This was meant to be a short fic to help me get over my writer's block that I was facing for another project. It was about when I was thirty pages in that I realized that I had a monster on my hand. Whoops. This was written as a massive one shot, so the chapters contain varying numbers of scenes.

The story is told entirely through Yukari's POV, and I did my best to keep it true to character. I was somewhat put out when, upon re-reading the manga, I discovered that she is... self-centered and totally oblivious to other people's feelings. Maki, too, is terrible with sharing her thoughts. What a pair, right? So if any of you have questions about Maki's side of this story, feel free to send me a message; I would be happy to explain.

Chapter 1

Work was rough.

Of course, she knew that years before getting into the job. How could she not, when both parents were officers -or had been, in her mother's case- themselves? She had expected the long hours, the days, weeks, months, of stress and exhaustion, of facing the less than pleasant side of her town. She thought she could handle it, could endure the strain.

And she could. But that didn't mean it was easy.

"What about you? Do you think I was too hard on him?"

Her recently acquired and furry partner looked up at her, ears twitching at her voice. He sneezed.

"Good. He was an idiot."

They continued their circuit in silence, both content in their opinion of the earlier night's altercation. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, the sky slowly transitioning from pink to blue. It was nice and quiet out, with no sign of any human other than her and a dedicated artist in the park they were jogging around.

"Tired yet?" she asked her partner.

He continued along without pausing.

"A few more circuits will be fine, then. We'll need some sleep before our scolding tomorrow."

Her phone rang, loud and rude in the tranquility of the park. Birds rustled, Ichigo stopped, and the artist was distracted from their work. She pulled out her phone, feeling her stress rise at the abrupt intrusion of reality in her morning jog. "Daisuke" her screen read, letters dark against the white glow.

She silenced her phone and shoved it back in her pocket. As much as she wanted to release some stress, she suddenly felt too tired to deal with it all.

"Tch. Let's go home, boy."

~X~

"I heard you made another one cry."

She sighed.

"How many is that now?"

A shrug was her answer. It wasn't like she bothered to keep track of that sort of thing. All of the rookies looked the same, after a while.

Her mother frowned. "Do you need to talk about it, Yukari?"

And there it was. "There's nothing to talk about. He's an idiot who refuses to take his job seriously, and it nearly got his partner killed. Making him cry was the least he deserved." It was only a shame that actually strangling the moron would have resulted in way too much paperwork and anger management classes.

This time, even her father was unconvinced. "One, two, three times, and it wouldn't be an issue, Yukari. I've done it plenty of times myself." Keiji ignored his wife's groan. "Ten times in half as many months though…"

She looked away and refused to answer. The few people walking by on the sidewalk next to their outdoor table at the restaurant were more interesting than the current conversation.

They got the hint and dropped the subject, if unwillingly. They would bring it up again, she knew. She would give them the same answer, they knew.

"How are things with Daisuke?"

Yet another topic she didn't care for. "Fine, I guess."

"You've been dating for three months, and it's just fine?"

"We haven't talked in a few days."

Her mother's frown never changed, and she figured this wasn't the answer she wanted. It was left unsaid that it wasn't without effort on his part. He called or messaged every day, but she just wanted peace. Quiet. Things she wouldn't get listening to him whine about the job or make rude comments about people he'd seen. She was sure she had enjoyed his company, once, or at the very least, hadn't hated it, but she couldn't bring herself to waste her energy on someone she merely "didn't hate".

"He's not that impressive anyway," her father firmly stated, arms crossed and pointedly looking in the direction opposite his wife. His square glasses were shining in the sun, hiding his eyes, but there was no hiding his satisfied smirk.

"Keiji."

~X~

"Okay. This time I can admit that I might have gone too far."

Ichigo whimpered.

She sighed, her catchphrase by now, and wondered if maybe everyone had a right to be worried. At least, in this case, not even the chief had given her a sideways glance for reaming out the officer that had let the suspect escape because he was on his phone.

Eventually, one of the detectives had patted her on the shoulder and told her to go on back to the precinct to cool off. The next day, the kid had transferred to another district.

The chief had forced her to take time off because of it. Again.

"Shoving him against the wall is probably what did it."

They continued their jog silently. Peacefully.

The artist was back, appearing somewhere around their third circuit. Their stuff was already set up, a brush in their right hand and paint palette in their left.

It reminded her of her art club days back in high school. She'd enjoyed it, and had been proud of the progress she had made during her time there. After graduating, however, she was too busy with university and then the police academy to pick up a paintbrush again.

On their fifth circuit, she had slowed enough to take a longer look at the mostly finished painting. The artist (a female, she determined by her sixth circuit) was incredibly talented. She wondered what someone of that skill level was doing at a little park like this. There were plenty of better views within the city than a stretch of grass housing a small pond, scattered trees, and a sorry excuse for a playground.

Her phone beeped at her, the third time in the last hour. Like the previous messages, it was ignored. Speeding up her pace, she decided she would text back when she was in the mood.

It remained in her pocket until long after she returned home.

Are you alright?

Will you talk to me?

Do you even care?

She never responded.

~X~

"It's just a stupid animal! It was useless anyway."

Feet pounding on the pavement.

"Just get me another one. One that actually listens this time."

Pulse pounding in her ears.

"Little shit got what it deserves."

Her leg gave out, her body sliding across the pavement. Her arm and shoulder took the brunt of the pain, but it was almost indistinguishable from the burning pain in her legs, lungs, and ribs.

A whimper sounded above her, and a wet nose poked at her face. Ichigo, her ever faithful partner, had ran every mile with her, and his breathing was just as harsh as hers. She felt bad for pushing him, should have known to leave him at home this time, but she hadn't thought that far, only wanting to get out and get moving now.

She had pushed herself too far. Her strength, and the anger that fueled it, was disappearing now that she had stopped moving. Limbs quivering and breath wheezing, she seriously contemplated never getting back up.

Then something was pulling her up, and she had no energy to protest.

"That's no good."

It hurt to move, and her injured leg was almost unable to hold her weight. A strong arm was slung around her waist, her nose catching the faint smell of paint and hot chocolate. The two stumbled along to the nearest park bench, where she was gently placed. Her mind insisted she say something, but speaking was beyond her. Instead, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back, trying to even out her breathing. Even with her eyes shut, the world twisted and turned, making it impossible to think.

A water bottle was shoved into her good hand, cap already off. The clanking of plastic told her that the woman had pulled out Ichigo's collapsible bowl and a second water bottle to fill it. Officer and dog gulped down the water with desperation, not caring how much they spilled in the process.

Poor Ichigo. He deserved more than simple treats for what she had done to him.

There was more rustling, this time of plastic and wooden brushes, telling her that the artist was now digging through her own bag. She didn't feel the need to question the artist on what she was looking for, but it became obvious when a small, wet pad was pressed against her knee. The alcohol pads burned against the large scrapes, but after her initial yelp, the pain was endured with a clenched jaw and a small hiss.

She considered it karma for being such an idiot in the first place.

"Thank you."

"It was nothing."

The artist smiled at her, but asked no questions. She offered no explanation. A sketchbook was brought out, and the two remained quiet. Without the expectation of conversation, her anger and stress ebbed away as, stroke by stroke, a world formed beneath the tip of a pencil.

Not once did her phone go off.

~X~

"Goodness, Yukari. What happened?"

"Just an accident."

Her mother eyed the scrape on her arm with suspicion. Thankfully, only her shoulder and knee had required bandages, but the rest of her bruises had darkened overnight. She'd been lucky enough to have thrown on a quarter sleeve shirt this morning, or else her mother would have had much more to say.

"Now what happened to earn you a three day suspension?"

Her movements halted for a fraction of a second as irritation, anger, and sheer hate went through her at the memory of the altercation the other night.

"Hitoshi beat his partner."

There was no need to say more. Her mother had not only heard of the officer in question from both her daughter and husband, but had also been a K-9 officer herself at one point.

"I may have punched him. A few times."

She could still remember his shouting, the sounds of his fists hitting dog flesh, and the terrible yelps poor Shiro had let out at the betrayal. Her memories of the last half of the incident were lost in a haze of rage. To do such a thing to a creature with such a deep loyalty and devotion. It was unforgivable. When he had thrown a punch at her for interrupting the abuse, she had been nothing but satisfied that she was given an excuse to put him out. Her retaliation hits had been too few and too precisely aimed at disabling the bastard to get her in much trouble, the chief handing out her suspension so dismissively she assumed it was merely for appearances that he bothered to reprimand her at all.

"...I see."

The cold tone and sneer was enough to let her know that her mother approved her actions. She was surprised her father hadn't figured out the details of it all, but Hitoshi's father was a long time member of the city council. They had no doubt swept everything under the rug within hours of the incident.

"Do you want to get lunch then? Your father remembered his food today."

Her lips quirked into a soft smile.

"Yeah."

Ichigo barked.

"Of course you're coming. Now. About Daisuke."

She sighed. "There's nothing to say about him."

Her mother shook her head. "Your father will be pleased," was all she offered on the subject.

~X~

"Ah, it was worth a try, don't you think?"

Resting her hands on her knees with a wince, she scolded herself, again, for losing control four days ago. Her leg still ached, and she'd reopened the biggest scab while chasing after a vandal some hours ago. By the time she had gotten time to take care of the injury, blood had soaked through her pants and dripped down her leg, staining her socks. Her arm was in little better condition.

She hadn't really expected to be able to run after that, so it was no huge disappointment that she couldn't.

Ichigo whined and sniffed at her pack, demanding she pour him some water.

Rolling her eyes, she pulled her pack off. "We didn't even get to run. You should be fine."

She was in the process of getting his bottle out when he spun around and starting walking away. "Now where do you think you're-" she stopped, noticing the figure in the distance.

From this far, silver hair and an easel were the only details she could make out, but that was more than enough to be certain of who it was. Before she could stop herself, Ichigo's water bottle was shoved back in her bag and she was following after her partner.

"Ah, hello," the artist greeted, head tilting as she smiled at them. "And hello to you too," she cooed at Ichigo, who happily accepted her attention.

"Good morning."

For some reason, she felt awkward and at a total loss for conversation topics. The memory of her first meeting -if it could be called that- with the artist was fresh on her mind. Taking the time to subtly observe the woman, she wondered how someone that slight of build could have possibly picked her up and all but carried her to the bench.

The artist hummed, unoffended with the somewhat short greeting. Sharp eyes -light brown or hazel, she couldn't be sure- studied her arm. "It reopened. Are you alright?"

Glancing down, she saw that some blood had soaked through the fresh bandages, bright red spots against the otherwise pristine white cloth. If her arm hadn't stopped bleeding, she was sure that her leg hadn't either. "No. I decided against my jog, but I didn't want to neglect Ichigo of his walk."

"Ah, so you're Ichigo, huh? Well, don't you two hold back on my account," she told them, directing most of her attention to the dog, who nudged her hand in demand of another round of petting.

"We're not in any rush," the officer claimed.

In spite of her words, she called Ichigo over soon after and they continued their walk, leaving the other woman with a last goodbye.

Even so, she found her eyes drifting over to the artist and her painting every time they passed her, and every time, her gaze was met with a smile.