices of investigative team's offices.

"You mentioned yesterday you had put together information for me?" he asked, ripping open the fridge and pulling out the milk. In true Bachelor style, he didn't bother with a glass and instead just put the half-gallon to his lips and took a drink. "We'll have to review that." Truthfully, he still wasn't overjoyed that he had been coerced into the job (especially by such a wheezy pint-sized woman), but if he was going to work the case, he was going to do so wholeheartedly. Dean Reyez was the type of man who did everything with all of his being—or not at all. He was going to do the case, and he was going to do it with everything he had.

He might just not be entirely happy about the fact.

Naturally, he was still as lost as he had been the day before. He didn't know what the best method of attack would be, or who to turn to for support. A small part of him had continued to hope that a divine miracle would smile down upon them (him) when they reviewed the information she was going to put forth. He had gotten to the point of not just hoping for miracles, but relying on them. Normally, he would have just been about ready to start his shift at the airport with Marco… but not that morning. That morning, he was watching a strange girl fry eggs on his stove.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

To Dahlia, the moments where she was alone in Dean's apartment could be just as uncomfortable as the moments where he was with her. She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding the second the bathroom door shut, and continued with breakfast. It felt good to be making breakfast, it was so nice, it was so normal. That return to normalcy was the only thing she wanted now, she had always thought her life was pretty crummy but never realized how much she had. Long showers, visiting Evy, or her mother, she missed it all beyond words. Heck, at this point Dahlia would take a Saturday night shift at the Parrot Cage; her boss's anger was warmer than the indifference of the system.

Shoot, In a moment of absence, Dahlia hardly noticed one of the eggs burning. Cringing and checking behind her, Dahlia barely caught a glimpse of a towel-clad Dean, before quickly jerking her head back towards her burned creation. She wasn't used to staying with a man at all, even when Dahlia had been with Roy she still clammed up if he was anything less than fully clothed around her. Sure, Deany wasn't an unattractive man by any means, but he was the law, it was all she could see.

"Ya?" Dahlia responded hastily when Dean called out to her, her cheeks were still tinged red, she felt like she was coming out of a daze. "Oh! I mean, yes Dean?" She asked, two plated breakfasts sitting on the counter. Dahlia's expression turned to one of eagerness as Dean brought up her pile of information, or pieces of the puzzle.

"Yessir, yeah, I spent the better part of the night putting it all together, with dates and things," Dahlia began, bringing the plates over to the table. "Lots of the items were gifts, you see. There are receipts, Les Miserables was even bought with a credit card, I dunno, can science track that nowadays?" Dahlia asked Dean curiously, before shrugging.

"I also, uh, Roy had this friend, his name was Dwight, I think? He was, uh, very distinct looking." Dahlia was too polite to call this man ugly, but thinking about it in retrospect, he seemed like much more of the drug-lord type than Roy had. "We never spoke, Roy would excuse himself. I guess looking back it's kind of fishy. I even remembered all the places he took me, restaurants, theatres, his apar-…" A shiver travelled up Dahlia's spine, she wondered if it was his apartment? Perhaps he just used it with her? Like she was some sort of whore.

"Dean, I never would, but do you think it's normal for me to want to kill that son of a bitch? Roy, I mean. I know it wouldn't help our case, but I feel like if he were to drop dead, I'd be delighted. Is that strange?"

 

[Nav]

Dean's eyes never showed the kind of gentle concern his grandfather used to have. He could remember growing up, he had spent a lot of time at his grandparent's house. His father was out touring for his poetry books, leaving little Dean in the care of others. Dean never minded of course, as his grandparents had always spoiled him with candies and treats. As he grew older, he could remember seeing the gentle compassion his grandfather—a beat cop—possessed. Whenever Dean fell in the playground and scraped his knee or bumped his head and came in crying, his grandfather was there with a hand light on his shoulder and such a soft-spoken voice that Dean had always been immediately calmed by the sound more than the actual words.

Needless to say, Dean was nothing like his grandfather. He was rigid and strict and even when he tried to be compassionate, feeling a sense of sorrow for the poor girl in front of him, his eyes remained unflinching. His lips, straight and narrow, seemed unable to bend into a more pleasant expression no matter how he tried. So when Dahlia's talking of Roy careened off-course from information into emotional territory, Dean didn't so much as blink. His expression didn't change aside from the slightly startled gleam that appeared at the corner of his eyes.

In all of his years of wisdom as a cop, he could only mutter one response: "Uhhh."

Settling down at the kitchen table, too unsure to think to thank her for making his breakfast, he just stared at Dahlia. There had been a reason he had gone into the beat unit and not the investigatory team. Dean Reyez simply wasn't a people person. He didn't blossom warmly, nor was he able to draw the best (or worst, when needed) out of people. He just sort of bumbled around and 'uhmm'ed at them from time to time. He had taken a perfectly good note of everything she had said—restaurants, apartment, Dwight—but his brain got sort of short-circuited on her last comments.

"I don't really think it's that strange," he said after coughing and clearing his throat. He picked up his fork and looked down at the food Dahlia had prepared. It certainly didn't look bad, considering she was into all that weird food, diet hooha. "He tricked you. He lied to you and deceived your trust, Dahlia. I don't think you're crazy for wanting him to be punished for that." He smiled a bit, stabbing his fork into the runny yolk of his egg (effect was unintended), "And uh, thanks for breakfast." Breakfast usually consistent of shoving a lightly toasted bagel into his mouth and walking into the office with it still hanging partly from his mouth, so the eggs were a surprising treat. Maybe Dahlia wasn't quite as deplorable as he had first imagined, but soon she'd be stationed in a safe house and the real work would begin.

Police teams would begin to pick apart the places and contacts that Dahlia referred them to. Long hours spent sifting through belongings in search of any shred of evidence would keep Dean, and many other officers, up most nights.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

The "uhhh" from Dean was about what Dahlia had been expecting, and he didn't disappoint. His lack of emotion didn't bother her anymore as it had at first, in fact Dean's reaction even brought a smirk to her somber face. That was simply the way he was; Dahlia couldn't get him flapping his mouth in the very same way Dean couldn't get Dahlia to stop flapping her own. They were all part of the human family, Dahlia mused, reminded of yet another poem her father used to tell her. She had been thinking about her father more and more lately, fuck, she hated that.

Dahlia offered a half-hearted grinned while Dean tried to justify how she wasn't crazy to feel such rage towards Roy. But maybe she had always been crazy, and this feeling was the norm? "Yeah. I hate that. He made me feel like such an idiot. Argh, never mind." Dahlia tried to spare Dean her rambling by cutting herself off. His compliment on her breakfast made Dahlia feel warm; it almost made her forget about how rubbery and bland her own eggs were, she had taken a little more time and care with Dean's.

"Well you're very welcome!" Dahlia said enthusiastically, trying to get a bit of tomato, egg, and toast with every forkful. "It is the least I can do really, no thanks necessary." Dahlia had to admit she felt like she owed Dean a great deal, even more so after last night. In a strange way though, it seemed like their spat was all that was needed to cool off the tension between them. Despite her exuberant personality, Dahlia tried to bottle in her negative feelings, and only show the world a smile. As for Dean, well Dean was better at hiding his true feelings than probably anyone she'd ever met.

But that was sort of changing, as far as Dahlia could see. She didn't think Dean had such a strong distaste for her anymore; all she'd have to do now was prove herself more than a frightened child, to Dean, to herself, to those women locked away, and to Roy most of all.

"I think we're going to lock that bastard up," Dahlia said, wrinkling her nose in determination and ignoring for once her abhorrent use of a profanity. She saved the last few scraps up on her plate in a little pile, which she then transferred over to Shoe's portable feeding bowl. It was no food for a cat, but Dahlia always shared at least a piece of her feast for the beast, who gobbled it up happily. Dahlia returned with an empty plate, and her stack of notes that she placed on the table.

She washed up the dishes, cleaned up the kitchen, placed Shoe in the washroom, and gave Dean a few minutes to finish. Dahlia was eager and antsy to get going though, the longer they took, the more time Roy had to get away. By the time Dean did finish, Dahlia was almost half-way out the door. "Ready to roll, boss?"

 

[Nav]

In haste, he had finished his breakfast. He barely even seemed to chew his food and if he had even tasted it, like he said he had, it was hard to imagine how he managed to. Rarely was breakfast, or any meal, one meant to be enjoyed. It was to be eaten down as hastily as possible before work. He couldn't even remember the last time he had earnestly sat himself down and eaten for earnest. Still, he seemed pleased enough with breakfast and there wasn't so much as a scrap left on his plate when he rose to rinse it off and throw the dirty in the dishwasher for later washing.

The conversation quickly changed and it seemed to catch his attention more abruptly. His eyes, dark mocha in shade, quickly turned to her and observed her from the corner of his eye so her image was slightly fuzzy. Finally, he properly turned his head and inspected her in whole. Her optimism was glaringly bright and the previous day, he might have scolded her for it, but he remained decidedly silent… unusual for someone like Dean, but likely a pleasant change for his company. At least one of them seemed to be back to her regular self, thought he idly to himself before returning back to what he had been doing. Shuffling through the kitchen, he loaded up his coffee pot and set it to brew.

He certainly didn't wait for it to finish before pouring himself out a mug and going back to the kitchen table where he could begin picking through her notes and such. He hadn't even realized that Dahlia had been edging herself towards the door and she quickly called out to him in time with his coffee maker beeping. Sighing, he poured himself out a travel mug worth of coffee (knowing he'd need it). "Yea, yea, let's go," he agreed, picking up his keys, his wallet, and the most necessary dog collar. In an instant, queued by routine, Marco was at his hip with tail wagging. The dog leashed, he stepped out of his apartment and locked the door behind himself.

Per routine, they walked their way to the lift, took their way down to the underground parking garage and loaded up into the squad car. Marco was in the back barking up a storm, bouncing around excitedly and Dean was up front doing his best to ignore him. Instead, he let his thoughts mull on Roy for a moment. Dahlia's personality had begun to make him wonder what kind of man this Roy was, if it even was his true name. At face value, it seemed like Dahlia trusted everyone immediately, but the more he had gotten to know her, the more he had learned that not to be true. Dahlia was, at least in his opinion, quite suspicious of everyone… even if she brushed that fact off with smiles, laughs, and over-exuberant happiness.

He drove to the police station in near silence for a long while, interrupted only by the sound of the radio crackling on and off and the dog barking in the back. Suddenly, Dean saw it necessary to break that silence more entirely. "Why did you trust him?" he asked abruptly, knowing his question was likely unwelcome and sudden. "What made you trust him? Think back." For most people, it was easy to trust… people often believed people were like themselves, so if they were honest, they believed everyone else to be honest. If they were liars, they believed everyone else to be liars. People like Dahlia, who had had her trust so thoroughly broken from such a young age certainly couldn't have been welcome to new people so intimately in her life, she had even told him as such, so what had it been?

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

Dahlia caught a whiff of Dean's coffee as the smell from the pot began to fill the apartment. Dahlia had never been much of a coffee drinker (she had enough natural energy, a coffee on top of that would be a recipe for disaster!) But it was one of those familiar smells that she found relaxing. She took in the small and swayed by the doorway, watching Dean with a soft smile while he got ready to face the day with her. She shuffled behind Dean and Marco while they made their way down to the cruiser, hugging her stack of papers close to her chest to snuff out any chance of the wind blowing them away. While she followed, she noticed Dean was being less talkative than he normally was, and he wasn't normally very talkative at all. There were probably a few reasons for that, the night before, the early morning, the task ahead. Nothing about this was pleasant, and if Dean was even half as frustrated as Dahlia was, it was probably best not to prod him.

Surprisingly, after ten minutes of Dahlia keeping her mouth shut, it was Dean who broke the silence between them. Dahlia had been skimming through her notes in between static bursts of the radio, and his question seemed to come out of nowhere. She shot her head towards him with a quizzical, surprised look, which began to soften and become more melancholy once she realized what he was asking about. Dean had asked her to think back, but she didn't have too, the feelings were as fresh as the memories.

"I- uh," Dahlia began stuttering, as she normally did when faced with unpleasant topics, it would take her a moment to find her resolve. "I haven't been with anybody for a very long time. It's just, I could never really connect with anybody," Dahlia continued to explain, knowing she was taking a grueling path to two short words she didn't want to say. "I'm lonely, Dean. I'm very alone, and very unhappy. After high-school I lost touch with my friends, it was my fault though. I only get to see Evelyn once a week if I'm lucky... I don't think my mama likes me much anymore either," Dahlia said, facing out the window to try hide her emotions.

"Then comes Roy. He's in a psychologist's office so I figured hey, maybe he's as broken as I am? He wasn't. For the first two weeks there wasn't a day we didn't see each other, he'd write me sweet little poems, and always bring me flowers. I hate being spoiled, I told him that, but it never deterred him. He reminded me a lot of my-" Dahlia stopped herself when she realized what she was about to say, she had been grinning while discussing the good memories with Roy, but that was gone as quickly as it came. "He reminded me somewhat of my father. Is that weird? I mean, my dad was a poet, and maybe the smartest man there ever was. He loved me a lot before, well, you know," Dahlia suggested with an attempt at a smile, before sighing heavily.

"I was in love. I never knew 'too good to be true' because nothings ever been all that great in life. I thought, maybe, meeting somebody so perfect was God's way of saying 'sorry about all that ugly business before.'" Dahlia tried to do her best "God" impersonation with an overly-deep voice, making herself laugh despite how much this whole thing broke her heart. "I thought he loved me. Or maybe I didn't care what happened, who knows? Have you ever thought you were in love, Dean? If so you know how emotions get. I was stupid, I was greedy. But the worst part of all is, Roy tricked me so badly, I kind of feel like I deserve all of this."

 

[Nav]

"Love?"

That was a more serious question. Dean was not the type of man to readily believe in such things, that much was obvious. He didn't trust easily and those who unimpressed him remained stagnant in his memory for some time. Forgiving and forgetting were not ready terms in Dean's personality. His eyes darkened to some extent as he considered the consequence of answering. No matter how he thought to frame it, he could imagine that Dahlia would have some remark to make. Finally, he decided on the truth and he answered thusly: "No, I have not." He didn't bother to elaborate any further, there was no need to. She needed not to know his various flings and affairs.

Above all else, she was his client, not his friend. With her he had to remind himself sternly to remain some level of confidentiality about his personal life. Though he would, and had, answered her honestly in true belief of whether or not he had experienced love, he would offer no more. He had loved like a son could, or a brother could, but never like one individual could another not related to them. He was cynical of its existence at all, attributing most loves to be lust or passion. After seeing so many marriages fail or end unhappily, he wasn't sure what to make of it. Whether or not Dahlia felt true love, or just passion, it didn't matter. She had believed she had felt love and that had clearly been enough. "Being tricked by a master deceiver doesn't mean you deserved it. It just means that Roy is, and was, very good at his chosen profession, however illegal."

Interrupting the uncomfortable silence by clearing his throat, Dean could only not in response that he had heard and understood her. Her mention of her father, however, stirred up a few emotions of his own. He quickly quieted them and did his best to ignore them in the meantime, though it wasn't easy. Thankfully, his expression was easier to ignore as they pulled into the police station. The front was laden with cars, but Dean found a spot, parked, and pulled the keys from the ignition. Without additional comment, he was quick out the vehicle, glad for the relief. The cool air soothed the redness of thought that had risen up into his cheeks and by the time he had gotten Marco out of the back, he was back to his usual, cold self.

"Miss Harper, let's go," he said, though he doubted she needed any coaxing. It seemed she had all of the Black Forest worth of paper gathered in her arms and he was interested to see what the contents held. He had leafed through them incredibly quickly earlier that morning, but his inquiry had been mostly useless as he had only taken a brief glance.

"Good morning, Kathy," he greeted one of their several rotation receptionists with a sort of lazy half-smile. She greeted him in return with a bright smile of her own. "You have some messages," she said as he walked past, "I put them in your inbox."

"Thank you, Kathy. Is Van Bly in?"

She shrugged her response, turning back to her crossword puzzle before her and penciling in another word across, "Haven't seen him," she replied, "But he might of come in from the back. Goodness knows he might not have used the main entrance like a normal human being." The answer had not been one he had been hoping for and he frowned immediately, sighed, nodded, and kept on his way.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

"I don't blame you Dean Reyez. Love stinks," Dahlia announced quite readily, and quite non-chalantly in response to Dean's answer. She honestly hadn't been expecting him to respond to her question with more than a scoff or an "are you serious?" sort-of glare. Dean surprised Dahlia with his honesty, she appreciated it, but his succinct response was enough to tell Dahlia there wasn't much more to be said on the topic. Dahlia had her own thoughts on love, but at this point most of those thoughts fell on the pessimistic side. Love and sexuality was a part of life Dahlia had avoided through most of her young adult life, Roy had forced it all to come to ahead in five short weeks.

Then again, Dahlia had fallen in love with the potential of so many people, but so often people often fell short of their potential. Talking about her father was a topic that always made Dahlia a bit queasy. She remembered the good times first, Dahlia had been her father's "unofficial" favorite. Mr. Harper loved his twins equally, only Dahlia would sit still while he went on about poetry, history, philosophy, and actually listen. Even today Dahlia could tell the story of The Odyssey from memory, just as her father had to her. But sadly, the man he became brought her nothing but pain, as both men and women would continue to do.

"He's really good at being a piece of sh-," Dahlia caught her swear, but shrugged her shoulders in a huff. "He is a piece of shit. There's no two ways about it." Dahlia uncrossed her arms and shuffled through her stack when they pulled up to the station. She was holding onto the paper's like nuclear launch codes, and checking that they were all there every five minutes, as if one could have blown out the closed window and doomed their case.

Dahlia followed behind Dean after he beckoned her, she found being addressed as "Miss Harper" off-putting, but kept her lips sealed. Glancing at the spot in the parking lot where she had thrown up a day previously, Dahlia was determined to stay strong. She ignored Dean's casual conversation with the receptionist, as she focused on keeping her shoulders straight and her face stoic.

"Officer Reyez." The deep, gravelly voice of Agent Nelson rung out pretty quickly after Kathy's remark about him being a "normal person," his own statue-esque figures made it hard to tell if he had caught the joke or not, it wasn't something he would waste time on though, as Nelson's partner Agent Demas scrambled down from the hallway. "Miss Harper if you could follow my partner down the hallway he is going to get you set up for the day," Nelson said, Dahlia was quick to nod her head and stand up and listen, but looked back at Dean for a reassuring glance before she slipped out of sight. It was him she trusted, not these mysterious agents.

Nelson nodded his head to Dean politely but stiffly, waiting for Dahlia and his partner to be out of view before he cleared his throat and spoke up. "I hope the morning finds you well, Officer Reyez," Nelson said, beginning to walk towards his temporary office. "I have arrangements for Miss Harper to be relocated, but firstly," Nelson paused and looked towards his office door warily, looking for a moment like he was hesitant to open it. "You are familiar with Evelyn Harper, the sister, are you not?"

 

[Nav]

Since becoming an officer, there had been very few things Dean Reyez dreaded. Being shot was one, shooting someone else was another. He had never truly anticipated the lead with which his stomach would turn to the moment he heard that growly voice, rough like rocks scraping together in a Hessian sack. Dahlia was ushered away and, in part, he was a little glad for it, but he had to follow behind Nelson with a weight in his steps he almost couldn't comprehend. As if his boots had suddenly been converted from leather to concrete, he trudged behind. Marco, in response, slowed and trotted most obediently alongside his master, never getting too far ahead.

"Well as any morning can find me," he admitted hazily. The discomfort of the situation he needlessly found himself in wiggled deep in his guts, though he attempted to pay it no mind and his face remained as even and casual as ever. "As I hope the day finds you, as well." They made their way to the temporary office, though the man did not readily open the door. It struck him as odd, as Dean could have imagined everything the office was: sterile, white, busy but orderly. Then, the idea struck him rather painfully once he realized why the man in front of him seemed so hesitant to reach out and open it. An occupant. One whose identity Dean could have guessed in an instant, and truthfully, dreaded. He hadn't liked Evelyn when he had met her, and he imagined he would like her even less now that she likely had some idea what was going on. One more nose to meddle in an already messy affair appealed to him about as much as ice-cream on steamed broccoli would have.

"Yes," he remarked, knowing exactly what conversation was going to crop out now that they were in private. "I am quite familiar now. I was acquainted last night." When, he very nearly added, I was on the brink of quitting the case. He didn't however and bit down on his tongue, a bit more literately than he would have liked. "She was truthfully about as pleasant an encounter as a swarm of angry bees." No point in lying, Dean supposed. He certainly hadn't liked running in to her.

"If I had to take a wild guess, I'm going to say she reached out to you the minute I gave her your card, is that right? And she's angry?" No point in lying that he had referred Evelyn to Nelson, either. Nelson probably had long since figured it out, anyways, and Evelyn seemed like the type to pursue it doggedly. It was most unfortunate he had run into her, he realized, as his life would have been made about a million times (give or take a few thousand) easier had he not. About a million other excuses would have been easier, but he hadn't been anticipating running into anyone so he hadn't been particularly prepared for the scenario. He probably ought to have been, but this was not the type of cop Dean was... so, he was learning entirely by the fly of his trousers.

It was not an easy task to both learn and perform at the same time. Now, he was knee-deep in shit and had another Harper to deal with.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

The heavy footfall of Nelson Van Bly was peculiarly not muffled by the bustle and hum of the police station, even with his limited words the agent had come to realize he held a presence here. He was familiar with many members of the senior staff, but there were officers who addressed him with skepticism, by way of not addressing him at all. He, too, would have felt dodgy if an agent of the government began setting up shop in their workplace. Perhaps he could do more to reach out and assure them he was here for his investigation only, perhaps he could have smiled more? Well, he was getting to old to change that. "Morning Dan," Nelson offered to a senior officer, who returned the greeting warmly as they all kept moving.

Dean had already met the sister, Nelson knew that much already, that was why she had come to him this day. Nelson wasn't bothered though as much as he was interested, there was no anger on his face at all. His eyebrows shot up his forehead when he heard Dean's analysis of the woman. "Bees?" Nelson repeated cautiously, glancing towards the room where the young woman was sitting as Dean made his guess. It was a tale full of sound and fury, Nelson appreciated how up front Dean was, but the young man could not have been farther from the truth.

"It appears Miss Evelyn Harper is using a different approach addressing me, Dean. This morning I was greeted by a grieving sister, and I cannot be more literal, both a sister of the church and the sister of our victim." Nelson used the word "victim" to refer to Dahlia, as he did with the other women manipulated by Roy and the shortcomings of the U.S. justice system, that was the only term he deemed appropriate. "She came in crying, a cross around her neck. There was something off as we spoke, I didn't think I was speaking to the real Mccoy," Nelson said, then giving Dean a sharp nod.

"I apologize, Dean, by the way Miss Harper spoke of her family I misjudged the possibility of a proactive response. Referring Evelyn back to me was the best thing you could have done." Nelson managed to offer a real smile towards Dean. The young officer was not particularly accustomed to a field of work as meticulous as his own, and probably viewed that as a detriment, but Nelson had noted that as an advantage from the beginning. "Miss Harper wants to see her sister free, Dean, and that is what we are working to do. Anything that obstructs that, obstructs with a federal investigation. There are heavy consequences with such an obstruction, and I have let sister Evelyn know that very fact," Nelson said, still feeling obliged to give the pesky sister a degree of respect.

Nelson was still hesitant to open the door before everything was crystal clear, he should have realized their meeting might go a little long, but Evelyn would have to wait. "I'll question her, briefly and pertaining to Roy. I also want to offer her a short, supervised visit with her sister, with the knowledge that any of her acting out will impede our investigation. First I wanted to run my thoughts by you, see if you have any concerns." Nelson hesitated before talking again, really wishing he had a desk to sit down at.

"But firstly, have you had a chance to go over those forms and make a decision, Dean?"

 

[Nav]

Dean had been expecting the worst fallout. He had been expecting a reprimand, expecting a 'you should have done better.' Instead, he got praise. He supposed it wasn't entirely praise, per say, as Nelson wasn't singing his high praises, but he had mentioned that referring Evelyn back to me was the best thing you could have done. The surprise must have registered on Dean's face because he found his facial muscles twisting in a way they weren't familiar with. His brows raised, his lips pursed, his jaw relaxed. All the while, he tried to grapple with the information being supplied to him.

He supposed that, with how the meeting had gone between him and Sister Dahlia, he wasn't surprised she had taken on a different approach. Regardless of the situation, being friendly and amicable was always going to produce better results. He couldn't fault her though, as much as he would have liked to. She was a grieving sister, confused by the involvement of the police, probably feeling tense over the lack of contact with her sister. Dean hadn't any siblings, but he could imagine it would be something like losing Marco—knowing he was out in the wide world somewhere fending for himself. Not that Dean was trying to parallel Dahlia to a dog, but he cared for Marco likely in the same way Evelyn cared for her sister.

He swallowed down that bubble of surprise and put his face back to neutral as soon as he could, still not sure what Nelson had meant by 'sister of the church.' He dismissed those thoughts quickly; they did not apply to him. "Wait, wait, wait," Dean waved a hand suddenly as, again, he repeated 'sister,' in reference to Evelyn, "Are you telling me that this girl is... like... a nun?" He tried to wrap his head around it, "I didn't even know nuns were still a thing." Clearly, Dean was about as religiously aware as a corndog.

Shaking his head to clear those thoughts once more, he reset his train of thought. He had suggested a meeting between the sisters and his first reaction was to discourage it, but thinking back on how Dahlia had been the night before... the tears, the anger, the distress, he decided against his own bias. "I'm sure that would be a great idea, for both sisters," he rejoined shortly thereafter, "I think Dahlia needs a little morale." Of course he was now on first name basis with Dahlia. With how much time they had been spending together, they ought to be.

Conversation quickly returned to the forms and a moment of hesitation struck him painfully strong in the gut. He had promised, oh, had he promised... but he felt a sense of weight hit him, like his innards had been filled with cement and it was beginning to harden entirely. "I have," he remarked, giving no succinct answer for the first few moments. It took him nearly a moment to get down the feeling of uneasiness and give a single nod, "I have and I'm on board, sir." It was a simple answer to a not so simple problem laid before him. Had he not promised Dahlia, he might have backed out in that moment, but a promise made was a promise kept and sometimes it felt like all he had in the universe was his dog and the good of his word.

 

[Wooseog Ryu]

Nelson looked towards Dean with an eyebrow wandering up his forehead, the younger man was obviously struggling to comprehend the idea of this woman being a nun. Nelson nodded slowly, unsurprised at Dean's lack of religious knowledge, which the younger generation seemed to be turning away from. "Surely Miss Harper mentioned it?" What perplexed Nelson the most was with all the talking Dahlia did, it was surprising he didn't mention her sister? Or perhaps she had, and Dean had had enough of her chatting by that point. "Yes, Sister Evelyn is a nun, and they are still," Nelson cleared his throat, "a thing."

He was intrigued to hear what Dean thought about a visit between the sisters, but glad they were on the same page. "If we wish for Dahlia to be at a greater degree of usefulness to the case, a boost in morale could be advantageous." Nelson agreed, also adopting the first name basis with Dahlia as Dean had. If Dean had ultimately decided to take the case, the three of them were going to be no strangers by the end of it, be it for better or for worse. But that was up to Dean. When Nelson asked Dean if he was on board, there was an unusual anticipation in the normally stoic man's voice. One could even see a pang of relief with Dean's answer, "I'm on board."

"I am glad to hear it, Dean." Nelson extended his hand to shake Dean's once again, now that they were officially working together, but there was work to be done. "Has Dahlia taken the initiative to write down what she remembers about Roy? If so, we can go over that today, but firstly." Nelson nodded his head towards Dean and finally turned the doorknob, leading Dean back into the sparsely decorated, clean-cut office. Everything was the same as the last time, but this time Dean was met with a familiar face. When the two men walked in, Evelyn looked up from a tea-stained tissue. She had gone all in this time. She wore a single black garb, and even threw a rosary around her hand. Around her neck was a dangling, silver necklace, the other half of the broken-heart pendant Dahlia wore.

"Miss Harper, I believe you have been acquainted with my lead investigator, Officer Dean Reyez. Officer Reyez is doing his part to determine your sisters future, working together with herself, and the Bureau. He is to be treated with only the utmost respect." Nelson was being intentionally vague with the weeping nun, who was listening attentively and nodding her head along with his words. All Evelyn knew was that Dean and Nelson were trying to help Dahlia, and that any talking back or disorderly conduct could throw everything away. "Do you understand this?" Nelson asked.

Instead of answering right away, Evelyn rose warily, and shakily from her seat. Her timid movements and frightened nature were not that of the woman Dean had met the night previously, it was like she was going for an Oscar. "I'm sorry, Officer Reyez. Last night, I was brash, I wasn't myself. I was scared. T-thank you." Evelyn then took Dean in a hug, but unlike Dahlia's there was no warmth, and she seemed just as uncomfortable as Dean to be in the position. She held the hug for only a few awkward seconds between dipping her head. She was determined to keep this act up at least around the older man.

"Please if you'd forgive me. A-am I going to be allowed see my sister?" Evelyn asked with what was perhaps the first glimmer of sincerity. She knew she just knew this man had come here with her Dollie today, and she had to see her. Nelson gave Dean a slight nod, he had decided previously it would be best for Dean to break the good news, to smooth over their bad rapport. If there was anything Evelyn knew about Roy, they would be speaking to her too.

 

[Nav]

Well, she certainly hadn't sounded like a nun, was all Dean managed to say inwardly to himself. He had never really perceived a nun to be so crude and harshly spoken, let alone young and well… didn't nuns wear the whole black and white get-up? Deciding to ask no further questions, as his knowledge of nunnery was clearly deficient; he just accepted the fact and moved on. It did seem keenly unusual to him, moreover, that the woman had seemed so violently changed overnight. He didn't dare voice this to Nelson. Instead, he reached out, accepted the man's hand, gave it a shake, and kept his suspicions inward to himself.

There wasn't any good that could come of accosting some sister of a suspect—a victim—they had it custody, even if he did believe her motives less than genuine. This sense of suspicion only grew under the changed circumstances when Nelson opened the door. There he beheld a nun like he had ever known, like every movie he had ever watched: a rosary, the black and white garb, the muffled sobs of misery. His brows raised at her at once, unimpressed and unmoved. Truthfully, he thought again to himself, she looked like she had just rented a cheap Halloween costume from a costume store. There was one just down the street, he recalled. He realized he was staring at her with a dumbfounded expression on his face and he shook his head and removed his eyes.

His trust in the woman felt weaker than it had, even the night before.

Marco, picking up on his master's discomfort, flattened his ears as the woman stood and approached. His black lips curled subtly, revealing a small flash of his teeth though he didn't lung, bark, snap, or growl. With a slight but severe tug at his collar from Dean, the dog made a sigh and sat, his lip folding back over his teeth. Then, of course, she did the only worst thing he could have imagined: she hugged him. He grew as stiff as a board at the motion and his arms did not reach around to reciprocate. All he could manage out was an "uhmm…"

When she let go and stepped back, Dean exhaled slowly. "Uhh, yea," he stumbled again, still recovering from the awkwardness of the hug that had branched between them. "Yea, we'll let you see Dahlia in monitored conditions," he explained, having taken the nod from Nelson. "We're also interested in sitting you down for a few interviews, as well. Anything and everything you tell us will be used to help your sister, I can assure you." What did one even call a nun, he wondered? Miss? Was there a nun title like there was for doctors? He tried not to think on the oddity too much longer, but he couldn't help it.

Every time he dismissed the thought, it came running right back to him. A nun? A… nun? It might have seemed strange to him that anyone was still a nun in present time Chicago, let alone a woman like Evenlyn, who he was still entirely convinced she was just playing a terrible act, perhaps to gain sympathy. Her trick had suddenly done the job, though he then had to scold himself for internally accusing her of falsehood. He knew better than to judge so hastily, but when it came to Evelyn, he couldn't help it.