Robbery of the Heart (MrBurke x Risi)

MrBurke:
“You ready for this?”

“... Fuckin' better be.”

Sam and Eric scrutinized each other as best they could through the slitted eyeholes of their goalie masks, their eye contact extended as though either one could determine the other's mental state through so simple a look, or somehow reinforce one another at a glance.

In a weird way, they did both of those things within miliseconds.

The four men in this van had been through quite a bit together. Brothers all, if not through birth then deemed so by way of a rusty tin clan they'd happened across while smoking weed in their schoolyard one night somewhere in the middle of eighth grade. The barbarous treatment the men here received in their experience within the social care network of this filthy city had hardened and bonded them beyond anything simple blood possibly could have, genetic or otherwise. You don't bring a friend or acquaintance or relative or drinking buddy to a bank robbery. You bring somebody attached to you, helplessly and hopelessly dedicated, for good or ill.

The spring-loaded mechanism on somebody's assault rifle snapped hope and brought a huge round into the chamber. The car slowed to a stop.

“Wake up back there.” Charlie turned his head from the passenger's seat and surveyed the two who seemed to have lost themselves in each other's tension. “Don't you know it's payday?”

They could tell from the wrinkles around his eyes he was smiling.

All four men left the black plumber's van, “Teddy's Pipes” seeming to leap into existence from absolutely no-where, completely innocuous until four men in red-and-black plaid jackets, coveralls, black steel toed boots and white hockey masks exited from all sides. The doorman/security guard's eyes lit up when, after the third blink, he realized what his brain was telling him was actually underway. Today was the day he'd been fearing since the day he took this job.

“Ah!” Said Sam, barking in noncompliance and shaking his head at the hand fumbling around the guard's side. Eric slapped the offending palm away and yanked the revolver out of its holster, Charlie's gun barrel pushing suggestively into the man's chest, backing him into the motion-sensing door with it.

The door swished open, and the frightened man stumbled to his knees in effort to keep balance.

“Listen up! EVERBODY DOWN!” Called out Eric, prepared to rattle off the speech he'd been up until two o'clock and woke up this morning practicing. “We want your money, not your lives! No police means no hostages. I want everybody's cellphones here – RIGHT HERE!” He held a charity donation bucket up in the air, passing it off to Eric, who prepared to make the rounds. “I want everyone to take off your shoes – that's right, take off your shoes, throw them over in this corner here. Right over there, that's right. You're going to throw your wallets against this wall. Wallets, purses, watched, jewelry – I swear to God if I see one Timex you're all gonna get it.”

Robert, the driver, had strafed the mayhem and made it behind the teller's desk, his rifle parallel with the ground, quietly surveying the small crowd. He was tall, well over six feet, perhaps a touch shorter than six five. His build said gym, even in accounting for a bulletproof vest, and his eyes were steady. “You.” He pointed to a balding man in a grey suit complete with matching vest and blue silk handkerchief, the same tone as his tie, just a bit off from his shirt. “You look rich. You the manager?”

“Wh-bwa.... Yes, yes I am.” He nodded, pushing his thick-rimmed brown glasses back up his nose. The man was already sweating profusely.

“You know what I want, right?” Robert said, rapping the back of his knuckles against the thick steel door directly to his left.

There was a moment's hesitation. “Well... You don't understand – I can't open that, the general manager isn't here, and he's got the-”

“You're not Albert Whelpington?” Robert cut him off tiredly.

That gave the man pause, but he didn't drop the guise. “No, you see, he's vacationing in-”

“That's weird.” Robert replied. “Because you look just like the guy in the pictures we took.”

The two men regarded each other in silence for a moment.

There was a woman crouched on the floor who, until that second, had fancied herself invisible to the towering robber. Robert reached down and, through his black leather glove, gripped a sturdy handful of hair and stood, bringing her effortlessly to her feet in agony.

Robert was silent.

“I'll get the code ready.” Albert hastily agreed, rushing the door and fumbling at a card in his breast pocket.

Risi:
Calm, just stay calm, Tara told herself as she watched the men walk in. Surveying the situation, she watched as one of the tellers pressed the silent alarm just seconds before the robber said his line about "No cops". Internally smacking herself in the head as she watched on, now on her knees, throwing her personal items into corners of the bank.

Her boss, Albert, toppled next to her in an ungraceful crash to the floor. Tara rolled her eyes, he couldn't even get on the ground properly, let alone manage anything. But soon, he was yanked from the floor and questioned. Her hair fell in front of her eyes, which is why she didn't see the next thing coming.

Being yanked by her hair, to her feet, she let out a whelp of pain. She attempted to quickly maneuver herself to her heels, but it was painful as she did it. Albert fumbled, yet again, with the code as Tara could hear the soft wailing of sirens approaching the bank. Please, please take him, she thought of Albert, because she knew she had no family that would pay a ransom if it came to that, but neither did he, now that she thought of it.

Closing her eyes, she hoped she would soon wake from this nightmare as the robbers quickly, silently, consulted one-another.

MrBurke:
“Worst case – worst case!” Called out Eric, closest to the door, but the rest of his team already knew. The four men exchanged looks from their respective ends of the bank floor.

They had a decision to make. Leave now, or make a play for the money.

The sirens grew closer as the last mechanical lock on the vault door released, and the thick metal slid open with a gust of air, the air conditioned bank atmosphere sucked in to freshen the hotter, unventilated stale safe.

Charlie looked on from the edge of the teller's counter, opposite Robert's site. The three appeared to be looking to him.

“I need this.” Charlie nearly whispered it, but everybody present was listening so closely he might as well have yelled.

Robert nodded. Charlie hopped the barricade.

Eric turned to face the crowd. “Somebody in here wants to die, huh?” His face turned red hot under the mask. He was furious, and afraid, and needed a victim. “Somebody's got a fuckin' death wish. Who was it?” Whirling in place, he spied the thing he'd been trained to look for, the red-flashing culprit fashioned to the baseboard of a wall. There were three people crouched near it, and only one refused to look up.

“This fuckin' guy.” He pointed, and Sam rushed in to haul the man to his feet. The sirens stopped as police cars collected outside the bank's entrance, and the butt of a rifle left a red mark where the corner of Eric's rifle butt came down on his head. Someone screamed, and the man's bones seemed to wilt.

Sam withdrew a gas grenade from his belt, and waited. Sure enough, within seconds, a policemen's voice carried through a megaphone: “You inside! Come out with your hands up. We've got the building surrounded. You have nothing to gain here. It's too late.”

The two boys out on the bank floor exchanged a look, and pulled the pin on the gas grenade, letting it clatter to the ground. Slowly the room began filling with smoke.

Meanwhile, as Charlie ransacked the vault from the inside, he motioned to the girl in Robert's grasp. “We're taking her.”

“What?” Robert blinked. “Is there even room?”

“We're taking her, because if this fails we've got nothing.” Charlie ripped open bags of money and rifled through them, making a small pile of hundred dollar bill stacks and an ever growing second pile of twenties, tens and fives.

“It was your plan.” Robert balked. Leave with the woman?

“Yeah. I made the plan. Thanks for coming up with our backup.” Charlie finished sorting his bag and moved on to another.

“This is a whole new set of problems. What are we gonna do with her once we're out?” Robert shook his head.

Charlie looked for the woman's eyes, and though he couldn't see it, Robert could damn near hear the man's smile. “We'll think of something.”

Risi:
Tara simply cried out as the man made the decision. "No, please, no!" she screamed as the other man pulled her along, almost unwillingly it seemed. The grouped filed out the back door, pulling her into a damp, dark van.

Suddenly, there was a piece of cloth over her eyes and her arms were bound as the truck took off in a cloud of smoke with loud grinding gears. Tara whimpered her pleas, her eyes now crying under the blindfold. "Please," she cries, not knowing what happened to the mighty police, or even if they knew she was missing. They probably didn't, not yet anyways.

Feeling a hand brush against her pale leg, she cringed, then heard a chuckle. Her tears then fell below the cloth across her eyes. "Please," she whimpers, "Leave me alone. Let me go."

MrBurke:
“Little late.” Robert replied, slapping away Charlie's hand as Sam brought the careening van down a small network of intersecting alleyways, ramming a small cluster of plastic garbage cans and bags behind a restaurant's back door.

Charlie giggled in his seat, putting an arm around Tara's shoulder, squeezing her close to him jokingly. “You know we're gonna kill you, right?” He snickered, reaching over her blouse to cup her right breast. Robert caught his hand before it got there and tossed it away.

Robert's right arm slid underneath Tara's knees, his left digging a path across her back, hoisting her easily into his lap and cradling her small body against his front. He could feel her alarm at her repositioning, but he did his best to quell her.

“Hey – hey – he's lying. You're safe. I know, I know. You're safe. It's alright. We're going to find someplace to drop you off. You're okay. It's going to be okay.” He swept a tear from her left cheek with his gloved right thumb, drawing her closer with his left arm.

“I bet she feels real safe in your lap.” Charlie joked, his eyes drifting over her hair and figure, scorn obvious in his voice from being punished so.

Risi:
Tara shook gently as the touchy man put his arm around her shoulder, violating her. Then, she folded inward as the first man set her in his lap, her tears still pooling, now more so as the threat to kill her has rose from the man's mouth.

Shrinking away from the first man's touch, she sniffled, tears slowing at the kind touch, but it was still unwanted. "Please let me go," she whispered to him as he cradled her body. Her hair was stuck to every part of her nervously sweaty body and she absent mindedly attempted to push it off of her, wondering what would happen to her next.

MrBurke:
“Jesus...” Robert made a slightly disgusted grunt at her sweating and pouring tears, shaking his head and raising his hands away from her. “Fucking Christ. Why did we have to take this one, man?” Robert's eyes squinted under the mask, looking her up and down, knowing that these moments would be imprinted on her for the rest of her life. Everything he did would be etched into her memory, cause trauma, bring about neuroses... He felt uneasy for his part in her undeserved punishment.

“You'd rather have the bank manager in your lap?” Charlie asked, motioning with his hand to have her back. “C'mon, man.” Both arms extended, now, he reached for her.

Robert felt torn. Typically he was the cool headed one, the first to make the hard decisions, the man his crew looked to first and foremost for advice and direction. Here, he felt lost. Give her back to Charlie? Leave her in his lap, after she'd asked to be released? Sometimes there is no right answer.

“I don't like him touchin' on you like that.” Robert grumbled, shifting his knees under her, rocking Tara's small body with the motion and causing her to bump against his chest. “He's just going to do it more.” Taking a small, defeated breath, he continued. “You stay. Get comfortable. We're taking you out to the water.”

“Nah. She'd be happier over here with me.” Charlie just wouldn't let up, moving closer. “Hey – hey, what's your name. Hm? What's your name, girl? If you lie to me... Well, you can just imagine what I'm gonna let the boys do.” He laughed, tugging on a small lock of hair. “Where do you live, honey?

Risi:
Tara pulled her head to the man's chest, shivering slightly in the cool air now blasting in the van, attempting to relax with his soft words. As the touchy-man began to call for her, she felt the pause in his touch.

She held her breath as the pause continued, but as he held to her she finally exhaled. The tug on her hair reminded her that the man could still bother her, but she hoped the man holding her now wouldn't let him.

Once again threatened, she spit her name out quickly, "Tara, I live on the other side of the city. Well, the side opposite the bank." She shivered, and attempted to pull away from his prying hands and questions, ending up closer to her protector

MrBurke:
"No, no: what's your address, you stupid bitch?" Charlie demanded, swatting the back of her head. "I want to know so we can find you if you squeal."

Robert's hand reflexively cupped the back of her skull where he'd hit her, and in doing so brought her face more firmly into his chest, angling her small body further into his. Speaking softly, he did his best to keep the emotion out of his voice.

"We need to know." He reaffirmed, his right hand heavy on her left thigh, tugging her into him protectively.

"And you just know what it's gonna be like if I gotta come down there. You got any nieces? Sisters? Are they as pretty as you, sweetie?"

"We're just going to look you up later. Tell him." Robert continued, stroking her outer thigh with short, inoffensive movements in what he hoped was a semi-comforting gesture.

"Almost there." Eric said from the front seat, angry at Charlie, and at the same time jealous of the power he was exerting over this young woman.

Risi:
Tara cringed once again with the smack to the head, then shaking her head at herself and her stupity. Though, she appreciated the protective nature of the touch that followed. "486 Cinter Way, Underbridge," she sputtered out quickly for him. "And no, I don't have any sisters or nieces," she added quickly to please as the driver told them they were close to where ever they were headed.

Pulling herself in closer to her protector, Tara whimpered with the added information, worried once again. Though her tears and perspiration had faded, her fears had not. "Please," she said under her breath to him, hoping that it would aid in keeping her life.

She then gave an additional shiver in his arms as the van came to a halt and she heard the gears grind into park.

MrBurke:
"You did good." Robert assured her, stroking her mussed hair gently, further ruining the already destroyed hairstyle she'd likely labored over that morning. Sliding the door open, he hooked his arms under her once again and lowered her shoeless feet to the rocky edge of a beach. The smell of the harbor was strong, and the sandy banks below sloshed lazily with the sound of crashing water.

"Walk in a straight line until you feel the water." Robert said, hands on her hips, steadying her until he felt confident she wouldn't fall down. "If there's anything you think you saw, you didn't see it. Remember that. We didn't talk in the van, you didn't say anything, we didn't ask anything. You don't remember." Reluctantly, he released her. "If we get word that you're cooperating with the police, we will kill you."

Charlie leaned out of the van: "Not before we take what's ours." Cracking a hand across her ass, he fell back into his seat laughing, high on the rush of threatening this young woman, evading police and earning himself a tidy thirty thousand dollar payday.

Robert breathed through his nose. "Keep your mouth shut and you'll be fine. You can do this. Just walk in a straight line."

Risi:
Tara took deep breaths, breathing in the smell of the salt in the air, hoping with all of her that it was real. That if she did as he said, she would reach the water, and not fall off a cliff. He protected her in the van, but would he let her die if they'd already left?

She got down to her knees, crawling along the beach to her hopeful safety. The rocks poked into her knees and bare hands. The sand beneath her grew wetter, then she suddenly felt the water lap against her fingers. It scared her at first, but then she wrenched up the blindfold and sat in the sand. She knew where she was, but that was all she really knew.

Sitting in the sand, she looked down at herself. Sad, pitiful, shaking, Tara pulled her legs up to her chest and cried in the harbor. After an hour of sitting alone, she finally rose and headed to her home.

A few weeks later, she rubbed her feet as she sat on her balcony. The bruises and cuts were still healing on her heals from the walk home from hell.

MrBurke:
Robert, a block down the street, watched back.

He had binoculars wrapped in a newspaper, and every so often he'd raise the makeshift disguise to his eyes, but he could see her figure plainly enough from where he was. If she left, he'd know, but something about the look on her face made him check back often. He could see the red lines and welts he'd helped create. To go back, would he do it all again?

Every individual decision made sense, in retrospect, but the outcome... He didn't know. Dressed in blue jeans, a brown horizontally striped polo shirt, green aviator sunglasses and a pair of Nike runners he looked like anyone else on the street. His watch, a white gold Rolex, read one twenty three. It was his only piece of jewelry, everything on him clean and pressed as though he'd bought it that day.

What was she thinking? Robert knew it was a ridiculous thing to wonder, but he couldn't help imagining her reliving their brief time together. No doubt she'd had nightmares about him. Feared him. Winced with disgust when picturing his mask, hearing his voice... The idea make him feel dirty. He sipped a bottle of iced tea and stretched on the bus stop bench, waving by yet enough driver who held their door open expectantly, waiting for him to enter.

Risi:
As she caressed her feet gently, a tear fell slowly down her cheek. Hating herself for crying again, she wiped it away. "God dammit," she said angrily and rose to her feet, wincing slightly as she took each step.

Hobbling back into her apartment, Tara found more tears falling, this time from pain. Though the pain she slipped on her favorite pair of converse, broken in over a number of years. She then grabbed a maroon zip-up jacket and pulled it over her arms gingerly. Hugging herself lightly she took a deep breath and grabbed her keys and purse. No matter how much she wanted to sit at home and cry, she needed to go to the grocery store and run some errands.

As she walked out onto the street, she looked down to the ground and pushed her straight blonde hair out of her eyes. Each step wore on her soul, reminding her of the walk before. Another tear, another curse under her breath, but she walked on.

MrBurke:
"Fuck..." He muttered when she crossed the street, unfolding the newspaper and leaving the binoculars in his lap. She rounded the street corner opposite his seat, and he folded the top left corner down to watch her pass.

He looked to his right, finding a man in a business suit eying him suspiciously. Robert gave him a tight smile, holding up the binoculars. "No good birds this time of day."

The man furrowed his eyebrows, looking increasingly concerned. Robert stood up and revealed his height, his size, his demeanor, and the stranger's expression changed.

"Have a nice day." Robert nodded, his eyes serious. The man looked away.

Robert continued down the street at a leisurely pace, having to check his speed, long legs carrying him faster than was advantageous at that particular moment. He noticed something in her walk, evidence of the cuts, a sort of limp that carried on both feet instead of just one. Something tugged at his insides...

For a few weeks he'd been sitting on her apartment - there had been a lot of traffic, mostly concerned looking people who later via license plates revealed themselves to be co-workers and concerned relatives. No cops. She'd been having food delivered, people were bringing her necessities... Lately she'd been getting back on her feet. It was good to see, really. He'd never suspected he and his brothers had caused her permanent harm, but after several days it had certainly begun to feel that way.

It was difficult to imagine... Here she was, a square girl, a banker no less... Never been in a fight, never held a gun, never took a vacation... Then suddenly she's shaking in some killer's lap with Goddamn Charlie smacking her ass and pulling her hair, talking about rape and murder... Generally speaking the kind of people Robert associated with didn't bother much with civilians. That's what they called them. Civilians. Unaffiliated people.

If you did what he did, if you were from where he was from, you were part of a different world. People like her just didn't come t across them unless they were doing something they shouldn't be. For something like that to happen to him, or his boys... they'd signed up for the life at an early age. Her? The was far and away the most traumatic thing she'd probably ever go through. “Better chance'a getting hit by fuckin' lightning...” He whispered to himself, watching her thin figure saunter down the sidewalk.

She was beautiful.

As marks go, he could have done a lot worse. Watching her was something he'd gotten used to, even looked forward to. He'd begun taking note of little things... how and when she fussed over her hair, the way she pursed her lips when she thought, the expression she made when she cried...

He had trouble admitting it to himself, but he found her most striking, most undeniably beautiful when she cried. That was when he used the binoculars the most... She spent so much time mustering strength, being strong... But when she cried... It all fell away, and she was naked, right there in front of him. He saw so much strength, and pain, and sorrow... Every time she wept he felt a little closer, a little more remorse.

Then, immediately after, felt pangs of guilt, and worried about the creepy nature inherent to spying on a woman during such an intimate emotional thrall.

Those things came back to him now, watching her behind sway down the street through his sunglasses, unable to keep his eyes from her hips for long. Why not? He might as well enjoy his task... It felt like free money, when the kiddy got divvied up, but as far as the actual work involved he might as well apply for a job at one of these banks instead of robbing them.

Risi:
The automatic doors slid open as Tara walked into the grocery store, though as she entered she was almost trampled by a woman and her cart. Tara simply moved out of the way without a word, where before the event she would have called the rude woman out, asking what her problem was.

Pulling a basket to carry her things was a personal challenge for her. She knew if she got a cart she would lean on it, but she wanted to be strong instead. As her basket began to fill up, she found this was a bad idea as it added weight to her feet, making them hurt more. Letting out a sigh as she entered the cereal aisle, the basket dropped from her hands and she had to lean against the rows of boxes for support. "Really?" she questioned herself out loud, disgusted with her weakness now. "Fuck you feet," she said under her breath.

Pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders she mustered up the strength to pick up her basket, grab a box of Captin Crunch to add to her basket, and hobble down the rest of the isle. She had to stop a few times, but she never dropped the basket again.

Almost proud, she neared the checkout line then saw that it was eight people long. This would take at least twenty minutes. Tara shook her head sadly and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the frozen foods section. "Fuck," she added as she turned, putting her back against the door, and slid down to the floor. She held her face in her hands and cried.

Tara wasn't sure what she was crying for anymore. The pain, a little bit, the touching in her abduction, not at all, not having a job because she refused to return to the bank, no. What am I crying for? she thought as she began to pull herself again, embarrassed at the loss of control in public. Looking back at the line around the corner, she winced. It had gotten longer. Do I really need this stuff? she began to question herself, Yes. Rising once again to her feet, she mentally cut running errands from her list, those could wait. She limped to the line and stood, attempting to hid the pain in her face by looking at the magazine rack absently.

MrBurke:
“Good God...” Something in him made his body lurch when she dropped her basket, holding himself back. There was a part of him he'd come to know well, it was just above his stomach, a few inches below his heart, and when he needed to do something hideous Robert had learned to cool it, make it stiff, push it down before it had a chance to react. He knew in advance before these things happened – people didn't typically seek him out for violent purposes, and when they did, he was the victim. When he knew someone was about to be victimized, he prepared himself. This? Watching her stumble and fall apart, cry in public... There was no preparing for it. It wasn't something he was doing to her.

It was something he'd already done.

Robert was aware that the things he did... They didn't go away, not for a long time. That was the idea – you hurt a man, humiliate him, destroy his confidence. You make an example, so that the next time you want something you don't need to ask twice. But once he'd done these things, he left, and his absence only intensified the mystique around himself and his gang. It's easier to intimidate a community if every time you're seen, someone gets hurt.

They didn't victimize women out of habit.. You don't get much done that way – people will only tolerate so much, that was a tenant of the business passed down from the neighborhood bosses and enforced. Now, approaching the checkout line, he could see why. That thing, that muscle, that guilty throbbing parasite, it tugged at his heart strings and pointed to the suffering he'd caused. Weeks of this, now.

“Are you in line, sweetie?” Asked a middle-aged African American mother, short and chubby. He'd wandered close enough to the lines that his patronage was in question.

“Yeah.” He nodded, stepping forward into the checkout line directly behind Tara.

“Where are your groceries?” The woman asked, furrowing her eyebrows at him.

He looked at his empty hands. “Just driving by... Needed a drink.” He blinked, reaching into the cooler on his right, sliding the glass door aside and grabbing an energy drink. “Besides, I couldn't help but wonder...” He fingered the glossy magazines Tara stared so intently at. “Brangelina, you know? Are the kids safe?”

He smiled to indicate he was making a joke. What the fuck are you doing, Bobby... “Listen, I don't want to sound like an asshole, but... You okay? I saw you, ahm... In the isle, and...” Shut up... Leave the poor woman alone. "I didn't know if you needed a hand with the bags."

Risi:
Tara blinked up at him, confused by the first question. She was really unaware of where she had been looking until he asked her that. But as he mentioned the crying, she turned hard instantly. I thought no one had seen. I'm so stupid. Shaking her head at him she turned away and said, "No, thanks," curtly. However, as she said it, she stumbled over her tired feet slightly, causing more pain and spilling her groceries.

"Fuck it all!" she cried out and dropped to her knees to collect her things. Unknowingly, tears had begun to slip down her face, her eyes red. Now everyone was watching.

Tara took heaving breaths through her tears, pressing her forehead gingerly. "Maybe I do," she said, looking up to the stranger in line. What's the worst he could do to me? she added sarcastically in her head.

Finally after pulling her things together into the basket, she stood slowly, wishing she hadn't as soon as she did. This was such a stupid idea, Tara she told herself in painful anger.

MrBurke:
He reached out to lift her basket away, slowly, swallowing as he did it. His mouth opened to speak, but the first set of words died in his mouth. “Robert.” He offered, placing the handle into his left hand, offering up his massive right. “I hope you don't live too far away, I got a bad knee.”

It occurred to him a second later he should have smiled when he'd said that. “Small talk... Not my strong suit.” He gave a thin smile, looking her up and down. “You hurt?” He did his best to sound innocent. Again, not his strong suit. “Not that it's my business, but... Seems like a rough day.”

He began to walk, worried at her ability to keep up. It seemed like her condition was worsening by the minute. She'd gotten here mostly okay, but he'd seen her drop her things twice now... Robert had to hope the alleviation of her added weight would help.

Risi:
Tara gave him a light smile as she pressed her small hand into his large one, "Tara," she said softly. She giggled softly, nervously, "I don't live that far, and I'm not that great at small talk either."

As he look her up and down a slight tingle went through her body, but she pushed it away. She was not in a place to attempt play the part of a girlfriend, she was way too fragile right now. She checked out silently, then paid for her things. The woman working the counter looked at her enviously, for what Tara didn't know.

"Its not that far," she said to him as the woman began to scan Robert's items. "A few blocks. What happened to your knee?" Her attempt at small talk wasn't that great either, prying into a stranger's life.

MrBurke:
"Football pile-up." He replied, moving out of the store with her, onto the asphalt, still paying careful attention to her condition as she walked. "It's okay, though." He admitted, nodding. "I sucked anyway." This time he did smile, and surprised himself with it. Robert didn't flirt, as a rule. Most women didn't like the notion of somebody six and a half feet making a play for sweetness - it didn't play well, and nobody likes a stereotype. He was bit, he was under-educated, and he tended to think along the basics of whatever was going on.

Like, now, for instance. The words 'pretty girl' ran through his mind consistently, overriding the constant pleas from his rational mind to disengage, distance himself, fade back into the background. Here he was walking her along like they were going to a picnic.

"Your turn. You got some bruises, there..." He motioned to the heels of her palms, the scratches on her elbows... "You alright?"

Risi:
Returning his smile, she nodded, somewhat actually interested in what he was saying. Though, as the subject focused to her, Tara shrunk back into herself slightly. Do I lie?, she wondered. But as the pregnant pause grew larger she blurted "I was in a bank heist actually. I was their hostage...?" she said, clarifying. "The let me go, obviously, but I had to walk from across town in my bare feet. I really hated mid-town because there was a bunch of broken bottles there..." she rambled when she was nervous. She hadn't told anyone this, but she was spilling her new life story to a complete stranger.

As she stumbled along with him, Tara just gazed upwards at him. Surprised at his height compared to her five-four, the line of his jaw... Tara!, she interrupted her thoughts, What the hell? They soon approached her apartment, but she didn't exactly want to go back to her lonely flat. "Um," she paused, "Would you like repayment for your kindness? A beer maybe? I make a mean mac and cheese if you're hungry..." she trailed off, attempting to find something that would please his unknown tastes. Her smile was back, pulled from the depths of where it had been hiding over the last few weeks. Her small lips quivers at the thought of being rejected, but she stood strong. Or attempted to.

MrBurke:
“Jesus...” He mumbled, unwilling to say anything bad about the robbers, not really wanting to contribute to the topic at all. She glossed over it so quickly, he was happy for the respite. “I really should be going...” He started to say. “I have a few things to do, and I really don't want to bother...” He saw the defeat in her eyes. The loneliness in her face. The quiver of her lip, the meek way she held herself, the tense set of her shoulders...

You fucked up, Robert. Bad. But now you're fucking up worse. Do not send this girl upstairs alone.

He struggled for the words. “Fuck it. Yeah, I'll come up. But no funny stuff, okay?” He pointed an accusing finger at her, working up a little smile. “Just because we're going to your apartment doesn't mean you're gonna get lucky. I have standards.” The smile grew, became more genuine. He even laughed. Her delicacy drew him in... She was so fragile, and so strong at the same time...

He couldn't take his eyes off her. “Lead the way. Let’s get you off those feet.”

Risi:
She giggled lightly at him, nervous but successful, "I can't promise anything," she winked jokingly. They turned the corner near her building, then to the elevator. She tenderly stood on one leg at a time, crossing her left over her right at the ankle gingerly as they rode the elevator. When the two reached the third floor, they disembarked and Tara led him down a hall to her apartment. "Home sweet home," she said softly, kiddingly.

As they entered she asked, "What do you do for a living?" not trying to be nosy, just create conversation. As they walked in, they approached her kitchen, where she opened a drawer and dropped her keys. Then reached for the bags of her groceries from Robert, hoping to put them away quickly then stop standing as soon as possible. Tara shifted from foot to foot painfully as she slipped her shoes off, hoping it would help.

MrBurke:
Robert withheld the bags. “Sit down.” The words came short, but with a smile. “I can figure this out.” Refusing her the effort, he skirted the woman standing in place to approach her fridge. Without permission he opened the door. “Wow... You... Really needed groceries.” He chuckled, setting the perishables inside, moving on to her cupboard.

“I work in construction.” He fed her the stock line. People who didn't work in construction didn't really know what to ask about, and even those who did, didn't care. “Drywall mostly, painting... I've got my welder's certificate, but I got promoted to union delegate six months ago. The fellas trust me to speak for them, I guess. Wouldn't take anyone else.” It was an easy ruse, and reflected the reality of his place in the organization ironically. The story was something he had close as hand whenever someone asked. Running the tap to fill up her kettle, he set it on the stove and lit the burner.

“We get cut up sometimes. On the job. You gotta learn some first aid.” He said over his shoulder, withdrawing two mugs and a tea bag. “You should let me take a look at those feet. You strike me as a little too stubborn to go to the doctor... If they get infected you could loose 'em.” Turning back to face her, he smiled. This time it was a little more pure. His shoulders relaxed, his chest swelled... He felt big in her little apartment. Robert had always chosen places with high ceilings and big rooms, having the money to choose and the size to warrant it.

Robert didn't like to keep a steady girlfriend. You didn't really meet new women, where he was from... You just got back with the old ones. Everyone in his neighborhood had grown up together. It was this perpetual whirlwind of drama and recycled lust. He didn't date, he didn't mingle, he didn't seek out connection. It was easy to feel like the five block radius between the freeway and the ballpark was the entire world. Women would seek him out, for money, thrill or a status boost. He didn't need to look. His lifestyle made the consequences for dating outside the pond severe. When women got scared, they talked. Even when they weren't scared they talked. Half the appeal of being with someone like Robert is showing him off, bragging about him, whispering sinful details of his work life... Even when he didn't tell them anything little clues cropped up, enough to hang him with. Women tend to be very intuitive that way.

With this convenient little lie in place, he didn't need to worry about all that, and it felt nice to just talk with someone who didn't know his business. Again, the culture was very tight-lipped, and the more someone of his caliber spoke the less intimidating he seemed. With no fear, there was no gang. His brooding was imposed, not his preference.

“And if that happens, I'm not carrying you and your fucking groceries back and forth every week.” The kettle whistled, and he filled a teapot and brought it along with the mugs to her coffee table. It occurred to him that he hadn't been asked to stay. She invited him up, but nothing beyond that. “Sorry if I'm forward... I'm Irish. Tea's implied. I didn't see any whiskey, so...

Risi:
Palms on her cheeks, her legs folded in to a pretzel as her elbows perched on her knees, Tara looked almost comfortable. After he had commanded her to sit, she figured she didn't have much of a choice, which was what she was beginning to feel about him taking a look at her sore feet as he began to talk.

Her head tilted to the side as he heated the water using the kettle, for her the kettle was almost for show, she always used the microwave. With a smirk, she watched him navigate around the kitchen. Compared to her, he was a giant, reaching the most top shelves that she had to use a stepladder to dream of touching. She listened intently as he continued about his job, though her mind began to wander as she watched his strong hands place her groceries.

"I suppose, for your sake, you can check out my feet. That way, I'll hobble to the store and you can just be my bag boy," she smiled bashfully at him. It was impossible to call him anything close to a boy, but that just made it funnier in her mind. As the kettle blew, she shook her head at his kitchen skills. Definitely would have used the microwave..., she thought as he poured them each tea with a smart remark on the side. It seemed to be his style, and her's as well.

"I haven't had company in a while, besides some wayward members bearing over-cooked lasagna. I enjoy that you made yourself at home, because I wouldn't have been able to get home without your help. Sorry I'm such a terrible host..." remarking with a blush as she took the mug from his hand. "Thanks though, for everything."

A smile still hung on her lips as he sat beside her.

MrBurke:
“My pleasure.” He said, the couch slouching deeply when he creaked down onto the springs. He gripped the table, pulled it a few inches closer, and relaxed. “Hard for pretty girls to be poor hosts. Men are supposed to do everything anyways.” He tugged his shirt down, set his sunglasses on the wood surface. “If not for carrying heavy things and reaching stuff on high shelves, then what?” He gave her another one of those big toothy grins. “It's not for lookin' pretty.”

“At least it shouldn't be.” He wet his lips, glancing around her place. “Some of these guys you see out here, in these shops...” He shook his head absently. “Way I was raised, you don't use hair gel. That's makeup. I can still hear my Grandmother: 'Don't you let me catch you in gold rings and silk shirts like these pretty boys, Robert. You're conspicuous as it is. I'm not buying you skirts!'” He chuckled to himself, putting his right ankle on his left knee, tugging up the sock his pantleg exposed. “Special lady.” The word 'special' came out the way you might refer to a cooky neighbor with a porcelain doll collection as 'gifted'.

“This is a nice place.” He nodded appreciatively. He forced himself to turn to her, his instinct to look straight ahead, avoid her gaze... He realized with a start that he felt nervous. There were a myriad of reasons why he ought to be, given their unique situation, but mostly it was butterflies. She was enchanting... Sweet, inviting, self-conscious without being meek... He liked her.

Like... liked her, liked her.

His big eyes searched her face for an inquisitive five seconds, and he lifted the teapot, pouring himself a cup. “You're brave to hold that mug.” He said, holding the ceramic container in the air, fresh beads of teawater still running down its spout.

Risi:
"Brave?" she questioned him, though still laughing at his 'pretty boy' tale. He was pretty though, but more in the handsome, rugged way or at least she thought so. His body dwarfed her's, even when they were both sitting.

She leaned back, relaxing a bit more now, still holding the mug. With a soft sigh, she shut her eyes for a moment, remembering what a fool she had made of herself at the store. Well, if it gets me tall dark and handsome men in my living room, it might be worth it... she thought with a smirk as he surveyed her apartment. She openly watched his expressions, something that had always intrigued her in people, how it went from a smile to a thoughtful look in no time at all, then back to the slightest smile. Sometimes he seemed to smile like he had forgotten how to truly laugh with his whole being. Tara blinked and observed him; she wanted to make him laugh.

MrBurke:
Hedging his bets, he tilted the teapot forward, filling her mug. Robert was able to bring it up and away before sloshing hot liquid down into her lap. He envisioned a bashful apology, dabbing her thighs with a cloth, their eyes meeting, a romantic, cliché kiss. “Brave.” He asserted, nodding. “I always spill.”

Removing the teapot, he set it on the table, along with his own mug to let the steam die down.

“Okay... Awkward time. Show me the feet.” He motioned toward himself, moving to the armrest opposite hers, the small woman afforded enough room that she could stretch out fully without putting her heels in his lap. He liked small women. In comparison to the average, she wasn't abnormally short, but... Small to him. “We're about to get acquainted, honey.” He rolled up his sleeves. “I promise not to touch.”

She was delicate... That's what it was. That's why she caught his eye. Strong, yes, absolutely, he'd seen that. But strong in response to her delicacy. She knew how to motivate herself, which he respected, but the women in his life were so jaded, so worn out, so hard... Seen and done it all, chewed up and spit out, saggy skin and heavy bags under their eyes by twenty-five. Hard wasn't a good thing to be.

People who weren't hard, they coveted that attribute, imitated it, chased it, exposed themselves to distress and hazard in the pursuit of it... Hard people didn't want to be, and if the condition was self-imposed, by the time you got there it just wasn't the point anymore. Eventually you're not fighting and accusing and provoking because you want a rush, want to feel bigger, tougher... You're just doing it because it's who you are, and people like that can't respect themselves.

She respected herself.

Something about her presence made him want that.

“But I do have this thing with smelling toes, if you don't mind - I don't know what it is, but something about the toe-jam just gets me off.” He laughed, then, surprised himself with it. Robert had only meant to smile and imply the joke. His face lit up with it, hands high, surrendering. “Joking! Joking, okay... I'm sorry. You can trust me with this. I promise. G'head.”

Risi:
She giggled and shook her head at him, "You could have told me that. I never spill." Grinning, she lifted her eyebrows and scrunched her nose playfully in a whatever-you-can-do-I-can-do-better sort of way. After a few sips she set down the mug and daintily set her feet close to his lap.

They were bruised and puffy, especially from the walk to the store. The cuts weren't bleeding but they weren't exactly healed either. With his joke, she quickly retracted her feet and hugged her legs to her chest, "Whaat?!" she exclaimed at him. Though, as she thought about it she probably wouldn't mind if he did it, not that she would exactly enjoy it, but she was pretty sure that short of willing her to jump from her balcony, Tara would do what he asked of her. However, her feet were extremely ticklish, and as she slowly lowered her feet back near him, jokingly hesitant, she told him so warningly. "I know you said you wouldn't touch, but still. Just in case."

She then leaned over and grabbed her mug and sipped quietly from it as she observed his gentle movements. A gentle giant, she thought kindly.

MrBurke:
“Aw, hell. You're fine.” He said, waving his fingers at her injuries. “You're obviously not, but... That's in good shape. You must keep them clean. Do you soak them in a saltwater bucket?” He asked casually, lifting his teacup, testing the temperature of the liquid before sipping. “Check this out.” He extended his left arm, overturning his palm, revealing the underside of his forearm, a long, ragged, winding scar that ran from his elbow joint to the heel of his palm. “Looks like attempted suicide, right?” He smiled. “Sidegrinder. Went off the rails, so to speak.” Robert looked almost pleased with himself. “We wrapped it up with a t-shirt and held it in the beer cooler until the ambulance arrived. Caught hell for the beer cooler... Probably a contributing factor.”

“I had this big tin mop bucket I had to dump two cups of seasalt into, hold it under for hours at a time... My whole arm was pale and wrinkly for weeks.” He nodded to her feet. “You're gonna be okay, with those.” Robert found her gaze, and inquired further: “How's the rest of you? With... All that?”

He almost didn't want to know.

Risi:
Tara nodded gently, but figuring she would start the salt tonight because she hadn't thought of simply soaking them. She pulled her feet back to sit crisscross as he talked. The proud smile of it made her smile slightly. "I'm already pale, just not wrinkly, so it won't bother me much," she grinned, though slowly extended a hand to his scar, her index finger slowly advancing on the tight pink line of it. She hesitated slightly, but then placed her finger down the length of his arm, tracing it.

After a few moments of doing so, she pulled back with a bashful smile. "Sorry, scars get me every time. What girl doesn't love a good scar story?" she giggled gently before attempting his last question.

She thought for a moment, her teeth tugging on her bottom lip. Her eyes adverted his gaze as she stared into the couch. "Um," she started softly, but stopped and waited another moment. "Nothing happened really," Tara paused, "It could have been a lot worse. I've just always been a complainer."
She inhaled deeply, a tear dropped to the couch with a slight plunk, and then the fabric of the couch absorbed it.
"They didn't hurt me. I mean one guy was handsy, but I've experienced worse. I think it was the setting really, not having a decision of whether I lived or died." Another breath, another tear, but she continued.
"One of them held me while we were in the getaway car. Like scooped me up and put me in his lap because of the other guy. It didn't seem like he was happy about the situation. I don't think it was the plan." She paused, still looking down, to wipe her eyes lightly. "They made me tell them where I live, I was so afraid they'd break in some nights," she shook her head, "I just sat up in bed with all the lights on." Suddenly, her wall went up, she wiped her eyes again, took a breath and tried a chuckle. "But I'm better now. I have food, and I can almost walk." Her smile was almost cut in half, half up, half down, because that was all she could muster: a one sided smile.

MrBurke:
“Sounds really hard.” He said softly, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. He had to drink it all in. See what he'd done. Watch the pain. Suffer it with her, if only for a minute. If she could live with this, he could watch it for two minutes.

“Hard to imagine... Someone who could do that. So casually, you know? I mean... It sounds like they never came, so... To threaten that and not mean it...” He shrugged. “Sounds like a cruel thing to say.” His big arms crossed. And uncrossed. He felt like squirming in his seat, but he didn't. “They thing about guys like this is, uhm... I mean, from what I hear on television... It's only a smart business decision if they have something to gain. It's not good for them to just... Terrorize randomly. Like, if you go to the police or something.”

His eyebrows knit together. He reached out, put a hand on her shoulder... Tugged at her, shuffled closer. “Have you?” He asked, his heart aching, guilt clawing at his insides. “If you haven't by now, they'd probably never bother with you...” He prayed she wouldn't take this as an invasion of space, curling his huge arm around the back of the couch above her thin shoulders invitingly.

Risi:
Tara melted into his chest, as quick as a sigh. Her frail body was easily wrapped by his. She shrugged slightly, unknowing. "The police came to me, asking me questions, but I didn't know anything, so they left." She shrugged again, "They don't really care about me, just the bank."

Another tear slipped down her cheek and she pulled back away, acting like she was getting her mug. He was a warm body, and a cute one at that, which she hadn't had in awhile but she was so fragile right now. She didn't need an audience to watch her fall apart. She sniffled and sipped her tea, then pushed a stray hair behind her ear.

His body was almost two times hers, but she felt safe. Tara didn't know why, but she was secure with him, she wasn't afraid he was going to hurt her. She could have easily invited a murder into her house and not known it, but she was content with him.

MrBurke:
“That's good then.” He said softly, and immediately realized his mistake. “It's good that you don't know anything... No need to come after you, then. Guys like this... They tend not to chase for no reason, like I said. They hear things, you know? They know cops.” He moved a touch closer, taking her personal space back, playing the hand he was dealt. He could sit back, let the moments stretch, allow her to feel stupid and make useless comments about how it's okay and don't be sad... Women don't want that. They want comfort. They want to asked about feelings, and explore emotion. They don't want distance, as a rule, even when they asked for it.

She wants you to chase you, son. Robert's father had once drunkenly confided.

Who wants me to chase her? He'd inquired sweetly, this being historically prior to his epiphany regarding what actually resided in those shiny pop cans he wasn't allowed to touch.

All of them. He'd nodded knowingly, tipping the can back, winking conspiratorially.

With that pearl of wisdom at heart, he moved closer, but not close enough to touch. “C'mere.” He invited. “I won't bite.” He looked vaguely uncomfortable, but he tried. “I've seen enough girls cry to know they don't like doin' it alone. We've covered a lot of ground pretty quick, here, sugar. Might as well take the comfort.”

Risi:
She didn't really listen to him at first, she was too busy in her head, reliving the experience in her head. She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head, not wanting to think about it. Tara did notice him scooch closer to her, but she didn't say anything, she preferred it actually.

As he invited her in closer, she paused for a moment but folded. She shuttered slightly and the tears fell from her eyes rapidly. Pressing her body into his, she broke down. Her head pressed into his shoulder, but then looked up at him. Her blue eyes were bright and watery, she blinked and another tear rolled down her cheek.

MrBurke:
It was getting easier to cope with the notion that he'd done this to her. Guilt can only nag at you for so long, he'd learned, and it was more than possible to push it down for hours, even days at a time. He was slowly letting go of the idea that he'd had something to do with this... Robert wasn't programmed to hurt himself indefinitely over things he'd done in the past. That was then. He'd done his best to protect her, make her feel safe, keep her out of the worst of it... This was now.

He pulled her closer... Cupped her cheek with his hand, pushed her tears aside, her entire face engulfed in his huge palm... He lifted her face to his, forced her to make eye contact with him. His expression was tight, hard. Robert was solid. His eyes were steady, strong but not unfeeling. He drank in her emotion, fed it to the list of things he'd done that he hated. That was a deep, hungry hole; he always had room for more regret.

"Come here." He murmured, reaching across her back, sliding one arm down from her shoulder blade to the opposing hip, and scooped the other under her thighs to pick her up - just as he'd done in the van - and put her in his lap, holding her tightly to his chest and shushing her tears. It was a reflex, something he'd learned babysitting his nieces and carried over into girlfriends. He was a big man... Women liked that, a large body. They liked to feel small, something about childhood kicked in and made them respond. He petted her head, held her face, whispered to her: "It's okay now. You're safe." He said softly. "I know... Shh... I know. You're safe. It's alright." The comforting words he used whenever the situation called for it. He didn't realize they were the same ones he'd used when first they'd met... Men are who they are.

Risi:
As his hands went to her cheeks, holding almost her entire face in his palms, she attempted to look away, but his eyes pierced into hers. She couldn't let her gaze drop from his, she wanted his strength, but Tara couldn't muster it.

But as he pulled her up off the couch and into his lap, she clenched her body together. "No," she said suddenly, pulling herself to her feet, re-introducing the pain. "Please, please don't hold me like that." The tears came faster now, her face was read from both the tears and her embaressment. "I'm sorry," she sniffled, "But that was the way the robber held me in the van." Tara cried harder and collapsed back on the couch to the other side of him now. "I'm such a mess," she muttered through tears.

As she pulled herself together, she wondered what kind of a crazy lunitic he thought she was. He was just a nice guy, trying to help her out, and he got caught up into all of this. She shook her head at herself and folded inwards, pulling her knees to her chest and wraping her thin arms around them. Her eyes hurt from all of the tears, as did her head, and of course her feet. "I wish you could have met me before all of this happened. So you sould know I'm not always a crying imbicle," she whispered into her kneecaps, then snuck a glance at him, wondering what he could possibly be thinking.

Tara pulled her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath. He must think I'm bipolar with this constant on and off crying. One moment I'm fine, the next I'm bawling and pulling away from him. She shook her head again, looking back to her knees, I just need to learn a lesson and forget all of this. Never work at a bank, and only invite hot, tall men to your apartment when you're sane.

MrBurke:
“Me too.” He joked weakly, eyebrows arching up, face strained with worry and concern. What should he do? What could he do? She looked so frail... Robert felt distinctly that he'd struck out, but her continuing interest was obvious. One thing was for sure: action was off the table.

He was a pig to even think it, but no man can help considering the possibility, or at least judge the odds before moving the concept off of the table. She was well and truly a wreck. If she asked him, he wouldn't be able. The pit in his stomach could only stretch so deep, boil so much, before his disgust with himself outgrew every other stimulus.

“Jesus, honey... Don't beat yourself up about it. First time I got mugged? I was shaking in my boots for months.” He lifted his shirt, turning to face her. There was a pair of oval scars on the front of his chest, the lower left quadrant of his ribs stained with what looked like old, partially healed kiss-shaped marks from years past.

“Guy knifed me. I wouldn't leave the house. I'm serious – wouldn't even look out the window. You get kidnapped, put in some psycho's lap, they make you crawl across rocks, leave you all cut up like that... I'm not shocked you're in no rush to play Santa Claus. I feel bad for those poor cocksuckers at the mall every year, I'm sure they'll miss you.” The 'play santa' remark was not at all intended as sexual innuendo, and his inflection communicated that. However, the last of his sentence carried as a compliment, his eyes darting down to her seat. Robert figured he could use one.

Risi:
Stealing a glance at his scars, she longed to touch his skin again, but held back, still feeling vulnerable. As they sat silently for a few moments, Tara wondered what she should do. Offer that he leave if he wanted to? She didn't want it to seem like she didn't want him there though. Ask him to stay, maybe even the night? That was too forward even for her past self.

Past self.

There was now a signficant rift in her life, before and after the robbery. How had she let these men have so much power over her? Where had Tara gone?

Into the lap of a stranger, spread over rocks by the bay, she answered herself, My strength is there. All of me is.

A clap of thunder sounded near by, Tara jumped nearly off the couch, jolted from her thoughts. As they had been sitting there, a storm had rolled in. Morosely, she turned to Robert, "You should prolly go home before it gets too bad out there..."

Tara was afraid of thunder, it was the only thing she had been afraid of ever since she was little. However, she wouldn't tell him that. She didn't want him to feel obligated to babysit her. She was a grown-ass woman and she needed to take care of herself.

After another clap of thunder, Tara suddenly found herself hiding in his arms, shaking slightly. Internally rolling her eyes at herself, Right. Very grown up of you. "Sorry," she told him and attempted to pull back away to her corner.

MrBurke:
“Don't be.” He shushed her, shaking fingers through her hair, pulling her closer. His grip was such that she slid over the material of the couch at his tugging, an easy thing, something done without thought. When they cried, you held them. When they shook, you calmed them. When they were scared, you chased away the scary bits.

Storms don't scare easy, so he'd settle for distraction. “Sounds like it's already bad.” He muttered, shifting in his seat, reaching under himself to withdraw an small flat screen, a phone with several other features that jumped to life at the touch of a finger. She was in a very delicate position, right now... To violate her trust, even if she asked him to, would be a fatal mistake, and he could never get close again.

It's better this way, he told himself. If she's close then he can monitor her. He can make sure she doesn't come up with anything new, doesn't have a change of heart... Make sure she moves on with his life. If that means Robert enjoyed the pleasure of her company for a little while, who's to blame him?

“I have a niece. She's has monsters.” The screen lit up, and he navigated to a directory full of .pdf files for just such an occasion. “Monsters under her bed...” He shook his head, putting her feet up on her coffee table. She could feel the muscles in his body relax, prepare for a long rest. He scanned through them and found her favorite. His niece's favorite, that is.

“Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife.” His voice rumbled through his chest, ruminated inside her head as it lay on his breast. “Their house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof, which made one room; and this room contained a rusty looking cookstove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds.”

His eyes slid to her, gathering her closer with his arm. “Just relax, honey... I could do this for hours.”

Risi:
Tara gave him a smile, her face tear streaked. She felt like such a child, but his comfort was addictive. His light, friendly touches and how he didn't seem to mind when she got tears all over his shirt was endearing to her.

Her eyes focused back on the screen, blinking slowly, tired from the crying and worry. Her barriers crumbled a bit with each of his words, nearly cuddling into him now.

"The Wizard of Oz is scary," she said softly, "It has a tornado in it." She then looked up at him with a grin, playing with him now. Her face glowed in the dim light of her apartment that weren't supplimented by the natural light of the day. Her eyelids fluttered gently as she attempted to keep them open, her smile still there though.

She streched slightly, then pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and over herself. "Do you want one?" she offered shyly, curling underneath hers. Then, she closed her eyes and rested against him as he began to read from the depths of his large chest again.

Soon, Tara was asleep. Thunder rolled on, but she never jumped or woke. Luckliy, she was a deep sleeper. However, it was unlucky because a few times she had woken from a one-night-stand to an empty bed, never hearing the man leave. Her eyelashes brushed her cheekbones gently, her lips slightly parted as she breathed deeply through them, peaceful. Slumber was her way of escaping now.

MrBurke:
It was mid-afternoon the next day when the deliveryman arrived. He buzzed up, initially, and gave a friendly if fleeting smile with his greeting when he got to her door. The man was dark-skinned, roughly five-seven, clean-shaven with a baldhead. His hands were rough, and his boring brown uniform was damp in spots from sweat. It must have been hot out. "Package for you." He said, holding out a sealed envelope, fearlessly stating the obvious. "Sign?" He was in a hurry, and vanished the moment she gave written consent. "Thanks kindly, Ma'm. Have a nice day."

Inside she would find a small bracelet, simple white gold engraved surface surrounded by a chain that locked into place. The shining surface of the sweet adornment read the word "courage" in loopy cursive. He'd also, apparently, sent a small dark blue cell phone, straight out of the box, with a single phone number programmed into it. The contact name read "Robert".

http://www.trophyman.com.au/categories/e...graved.jpg

That's it. No letter, no card, just the bracelet and the phone. In truth, he was at the bus stop, again, watching the delivery truck rumble away, sipping his take-out coffee and flipping through useless information in today's paper, pretending to care about the sports section.

Risi:
Tara opened the small envelope slowly, cautiously, but when she found what was inside she gasped. Grinning like a mad woman as she inspected the bracelet, she couldn't help but notice it was beautiful. She shook her head and giggled gently. The next item confused her though, A phone? she wondered as she put it in her lap and put the bracelet on her dainty wrist.

Once her curiosity got the best of her, not but a few moments later, she combed through the phone, looking for some sort of reasoning. Then, she found the contact. Her lips pursed as she weighed her options. To call or not to call right away? He had bought her the bracelet, but after yesterday, she didn't need to seem more clingy. Tara heaved a sigh and decided that she would make herself something to eat, and then call him.

Once she had finished making herself a 30-second microwave chocolate muffin, she snatched up the phone and hit the small green send button. Her heart fluttered slightly, hoping he would answer.

MrBurke:
"Hey." He said, glad to hear the ringing. When the deliveryman left and he didn't receive the call right away, his heart had sunk. Robert had not anticipated a lengthy wait, and if there's anything worse than sitting outside somebody's apartment waiting for a peek at them, it's knowing they have a phone with your number in it and waiting for a call. He literally breathed a sigh of relief when she called shortly after. "Hey." He smiled wide, thinking himself quite the clever boy.

"So you got it." He smiled even wider, stretching in his seat. "After reading to you, ah... Last night, there... I dunno. I wanted to stay topical - I heard that's important - and you didn't seem like you needed a brain. Plenty of heart, too, so I thought I'd save you a trip to the wizard." He wet his lips. "Don't get me wrong, you have, ah, I mean, you're courageous..." You're ruining this, Robert. "I just wanted to show you I was thinking about you."

Was this weird?

Well, yes. Yes, it was extremely weird that he was effectively stalking her - no, literally stalking her, the hostage, and integrating himself into her personal life.

But did he come off as weird?

Whatever. Robert never knew what to do with women... He understood that they liked to believe he thought about them, he understood their affection for shiny things, and he understood that they detested evidence of his interest in adjacent women, but beyond that, he wasn't sure what to do. Buying things had become a bit of a reflex, something he promised himself he'd fall back on less but inevitably raced back to in times of stress. He wanted...

He just wanted her to like him.

Not since junior high had, he attempted to woo a female ignorant of his reputation. If she rejected him, it would be like every fear of inadequacy he had confirmed in an instant. Yes, these women only like your name, money and proximity to drugs and criminality. You are not as attractive as you think you are. People laugh at your name when you're not around. The same voice everybody had squawking at them day in and day out existed in his head too, regardless of size or standing in the community.

So yes, there was tension, and he was eager, and hoped neither attribute showed in his voice or action. His mouth opened to add to what he'd said, but Robert, wisely, closed it again before anything slipped out.

Risi:
She smiled, folding herself into the couch. "Hi there." Listening to him stutter though his thoughts made her giggle. "Well, thank you. I'm glad to know you're thinking about me." She paused, did that sound like when he thought about her she needed a piece of jewelry and technology.

"So where did you go last night?" she asked, twirling her hair around her finger, watching the bracelet jingle around her wrist. Her cheeks were pink, blushing at his attention.

Why am I so addicted to his attention? she wondered. He's tall, dark, and handsome. And, a complete sweetheart. Why wouldn't I be? she answered herself, rolling her eyes.

She unfolded herself from the couch, pacing around her living room. Though she winced with each step, but it was a habit of hers when she was on the phone, especially when she was nervous. Her nightgown fluttered around her thighs, as she leaned against the cool window, pressing her forehead to the glass, smile still on her face.

MrBurke:
"Just home." He admitted. Robert could smell her conditioner, just then. The sound of her voice brought back the weight of her sad little head on his chest, put her silky hair between his fingers. He could hear the rain. Tara was such an incredibly sweet girl, and he felt the thrill of her approval and attention run down his long body. People shuffled off the bench he sat at, shaking his head distractedly at the bus driver, signaling him away. The huge truck of a vehicle swung its heavy metal doors closed and rumbled past.

New people were approaching his seat. One of them was familiar.

Charlie smiled, gave him a nod, hands stuffed in his pockets.

His chest was broad, shoulders quite wide, and all of it was thick with muscle. Robert's huge body was tightly knit and had developed what his friends used to call "farm strength", borne out of fully body activity, lifting and moving and carrying at his uncle's warehouse. It made him barrel-like, the way that gorillas just look impenetrable. Not Charlie. His was all gym workout, and it made for definition, tone, amateur body-building cut. Big in the chest and arms, small in the legs. Today he wore a grey tee with a faded Boston Celtics image ironed onto the front tucked into his tight-fitting designer jeans and new-looking brown work boots, a thin gold chain dancing around his neck to top it all off, roughly the same color as the dyed tips he gelled up over his natural dark color.

His teeth were white, and his smile was broad. Predatory green eyes sparkled at Robert overtop of the wolfish expression... Charlie had taught Robert at a very young age that sometimes smiling is just another way of baring teeth.

"Hey." Said the smaller man, sitting down in a heap. "Fucking dedicated motherfucker." Shaking his head, Charlie chuckled patronizingly. They both knew there was a reason why Robert got these assignments, and it was the same reason Charlie didn't. "I can't believe you're still sitting out here."

Robert held out his finger. "So what are the chances of me seeing you later?" His mouth curved into a knowing smile, exchanging a look with Charlie.

Risi:
Tara heard the sounds of outside as she paused, trying to decide what to say. She thought she heard one talking to Robert, so she held her tongue until he spoke to her.

His question made her giddy, jumping up and down clearly visible for him to see though her window, but she didn't make a sound on the phone. Rather, when she stopped jumping, wanting to kick herself for her feet hurting more now she answered with a vague, "Hmmm, well. My schedule is pretty packed ya' know..." A laugh, "I guess I'll fit you in between Jeopardy and the new movie on TNT."

Her cheeks were on fire to say the least, she felt excited. But then she wondered what they could do, even though her feet were feeling better, she wondered how long they would last. And if he had to carry her home, Tara would be so embarrassed.

“Generous.” He grunted, and she could hear the smile on his face. “So that gives me what, half an hour? Hour?” His tongue clacked against the roof of his mouth. “Sounds like dinner. Maybe if you like the food I can sit in on the movie.”

It wasn't a question, and Robert wasn't asking. This isn't to say that he was informing her the two of them would be sleeping together tonight – more relaying his understanding of the situation, which reflected him in a positive light. Women enjoyed confidence; that was his understanding, at least, and somebody as strong as Tara would not enjoy leading or teaching a man, particularly not at this stage in her recovery. They can't both be vulnerable. It had been Robert's experience throughout his manhood that while wilting or searching hopefully for signals, getting past second base was contra-indicated.

“You know, people like theaters – it's nice to get out of the house, but then you're just sitting there. It doesn't make sense to me. I go to the movies with guys. I don't care what they have to say. We could rent something, if you like. Second dates mean romantic comedy, right? I'm fine giving you one or two of those, just until I get the hooks in.”

Charlie shook his head, grinning. “Atta boy.” The round muscles topping his biceps coiled when his arms raised, hands tucking behind his head, leaning back and stretching out his legs. “Forgive me for cryin', Bobby. You're making me damn proud.” A passerby looked up from his paper as Charlie called out to him, pointing a thumb at Robert. “Taught him everything he knows!” Sending a charming smile to the confused passerby, the walking man not missing a step. Charlie was one of those assholes that gets a kick out of yelling bizarre shit at strangers for the benefit of people he knows.

MrBurke:
“Will you can it?” Robert covered the receiver, shaking his head, unable to wipe the cocky smirk off his face. It's hard not to feel that goofy rush of pleasure from hitting the nail on the head with a woman.

Before she said anything in reply she shook her head, grinning, "Second date? I was unaware we had had a first one. Unless you call me clinging to you for safety, resulting in you reading me a story to go to bed a date..." she trailed off and gave a giggle. "Dinner sounds good, and you can pick the movie," another pause, "Until I get my hooks in."

Tara had ignored the loud sound that reverberated in the speaker as Robert was talking, but she couldn't help but wonder what it was. However, she didn't have the right to ask him what he was doing, or who he was with, especially since she had just clarified they hadn't had their first date yet.

Once they had set the time, place, and transportation, Tara went to get ready. She showered, dried her hair, straightened it, then put a little bit of makeup on before trying to figure out what to wear. She knew they would mostly be lounging around her house, but she wanted to look better than she had the night before, when she was a crying mess. Finally she decided on a low cut black shirt that clung closely to her torso and a pair of dark jeans that made her feel like her ass wasn't huge. Once she had finished that, she grabbed a pair of silver earrings and put them in, followed by a long pale blue scarf and a spritz of perfume.

She took a deep breath, awaiting his arrival.

“Deal.” He snapped his phone closed, turning a confident smile to Charlie. Something about Charlie always made him feel the need to bolster, play the cool guy. Everything the smaller man did felt like a challenge. It was always competition with him, always. He was the kind of guy who went after the biggest and the baddest, just because you never know. That attitude exactly was what had gotten them into the steady stream of banks these men chased, and balls do tend to pay off that way, but the day-to-day of living with Charlie could grate.

You couldn't let him see it, though.

“How are you gonna date this chick and sit on the house?” He asked, nodding his head toward the apartment. Charlie didn't know the specific place, just the general area.

“I'll figure something out.” Robert said, somewhat softer, looking on to Tara's window.

“I think we're probably in the clear, dude.” He stressed the last word ironically. “If she hasn't talked by now she ain't gonna.”

“Never hurts to be sure.” He continued distractedly, still looking on.

“We could've made this whole thing a lot simpler on the spot.” Charlie added, raising his eyebrows at Robert.

That got his attention. “Simpler how?”

“I'm just saying.” He shrugged, arms looped over the back of the bench, completely casual.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Charlie made Robert sick to his fucking stomach.

“Simple like a Goddamn murder trial?” Heat flooded Robert's face. The blood made his skin flush red. “Insured money. That's the whole point. Nobody cares about insured money. Killers get caught, Charlie.”

“The robbery's over, Bobby.”

“And you don't think they'd make the connection.” The larger man loomed, enough to make the hairs on Charlie's neck stand up, Robert leaning forward with forarms over thighs, fingers interlaces, his foot tapping with agitation. He'd switched to his hushed, angry, strained voice now, the kind that would sound like yelling if you took the paranoia away.

“What the fuck are we doing here, Bobby? We're talking. I'm having a conversation.” If Charlie was bothered, he didn't show it, something that drove Robert on even more.

“Nothing's going to happen to this girl. Not a thing.” His muscles bunched with tension and his forehead produced a familiar vein.

“Jesus-”

“Not a thing.” He repeated angrily.

“Don't get ahead of yourself, Bobby.” Charlie stood, unwilling to be intimidated. “It's bad for your health.” He started walking.

Robert shook his head. The guy always had to take it one step too far. “Don't say shit you don't mean.” He yelled after his friend, but Charlie didn't look back.

Whatever.

Robert buzzed her apartment later on, with black straight-leg dress pants and a pinstripe olive green collared dress shirt, his gold and silver rolex peeking out the unbuttoned sleeve on his left side. Women like money – it's worth remembering. With the help of some leather brown loafers and even a chaste brush with cologne, he felt ready.

Are those butterflies, Robert?

Perish the thought.

“Ming's Chinese. You order.” He said, upon her response. “Sweet and sour. Turnip cakes. Lotus leaf rice. You pay.”

Amidst her day dream, his voice cut the air with the attempt at a chinese accent. Tara stood quickly and brushed off imaginary lint from her jeans. Her heels, painful or not, clicked softly on the hardwood floor as she peeked through peephole in the door. Habit. She took a deep breath and unlatched the door lock she had added after the robbery.

Her smile was wide as she opened the door, a true smile as the skin around her eyes crinkled up slightly. "Hi," she said softly, admiring his choice of dress. Playing along she then opened the door completely and rested on the wall beside it, "How much do I owe you again?" she looked into her purse, a blush rising on her cheeks. Once she had moved from the door and ushered him in, she began to pull out dishes and silverware for their dinner.

That morning Tara had soaked her feet and pulled herself together to go to the store once again, little did she know, before he had been out on the bus bench across the street. While at the store she had picked up some nice wine and a set of lillies for the table. It wasn't that she expected him to ask her out for a second time, but she wanted things to look a bit more happy if he did. And the wine was in case he didn't.

She moved to grab some of her better glassware for the wine, but since she had never used them much, they were on a top shelf. Even with the addition of her heels she could still barely reach the stems of the glasses. "Um," she said biting on her lip gently, "Can you get two of those for me please?" she grinned bashfully, almost ashamed at her height deficiency. While he did that she uncorked the wine and was beginning to dish out the food for the two of them. "So, what movie did you pick out?" she asked for conversation and out of curiosity.

"Three hundred fifty. It's five for the sailors, but you get the good-looks discount." He replied with a smirk, walking in after her with a slow confidence. As a rule, Robert didn't kid with people, but something about her made him feel playful. There was a funny little kid in her trying to eek its way out, and she encouraged the child in him to come out and play. It was fun to get to smile. There was no acting silly around his friends, they had come to expect a certain straight-faced solidity, and deviation from that was almost always perceived as cracks in his foundation. They didn't like that.

Here, there was no testing. At least not the kind he was used to. Women, real women, wanted different things. They were things he had to give, actually, pieces he was more than willing to share, but it was hard to get past the hard-faced women who frequented the bars and strip clubs he and his brothers-at-arms inevitably cycled back to, week after week.

Her apartment was like a breath of fresh air.

"I rented Snatch, actually." It was more or less a standby for him. Not incredibly unlike Fight Club he could watch the movie over and over, never get bored, always find new things. It was the kind of film that people were amazed to see the first time and were happy to see a second. Something fun enough to be engaging but serious enough to demand attention.

He'd put more thought into the choice than he'd readily admit.

"You look fantastic." He added, happy to watch her ass move away from him in the tight denim. Robert was also happy to let her catch him, his face alight with a boyish smile, pleased with himself, getting away with being bad. "I like those shoes." It had been a long time since he'd flirted, in the conventional sense, playfully and unabashedly flirted. Tough men were supposed to let women come to them, be silent, even a little belligerent and moody. He'd learned that from his father.

It wasn't fun.

He moved in beside her, reaching up high to bring down the two glasses and set them on the counter. "Is that a bordeaux, or...?" It was obvious he didn't know what he was talking about from his grin.

Yep. He could feel it now. Robert was very nervous.

"I think I've had that kind before, actually. It was a little, uh... The tannins, they were too much. I don't like that stuff." He smiled wider, wetting his lips and moving to the opposite side of the counter. "It's too earthy for me. You might as well just pour it out now. I'm not gonna drink that."

"Snatch?" she inquired, never had heard of the title before. She shook her head at the wide grin that had formed upon his face, though she had enjoyed his eyes appraisingly on her and his comments. Tara was glad for the heels now, once his feelings of them had been made evident. A little bubble of success filled her, sustaining her for a while.

Well, until he mentioned the wine.

She was sure he was kidding, but still he shook her nerves slightly as he mentioned it. Her wine knowledge was nil, and it seemed his was too, but what if he was a secret connoisseur? She had simply picked out the wine, many months ago, because it had an interesting logo, but she always came back to it. Taking the risk, she pored him a glass and handed it to him, not letting him see her anxiety by giving him a playful smile, "You'll drink it anyways."

Once she had sufficiently dished out the food he had purchased, for an army it seemed, onto their plates Tara wasn't sure where they would be located. "Table or couch?" she asked. The table would be more classy and romantic, but the couch would be comfortable and possibly more romantic than the table. If they started at the couch, they would be inclined to begin the movie and that would take away time they could spend getting to know each other better... Thoughts swirled throughout her head, she was worrying about the tiniest of things, it was ridiculous.

“I like that.” He grinned at the attitude in her declaration, tasting the wine with a sip. He'd seen people sniff, swirl and even slurp the stuff before. “Tastes like wine.” He nodded his approval, taking his Chinese to the table on reflex. “I can't eat in front of the TV.” He admitted, sifting through the noodles and rice with his fork. “Makes the back of my knuckles ache. Grandma hated it.” His big fist flexed, the scars lining the bone where he indicated were many and thick. “I can still feel that ruler, boy.” He shook his head, chuckling to himself. “My loss is your gain. I'm pretty well broken in.”

Lifting the small glass, he held the delicate thing in his hand the way you'd hold any cup, his index finger an inch or so below the rim. “To happy coincidence.” He said with what he hoped was a charming (and believable smile). There is an uneasy thrill in doing something you know will eventually crash down around you, but when a person lies, that lie must be upheld at all costs. The only way he could stay with her, well...

He couldn't ever introduce her to her friends, which would begin to seem odd after a while. And if he stopped responding to his friends, they'd have to come looking for him. It wasn't a question of loyalty and care, either. He'd seen things. Done things. If he vanished, he was a threat, and deviation from the pack was historically only dealt with one of two ways. Charlie in particular, though he'd die for Robert in a threatening situation – literally die for him, willingly and happily. There's no way Robert could just walk away and move across town without fear of pursuit and likely death. He'd need to leave town. Maybe the state. Maybe the country. Tara could never know, and they could never know her.

Maybe...

Maybe if he could convince her. If she came to love him, if he got an opportunity elsewhere – even the illusion of one, he could convince her to come with him. He could retire. Tell the boys he was done, it was over, retire undefeated – he could buy them with his share, on one last big job, do something to make sure they know he wasn't going out on his own with a new crew or turning state's witness. Two, really, one for his retirement and the other to dissuade the boys. If he did it, though... If he did it...

Robert's eyes changed as he looked across the table at this enchanting, beautiful young woman, and he reminded himself they were on a first date. “Can I say something?” He wet his lips, tilting his head at her. “I'm already here, so you know I'm not trying to get your number. I just...” He winced, and smiled a bit wider. “You're really different. You know that? You're really... Good. You seem like a good person.” Nodding thoughtfully, he searched her eyes. "I like you."

She followed him to the table and watched as yet another once of his scars were but on show. She shook her head, his own grandmother beat him as a child no wonder he was so refined. "All my grandma ever taught me was that I was to give candy to my granddaughter. And how to flip the bird at lude men," she laughed gently, but she couldn't help but feel a tinge of pain for him. Her heart already had already programed his pain along with hers. Upon realizing that she internally scolded herself, telling her she was moving to fast and that twinge was sympathy. And simply that.

Her fingertips longed to run themselves over those small white ridges, as if to erase them from his memory. instead, they idled upon her fork and then to her glass as he toasted. Something she never did. But she rose her glass to the occasion and gave him a grin. "That it was." And she took a sip, knowing fully well it wouldn't take her many to begin loosening up. Her little body didn't need much alcohol to feel the effects. But as he spoke, she was tempted to pinch herself and wonder if she had drank more of the wine without knowing it. Tara hadn't though.

She wasn't sure what he meant by 'good' but the last part she understood clearly. She felt the heat in her cheeks rise suddenly and cursed herself for so, though with her pale skin it wasn't hard. Tara looked down in attempt to hide it but her smile persevered past her bashfulness. She tugged on her lip gently as she attempted to form her words correctly, "I like you quite a bit too." As soon as the words left her mouth she wanted to pull them from the air. 'Quite a bit'? Good lord, he's going to think you're desperate! Her face was back looking down into her food once again, her cheeks running hotter. She took another sip, no, gulp, of wine and began spinning her rice around her plate with her fork.

There it was. He didn't try hiding his smile, admiring the way her admission brought color to her cheeks and embarrassment into her eyes. His hand wanted to cup her chin, tilt her head back, soothe her cheek with his thumb and tuck away the hair she hid behind. This, of course, would have been intensely creepy, so instead he fed himself a few more bites of chow and let the moment stretch. It should have been an awkward silence, but he rather liked it.

"So let me ask you something." He interrupted the heavy weight with a jovial tone, lifting his glass again, sipping quietly. "How is it you don't have a boyfriend?" The glass made a hollow sound when it returned to the ring of perspiration he'd made with it. "I know that's a lame line, but I'm curious. Did you just get out of a relationship?" Don't ask about past boyfriends, Robert... "You're pretty, you're fun... Either you're just unlucky or I'm about to find out you're a secret nun." The food went away at a steady pace.

His plate was already about a quarter clean, and in drinking again he reminded himself not to be too greedy with the wine. It would take the bottle and then some for him to feel its effects, but experience had taught him that women were best left to drink the majority of whatever was around. Frankly, he didn't need the encouragement, and too much alcohol had... adverse effects on some men, Robert having found himself to be of that creed in the past.

Thankful for the reprieve from the silence she looked up to watch his smile spread with her embaressment. He thought it was cute. Finally she embarked on her food as he spoke. He was so different from other men, from manners to the way he spoke to her and what he spoke to her of. And she wasn't sure what he did in construction but it had to make some money, reminded by her dainty bracelet that fell around her wrist and the phone that still only held his contact. "Ah, boyfriends," she sighed finally, "I haven't had one for quite some time actually." Taking another sip of her wine, finding it was gone after that sip, prompted her next response, "Between one night stands, some of the morning walks of shame done by yours truly, I haven't exactly had the greatest impact on the male Population. And thought they like to 'conquer the little blonde firecracker' they don't exactly want to stick around for," she paused, "Say, dinner. And neither would I." She didn't mention that after the robbery she hadn't had much faith left for men. Well, until he came around and treated her like he did. Like a person.

Her face did not return to her plate. The wine had given her a false, given the circumstances of her nerves, confidence that had only existed before the robbery. And though she figured he was not familar with it, she was very well acquainted with that feeling and fed upon it more than her food. "But you're different. Or at least inthink you are," she took a bite of her food to make her mouth shut somehow as she regretted the wine already.

Tara didn't know that he valued her softness though, her innocence, and if she had known of that she would then wondered if it had changed her in his eyes.

“Nobody caught your fancy yet, huh?” He nodded. “I know the feeling. Most of these people out here,” he motioned over his shoulder toward the window, grimacing dismissively. “Heads up their asses. Nobody looks at each other any more, you know? Looking into your average person's eyes...” He shook his head, smirking to himself. “You ever look into a goat's eyes? Or like a cow, or something? It's like that. Dumb recognition. All anybody thinks about is what you're good for.”

Picking through another few bites, he drank again. “See, I look at you, in, ah... In that grocery store?” It probably wasn't smart to bring up that moment of weakness, but he wanted to get the ball rolling a bit. “Usually you see a lady crying, you step aside, right? She's got enough to deal with. But I look at you, in one second I know how strong you are. Weak people just hit the ground and cry without shame. I've seen plenty of people cry. Weak people crying is easy. It's almost casual. They don't care. They were probably going to do it no matter what. But crying like that? It doesn't really happen like that until you've been fighting it a good while. Probably didn't feel so strong, when you did it. ” Was he way out of line? “Looked like the strongest thing I've seen in a while.”

He ate a bit more. “Character.” Swallowing, he put a fist in front of his mouth, realizing he'd spoken with food in his mouth. “A person can be ugly, stupid, mean, whatever... Character. That's what's important. You got it, honey.” He spooned down more, careful not to scrutinize her overly while he spoke. “I knew the second I saw you. Doesn't hurt you're smart and pretty and nice, either.” Again, he shook his head. “Just goes to show, nobody scoopin' you up yet.”

Again, he motioned as though he were throwing a ball over his shoulder, indicating the window, the people outside. “Heads up their asses.”

Her body tensed at the thought of the supermarket. It was her moment of weakness, and she was protective of it. Even as he talked about her strength the thought of her pain still lingered. Tara didn't think everyone's head was up their ass, but she was sure that some of them were. Her eyes went to her food, unsure of really what to say. With another bite she glanced back up at him.

"I never really wanted to be scooped up, I guess. I don't really let anyone come in to my apartment twice either..." she gave him a grin and scrunched up her nose slightly, letting him know that she had let him further then most. Her heart was aflutter once again, lifting her spirits from the memory.

Her eyes sparkled with a mischief that wasn't there a moment before, she wanted to move from that moment. That time of weakness. The weakness that made him take notice of her. Perhaps it wasn't so bad after all.

"You don't strike me as the type, looking to get scooped up." He was halfway through his meal now, smiling at her, perhaps the better half of her flirtatiousness soaring over his head. "Glad I did it, though."

Let into her apartment twice... That more or less reaffirmed his suspicions that if he'd taken advantage the first night, their engagement would likely have ended there. There wasn't really much temptation at the time. Robert had always fancied himself above capitalizing on the anguish of suffering women, and with Tara he felt responsible anyway.

"Probably a good sign, you having me over." He grinned. "I mean, we both know it's good for me, but you oughta be proud of yourself. Taking chances with strange men." In the shimmering vision of this glimpse of her fun, outgoing side, he flashed back on her trembling, a puddle in his lap, begging for her life and recoiling from the prospect of gang rape and prolonged confinement. It soured the moment, but he did his best not to show it. "Better be careful, though." He wiggled his eyebrows over the rim of his glass, finishing the remainder of the wine, taking his best shot a playfulness. "You never know. I could be anybody."

The warmth of her shuddering body in his lap, that day... It was a bizarre experience, something he found himself thinking about more than he felt comfortable with. The notion of power, that is exciting to all men, but the cost to their own humanity as well as the notion of victimization weighs heavy enough to overrule anything even approaching any such action for a chemically balanced human being. There is a small percentage of people who can convince themselves temporarily that these things are meaningless, and fewer still who believe it day to day. In the end, the philosophic undertow will consume any such perpetrator and despoil the very thing that makes him human. Any reasonable person understands this inherently, genetically, as a piece of their core, never needing to dabble in any flavor of that particular macabre to grasp (if loosely) the delicacy of their hold on reality and the world as a moral, self-respecting creature. It is the very barrier standing between us and true cannibalistic anarchy.

It chilled him to the bone, the idea that she might be faced with the precipice of such an experience as a result of his action. He'd have protected her, no matter what, and knew in watching her eyes shimmer that he would kill now to keep her safe. If it meant the end of him, the end of this lie, the destruction of everything he'd built for himself, he would do it. Some things were more important than comfort and prosperity.

He felt pangs in testing his limit like this, but the self-loathing in him begged for it. He fed himself a little further, and sloshed a fifth of a glass of red wine for himself. The charming smile faded a tad, and he couldn't quite muster another cool(ish) comment or quip. He felt... Suddenly somewhat empty, in doing this, wining and dining her, looking forward to intimacy. Robert felt like a coward and a cheat. His heart told him it didn't want her tonight, didn't want to consecrate... whatever this was physically. Other parts of his body hungered for her already, but the conflict was strong. Every male bone in his body wanted to convince her of his supremacy and bed her. The breadth of his soul wept for the increasingly complex situation he was pressing himself into.

He smiled for her, awaited her response with a keen grin, but it didn't quite fill his muted eyes.

"You could be anybody. But I don't see a nice guy who helps a frail little thing get her groceries exactly as a big threat. Or maybe I should. Oh well," she grinned at him, knowing full well that the last time he was over she would do anything to keep his company. The same seemed to be showing itself now.

He was a tad inconsiderate with his words, but the tipsy Tara didn't notice all too much. She was too busy basking in the rays of his attention to really listen to the tone and inflection of his words. Her stomach was full, so she set her fork down and placed her hands into her lap.

When she thought about it, she wasn't sure where she wanted their night to go. She could turn up the sex appeal and they could be in the bedroom before the movie titles appeared. Or she could sit awkwardly with him on the couch, attempting to snuggle up to him without seeming to clingy. She tugged at her lip thoughtfully. Overall, she knew she wanted him to stay longer than just a one night stand, and if that meant taking it slow, due to her fear of him leaving in the morning, she would take it. But if he started to pursue the idea, she wasn't exactly sure what she would do with herself though.

The plate cleaned, Robert stood and brought hers with him to the kitchen. “Movie time?” He retrieved and unsheathed the DVD, bringing it to the player and clicking on her television. The dishes could wait. People get funny when you start washing their dishes, and while it might feel good to find something to do with his hands, the large man felt eager to find a better use for them than sloshing around in the sink.

“Need me to carry you?” He teased, easing back onto her couch and spreading his thick right arm along the back of it. His big foot slid over the coffee table, and the curve of his body gave a practiced invitation, more or less perfectly molded around a snuggling woman.

“I can, you know. You saw it. Even with the Chinese food.” He teased. Confidence radiated from every facet of his being, and excitement tingled along his skin. This part, the physical part, he knew well. The intimacy and small talk, maybe not so much. She liked him. She was curious, eager... Everything about her said 'win'. Where he was from, women in this position tended not to shy at this stage. It didn't occur to him, in this moment, he might leave empty-handed.

Tara decided it was going to be different as he took her plate and she began to rise onto her heels. Her feet gave a whelp of pain, she tried not to show it, but she must have as he asked to carry her. Shaking her head she laughed at him and strided over to him on the couch confidently. "I'm not that bad..." she stuck out her tongue and slid next to him as the commercials for the movie began.

Her small body fit under his arm and next to his large warm body comfortably and easily. She slid off her heels and folded her legs beside her, further pressing into him. "So what's this movie about again?" she mused, looking up at him. Tara was really wondering how she would get through the night without sleeping with him. He was tall, dark, handsome, sweet, and nearly impossible to say no to. If they did have sex, would he say in the morning or leave like he had the day before.

Pursing her lips she turned her face back to the screen, titles of the movie running. Tara wondered how much of the movie she would actually see.

“Quite a few things.” He smiled. “A diamond, I guess you could say. It's really a chick flick in that way. Women like diamonds, yeah?” The wieght of his arm fell down around her thin shoulders and hugged her closer, physically moving Tara in her seat to fit tighter against him. It felt nice. He could feel her willingness as well as her hesitance, smell her interest, sense the tension. It all said positive things for him. It had been over a week since he'd enjoyed the company of a woman, and his body reacted strongly to her presence and his own confidence in the situation.

“I'm glad I got you here.” He leaned down to speak at her level, very softly, as the movie started. “Not that last time wasn't fun, but... The circumstances are a little more relaxed this time, I think.” His second leg met the first up on the table, crossing at the ankles, pointed away from her view of the television. “Those shoes can't be comfortable.” He continued slyly. “Why don't you curl up here beside me?”

Robert realized he was hard. Rock hard. It was uncomfortable, but he couldn't touch it to rearrange. The straining in his pants made him ache, but there was nothing to do but suffer in silence. The smell of her hair, the frailty of her little body... The caveman inside him was taking liberal guesses as to what different portions of her body would likely feel like, given the evidence already provided.

"Yes, women like diamonds," she said with a smile, implying that she may or may not agree with the over-paid for rocks. His body once again dwarfed hers, even on the couch it was evident as he pulled her closer with such a simple movement. She admired his confidence with her, under no impression that she was hoping to later hold out for sex. Tara curled up closer beside him though, their warm bodies pressing together as the movie began.

"They are quite comfortable," she added playfully, "I can get you some if you like..." she grinned and shook her head, her cheeks blushed from his simple attention. Her legs curled up closer to her torso, pulling them off the floor as she leaned into him. A girl could get used to this. But to keep him, she wasn't sure what the requirements were, or if she fit them.

The movie ensued, her body crying out for attention, for interaction. Her mind though attempted to shush the cravings and desire building between her legs. It didn't help that the scene of the movie was getting steamy either as she soon found her mind wandering to Robert and herself committing those acts rather than the actors.

“Size fourteen.” He smiled as her shoes tumbled to the floor. “I like that color, by the way, but I fancy myself an autumn.” Something about the way she curled against him brought out a more protective, paternal instinct, and pieces of him usually untouchable melted all at once. She trusted him. Tara trusted him completely. He could feel it in his bones; the way she lay with him, the seeping tension in her shoulders... she felt good in his presence.

Guilt rose up in his throat, and he pictured her a weeping mess in his lap, hurt and bound and blindfolded, well on her way to being hurt again. The way she'd wailed...

Robert's face fell, and he reached out to touch her hair, sift fingers through it at the front, clear it from her face and set the long dark strands aside to clear that pretty face. He would've fussed over her more, moved to accommodate her, reposition to mold her into something still more comforting, but he caught himself. “I, ahm... I shouldn't have done that.” He admitted. “That was weird, right?” Robert shook his head, suddenly feeling bashful. “I don't want to creep you out, here. You look so sweet... makes me want to take care of you.” Once he'd said it, he didn't feel so bad, and couldn't think of way she might perceive the notion now as equating to something disturbing, like smelling her hair or... whatever.

"Oh, I think they only make up to twelves," she said with a smile but watched as his smile faded quickly. She began to ask but his touch to her blonde locks soothed her worry. His words after though, confused her. "I didn't think it was weird at all," she admitted, almost embarrassed to admit it as he found it so odd. "I like it when I look cute enough to comfort," it was her attempt at easing his obvious discomfort with, what seemed like, himself and his thoughts.

One of the characters of the movie began to talk as he did and she shushed him playfully, but her head never turned fully back to the movie. It seemed that he held her attention, from the planes of his face to the strength and stress in his shoulders. Tara longed to reach out and soothe him some how. "What's wrong?" she asked cautiously, almost afraid of the answer. She could imagine it now, "Sorry Tara, you're just not my type. I like redheads." or "Can we just go get it on so I can get out of here?". Though she knew that Robert would never say these things, or anything like that, the fear was still there. Her hand reached out to his, as to comfort him, but really tie him to her somehow just in case he did want to leave.

"It's cool." He nodded, smiling again, pushing the corners of his mouth up to ease her worry. "Don't worry about me, honey. I'm here looking after you." He used his best reassuring tone, brushing his thumb over her cheek in an effort to maintain the comfort she felt with his touching her face. Some of the girls he knew, you couldn't do that. They'd been strangled and grabbed and threatened and slapped - some of the women in his life jerked back violently at the encroachment, became sore with him, withdrew trust.

Tara just smiled invitingly and appreciated the attention. He liked that. He liked how she felt, and how it warmed her to him. "Pretty." He muttered, his grin grown genuine, tipping up her chin. Her face turned where he pushed it, and it sent a chill down his spine. Robert's hand fell away and he shifted closer to her, easing back further into couch and enjoying the electricity leaping between them as the movie went on.

His comment made a smile rise on her face, even though it was only a simple word. "Thank you," she whispered as she blushed. The attention of his touch made he smile to begin with, but as he moved closer to her she wondered if she would end up sitting on his lap so they could get closer. Tara didn't want to watch the movie any longer, she wanted to talk to him, get to know him, but that could be view as forward.

She finally tore her eyes away from him and moved them to the movie. Her thoughts, though, we not with the movie. Her mind soon moved back to Robert, his touch was so soft on her skin, even with his rough construction hands. Some violence broke out on the screen and Tara shuttered into his chest, shielding her eyes. It wasn't much, but it still startled her. "Sorry," she said, Tara's eyes meeting back up with his, "Sorry," she muttered again lightly, embarrassed at her fear.

“No sorry.” He smiled, this time genuine, soothing his fingertips across her forehead, content to drop airs finding innocent reasons to 'accidentally' touch her, or innocently steal a fleeting brush. It wasn't really who he was, and in cupping her small, warm cheek in his huge hand, he kissed the top of her head and eased his fingers through her hair.

“I should find more fight scenes.” He muttered teasingly, happy to tease at her beautiful hair, feel the silky texture ease over his skin... It was incredible, always is a wonderful sensation. It released the scent of her conditioner, he could detect the faintest aromas of skin lotion and a touch of perfume. “You're a twitchy little thing.” He mused, soft eyes breathing in her adorable form as it huddled against him. “I like that. I like that you... feel comfortable. With me. A lot of girls aren't willing to let on when they need help.” His thumb and index finger flexed on her earlobe, traced the edges of the cartilage and touched on her earring.

“Is it bad I like you best when you're vulnerable?” His voice rumbled through his body and into hers, enough that she could feel his words as much as hear them. “I don't want to sound creepy, but... I love you like this. That's weird, right?” He smirked, nodding, moving the hair out of her face and touching her jaw, now, down to the sensitive curve of her neck. “Yeah. That's pretty weird.”

His wide grin made her blush as he pushed away her apology with the sweep of his hand across her cheek. The first brush of his lips on her skin made her body feel like it was alight, the simple act that made her feel satisfied with the night, even if anything made it go downhill. It didn't seem to phase him though as he teased her gently, focusing his attention to her hair. Tara was glad she had labored over it until it seemed perfect, glad that she could smell her shampoo in hopes that he would too, hopefully drawing him closer. Her body didn't move from the curve of his side that she had clung to, afraid that if she moved it would startle him, like a deer in the forest hearing a snap of a twig and suddenly being on full alert.

"I don't know what sort of girl you've been around, but I have no idea who would shy away from a tall, dark, and handsome man," her smile remained on her lips as he moved his fingers through her hair and to the baby soft skin of her earlobe. It gave her a chill as his voice moved through her, his fingers tracing the outlines of her form, his lips telling her he loved her, like this, but still.

Love? she thought to herself, hating to question it. It was true, she was very smitten with him, but was it love? The butterflies in her stomach gave a yes, the desire building between her soft thighs said the same, but those things could, and would, fade over time. But what of her heart? It was to busy tangled in the movements of his fingers over her pale skin and wrapped in his hushed proclamations of beauty and vulnerability.

"It's not bad, or creepy, or weird," she said finally, her eyes not moving from his. They faltered for a millisecond though, flickering to his lips as she pondered their taste and expertise. Somehow a deeper blush rose on her cheekbones as she did it unconsciously but knew that she had telegraphed her thoughts to him by doing so. Her pink tongue slipped out along her now dry lips, her bottom lip then moving between her teeth to be pulled at nervously.

Robert blinked. He knew that look. She was calling him out... and somehow, in the moment of aiming, he felt that guilt again, knew his folly, and something inside him wept. He'd done what he'd done. There was no excusing it, no good reason; he was a thief, and thieves will try to rob banks if they think they can. What he'd done to Tara was horrible, and what he was doing now, even worse. But he craved her.

No, he needed her.

She felt his large hand slip up under her hair, combing fingers searching out the skin to take her in a palm and lift her quivering mouth to within reach. His lips molded over hers, ever so softly at first - a simple laying on of flesh, barely a kiss at first and then exponentially deeper, more passionate, eager. His back stiffened and shoulders rolled forward, and he held the length of her fragile spine stretched under his one palm, the girl's rump dangling over the cushion under her for a second at a time whenever he accidentally lifted her up.

He loomed over her with intent and fierce presence, fingers twitching with the slow-drip of adrenaline his brain was easing into his system. Her neck craned back, painlessly of course, the tilt of his wrist accommodating the angle of his descent perfectly. Cradled in this way it was impossible that she not receive him as he intended her to, something given great thought in the premeditated sweeping brushes of tongue he flickered across the tip hers.

His second hand came to her collarbone, and traced the prominent edge of it from the throat to outside shoulder, rough fingertips walking across the runway to paw at the base of her throat with little sparks of sensation.