Author's Notes:

So this is my first pseudo-published fan fiction, and it arose from me simply thinking a particular actor was too handsome and potentially interesting to die as quickly as he did. Things quickly spiraled into what you see before you. If you have no knowledge of backpacking, martial arts, tea, or law enforcement, some of the terminology is probably going to throw you. I make no promises of an update schedule, but I do have a rough outline of the entire arc knocking around in my head.

It was a bluebird day.

Sunny and warm, the day dawned brilliantly with the chirping of birds and the hint of perfection in all it touched. She had gotten a ride into town from a kindly face in a dusty old truck, another little bit of trail magic. She wanted what all hikers want after weeks on the trail; a long shower, a soft bed, and a hot meal that she didn't have to cook herself. First things first, she needed a hotel room. It was going to be a glorious zero day.

Fuck, maybe I'll do a whole zero weekend.

She wallowed luxuriously in this thought for the ride into town, idly chatting with her knight in rusty Chevrolet.

"You ever been to Portland?"

"First time."

"First time for everything, I 'spose."

They passed into easy silence as she leaned her face out of the open window to feel the warmth of the sun. He dropped her off at the hotel, (a Marriott, she was riding high) and off he drove, into the glint and glass of downtown Portland.

Check-in wasn't until three, but the desk agent was pretty sure they'd have a room for her at noon. It was nine am. She didn't mind the time, it would give her a chance to get pancakes. With extra butter and syrup. Real syrup. And hash browns. And maybe corned beef hash while she was at it. Hey, a vegetarian had to cheat every once in a while.

Oh my God, I haven't had real corned beef hash in *ages*.

It was settled; she was going out for breakfast. The desk agent had offered to hold her pack, but she had decided to carry it. It was practically home now, and she didn't figure she'd be too out of place with it. Having gotten a recommendation for what she was assured was the best breakfast on the West Coast, much less in the city, she was on her way back out the automatic door when another question struck her.

"Hey, do you know any really good tea shops around here?"

"There's a spice shop on Third Avenue."

"That oughta do it. Thanks, man."

And she was gone.

Breakfast was good.

Hell, breakfast was amazing. She practically could've kissed those short order angels, and she had no idea she could eat so much. It was kinda gross. But also delicious. Syrupy and delicious. Maybe she'd be back tomorrow. That waffle had looked good.

"Focus, Emi. Tea. Hmm, and maybe some spices. Kick those noodles and instant potatoes up a notch."

The taxi driver gave her an odd look when she mentioned the spice shop, but he took her there just the same. She politely minded her own business while he drove, and ignored the odd glance.

The spice shop was fantastic. Musty and old, it smelled like an old bookstore and a little bit of a garden. Emi loved it. She wanted to curl up in an overstuffed with a steaming mug and talk about existentialism with the other patrons and never leave. It was just the right amount of quirky and homey. The owner was nice, too. When she had asked about tea, the lady had paused for a moment, as if to think, and told her she had the good stuff on some shelves to the left.

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for?"

"Not really. Just something to wake me up in the morning and something to help me relax at the end of the day. Maybe something floral or spicy?"

"So, you're kind of wide open, then?"

Emi laughed. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"What do you drink at home?"

"I have nine different tins going at home, right now."

The owner blinked in surprise. "Sounds like you're the expert."

"Just an enthusiast," she smiled.

The owner returned her smile warmly. "Well, the blends are just over there," she waved to the left. "Just call for me if you need any help."

"Will do, ma'am."

The owner paused again. "By the way, my name's Rosalee."

Best. Day. Ever.

Emi was walking through the aisles, sniffing each and every jar of tea. She had already picked out four.

She groaned internally. "Not very ultralight."

She was going to have to put two of them back. He side of the store was empty, (it was a workday, after all) and she paid no attention to the other customers as she agonized over her decision. She thought she heard a low hiss and she ignored that, too, as the debate over Vanilla Roobis or German Chamomile got fierce.

"Where's the J, you fuckin' bitch? We know you got it."

Emi stopped in her tracks.

"We fucked up your brother and we'll fuck up you, too."

"I don't have any J." Rosalee's voice was high and worried.

"Quit lyin', bitch."

Shit, were they being robbed? Was this place some kind of drug front? Emi crept forward quietly and peered through the jars. The shop was deserted. Two skeevy looking guys were pointing guns at Rosalee and demanding "J". What the fuck was that? She looked at the robbers. Some new kind of meth? She glanced at them again. They looked like meth heads. Is it like Krocodil? She'd seen pictures of what happened when you took Krocodil. That shit'll fuck you up.

Rosalee was on the verge of tears.

Pay attention, Hart!

Emi cupped her hands over her waist belt and unsnapped the clasp as quietly as she could. If she could get to the knife in her hood, she might be able to help. Easing to the floor, she looked at the hood with trepidation. Rosalee was openly crying as she tearfully denied having any "J". Emi said a quick prayer and started parting the zipper, tooth by tooth.

"What was that!"

Emi froze.

"Is there someone else in here, you lying cunt?"

"No, no. There's no one else in here. It's too early in the day. I just opened."

"Fuchbau cunt."

Rosalee cried louder. Emi could just finger the handle. Holding her breath, she parted two more teeth as Rosalee wailed. Success! Emi may not have had a gun, but her pack knife was sharp and she knew how to use it. Emi briefly considered the racks of jars surrounding her. Too heavy. It'd never work. And dismissed the thought. She surveyed the situation at hand.

Two perps, both with pistols. Probably shitty little 9 mils. One directly in front of Rosalee, the other slightly to her left, both with arms straight out and guns cocked to the side, gangsta style. Idiots. Rosalee, palms up and beseeching, behind the register.

Maybe if I'm lucky, their cheapass guns will jam. She sighed. Better not count on it. Making the sign of the cross, (because, hey, there's no atheists in a foxhole) Emi gripped the knife and crept forward. Gun or legs? If I go for the gun, I might make him shoot Rosalee and his friend can shoot me. If I go for his legs, he might still shoot Rosalee and then his friend could shoot me. But… maybe I could knock him into his friend and Rosalee could duck. If I worked fast, I could get them both before they recovered. She was at the end of the racks, just behind bad guy #2. They were threatening to kill Rosalee, just like her brother. She didn't doubt they'd do it. It was time to make a decision.

She went for the legs. Her attack was chaotic and the guy fell on her, reflexively squeezing off a round high on the wall. Emi scrambled to throw #2 off of her and caught a glimpse of Rosalee going over the counter and after #1 (who wasn't knocked down, but was off balance) with a pair of scissors and a feral scream. #2 recovered and tried to shoot her as Emi rolled on top of him to pin the gun down over his head. Snarling, #2 clawed at her with his free hand and she swore she actually saw claws. He was raking his nails from her armpit to her hip and was trying to get her face. Focused on the gun hand, she tried to avoid his other hand as she straddled him.

He bit her deep on the thigh.

Screaming in pain, she finally looked down at him as she blindly stabbed with the knife. He was a monster, green and reptilian. Alien? Abruptly, the biting stopped. She felt his arms go limp as her knife hand slicked with warmth. She had cut his throat. She'd also cut her own legs, but he was most definitely dead. Will be in a second, anyway. Mesmerized by death, she watched him choke twice, eye roll back, and grow still.

He was human again.

Turning to her own left, she saw Rosalee triumphant with her bloody scissors and gunshot to the right arm. She hadn't even heard the gun go off. Something was wrong with Rosalee's face. It was blurred, furry. Rosalee slid down the side of the counter in exhaustion and gave Emi a tired grin. Emi blinked. She rolled off #2 and rested her own back on a wooden rack. Rosalee's face was normal again. Am I going crazy? Is it the adrenaline? Drugs in the tea? Emi was beat. She had to call this in. Both women looked at each other and breathed for a moment.

"Can I use your phone?"

Rosalee just pointed vaguely over her shoulder and surveyed the second bloodbath in her shop.