It was a cold morning and her lungs had started to burn. It made her cough a little, a grin spreading across her lips. God, she had missed this feeling. Huffing and puffing her way through an early morning run was something she'd never imagined she would crave. But there was something about the cold air rushing in and out of her lungs, the way her legs were starting to ache. It made her feel alive, whole.

Poking at her right earbud, she let the hard bass of The Prodigy drown out the growing street traffic. It was only seven in the morning in Southie, but already people were clamoring out of bed to get to work. Cars were passing her at an even tempo as she ran down the sidewalk. It pushed her to chase them, pick up the pace to match the beat in her ears. She was slamming her feet into the pavement, testing her strength.

But suddenly her ankle gave her a warning sting and she forced herself to come to a gradual stop. Leaning over, she caught her breath with hard gasps, her hand reaching down to rub the spot above her right ankle. Don't hurt yourself, Delaney.

"Yeah yeah." She muttered, ripping her earbuds out to hang them around her neck. Her doctor was like her shoulder angel, whispering warnings into her ear. It was her first week off medical leave, she needed to ease up on the pushing, for now. "Just get through the week, Delaney." She whispered, gasping for air between each word.

It sounded simple enough; but the motivational mantra only brought the beginning of tears to her eyes. All the pain she'd gone through in the past few months and all the weakness had turned her into a big softy. She hated how out of shape she was. Her right leg was still very thin, withering away in comparison to her left. The incision on her foot felt wrong inside a sock and a shoe and it was pounding in her sneaker. Three months ago, she would have finished her run twenty minutes ago, and she would have been breathing easy.

Swiping her tears away, she stood up and lightly smacked her cheek.

"Snap out of it, Delaney."

"Hey crazy. Are ya gonna pant there all day or can I get some peace and quiet?" A voice replied from nowhere. Spinning on her toe, she watched a leather-clad figure lower a lit cigarette in the mouth of an alley. Still trying to find her breath, she squinted, swallowing air as quietly as possible.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I botherin' you?" She huffed and puffed the rebuttal. Shaking her head, she stretched her right leg, bending over to touch her toes. It didn't take much to get shit from a random stranger anymore. There was no respect in Southie. Not like when she was a kid.

"Yeah." She stood up and frowned back at the alley, the prickling lessening in her ankle. Ready to shoot back another sarcastic remark, her mouth hung open when she got a look at whom she was talking to.

Billy Darley.

Leaning a little out of the alley, his cigarette hovered between his lips as he folded his arms, eyes licking up and down her figure. His eyes alone were enough to give her chills. He'd been that way since grade school, intense and intimidating without any effort at all. But the years had added to that effect. Where his young face had been, there was a man's, lined with high cheekbones and harsh shadows. And his hair was gone. She'd seen photos of him without the dirty blond mess on his scalp, but photos didn't do him justice.

He was the epitome of villain, down to the black tattoos peeking out of his jacket.

Somehow, she managed to pretend that he hadn't startled her at all. She pretended that she didn't know him from Adam, even though she had grown up in the same schools and same neighborhood.

"I'd like to see you run a mile." She replied, gesturing loosely to the cancer-on-a-stick propped in his lips. Jesus, she could remember him smoking when they'd been in fifth grade…all those years ago.

To her surprise, his mouth twitched at the corners, a blip of a smile vanishing before she was sure she'd seen it. Then he took the cigarette and dropped it to the ground, crunching it with his toe.

"I get my exercise other ways, sweetheart." He murmured, his eyes drinking her in again, this time with meaning. Time to go. With a small shake of her head, the earbuds around her neck were returned to their rightful places, killing any further conversation. But before she took off down the sidewalk, she gave Billy Darley once last look.

"Don't litter." She finally shot back, her eyes motioning to the butt under his shoe. Then, without even checking to see his reaction, she was charging back into her stride, putting as much distance as possible between them.

Two miles later, she limped her way up the front stoop, her right calf cramping while the rest of her just moaned in protest. Breaking bones and snapping tendons were nothing compared to recovery. Recovery took forever and it never seemed to get better.

Completely infuriating.

A quick strip and a minute of waiting later, a hot shower helped ease the aches she knew she'd feel the rest of the day, running all over her back and legs. As she soaped up, she took the time to touch her skin, reaching all the way down to her feet.

The long cuts in her right calf were fully healed and the skin was only slightly raised from the once violent wounds. She traced them gingerly and bit back a hiss of irritation. The nerves were still ultra sensitive to her fingertips, days of physical therapy doing nothing to numb the tingling and itching. Looking down at the marks, she wondered what her leg had looked like before. But all she could remember were the jagged cuts and ugly stitches.

The day she'd gotten those cuts, she'd screamed in anger. At herself, at the driver that had smashed into her car, and the mandatory leave of absence her rehabilitation would require. Weakness and deformity, enemies she'd never imagined she'd have to face.

Now, soap ran over the skin, leaving shiny trails as it went. No more bruises, swelling, or red scars. Just new, pale lines, weaving over the muscles in her calf.

Damn, that morning run had really messed with her head.

Shampooing her hair in less than a minute, the shower ended and she dried off, cursing at the time. First day back on the job and she was going to cut it close. Throwing on her blues, she skidded around the house in her socks.

The last accessory went on after her shoes. She pulled it out of the drawer she'd dropped it in weeks ago, rubbing her thumb back and forth over the familiar leather.

"Officer Erica Delaney." She whispered, tracing the number on her badge with a sad smile. Then she caught a glimpse of the clock on the microwave.

"Shit!"


He was goddamn tired. Not just physically tired. He was mentally exhausted.

Billy closed his eyes and let his head drop onto the brick wall behind him. If anyone could fall asleep standing up, it'd be him. In the past thirty-six hours, he'd gotten no sleep. Hell, he hadn't sat down in almost ten hours. It was to the point where the heels of his boots were starting to make his feet cramp in weird places. He needed a chair, food, and lots of rest. That and a nice long shower. Or even a bath. Billy swallowed, his Adam's apple stretching the skin on his throat. What he would give to sleep in a tub of hot water.

The buzz of his phone broke his fantasy and he snapped it open, pressing the cold plastic to his ear.

"What."

"We're good here." Bodie, his best friend, sounded as worn as Billy felt. He wanted to send his loyal right-hand man home, but they had to stick it out. Only a few more hours and Bones would be happy.

"Good. Get goin'." He didn't even bother to open his eyes the entire time he spoke. What did it matter? No one could see him. No one knew how utterly spent he was.

"Right."

And that was it. They hung up –probably at the same time- and Billy took a hard drag off his cigarette. If it weren't for nicotine and coffee, he would never be able to do these crazy hours. But Bones only had shipments like this once a month, and he usually didn't have to dodge ATF with all this tricky footwork.

Fuck, would that make things easier.

He'd be in bed right now if it weren't for the black van parked a block away. Actually, he'd be long rested by now, out and pumped for a new week. But no. He had to keep the idiot surveillance crew busy until his guys took care of business. A grin tickled his lips. Maybe he should consider the van a compliment: he was important enough to merit watching.

Or whatever.

God, what time was it anyway?

The scuffling of tennis shoes brought him back to the alleyway, his eyes popping open as the sound growing louder. Then there was panting, hard and fast. He turned his head to see a brunette come to a slow stop on the sidewalk, her breath white in the cold morning air. She was gasping for a breath only to sigh it back out a second later. God, joggers. They did this shit until they couldn't even breathe correctly, all in the name of health?

Billy eyed her ass as she leant over, rubbing her legs.

Okay, so maybe staying in shape wasn't all bad. Those spandex pants certainly lifted his spirits.

Among other things.

"Yeah yeah." The girl muttered, ripping out earbuds that buzzed with sound. He watched her pant with an angry tone in her throat, as if she was arguing with her body's need to take in air. As he watched, she continued to mutter in a hushed voice, standing up to smack herself in the cheek.

"Hey crazy. Are ya gonna pant there all day or can I get some peace and quiet?" Billy knew that he'd only said anything to call attention to himself. Part of him was bored and part of him was a little stupid with fatigue. Usually, he didn't put himself out there for casual chat. Actually, Billy didn't do casual chatting, period.

But it got her to turn her head, rosy cheeks and parted lips revealed for him to see. She glanced at him for only a second before she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I botherin' you?" She was from Southie alright. The lack of r's in her speech and surplus of attitude put that out in the open immediately. But the scowl on her face perplexed him. Most women didn't talk back to men like him. It didn't have to be him specifically. There was just an unwritten rule in Southie: if you're female and alone, you don't pick a fight with someone who lingers in side alleys. Maybe that wasn't the rule exactly, but the principle stands.

"Yeah." He shot back, entertained by her instant irritation. The remark bought him another look at her face, and this time he saw something new.

Ahhh so she did know who he was. Billy hid a cocky smirk. The way her eyebrows fell from their high horses put a little life back in his veins. Nothing beat a cup of coffee like an ego boost. But instead of smiling, the woman merely stared right back, her expression flat and cold. It made him squint a little at her, his mind trying to put a name to her face.

He knew all the locals.

Or so he thought.

"I'd like to see you run a mile." She shot at him suddenly, her hand gesturing to his smoldering cigarette before it flopped back against her thigh. He noticed that nearly nothing jiggled on her leg. Nice. Very nice. Billy wanted to smile, but the lack of a grin on her face kept him from doing so. There was something sterile about her attitude towards him, like she wanted nothing more than for him to vanish in a puff of smoke. Dropping his cigarette, he stomped it out without breaking their eye contact.

"I get my exercise other ways, sweetheart." He murmured. All teasing aside, the woman had a body. Tight ass, strong thighs, trim middle. Her chest was a flat, but the curve of her hips made up for the lack of curve on top. She was just the kind of woman he'd like to burn a few calories with.

Then just as he was starting to warm up, she popped her earbuds back in.

"Don't litter." And off she went. Billy blinked once before he frowned at her bouncing ass in confusion. What the fuck was that?

His phone buzzed again and Billy shook his head, clearing it before he answered.

"What."

"It's Tom." He ducked back into the alley and took up his spot against the brick again, his feet aching a little louder.

"Yeah?"

"It's all set and we just crossed the bridge. Ya good ta go." Thank Jesus. The van full of illegal firearms was out of Southie and safely on it's way out of state. In an hour or so, the switch would be done and a bunch of fat cops would be fucking clueless. Billy nodded to himself and rubbed the back of his scalp. He was tired. Really goddamn tired.

"Good. Call Bag. Have him pick me up." Snapping the phone closed, Billy swallowed a groan of relief. He was going home.

Baggy was there in less than five minutes, Billy's Mustang roaring like a monster down the street. After a quick seating rearrangement, and a stop at Baggy's apartment, Billy was alone in the driver's seat of his baby.

And in the rearview mirror, a black van trailed four cars behind. He let the smile show this time.

"Ya pigs are all a bunch of fuckin' idiots." He whispered with a laugh, turning into his apartment complex. It was sad, really, how utterly obvious the van was in that parking lot. They were smart enough to linger on the street for a while before pulling into the furthest space from the front of the building. But even then, any four year old in Southie would know the back was full of cops. Then again, every four year old in Southie had a parent, or a cousin, brother, sister, grandparent… somebody who'd seen the inside of a jail cell.

Which is why cops were hated in this neighborhood.

As he made the trip from his car to the front door, Billy looked back at the van, sending them an unwavering stare of hatred. Because, let's face it, game over. They'd lost; he'd won.

Pointing it out to them was as easy as flipping them off.


New story. New character. I'm going to try and keep this one down to 4 or 5 chapters.

Let me know what you think!