Just a quick note to readers: This story is completely written and edited and will be updated once a week. There are eight parts in total.

Christ does my head hurt. I roll over and glance at the clock. 3:03 A.M. Fuck. Rolling out of bed, I head into the bathroom to find some painkillers. It won't get rid of the hangover, but at least it will help. I pop the pills in my mouth and head back into the other room. I snuggle beneath the blankets and enjoy the warmth they provide me. Closing my eyes I attempt sleep, but it's not coming. Fucking son of a bitch. I try counting sheep. I try clearing my mind. But nothing works. I finally admit to myself that I'm awake and no amount of tossing and turning is going to change that. With a groan, I force myself to get out from under the covers…again. Thankfully, I am always prepared. My robe is hanging on the chair nearby, waiting for me like a cotton angel. I snuggle into it with a smile. At least I'll be warm while I fall asleep at the table.

Heading out into the kitchen, I make myself my usual cup of tea and scoop in my two tablespoons of sugar. So far the sugar is the only thing that's been moved. Although, I didn't cook last night so I still might be in for a few surprises later on. I drink my tea slowly, savoring the musky taste of Earl Grey. It had always been my favorite, even as a child. My father hadn't been too keen on my tea obsession, but then, he had buggered off before I had hit the fourth grade, bloody cold bastard that he was.

I sit at my small kitchen table. I should be tired as hell, but my mind is wide-awake, running over itself in its hurry to reexamine yesterday's events. Groaning, I put my face in my hands and rub at my gritty eye sockets. I had drunk myself into oblivion by the time the clock had chimed 10 p.m. last night. Not exactly my most admirable moment, but sometimes you've just got to give in to the more primal urges. My urge consisted of purging my mind of every thought of Arthur. Drinking had done the trick.

I don't know how I manage it with my mind running amuck, but somehow I wind up passed out on my table. When I open my eyes, the clock on the mantle is chiming 8:00 and I am graciously drooling all over my hand. Damn it! I have to be at work in thirty minutes! I rush into the shower and do the quickest run down I can. I sprint out the door with my last prized danish hanging out of mouth. I had wanted to save it, but it is the only portable food I have on hand besides bread, and like hell I'm eating plain untoasted bread for breakfast.

I make it into the office with exactly one minute left to spare. I see that the conference room is already full, and a groan escapes me. Bloody overachievers. Fischer's going to blame me for being late of course, although I am most certainly not. As if on cue, the moment my hand touches the knob I hear, "Mr. Eames, so nice of you to join us."

"Piss off," I snarl, throwing myself into my chair. Yusuf nudges me and I scowl at him. He can bloody well piss off as well. I'm tired, my head still feels like a freight train ran through it, and the doughnut I just finished is curdling unpleasantly in the recesses of my alcohol soaked stomach, sloshing around like a boat at sea. I nearly moan aloud at my own reference. Christ I feel like shit.

Fischer doesn't respond to my retort, instead he throws a file at me. "We were just beginning to discuss our newest case. It came in an hour ago from Virginia. Three women, mid-twenties, blonde, all sexually assaulted with their genitals mutilated. The first body was found in June, the second in October, and the third early this morning."

"And they waited this long to call us in why? The second body should have been a clear indication. Two women of identical stereotype don't wind up dead in the span of four months," I remark. Just how daft are these people?

"Yes, well, we can't really do much about that now can we?" Fischer murmurs passively.

I rub my hand over my eyes again. God I want to go back to bed. "Alright, so what else do we know? How were they taken?"

"Therese Carter disappeared after she went on a late night run in the park. Margaret Jackson left work and never arrived home. Her car was still in the parking lot come morning. And we still don't know about our latest victim. As I said, her body was discovered a couple hours ago. They haven't been able to identify her yet."

I smother my yawn with my hand and then stretch out. Ugh. This is going to be a shit-tastic day, I can already tell. Yusuf pipes in before we can go further. "When do we leave?"

Fischer's look is a clear dismissal. If the bastard wasn't so useful, I think our team leader would have seen his ass to the door years ago. "As soon as the briefing is over."

Yusuf groans pitifully besides me. The minute I look at his face I know the problem. The man has forgotten to leave an extra travel bag here at the office. I refrain from chuckling as I watch his face color. This trip might not be so bad after all.

X

I hate Virginia already and we have barely left the airport. Even the people driving the cars are bringing me to the brink of insanity. It. Is. Not. Christmas. Blast it all! I direct my glower to the back of 'nameless man one's' head, who has determined that the Christmas station is an appropriate choice for our car ride. Eventually, I just can't help myself. If I have to listen to one more version of 'White Christmas' I think I'll blow my own brains out. "Would you mind turning that bloody crap off?"

"Detective Eames. Behave yourself for once." Great. I had nearly forgotten that I'm in the car with the supercilious boss man. Just what I need.

"I will behave, sir, when they rediscover a proper taste in music."

"Mr. Eames, if you don't start treating our hosts with more respect, I will have to discipline you," Fischer warns me. I believe that my current warning count is 2,106 if memory serves me right. At least one warning a day for the duration of the time I've worked for him, plus extra warnings on the days that I have been particularly egregious. As one may imagine, I have had far too many of those days to count. It has taken years, but I have perfected my subtle art of showing flagrant disregard for authority. If I wasn't so good at my job, I'm not sure they wouldn't keep me around either. But I had graduated from the University of Penn with a degree in psychology and anthropology, maintaining the highest grades in both departments. I had done my senior thesis on the effects of dream function upon the human psyche. Apparently a lot of people like my work, since I had gotten the job offer before I had even received my diploma. "Mr. Eames, are you even listening to me?"

I turn my head towards his voice and give him a tasteless smile. "Of course, Fischer. Don't I always?"

His frown could have brought down the average man, but not me. I was far too used to seeing it for it to phase me. My teeth gleam as I give him my most dashing grin. He replies, "One day Eames, I will see you fired."

I can't help the dark chuckle that escapes me. "Your condescension is aspiring as always, but you know you wouldn't last a week without me."

My comment finally pulls a smile out of him. "I suppose you're right."

Fischer and I finally arrive at the location where the first body was discarded. Sighing, I stretch my legs and get out of the car. It's time to get to work.

X

It's two in the morning before I crash onto my hotel bed. The hotel is nice, posh, and completely overpriced. But at least I'm not paying for it. I contemplate ordering room service, but when my head hits the pillow, I couldn't care less about food. It's only three and half hours later when I hear my phone ringing. "Fuck," I groan, rolling over and grabbing the phone off the bedside table. "Don't you have any idea what time it is?" I mumble.

"I am quite aware of the time, Mr. Eames. Get out of bed and be downstairs in ten minutes. We have a problem."

The tone in Fischer's voice has me immediately sitting up. "Christ."

"Indeed," he says. "Just get down here, Eames."

"Fine, fine," I grumble. This trip just gets better and better.

X

I've read through the letter so many times that I have it memorized. "What does it mean?" The question comes from one of the many faceless coppers. I roll my eyes and try to retain my composure. Bloody idiots.

"It means," I snarl, "that the killer was enjoying taunting you, but now that you've so graciously invited us in to solve this crime, he's pissed. It's an affront to him that you aren't trying to figure this out on your own. Essentially," I continue, their blank stares have left me no choice but to dumb it down, "that the killer is like a teacher whose student has gone home and asked their parent for the answer to a problem instead of working it out on their own. Does that clear it up for you?"

They all shake their heads in agreement, despite their offended looks. I couldn't give two shits about their pride. They can shove it for all I care. Fischer steps in to smooth things over. He gives me an irritated look before turning towards the officers. "This means that we need to redouble our efforts. It's essential that we start trying to narrow down the pool. We need to look over the profile and see how this letter changes things. Keep us updated on all new developments and we will do the same. My team will be available at all times so do not hesitate to ask for assistance if you think that you may have something worthwhile to show us. I cannot stress enough that even the smallest, most seemingly insignificant detail can help us. Thank you."

I follow Fischer out of the room, not waiting for the rest of the team. We already have our assignments. And who would have guessed it, I'm with Fischer…as usual. "So where are we off to, Mr. Fischer?"

"You and I are going to have a look at the last crime scene. I feel like we're missing something here. You are going to help me figure it out." He doesn't bother looking at me when he says it.

I laugh and give him a mock salute. "Aye, aye, mon capitaine."

He glances over his shoulder with a quirked eyebrow and a smile. "Now if only you said that more often!"

"You would get much too complacent if I did that," I reply. "You'd lose your edge."

He scowls, but the corners of his mouth are tainted with a persistent grin. "I suppose."

I clap him on the shoulder as I move past him. "Come along, we have work to do."

X

I swear Ariadne has the most inopportune timing. I am lying in bed, desperately hoping to catch a couple winks before I get dragged awake again. Whenever we're out of state, we take turns getting some shut-eye. For the next couple hours it is my turn...I hope. "What do you need Ariadne? This is my precious sleeping time, so make it quick."

"I wanted to check in with you and see how you were doing," her voice is soft, soothing, as if she were talking to some wild animal. I nearly growl just to bring the idea to life.

"I am doing fine. I would be doing better if you weren't bothering me while I'm trying to sleep."

There's silence on the other end. "Arthur flies in today."

I immediately pause. This is the last bloody thing I want to talk about. I haven't been thinking about it…much. As long as I'm working, I can ignore it. As long as I have something to occupy my time throughout the day, I'm good. Or, at least, I can pretend everything is all right. If there is one thing I'm good at, it is playing the normalcy card. I had developed an emotional default from a very young age. Whenever I feel threatened, overtly emotional, or in any way out of my comfort zone, I wrap myself in my deceptive cloak and deal with it. It's as simple as that. "Ariadne, I really don't want to talk about this. I want to go to bed."

I hear her sigh on the other end. "It would do you some good to talk about it, Eames. Have you considered trying to call him and talk about things?"

My look could have melted glaciers. How dare she? How fucking dare she suggest that. "He never gave me the number for his new phone when he left the country, Ariadne. Don't you remember? He completely cut me out of his life when he left. We are not discussing this. Bugger the fuck off. I am going to sleep."

I slam the 'off' button as if that will make things better. It doesn't, but I can still tell myself it does. The phone immediately rings again, but I ignore it. Screw you Ariadne. I don't want to think about the burn in my chest or the roll of my stomach. I don't want to think about how much Arthur's betrayal had and still does hurt me—walking out as if our relationship had meant nothing, just absolutely nothing. Those days when we lay in bed and just held onto each other, those days when I got reprimanded at work for being late, those days when Arthur almost lost a client because he had ducked out of a few phone calls so that we could make love one more time. Had those days actually existed? Had there honestly been a time when we were happy?

I snarl and roll onto my other side. Even if those days had existed, they are gone now. The only place where they linger on is in my mind, torturing me and taunting me as the days pass. No matter whom I date, no matter whom I kiss, I never bring them home, for some part of me still sees it as betrayal. Arthur and I had shared a home, not just an apartment or a house, but a home. And that for me is worse than anything else. I rarely ever let people in, but he had dug through my defenses and wound his way around my heart despite my misgivings and my trust issues. Fuck. I roll over again and close my eyes. Enough of this. That is enough, Eames. Pull yourself together and be a man. But, unfortunately for me, that is much easier said than done.