Talk about some bad Mojo {Maddie}

[lucien]

It was certainly going to be a long 8 weeks…but the 30 minute car ride from the crime scene to the County precinct? Forget long; it seemed like a goddamn eternity. If it wasn’t for his pocket full of Tums and the coffee he’d managed to steal off of a beat cop buddy, he’d probably have gone insane at some point and shoved her out of his car.

The entire ride there, he’d kept glancing at her when she wasn’t looking; annoying the crap out of himself with the fact that he couldn’t stop fuckin’ looking at her. She seemed too freakishly young to be an actual reporter, with those big eyes and innocent face. Usually, the women who came to cover his beat back in Boston- the bloody murders or high profile burglaries- were older and much more…professional. Hell, if it wasn’t for the phone call he’d made to confirm her story, he’d have placed her as a school teacher or a librarian.

…Which went and set off a whole bunch of images he really didn’t want to think about. Goddammit, he really was going insane!

Mentally berating himself for such unprofessional behavior, he gripped the steering wheel and floored it; sighing in relief when the precinct came into view. He hadn’t said a word to the girl the entire time; answered whatever questions she asked as curtly as humanly possible. And when he finally pulled into the lot and parked the car, he proceeded to start moving toward the front door without a backward glance.

So yeah, he was being a schmuck and knew it…but he just couldn’t help himself. This was self preservation, man; a tiny nugget of hope that, if the girl hated him enough, she’d leave his name out of whatever story she ended up writing. In the off chance that her article included a Detective Griffin Paoletti…God, he just KNEW his life there in Podunk was over. The Sherriff wasn’t about to let him stay on if reporters wanting to cover the old Angel Killer murders were swarming around town…and that didn’t even cover the locals.

If anyone found out about his past, he’d have to move on. And while Nebraska wasn’t his first choice, it was all he had. He knew he’d never find another town so damn welcoming again.

So, he’d make her hate him. Something in his gut started to burn at the thought- which was weird, given the fact that he shouldn’t care about what she thought of him- but he ignored it. He’d just swear off street-corner-taco’s for the next week; that should take care of that.

The other deputies and secretaries gave him his space as he moved toward his little office in the back. The guys around the precinct were relatively friendly, but he’d never made it a point to get to know them; he kept their distance and they kept theirs. It was a pretty lonely existence, all in all, but he preferred it that way. Nobody was going to be around to trick his ass into believing they were his friend, just to stab him in the back. Not again.

Pausing at his office door, he glanced over his shoulder at her. His face was probably as dark as the thoughts running through his mind, and he forced his voice to be contradictively light. “Coffee’s out front and there’s an extra desk over there,” He nodded toward the middle of the large room. “I don’t know what you want from me for this ‘story’ of yours…but the crime scene photos should be in, in an hour.”

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[maddisonlynncarpen]

It felt as if time stood still. Her chocolate brown eyes stared desperately out of the moving car window, praying that someone would remove their finger from the slow motion button that her life was stuck on. It seemed like everything that surrounded the two crept by, slow and for a moment she couldn’t help but wonder if they were moving at all. Her silky hands sat in a neat pile in her lap as she tried her best from fiddling. But OH she wanted to! Her hands were like little twisted coils of energy that wanted to do anything but sit still in her lap. A reaction to reach out and place her hand on top of his made her stomach churn, and she clenched tighter to her own. She hated everything about Nebraska. The way it smelled, the way it looked, the way the stupid idiot of her heart made her feel with the man she spent hour dreaming about sat within inches of her. Most importantly, she hated him. He was arrogant, crass, rude, smoked like a chimney, and well… hated her too. And she especially hated the fact that this car ride seemed to suck the very life out of her.

She didn’t like that she wanted to talk to him, to get to know him, to get to touch him. Her mind still fought and struggled against the idea that he was exactly who he appeared to be, not who she built him up to be. He wasn’t the sweet and loving man she had envisioned. He didn’t like long nights by a fire and a good book, he didn’t thrive in the idea of lying in bed all day. Instead, he killed himself slowly all while making himself reek like an ash tray and treated her like the discarded piece of gum on the bottom of his shoe, in a rush to get her as far away as possible.

In order to not be a complete zombie, she forced herself to ask a few fundamental questions about Nebraska, but did not ask him anything personal. She knew that would only add more salt to the open wound that she now found herself faced with. His answers were lifeless and numb, said in the shortest and smallest amount of syllables possible. She would accept them and return to her forlorn stare.

When the precinct came into view, an audible sigh of relief came from the seat next to her. While her feelings were mutual, she kept this reaction to herself. She would not give him the satisfaction of hearing she was miserable. She would kill them with kindness and professionalism; something she doubted had ever crossed his small and hardened mind. She followed him like a abused puppy as he headed into the precinct. She kept a safe distance but followed him precisely, not wanting to be alone in a police station. If the other officers were anything like him, this would be the longest assignment of her life.

She merely nodded as he put on the charm, directing her to the coffee and desk. Though his expression screamed hatred, his statement implied they would play nice in public. She could handle that. She found her way to the empty desk and began to unpack. There wasn’t much and nothing truly personal. While Maddi loved photography and capturing moments, she lacked those personal moments of her own. She wasn’t rude or antisocial, but she was a single child with a distant relationship with her parents and only a handful of friends to lean on. That didn’t leave many opportunities to capture pictures worthy of framing and keeping on a desk. Instead, she retrieved the most recent iMac laptop and leather bound notebook from her bag, placing them neatly on the desk. Next came a roll-a-deck with her contacts, sticky notes, a docking station for her camera and a pencil holder and a barrage of colorful pens, highlighters, and pencils. She organized her desk very deliberately and in a way that screamed organized and OCD.

Glancing around, she noted that she was a one of a kind, cringing at the stacks of papers that sprawled across their desks. She quickly jotted down a list of supplies she would need to purchase before pulling out the finishing touch. From the front pouch came a beautifully carved and crafted name placard that read, “ Madeline G. Carpenter, Reporter”. It wasn’t home, but it was the best she could do for now.

[lucien]

Because heaven sends and heaven takes
Crashing cars in his brain
Keep him tied up to a dream
And only she can set him free
And then he says to me

Kill me now

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Okay, so his peace offering was obviously not being taken very well. Though…who could blame her? He’d practically bitten her head off at the CS, gave her monosyllabic answers in the car and ran away to his office once they reached the precinct. If he were in her shoes, he’d probably have punched himself in the face by now, and the mere fact that she was still there was a testimony to her backbone. A bit of grudging respect wormed its way into him and he sighed, making a note to be a bit more civil.

He might be afraid that she’d find out about his past while she was there and spill it to the others, but that didn’t mean he had to act like an ass around her. He was a professional and his adopted mother had raised him better than this. He could already feel Mama Lucy’s wooden spoon rapping him upside the head, and absently brought a hand up to rub at the phantom spot. The old lady would be turning in her grave, seeing him treating a lady as he was. A small smile tugged at his lips at the memory, but he was quickly returned back to reality when she shifted in her chair.

Yup, staring off into space and smiling while she was talking would definitely not be how to mend some major bridges. So, forcing himself to focus on her face, he did his best not to sink into his past bad behavior.

Even if the feat included realizing how full those lips of hers were, or how her eyes seemed to gleam in the indoor lighting. They seemed to…glow, a bit. Then darken when they lit on his ugly mug. Great…she hated him.

With a mental shake, he tried to ignore all those such thoughts running through his mind. He didn’t care if she hated him, as she’d be gone in the next few weeks, and hell, he would act professional because he was one, dammit. Tugging at the sleeves of his jacket in a nonchalant way, he shrugged his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension there.

She hadn’t said anything to his mentioning coffee in the break room, and sighed. ”Look, Miz Carpenter,” He said, glancing down at her desk while he spoke. Huh, very neat and tidy. Maybe he could get her to come tackle the avalanche of paperwork on his desk. ”Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m…uh…sorry if I insulted you back there. I’m…I guess I’m a bit wary around strangers. Especially strangers who turn out to be reporters.”

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[maddisonlynncarpen]

She had been busying herself with miscellaneous tasks, straightening and re-straightening...straightening and re-straightening, anything to keep from looking up at him. There was an itch, an incessant itch at the back of her brain to look over him and drink in his presence. She knew it was a recipe for disaster. Those dark brooding eyes and solid shoulders were cold and unyielding, and yet somehow all she wanted to do is reach out to them. It was like drinking beer before liquor, and she had learned the hard way in college. It was a guaranteed night praying to the porcelain God and ever since, she avoided ever reliving those moments. Scratching the itch that haunted her ever since meeting Detective Paoletti, she hypothesized, would elicit the same effect. So instead, she kept herself deeply concerned with what angle she placed her sticky notes and that her roll-a-deck was in perfect alphabetical order.

She looked up and smiled on cue when the officers and detectives passed by, shaking hands. Even if the Detective wouldn’t be nice to her, his other office mates were making up for that. It seemed like a female vibe had been missing from the office, because they came from all nooks and crannies to meet her, males and females alike. It was odd to her how friendly they were. Had she made a rash judgment based on her first encounter, she would have come to the conclusion that all Nebraska lacked civilization and manners. Fortunately, it became apparent to her that it was HE who lacked civilization and manners, not Nebraska. Yet somehow despite this discovery, she couldn’t help the disheartened feeling that crept deep into her chest and lay heavily on her heart.

She lectured herself about the melancholy feeling, reminding herself that sometimes the “visions” were misleading and only caused more trouble. She knew this. It was such a curse at times, having benevolence that was not correct. She followed it in order to help or to find deeper understanding and instead found her self in situations less than desirable. She tried to pretend that they didn’t exist, that she never was sucked into a dream like state, watching things yet to happen and entirely out of her control. But right about that time, she would be smacked in the face with another apparition and be torn about the action needed to happen. It was what it was. There was no right or wrong in the situation, just to do or not to do. That simple. Her chest lifted softly as she let out a little sigh, if only it was simple.

Like one of those apparitions, he snuck up on her, his presence not detectable until he was right in front of her. She took a moment as his voice started, preparing herself and her steel demeanor for another berating. She looked up at him, mouth expressionless but her eyes full of confusion. Was her really apologizing? Was his tone actually… kind? Her mouth ached to gap open to match the expression in her eyes but she kept it closed, calculating the next move. Was he just trying to disarm her? Or was he sincere? A small victory cry from her heart raged, as it reasoned it was safe to soften up, insisting to do so. But instead, she swallowed taking a minute to make a decision.

Sure, it would be easy to maintain the “bitch” role, but was it conducive to the next 8 weeks in dumpy Nebraska with a man who hated her guts? Absolutely not. So instead, she loosened up a little, but never truly letting her guard down. “ Detective Paoletti, I also apologize for the cool nature in which I addressed you earlier. I hope we are able to develop a constructive and civil work environment for the next 8 weeks… if nothing else, out of mutual dislike for the situation,"at this she allowed a soft chuckle and smile come to her face. She quickly decided to throw in a piece offering of her own, pulling a sticky note from her stack and speaking quietly but loud enough for him to hear. “Note to self: Do not use Detective Growls McGee in lieu of Detective Paoletti, instead use Detective Smith. “ She looked up with a genuine smile, hoping that she made her joking tone known.

[lucien]

Well, didn’t all the mental girding of the loins make him feel so much better about himself, the detective thought with an inner groan. He could practically hear the ‘oh God, here we go again’ thoughts coming from her; read the hesitation and irritation still in her eyes. He had no idea why all that was making him feel like such a bastard. Hell, on any normal day, he could give two shits what anyone else thought, as long as they left him alone.

Yup, it was just him, Jack and Wild Turkey. All they needed were each other, and everything would be alright in the world.

Shoving a hand through his hair, he tried to banish those guilty thoughts, focusing instead on her profession. A reporter had no right to be around him and keep her nose out of his history. If she didn’t figure out he had some shadows in his past, one of the douchebags in the department was sure to tip her off. While the Lieutenant had tried to keep his past in the past, thanks to some old connections with his boss back East, it was inevitable for the others to find out about Tyslan and the trial. It had started off gradually at first; sideways glances, twittering by the coffee pot, people backing down from ride along’s with him. He’d known that the truth would come out at some point, but it had still hurt like hell to see his fellow officers look so...unsure about him.

Not that they didn’t have a reason to, right? He was fucked up in the head, more so given the blackouts that came and went when they pleased.

He had no idea why, but the thought of that angel face in front of him…of those cupid bow lips curling in disgust when she looked at him? It made his chest ache and his head pound. It made no sense; he didn’t even like her too much, with that attitude and the professional way she spoke. But there it was.

A constructive and civil work environment…gah, what did he look like? A fuckin’ cut out from an HR promo video? He had to bite back the sarcastic comment that came to his lips, instead forcing himself to reply just as civilly. “Yeah, sure…we can do that. Guess we just got off on the wrong foot, is all. I know I can be a grumpy son of a—er, a testy guy. Guess I gotta work on that.”

That chuckle of hers did something really strange to his head, and he had to bark out a rusty laugh as she read her sticky. ”Growls McGee? Damn, that’s definitely a new one. Just don’t say it too loud; the other guys might try to use it.” Probably not, given that his name was something akin to Voldemort on a good day, but it sounded good.

”Look, why don’t I buy you an actual coffee, instead of turning you to the crap they got in the kitchen? We can talk about what’s gonna happen while you’re here…maybe set up a schedule, or something. There’s a café right down the block.”

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