I once again found myself in the passenger seat of the sleek muscle car that could have easily been driven by my parents in high school. Pop music continued to flow through the speakers, though this time I wasn't entirely sure who was signing. Maybe Demi? Or Tove Lo? My sister would know, but I had no clue.

With my hands folded on my lap, and knees pressing against each other, I look around the car, noticing it wasn't as pristine as I once thought it was; the dashboard was beat up, scuffs and scratches appearing in the afternoon sun. Whenever Scott's hands slide down the wheel, I noticed imprints in the leather that were probably older than Scott. And I noticed suckering in the leather on the door next to me, which looked like it was patched up years ago.

"Did you fix her up?" I decide to break the silence. At first, I welcomed the quiet, my mind still reeling as I prepared to say goodbye to the life I knew, but now, I couldn't stop thinking, and I needed something, anything, to distract me.

Scott glances at me through the side of his gaze, his head not even moving an inch.

"What makes you think I fixed her up?" There's almost an annoyed tone in his voice, though it's overshadowed by curiosity.

I point to the dashboard. "Well, it looks like there's scratches ingrained in the wood of the dashboard, not to mention the patchwork on the upholstery of the doors." I point to my door.

''Well, aren't you perceptive." He smirks at me, and I duck my head, smiling that I was right.

"Plus, this car is old. Really old." I shrug. "I can't imagine they make these at all anymore.

"Baby's not old." Scott's face scrunches as he frowns. I turn to him, confusion written in the crease between my brows.

Baby? (SPN reference anyone???)

"What?"

"What?" He asks back, now the confused one.

"Baby?" I asked with raised eyebrows. "You call your car, baby?" My mouth gapes in disbelief.

What the hell is it with straight, or presumably straight, men and their cars?

"What's wrong with naming a car?" He quickly shakes his head at me, dividing his attention between our conversation and the road.

I look at him incredulously.

Really? Is what I wanted to say to him. It sounded like he was in a relationship with his car.

Though it could be possible, I think, remembering that disturbing "My Strange Addiction" episode when a guy had exactly that.

"Nevermind." I drop the conversation. He was going to be protecting my life, I figure the least I could do was not harass him about his weird pet name for his car.

The rest of the ride to my apartment continues in silence, and I'm grateful when we finally pull up in front of the white, bricked building.

As I make your way inside, I don't miss Scott scan the area, his eyes sweeping every person who walks by, instantly reminding me just how much danger I was in.

The walk to my apartment is silent, the soles of my shoes shuffling against the marble floors the only noise around us, making me self-conscious of my stride.

I glance back, frowning as Scott's boots silently follow behind me, and I wonder how he can walk so quietly in clunky biker boots.

"What?" He catches my stare and looks down at his shoes as if he might find something there.

"I just don't understand how you can walk so quietly." I start up the steps towards the third floor with Scott at my heels.

"Years of practice." He smirks as we cross the second-floor landing and start up the last flight of stairs before arriving at the maroon door with 3E in gold letters hanging above the peephole.

I reach into my bag and pull out my keys, unlocking the deadbolt with ease and stepping into the hallway.

"Remember," Scott closes the door behind him and follows me into the living room. "Just pack what you'll need for the next day or two. We'll have a team pack up the rest tomorrow." His friendly tone—if you could even consider his past tones friendly—gone and once again replaced by FBI Agent Hoying's strictly business attitude.

"Yes, sir." I sigh and disappear into my bedroom, the weight of my situation once more returning to my shoulders as I step into my room.

Sun shines through my naked windows, the late afternoon glow basking the pictures of my friends and family that hang above my dresser.

I walk over to the collage, my eyes wandering from the pictures of me and my college roommate drunkenly celebrating New Year's Eve a few years ago, back when I had two eyebrow piercings, to my graduation day, and when I donned a blush bridesmaid's dress, my first dress I might add, for my cousin's wedding. My eyes finally settle on a photo of my family, from my last family vacation to Hawaii a few years ago (before we all got too old for family vacations).

We had been at a luau, all dressed up and each of us with leis around our necks.

I stood sandwiched between my dad and older brother, my mother and younger sister on their left. (I'm not completely sure of Mitch's siblings. I know he has a sister but not if he has a brother and I don't know their names so just go with it please!!!!! If you guys know please comment so I can make the corrections!)

My eyes suddenly tear up; M.J's wife was four months pregnant with their first kid, and I had a sinking feeling that I would be missing the birth of my first niece or nephew. And Lydia had just started med school this past fall, and I knew that even with four years of school ahead of her, there was no guarantee I'd be around to see her become Doctor Grassi. Whether because I was permanently sequestered...or dead.

I look at my mother, her smile full of wrinkles–not that she minded. "It just shows what a happy life I've lived." She always says.

And suddenly, I'm picturing that smile gone, overshadowed by a black dress and tears.

And my father, who taught me how to play basketball, and how to fish (not that I liked either). I was unabashedly daddy's little boy, and I wondered who he would take out to the lake Thanksgiving morning, just as the sun was breaking on the horizon for the last-of-the-season fishing trip. Would he even keep going if I was gone?

Tears stream down my cheeks and onto my shirt. My knees begin to shake and I quickly step back until my legs hit the edge of the bed and I collapse as sobs build in my chest but never escape, my hands cupping my mouth so I don't make a single sound.

-/::\-

Scott wanders around the smallish apartment, taking in the personal touches that decorated the rented space, from the vase of lavender on the mantle of the closed-up fireplace, to the pictures of what Scott assumed to be Prague hanging on the wall leading into the kitchen.

There was a slight clutter to the apartment; a few dog-eared books tossed on the coffee table, unwashed dishes in the sink–probably from breakfast this morning and dinner last night–a folded newspaper on the table, and shoes kicked off by the tv.

Scott looks towards Mitch's bedroom, the door closed. He glances down at his watch; he had been packing for almost twenty minutes now, and that was about ten minutes longer than Scott had wanted to be here.

Scott slowly makes his way back into the living up and picks up a photograph on one of the end tables, wanting a glimpse into the life Mitch would be leaving behind for god knows how long.

It's a picture of a family at a wedding; the bride and groom surrounded by one of their parents and Mitch and another girl in blush dresses with yellow flowers in their hands. Mitch's hair was straightened across his face and he beamed at the camera, clearly ecstatic for the couple next to him.

He looked beautiful.

Not that Mitch didn't know; it was one of the first things Scott had noticed about him that afternoon in the police station; the sharp curve of his jaw, and slope of his nose, paired with large brown eyes that had been burning with anger. Even in the disheveled and torn work clothes he had been in for almost twenty-four hours when Scott first saw him, Mitch clearly had a figure that had caught the eyes of a few officers, male and female, in the room.

Scott had no clue why Mitch was single–not that Scott knew for sure if he had a boyfriend–or girlfriend–but the whole reason Mitch was in this mess was because he had been working late, hinting to Scott that Mitch had no one to go home to. Plus, he had been alone at the hospital, and the police station. And usually Saturday trips to the farmer's market were a couples' day out, and yet Mitch had been there alone.

Sure, he were a bit of a pain in the ass, but witnessing a murder, almost being killed yourself and being put indefinitely into protective custody didn't tend to bring out the best in people.

He couldn't help but wonder what Mitch was like under normal circumstances.

And looking down at his beaming smile, his cheeks red and a moment of pure happiness in his eyes, Scott was sure he hadn't even seen a sliver of the real Mitch.

Though that pink fucking robe was pretty telling.

"Ready." Mitch's exhausted voice calls from behind, and Scott spins on his heels to face him.

He's standing in the doorway of his bedroom, two duffle bags in his hands.

Scott takes in the gloss of his eyes, and the tear stains on his shirt, and he swallows down his remark about what had taken him so long.

"I'll help with those." Scott crosses the room and reaches for the bag that was as pink as the fluffy robe Mitch had worn. He was starting to sense a theme.

Without a word, his hand brushes under Mitch's as he releases the handles into Scott's grasp.

"Thanks," Mitch whispers hoarsely, as if he can't find his own voice.

"Of course." Scott offers him his friendliest smile and Mitch returns it, tight-lipped and not nearly as close to reaching his eyes as it had been in the picture Scott had been staring at moments ago.

"Let's go."

-/::\-

The drive to the safehouse was a little over an hour outside of town, in a quiet little county where there weren't enough people around to notice a car that didn't belong, and small enough for Scott and his team to notice anyone who shouldn't be around.

Ever since the two of us had left the apartment, I hadn't said a single word, just nodding when Scott asked if I wanted the radio on, and shrugging when he checked if the station was okay.

We were almost halfway through the drive and the silence was deafening.

"So," Scott clears his throat, once again glancing towards me, as he had been the entire ride. I was slumped against my door, my head leaning on the window and bouncing with every groove in the road.

I looked like a wounded animal who had given up their fight to keep going and decided to lay down and let nature take its course.

"Do you have any siblings?" He asks innocently.

I turn my head towards Scott, pushing myself up off the door for the first time since I got in.

Scott smiles.

"Yeah." My voice is garbled and I clear my throat. "An older brother and younger sister." Scott nods, as if this is new information.

"Do they live around here?"

"Uh," I close my eyes for a moment, almost like I can't remember. "Lydia is in med school in North Carolina, and M.J lives in Texas with his wife."

"M.J?" He asks. I smile slightly, but it doesn't stay long. "Mike Grassi Junior." I say. Scott nods.

"And your parents?" Scott glances as I straighten up in my seat, my eyes finally staring out the windshield. "You said they don't live around here."

This brings a smile to my face, tight and barely passing my dimples, but enough to make my eyes wrinkle at the corners.

"They're about twelve hours away. Still live in the same house I grew up in." The smile lingers, and I turn my gaze out my window again.

"Why'd you move away?" Scott attempts to bring me back, his hand relaxing on the wheel for the first time since he got into the car. One hand falls into his lap as he relaxes back into the leather seat.

Suddenly, I laugh, breathy and dry as I shake my head, my gaze landing on Scott. And this time, Scott doesn't just glance at me, but gives me his full attention.

"I wanted something more exciting." I say dryly before returning my gaze out my window. "What a fucking joke." I sigh under my breath, slumping down into my seat.

Silence once again falls between us, causing Scott to stiffen once again in his seat.

Not even the hum of his favorite pop station could drown out the uncomfortableness that hung in the Mustang; a place where no matter how much was going wrong in Scott's life, he knew he could always find solace in the cab of his car.

"What about you?" I gravely voice asks over the riffs of Dangerous Woman. There's no interest in my voice, but I can tell that Scott appreciates that I'm trying.

"What about me?" Scott's eyes don't leave the road.

"Do you have any siblings?"

"Oh." Scott relaxes back into his seat. "A little little sister." Scott's voice raises with his eyebrows as he smiles to himself.

Scott glances my way, the confusion on my face forming a laugh in Scott's throat that he swallows down.

"My sister, Kirstie. She's four years younger than me and about a foot shorter." Scott's grin continue to shine as he thinks of the long haired kid in the cheerleading uniform.

"Jesus." I breathe out. "How short is she if she's a foot shorter than you?"

"She's five-three. The kids on her cheerleading team in high school use to call her 'Moose.' She hated it. Thought they were mocking her height, which they were, but I always said that she was perfect just the way she is." Scott shakes his head, a small laugh escaping.

"You're close?" Scott glances towards me, his smirk growing as he sees the small smile on my face, and he's happy that he could put it there.

"Yeah." Scott nods. "It was pretty much just her and me growing up." Scott lets out a deep breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"What about your parents?" I ask with pure curiosity, no mal-intent behind it, and having no idea the weight that question held.

Scott looks out the windshield in time to see the blue sign that reads GAS-NEXT EXIT.

Perfect.

Scott turns to me. "How about a pit stop?" He grins widely, not waiting for my response as he throws his blinker on and gets off the freeway, turning into the gas station and away from this conversation.