Regina sits behind her desk and tucks the chair in, gesturing for me to sit in the white leather one opposite her. She glances down at the photo of her son before looking back up at me, straight backed and waiting for her to talk to me. As usual, her skin is alabaster smooth and not a single hair is out of place, contrasting with the storm brewing in her dark brown eyes.
She waits a few moments before speaking, her mouth slightly twisting to the side in a sneer of disappointment. I don't like the woman much but I do have to respect her, and I do. She does an incredible job of keeping this firm out of detection.
"I assume you got the drive?" She asks without emotion, dark red lips curving slightly. Despite the lightness of the room around her, she creates her own waves of anger, shadowing the planes of white covering the walls. The bold blue of her dress and the red of her lips are accentuated in the plainness of her surroundings. I reach into my jacket pocket and wrap the lanyard around me hand before dropping it onto the desk before her, the memory stick clattering. One of the nurses handed it to me in a plastic wallet after I left the ward.
I don't say a word and Regina watches me, carefully slotting the drive into the top drawer of her desk, ready to be analysed and coded later on. We sit in silence. Every moment feels like she is analyzing every breath I take and each second I wait. I won't be the one to start this awful conversation. This may not be the best job I could be in, but it has treated me well over the years and I don't want to lose my job.
"I am incredible disappointed in your actions on this job, and I know that you are as well." Gentle beginning. A good start but bound to get worse. Unfortunately, I have been on this end of one of Regina's talks before - a couple of years ago when a mistake I made also cost someone greatly. Even then, her words are chosen precisely. Although, these are probably rehearsed several times over before the meetings. "If you had not got the drive then I would have fired you."
Very blunt. My stomach drops successfully. I nod in understanding.
Regina notices the biting of my cheek and smiles slightly, her left dimple appearing through the smooth skin.
"You will be on report work for the next three weeks and remain out of field. You will be assigned desk work and nothing more, even if your past cases require your personal attendance." She pauses to watch me. I bite both cheeks to prevent a grimace from gracing my face. "You will be accompanied out of the office on your way home for the first week so you don't do anything else to follow this fatal mistake."
I had only assumed that the man had died, but the news is shock to me, causing my stomach to sink further down my body and my cheeks to flush with heat and horror.
Regina clasps her hands upon her desk and leans forward gingerly, waiting for me to say something, say anything in regard to my new instructions. Three weeks is a long time, but I can do it. I have done desk work before and I can do it again. I doubt it's a possibility that I could stay at home and file my reports from there, given her steely gaze and want for me to be 'guarded'. Or babysat.
I feel a pinch of anger at that.
"Do you really have no comments or queries?" she asks, testing me and her left cheek twitching again.
"I merely want to apologize for my actions and the trouble I have caused you and the company," I say, equally rehearsed; confident but not arrogant. Arrogance is what gets me both fired at and fired.
"For evaluative purposes, will you state that you didn't not use a communication system earpiece - and in order to prove yourself?" She asks coldly, as if knowing it will set the pinch of anger to more of a sustained bubble. Of course she knows about that, but it hasn't made a huge impact on my work before. Sometimes I have requested to go offline and that hasn't bothered her before. But now she is calculated.
I grit my teeth for a moment, knowing she is trying to push any buttons she can find. She leans back in her chair before offhandedly stating, "I just think it would be good for other agents to be aware of what happens when you don't use your base partner and to learn from your dire mistakes." She pauses, her lips quirking and nails tapping gently against the desk. "So they don't need to call for emergency back-up in a simple situation."
"Regina, you know damn well how difficult the mission was, and you chose me to do it. Not some fresh-minded bouncy little imp, but me. Killian Jones." I grind out the words, remaining sound posture and a calmness to the rest of my body. Logic is key. Logic is key. I hope to remember that.
"That is Miss Mills to you," She snaps coldly, glaring at me and sitting straight again. Power pose complete. "Anyway, notwithstanding of your past efforts, you almost failed this time. Your mistakes are worth recording so maybe you and others can learn in the future." I itch to run my hand through my hair in frustration. Instead, I take a slow breath and roll my left shoulder slightly. It still aches, even though Dr Whale did an incredible job of fixing me up.
"Miss Mills," I say, a little forced. "I accept my mistakes completely and I am horrified at the consequences of this one mission, but I could have done far worse with Mr Smee blathering on in my ear." I speak quietly, attempting to me gentle. Honestly, it doesn't really work. Regina raises her eyebrows a little, causing a crease on her forehead. She licks her teeth and I watch the vein pulsate on her forehead for a moment or two. Waiting. Calculating.
"Jones," she begins. "The man is employed here for a reason. For God's sake use him." She pinches the bridge of her nose, only showing weakness and tiredness for a fraction of a section. "I understand you are very capable, but so are others in this firm and they are employed to ensure all missions run smoothly - such as Mr Smee. Even you need help sometimes." She looks up at me then, agitation in her eyes.
If anything, her comments make the situation worse. I should agree with her, but that feels far too alike defeat. And I will not accept that.
"Pardon my frustration Miss Mills, but I hardly think that bumbling rat of a man could have helped me divert from Spence's men," I point out harshly, glancing away from her at instead glimpse a plane skirting across the blue skies. The anger rolls off the both of us in waves, but I know I will have to be the one to back down. "They were surrounding. They knew me and they knew I had the drive. No amount of base instructions would have guided me away from Spence."
"And yet one of them still died. But we have the drive, but the death is completely on you."
"For Chrissakes," I mutter, then say louder, "He would have killed me had I not harmed him first."
Regina sighs heavily and purses her lips, then moves her hands so they are once again clasped on her desk. All business. Her eyes tell a different story. They speak of resignation and of just wanting someone not to disagree with her.
"I was not supposed to disclose such information, but since we are having this discussion then I might as well," she says slowly, carefully. "What you have done is lit the flame to a gas chamber of hell. Apparently." She shrugs. "But we both know that these men will stop at nothing to get the drive, especially now they know that we have it. You know what Albert Spencer is like. Everyone is expendable once they have been used aptly." I nod, understanding her chagrin. I've been informed a little about this drive.
The gangs and terrors could come in their masses to vie for the same thing. The information which is on that drive. We have only been informed of some of what it contains, but the rest will be decoded in the next week or so.
So I've been told.
"I'll have the report with you as soon as possible," I announce, knowing the conversation is over now Regina has made her sacrifice of information. I see a hint of a smile on her lips and know that I must have made the correct assumption.
"You may go," she says briskly, and then clearly relaxing as I spare one final glance. I almost feel sorry for her. Every conversation is either an interrogation or a manipulation of sorts. Then again, she does have the Big Job.
There is a click as the door automatically locks behind me and I am thrown back into the world of sharks in which I work. Tink glares at me form her desk, fingers typing hastily on her keyboard. I smile at her and she raises a single eyebrow, letting it disappear into the shock of curled blonde hair which tumbles across her vision. I wink and she glares. A far better reaction. Alas, I don't quite feel the usual sparks today.
From inside my jacket pocket, my phone buzzes unceremoniously. I leave the room immediately, walking quickly to the hallway where I might catch an elevator to the floors below, where my segment lies. Desk work. I almost can't believe it. Not even allowed to be in attendance to any important open case meetings. I check the caller ID and answer immediately.
"Now's not a great time, Liam," My brother merely chuckles from the other end of the line as I sigh, jogging towards the elevator. It closes a moment too soon, the red-headed female inside smiling apologetically. I scratch my ear and turn to the stairwell.
"Too busy to talk to your big brother?" Liam asks with a smirk in his voice. I lean against the wall, watching the skies from the wide windows, as the wisps of cloud dance across the sea of blue. So different from New York City just last week. "Have I distracted you from any pressing matters. Because, as I recall, if you were doing anything important, you would not have answered. As you previously mentioned," he mutters slightly under his breath. "I know my place, brother," Liam says with the smile back in his voice. I almost smile at him.
The door opens on the stairwell and Dr Hopper exits, carrying his umbrella and smiling shyly as if he had been looking for me. Great. He shuffles towards me and then notices the phone at my ear. I run a hand through my hair and inwardly sigh in frustration. Knowing it's rude but doing it anyway, I hold up a finger to the Doc and try to look as apologetic as I can.
"Hold on a sec, Liam," I interrupt and turn the phone into my chest. "Dr Hopper?"
He looks almost surprised that I'm addressing him and shuffles a little awkwardly before saying, "Killian, Miss Mills just emailed me to explain what happened last week and that perhaps you might need to talk to me about it. Dr Whale also sent me the notes of your case." I nod in understanding. The shooting. The man is only doing his job, but I must say that I don't feel like I want to talk about it. After spending a week only thinking about the pain and David visiting me, I haven't delved far into my thoughts on killing a man. It's uncommon in this firm so fair enough that the in-company psychiatrist would be straight on the case. The Red Flag metaphorically flying.
"It doesn't have to be today?" I ask gingerly. Dr Hopper shrugs.
"As soon as you want. In the next couple of days would be best. Any longer and it could effect you long-term." I nod again and utter my thanks. "How about two o'clock on Thursday? We can do a short session," he suggests.
"Okay," I say. Dr Hopper turns and jogs down the stairs to the next exit. I don't move until the door shuts behind him, and I let out a heavy sigh in his wake. Liam's voice shouts out from the device in my palm, nonsensical. I inwardly swear and place the phone to my ear again. "Sorry about that brother. The Doc just wanted a quick word. Make sure I'm doing the best I can, I suppose."
Silence from the other end of the line. Not a good thing. But could be far worse. Regardless, my stomach sinks.
"Are you going to tell me the truth about what's happening there, Killian?" He asks warningly, worry seeping into his tone. I don't speak for a moment; afraid of what I will reveal. But this is my brother.
"I made a judgement and it was fatal," I say as if reading the unwritten report. Silence. I slide down the wall to sit on the corner of the bottom step, watching the skies from the window beside me. The air conditioning is cool but in this area I am burning with guilt. "Liam, I messed up."
"What did you do?" The gentleness of an older brother rushes into his tone, already more of a father figure than my actual father.
"I was in a compromising position. One of Spence's guys went to shoot me, so I shot first," I breathe, my words hardly above a whisper. Of course I know he hears me, but he stays silent on the other end. Waiting for me to finish the confession. He knows there is more, despite being completely unknowing of the situation. "As he was dying, he shot me."
"You let yourself get shot?"
The change in emotion is instantaneous. I knew it would happen. As soon as I mentioned my injury, I knew my brother would overstep 'protective' and race towards 'angry'. So, of course, this made me angry too.
"Bloody hell, Liam, it wasn't a choice!" I shout down the phone, my fury rising as I speak and stand to pace the white stone flooring. There's no movement behind the doors and that makes me relieved. It means I won't be spotted. It's about an hour before lunch so no one will be moving yet, slugging away for the last moments of the first half of the day.
"It was still your fault." A petulent statement from my brother, but definitely a fair one. Of course I don't say a thing though. I can't let him know that he made a valid point. I'll just quietly seethe. A childish trait of mine. I must also be a relative thing. I don't particularly like being told off by my older brother. "Blimey, Killian, you don't do that kind of thing. You need to be more careful." And that's where the bloody instructions come in. Caring Liam, but careless Killian - exactly like when we were much younger.
"It's not as it you'd notice," I mutter, then curse at my words. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Don't get exterior issues involved in an argument. That is pretty much Rule Number One. Liam begins to say something, probably a counter argument, but I cut him off. "Oh come on, Liam, you're never bloody here." I sigh heavily.
"Christ." Liam pauses and I stay quiet. "It's exactly the same for me," he murmurs quietly. I shut my eyes and lean my head against the wall in frustrated resignation. "Look, it's not easy being so far from you. All I have is you, my crew and Elsa. You know that," he implores.
"Oh right, yeah so similar," I say sarcastically. "It's fine, you don't need me. Liam JOnes has his own girlfriend and a crew of his own too." I roll my eyes bitterly.
"Killian -" Nope. I end the call abruptly and jam the phone into my pocket, shaking my head in slight disbelief.
I don't feel like going to a desk where there will be people asking questions and a sticky keyboard and a bunch of emails tasking me with some infrastructure work alongside some sort of prompt for Regina about the damn report.
My stomach rumbles. That decides it.
The cafeteria is one of the more colorful areas of the company building, pioneered by a loving but fierce elderly woman. Granny. With wispy grey hair and small round glasses, she watches the room like a hawk.
The room is set out like an old diner, with red leather booths and chairs with white piping along their sides. Paired with large, shining metal tables, and the music you may associate with the 'rocking fifties'. Many people dislike how boldly the cafeteria contrasts with the rest of our sophisticated and modern building. Personally, I like it. And I know that Regina does too by the amount of times I have seen Tink walking away with more than one tub of fries and coffee on days of long meetings. And, thankfully, this means that Granny's will remain open for as long as Regina is in charge.
It's a large area, with space enough for three hundred people, on tables of varying shapes and sizes. Even so, it's never overly crowded and I like that.
I smile and walk over to the counter where Granny is poised, tea towel in one hand and a half smile on her own face. A friendly face is needed and hell if Granny's isn't the friendliest face around. Despite the incredibly fearsome side of her; the one which keeps the crossbow within reach at her bedside.
"Alright kid?" Granny asks as I slide onto one of cushion-topped bar stools. She wanders towards me, eyes narrowed slightly, but laying the towel on the counter. A sign that a chat is in order. "What can I get you, to start with?"
"Tuna and cheese, please," I say, glancing briefly at the blackboard-menu on the back wall. "And a strong coffee." She nods, peers over her glasses at me, and calls over the stocky waitress to take my order to the kitchen, before returning her gaze to me.
"Rough start?"
"Been a weird few days," I admit, smiling a little. Must be my hunger, but it is near-impossible to not smile wistfully at the smell of grease and cheese and meat. So darn hungry. She pauses in movements, tea towel laying still against the metal, waiting for me. "I guess you heard about New York? And the... Injury?" She looks at me skeptically, as if analyzing my words. I feel almost silly saying these things.
"Indeed I did," she supplies. "And am I right in guessing that Mills put you straight on desk for a couple weeks?" I nod and roll my shoulders in slight annoyance. "Well, I am sorry but, I gotta say, I woulda done the same thing."
"As me or her," I mutter as my sandwich and coffee arrives, an attempt at a joke. The first bite is perhaps more savage than I intended, but it doesn't bother Granny or myself, because it tastes damn delicious.
"Both," she says almost gently. I glance up and shrug at her, both of us knowing there is nothing to be done now. "And what does Liam think of your debacle?" She attempts my accent poorly. I scowl at the mention of Liam. "Ah, so you have spoken to him." My eyes roll of their own accord.
"He wasn't impressed," I say through half a swallowed mouthful of tune. "So I -" I begin, but as I speak, the bell of the entrance rings and I turn, surprised. And not wanting this person to hear me talk of Liam or any of this. Instead of some corporate looking for a buzz, I see another agent. I've seen her around maybe once or twice, but barely said more than a couple of sentences. Who could forget a woman like that, though? Bloody hell.
Tall, slim, confident. Knee-high boots, a dark red leather jacket - different from the bright shade of the cushions - and cascading light blonde curls snarling down her back, swaying with each purposeful step. Towards me. I avert my eyes immediately and take a swig of coffee.
But then she doesn't even glance in my direction.
Blondie stops at the counter, three feet away from me, and reads silently through the menu. It's almost as if she's reading for the sake of it, waiting to be served. Granny glances at the woman, perplexed for a moment, before flitting her eyes back to me. I shrug and she pushes her glasses a little higher on her nose, all business again.
"I'll be back in a moment, Killian. Don't go anywhere," she warns, waggling a finger at me. I laugh slightly and Granny moves to the blonde. "What can I get for you, dear?"
"Two black coffees, please," Blondie says, her hand tapping nervously against the counter top. "To go," she adds hastily. I try to watch discreetly, seeing the take out cups being filled with coffee from the pot, and I hear Granny's joke of,
"You must be working yourself into the ground to need so much coffee." Both she and the young woman laugh lightly before she replies with a polite,
"The other is for my partner." Granny nods understandingly, hands her the lids and waves her a cheery goodbye. My stomach sinks for no apparent reason. I blame the coffee and quickly move on from any elucidating thoughts. The bell rings as the door opens and closes behind the woman. Granny returns with a cheery smile on her face. Even though I know thew conversation could be anything but. And, though my stomach is full, and my mind if awake in this bold place, I suddenly don't feel like talking.
"Killian?"
"Hmm?" I respond, not wanting to talk.
"What did Liam say?"
The question is so direct that I can't really refuse to answer her.
"He told me to be more careful," I reply, merely reporting it as a fact, making sure to emotionally detach from the recent memory of my brothers words. "Treated me like a bloody fool." Yeah, that's too difficult. I take another sip pf coffee, enjoying the buzz. "Then when I expressed that he was too far away to make judgement and notice, he got angry and as did I." I try to shrug nonchalantly but Granny is looking at me in that analyzing way again. As if she can read past my words.
"You told him it wasn't your fault?" she asks gentle, but still trying to find some solution lying at the pit of this. It's noway near the worst argument my brother and I have had, but one of the more touchy and difficult topics we have encountered.
"Yep. He still told me off like I was a child." I sigh heavily and then laugh to myself. "My scruff would prove him wrong, could he see it." Granny laughs lightly but recognizes the underlying message. "I think he's still wary because of all the Milah stuff." The woman nods in understanding.
"Well, that was quite the mess." We laugh and I think about her briefly, the ridiculousness being the cause of my smiles. "We both know Liam," she begins, reminiscing. "As stubborn as his brother." She looks at me pointedly over her glasses. "It's no wonder you argue so damn much."
Because Liam is a bloody saint and I, the lesser Jones, am a drinking, cheating bastard with terrible relationship history. Barely anything over a date or so after the termination of mine and Milah's half-relationship.
"Chin up, Kiddo, you're not alone." I glance back up at her, a little shocked at the kinder words. But, before I can respond, the bell rings again and I hear the clacking of heels against the linoleum and a sharp voice saying,
"Hey Granny... And Jones."
Ruby Lucas stands at the counter, a couple of wads of paper escaping from the confines of her huge handbag. I recognize them immediately as case files. She has never been one for discretion, but then again we do all work for the same company - firm or group of people or whatever.
Even in her outfit she is not discreet.
Black leather trousers, black heeled boots, a vibrant red silk shirt and red highlights lacing through her dark, straight hair. No way near as subtle as the blond, but striking in her own way. Even her make-up screams daring. Most things are black and red with Ruby, which is kind of ironic. She barely goes a day without the pairing of those two colors. Mostly, I think to do with her choice of vivid red highlights and her name.
She smiles semi-politely at me before turning to her grandmother - Ruby is Granny's only biological grandchild - and pulling a cake tin from the enormous handbag. Granny's eyes light up with both joy and mischief. As though she is deciding whether to sell Ruby's confection or keep it for herself. Ruby is strangely talented at baking, though you may not guess from her cold and blase or dim demeanor. She makes a mean chocolate cake, though.
"What is it today, Red?" Granny asks delightedly, taking the tin and opening it to sniff. Red is the nickname Granny reserves for her granddaughter.
"Ginger and lemon cake," Ruby states almost proudly.
"Oooooh!"
And with that remark, Granny disappears to fetch a plate for the cake to be stood upon throughout the day. In the meantime, Ruby sits down beside me and pulls out a thick wad of paper, surrounded in a manila folder.
"Look," she demands. I raise an eyebrow at her and swallow another bite of sandwich.
"Ruby, come on, you know I can't take this," I say, trying to not be patronizing or full of self-pity. She rolls her eyes as if I am the one being dim for once.
"God, Killian, I know that. Give me some credit." She rolls her eyes again. "Just take a little time to look at it. That's not against your new house rules is it?" I roll my own and shake my head, pulling the thing towards me. "It's your kind of thing."
The title of the case read 'GREEN CROCODILE KING'.
What a strange name for such a case. I've never read such a title for anything before. They are usually titled by numbers and nonsensical words, but this seems like one big code-name. Unusual. I continue to scan the document and rifle through the pages as well.
Concerns: Rumplestiltskin Gold, Albert Spencer
My stomach clenches instinctively at the name, uncomfortable at reading it. But I want to read on, my interest piquing horribly. I have to know what bloody mess the man is in now and how it concerns this 'Gold'. That sort of explains the word 'King' in the name, as Spence belongs to the 'Royale'. Making him a King. That twists something unpleasant in my stomach too, and I keep reading.
Rumpelstiltskin Gold: Arms dealer - born in Southern Scotland, residence unknown at present
Firepower unknown
Relations: Neal Baelfire Gold (son), Zelena Green (assistant, associate)
That explains the Green.
Albert Spencer: 'Common Mobster' - 'Mafia Royale' - born in New Zealand, resided in USA for last 30 years
Relations: James Spencer and David Nolan (sons), Ruth Spencer (ex-wife), Fellow members of 'Mafia Royale' (French, De Vil, Pendragon, others unknown - associates)
Details of issue raised:
Gold's constant attempts for power has led to many issues between him and his 'associates' (those who affiliate with his business). Makes sometimes unachievable deals and, following the lack of response from 'associates', takes from them to gain power, much to chagrin of his son.
Similar situation in reverse with Spencer: Gold made a significant deal and, when Gold could not give him what he promised upon achieving the requirements, Spencer lashed out.
Issue prevalent: Hostage situation - Neal Baelfire Gold in custody of Albert Spencer until Gold pulls through on deal
Suspicion of planning attack on Spencer to obtain his son
Location of both subjects unknown, recent locations listed on file Z47.30MPS (PASSWORD REQUIRED), recent updates added to P42.30MPS
Situation usually in Police control, but will only be in attendance due to nature of subjects involved and past affiliation with subjects
Other valid details: Must be kept low-profile, heavy security case - plot of complete destruction. Will need intelligence officers.
Also: High demand for files recently acquired by 'MistHaven'. Warnings of collaboration for such files.
"Well..." I say, sighing heavily in near-admiration. "This is interesting. Definitely my kind of thing." And so equally frustrating. "Ruby, I can't help you."
"I know," she smiles in feigned sweetness, as Granny returns with the cake on a spotted ceramic stand. "I've got stone-cold Blondie on my case. The one who was in here a few minutes ago. Passed her on the way here from third." Third meaning third floor.
"That's annoying; this is exactly my thing! Directly linked to Spencer, and his bloody organization." I sigh heavily again, angry. Bloody woman.
"Not yours anymore, Killian," Ruby argues, whips up the case, gives Granny a quick hug before leaving with a confident walk, the tin in her hand. I don't watch her go, just hear the heels against the plastic, and stare at the empty cup of coffee. The dregs stain the white sides.
Bloody woman.
I sit in silence, barely registering Granny sneaking a slice of the cake and putting it away for her later. She claims it will make it more likely to be bought, but we all know she likes the cakes just as much as the rest of us. I don't look up at her, even when I feel her eyes on me. It's because I am well and truly stuck now. Red will be doing the case I should be on with the Blonde and I will sitting at my desk, writing a report about everything I did wrong. And Liam will probably revel in that; my mistakes being on display for record - for the entire company to view if they come across it. And I will be left in the dark.
"Killian?" I don't look up, defiant. "You know there are ways you can be involved from the desk."
"If you are suggesting that I do field-coordination, that's not really my thing," I snap a little.
"I wasn't, but you could do that. Your past with Spencer could be helpful in that way." She pauses and waits for me to look up again. I roll my shoulders and run a hand through my air, biting the inside of my cheek. "I was suggesting that you use your talents in infrastructure to build a case of sorts." Granny leans in closer and I smell the plain flour and coffee dusted on her scent. "Regina won't be able to deny you are helpful, then."
Intriguing idea. Granny continues.
"There is bound to be more than one copy of those files and I have no doubt that you could access them, Killian." Her voice is barely audible and I am glad that there is hardly anyone else in the cafeteria at this time. Granny could get fired for suggesting such a thing. "It's no secret that you are equal to August in something like that." I purse my lips, hardly believing she is right.
Granny is some sort of strange expert in this respect. She may as well be in media relations and communications. She sees so many of the employees that she catches pretty much all of the rumors and the gossip which flies through the corridors, daily. In her diner, it's difficult to believe that she was a hardcore officer, once. But then she still has the hardness in her eyes - the spark.
"It's unlikely Regina will listen to me. I've been dismissed to my desk only a matter of hours," I say evenly.
"Get your report out of the way and she can't tell you off for going off-topic."
Granny winks and leaves with a pat to my hand. Her parting remarks. Do your work and you'll get repaid. In some weird nutshell.
The chair scrapes back along the floor and I leave some cash on the table. More than what my sandwich and coffee was cost, but it doesn't matter. I sink my hands into the pockets of the jacket, not leaving a glance at Granny, merely pushing past the doors and floors until reaching my very own desk. Finally, stretching my fingers and settling them on the keyboard to type up the bloody report.
Then I can do some real work.
Hello again! I am fully aware it's been a month, but I have been working as much as I can to get a chapter out to you! Please, let me know what you all think and I shall hopefully get an update to you very soon! I'll try not to lace too much British-ness into this!
My exams start in a month so.. Eek.
