One bathroom break and several snacks later, the sun was starting to set as the black car rolled off the freeway and into grassy lands, the warm glow of dusk reflecting off the blades that swayed in the cool breeze beyond the confines of the car.

There had only been one small town we had passed through, with a firehouse and bar all on the same street. The few cars that had been parked along the road were at least fifteen years old, and the only person you saw was an old man in plaid with a cap so low I couldn't see his eyes. The entire drive through town only lasted through Lemonade, and soon the paved roads had turned to gravel and loose rocks hopped off the ground and into the black paint of the car, causing Scott to wince with every tap and thump that echoed above the sounds of Formation.

There wasn't a single house along the empty countryside, and not a single car had passed us by since we got off the exit. And just as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, I saw it; at first, just a silhouette, quick and fleeting through the tree line that obscured the view, but as we drove further, with no intention of turning, finer details began to appear. A small house, white and plain, with faded black shutters, and a small, but empty porch. The door had been red at some point, and as we slightly turn left, driving through the line of trees and into a partially paved driveway, I see the color had been diminished to more of a pink than a red.

The radio shuts off as Scott throws the car in park, a silence engulfing us as I stare out the window at my new home. It wasn't awful; it looked like an everyday country house that had probably been built in the 1930s if I had to guess, and had seen many occupants come and go over the years. It wasn't worn down, though it certainly wasn't kept up, but I was sure that if it didn't get a facelift soon, it was only a few years away from being condemned.

A car door opens, and I glance over my shoulder as Scott steps out without a word, the trunk popping open as he shuts his door. Dirt kicks up under him as he moves around the car, and as he hauls my duffle bags out, I figure it's time to join him, whether I want to or not.

With quiet movements, I step out of the car, my eyes still taking in the house as the trunk slams shut, and Scott appears next to me.

"Not exactly the Ritz." He smiles down at me, the lump in his throat bobbing as he clearly tries to break the ice.

"Home sweet home." I sigh, reaching my hand out to take one of the bags from him so that he'll have a free hand to get me inside.

"Thanks," he mutters as he strides ahead of me, and with two steps, is up the three porch stairs. He pulls opens the screen door with a rusted screech before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a key, placing it in the scratched lock and opening the front door. I hold the screen for him as he steps inside before I follow, stopping just across the threshold as I take my new home.

The front living space is open, with dark wood floors that probably haven't been redone since the house was first built. To the left of the doorway is a dining room, with a table as dark as the floors settled in the middle with six matching chairs surrounding it. Across the way is the living room, two green couches that were probably picked up off the side of the road framing a small tv with bunny ears on top. There's a dirty rug that once was white with a coffee table resting on top of it, reminding me of the Good Will furniture I had furnished my house with my senior year of college.

Directly ahead of me is a small archway that peeks into the kitchen, nothing but green countertops and a sink visible from where I'm standing, the staircase to the left taking up much of the tiny hallway that leads to the back of the house.

All in all, it's pretty much exactly what I expected.

Scott had placed the bag he had been carrying at the foot of the stairs before disappearing to the back of the house, and I take a few small steps to pick it up, deciding to head upstairs and check out the bedroom situation.

Each step creaks in its own way as I walk up to the second floor, the railing shaking with each of my light steps.
As I reach the landing, four doors, all open, greet me. One to my left, and the other three on the right. I can see the tile floors in the room ahead of me and to the left, clearly the bathroom. I peek into the room closest to me, the same floors that run throughout the house under mismatched dressers and a metal-framed bed with blue covers on top. I stroll inside, the room smelling lightly of unseen sawdust as I wander to the one window in the room and glance out, seeing a rundown shed that sits in the unkempt backyard.

I continue my tour of the second floor; the bathroom was simple, with a strange pattern on the wallpaper, and a pink porcelain combo bath and shower across from the toilet. There was one sink, and I truly hoped there was another bathroom somewhere else in the house. The bedroom directly across the hall from the first one I visited was an exact replica of the first, though this bed had green sheets, and the final bedroom, across from the bathroom, was nothing spectacular either; the same metal bed frame, with a yellow cover on top. One of the dressers in this room had a mirror on top and looked like something my grandmother would have owned when she was younger. I decided to drop my bags here, the finals rays of sunlight illuminating the room in a golden glow that made me feel at peace for the first time since this whole day started.

"Find a room?" I turn to see Scott relaxed against the door frame, the day's last light highlighting the silver in his hair that I hadn't noticed before, and making his blue eyes shimmer, even from across the room. His hands are in his pockets as his feet are crossed at his ankles, and for one moment I forget that I'm here against my will. For one second, I look at the man in the doorway and can pretend I'm at some vacation rental, exploring someone's home that would be mine for the week like I did as a child when I went on family vacations to the lake.

"Looks that way." I step away from the window, my hand trailing down the cold bed rail as I step around it and sit on the mattress.

Scott just nods, his eyes following as my fingers mindlessly play along the fabric beneath me.

"So what now?" I ask, pulling my hands into my lap.

Scott straightens in the doorway, his shoulders rolling back as he steps out of the dusk's shine, reminding you once more that Agent Hoying and Scott Hoying were two entirely different people.

"I figure we can call out for pizza and pick it up, since I have zero intention of cooking." Scott steps into the room and leans against the mirrored dresser as he crosses his arms. "Unless of course you feel like whipping up a nice home cooked meal." He smirks, a twinkle in his eye with a tease in his voice, though part of me is sure he's not entirely joking.

I roll my eyes and stand up, the back of my knees still against the bed.

"So I'm supposed to help you take down the mob and cook you dinner?" Now I cross my arms, his smile growing with my own. "I don't think so."

Scott bites his lip and looks down, his head bobbing before he looks back up at me.

"Pizza it is then."

-/::\-

We had to drive all the way back into town to pick up the pizza, but this time the conversation overtook the radio station as we drove; and by conversation, I mean more of an argument (on Scott's part) on the travesty of me only wanting cheese on my pizza, and I adamantly defending my stance on not ruining a good thing.

It sure as hell beat the awkward silence that had surrounded us the first time we had driven through town, and an hour later, I was happy when we were finally back to the house, each of us on a couch and eating out of our pizza boxes as we watched Jeopardy on one of five channels that actually came through.

I was actually amazed at how many answers Scott knew, giving me idea that he was much more than a pretty face with a badge and gun.

And when the final jeopardy question was asked, and the returning winner would be playing again tomorrow, a silence once again fell over us as some primetime show came on, echoing through the quiet house.

"So," I asked in between my third piece of pizza. "What happens tomorrow?"

I knew a team was coming, but that was about it. They would be bringing a secure FBI laptop–along with the rest of my clothes–for me to work on for the upcoming Monday (assuming they get everything approved), and I would be grateful to have something to keep me busy during the day, especially with the lack of, well, anything, to do in this house.

Scott swallows down his fifth slice of pizza before closing the box and wiping his hands.

"Well," he says as he chews a piece of crust, causing me to grimace at him. "Tomorrow I'll have to go back to headquarters and start working on the paperwork for the case so we can get things moving, and your daytime agents will be here to watch after you."

"God, I feel like a child again, being left with the babysitters." I groan, letting my head fall back onto the couch.

"Hopefully, it won't be for long." His voice deepens and I just nod, staring up at the ceiling fan that could use a good dusting.

"And besides, you'll be—"

"Doing a great thing and helping a lot of people," I finish for him in a sigh. "Yeah, I got that." I squeeze my eyes shut while my left hand rubs at my temples. I was pretty sure if I heard that one more time I would scream. They were just saying it to try and make me feel better, to remind me of the only good thing to come out of all of this, but god dammit, I really couldn't give a shit about that right now. Maybe someday, when it wasn't still fresh and aching, but not right now.

Because right now I was sitting in some unknown house, on the outskirts of an unknown town, with an FBI agent I barely knew and zero idea of what my future held. Being told but I'm doing a good thing wasn't enough to suddenly make it all better.

"I'm going to go to bed." I decide, pushing myself off the couch and grabbing my pizza box off the coffee table.

"It's eight o'clock," Scott's voice follows me around the corner and into the kitchen as I open the fridge and place the pizza inside.

I head through the tiny hallway towards the stairs, Scott waiting for me in the archway of the living room.

I don't say anything as I round the banister of the stairs and start my ascent, only halfway up when, without warning, a tear trickles down my cheek, igniting the flood that streams down my face as I hurry into my room and shut the door behind me.

-/::\-

Scott sighs as he shakes his head as Mitch's door slamming shut echoes down the stairs. He had no idea what the hell happened; the two of them had actually been getting along the last few hours, and then suddenly they were back where they had started.

Scott pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he finds his sister. The nice thing about having a lawyer for a sister was that Kirstie understood that everything Scott told her about work was confidential and his sister would never risk Scott's career or reputation by sharing anything they talked about with someone else.

"Hey, Scott." Kirstie's perky voice answers. The damn kid always seemed so happy, and Scott wondered how she did it.

"Hey Kit," Scott suddenly feels exhausted as he lowers himself on the couch and shuts his eyes.

He was still debating whether he should tell Kirstie about Vine. If things didn't go to plan, he didn't want to get his sister's hopes up for nothing, but if anyone understood what was riding on Scott to get this case right, and close it once and for all, it was Kirstie.

"Everything okay?"

Scott opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, his nose pinching at the filthy ceiling fan above him.

"Yeah, just working."

"It's eight o'clock on a Saturday night. Why the hell are you at work?" Kirstie huffs.

Kirstie and Scott had had this conversation several times before. Kirstie thought her brother was a workaholic, never taking vacations, never taking time for himself, never giving himself a chance at a life outside of the FBI. It was a conversation Kirstie stopped having with Scott years ago, knowing it was going in one ear and out the other, but it didn't stop Kirstie from making comments from time to time.

"I'm not at work per say." Scott sits up and rests his elbows on his knees. "I'm on protective duty for the night with a witness."

"Big case then?"

Scott shuts his eyes. He wanted to protect his sister from any heartache if this didn't work out, it was his natural instinct. He had been protecting Kirstie from the moment he saw her in the hospital right after ahe was born.

This is your little sister, Scott. His father had placed a hand on his shoulder as they looked down at the baby in his mother's arms. You're gonna have to look out for her.

And that exactly what Scott had done his entire life.

Scott takes a deep breath. "It Vine. We might finally get him."

The line goes silent, but Scott knows his sister is still there. All these years, and even though Scott had gotten somewhat close, he had never bothered to tell Kirstie, knowing those times had been long shots. But for the first time since their mother had been killed, they had a real chance at getting the justice she deserved.

"You're serious?" Kirstie finally breaks the silence. "What happened?"

Scott tells her about the shooting, that there was a witness, and even though he wasn't going to cooperate at first, was almost killed today, and has finally agreed. That tomorrow he would be going in and finishing up his report so that the DA could draw the search and arrest warrants, and, with Mitch's testimony, bring down Vine and Shelton once and for all.

"You really think you have a shot?" Kirstie asks once Scott finally finishes telling her the full story.

"This is the best chance we've got since that bastard killed mom." Scott rubs his jaw as he stares out the window into the night. He knew that this could be the only chance he had. Vine hadn't messed up once in the twenty-one years since he had killed Connie, and Scott knew there was no way it would happen again after the mess with Mitch.

"Just be careful, Scott." Kirstie sighs. "He already took mom and dad from us, I don't want to lose you, too."

Scott smirks, tired and crinkly-eyed; he may be the older brother, but that never stopped Kirstie from looking out for him. Kirstie knew Scott was shoot first, ask questions later, and so she took it upon herself to be her brother's voice of reason.

"Always am, Kit."

-/::\-

I'm walking to my car, my shoes echoing through the parking garage as a swift wind chills me to my bones.

Something doesn't feel right and my eyes dart around the compound, desperately trying to find something out of place, but seeing nothing but my shadow in the glow of the orange floodlights.

Nothing's wrong, I try to tell myself, repeating it over and over as I walk to my car, though no matter how long I walk, the distance between me and the car never changes.

Please, a voice carries on the wind.
I turn around, looking for anyone, but finding myself still alone.

Please, don't!

Suddenly, the screech of a gunshot wails through my ears as I fall to my knees as if the sound impaled me. The gun fires again, and I scream out, my hands covering my ears as it resounds through my brain.

I look up, the shadow of a man appears across from me with his arm raised and gun pointed at my forehead.

Please, don't, I cry.

White teeth smile at me as the shadow shakes his head.

Dead, he chants.

Hot tears stream down my face as I try to plead with him.

Please! I cry again, but he doesn't waver.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead! He screams as a fire erupts from the mouth of the gun, time slowing around me as I watch, frozen on my knees as a gold bullet flies towards me.

I beg myself to move, to get out of the way, to save myself, but I can't. My body is stone, welded to the ground, and I know this is it as the bullet crosses in front of my eyes.

"Mitchell!"

My eyes fly open, my arms pushing me up as my chest heaves and tears run down my cheeks. My eyes frantically scan the room, taking in the dark shadows of furniture, instantly reminding me that I'm at the safe house, and not the parking garage.

A figure stands in the doorway with a gun raised.

I scream, my feet kicking under the covers as I push myself back against the headboard of the bed, trying to put as much space as I can between me and the shadow in my doorway.

"Woah, woah, woah." Scott's gruff voice breaks through the darkness and the figure raises their hands and slowly places the gun down on the dresser beside him. "Mitch, it's me."

"Scott?" My heart pounds against my chest, and my stomach is so knotted I think I might throw up.

He switches on a lamp that sits atop the dresser, a soft yellow glow illuminating the room and bringing him out of the shadows.

"It's just me. You're okay." He slowly approaches me, watching my movements carefully as he gets closer.

"Oh my god," I cry, my hands covering my face as I pull my knees into my chest.

It was just a dream. I tell myself. Just a nightmare. You're okay. You are okay.

But as I close my eyes to stop the tears, I see the bullet that had been mere inches from my face, and I can't stop the onslaught of sobs that suddenly overtake my body as my head falls onto my knees and I wrap my arms around my body.

I feel the bed dip at my side, and I shake my head, hating that Scott, a man I barely even know, is seeing me so weak and vulnerable.

Warm hands cup mine, but I refuse to look up.

"Hey," Scott's soft voice is barely audible over my sobs. "Mitchell, look at me." He tries to coax me, but I'm too embarrassed to look up.

I hear him sigh as his hands fall away from mine.

"I'm going to keep you safe, okay?" The softness from his voice is gone, and I take in a deep breath to control myself before glancing up.

Scott's staring down at me, eyes understanding, and not a simple glimpse of judgment in his gaze.

I swallow down the lump in my throat as I try to calm the panting mess that I am.

"Okay," I rasp out, nodding my head.

"I promise."

And I believe him.