Disclaimer—Characters belong to Nick Santora and Matt Olmstead. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author's Notes—Just randomness, a post-ep for Queen of Hearts. Unbeta'ed. Also, finally getting around to getting these posted here now that we have a lovely Breakout Kings section for them.

A Welcome Distraction—Lloyd realizes there may be hope, somewhere, after all.


He'd been so absorbed in his own troubles that he hadn't been completely following exactly what was going on around him. While he knew Erica was saying something-and that it had gone against his diagnosis-that had been the extent of his interest. He'd gone back to imagining where he could get eight hundred dollars, and if, possibly, he could go buy a couple of scratch lottery tickets without the Marshals figuring that out.

He was pulled from his thoughts, though, by the movement of a skirt. The fabric eased back gently, revealing that Julianne's legs, clear up to her calves, were encased in black leather boots.

Whatever conversation the others were having around him, he couldn't hear it for the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. His tunnel vision shifted, from how to get out of his troubles to the barest glimpse of skin at her knee. He swallowed convulsively.

He thought he could make out some of the words floating by, but it sounded like he was under water.

"Those are perfect," Erica said.

"You want to borrow them?" Julianne asked.

"You don't mind, do you?"

Erica brushed past Lloyd, and he was annoyed at the momentary intrusion on his space, as she sat down beside Julianne.

The blonde shrugged. "I guess not..."

The rest of the warehouse vanished from his very consciousness with what happened next. He wasn't aware that Shea still stood beside him, that there were other creepy guys angling for a view of what was going on, or that Erica was kicking off her shoes.

All Lloyd could see was Julianne's fingers slowly lowering the zipper down her leg, and the leather peeling back, revealing even more of what he just knew had to be creamy, soft skin. All he could think about was what it might feel like to actually-

"Oven mitts," he muttered.

Shea was clearly confused. "What?"

"N-nothing," Lloyd stammered, closing his eyes tightly. In his head, he repeated it, like a mantra: oven mitts, oven mitts, oven mitts. While it was difficult, it eventually did kill the rapidly growing thoughts he was having about Julianne.

Julianne who was kind of a patient, who he should not like as more than that, who he should not find himself attracted to in any way, shape, or form. Julianne who he had already managed to get into trouble somewhat on their last case. Julianne who he respected.

When he opened his eyes again, Julianne's skirt was back in place, and her now stockinged feet were under her desk. She self-consciously tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear.

Her dark eyes met his blue ones only briefly.

As soon as they did, Lloyd looked down, ashamed at the impropriety of it all. His guilt gave way to the fear of his gambling debts and his potential impending doom, which before had been crushing, nearly unbearable. While he wasn't looking forward to facing his mortality in a dingy prison cell, he might at least be able to cling this memory, recalling Julianne's unassuming beauty.

When he chanced a glance back at her, her cheeks seemed just a shade pinker than they'd been only moments before.

As much as he'd like to think he helped her with her conditions and her issues, he realized that she'd given something to him in return, something he was going to hold onto tightly: a tiny glimmer of hope.


End.