If someone had asked Chloe Pritcher if she saw herself working for the CEO as a secretary for one of the top PMC firms in the nation at twenty-three she would have laughed. If someone had told her both her parents would've been dead by then, she would've called bullshit.

Yet both of those things had happened.

Turning off the laptop she looked out the ceiling to floor sized windows, admiring the twinkling view of New York at night. Then she opened the door into her pretty boy boss's office: Billy Russo.

He looked up from his laptop with a quick smile. Chloe went over and made him a cup of coffee in the Nespresso machine.

"Leaving me so early?" He asked.

"It's seven."

"Let me guess your plans now . . . hmmm . . . a Jane Austen novel or some other old book and a cup of tea while you ponder why you have no cats."

She watched as the coffee offered its last drops into the cup. "I'm going on a date tonight actually."

The smile slid off his face.

She turned around. "Don't worry I promise everything is done for today and really," she waved the cellphone in her hand, "my life pretty much revolves around yours anyway. So if anything happens I'll let you know."

"That's not what I'm worried about." His eyes had darkened with scorn.

She bristled in response. "I know the last guy didn't-" she paused and took a deep breath to gather herself. The bruises were no longer on her body, but she couldn't help but think she had played a part in his suicide. He hadn't been nice, but she didn't feel right about him ending his life in an abandoned construction building in Hoboken. While she apparently didn't know him as well as she thought, going to Hoboken to suddenly end his life just didn't seem like him.

She looked at him. There was something hungry in his eyes she couldn't decipher. But he had a lot of looks in his eyes she didn't understand; he had been out in war for years, so she supposed she never really would. "Billy this one's different okay?"

He slid his hands into his tailored pockets. "He's CIA."

"And I work for a PMC firm. We're all in the business of protecting people, right?" She replied. It was no surprise Billy already knew the guy's profession, even though she had only brought him up once in a conversation between the two of them last week.

She placed the coffee on his desk.

"Just be wary, he could be using you." He said.

A crooked grin appeared on her face. "You up to naughty activities, Billy the Kid?"

He shrugged. "Ah you know, this and that and concealing your Christmas present."

"It better not be cash."

His expression slid to innocent as a cherub.

"Billy I'm serious! And no gifts worth an obscene amount."

"What is it with you and hatred for the good things in life?"

She rolled her eyes. "I just don't care as much as you."

"And what do you care about, Chloe?"

"The little things in life."

"I'll see what I can arrange, how about that."

"Just let me arrange my own Christmas gift and you can write the letter."

"There's no fun in that."

"You have more important things to work on."

"Pencil yourself into my schedule, then."

She breathed a laugh. "Yeah, yeah, we'll see."

"If not you can pack up your things, find a new place to work at. Of course, it'll never be as good as here. And where else will you be able to find a boss as handsome as me to ogle at through the glass window?"

She tried to suppress her laughter. "You and I both know that I wouldn't be here if you hadn't hired me."

"And kept you." He added.

"Because I am the best secretary you ever had."

"Let's go with that."

"I can send an email faster than you can pull a gun."

"Is that right?" He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms as his eyes lit up with amusement.

"Sure, I learned a thing or two during those training exercises you forced me attend."

"You haven't been in a while."

"Let's be honest, I'm not very good at fighting."

"You'd be surprised how you act in life or death situations." He said.

She toyed with her phone. "Hoping it doesn't come down to it."

"Play by the rules and you'll be safe, no matter what situation." He said.

"Didn't you lay down the rules?" She asked.

Billy stood up and walked over to her. There it was, the subtle gate of a predator. The way he moved, like he was king of the jungle. "Exactly."

"Oh I get it now. Billy Russo, you know it's unfair to have one person follow all the rules while the other just makes them up?"

"Life isn't fair, but it sure as hell is fun if you do it right." Billy was only a foot away now, looking down at his petite secretary even as she stood in her heels.

"But I know, you don't care about me, and you'll keep pretending I haven't given you some kick-ass advice over the years."

"Well without you I wouldn't know how to dress so nice." She smoothed his suit. "And don't let that go to your head."

Billy smirked. "I'd never."

"Good because if it did you would be a total pain the ass to work with." Chloe teased.

"Hm." He rubbed at his jaw. "So where are you taking this mystery man?"

"Some place."

He stared at her, cocking an eyebrow. She hated when he did that, putting on his serious military face. He looked like he was ready to use some physical tactics on her to get her to spill the information, like twist her around and use her own arm as leverage. It was threatening as hell.

Her hands went up in defeat. "Okay, stop using the 'boss' face on me. It's after work hours anyway."

"Thought you said you work all the time."

"Don't use my own words against me."

He fought back a smirk.

"Fine." She sighed. "It's at his place. Just some dinner. That's all you're getting to know. Don't you have some supermodel in some upscale bar to chase after anyway?"

"Not tonight Chloe. I have some other business to attend too."

She crossed her arms. "More stuff I can't put onto your schedule?"

"More stuff you can't put on my schedule."

"You going to tell me what it is one day?"

"Some things are best kept in the dark."

"Fine, don't tell me." She said.

She wondered what it was he got up to when she wasn't allowed to know. It was probably just personal things, but still, it got her curious. But she trusted him.

He had taken care of her after all. When her parents had died in that car crash after dad had come back from Afghanistan, it was Anvil that had been seeking interns, right at her university she had just gotten into. Needing desperately to make some money she had signed up.

It was luck that she was chosen, and a seeming act of fate that let her meet Billy the day she walked into their office.

She had been his secretary ever since. How could she not trust him? After working with him for six years, after he taught her the ropes of the business, after he taught her to be a woman and not a depressed, hopeless girl - she owed him everything she was.

Not that she would say that out loud.

Maybe it didn't need to be.

Maybe he knew.

Part of her hoped she didn't. She was strong-willed too, she was her own woman. She was a fighter too in her own way.

He twirled a strand of her blonde hair that was so light it looked white under the right lighting. "I forget how much older than your age you act."

"It's probably from spending so much time with someone as old as you."

"I'm only thirty-four." He defended with mock admonishment.

"Let me know when the arthritis sets in, Russo."

"Will you be massaging me?"

"I'll be hiring a masseuse for you, because that is the professional course of action."

He gently tugged at a strand of her hair. "HR's poster girl."

Chloe took a small step back. "You got that right. Now I really need to go. If you need anything else, well, you always know where to reach me."

His smile was tight, controlled. She didn't notice. "Have a nice night Chloe."

"I will." She said. And then she was out of the office, breezing past him gently. He watched her go, watched as the elevator doors closed.

And then he lunged for the phone on his desk. "Mike? Give me access to Chloe's desktop. Now."

—

The jazz was turned down low on the stereo. The entire kitchen had the nice fragrance of Italian food. The two worked on making the dinner together, after Chloe had insisted on helping.

Ian gave a heavy sigh. "I need to talk to you about Billy Russo. And I wanted to do it somewhere there isn't potential to be overheard."

She stopped chopping carrots to turn around a frown at him. "I can't even go a night without my boss coming up in some conversation." Knowing that it was over with this date and back to business she picked up the glass of wine. "Is this what this date is, Ian? Business? Because I could've just set up an appointment."

"Chloe it's more serious than that. He was involved in your p-"

The glass slipped from her fingers suddenly and red wine cascaded down the front of her white shirt. "Fuck!"

Ian stepped forwards to take the spilled glass from her hand.

"Oh dammit this isn't good. Do you have a bathroom, maybe I can try to take this out." She was dabbing her shirt furiously with a napkin. "I promise I'll listen to whatever it is you want to talk about after."

He looked hesitant for a moment, and then sighed again. "Go upstairs, you can borrow one of my shirts, it's hanging in the bathroom anyway."

"Thank you. Oh I'm such an idiot." She muttered as she continued wiping at the wine, navigating her way to the upstairs bathroom.

As Chloe put on the new shirt after giving up on her blouse she stared at herself in the mirror. Doe blue eyes stared straight back, and her bow-shaped lips were tinged red from the wine. She supposed she did look a little cherubic.

She buttoned Ian's white office shirt up to the neck. It really hadn't been her intention of spilling on herself, and she didn't want him to think wearing his clothes meant anything. She still didn't know where the night was heading.

Fluffing her hair out she went downstairs again, forgetting to put on the heels she had taken off when she cleaned the wine off of those too.

"Ian can we maybe talk about Billy after dinner, for once it would be nice not to have like every conversation I have revolve around him." She called as she went hit the bottom step.

For a split second she paused. The music was turned off. "Ian?"

As she walked into the kitchen the breath left her. She hit the floor immediately, hand automatically swiping the counter as she went down.

He was lying there, in his own pool of blood. As her hands went to his throat and to his wrist to check for a pulse she finally realised just how hot and thick blood really was. It coated her hands.

Ian's green eyes were wide open, staring straight up at the ceiling. As her eyes darted around the floor she saw no signs of discarded bullet shells.

But she could see it now. Could see the way his throat was opened up. He had been stabbed, maybe twice, maybe three times. She couldn't tell.

Her mouth was dry and heart was beating against her ribcage.

But the world seemed to slow down all of a sudden. She saw the shadow move behind her, felt as it leaned towards her. With a cry she took the knife she had been shielding with her body and lashed out.

The figure stumbled backwards in surprise and with a grunt of pain as she stabbed the cutting knife into their arm. With a shriek she fled under them before the attacker had time to respond and yanked the backdoor open.

Barefoot and wearing a thin shirt she sprinted across the wet grass. The city lights twinkled in the distance. She crawled over the fence, scratching her legs.

And then she threw herself into a tight spot in the shadows between a garbage can and a giant bag of grass and leaves.

For a moment there was silence, and then she heard heavy booted footsteps.

The fight came jogging down the small alley filled with disregarded construction items. The attacker stop a foot away from her and she placed a trembling hand over mouth, nearly vomiting as the blood smeared across her lips. She tugged her legs up tightly to her body, praying the killer wouldn't see her.

The attacker was tall and well built. She wouldn't stand a chance with another confrontation, it was only surprise that had let her get away. In the gleam of the streetlight she saw his bloody hand. And then the killer ran forwards, far away from her.

After ten minutes she let out a shaky sob before standing up.

What was it Billy had taught her in those simulations? What the hell was it?

Find cover? Find somewhere familiar?

Oh she wished she knew what to do. But she wasn't a fighter and she had no expierence besides a stupid simulation or two.

She ran through the streets, not caring in the slightest at how her feet had become numb from the cold.

Her breath came out in cold puffs.

After a while she stopped running and slowed to a jog as her lungs burn.

Finally, she walked.

She wandered through streets and back alleys until she came to a parking lot.

It wasn't one she recognised. In the distance she heard dogs barking and the wail of sirens. She put her hands through her hair and cried out.

What the hell was she supposed to do?

There was no one to call.

Shit. Maybe she could call Ed Howards secretary, she knew that number by heart.

No wait she was in Vietnam. It was the middle of the night, she couldn't call her either.

After long deliberation she hesitated as she made her way to the phone booth. Graffiti stained the entire thing.

She bypassed the need for paying twenty-five cents with a code.

At least working with all kinds of law enforcement had taught her a thing or two.

There was a click on the other end. "B-billy?"

"Chloe where are you? I heard what happened."

The relief hit her like a tsunami at a familiar voice.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I know you're busy but I didn't know who else to call." She sobbed.

"Where are you?" He repeated, harsher this time. Impatiently.

She looked around until she saw a sign. "Karring Parking Lot. Uh, East Side of the River."

"Did you call anyone else?"

She blinked and then shook her head furiously, as if he could see. "You're the first person."

"I'll get you, don't move, do you understand me?"

"What if he's still out there looking for me?" She whispered into the scratched phone.

"Stay." He ordered.

The line went dead.

I don't know which Punisher fanfiction page is actually in use. So I'll post this here and see what happens.

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