CHRISTINA PATIENTLY WAITED for the coffee to be done, the whirring sound of the machine almost tuning out David's, her coworker, voice.

"...I've been working on it nonstop, and I keep reaching dead ends..." She could see his mouth moving, but she knew for sure that if she remained still and did not interact, he wouldn't notice that she was drifting, not processing any of his words.

The kitchen was empty, save for the two of them. It was still 5 p.m., which meant she had a few hours to go until she could go back home. She'd spent her entire Tuesday writing meaningless stories, attending boring meetings and socializing to give her mind a break, but ended up getting caught in the never-ending stories pitching her colleagues adored. She wanted to write about anything other than a fire breaking out in a forest, an accident by the river, a robbery in the middle of the night.

She sighed heavily, took the coffee pot, and poured the dark liquid into her large mug.

She signed up to be an investigative journalist; to write one long article about an investigation she conducted for months - not churned stories, multiple ones crammed in a day, to satisfy consumer demands. She was sticking with this job, even if it was at the largest newspaper in Fairford, only to gain experience and a salary. She was forced to work on her personal time until she reached a breakthrough. And she could see it with this case. Slowly, it was starting to unravel. There was surely more to it than met the eye. She was close. So close.

She hissed once the coffee pooled out of the edges, the hot liquid burning her fingers.

"Shit," she hissed. She'd been so lost in trance that she hadn't noticed it went over the rim.

"Uh-oh, someone's distracted," David tutted.

"Shut up, David," she fired back, pushing the handle of the sink up and putting her hand under the cold water, soothing the burn.

"What's on your mind?"

She lathered her hands with soap, wiping them with the nearest towel. "Nothing."

He tapped his chin, tilting his head. "Did you hear what I said then?"

"No," she answered distractedly, fishing out some tissues and wiping the mess she had made.

He rolled his eyes. "There is a big charity dinner this Thursday hosted by Olivia Winters."

Christina frowned. "For her mayoral campaign?"

"Most likely. Though I think she's going to pitch to investors her ideas of making the city-state great again, the usual gist."

Pursing her lips, she took large gulps of her mug to reduce its volume. "Interesting..." she commented lamely, the bittersweet taste of coffee prickling her tongue.

"Viviane Dallas is rumored to be there."

That piqued her interest. She snapped her head up to him. "Is she?"

"I heard it from Dan who heard it from Laura who heard it from John."

"And John heard it from...?"

"...around the water cooler."

"Credible."

"Actually is."

Mostly.

"Who's going to cover it?" She asked, her voice echoing slightly as she took another sip.

"Spots are still open. Suzanne hasn't decided yet."

"Interesting." She nodded absent-mindedly, thinking it through. Olivia Winters hosting a charity dinner... Viviane Dallas rumored to be there... it didn't seem like a usual boring event.

"Another word of mouth..." he began to add.

"One around the water cooler too?" Christina took another sip.

"Apparently, Arthur Harts is announcing he's running for mayor."

She choked and spat out what was left of the hot coffee on her tongue. She was a coughing mess, running for the sink and cleaning herself up.

He laughed. "Geez."

"Are you serious?" She twisted around, bewilderment etched on her features.

Arthur Harts was a businessman. He was a CEO of multiple companies, incredibly talented at making millions, even billions of bucks. His net worth alone could feed an entire continent if not the entire world. But of course, instead of putting his money to good use, he only cared about producing more of it.

He had constantly been the media's laughingstock, and the world for that matter, because he preached himself to be a self-made billionaire, completely ignoring his rich and advantageous upbringing.

"Arthur Harts wants to run for mayor?" She shook her head. "Hate to break it to you, but you've been lied to."

"They've been tipped off by an anonymous source from Olivia Winters's campaign that there's going to be something newsworthy. Take it or leave it."

Viviane Dallas and Arthur Harts ridiculing himself? She was sold.

At that moment, she acted on instinct. "Alright, thanks David." She put her mug down and rushed out of the kitchen.

It was only minutes ago that she heard about this opportunity, and already, she was determined to get it. She wasn't going to miss something as scandalous as this.

She was sure their assignment editor, Suzanne, was going to kick her out the moment she stepped into her desk if she turned up empty-handed, and that was why her first stop was at the café right across the building.

She had run up the stairs on her way back, cursing her high-heeled boots in the process as she balanced a blueberry muffin in one hand and a paper hot chocolate cup between her fingers, the marshmallows and whipped cream almost spilling out of the rim. She knew those two were her favorites, as ever since she had reached her fourth month of pregnancy, she would constantly bring them up as cravings.

"Too late," Suzanne said the moment Christina reached her desk, barely looking up from her laptop as she balanced herself on a birth ball.

"It is true, then." Her shoulders hunched. "I've got bribes. I'll take two minutes of your time, tops."

Suzanne shook her head, reaching for another muffin from a basket that sat neatly beside her, a colorful ribbon swirling the handle to create a sophisticated display. Christina looked back down at her mediocre bribe. That was anti-climactic.

"Why do you want it, anyway?" Suzanne asked, her mouth full, not breaking her concentration as her free hand navigated her keyboard skillfully. "This isn't your beat."

Christina realized she made a point. Each one of them had a coverage area - a beat - and hers certainly wasn't national politics. It was crime reporting. Suzanne and she would always catalog her stories by priorities in their editorial meetings; they would discuss how the stories should be covered, which ones would get more weight and which ones barely glossed over.

Violet's story never became a priority when she pitched it.

"Yes, I'm aware. But I'm interested in national politics and would love to be a part of the team that's going to cover it. I won't be a nuisance and I'm sure I can offer a different angle-"

"Spare me the speeches, Clark." Suzanne looked up at her in annoyance. She knew she was pushing buttons, and she loved her editor to pieces - when she was in a good mood - but she was desperate enough to put herself in the lion's den. "It's Bree you have to go to. They're the one covering it."

"Perfect." She grinned.

Without so much of an introduction, Christina placed the blueberry muffin on Bree's desk. Knowing the latter's aversion to heavy cream, she kept the hot chocolate to herself.

"I'm coming with you Thursday," she announced.

Bree arched an eyebrow, leaning back in their seat. Their hair was an untamed mess, twisted in a bun on top of their head. Their dress shirt, once white but now faded beige, was wrinkled, and the hems were rolled up the sleeves. Their glasses shined at the sight of the desert, and they took it, peeling the folds off the edges.

"You are? Is that a date?" They asked, taking a large bite, the crumbs falling on their clothes, but they didn't bother dusting them off. "That's a sad looking muffin," they commented after another bite. "Don't tell me you showed up before Suzanne in this state."

"She didn't even notice because of that basket you got for her." Christina didn't hide the bite in her tone.

"Sorry to break it to you, love. That was Dan. I was assigned this task, he had to fight for the spot."

"Little weasel," she muttered, her eyes rolling.

Bree snorted, removing their glasses. "Look who's talking." They smirked to themselves as they wiped their glasses clean with the hem of their shirt. "Why do you care anyway?" They asked as they put them back on the bridge of their nose. "You never cover politics."

"It's for a story I'm working on. I might have a lead."

Bree arched an eyebrow. "A little thing on the side? Does Suzanne know?"

"She doesn't have to, as long as I'm doing my job." Christina offered a tight smile, and Bree laughed lightly.

"Alright, sharky. If you bring me a date, I might just give you a ride too."

"Will Robin do?"

She knew for sure that Robin would do.

"Robin?" Bree snorted. "At a social event?"

Bree had met Robin once. It was the briefest encounter they had ever gone through, a simple exchange of 'hi's and that was all.

"I just have to think of a really good bribe." She pursed her lips thoughtfully, taking a sip of the hot chocolate, the sweet taste exploding in her mouth and warming her throat.

"Looks like your area of expertise."

She ignored the comment, her sharp nails drumming against the paper cut. She was definitely bringing Robin to this if Viviane Dallas was supposed to be there. She'd introduce her as Dr. Jenkins's daughter, maybe Viviane Dallas would want to follow up on the case of November fifth, and maybe that would be Christina's opening...

"I thought you two were together or something." Bree tapped their chin thoughtfully. "Though, you don't strike me as queer."

She arched an eyebrow. Robin was fluid with her sexuality; she'd been with people irrespective of their gender but had never been tied down to a relationship. Christina, however, was straight but had only ever been in long-term relationships that ended in her losing interest or prioritizing her job.

"You shouldn't assume people's sexualities." She offered a tight smile, to which they chuckled in return. "Have you learned nothing from Callum's weekly seminars during pride month?"

Bree hummed. "You shouldn't get testy with me when you need a favor."

"I bring Robin with me, and you get us in?"

"Sure. I might just clean up for the occasion, then."

Christina wanted to laugh. The deal only required Robin to show up. She wasn't sure if the two would get along, but it didn't matter as long as she was getting in.

"You paged?" Robin stood before Paul, hands resting on her waist as she stared down at him.

Paul looked up, eyes shining the moment he caught sight of her. Robin scrunched her nose. She knew that expression, and it never boded well for her when he wore it.

"Help me, I need help," he whined, deflating in his seat and dropping his head on the table.

"It better be important. I was in the middle of surgery."

Paul scoffed. "I'm sure holding a patient's foot while the attending did the surgery was a very pressing matter to you."

Robin rolled her eyes. It only happened once, which wasn't the most embarrassing thing to happen to an intern really, but Paul found it so amusing that she went through the 'humiliation' that he would bring it up as much as he could. But it wasn't humiliating to her. It only reminded her that she was close to getting hands-on practice in the OR, without the attending breathing down her neck at every second.

Seeing it was Paul who had paged didn't really matter. He paged her often, and mostly because of things that are not at all important. She stopped answering all his pages once for an entire week but was forced to cooperate after he snitched to the chief of medicine - who did tell him he couldn't give a rat's ass, but she'd rather avoid future inconveniences such as these that made her feel like she was in Law and Order.

On the times he did page her for something important, it would generally be about consultation. It was only normal for their opinion to clash; Paul was medical, and she was surgical, and he took it personally when she would be right. He used to be cocky about it before, hanging a plastic board in the changing room where he kept score. He removed it with his head bowed in shame when the odds didn't play in his favor.

She could tell from the look on his face that it wasn't important, but she was forced to cooperate to avoid another incident with the chief - or worse, her attending physician. He adored giving lectures that included a bunch of insults and high notes. One time, he had her work harder on rotations so she had to skip lunch.

Lunch at the cafeteria for her was sacred, otherwise, she'd have to pay for a decent meal, and that shouldn't be the case - not until she could make a decent salary to afford something other than that and canned food.

All these consequences because Paul was being a whiny dick.

"I have this patient." He straightened. Robin's eyebrows shot up at the possibility that she had misread this situation.

"And?"

"Hot piece of ass, I gotta say."

Ah. Apparently not.

"If this isn't about diarrhea or hemorrhoids, then why are you discussing it with me?"

"Don't be so tactical all the time, humor me a little, this is a genuine crisis."

She wiped her face, her impatience brimming the surface. "We're in a hospital." She lazily waved around. "Walk a few steps, I'm sure you'll find worse."

"Anyway, hot piece of ass. Dark and brooding, prolly into some BDSM, you know the type."

Her expression remained uninterested. "Yeah?"

"Patricia's had her suspicions as well. He gives me more Dom vibes. Anyway, he was totally hitting on me, I am sure of it. He was trying to be a little sneaky, but I caught it." He tipped his chin, smile curving with pride. "But unfortunately, with all my sexual expertise-" he put his hand on his chest for dramatic effect- "I've never tried BDSM, you see?"

Robin wondered why she still stood before him. She could leave and he wouldn't notice until after he finished telling the story.

"So, I've been thinking of possible ways to learn more about it since I'm not sure I'm comfortable being a bottom-and for God's sake I just noticed that cut on your forehead." His eyebrows shot up. "Wednesday Adams for Halloween didn't bode well for you I take it?"

She preferred when he had the spotlight for himself. "You were saying," she redirected, "you being a shit bottom." She still had no idea how she factored into this. But then again, she almost never did in the topics he brought up, which was a relief.

"Ah yes. So anyway, I thought well, why not ask the people I know, and you know who was the first on my list?"

"HR?"

"You." He knocked on the table once, eyes gleaming as if this was supposed to be some 'aha!' moment. Robin could only stare back with disinterest. She looked down at her digital watch. Her break was ending soon. Paul jerked his chin to her, wiggling his eyebrows once with a knowing smile spread on his lips. "Sub?"

She arched an eyebrow, the corners of her lips curling up faintly beyond her control. "I'm leaving now."

"At least give me your resources."

"Google." She turned around, already on her way out.

"Someone recommended Fifty Shades!" He yelled after her. She didn't answer, as she didn't know what that was.

"I am going to write your opinion in my report!" He added.

"If you dare write down 'discussed with surgery' I am ripping your finger," she yelled behind her shoulder.

"Which finger?"

She merely chuckled. Now that she had some time on her hands, she was going to make a detour to the coroner's office. She had seen Andrew Hayes around the hospital, which meant he wasn't there. It didn't mean he left it unattended, but his absence would make it easier for her.

She dragged herself out the double doors of the hospital, looking to her right to find the coroner's office across the street. It was particularly windy this afternoon and seeing as her body was exhausted, it was vulnerable to the harsh temperature.

She didn't get a wink of sleep last night. Rare were the times she would lose her composure as she had, and what frustrated her more to the point of dread was that she knew she was in full control of her emotion, that she didn't unleash on a whim. She was fully aware, and she chose to go with it.

A pulsing headache threatened her skull. Flashbacks had haunted her all night long. Her brain hadn't spared her for a second; showing her the body again, showing her the blood and the gleam of the knife and the darkness that held her for years, showing her the warm blue eyes, teary and desperate.

When Robin stepped inside the office, it was empty, save for the clerk sitting on the large curvy desk in the middle of the room, a plastic barrier installed around them.

"Morning," Robin greeted the moment she reached the desk.

"Morning," the man greeted back through the intercom, eyes not leaving the screen of his computer.

She caught the large drawers stacked behind him with papers sticking out as if arranged in a clustered mess. She also caught cameras around every corner of the walls. There was no possible way for her to sneak in and search for Violet's autopsy report. She blamed her lack of knowledge about where they were stored. She found very little information about it on the internet and couldn't ask a person about the whereabouts of the reports randomly without an explanation following it.

She wasn't going to risk getting reported for this. She'd rather not have the report at all than find herself in trouble at the hospital.

"Is it possible to request an autopsy report?" She asked. It was worth a shot.

The person behind the desk merely nodded but continued to type into the keyboard for what felt like an eternity to Robin, who stood patiently waiting before him. Once he was done, he retrieved a piece of paper from a stack on his left and pushed it through the rectangular hole between them.

"Fill out this form."

Robin peered down at it, scanning it carefully.

Under Fairford Statute, autopsy reports are public record, once signed by the medical examiner and the case is no longer under active investigation by law enforcement or the state attorney's office. Individuals requesting reports are asked to provide the following information, to process the request in a timely manner.

She blinked, eyebrows lifting in slight surprise over how easy the process was. The form didn't ask for much: name of deceased, date of death, requestor's name, address, phone number, relationship to decedent (optional), and method of delivery of the report. She fished out her pen from her pocket, one with her initials on them, eager to fill it.

A section caught her eye.

FOR MEDICAL EXAMINER OFFICE USE

If she understood correctly, this form should be approved by the medical examiner.

The medical examiner was-

"Doctor Hayes."

Robin's entire body turned rigid at the mention of the name, and she found herself frozen, rooted to the spot. She looked up at the man behind the glass, who was now smiling, and her eyes focused on the reflection, where Andrew Hayes stood behind her.

"Morning, Ralf. How are you?"

Andrew Hayes stood in the line beside her, and she stepped aside instinctively to let him pass. Her eyes flickered up for the briefest moment-meeting his. He looked back at her, his eyes a cold hue of dark blue, despite the gentle curl of his lips. It was the first time she came this close to him, and yet it felt like she had seen those eyes, in color and in shape, before - ones that were identical, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Doctor Jenkins," he greeted smoothly.

She was taken off guard by his acknowledgment. She tightened her hold on her pen and schooled her face into the usual impassive expression she wore like a second skin.

"Doctor Hayes."

"Is your internship coming along?"

She wanted to question how he knew that she was on her first-year residency. But it might be natural - she was in the same year as his daughter; she had been one of the people who found the body.

"Good enough, thank you."

He merely smiled, body about to twist around to go about his business. But he stopped, eyes catching the form. Robin looked back down, blood going cold when she noticed how visible the title was.

AUTOPSY REPORT REQUEST FORM

She swallowed.

A faint beacon of hope inside of her thought he might let it go.

"You need an autopsy report?"

She was silent for a moment, before she nodded, almost defeatedly. "I do."

He paused, the dots in his brain not connecting. She could see his confusion, as clear as day, and if he asked her about it, she wouldn't be capable of coming up with a lie.

"What do you need an autopsy report for?" He questioned with genuine curiosity.

She could understand his line of questioning. She was a surgical resident, not at all concerned with pathology.

Robin stared at him. She contemplated not answering - maybe then he'd let it go. But he didn't look away, waiting patiently for an answer.

She waited, almost for a divine intervention despite her not believing in one at all. And it never came. She was at her wits' end, and instead of facing up to it, she put the pen back down.

"I just remembered I have a surgery I need to prep for," she brought up, so out of the blue that his brows pulled together in a frown. "Have a nice day." She forced a smile, turning on her heels and leaving.

It was only when she reached the hospital's double doors again that she realized she hadn't filled out the form.

She had been so close.

She rubbed her forehead. Maybe the better alternative would've been to distract him and fill it as she talked. Christina would've excelled at this task.

She'd have to try again.

"Fuck."

Finn barely woke up on time for his daily meeting at 10 a.m. this morning.

Ten hours were considered enough sleep, but after yesterday's exhaustion, it was safe to say he felt like his head suffered a hit with a ton of brick.

He had already finished his tasks for the next sprint scheduled for tomorrow, and all the tickets assigned to him were done ahead of time. It only meant he had a few hours to kill until he could officially log out and become unresponsive to anyone who would try to contact him on Teams.

His mind wandered back to something he'd been doing since this morning in parallel. His eyes skipped to his personal laptop, on the coffee table, still open.

He pushed himself off the desk chair, walking over to sit back on the couch.

There was something about the permit that had sparked his interest. The fact that Christina was able to ask for one so easily, and that Violet could've probably done the same thing, meant it was easily attainable once a reason was established. But what reason would Violet have?

To that, he wondered if the City Hall's system was secure enough...

And it wasn't.

He was able to hack into it easily, with not much effort. After an hour, he found himself able to query anything in their database.

He had been bombarded with meetings about sprint preparations and code reviews, which forced him to postpone his search for when he was free. And now that he was, he placed the laptop back on his lap and typed into the query tool.

He typed in his SELECT statement, querying Violet's permit according to her first name and last name.

No results found.

He frowned.

Had he typed her name wrong?

He tried different variations of his query, looking at the different tables to check if she existed in the database in the first place.

She did.

He copied the foreign key related to her record, using this one to find any permits associated with her.

None.

"What..." he straightened in his seat. This was odd.

He queried permits related to his name. Sure enough, yesterday's permit was found: volunteering permit, single entry, requested on 31/10, and two of his documents associated with it.

"Ah..." he mumbled to himself. Those should be his passport and the proof of his purpose of visit.

Out of pure hunch, he queried Christina and Robin's permits. Sure enough, they were there too, Robin had an additional one and Christina had multiple other ones requested before. He didn't snoop further, only checking the most recent one.

They were the same ones as his, except Robin had three documents associated with her permit.

"Weird." He wondered if he could open it, and when he tried, he was denied access due to his lack of rights to access the documents in detail. He pressed his lips in a thin line. He could try and get rights-

His work laptop pinged. He shot his head up, putting his laptop back on the coffee table.

He'd look into it when he was done.

_________

Notes:

Oookay so! What do you think is going to happen at the charity event?? Do you like Bree? Andrew Hayes? What do you think about the results of Finn's snooping??

Drop your theories!

I have to say, this chapter took so much energy to write because of the research I had to do. I struggled the least with Finn here because I'm a developer, so I know what he does. But with Chris and Robin??? TORTURE. I cannot believe the hours of crammed research I did because I needed to write one line. Just one. AND I give so much credit to Reddit, my best friend in research I gotta say.

Also, make sure to check the Moodboards I posted right after the Preface! let me know what you think of them :)

merci merci

Jana