“Eh,” he said, lifting a hand to make a so-so gesture. “World’s stopped spinning, at least.” He expected to be feeling much better soon, because the good stuff Rita had mentioned earlier had turned out to be narcotics. The last time he’d been on anything that strong was after he’d had his arm pulled back together and mended. They'd loaded him up with so many painkillers afterward that he'd ridden euphoric waves to a land of blobs and he was declared King of blobs, all without leaving the comfort of his own bed.

That's also when he'd discovered the Enforcers kept the best surgeons on their payroll, because they’d managed to turn the raw hamburger meat they’d been given back into a functioning arm. All the scars left from where he’d been stitched up were still dark pink and raised, but he’d been promised that they’d fade with time. He didn’t mind them all that much, though; they were a great conversation piece, and he’d come up with some elaborate stories to explain their presence since he couldn’t lead with, ‘A pissed off werewolf crashed into my campsite’ and end with, 'I was the only one left alive'.

Not that anyone would believe a story involving the fabled creatures, but the Enforcers had made it crystal clear that he wasn’t to breathe the word werewolf when he was talking to civilians. He’d laughed at them when they’d used that term to refer to people not in the know, but they hadn’t joined in the laughter. Humor wasn’t something they looked for in their employees, he guessed. Beyond Rita and a couple others, he hadn’t encountered many who would even respond to a smile positively.

“Didn’t realize someone else hadn’t made it in. Wonder who it was," he said. He wasn’t really on friendly terms with the other werewolves, so didn’t know if he’d recognize a name even if she gave him one. He’d long suspected there were secret werewolf coffee meetings that he never got invited to, but it was more likely everyone just wanted to get out of the base as quickly as they fucking could. That was certainly the case for him.

“Explains why I got left like that, though.” He smiled at Rita, and it was the hint of sunshine on an overcast day. “But hey, I’m glad you made sure I didn’t die.”
 
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“Yeah, it does,” Rita agreed, but refused to look back at the file for a name. There were always too many names, too many killed, too many missing. Until she was assigned the case, she couldn’t do that to herself – she knew her own limits all too intimately. At his bright smile, she couldn’t help but reciprocate it in kind. “Well, thanks. I’m glad someone is grateful. But it was no problem, least I can do for letting my partner put two bullets in your leg.”

“People around here don’t really have times for please and thank you, but I’m still a Southern girl at heart. Sometimes I gotta remember no one around here has time to be gracious,” Rita hummed to herself and toyed with the name plate on Dr. Jenny’s desk. It seemed useless to have a desk and an office when so much of your time was spent on the floor or in surgery, but she supposed she needed somewhere to hold psychological evaluations. After all, this was the first room she had ever seen as an Enforcer. It seemed like just yesterday, but months had passed already and the world spun on. It would never stop for just one woman, no matter how much Rita begged for it to.

“I’m sure the tracking system malfunctioned, that would explain why so many people were up in arms. Doesn’t happen often but they’ve had a scare or two over the years. This is the first one I’ve been here for, so I’m not sure what the protocol is for repairing relations here, but I’m sure that’ll become my job, too, at some point.” Rita let out a laugh and hopped up on Jenny’s desk, leaning back on her hands so she could take a good look at him. He seemed better, brighter, and with each passing second, she could see the medication working wonders on his mind. It must have felt great to be that numb to the world.

“If you’re feeling up to it when Jenny gets back with your crutches, we can grab something to eat. Last time I was on something that strong, I didn’t eat beforehand and it was unbearable. I mean, I’m no doctor so you can take or leave my word on that, but I thought I’d throw it out there. Might as well if you’re not allowed to leave yet.”
 
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Leon was taken by her amiable demeanor. When she mentioned being Southern, it made a little more sense why her personality felt warm to him. She reminded him of the people he’d grown up around — affable folks who would take time out of their day to chat with a stranger rather than skitter off at the first hint of socialization. Shortly after he'd been relocated to the city, he’d tried to talk to someone while waiting in line at the grocery store. They'd launched such a nasty look his way that he’d had to make sure there wasn’t anything on his face.

He made the same gesture, swiping his hand over his stubbly chin, but this time because it felt like something was crawling there… over his lips too, and his nose. He scrunched up his nose, wiggled his lips, then scrubbed the entirety of his face with both hands.

Oh, tingly.

He lowered his hands when he heard mention of food and nodded. Yes, he would like to eat, and he would quite like it if Rita joined him. He wanted to express that sentiment to her, let her know how much it meant that she was willing to spend more time with him, but he was pretty sure too much time had passed to follow up with anything that wouldn’t sound weird.

Though, maybe—

“I would like to eat. With you,” he said slowly, and nodded again. That would do.

The door opened and he swung around to see the doctor return, a pair of crutches in her hands.

“Hellooo there,” he sang.

The tall brunette raised an eyebrow at him. “I see the medicine has kicked in,” Jenny said.

Leon smiled widely.

She had him up and on his feet in short order, and was in the midst of warning him away from doing anything too strenuous for the next several hours despite how great he felt right now, but she’d left the door open and Leon was tired of waiting around.

“Cafeteria,” he said, catching Rita’s eye and nodding towards the door, then sprang out of the room.
 
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It was pushing five am, but by Leon’s demeanor Rita sure couldn’t tell.

I would like to eat. With you.

He bounded out of the room with such fervor that Jenny just shot Rita a look and she shrugged as if to say, hey, you left the door open. Rita didn’t blame him, of course. She couldn’t even imagine how strenuous it was to have to stop your entire life once a month to remain in a cell for hours on end. That, plus the risk of actually harming someone – it was a stress that Rita was not sure she could bare if placed upon her shoulders, but Leon held it with as much grace as one person could. With a smirk, Rita hopped off the desk and followed the man in slow, measured steps knowing that they would both end up at the same place even if he was walking at a speed far faster than her.

It was one thing about Chase’s death that she didn’t mind. She had long since figured out how to just slow down and recognize the world around her. Everything was so finite that it was hard. The entire world could end tomorrow and then what? Would she have missed out on every little thing around her? Rita exhaled as she made her way through the corridors to the sign that read cafeteria and slipped inside. There were quite a few people there, scattered about the tables eating their far-too-early breakfast or incredibly-late-dinner. “Easy,” Rita laughed as she came up alongside Leon who had made it in record time thanks to the pain killers coursing through his body, “You’re not invincible, even if it feels like it.”

“Take a seat, I’ll grab us whatever they’ve got,” she offered as they walked up along a table that was empty, a bit further from the other agents who were caught in conversation and overall post-full moon brooding. Rita walked back towards the serving line and grabbed two trays full of anything they had to offer. Hash browns, eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage – the works, and she effortlessly carried both trays back to the table and set his down in front of him before slipping in across the table from him and setting her own down. “You’d think because it’s a cafeteria that the food is terrible, but it’s actually pretty good,” Rita admitted.

“Seems like the meds kicked in fine. You must be on cloud nine right now, ” she mentioned again, probably sounding like a broken record, "So, where are you from originally? Not the city, I'm guessing. Doesn't sound like it."
 
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He stood in front of the chair for a long moment after she’d directed him to it, pondering her word choice. Take a seat. Take a seat where? Like raining cats and dogs, in a bit of a pickle, keep your chin up — they were all absurd if taken literally. Leon chuckled to himself as he pulled a chair out enough to maneuver his way behind and propped his crutches up on the edge of the table.

His amusement died when he realized he’d put himself in direct line of sight of an entire table of Enforcers. Judging by a few of their expressions, they weren’t going to forgive him as easily as RIta had. They wouldn’t have bandaged him up if they’d seen him bleeding, and he wasn’t sure he blamed them.

He was quick to regain his chipper attitude, though, when Rita returned with not only food, but she sat across from him, putting the other agents out of view. He dug in immediately, shoveling food without really tasting it. His grandmother would’ve taken it as a prime opportunity to come by and ruffle his hair, saying something like, “Slow down, mijo, the food isn’t going anywhere.”

Leon swallowed his most recent bite, made an embarrassed face at Rita, and made a point to put his fork aside on his tray. He was usually ravenous after a change, but given the pain and then the pain killers, his mind hadn’t made his stomach a priority until food was sitting in front of him. But that didn't mean he couldn't show some basic manners while eating with someone, especially if that someone was Rita. He grabbed a paper napkin and wiped the corners of his mouth, smiling when she commented about how he must be feeling, and shaking his head when she asked about his origins.

“Grew up west of San Antonio in a border town,” he answered. “How about you? You ain’t from ‘round these parts, either,” he said, dialing up his twang and giving her a suspicious side-eye.
 
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Leon was dorkier than she expected. Not in a negative way, but she had just spent so long building up the idea of what werewolves were like in her head that it was a bit disarming. She had expected someone a bit grittier and certainly not someone who thanked her or felt genuine guilt over what they had done or could have done. Hell, her injuries were more from the concrete than him, but she still saw the way his eyes had latched onto the image of her bandaged arm when they first spoke. He was interesting. Just genuinely interesting.

And she owed it to herself to stay and chat, even if deep down she hated herself for not being able to stand strong and fierce against the kind that took Chase away from her. She knew from the moment she chose to bandage his leg instead of tear him apart that she was subjecting herself to the nightmares and nothing would ever get better. She would just blame herself over and over again.

But still, she returned his smile.

“San Antonio, huh?” she hummed, “So you’re a Texas boy then. That’s not even the south, that’s it’s own beast entirely.”

His question was anticipated but still she took a second to mull through her thoughts. She took a bite of bacon and looked back up to him. “Nah,” she shook her head, “grew up in North Carolina right along the coast. Went to the same high school as my parents and grandparents before them. Real small town, you know, where everyone else knows every little thing that happens.”

“Came here for college, graduated with a dual major in Communications and Marketing, and have been here ever since. That’s—hmm, seven years now?” she laughed as she took another bite of her pancake, “I’m pretty used to it here, now. Not a whole lot of North Carolina left in me, but it comes out every now and again.”

“I assume you ended up here because of – well, all of this?”
 
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Seeing Rita's bacon made him check his own plate and he was pleased to see several pieces still nestled between a pancake and a hashbrown. He knew good things were coming when he picked up a piece and it flopped over on itself. People usually cooked the stuff to a crisp and it never actually tasted like anything to him. Floppy, almost undercooked bacon was the stuff of heaven; fatty, savory goodness. He made a conscious effort to chew each bite thoroughly, so he didn’t fall back into machine-eating-mode. Rita was right: the cafeteria food was actually pretty good.

He’d polished off his bacon and had a sausage link ready to pop into his mouth when the conversation shifted from birthplaces to education. He stopped what he’d been doing, grease running down his fingers, to stare at the dark-haired woman while she finished talking. As soon as she did, he dropped the link back onto his plate and wiped his fingers on his pants, forgetting his napkin in his excitement.

“Well yeah, but wait a second. Hang on. Since when do Communications and Marketing dual majors end up as super secret agents that work with werewolves?”

What the hell sort of courses had she taken at her college? Communications 103: Small Group Discussions and Werewolf Management?
 
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“Hm?”

Shit.

Despite the labored thump of her own heart, nothing in Rita’s face showed any change in emotion. She was good at her job, good at fronts and making people believe what she needed them to believe. She took another bite of her food without missing a beat and looked back up at him. “They don’t really. I was working for this media company, working public relations on this huge merger that was going through. I mean, it was a great job and it was nice to work normal hours, but it’s not necessarily the most fulfilling work in the world.”

“There was this one attack about a year ago, same kind of deal as you, didn’t make it to base before the full moon and long story short, it kind of just changed my perspective on everything. Figured I had a pretty decent skill set for supernatural and human relations, plus I coasted through college on a full track scholarship, so it didn’t take much to get be trained and ready. Some people train their whole lives for this kind of work, but I guess I was just in the right place at the right time and everything just sort of happened from there.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but Rita had never spoken of Chase to anyone. Even after the incident, she remembered sitting in therapy and just listening to the psychologist explain to her how feelings were normal, how the emptiness was normal and that it was common to feel a bit lost in it all. Rita never said the words, never recounted the events for anyone. Even her parents – his parents – would never know the truth. They could not know that their son was killed by a werewolf, so they spun it as a subway accident. No survivors. Tragic, easy to deal with in the press. Sure, the city took a bit of a hit for negligence but that was nothing compared to the outcry of werewolves.

Hell, Rita did not even know of their existence until that very day. But, she was his next of kin and someone had to identify the body. When she saw him, there was no doubt what had happened. It had taken some obsessive research to understand what the facility did and to confirm in her mind that werewolves were, in fact, real, but once she did – there was no going back.

And when she asked Dr. Jenny during her evaluation, the woman did not lie to her about the fate of her supposed-to-be husband.

“I like to think occasionally I save a few lives,” she shrugged, “and that’s plenty of fulfillment for me.”
 
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“I can understand that,” he said, nodding. “You’re definitely a lot better with people than ah… well. Most of those guys.” He looked over her shoulder to the table across the way. The other Enforcers had gone back to their meals and conversations, thankfully. But almost as if he’d felt him looking, one salt and pepper haired man locked eyes with him, and though the man’s expression didn’t change even a smidgen, Leon felt immediate discomfort and averted his gaze.

He cleared his throat and grabbed his fork to poke at some unsuspecting scrambled eggs, but he didn’t bring them to his mouth. Not that he imagined he was people to a lot of them. And to an extent, he understood it: he wasn’t really people anymore. He was something different, something dangerous, and their job was to keep him from hurting people. It was probably easier for them to keep seeing him as something other, because like tonight, there might be times that he needed to be dealt with as a beast and not a human. Leon scraped the eggs against the side of his plate, clearing his fork, then stabbed the sausage link he'd been after earlier.

“Now, just to be clear, when you say supernatural and human relations,” he pointed his fork at himself and then at Rita, “you’re talking about this sort of thing, right? Where we have a nice breakfast with each other and not the part where you shot me, right?” And then he popped the link into his mouth and began chewing it, still somehow managing to smirk at her.
 
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“Yeah, they’re pretty rough and tough,” Rita agreed and took another bite of her pancakes, “Everyone has their own reason for being here and unfortunately that reason isn’t always a pleasant one – but everyone deals with things differently. We’ve all got shit to deal with.”

She knew exactly who he was talking about. In the Enforcers, there was a group of burly, tough types who did this for the sake of protecting humans. Werewolf safety was never a concern of theirs. Leon could have died in that cell and they would have never spared a passing glance or thought. It wasn’t elitist, per say, but they certainly kept very little company and spent more time shooting off silver bullets than trying to diffuse the situation. No, they knew exactly who he was and like hell Rita was going to move out of the way.

Maybe she had reason to hate Leon, more than anyone else in this damn place, but she couldn’t help the empathy that coursed through her veins. It was something those men chose not to feel and it was what made her, well, her. Chase had told her to never lose it and she wouldn’t. His question made her smile and she shook her head side to side. “Well, sort of. If you’re asking if I’m obligated by my job to have breakfast with you? No, I’m not. But my day-to-day job here is in supernatural and human relations. When I’m not toting a gun, I’m usually working with smoothing over supernatural events like tonight. It’s the “desk” part of my job, I guess. Making sure that the human and supernatural line never really overlap too much.”

“Since werewolves only change on the full moon, it leaves another twenty-nine to thirty days of other work, which is where relations comes in,” she explained but let a smirk dance across her expression, “but to be fair, I didn’t really shoot you. I grazed your shoulder. That leg was all Alice. You think I’m nice, just wait until she meets you face to face. You’ll be up to your neck in peanut butter cookies always.”
 
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“Didn’t really shoot me?” he scoffed. “There was a gun, a bullet, and you left a mark.” Leon dropped his fork and rubbed his shoulder, feeling the thick bandage beneath the white cotton of his shirt. He shook his head and laughed. “Ah hell, you did, y’know. Even as quick as we heal, I’m still gonna have a scar to remember you by. Will look in the mirror and think to myself, ‘That’s from the time Rita didn’t shoot me.’ “

He was still grinning when he returned to his food, polishing off any remaining meat he could find. When all but the less protein packed stuff — soggy pancakes, cold hash browns and loan piece of toast — was gone, he pushed his tray away from the edge of the table and sat back.

“I’d rather be up to my neck in bacon,” he added, “but peanut butter cookies don’t sound half bad either.”

Immediately after a change, all he could palate were meat products. Usually after a few days, he returned to the more balanced diet of an omnivore, but until then, he just thanked his lucky stars that he wasn’t vegan. He really didn’t need any more guilt in his life — even though he’d been raised Catholic, there was only so much he could bear.

Their conversation had tapered off and they’d both finished eating. Leon searched himself for an excuse to spend more time with Rita, but came up sorely lacking. On any other day, he would’ve skipped out on food in the cafeteria and made for the shitty 24-hour diner near his apartment. Their food wasn’t nearly as good, but they’d never questioned him when he’d asked for plates full of bacon and sausage and ham.

“Well,” he said, “it has been a pleasure, Rita, but I think I oughta see if someone found my backpack and get going. We should do this next month. I mean, if you want. I don’t wanna impose or anything—“

Oh, for Christ’s sake, Leon. Not again.

He opened his mouth to try again, this time with less awkwardness, but someone nearby cleared their throat and he closed his mouth. He spun to see Mr. Salt and Pepper standing a few steps away from their table, two more Enforcers at his sides. How the fuck? He hadn’t seen them move from their table. They just popped up, like goddamned ninjas.

“Please do pardon the interruption, but we’re going to have to ask you to come with us.” The words were polite, almost mockingly so, the tone was all steel and no-nonsense; it wasn’t a request.

Leon blinked up at him. “I’m sorry? What?”

“We have orders to return you to your cell. Get up.”

Not even a please this time.

He looked at Rita, his mouth opening and closing like he was some goldfish that’d jumped out of its tank to take a gander at the world and landed on the carpet. Return him to his cell? This was when he was supposed to leave, not return to his cell. Wait. His cell. He didn’t have an assigned cell, they just put him whatever one was available when he arrived.

What the fuck was going on?
 
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He was a good guy, that much she could discern from spending some time with him. Rita didn’t know much about Leon’s life but from his comments, he just seemed genuinely funny and kind. She would never forget the ways she saw regret and guilt flash across his face the moment he turned back and that had changed everything for her. It was the only explanation she had for why she was still here, sitting with him and eating breakfast. It wasn’t a bad conversation either, she genuinely enjoyed it and found herself laughing in a way she hadn’t done in a long time. “What can I say?” she teased back with a laugh, “I’m a pretty had person to forget.”

He’d offered to eat with her again and she’d smiled at the offer, but before she could respond, she heard a couple familiar deep voices break through their conversation. Immediately, Rita stood up and stepped in the way without a second thought. “Whose orders?” she asked evenly, not even remotely intimidated by the man in front of her who challenged her height by at least six inches.

“This is above you, Mason,” he retorted.

“Like hell it is,” she shot back, clearly not buying it, “you’re not above me, Jackson. I asked whose orders and I expect an answer when he’s in my custody.”

“Maybe if you had quit your schoolgirl giggling for a minute, you would have seen the message. Lover boy here goes back to his cell. You got a problem with it, take it up with the higher ups. I’m gonna do us both a favor and do my job, alright? Maybe it’ll give you a little damn perspective.”

Rita rolled her eyes as the condescension and turned to Leon. “Just listen to them for now and hang tight. I’m going to figure out what’s going on.”

“Are you two done yet?” Jackson rolled his eyes.

Rita stood close enough to him to deliver a warning. She knew exactly why Jackson hated werewolves, he was one of those disgusting elitist types who believed that supernaturals had no place in this world. While Rita certainly had her reasons to hate them, Jackson hated them on principle. He was known for being pretty rough and tough with those who came through here and he sure wasn’t afraid to take a kill-shot. “If you lay a hand on him,” she warned, “I will break you in half. Am I understood?”

Giving Leon a sympathetic look, she scampered off to find someone, anyone, who would be able to give her an explanation as to why Leon was not allowed to go home. She couldn’t find any answers, or Jenny who was mysteriously missing from her near-constant perch near surgery. Something didn’t feel right and she decided to head back down even though it was nearly seven am and way past her clock out time. With quick steps Rita moved back down to the holding cells and bypassed every single one until she was back at the familiar Containment F. Keying in, she made her way inside and caught Leon’s eyes.

The cell had been transformed in their short absence.

“What’s going on?” she asked.
 
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Leon was sitting at the foot of a bed that had been bolted into the wall, his crutches propped up against the wall within arm’s reach. He was pale, and though he felt relief to see a friendly face again, he couldn’t make himself smile at her.

"This is home now, I guess," he said weakly.

The asshole — Jackson — had led him down to the cell without touching him, making Leon think he’d taken Rita’s threat seriously, but that hadn’t stopped him from glaring at him constantly, nor from making inappropriate comments about his intentions with Rita. He’d remained silent to the verbal abuse and goading, knowing that to say anything, to even look at them, would be enough excuse for Jackson’s sort to unleash holy hell on him. So he kept his head down and his mouth shut until he got to the cell and they locked it behind him.

Instead of the empty gray box he was used to, there was now a bed with a metal frame, a small metal table with two chairs, and even a working sink and toilet. Despite the additions, the room was still stark and felt even more like a prison cell. On the mattress, a pair of slippers had been laid out, and in a corner was his backpack (though it looked sadly deflated). Upon further inspection, he found he’d been relieved of all his electronics and all that remained were his notebooks, pens, and a change of clothes. He sat on the edge of the bed heavily and held onto his crutches between his legs, beginning to suspect they weren't going to let him go home.

To confirm his suspicions was Dr. Giordano. She stood in front of him, clipboard in hand, and explained that his recent transgression had made them painfully aware he couldn’t be trusted with the same freedom as the other werewolves. He’d thought she was pretty, once, but her face was emotionless as she spoke, and it made him think of her as less human than even he was. Then, in the same cold tones, she offered him a chance to help them advance some of the research they’d been doing.

“Jenny said they were trying to help werewolves control when they change, and that since I was going to be here anyway, I should help. So. Yeah. I don’t have to pay rent anymore.” He ran his hands through his hair and groaned. “Fucking shit. Fuck. Or have a job, or keep on at school, or make sure my grandma is doing alright.” He looked at Rita, his hair askew and his expression pained. “I’m sorry, I’m just— this isn’t the first time this has happened. I had a fucking life before all this, y’know? I was in school, I had a girlfriend, I had shit figured out. This is different, though, isn’t it? They put a fucking toilet in here, Rita. A toilet. I’m not leaving again, am I?”
 
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I’m not leaving again, am I?

The question hit her hard and Rita looked up with her vibrant green eyes. They were sad, empathetic and she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They were leaving him here? As he spoke to her, she eyes the entire space and dragged her fingers over the metal table before leaning up against it. It felt wrong to get too close when she was part of the reason why any of this had happened at all. Hearing him talk about his grandmother and his life – she understood.

She understood too damn well what that all felt like – the sudden loss of your own life and the expectation to keep moving forward anyway. She shook her head and let out a deep exhale. She wished she had better words for him other than I’m sorry, but it was just so hard. There was nothing that would make this better, she knew that, but she still wanted to anyway. He was a good guy, kind and caring, and he didn’t deserve this – to be locked away like an animal.

“I don’t know,” Rita answered gently, her eyes finding his, “Listen, I—I’m not sure I can make this better, but if you need me to get you anything, if you need my phone for anything – I know I sound stupid, but if you need anything just let me know.”

“I know that the program is new but promising,” she admitted, “and if they can figure out how to get you to control your changes, then they may let you go. I just think after last night, everyone is a bit on edge. They can’t risk the tracking system going out when werewolves still don’t have the ability to control themselves. If you could realize what you were doing, I think that would make all the difference.”

She moved a bit closer but still felt a bit out of place sitting close to him. He just looked so defeated and she wished there was something she could do for him. There wasn’t much – she could take him out of here and around the facility, they could still grab breakfast together on nights she was working. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said finally as she moved to his side and took a seat on the edge of the bed, “I know that this can’t be easy. When shit happens that throws your whole world off its axis…I can’t imagine surviving it twice. But maybe you just play it by ear for now, do what you can when you can, and I can try to get more answers on a night when people aren’t rushing out of here after working twenty-four hours straight.”

Hell, even she had been working near twenty-four hours straight at this point.

“I can swing back by tomorrow, though,” she shrugged, “it’s not much, but we can always do breakfast again. Or, well, lunch – or dinner. Your choice.”
 
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And yet again, Rita became the life preserver when the floor beneath him had turned into a churning, foaming ocean that threatened to drown him. It was her voice he clung to, her kind words, and the conviction in her eyes.

Leon wanted to beg her to get him out, but he knew how unrealistic that was. They weren’t wrong to keep him there, and Rita was already risking a lot just by being around him — by extending an offer of help at all. That she was willing to give him a phone when they’d intentionally taken his away, and was still willing to be seen outside the cell with him despite the way the other Enforcers had reacted to them earlier... it needed to be enough for now.

He watched as she moved and then sat near him, and took further comfort in her close proximity.

“Thanks,” he said, trying a smile on for size, but it wavered and he sighed. “I’m probably not always going to be great company, but I’d appreciate seeing you as often as you can manage. And if I could call my grandma soon? Not right now, I’m not really in a good space to talk with her. I mean, I know I can’t tell her what’s actually going on, but,” he shrugged and looked at his hands, “it’d be nice to hear her.”

She’d tell him about her garden, how the neighbors raved over her tomatoes this year, and that she’d canned salsa and made tamales from scratch — if he’d just come by, he could have some. He’d agree: Yes, yes, that sounds wonderful, but school and work, you know how it is. And she’d be understanding, as always.

He looked up from his hands and to Rita. Some of the color had returned to his face, and his mouth was set in a firm line.

“I don’t want to get you in trouble, though. If those assholes make it too hard, don't worry about skipping visits or breaking me out. I know that's the real goal. Me and you, a crazy plan to get out of here without us both getting shot. You're just biding your time?"

There it was: a smile, even if it didn't quite reach his eyes. Fake it 'til you make it, right?
 
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Rita couldn’t offer much. Who was she to act as though she had any control or power over anything? Since Chase had died, she’d been struggling and floundering to find some meaning, some rhyme or reason to her life and just the slightest bit of control. She wanted to be able to control the feelings, to stop the spiraling of thoughts at night that left her gasping nightmare after nightmare. She wanted to be able to eat regularly and not just lose her appetite at the first sign of pasta because he always made the best lasagna and she could never replicate it. Something was just always off. She clung to what she could and shut down what she couldn’t.

Hell, she hadn’t even talked to her parents since the attack but they kept leaving her messages anyway.

She could, however, offer her time which seemed to be in abundance lately. Sure, she worked long hours and spent her free time hopping from investor benefit to investor benefit but she was almost always here. When she wasn’t? She was never too busy to come in. It was what made her such a good employee, but it acted as a distraction for her from the apartment still teeming with Chase’s belongings. One day, she would face them, but until then she was fine with just being here. No one asked questions here because everyone knew and instead of coddling her, they let her work.

They let her work herself to the bone because it benefitted them and she was alright with that.

“Anytime,” she said gently, “You figure out what you want to say and my phone’s all yours.”

Of course, in the madness of it all, he was worried about getting her in trouble, but Rita could handle herself. The people here didn’t intimidate her, not even Jackson who stood a good six inches taller than her. If anything, she knew she had Dr. Jenny on her side, as the two women had forged a strange bond of silent trust over the last few months. She had Alice, too. While she could not speak for everyone’s intentions, she knew theirs were genuinely good. If Jenny had a hand in all of this, the research must be important and Rita would get to the bottom of it.

She let out a soft laugh, “It would be the greatest jailbreak of all time, probably.”

“But I’ll be here as often as I can,” she offered warmly, “I don’t really spend much time outside of this building. Who knows, maybe if you’re really really nice I’ll sneak you in a real meal from outside. Or, I don’t know, get you a picture frame for that desk of yours. Or a nice…sunless plant?”

She yawned and felt the exhaustion, “But I work near twenty-four hours on a full moon, so you’ll see plenty of me. I hate paperwork anyway. Its’ the most boring part of the job, to be honest.”

“That being said, I should probably head out,” she hummed with a bit of discontent, “before I accidentally take up the only bed in this place. Do you need anything before I go?”
 
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While she went about reassuring him, he realized how lucky it was that it’d been Rita and her partner that he’d encountered first instead of someone like Jackson. He didn’t think he would’ve been dragged into the base alive, and he would’ve missed the chance to meet Rita. Circumstances aside (and God, did he wish the circumstances were different), he was glad she was there, and that she was willing to continue being there. Rita, the bewilderingly kind and giving Rita, who was thoughtful enough to offer him a sunless plant for a windowless room. He snorted and made a face at her, but didn’t speak until she asked if he needed anything.

“Nah,” he said, after a long, drawn-out moment where he considered and discarded a dozen requests, the most pathetic being a plea that she go ahead and sleep on his bed and he’d sleep on the floor. “Go on, get some rest. I should, too,” he said, reason and dignity winning the day.

Leon watched her leave the room, waited until she was out of sight, and then buried his head in his hands. “Oh, fuck me,” he muttered into his palms.

He spent most of the morning in the bed, back turned to the door, struggling to make himself sleep despite his exhaustion. At one point, he nodded off enough to have a vivid dream that Rita had returned, but it was Johanna and two Enforcers who stood at the door while she wordlessly deposited a tray of food on the table.

She made him sit up, checked and changed his bandages, and before she left, she patted his uninjured shoulder twice, then squeezed it. A show of support from cranky Johanna? He was so fucked.

When the smell of food became impossible to ignore, he hobbled over to the table and ate. It was from the cafeteria, and a sign they weren’t planning on starving him. That was good. When he finished, he hobbled back to his bed, snatching his backpack on the way. If he wasn’t going to be able to sleep, he could at least do something useful. Like start a journal. He’d always meant to start a journal.

He spread one of his notebooks in his lap, twirling a ballpoint pen as he considered the blank page.

DAY ONE, he finally wrote.

Johanna was nice to me. Ate hamburger. Ate hamburger patty.

He closed the notebook and frowned.
 
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It was impossible to sleep.

The bed was always just so large and the big glass windows that overlooked the city from the living room of her apartment seemed to just call to her. Most nights she just sat on the couch, curled up in a big t-shirt with a cup of tea in hand. She never had to worry, never had to wonder where her next meal was coming from or if she could afford to keep their…her immaculate downtown apartment. He had left everything to her, everything right down to the paid off apartment in his name. When they called, they still asked for Mr. Hale and she would have to quietly correct them through the sea of apologies and condolences. A year seemed like so long looking forward, but it felt impossibly short looking back.

She’d managed to catch a bit of sleep, just enough to sate her need and keep the nightmares away. It was always the same, too. Every single moment reliving the tragedy she only heard about on the phone. That was the worst part about not knowing, you could never quite convince yourself that your own thoughts didn’t hold a little truth.

It was barely noon by the time she peeled herself from the couch and moved to ready again for work. After a long, cleansing shower, she managed to get some clothes together and head out for a coffee. She always walked to work and she stopped off at a little coffee shop on the corner to get herself a few extra shots of expresso to get her day going. She felt groggy and exhausted, but it never showed in her face as she batted her dark lashes at the barista and moved to head back to the all familiar facility building. It was nice seeing everyone dressed down a bit, their badges hanging around their necks and Kevlar nowhere to be seen. The day after a full moon was a rest day – but never for Rita. There were too many people to contact, stories to spin and calls to make.

She made quick work of her to-do list and found herself free by one o’clock. It was easy to be productive when you did not allow you mind to wander elsewhere. When the clock struck, she took a break from her desk and stretched her arms up to ease the muscles in her back. She bypassed the cafeteria and made her way down to the containment units to see that it had mostly cleared out since the day before. It was a long walk to Leon’s cell, but when she finally keyed in, she couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey,” she called out warmly as the door shut behind her, “How are you? Too stir crazy yet?”
 
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Although he hadn’t truly considered the possibility that Rita wouldn’t come back, because it didn’t seem like it was in her nature to make promises and then not follow through, he still felt a surge of relief when she returned. Leon tossed aside notebook and pen, then scooted up to the edge of the bed. His leg was quick to remind him that he still needed to take it easy, but it already hurt much less than it had the night before. Another day and he’d likely be able to walk around without crutches. Quick healing: it was one of the few perks of being a werewolf.

“Doin’ alright,” he drawled. “It’s weird, though. Always wished I could have a day where I didn’t need to do anything, but when that’s the only option,” Leon smiled ruefully, “it sucks. Not gonna lie.”

But Rita was here now, so his situation had already improved dramatically.

“How about you? How're you? Not sure what time it is, but they just brought me lunch a bit back. You manage to get any sleep?" She hadn't been gone for long, had she? Leon peered at her, but she seemed refreshed enough. It made him consider that it was possible his perception of time was already off, since the only way he had to judge its passing were the intervals at which people visited him.
 
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“I’m sure,” Rita hummed as she looked about the room. Nothing had really changed in her absence, but she did note the way he moved a bit easier on his leg. It was far from healed, but the werewolf in him would help expedite the healing time. She remembered her own arm, the slight tinge of pain radiating off her skin as she moved, and she wondered what it would be like to heal that fast.

“Hopefully when this research starts up it’ll be less boring,” she offered and leaned against the edge of the table, her hands rested on either side of him. “I couldn’t find a sunless plant, but I’m in the market for one, don’t you worry.”

His words caught her a bit off guard. “Hm?” her eyes lit up as she was pulled into conversation, worried that he was asking about her exhaustion because she looked exhausted. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I was the one who could go home this morning, after all. But it’s just after one, so they would have probably brought lunch about eleven thirty. Or, at least, that’s when the cafeteria starts serving it. I’m glad to hear they’re bringing you food.”

“Nice to come back and find that there’s minimal ass to kick, y’know?” she smirked, trying to lighten the mood. She knew there was nothing she could do to make this better, but she would try. She didn’t care the looks she got from the other Enforcers. Maybe in his werewolf form he was dangerous, but the man who was affected by the curse was different. Not that she ever wanted to see him transform – no, she wasn’t sure she could handle that. There was something in her mind that had placed him outside the realm of her own pain, and the last thing she wanted to do was drag him into it.

“How’s your leg healing?” she asked, raising an amused eyebrow, “Doesn’t look like you're babying it while you sit anymore."
 
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