OLLIE DIDN'T LIKE TO BE DISTURBED while he worked.

He was used to Jeremy and Lizzie breathing down his neck to annoy him on purpose – that was a situation he knew how to handle. But having Finn attempt to be helpful while causing more harm than good behind the bar was going to cause him an aneurysm. Or a heart attack. Whichever came first.

Lizzie and Jeremy sat on stools on the right side of the bar. The former watched the scene unfold before her with her mouth gaping open and both her hands cradling her face, shielding her peripheral vision despite convincing herself she should look away. The latter sat on her right, wearing an evident wince on his face and twitching his shoulders whenever Ollie's lips sealed shut, irritation flaring in his eyes as he shot Finn a pointed look, who thought he was doing a great job serving customers poorly prepared drinks.

"This is worse than lunch," he pointed out in a hushed whisper.

Lizzie was quick to hum in agreement. Ollie had to stand in a corner of the living room after he had collided with Finn multiple times while he cooked, the latter following him around like a lost puppy out of boredom.

"This is worse than watching you flirt," she countered.

"Hey, hey." He whipped his head in her direction, insulted. "Excuse me, there's nothing wrong with the way I flirt."

She arched an eyebrow, flipping her right palm open so she could give him a side-eye. "Remind me what happened with that cute guy at Jarvis?"

Jeremy blinked. "I was drunk and high and you know it."

"You weren't that high." She rolled her eyes. "That joint barely had weed in it. Besides, it's a compliment, at least you're not—" She waved frantically at the scene ahead; Finn was trying to balance three cups as he cradled them between his palms while Ollie watched him with eyes popped wide open— "This."

"The bar is that low?" He squealed, putting both hands on his chest like he'd been shot with an arrow to the heart.

"You two have way better things to do than sit here and gossip," Ollie huffed. His eyes narrowed, and his cheeks flamed red.

Lizzie and Jeremy whipped their heads in his direction, blinking owlishly at him. They both awkwardly stood from their seats, coughing out low 'sorry's, and heading back to tend to the tables.

"I'm doing a shit job, aren't I?" Finn smiled sheepishly as he placed a few cups in the dishwasher.

Ollie swallowed, his gaze softening once it landed on him. "Um..." He shrugged. "Yeah."

"Will it be more helpful if I sat on the other side of the bar?"

"That would be great."

"Yup."

He didn't have to be told twice. He rounded the counter, plopping on the stool facing the blond. The latter heaved a sigh, trying to regain control of the mess created.

"I could clean up at leas—"

"No, I got it," Ollie was quick to say, wincing at the curtness in his tone. "Thanks, but really, there's... no need."

Finn rolled his lips inside his mouth, plopping his chin between his palms as he watched him work. Only a few minutes of still silence passed as Ollie alternated between preparing drinks and wiping the counter before he started to speak.

"So, how's med school going?" He said, recalling the application he'd been working on this morning.

Ollie paused, then he shrugged. "It's alright."

He cocked his head, eyes focused on the drink he was preparing. "A lot to memorize?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, passing two drinks to Lizzie, who picked them up on a tray and left. Ollie hesitated before he added, "Want anything to drink?"

Finn started to stand. "I can make it myself—"

"No."

He plopped down just as fast as he had stood. Ollie's cheeks bloomed with a tinted shade of pink. Finn tried to hold back a smile, but his lips broke into a grin beyond his control.

"I'm that bad, huh?"

Ollie's hand scratched the back of his neck, clearing his throat and shrugging lamely.

He thought it through for a moment. It was only five p.m., still early for alcohol. "I'll have a lemonade then, please."

He nodded, quick to prepare his order to distract himself. A beat passed before he asked, "What about you?"

"Hm?" Finn tipped his chin up, pulled out of his thoughts.

"Your... job?"

"Oh. It's okay."

There was a pause. Ollie forced himself to ask another question to keep the conversation flowing, fighting against his instincts to remain quiet. "What do you do?"

"I'm a developer at a software company."

He nodded. "So... you know how to hack and stuff?" Finn chuckled. Then, he offered a shrug. Ollie frowned. "That a yes then?"

"I did hack into your Wi-Fi this morning..." He tried to look guilty but failed.

Ollie blinked, his mouth falling open as he tried to remember what Finn had been working on. "I just realized we never did give you the password."

"It's alright, I managed." He waved him off with a hand.

You could've just asked, he wanted to say but rolled his eyes instead and put the lemonade before him, plopping a straw inside. Finn grinned, catching the straw between his lips. Ollie made sure not to stare, blurting a question at random.

"You were working this morning?" He asked, wondering if he was allowed to work remotely outside of Fairford.

Finn shook his head. "I'm on sick leave."

Ollie cocked an eyebrow. "Don't you need a medical certificate for that?"

He took a long sip, nodding absently. "I faked a positive covid result. I have five days of paid leave."

"But... what if you actually get covid?"

"I'll work from home and pretend it's allergies." He shrugged, and Ollie was startled by how laid back he seemed, not at all worried he might get caught. Finn offered a smile, resting his head on his knuckles. "You've never faked a sick leave before?"

"Jeremy has..." he trailed, catching sight of the man in question trying to play fetch with Otto's monkey using a worn-out stress ball. He frowned, eyes skipping to where Otto stood by the door with Nico. He hadn't been sure the latter man would show up before his shift at 9 p.m. "I don't feel comfortable with it."

Finn hummed, mouth opening to speak before he was cut off by a booming voice.

"Hey, kiddo!"

He turned, brows snapping up at the sight of the bulky man marching over to the counter. Ollie smiled, offering a small wave.

"Nico!" Lizzie skipped steps to reach him, hopping to her feet so she could plant a loud kiss on his cheek. He grinned, patting her head in endearment.

"Covering for Joe?" he asked, eyes landing on Finn briefly. He tipped his head once in greeting, and the latter smiled faintly.

"Yeah," Lizzie answered distractedly as she twisted around to serve a nearby table, plopping down drinks sharply without spilling a drop. "She has a thing."

"Everything alright?"

She shrugged, hooking the tray under her arm. "Dunno." She flipped dark locks around her shoulder as she turned back to face him. "A thing usually means, y'know—" she waved her hand dismissively, her brows pulling up sharply— "a thing."

"Ah." Nico bobbed his head as he rounded the counter, hand lightly patting Ollie's shoulder once. "I'll take over, kid. Don't you have an interview to study for?"

The blond hesitated. "It's alright, I'm just taking a break."

"Then take an actual break." He ushered him to scoot over so he could take over prepping the drinks. "Go on."

Ollie hesitated, arms dropping by his sides in slight confusion. He had planned to bartend for a few hours until dinner, and then resume his studies after. He frowned, eyes darting to Finn, whose lopsided smile awakened something dormant inside of him.

"I'm free," the man offered innocently.

Heart attack, Ollie confirmed to himself the moment he felt it swell inside his ribcage. That was coming first.

Christina got to meet the butcher's parrot on their way back.

It had been squawking something she couldn't catch, screeching it at the top of its lungs was more like it, while the butcher had hummed a song by his side, dressed in a white blood-stained apron and gloves, wielding a sharp knife and slicing down a piece of meat.

They had been peacefully walking by when Joe abruptly whistled to catch its attention. Christina had been wary of the bird since she had witnessed their interaction this morning, and her suspicions had been instantly justified when bird feces dropped on Joe's upper arm right after she had ironically exclaimed, 'Relax, he's a friendly pet!'.

Butcher Zach had barked out a loud guffaw, one hoarse and booming. It had been a short quip, and he had gone back to work with a grin on his lips, one that hadn't quite fit his ensemble.

"When this bird accidentally dies, I'll cook him as commemoration," Joe muttered to herself the moment she stepped out of the bathroom, freshly showered and ruffling her hair with a small towel. She tipped her chin up to catch Christina pacing around her bedroom, toothbrush in her mouth and hair still wet from her own shower, wearing a worn-out T-shirt she let her borrow and a towel tied around her waist. The sight of her here was somewhat odd, yet not so much. "You eat wings, right?"

The redhead chuckled. Her arm draped around her stomach as she vigorously continued her brushing. "You wow they thay iss goo' wuck," she quipped.

Joe arched an eyebrow, her lips twitching in amusement. "What?"

Christina rolled her eyes, walking over to her and pushing past her to step inside her bathroom. Joe turned to follow her with her gaze and watched her spit into the sink. The latter lifted her head to catch her eye.

"They say it's good luck," she repeated.

She leaned against the doorway and crossed her arms. "I've been in there for fifteen minutes and you're still brushing your teeth."

She scoffed, paste still coating the corners of her mouth. "I can still taste garlic!"

"I'll give you mint. Stop before you hurt 'em."

Christina frowned. "How can I hurt my teeth if I'm brushing?"

"There's something called over brushing. Kaden almost did that." She snorted as she recalled the way he was sure he would pass his dental checkup only to come back with a new toothbrush, a mouth guard, and a scowl on his face because the dentist had told him his obsessive teeth cleaning was going to lead to teeth abrasion. The mouth guard was because he ground his teeth in his sleep.

The dental jokes didn't calm down until weeks later.

"Ah... I'll have the mint then please," she said before gargling and spitting out the foam.

"Coming right up." Joe turned, marching to her drawer.

Christina finished washing herself before she stepped out and headed for the laundry room by the kitchen island, checking the time left on the dryer. Joe had already given her a shirt to borrow, one she had feared wouldn't fit because the blonde's body was much leaner than hers, but she couldn't agree to wear one of her underwear as well. So, she had washed hers with soap and had stuffed it in the dryer since Robin hadn't come back yet with a change of clothes.

"Here." Joe tossed a pack of gum in her direction, and she snatched her arm up to catch it, popping one in her mouth.

"Thanks." She was quick to chew, tilting her chin to watch the dryer and catching the reflection of their bodies warped inside the round glass door.

"Want me to start with your hair?" Joe asked, backing out of the tight space of the laundry room to stand by the doorway.

"I prefer to wait for my underwear to dry."

"Sure." She nodded, thinking she could set up the chair and mirror by the time she readied herself. "Brush it in the meantime."

"Already did."

"Do it again."

Joe ignored her frown. She had a very low tolerance for long hair and its knots. She would always get the comb stuck in Lizzie's hair despite the latter's persistence that she did brush it.

By the time Christina came back fully dressed, Joe had set up the station for her to sit. She sauntered over to it while the latter waited behind the chair, a dark cloth resting on her shoulder. She sat down and shifted to make herself comfortable, eyes on the mirror to catch Joe's reflection, whose gaze was on her hair. She swallowed in unease, needing her heartbeat to steady itself because it was beating irrationally fast.

Joe took the cloth off her shoulder and draped it around her frame from the front, clipping it from the back and pulling Christina's hair out of the cape's grip so it could cascade around her shoulders again. The blonde's fingers laced through red hair, now darker in shade because of the water slithering down the strands, and her eyes flickered to catch Christina's wide ones in the mirror, watching owlishly. Her lips twitched, fingers pinching the edge of a lock.

"I'll ask again for good measure," she began, holding her eye. "You sure you want me to do it?"

She paused, teeth nipping down her bottom lip as she thought it through. Then, she asked, "We're going to the show tonight?"

"If you want."

"I'll do your makeup, then."

Joe chortled. "You think I don't know how to put makeup?"

"Do you?" She tested.

There was a pause, then she shrugged. "Eyeliner is all I need."

"A bit of glitter wouldn't hurt."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine."

Christina didn't bother to hide her winning grin, already thinking of colors to use for eyeshadows that would suit her best. She picked green, to match the color of her eyes. But then she thought red could work; a smoky deep burgundy around her lids would pop up the forest green of her irises.

"You're looking at me like you're about to split me open for a dissection," Joe muttered as she picked up the comb.

She was quick to look away, focusing instead on the dark cloak that draped her figure. "That's a very gruesome way to put it."

They both smiled regardless, though the awkwardness was quick to seep in, one loaded with tension as Joe focused on the task at hand. She confirmed the length with Christina, then began sliding the comb down the strands, its teeth tickling the back of her neck. She visibly shivered, fidgeting anxiously with her fingers. She hadn't taken into consideration the intimacy it entailed when she had agreed to this, thinking it was going to be a simple, normal process, one she'd gone through countless times with strangers. So, why did it feel different this time?

She wanted to relieve her body of the tension that gripped her, her eyes watching Joe work. She inspected the way her eyebrows knitted in concentration, the way she was careful and slow, a sharp contrast to her usual impulsive temper. It made her shoulders relax, gradually feeling at ease.

Until she reached the front, where Joe preferred to crouch down before her, both her hands catching strands on either side of her face. Her fingers pinched over her locks, smoothing down so she could compare the length. Christina couldn't help but stare. She had seen her this close before, though Joe had been angry with her, eyes sharp and caging a flare that was currently subdued. Her features were the complete opposite now, and she had the perfect angle to inspect the vibrant hue of her irises, the delicate wrinkles on the corner of her lids, the plump shape of her pink lips.

She swallowed, another shiver racking up her spine as Joe's fingers grazed against her cheekbones while she balanced the strands. Carefully, she snipped at the edges, so they were of equal length. And then, Joe met her eye, her brows relaxing and the corner of her mouth quirking up in the softest smile she had seen on her.

Christina had the sudden impulse to reach for her cheek at that moment, to just have the pads of her fingers stroke the soft skin there. She held herself back, though Joe seemed to notice the sudden shift in the way she looked at her, gaze boring through hers intently, fingers still coiled in her hair and smile steadily losing its softness. Christina didn't move. All she could think about was how, for some reason, she wanted to stop time so she could stare at her for hours and do nothing but that. But when Joe's fingers tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her touch so gentle and feathery she almost didn't feel it, she had the absurd urge to lean down and do more than just stare.

"We're all done," Joe murmured, making no move to stand.

Christina blinked into awareness, shifting her gaze to the mirror ahead, breaking whatever invisible pull that had stretched between them.

"Right." She swallowed, nodding. "Thanks."

Joe was up on her feet in seconds. "Let me get a broom."

"I'll clean up," Christina was quick to insist, tearing the cloak off her shoulders as she felt suddenly suffocated.

Joe didn't argue, and Christina found her in Jeremy's bedroom a few minutes later after she finished swiping the hair off the floor. Her face dropped into a deadpan when she saw her rummaging through his drawers.

"I'm doing your makeup, not painting on your face," she said with a scoff.

Joe turned to shoot her a look. She held a set of palettes up with a quirked eyebrow. "This is actual makeup."

Christina's brows shot up, and she skipped a few steps to reach her quicker. She snatched one of the thin boxes from her grip and flicked it open, a gasp escaping her lips as she skimmed the various shades. "That's a lot of colors."

"Yeah, well." She shrugged, handing her the rest of the palettes. "Don't overdo it, though."

Christina grinned, the sight unsettling.

"Oh, this is perfect."

The faint rumbling of thunder reverberated around Robin as she made her way to the bridge, a rucksack of essentials resting heavily on her shoulders.

She had been at the limit of her patience after the day she had, and the rest of it vanished the moment Finn had started to spam her about buying him a new pair of underwear on her way back. She could feel her irritation bleed deep into her every vein, her leg wound a distant thrum now despite her muscles spasming every time she exerted herself.

She stopped and tipped her chin up to look at the sky, watching the dark clouds crawl atop the city and plunge it into shadows. She heaved a sigh, cocking her head to catch the light of a bar, tempted by the thought of a drink to help her face what felt like the aftermath of a long-awaited storm.

Not leaving herself any room to question her decision, she pushed her body towards the place, her forearm nudging the wooden door open. Her eyes did a quick scan of the dimly lit room, reveling in the quietness that settled among the few people idly sipping their drinks. She took quick strides to reach the counter, pulling her backpack off her shoulders. She flopped on a random stool and dropped her bag on the hardwood floor by her feet.

The bartender smiled at her, the edges of their lips wrinkling faintly. "Evening. What can I get you?"

"Scotch neat, please," she was quick to say, leaning forward on the counter and tapping her fingers impatiently over the wooden surface.

Her eyes landed on the angled mirror atop the row of bottles, catching the sight of a man sitting two stools away, a paper peeled open before him next to his empty glass and a lit cigarette pinched between his fingers. The bartender came over to take his glass away, and the man ushered absently for another one. Robin's eyes narrowed once she noticed the navy blue uniform he wore; the tactical vest with the words FAIRFORD FEDERAL POLICE taped to it, the peaked cap that shadowed his face, the black belt with the gun and baton visible.

She looked back down at the newly placed drink before her, downing half of it in one go. The liquid welled up in her throat, squeezing tight for several seconds until it soothed into a dull burn.

She fought the thoughts that shrouded her mind in a thick, hazy mist, dark and suffocating – she tried to direct her attention to anything other than the looming thought of the events of the past few days, of who she had seen this morning, of the defeat she had felt when the patient of the surgery she had shadowed died on the table. Though it wasn't the first time it happened; people died unexpectedly, it was only a fact of life no one could control – it weighed on her, nonetheless.

She ordered another drink, and then another. Seconds stretched into minutes until an hour had gone by and she had yet to move. She felt her body protest, favoring sitting in a puny stool all night than going back to a place she thought she could call home but now felt like anything but.

Her ears perked at the sound of the wooden legs creaking against the floor, and her eyes snapped back up to the mirror, catching sight of the man standing up from his seat. He stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray and pulled out his lighter, positioning it right under the tip of the piece of paper he'd been reading, gradually moving ahead as fibers turned to dust. Once nothing but ash remained, he adjusted his cap and took out his wallet to pay. Robin turned to look back at her drink, minding her business.

"Have a good one," he said after placing a crumbled bill on the counter, twisting around to leave.

She sensed the sudden shift in the air when he froze.

Her eyes snapped up to catch his reflection. He was facing her; his eyes were on her. She thought back to anything she had on her person that could catch his attention; her pocketknife securely attached inside her right boot and hidden from sight, her keys and whistle hooked around her neck and tucked inside her shirt, her heavy backpack by her feet – there wasn't much that would stand out.

A few seconds went by of still silence and irritation flared inside of her. Her chin jutted in his direction to catch his gaze.

"What?" She snapped.

He remained silent for several beats, his lips parting, and his eyes widening gradually with a spark akin to one of recognition. Her eyes narrowed. With his face now visible, she took a second to examine his features; the wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, the grey in the brown of his brows and roots of his hair. He looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place where she'd seen him before.

"Are you..." the man trailed, eyes slightly squinting. "You're that kid." Robin frowned. "I kept hauling your ass into the precinct every time you ran from foster homes. You're her, aren't you?"

She blinked, the memories flooding her brain in a brisk, thrashing wave.

"Dawson." Her tongue made out the syllables of his name subconsciously, her eyes stretching wide.

A smile curled his lips, one that was so raw and genuine that it made a lump well up in her throat.

"I always wondered what happened to you," he said, shaking his head lightly. "The hell are you doing drinking this much alone?"

She chuckled, offering a shrug. "Rough day."

He nodded, his smile loosening. "That I understand." He tipped his head to the empty glass before her, resting both his hands on the belt on either side of his waist. "Up for another one?"

Robin followed his line of vision. That could have well been her third and she had been barely aware of it.

She was quick to nod, ushering the bartender for another one. 

____

Notes:

omg i was gonna post this on Pride Month LAST YEAR. 

i've written this chapter BEFORE my writer's block. and well, current block is not really happy with it but so is anything i write atm. i don't have chapters in stock but thought why not publish the last one i have anyway since i haven't published in AGES (sorry about that, things have been hard inspiration and motivation wise..)

also make sure  you check the new maps! dk if it's still showing the old ones on the app, i hope not. we will see every location soon! i realize we still only saw only a tiny bit of it, and it's a big map, so I'm excited! 

Future updates will be sporadic and slow until i get back into it :( sorry about that! 

thanks for all your comments and votes and support! <333 i really really appreciate it, rereading comments is helping me unlock that curse T_T