Another Day on the Job. (AutumnDreaming/Rekoj)

Catching the icy glare, Roxie retracted her hand from him. Her eyes rolled heavily while she shrugged, showing a temperamental side of herself that neither of them had ever seen. She was bitter. Bitter that Dianna could get away with whatever she wanted, including burning her house down. Bitter that she was left alone to fend for herself while these two attempted a rendezvous at sorting out their obvious feelings for each other. It was as characteristic of Roxie to react in this manner as it was for Dianna to be emotional and soft. That is to say, not at all. "Whatever." She muttered to him, turning on a quick heel to leave the room.

When she emerged into the living room, the redhead was sitting on the end of the sofa. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater, her long wavy hair arranged into a neat, half-up do. Roxie went to her side, silently taking the seat next to her. The two sat together for what seemed like hours, mimicking that night in the house that had seemed so long ago. "Well, I said Greece, but I guess I'm getting a trip to Ireland." Roxie stated, breaking the silence between them. Dianna half-smiled, though it was obviously forced. "Do you want to talk about it?" Roxie asked her, scooting over. The woman shook her head as a reply, but she leaned over until her cheek was on her friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry about your house, Rox." She whispered while the dark-haired woman lifted her hand to stroke through the red tresses. "I know you are." But that was all the comfort she had to give her.

Patrick got out of his bed slowly, he was not looking forwards to the rest of the day. He knew what he had to look forwards to, a rejection from Dianna, a standoffish attitude from Roxie, and a long flight home. He looked forwards to Ireland, but not the flight, he hated flying. He hated Roxie at the moment, and even Dianna, for the rejection he knew he was going to receive. With a shake of his head he managed to crawl out of bed, not bothering to improve his appearance- he planned to sleep the entire flight anyways. A few steps later he opened the door and made his way into the living room, also deciding it wasn't worth wiping the sullen look off of his face, he might as well just put it on now instead of giving into false hope that Dianna would come running into his arms once he exited the bedroom turn.

His family was originally Irish, the Adair's had moved to America when Patrick's mother was pregnant with him. He supposed this wasn't a one-way flight, really, it was just the second half of a return trip started 22 years ago. At the age of 20 he had lost his parents, his mother to a disease she had fought for many hard years, his father of alcohol poisoning only a month later. The young man had dealt with his parents deaths well, he understood when his mom died that his father wasn't going to take too long to follow. His parents had been good people, but left weak by his mother's disease, ever since their passing he hadn't had anybody else but himself.

But now he was in a hotel room, looking mostly at the floor instead of the two female companions he knew he'd be flying with. He dared to look up though, unable to stop himself, the hatred going out of his eyes as he searched for Dianna's. It was not a hateful look, but instead a questioning one, he couldn't think of the words to say, so he asked whether she was still his with his eyes.

After several hours of restful sleep, Dianna's mind had cleared. Gone was the little buzz, whether it was the alcohol or her subconscious speaking, she was unsure. Whatever it was, though, it had clearly vacated the premises. Instead of being level-headed, however, the redhead was even more confused than she had been the night before. When she got up, she was certain that the encounter between the two of them had just been a moment of weakness in light of the trauma they had endured together. They had saved each others' lives, which was bound to form a bond of some sort. That was all it had been, she had told herself. However, when her fair eyes lifted up to meet his, they couldn't give him the answer he wanted. She thought she was going to reject him, but the skip in the rhythm of her heart told her she wasn't quite ready for that. No, she wasn't going to race toward him and throw her arms around him, but ponder the situation instead. She had just been so certain a few moments ago, but now she wasn't.

Her eyes wanted to dart away, but they couldn't. They remained locked on his face, letting him see the contemplation expressed there. She could feel the couch shifting when Roxie stood, but she didn't care. She assumed the woman was going to get their bags and passports, but she paid her no attention. Rising to her feet, Dianna stood at the edge of the sofa. The silence passed between them, the former thief not bothering to speak. She had stolen from people, outwardly deceived them but this was the most awkward moment she had ever experienced in her entire life. For a minute, she almost wished they could revert back to when she was literally fighting for her life.

The decision was about to be made. She took one step toward him, her body arching as if she was going to reach out for his hand. Then, as abruptly as she had started, Dianna halted. Her eyes gave him one last glance before they dropped to the floor. Turning her back on him, she reached down to pick up her own back and take the envelope from Roxie. Reaching in, she distributed the passports and I.D.s to the woman and herself before walking over to him. Without so much as a smile, she pushed them off into his hands before heading for the exit. Yes, the decision had been made.

The contemplation within her eyes gave way for his to have a little hope within them, maybe he had been wrong? Had their connection truly been as strong for her, would she find a way to accept him again? Her hand, he dared not break the connection between their eyes, but he noticed it with his peripherals, he tried to write it off as his own imagination but it was heading for his own. The sullen look on his face lifted, now stuck somewhere in a neutral position, the glint of hope in his eyes growing brighter... until she looked to the floor. She pulled her hand back, and turned away.

Why did she have to raise his hopes, why couldn't she just have rejected him when he was ready for it. He looked away from her eyes when she returned with the passport, his hand barely grasping the ID placed within it. He wanted to go back to the museum, getting a bullet blasted through his torso, he wanted to take off and wish them a nice flight, trip, and life in Ireland, he wanted to be anywhere but in that room, in that moment. He dared not show his hurt, Dianna was cruel beyond even his own belief, raising his hopes only to squash them underneath her boot. He didn't doubt that she'd mock him for his pain now, and in silence he disappeared to the bathroom for a moment.

Cupping his hands, he collected a handful of cold water and splashed his face quickly. He'd been ready to be rejected, but not ready for that. He continued to splash his face, soaking his face and head with the bitterly cold water. He needed to refresh, but more importantly he needed to deny the existence of the few tears that dripped back into the sink with the water. Men don't cry, that was the rule, wasn't it? He looked up in the mirror and stood up tall, trying to look himself in the eye as the mirror, finding it difficult. He was shutting himself down, emotionally, if she wanted nothing to do with him, then he wanted nothing to do with anybody.

But he couldn't deny their predicament, he couldn't fool himself into believing he'd be better off just taking off and wandering aimlessly, as he felt like doing. He needed to stay focused, he needed to survive. He owed it to himself, for all of the suffering he'd gone through to survive, he owed it to Roxie, for all of the sacrifice and pain she had gone through for them, and as much pain as she had caused him- he still couldn't leave Dianna. There was a shred within him that still wanted her, he knew it would always be there, and it was his mission from that day forth to hide it with an ice-cold wall. There would be no friendliness from Patrick anymore, he would treat both of the women like coworkers he didn't like. Two people he simply had to deal with, in order to get through the day. One more splash, and he found he could look himself in the eye in the mirror, he just hated what he saw.

His formerly bright green eyes had seemingly been toned down in hue, his entire face was dull, as he pushed through the pain of rejection into a state of numb he could live with for a while. His dyed chest-nut blonde hair was seemingly dulling by the day, a reminder of what he had used to be. Looking in that mirror he came to a sad realization, despite everything they had been through, he had never wished any different of the past. He had been focusing too much on the present, on giving himself a future, to care about the past. But now, he wished he'd never wanted to be a cop, he wished he'd never taken that stupid assignment, he wished he'd taken off when he had the chance, instead of returning to the female's house, he wished many things that he knew would never come true. A deep sigh, and a glance back down to the draining sink, and he knew he'd wasted enough time.

Taking a towel he dried his hair, and with the glazed-over expression stuck on his face, he walked out of that bathroom looking no better than he did when he stepped in. Finding no bags for him to carry, he simply walked towards the door, where the women were waiting. He rudely stepped between them and pressed the door of the hotel room open, just wanting to get the plane where he could fall asleep in that uncomfortable airplane chair. He waited in the hall for them to exit, where he finally spoke, the only words he'd speak until after their plane landed in Ireland, "I want the window seat."

Neither of them would reject to him having the window seat. Both of the women knew that something had changed drastically, that whatever relationship the three of them had shared had been severely altered. There would be civility between the three or at least that's what Roxie hoped for she truly doubted Dianna would keep her opinions to herself should her temper be tempted enough. She was a firecracker to be handled with care, but everyone knew they exploded brightly when lit. Dianna's fuse had sparked a flame, and it wouldn't be long before it ran out. She doubted even the calm of Ireland would tame her. Also, she noted, Patrick seemed to be fed up with whatever hot and cold feelings she was serving him. It wouldn't be long, she gathered, until they had a knock-down drag-out fight that no one could stop. Maybe, just maybe, it would be good for them.

After the plane was boarded- with Roxie perched in the middle- neither of the two of them seemed to say or word or even do so much as to glance in the other's directions. Dianna immediately kicked her seat back, closing her eyes for the majority of the flight. Her friend looked so tired, so beaten down by all of this. It wasn't within her nature to be caged or contained. She was like a lioness, always needing to be on the prowl. To have to flee the country for her life was something Roxie knew Dianna had a hard time grasping. Someone in history- who, she couldn't remember- had said once "Give me liberty or give me death!" Those words could not be truer for the red-haired woman sitting next to her. Dianna had almost died the night before, but she knew she would have faced death again while fighting than to have her life taken from her in a manner such as this.

Turning her head, she faced Patrick's direction. She couldn't tell what was really going through his mind, but he seemed to be brooding about something. Maybe it was because Roxie had intruded upon them last night, had taken her from him. She knew how it would play out, she knew Dianna well enough to understand that when the morning came she would find no more affection for him. It was completely Roxie's fault for playing on her friend's characteristics but she didn't care. It would have been worse if they had gotten closer only to have it all blow up in Ireland.

Finally, even Roxie closed her eyes. When they opened again, the plane was just touching down on the lushness of green. "Di, we're here." Dianna's eyes popped open, the woman reaching to unfasten her seat belt. Like an automated robot, she stood and pulled down the bags from the cargo hold and passed one to Roxie. Without so much as a word, she left the plane and headed for the front door of the airport. Hailing a cab, she barely waited on them before giving the driver directions to the cottage.

Patrick was awake before the plane touched down, his head had been against the pane of glass the entire trip. He'd faded between sleep and watching the blue ocean beneath him, but really his mind was mostly blank. He was tired of thinking, tired of moving, tired of everything. He found great comfort within the squished airplane seat, but when it touched down he was ready to get off of that plane. In what felt like a few moments later, he was outside, catching up to Dianna and sitting in the backseat beside her. He didn't intentionally avoid looking at her anymore, he had reached a state of complacency with Dianna. He focused mostly out the window though, enjoying the sights of the rolling green hills, a hint of a smile tugging at his corners.

He'd never felt in place with the city rat-race, he'd adjusted to it and gotten to a place where he was okay living the city rat-race every day. But, his green eyes followed the hills as he didn't bother paying attention to the road and the route they took, he could worry about things later. He was enjoying the scenery, free from his worries of a big bad man with a gun right behind them. They were halfway across the globe, and now was the time to take a little security in their safety. He stared out of the window until they reached the cottage, within moments he had exited the vehicle and found himself walking towards the front step.

It was an old-fashioned Irish cottage, made of beautiful stone set atop a bright green hill- like something right out of a tourism brochure. He half expected (fucking) leprechauns to start hopping over the hills and dancing with a pot of gold. Of course, it didn't happen, but he walked up to the stone cottage and smiled as he took his palm and pressed it against the stone wall. He kept the smile hidden from the females who he was still not looking forwards to being stuck with- but he took solace in the fact knowing he could be comfortable at the place he'd be calling home for a while. Taking a deep breath he turned to the females and hid the smile before speaking about only business, "Once we get a vehicle I need to take a trip into town to get some personals, as well as another change of clothes or two."

Once her feet fell onto the vivid green of Irish earth, it was like a weight had been lifted from her burdened shoulders. Dianna suddenly felt at peace just by knowing that this beautiful and timeless place was her home. Nothing had changed to make the situation better or worse, and though she knew the serenity would not last very long, it was just enough to give her the faintest sliver of hope. Even the air here was cleaner somehow, crisp and invigorating to the lungs. She stood back as the cab rolled away, just starting at the modest structure of the cottage. It was older, built perhaps back in the 19th century, but she had immediately fallen in love with it the moment she had seen it. It had been renovated and was quite up to date in luxuries and appliances, though there was nothing fancy about it. Ireland didn't need frills as far as she was concerned.

When his voice interrupted her thoughts, she casually lifted a finger to the covered garage set apart from the house. She wouldn't deny him his basic necessities just because a riff had been set between them. After all, she was still a human being and so was he. "The car's in there, though it's been quite a while since she's been driven. You'll have to add some gas to the tank." Even her tone was softer, sweeter somehow. Leaving the front yard, she took them around to the back of the house. Fields and neatly groomed gardens were in abundance- cared for by someone she paid on a monthly basis to tend to her home. Swings and lampposts were scattered throughout the area along with picnic tables and chairs. "Isn't it beautiful?" She asked no one in particular before turning to the back door.

Bending, she picked up a fake rock and pulled out the spare key. Opening the back door, she led them into the structure that had a country cottage feel to it. Though the furniture was new, it wasn't stiff or dysfunctional. The colors were warm with earth tones while decorated with exquisite art she had actually purchased. Setting the bags down, she turned to grin at Roxie. "This is the living area. The kitchen is through that door. There are three bedrooms down the hall. Mine is the back master suite. There is a bathroom in the hallway, one in my bedroom, and also one down there." She pointed to a subtle staircase that led to a completed basement. "There's a pool table and sitting area in the basement. Please, make yourselves at home."

Dianna disappeared down the hallway to her bedroom. Once inside, she opened her closet to the safe built in the wall. Opening it, she took out a wad of cash. When she returned to them, she handed the money to Patrick. "This should be enough to buy yourself some clothing and whatever you need. If you would, could you stop by the market on the way back and purchase some groceries from us? Please?" Her eyes tried not to make contact though there was the briefest moment when they did. "Just get whatever you want, really. The keys are hanging on the peg by the door. You just take this road back to the main one and turn left. Be careful, though, with that whole driving on the wrong side thing." She wasn't trying to scold him, but even she had a hard time adjusting to the change in roads. But instead of letting him get the keys, she walked to the front door and scooped them up. The car was a Honda Civic, nothing too fancy. "Do you think you can find it alright or would you like someone to go with you?" Again, she wasn't being patronizing, which was a change for her.

Patrick walked through the calls of the cozy cottage and knew he would have not much difficulty adjusting to life in Ireland, or at least within the cottage. He quickly peeked his head into his bedroom, and was already looking forwards to taking in a good night's sleep within the large bed awaiting him. But he had rested enough, a wad of money had been placed within his hand with the task of getting what he needed as well as some groceries, and he was offered the vehicle. Taking the keys from Dianna, he caught a glimpse of her eye, and had to resist the urge to ask if she was feeling well. This was not a Dianna he was familiar with, but he accepted it, and he stared at the keys for a moment. He held them within his hand, looking at them for a moment, before looking over at the wad of cash within his other hand.

He looked to the car, and after a few moments of silent contemplation he had made his decision, processing Dianna's question through his mind. He looked up to Dianna and said, "Someone should probably come with me, I'm also going to need the address of this place. After I get some stuff, and some groceries, I'm going drinking. I don't care whether the person who comes with me drops me off at the pub and comes home, or whether they want to come with. But I'm in Ireland, and damnit, I want to have some fun."

What had started out as an indefinite hideaway in the comfort of Ireland had turned out to be just that: indefinite. The days had turned into weeks and the weeks into months. Of course, the country was as peaceful and as green as the red-haired woman had recalled it to be, but even that did nothing to calm down the ever-present stress of their lives. Every day was practically the same: they got up, they ate reasonably well while living off Dianna's stash of money, and then they separated to do their own thing. Dianna usually busied herself in her garden or worked diligently on winterizing the house for the coming cold months while Roxie seemed to do nothing but drink and play. The two best friends were anything but that now. In fact, the other woman hardly spoke to her at all, but she certainly didn't mind spending money that didn't belong to her. And Patrick, well, he didn't so much as glance in the redhead's direction. With the exception of the occasional greeting, nothing passed between them at all.

The good news was that they heard nothing from the mafia they had been so certain was out to finish the job of eliminating them. The bad news was that they heard nothing from the mafia they had been so certain was out to finish the job of eliminating them. It was frustrating beyond belief, but every single day Dianna spent hours upon end searching the internet for some kind of lead, for something- anything. The results were always the same- nothing, zilch. Not a single lead or name was ever brought up. In fact, she couldn't find anything linking back to the Caprelli family. It was like they literally owned everything, even the world wide web. What was worse was that if left the three of them totally in the dark. For all any of them knew, someone was on their way to get them at that very second but they'd have no way of being prepared. What it did do was make her trust even less and become far more paranoid than she needed to be. The fact of the matter was that this usually well-composed woman was slipping day by day. She was losing herself, especially since she no longer had anyone to turn to. She was alone with the exception of the leprechauns.

Roxie, on the other hand, was probably even more miserable. However, he way of showing it was by acting the opposite. Since she had stopped talking to her closest friend, she had no other choice but to open up to the only other human she saw on a regular basis: none other than Patrick Adair. He had become her only companion and her drinking buddy. She often invited him out to the pubs with her just so they could get away from the wretched woman that had gotten them all in this mess. She was out there pretending to have the time of her life: singing in pubs and dancing in the streets. She'd made a million new friends, but she couldn't recall a single on of their names.

The evening was just beginning, but she didn't feel like going out tonight. So, she and a bottle of Irish whiskey had made their way down into the warmth of the basement. She'd told Mr. Adair about the party for one she had planned and had invited him to play pool with her. Whether he would or not, she didn't know. Still, she set up the table just in case he decided to come down. Turning on some music, she picked up the bottle of whiskey and drank a large gulp of it.

Patrick could usually be found with a bottle of whiskey in his hands once dinner had been said and done, this late autumn evening was no exception. This evening he could be found plastered in the armchair which had been turned to look out the window, instead of at the TV. The bottle hung by the side of his armchair, dangling loosely, his green eyes inspecting the changing climate. His mindless staring had been interrupted by a voice, a familiar one, and a friendly one.

Patrick and Roxie's friendship had started one afternoon when Patrick had set up the pool table to play by himself, and suddenly found himself playing against the woman. They had been quiet at first, but one of the first nights they had gone to the pub together, they found themselves indulging in a long drunken conversation on the walk back to the villa. It had been a beautiful night, and three or four hours of partying had left them without the funds for a cab on them. He stared out the window and the fading twilight, and pondered his options. He could spend a few more hours in silence, drinking, staring out the window- or enjoy the company of a friend and a drinking partner. Within a moment he was up out of his chair and heading downstairs, a game of pool would always offer him comfort.

He walked into the lounge-style basement, it was Patrick's favorite escape in the house. He worked from when he awoke until dinnertime, each day, to no boss but himself. So many uselessly exhausted leads, so many days wasted, so many unknowns... and when he picked up that pool cue, he knew he could forget them all. He placed the whiskey upon the edge of the table, and hesitated in offering Roxie some- for he knew that she would have a bottle of her own. Leaning against the table, he looked over at Roxie and spoke, "Do you realize it's been five months, to the day, since we boarded the flight? It feels like years, but no... it's only been five fucking months."

He finished with a sigh, rubbing chalk on the tip of the cue, looking at the setup table and questioning, "So who's turn is it to break? Or shall we see who can drink longest?" He tipped the bottle to her, it had become a friendly competition- whoever could take the longest sip of the pure whiskey would be granted break- another 'brilliant' drunk idea, that seemed to be sticking around.

Theirs was mostly a friendship out of necessity and convenience. Though she didn't know much about his life back at home before all this had begun, she was certain he didn't like being cut off from the world either. For all of their safety, they couldn't even contact Freddie. They wanted him to be completely left out of it just so he wouldn't be in danger of the mafia catching up to him. She missed him sorely, but she could never express it. Of course, since being in Ireland, she bought herself everything she wanted. She bought fine jewels with nowhere to wear them, a brand new fast car that barely made it up the hills in this green, green land. Dianna never protested, but it didn't make Roxie any happier nor could it replace what she had lost.

They never invited Dianna to play, but she was certain he cared as much about that as she did. Roxie never offered to help with the house with the exception of doing her own laundry and cooking her own meals. Never once did she clean the place, though it was always spotless. All she did was drink and play; play and drink.

When he walked down the stairs, she was sitting on the edge of the table with her bottle in hand. "Well, lookie there, here comes Mister Adair." The woman was already tipsy, her giggles giving herself away. "I think I'm going to win tonight." She jumped down off the table, placing her bottle next to his. Picking up her poolstick, she rubbed a bit of the chalk across the end. "Five months, really? It does seem longer. No offense, but I'm sick of looking at your handsome face." Laughing, she gave a shrug. "I think about going back home. I mean, honestly, after five months I think they've probably moved on by now. I'm so tired of all this green and rain and rain and green. It's cold, too. What do you think, Patrick? Want to steal some of her money with me and go home? We could sneak out and she'd never even know!"

She didn't care about breaking or playing, really. She wanted to drink and that was it. Picking up her bottle, she let his clank to hers. "We could, but do you really want to play? We could just lounge around down here and drink. Sounds more fun doesn't it?"

Patrick had taken care of his own things, much like Roxie, he did not leave things around expecting Dianna to clean them up- and only every once in a while had he helped around the place. Mostly he focused on the computer, searching and trying to find any sort of lead, but it was feeling impossible. He noticed how tipsy his companion already was, and decided she had a point... pool did feel like far too much effort. He placed the pool cue to the side, and took a harsh swig out of his bottle before returning to the conversation-he didn't want to be the only one drunk.

He leaned against the table, his shoulder meeting Roxie's as he looked into her eyes, before shaking his head. "No Roxie, it's too dangerous still... they haven't stopped looking, we've just given them the slip for now. Returning back to America-far, far too dangerous. One of these days, I'll find something on them, and we'll do something... but we're not moving back, mmkay Roxie?"

Though he had been serious, he leaned in and smiled at her when he was finished, his hand moving to her back to rub it up and down consolingly. He turned from her for a moment to look at the bottle in his hand, before tipping it up to his lips and gulping more of the harsh liquor down his throat. He knew she was pent-up, bored, and homesick, but he knew that with every day the invisible monster of the mafia was coming closer. He leaned in his lips to Roxie's ear and whispered, "Though we can't go back home... I have an idea for some fun we could have tonight..."

As he dropped the stick, she knew she had won the round. Hers was replaced back in the holder while she leaned across the table to push the racked balls into the corner. It was then that she turned her back to the wooden structure and hopped up on it, sitting on the green fabric that covered it. She giggled again, swirling her bottle in a big, wide circle before taking another gulp of its contents. Truly, she hated the flavor, but she didn't care. As much as it was deemed a depressant, it was actually stimulating to her. Sure, it made her think about all the bad in her life, but she didn't feel anything. It only succeeded in infuriating her even further against her redheaded "friend" upstairs. Stupid woman.

When his shoulder brushed into hers and his gaze met her deep chocolate eyes, she grinned up at him. Her head shook with his, though she didn't know why she was agreeing with his disagreement. "For five months I've listened to you both tell me you'll find something on them. What have you found? Nothing, zipp-o, nada. Not that I have a home to go back to anyway. Dianna made sure of that when she torched it to the ground. That's okay, I'll buy three with her money." She laughed again.

Her spine tingled from his touch, the alcohol assuring her she liked the way it felt when his hand traversed the length of her back. Suddenly, his dashing face was even more appealing to her. Her head canted against his lips, his breath tickling her ear. "Oh, what did you have in mind?" She asked, sliding her hand along the edge of the table. "I'm in dire need of some fun."

With her now upon the table, his bright green eyes could stare right into her deep, dark eyes, except for the haze of inebriation. Patrick was letting the first swigs of the alcohol take control of him, slipping away into that friendly and familiar drunkenness. He leaned forwards towards the table, and closer to Roxie, letting his chest find hers to bump up against. He ignored the bitter comments about Dianna, and instead focused on the final words that slipped past her lips.

He followed his instinct and placed his hands right beside hers on the pool table, bringing his lips to what should've been uncomfortably close to hers. "I thought... if you and me weren't going to use this pool table to play a game... we might as well use the space, don't you agree babe?" He was leaning so far forwards he was practically propping himself up with his hands, barely on his feet anymore. His eyes remained looking into hers, his teeth running across the inside of his lower lip in sweet, sweet anticipation.

His fingers crawled over-top of hers, and held her hands in place, before he leaned forwards and finally his lips met Roxie's. He kissed her softly, though the grip with his fingers remained firm. He had had such a longing, for such a long time he didn't think anymore. When he saw the look in her eyes, and her lips so close to his, he figured he'd show her the fun that she so 'direly' needed.

His lips were so close to his that Roxie could taste the alcohol on his breath. All she had to do was tilt her chin even a few degrees and her mouth would be so pressed to his. She noted how he called her "babe" while he leaned in more closely to hers. His chest molded against her own torso, the rigidness of it almost pushing her back to a recline on the table. "Well, it would be a shame to let it go to waste." She told him, shamefully returning a flirtatious solicitation. She could feel his legs pressing against the tops of her bare thighs, the hem of her green dress rising up.

She felt the warmth of his palms over her hands while he finally made the connection between their mouths. Her lips teased his in short, fleeting kisses. Her instinct was to lift her hands to caress his face, but his wouldn't let her. Lips parted, her tongue snaking out to trace around his mouth. She arched her back, forcing her chest to press further to his. Her legs lifted, wrapping around his as she squeezed them, trying to force him against her.

Breaking the kiss, she pulled back to gaze into his green eyes. Her dark gaze searched his, trying to read the emotions on his face, but she didn't care. Wiggling her hands from beneath his, she gripped his shirt and forcefully tugged him down to her. Reclining back on the table, she tried her best to bring him down with her. "Kiss me again." She told him firmly.

He was not lost in Roxie's eyes, his heart was not pounding up into his throat so hard he thought it might suffocate him, he wasn't lost in the moment and getting to experience Roxie. There was no magic in the moment for him, pure loneliness and lust, he wanted somebody to share a night with, somebody who he could go back to being just friends with in the morning (if that is even possible), but he accepted it. He felt hers wrap around his, as he soon was pressing his torso hard up against hers. He wanted to be close, he wanted to have fun, and when he felt the tugging on his shirt he bowed down easily.

He nodded softly, silently at her demand, closing his eyes and letting his chest pin hers to the top of the pool table. He leaned over and his lips met hers, his tongue met hers, but only briefly and gently. His hands had curled up her back down, his hands looped underneath her arms and curled up to hold onto her shoulders. He kissed her lips until he pulled away, to search for her eyes, looking in them for only a moment. Once he found them he saw what he expected, the deep soulful eyes of Roxie, and beautiful as they may be- they weren't the eyes Patrick was looking for.

Patrick craved the fire of Dianna, he had missed her and tried to tell himself a thousand times over to let her go, move on, and he'll have a much happier (and probably longer) life. But he couldn't, and he brought his lips back down to hers to hide the lack of a smile upon them. He knew Dianna was only a pipe dream, so he'd better force himself to enjoy the moment. And Roxie had always had a bit of a sexy edge to her, Patrick had flirted with her during games before... so he let himself slip into the moment as best as he could. One of his hands abandoned Roxie's shoulder, to instead rub up and down the side of her torso. A very small smile came to his lips when he broke the kiss for another moment, he had still missed this terribly, the chance to have his body so close to another, the wonderful heat and intensity of the moment.

As his eyes bore into hers, Roxie could tell that whatever he was feeling, it wasn't about her. All the same, she didn't mind, really. There was no fire or passion in her expression simply because it was lacking for him. Similarly to what he was looking for in her, Roxie needed it in him. She was bored and lonely, and the only thing that had been able to fill that void thus far was the alcohol. But it made her think as it reminded her of just how alone she really was. It laughed at her, mocked her every chance it had. Even now as this man's body was pressing down to hers, it taunted her by ensuring that she noted the vacant look in his stare. Patrick didn't care for her, not really. She didn't cause him rage or the deepest set of emotions. She was simply a filler to him, nothing more than a distraction. She knew that the face he was peering at was not her own. He wanted to stare into eyes of blue and hair of fiery embers. He wanted someone to fight with him, to shove him away even though she needed him more than he could ever understand. He wanted Dianna, not her.

But it didn't matter so long as he just kept touching and kissing her. His lips were without passion, devoid of any emotion at all as they pressed to hers. Still, her mouth fought back with his, determined to prolong the connection as much as possible. She felt the tenderness in his hand, but it was simply timid and not out of an affectionate stroke. Hips rolled up to his, trying to entice him further. Her arms looped around his neck, her hands dragging down his back just to touch him. "Undress me, Patrick." She instructed, hoping he would take the bait.

Dianna was restless. She had been in bed for hours, listening to the rain tumble down on the roof, but she couldn't fall asleep. After tossing and turning for what seemed like an eternity, she had gotten up to a dark house and made her way into the kitchen. They weren't asleep, she knew that. Not only could she hear the sounds of Roxie's obnoxious drunken giggle from down below, but she noted the doors to their bedrooms were ajar. She missed her closest friend so much, but there was no use in denying the truth. Roxie was done with her, forming an alliance with the other part of their forced trio.

After rummaging through the cabinet, the woman took out the ingredients needed to make brownies. She mixed and poured, cracked eggs, melted, and mixed again. The batter was insanely rich, just the way she liked it. Pouring it into the baking pan, she popped it into the oven to let it rise for half an hour. While they baked, she sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of hot tea. When they were done, she took them out to cool before cutting them into even squares. Loading them up on a plate, she took a deep breath, swallowed her pride, and began to take them downstairs.

It wasn't giggling that made her stop on the last stair, but the absence of. Stepping off into the room, she nearly dropped the plate when she watched him lower his mouth to hers. Her heart plummeted in her chest, the color draining from her face. She felt her breath still in her lungs, the organs refusing to function any more. Without making a sound, she set the plate down on the small table by the staircase used for keys and other objects. When he leaned in against her on the pool table and called her "babe", Dianna turned to give them privacy. Though she would never admit it, the sight was like a dagger plunging into her chest. As silence as she could be, she made her way back up the stairs and went into her bedroom, locking the door behind her.

Lips continued to press against each other, it was becoming hotter and hotter within the stuffy confines of his shirt, and his hand continued its roaming up and down Roxie's side. He kissed at her cheek now, his eyes remaining closed as he tried to pretend it was his beloved redhead he was raining kisses down upon. He heard the words come out of Roxie's lips and he seemed to oblige. His hand, in one deft motion slipped beneath the black-haired woman's tank-top, running up and down against her skin now. Her shirt was slowly coming up, and starting to expose Roxie's midriff, as Patrick kissed at her chin.

He pressed his lips up against the tip of her chin, softly, before kissing only an inch or so lower. He hesitated, but convinced himself to kiss another inch lower now against her soft neck. His hand's speed lowered, now only softly tracing circles against the skin of her back. He kissed another inch lower, this kiss even softer, as he was losing the battle with himself to 'give in' to the moment. Another kiss, near the crook of her neck, and then he was done. His lips pulled away, the only noise that of his breathing, which the pace of was decelerating quickly. He remained there, on top of Roxie, his finger still softly playing with the skin of her back.

He sighed, his eyes popping open now, to try and find Roxie's, a softness within his now. He still cared for Roxie, she still was his friend, and he didn't want her to feel rejected. He didn't want to hurt Roxie, but he knew he couldn't go any further, he just hoped she'd understand. He sighed once more and brought his hand up to the side of Roxie's face, as he muttered softly, "I-I'm sorry Roxie... it's not you.. I just... I just can't." He tried to emphasize that final word, to make her understand he simply couldn't go any further. It didn't feel right to him, his body and mind would not allow him to go further. He placed one more soft kiss on Roxie's cheek now- avoiding her lips, trying to show her he still cared for her as a friend, still keeping his body close to hers.

Though he was physically complying with what she had asked of him, the motions were so automated. Even his kisses continued to seem robotic as they pressed against her skin, as though he had suddenly shut himself off to autopilot. There was nothing about his touches that said he wanted this, nothing that told her she was the one he craved. Of course, her drunken mind was still very well aware of that. The bottle was still screaming at her, still roaring with laughter. [i/It's not you, Roxie. You're nothing.[/i] The thoughts only infuriated her further. It annoyed her how he hesitated to kiss lower down on her flesh or the way his lips didn't seem to linger. When he completely pulled away, her hands roughly grasped his cheeks and pulled his face up to hers. Lips assaulted his, kissing him feverishly. Yet, she knew in the stillness of his mouth that whatever action had been started had been completed.

She sighed simultaneously with him, pushing his face away from hers. Collapsing back on the pool table, she looked up just as his eyes searched hers. He was trying to be soft with her, trying to let her down gently. As soon as he started to reject her, she slapped his hand away from her face. "Don't!" She told him, turning her cheek. "Don't say anything!" Tears welled in her eyes, though they wouldn't have been there had it not been for the liquor poisoning her system. His kiss to her damp cheek was his way of showing her that he wanted to revert to being friends, to forget the loneliness they had tried to fill with each other. She knew she would forgive him tomorrow when her head was clear of the hazy, but for now she was mad. Mad that, once again, it was all about her, Dianna.

She managed to wiggle out from under his body. Turning over, she crawled off the opposite end of the pool table. The bottle would remain with him, the woman deciding she'd had enough. "Enough of this shit. You can drink the rest of it. I'm tired of acting like this." She started to walk off, but turned to point her finger directly into his face. "Why don't you just fucking tell her? You're already miserable and so is she. Why don't you just go be miserable together? This whole avoiding everyone thing is so fucked up. We're all we have and half of us hate the other half!" Hands thrust into her short hair, pulling it away from her head. "I don't know how she fucked up your life so much- it wasn't your house she burned down!" Shaking her head, she turned around. Walking right past the plate of brownies, she ascended the stairs and disappeared into her room.

For a while Patrick was very quiet, and very still within the basement. He felt terrible, he felt terrible for even flirting with Roxie, worse for kissing her and getting her hopes up. He felt for Dianna, though he thanked his lucky stars she didn't know. He felt like he had cheated on Dianna, though it was a ridiculous feeling and he knew it. He owed nothing to Dianna, felt no ties to her except for the ones he couldn't understand. He looked at the bottle sitting on the table, and quickly reached out to grasp it. He knew he shouldn't, but he needed it, he wanted to drink until he passed out so he could actually fall asleep. As he stood up, and went to take a sip, he delayed.

That was when he noticed it, out of the corner of his eye, an innocent looking little tray in the corner of the room. Quickly he placed the bottle to the side and whispered a soft word to himself, "No."

He tried to deny the existence of the tray, but as he focused on it now he could smell the delicious aroma coming off of it. Stepping up to the tray, he placed his hand on top of one of the brownies, to confirm his suspicions. It was still warm, fresh, and he knew brownie trays didn't appear out of nowhere. He stared at the try and whispered again, in a more distressed voice as his hands went to the side of his head, "No, no, no, no... nononono-Fuck. No."

He spun in the room and quickly grabbed the bottle, seeming unable to pour the liquid down his throat fast enough. After a few seconds of harsh guzzling he tossed it to the side though, his eyes every once in a while darting back to the tray- hoping that it was only an illusion. As he came to acceptance with the tray, he then had to accept everything it held. Dianna had seen them, him and Roxie, and whatever she had seen had forced her to leave the tray and take off in the other direction. He knew what she saw, she didn't have to be around for too long to see his hands all over Roxie, his chest all over Roxie, his lips all over Roxie.

His mind flew to the what-ifs and the what-nows, wondering if Dianna would ever forgive him. Part of him was surprised she didn't come screaming in after him, but he knew those thoughts were a little too optimistic. Perhaps Roxie had been right, he needed to tell her- but now? After this? She wouldn't listen, and he knew she had good reason not to. In less than an hour, Patrick had hurt a close friend and screwed over any chance of being with the woman he longed for.

Sitting down in the chair beside the pool table, he held his head in his hands, he managed to force out two harsh, low words, that he intended for nobody other than himself, "You fucking idiot."

The air was crisp and cool, almost crossing the line to being bitter. The sun had barely risen across the horizon so she assumed the house would still be quiet. Drunken nights usually led to lazy days and long hours of sleeping especially when. . . no, she couldn't think more on what she had witnessed. It didn't matter, after all. Roxie was a grown woman, free to make her own choices while he was an adult, too. They were both single and alone. Besides that, they both seemed to have a common loathing for the owner of the cottage. All that combined made it easier on the pair to have a relationship, even if it was just casual and focused on one thing only.

After her shower and breakfast, she pulled on her old work gloves to go out to prune he rosebushes. Though winter was steadily approaching sooner rather than later, she wanted to make sure they were trimmed before the frost hit. Burying herself amidst the flowers, she trimmed and put the unwanted branches in a bag. Out of the corner of her eye, just in the trees on the edge of her property, Dianna thought she saw a figure dart through the growth. Leaning forward, her eyes scanned the trees but saw nothing. Standing up, she continued her work on another set of shrubbery. Once again, something raced by her peripheral vision. Though she was well aware of woodland creatures inhabiting the area, the outline of the shadow had seemed tall, almost like a grown man. "Who's there?" She called out, rising to her feet. From behind her, she could hear a rustling of leaves. "Come out, now!" She commanded, holding her shears firmly in her hand. Stepping toward a hedge line, she nearly jumped out of her rubber boots when a squirrel skittered across the path. Laughing at herself and her paranoia, she resumed what she was doing.

When the afternoon was just settling in, Dianna finished her gardening. She hated to see the beautiful blooms die, but she knew it was going to happen soon. Stepping up to the backdoor to put away her gardening tools at her flower table, she noted a dark pink spot on the stone. Stepping up to it, she stooped to see a rose bloom had been dropped to the ground. Furthermore, it was flattened against the patio floor as if someone had driven a boot into it. Peeling it off the walkway, she turned it over in her hands as if it could divulge how it had gotten there. Glancing around her property again, she pocketed the flower and went inside.

As she did every single day, Dianna kept to herself. She jumped on the computer, looking for more information on these people that had tried to abduct her before, but as was expected, she found nothing. After making herself a nice cup of hot tea, she turned into her room as soon as the sun set, passing a dressed up Roxie on the way out the door. Neither so much as glanced at the other, which pained the redhead. Changing into her nightshirt, she shut off the lights and went to bed.

~~

When the haze had cleared from her mind the following day, Roxie realized she wasn't really upset at Patrick for his rejection. She was angry at the situation, but she knew he had no ill intent. In fact, the whole scenario was getting to every single one of them, eating away at their sanity at an agonizingly slow pace. She couldn't stand to be in the house anymore and since flying back to America wasn't much of an option, she decided to make it a public drunkenness night. Her favorite pub was having a live band session and half drinks to promote it so of course she would be in the crowd. Dressed in a denim mini skirt and red tank top, she climbed into her car and made her way into town. There were hardly any open parking spaces, but she managed to wedge herself into an alley spot. Once she opened the door to the inside, the booming music greeted her ears. Making her way to the bar, she ordered her first drinks and thrust herself into the center of the crowd.

~~

Dianna woke to the sound of tapping on her window. Rap, rap rap- an ever-constant rhythm. Pushing her hair out of her face, she sluggishly made her way toward the glass pane. Batting her eyes a few times to push away the sleep from them, she leaned forward to peer out the glass. There, where her reflection should have been, was a broad, bald figure giving her a toothless grin. He was dressed in a dark suit, the glimmer of moonlight illuminating his silver tie. He raised his hand to the window again, tapping with more force. The woman gasped, running backward into her bed. She stumbled and fell, but she watched him wave to her while his laughter permeated through the thin pane. "NO!" She screamed, her shriek causing him to tear from the window.

Bolting to her nightstand, she threw open the drawer. The contents were dumped as she managed to find the hidden compartment, lifting it up to pull out a wrapped package. Tearing away the cloth, she held the gun securely in her hands and she raced through the house. "PATRICK!" She screamed for him, though she didn't know where he was. "PATRICK!" But there was no time to wait for him. Bare feet padded across the floor as she made her way to the front door, throwing it open. The gun was cocked and ready to fire as she tore out the door and into the dark night. She ran to the driveway to look for a car, but there was nothing. She circled the loop of the house, looking for any traces of someone being there. Nothing.

But Dianna knew someone had been there tonight just like he had been there this morning while she was in the garden. Someone had found them, someone was watching them. Pointing the gun outwardly, she tried to calm her erratic breathing. Her heart was pounding, her mind racing. They had been found across the ocean and in the middle of the country. Somehow, these people had tracked them down.

Patrick hadn't left his bedroom all day, when he wasn't sleeping, he was drinking his hangover off. He wanted a 24 hour period away from everybody in the house, all he wanted as the comfort of the bed. The bed wasn't going to try and hunt him down and kill him, the bed wasn't going to ask him any questions about the previous night, and the bed didn't have any eyes he would have to look into. The bed, instead, was a place where it was warm and comfortable, and free of worries. He didn't have to think about the bed, the bed would be there, with it's warm blanket and comfortable pillows.

After trying and succeeding at sleeping his day away, Patrick found himself very awake, and very sober at bedtime. He was sitting in his bed now, sitting and looking out the window, as he often did. He could stare at the scenery for a while, seemingly lost in his own head. He had the covers up to his waist, and his upper-half was clad in a tank-top, while he was wearing sweatpants under the covers. He didn't recall changing into his sleep-clothes, but at some point during the day he had managed to change what he was wearing.

He held his head with a sigh, a slight throbbing in the back of his head reminding him that his brain didn't like how much he drank. Patrick didn't know how he was going to get to sleep on this night, and he was contemplating finally getting out of bed to get some food, hoping Dianna would be asleep and Roxie out drinking somewhere when he heard it. The loud, shrill scream. His eyes darted towards the door, and he instantly recognized it had come from Dianna's room. He stood up out of the bed, and walked towards the door, swinging it open to hear a much clearer scream. It was a scream of distress, and it was in the form of his name, accompanied by urgent footsteps stepping through the hall.

He rocketed straight out of his hangover into the moment, his brain snapping to quick decisions as he darted across the room and retrieved his pistol out of the bedside drawer. He always kept it loaded, cleaned it weekly, and as he snapped the safety off he knew he was ready. He heard his name repeated, and resisted the urge to shout back. Instead he darted behind her, and out of the front door. As he exited out of the front door he drew his pistol and took quick aim on... nothing.

There was nobody, instead he found Dianna aiming outwards, switching from bush to shrub. There was nothing, but he kept his pistol aimed and stepped closer to Dianna, standing beside her, questioning quickly, "Where are they? What's happening?"

Through the silence of the night, Dianna was trying to listen for the sounds of rustling or scurrying- anything really. But there was nothing. No crickets, no wind blowing the leaves through the trees, absolutely nothing but dead and total silence. She stood there, eyes constantly darting from tree to tree, always looking in the darkened distance where she thought she had seen someone earlier. Someone was toying with her, trying to frighten her. Maybe he wanted to lure her out of the house, to pull her away from her defenses and make her more vulnerable. With that thought in mind, she slowly took backward steps toward the house. Just before she could reach the door, a male voice pierced her ears from beside her.

The woman spun quickly, her gun aiming right at his heart. When she noticed the familiarity of his face, she removed her right hand from the gun. Her left arm relaxed, clutching the weapon in toward her chest so that it pointed diagonally upward and away from either of them. "God, Patrick!" Her tone held relief, but it was obvious he had startled her. "Oh, that's a good way to get yourself shot." She muttered, but her eyes tore from his to wander back into the darkness. "I don't know. I can't find them." She stepped away from him, stretching her body out at a lean and peering down the opposite side of the house.

In that moment, Dianna wasn't thinking about him. She wasn't thinking about that night in the hotel or the brief softness exchanged between them. Her mind was as far away as it could be from only the night before when she had witnessed him cradling Roxie in his arms. She didn't care they had kissed. In that very moment, her mind was alerting her like a sounding alarm that danger was present. "Today, in the garden, I thought I saw someone. Then I found a rose on the stones by the door." She was still looking around, determined to find a body or something. "I was asleep and heard someone tapping on the door. When I got up to see what it was, there was a man staring back at me!" She was rushed in her speak, though she kept her tone at a whisper. "They've found us, Patrick. They're after us!"

~~

The crowd at the pub was so wild that people were just passing drinks left and right, sipping this cocktail and that beer without even really knowing where they had come from. It was hot in there, too. Stifling even. People were literally shoulder to shoulder without an inch to spare. People were bumping and grinding into her, stepping on her toes while they danced to the upbeat rhythm of the band. Roxie was laughing and smiling, though she wasn't really in a jovial mood. She was trashed, that much she knew. But in addition to that, she didn't feel very well. Her eyes were droopy, hardly able to stay open. She felt overwhelmingly nauseated and dizzy. The room was spinning and spiraling out of control. She needed air and fast.

Pushing herself through the throng of people, she stumbled twice. Arms belonging to strangers caught her, asking her if she was alright. She waved them off with another grin, but the true answer was no. She grabbed her purse by the door and thrust herself through the door. The cool air was liberating, freeing up the tension in her chest. She faltered her way through the parking lot to where her car was, her hands holding her clouded head. Reaching her car, she opened her purse to fish for her keys. Dropping them, she bent to pick them up but her foot accidentally kicked them into the dark alley. She stepped into it, dropping down on the pavement to feel around for them. Her hand brushed against the roughness of the ground before touching the cold metal.

Scooping up the keys, she pulled herself to her unsteady feet. When she turned to go to her car, her body slammed into something- or someone- very solid. "Careful, Roxie, you wouldn't want to hurt yourself." He told her. She laughed, pushing past him. It was only when she put her key in the door did it dawn on her that he'd said her name. Glancing up in the window, she saw his reflection behind her. "Aldo Caprelli sends his regards." That name was so sickeningly familiar, but she couldn't recall it. When she tried to pull open the door, his arms were looping around her waist to drag her backwards. She tried to scream and kick, but there was a haze of black clouds taking over her vision. "You should be more careful about what you drink." He told her with a laugh. Roxie struggled for only a few more seconds before her weight buckled in his arms. Her head lolled back against him as she fell into an unconscious state.

He was inspecting the trees, looking for movement, looking for any shred of any sign of evidence to believe her. He was having difficulty, as she was losing it, going off describing finding an idle rose on a walk, a face in a window, and thinking she saw somebody. He didn't bother doubting her now, his mind was still 'in the zone', his arms swinging looking for a target, any target. He had convinced himself that danger was present, and that he needed to be aware. He was searching, looking, praying to find something... and as he swung, he finally saw something- a gun pointed at his chest.

Instantly he flinched, and turned to switch to the target looking at him, his eyes running up the hand holding the pistol, quickly going up the arm, up to the neck.. to the familiar fiery red hair. It was Dianna, and his hand stopped aiming for her within an instant, whipping his arm straight out away from both of them as he flinched back. Quickly she retracted her pistol, and he held his suddenly racing heart. He grasped it only for a few moments, enough time to catch his breath before trying to reach the zone he was in before.

He wasn't staring as intently down his gun this time, he was aware of the words Dianna were speaking but did not look at her or mutter a word of acknowledgment, instead trying to tell his mind that danger was present. The more he looked, the less he found though, peeking around the nearby wall of the house to find the driveway completely empty. He looked back to the distance, and still found nothing. He wanted to believe Dianna, because he didn't want to believe the alternative- but he could find no shred of evidence to her claims, and he sighed as he clicked the safety on his pistol and holstered it to his side.

He was tired, hungover, and his eyes went to Dianna he saw panic, desperation, and predominantly, paranoia. Patrick had always been aware of Dianna's slipping strength and sanity, but this was too far. He holstered his pistol and finally looked at Dianna, acknowledging that she had been speaking and yes, he had heard her. He replied with a shake of his head, "You thought you saw somebody? You saw a face in the window? Come on Dianna, you're fucking losing it! You've been on-edge for as long as I can remember now and there's nobody here Dianna! Look around, there's fucking NOTHING!"

He had shouted the final word as an open challenge, shouting it at the top of his lungs, daring any invisible foes to come out and prove him wrong.

As he looked around, nothing came, and his eyes returned to Dianna, his eyes finding hers, but his mind only on the here and now, forgetting entirely about how he felt about the woman, "Come on, the face was probably Roxie pulling a prank before going to town, maybe the wind knocking something, maybe it was a god damn squirrel! But there's nobody here, if they were here to get us Dianna, they would've come in numbers, and kicked down the front door. You really expect me to believe that they've tracked us down to Ireland, right to the house, finally chasing us down... and they choose to tap on the window? Where's their car, how did they get here- You're being fucking irrational and you've finally gone and lost it!"

Her breath was still in her lungs out of anticipation as her eyes remained glued on him. She was frozen, watching him intently as she waited for him to react somehow. Her body was slightly arched toward him, her face turned so that her ear was pointed to his mouth as if his next words were the most important ones he would ever utter in his entire lifetime. However, when he moved, he did something she was not expecting: he holstered the gun. It was greatly significant, more so than words because it meant that he had either given up or he didn't believe her at all. She looked back at him incredulously, recoiling in her stance as if he had just lashed out at her. "What are you doing?" She asked, eyes darting down to the gun at his hip. "Why are you putting it away?" But she knew the answer to that already.

His sigh was like icing on the cake, just further proof that he thought he claims to be false. When his head started to shake, so did hers only she was trying to stop him from continuing with that one single motion. "No, no no no no no!" She interrupted him, spinning around while both her hands went to her head. The barrel of the gun dug through her red hair, pointed directly at her own skull. One wrong move and the trio would be down to a pair. "Stop stop stop!" Her voice was raised, frantic to get him to stop contradicting what she had said. "Patrick, I didn't think. I know!" But he continued, even going so far as to acknowledge how he felt about her slipping sanity. It was true that she had kept to herself for the most part, but she wasn't delusional. She knew what she saw; his face was etched into her memory. Wasn't it?

When he screamed, she recognized that word as a challenge. Her gun was extended again, moving away from her body and aiming out into the darkness. She was waiting for someone to walk up, guns blazing, and preparing herself for an oncoming battle. She knew someone was there. They were toying with her now, hanging out somewhere in the distance and laughing at her while Patrick humiliated her with his disbelief. Her temper was rising, her skin flushing. "COME OUT, DAMNIT!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, running to the end of the house to peer around the property. Nothing. Silence.

She returned to him, trying to avoid his eyes as if she didn't want to have to boost his ego by letting him be right. Only, he wasn't. No, someone was there. As soon as his mouth uttered Roxie's name, Dianna could feel her teeth gritting together. How dare he speak of her so casually, as if what she had walked in on last night had been nothing. She wanted to question him, to ask him how he knew she had gone out but she didn't really want his answers. Besides, this wasn't about Roxie nor was about the two of them. "It was not a fucking squirrel this time[i/]. I got up. I saw his face! He was staring back at me, he even waved when I fell! I'm not losing it!"

But he was making sense as much as she didn't want to admit it. If they had chased them down, they certainly would have done more than play mind games with her. And where was the car? "I'm not going crazy." She told him in a too calm manner. She was starting to doubt herself, to think he was really right. "No, they're trying to play mind games. They want to turn you against me so we'll become weaker. I don't know, maybe the car is parked down at the base of the hill!" She stepped toward him, her eyes searching his desperately. "Patrick, please, you have to believe me." She was pleading with him, begging him to just cut her some slack. "Wait, I can prove it!"

Sprinting toward the door, she stepped just inside to where their jackets hung on hooks. "I have the flower!" She plunged her hand into her pocket- finding nothing. Pulling her hand out, she checked the other pocket- still nothing. "No! Where is it?" She asked herself, dropping down onto her hand and knees on the floor and frantically searching for that little rose. "I must have dropped it! Maybe it's out on the garden table!"