The bar wasn't open. He usually did this, showing up before anyone was there. It was fun to pretend he owned the place and it was the only thing he had to worry about each day. Getting in early to wipe down tables, make sure glasses were clean, and sign for the deliveries. But it wasn't his. Bones' didn't even run the place anymore. He owned the place, sure, but it was simply an easy front to launder the source of his money.

Billy loved the Four Roses. It smelled like cedar, pine, or some sort of wood. The floors, bar, and trim were all original, back when carpenters worked for days on a single piece of a room. Back when this neighborhood had more skilled workers than warehouse and factory hands.

He sat at the heavy bar and felt along a crack in the wood. This place had been a rock for him since he was old enough to remember. If there was anything in his hometown he'd miss, it would be the Four Roses.

The front door groaned as it opened, announcing the arrival of another body. Billy didn't bother to look up, knowing only Sam would show up this early in the morning.

"I was beginning to wonder if you were meeting someone, or just… alone."

He whipped his head up in surprise, his hand automatically resting in the small of his back. His gun was cold on his spine, heavy on his belt. It would take him only a moment to lift it and aim.

But Helen Gates stood very still in the doorway, aware that her presence was an invasion. She lifted her hands slowly, a grin on her lips, to surrender.

"Don't shoot." Then she dropped her hands and shrugged, taking a cautionary step towards the bar. "Or do. Start the day on an interesting note."

"What are you doing here?" He asked, his hand still resting on the butt of his gun. Billy knew Helen, but she was just as dangerous as she was smart.

"To talk?" She kept moving closer and he watched her like a hawk. Helen was about five foot eight, lean but strong, and pale as snow. He noticed that her left hand was bandaged around the knuckles, like an old boxer after a hard night. But Helen had a thing for knives, so the wound stood out on her otherwise unmarked exterior. She wore nothing fancy, just a pair of black jeans and a grey jacket. Unremarkable, but with purpose. No one would look at her twice in a crowd. That was the whole point.

"Don't you have friends for that?" He answered her carefully, giving her no room for play. He remembered that Helen liked to dice words, make him out to sound needy or foolish. Billy was an intelligent man in their social circles, but Helen was very much his rival in wit. In her presence, he favored silence.

"We're not friends?" She feigned a little sigh. Only a foot away now, Billy saw how time had taken its toll. Helen had been vibrant the last time they'd met. Flawless complexion, bright eyes and jet-black hair, she'd been head-and-shoulders above the competition. Now, he saw the lines around her eyes and the shadows forming there. He saw the results of late nights, shitty food, and too many cigarettes. He saw the years that had climbed on her shoulders.

He saw the same thing in the mirror each morning.

Helen was a madam, but not the traditional kind. She was the kind that kicked your door down and kicked your teeth in if you messed with her or the women she employed. She'd arrived in the game honestly, defending a few girls from the trigger-happy pimps that had started appearing in the outskirts of the city. Women were being abducted and beaten, strung out against their will, and even killed for trying to work a corner on their own. Helen took a dislike to the trend and started dropping bodies.

Lots of people, Billy included, respected her for it.

She'd ended up buying a house in the nicer end of town, which meant more expensive clientele, more privacy and less drunken bar thugs. The women she housed were healthy and clean, some of them moving on after only a year or two of good money. He'd even heard the rumors that Helen paid for a couple of her girls to get out. But she was still no saint. She had a temper and an inclination towards violence. So even though Billy respected Helen, he didn't let his guard down as she crossed the room to him.

"No, I guess we're not friends." She sighed, smiling genuinely for the first time since she'd walked inside. "Otherwise, you'd have taken your hand off your piece by now."

"I'm not pointing it at you, take it as a compliment." He replied. But his hand relaxed on the gun and he let it fall to his side. Helen sat on a stool and turned her body towards the bar, looking at the wall behind the counter. He watched the profile of her face, reading the expression moving there.

"I'm in the weeds, Bill." She spoke quietly. When she met his eyes, a humble look filled her face. The vulnerability made him shift in his seat in discomfort.

He sighed.

"I heard about a shooting in your neck of the woods." He answered gently, keeping any hint of emotion from his voice. The way she was nodding beside him, Billy knew she was as uncomfortable as he was discussing her problems. Because, surely, her sudden appearance meant she needed something. And she needed it from him, a drug dealer. The mystery of what that was made him curious to hear what she had to say.

"It started a couple weeks ago. I had a couple of girls booked for a private party. It was the usual deal: a blonde and a brunette for a few hours on a Saturday night. Business men, nothing too kinky." Billy stood and walked around the counter, prompting Helen to continue with a nod. She ran a hand through her dark hair, the waves falling haphazardly over her shoulders. "When my girls call to check-in, one of them drops their code phrase."

"Code phrase?" He interrupted, holding up a beer. Helen nodded and he cracked the top from the bottle.

"Yeah, like 'We're having a sweet time'. Something you can drop during a phone call and no one looks at you funny." She took the drink from his hand with a smile of appreciation and sipped before she continued. "So I show up a minute later, ready to deck an idiot for getting too rough or something. Suits usually don't know what to do when they're the ones getting smacked around."

Billy snorted and took a long drink. The idea of Helen punching a Wall Street wannabe in the jaw was entertaining, to say the least. He'd forgotten how easy it was to listen to her talk, her voice warm and smooth. It'd been years since they'd spoken more than a few words in passing. It reminded him of a time when they'd been close. Helen grinned at him, as if she could see the memories that were surfacing in his mind. Then she took a drink equal to his own, sighing a little after the swallow.

"Anyway, long story short, these business men were big shots in some Russian outfit. Bodyguards as tall as trees and automatic weapons." She took another drink and he could sense her anxiety. It wasn't something he envied, her job. The people he chased off were usually junkies or drunks, easy pickings for someone his size. He barely had to touch anyone anymore. His reputation scared people away before things could turn sour.

Billy suddenly wondered what Helen thought of who he'd become. She obviously respected him, coming to him for a frank conversation. They were talking like they were old neighbors, shooting the shit over a fence. He waited for her to continue, leaning his forearms against the bar.

"I told them the weapons were a violation of our business terms and I got the girls out before anyone could block the exit, so to speak." She muttered. "I thought maybe that would be the end of it."

"But they shot at you?" Billy interjected, his brow creased low. She nodded.

"The next day." She smirked angrily. "And not at me, at a car parked in front of my house."

"Not great for business, I'm assuming." He put the two together.

"Not really, no." Helen faked a smile and took a small sip. "The police were all over the place. No kind of good business has stepped within a mile since."

"Lemme guess." Billy muttered, walking back around the bar. "Right after the shooting…the Russians started calling."

"Bingo." She snorted. "Assholes told me they heard 'business vas slow'." Helen set her beer down and turned to face him on her barstool. "I'm not looking to start shit with a private security firm and a branch of the Russian mob."

"Don't blame ya."

"So…" Helen stood from her chair, closing the distance between them until it was under a foot. Billy could smell her shampoo, something sugary like vanilla. He held still as she approached, his instincts reminding him that the woman standing in front of him was still a threat. And she'd dropped men his size before. "I want to hire you."

He blinked a few times then snorted.

"Hire us to start shit with the Russians?" Helen shook her head and pushed him by the front of his chest, sending his weight to the back of his heels. He barely moved, but his skin rang from where her palms were pressed to his body. First, he hadn't realized he'd advanced on her. Second, he hadn't expected the physical contact of a shove. Helen seemed to notice the shock that registered between them and she quickly retracted her hands from his chest, holding them open in a moment of apology before she spoke.

"As extra security." They both took a moment before Helen broke the silence. "I just want them gone, Bill. Out of town, out of my shit. If they get their way, and I keep close tabs…"

"…maybe they won't shoot at you again?" He chuffed, still a little flustered from being touched, however briefly.

"Maybe they'll take me off their shit list and just leave. And maybe I could start making money again sometime this century." She muttered. "I'd pay you and your men well."

He considered facts for a moment. Helen had come to see him, alone, where no one would see them converse. She was asking for help from him, revealing an amount of respect.

Helen still trusted him. After all these years, she'd turned to him.

"How well?" Billy all but decided to accept before she even named a figure. Something in his gut was telling him it was what he needed to do. Being around Helen had triggered sensations he hadn't felt in years, and the idea of spending more time with her was intriguing. Besides, a little extra money never hurt anyone.

"$30 an hour is the going rate for decent security. I figure three of your guys, plus you, for a few hours…$500 flat. Split it how you like."

"I pick the guys." He stated. She nodded and swept an arm wide.

"By all means, bring the cream of the crop." Helen surprised him again, taking a step forward until they were inches apart again. "But I want level tempers, no itchy trigger fingers or hot heads."

Billy made a face.

"They'll listen to me."

The two of them seemed to lock eyes then, minds wandering from the conversation at hand. Billy had missed her spirit. No woman had ever really been like Helen in his book. She was always so casual but sharply aware of herself. Their interactions always felt like a duel. Or a dance.

They hadn't always been opponents.

"Good." Helen broke his train of thought and pulled a wallet out of her jacket pocket, thumbing through bills. Billy's stomach grew warm. He'd been coming up short with Bones for a few days and extra money was such a welcome sight, it was bringing him physical relief. "$200 now, $300 after." She handed him the wad of bills. Billy raised an eyebrow.

"$250 now, $250 after."

Helen bit her lip and Billy's heart purred in his chest. Such a simple act, but the memories it brought back had him reeling. Looking at her now, he forgot about the flaws he'd seen when she'd first appeared. She wasn't the young teenager he'd known. That girl was still there, inside a smarter and stronger woman. Even now, as she toyed with him, her green eyes sparkled with a mischief he remembered from years ago.

She handed over the $50 with a sigh.

"Party is tomorrow night. I'll send a town car here at nine-thirty sharp."

"Fine." He forced a short reply, playing down his interest.

"I'll pay you at the end of the night, around one." She replaced her cash and wallet in her jacket. "Wear black. Jeans and t-shirts will do." Helen looked at his outfit. "Not that you ever had an issue wearing plenty of black." Billy gave her a sarcastic smile.

"Cute."

She gave him a snide grin and picked her beer up off the counter. Finishing it in one long pull, she set it down with a soft sigh.

"Thanks for the drink." Then she looked him in the eyes again, the teasing gone. He wanted to give her reason to stay and maybe draw out more of the girl he remembered. But he knew that would be a mistake, so he simply nodded.

As she started walking towards the front door, he wanted to tell her it was nice seeing her. Something to communicate that the boy she'd known all those years ago was still there. That he remembered what they had once been to each other. He let the sentiment get to him, a smile fluttering over his lips.

"See you tomorrow, Hell."

The nickname made her pause in the door. Before she let it swing closed behind her, he could have sworn he heard her laugh.

Authors Note: I'm back! Sorta. I've recently had the urge to write again, so I'm looking at new things and old things to see what I'd like to do...see what catches my fancy. This chapter is almost exactly like a scene I'd previously written in Ten Grand and a Million Years [loosely similar]. But, looking at it years later, I realized it was a little far fetched and could use some updating. I've matured a little and so has my writing style ;) I'm actually planning on making this into a new short-ish story [4 or 5 chapters max] to replace A House Divided. I wrote myself into a tough corner with that story [not to mention its pretty long and i hate it HAHA] so I'll probably just reinvent it here and let the other story die. New plot, new relationship dynamic. Anyway, thank you for reading! Hope you enjoy :)