Disclaimer: Fast and the Furious and all recognizable characters belong to Universal. (I forgot to add it to the first chapter. This will be the only disclaimer, and applies for the entire story.)

Bittersweet

I: And In the Beginning…

One Month Earlier…

Malls—she hated them.

Worse creation ever to be invented.

And as a tall, thin man stepped back into her, crushing her toes, she winced, squeaking a little in pain, glower intensifying as he glanced back at her in annoyance before his attention was drawn away by his pretty blonde company and friends and he started laughing again—asshole. It only confirmed her earlier declaration—never mind it had merely been a mental one; it didn't matter. Malls were horrible, period. Crowded, smelly, claustrophobic, and full of rude people she could spend her days doing without. She shivered, weaving in and out and around people, arms tightly crossed and shoulders hunched inward, head lowered a little, stopping, glaring and hoping, again, that this wouldn't take long.

And why should it? You're only here for one item, period. Stop being such a pansy about it. Just deal and stop complaining—it's annoying. It's for Edwin's birthday. And anything for Edwin. Even if she did have to go and brave the place she hated most—well, second most; the beach took first position. But, thank God, at least he only wanted one thing, and she'd be damned if she didn't leave without it, and then she could leave this god forsaken place, and seclude herself in the old bookstore where she spent most of her time when she wasn't at school or at Edwin's house with him and Marcel.

Sad, really, but she was happy with her life as it was, pushing the nagging voice away as it tried to come to life again. And who cared if she was a bit of a recluse; it wasn't any of their business anyway. She had all she needed—Edwin and her father and her two malamutes Jocamo and Helena up in Alaska, and that was it. She didn't need anyone else, and she be damned if anyone else tried to move in.

Except they already did, dingleberry.

And she scowled fiercely, pushing the thought aside. No, they hadn't. And she wouldn't think like that. It was selfish, and—you're selfish. She was back to scowling harshly again, pushing the small, rectangular, black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her slim nose, pushing the thought away for later—never—inspection. Was she selfish? A little. But only with the people she loved, and she loved Edwin almost more than anyone. He was her first priority, especially now.

And she took a deep breath, swallowing hard, trying to keep her thoughts away from where they so desperately were trying to lead her, the real reason why she had chosen to move down to L.A., a city she was beyond not fond of. It was too hot for her Alaskan-self, being used to the cold, and she felt even more like a social outcast, the entire populous seeming to have a tan and a fondness for bikinis, whereas she was pale white and preferred jackets and cashmere turtleneck sweaters. Not to mention just how big L.A. was. True, she knew it was big when she had signed up for it, but Christ. However, it was worth it, just like the fact her pocket was about to be two hundred dollars lighter than before, and all on some collectable sword—or katana, as Edwin had called it when he had first seen it after dragging her here last Thursday for lunch—was worth it. She'd do anything to make sure Edwin was happy, especially now, when nothing was definite and—

Stop it right there!

And she took a deep breath, pushing those thoughts out of her mind. No need for depression on top of annoyance. She brood another day; for now, she was content just to be paranoid as the crowd pressed into her, laughing and she wondered if they were laughing at her expense? Where they about to do something? And she shook herself, pushing a frizzy, curled piece of loose hair that had escaped the confines of her messy and looped pony tail behind her ear.

Of course they weren't. She was practically invisible, insignificant and unimportant and unseen, and oh how she wished it wasn't so hot she that couldn't wear a jacket—she always felt safer while wearing a jacket, call it a security blanket, but whatever. She just hugged herself even tighter, walking as fast as she could through the crowded mall, wanting to be out of there as soon as possible. Her social interaction was done for the day; all she wanted to do now was to just go to work and deal with the few regulars that always seemed to wander into Love's Books; she was used to them, and safe within the security of the dusty book shelves and thick novels; and then, she wanted to go home and curl up on the couch, watching old reruns of MacGyver…

Edwin always did tell her she needed to get out more.

And seeing the little kiosk station ahead of her, she rushed ahead, hastily making the transaction before turning, nearly colliding with another woman who gave her a dirty look, making her duck her head, glaring at the floor. It was time to go home, and thank god it was on the first floor. She didn't have to worry about any elevators or escalators and she could go home, now—or rather work, but it was still better than this hellhole. And Edwin had so better love her after this, especially knowing how stressing it was for her to come to the mall or any large public places like this. She was a small town girl with a fear of the public, go figure. She couldn't help it, and she wasn't apologizing.

She just wanted out of there. So, head down, watching the floor and the feet in front of her, weaving in and out, a rush of relief passed through her when the clear glass, automatic doors leading to freedom loomed up ahead. And, aware of everyone around her, and dodging, shooting a nasty glare at someone else as they backed up into her, she darted for said door, passing the large, circular fountain in front of it and—

Shit!

Her foot slipped, something rolling beneath it, screwing her equilibrium, and she tumbled—hard—right into the very solid, large back of a very large man, knocking them both down from the unexpected force, scrapping her elbow, twisting her wrist, cheeks—face—flushing tomato red at the sniggers around her, and her breath stopped, eyes widening when her eyes met the very dark, very aggravated eyes of the man beneath her.

Oh, shit.

And, without thinking, she leapt up and all but ran to the door, breathing quickly—almost hyperventilating—not quite, though. And only when she was in the safety of her little red Cavalier, did her breathing even out and her heart stop the erratic beating, and she groaned, letting her head drop onto the steering wheel in embarrassment—jerking up in shocked surprise as it beeped loudly. She slumped down immediately after, face falling. Well, this day was just lovely.

She shook her head, berating herself on her infamous klutzy ways; of course, she was the only person in the world that would fall because of a pen underfoot. That was just her luck. Just go figure. She sighed in aggravation, and turning the car on, pulled out of the space and headed back toward work.

God…I didn't even apologize.

Ugh.

Forgive the typos and shortness. And just as a little note, already have several sections finished, and will post every Monday or Sunday.

Part Two—Fin.