A/N: All right, everyone! I'm finally back! I've been busy lately... very busy. XD. This is my newest fic, called Lost and Found... and yes, it's another Jemima-abuse fic. This time, though, Burroughs isn't featured! It's Chopper! XD. This is the first part out of.... I don't know how many; I'm still working on it. So... enjoy! ^_^

Lost and Found: First

She traipsed slowly toward the house. She was late... She didn't want to think about what he would do once she got there.

It was he who had initially fallen for her a year ago... Jemima hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings, so she'd accepted his continuous pleas to start a relationship with him. It had been bliss for the first two months... then it began.

Something had cracked inside Chopper after the first two months, and Jemima had begun to see who the man truly was. He'd started abusing her. At first, it was only minor things: a push here, a shove there, a kick every so often... She hadn't minded that treatment. It was only when he started yelling when she knew the day was going to be bad.

After a while, his treatment of her became worse: He would get angry at the littlest things, and if he ever caught her even standing wrong, he'd come over and start beating her. He never gave her injuries serious enough for medical attention to be required, though… and Jemima knew this was only because he didn't want to get caught. He'd already been in trouble for domestic violence once; he didn't want to get in it again.

She arrived at the house. Her heart was pounding in her ears; her hand shook as she gripped the doorknob. She didn't want to be here… She took a deep breath.

"Please don't hurt me," she whispered to herself, finally opening the door.

The house was dark as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "Chopper?" she called a bit hesitantly. "Are you here?"

A lamp was faintly burning at the end of the hall. Jemima quickly walked to the room where the light was flickering, and she saw Chopper huddled over a desk.

"Chopper?" she said again, hesitantly walking towards him.

"Shut the door," his voice ordered, simmering with a quiet anger. Jemima recoiled and instantly did as commanded, not wanting to anger him further.

He then stood up, his hands clenched into fists. Slowly turning to face her, his eyes glinted with rage.

"You're late, Jemima," he growled, slowly approaching her. "You know I don't like it when you're late."