A/N: I GOT TO USE MY SEX PLAYLIST. Sorry, that shouldn't make me so happy. Anyway, fic. Not mine, etc.

Part 1/2

Viola is bored. Decidedly so. She's finished her letter to Vivian, her list of errands- except for that one right at the bottom, (which may or may not involve her husband and a degree of flexibility)- and she's even cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, and now she's just bored.

So she gets on the bus, leans against the railing and bites her lip. She thinks about that last errand on her list and smiles wickedly. It garners a few looks, and she reaches up to fix her hair, just to show off her wedding ring. The starers turn away, disappointed, and Viola's smile grows more smug.

She keeps thinking about that list, and she fidgets with her fingernails, imagining Dean coming home, shucking off his coat. She feels his shoulders beneath her hands as she pushes him to the wall, his hands on her waist, in her hair, everywhere. She runs her thumb nail along the pad of her index finger, and imagines kissing him, so deeply she might drown. The silk of his tie as she pulls it from his collar, the rustle of her dress as he pulls it up around her hips.

The bell for her stop rings, and she blinks out of the daydream.

She strolls off the bus, long legs and confident smile, and the men part for her like the Red Sea. Viola's always had that peculiar power, making men want her, yet afraid of her. Making them fools while they boast of their wits. It was part of why she loved Dean so much. He wanted her, true, but when he was foolish it was his own damn fault, and he was never afraid of her.

Schofield's is empty at this hour, everyone upstairs with the exception of Crutchfield, who gave her a smile and a wave and let her through. The staircase, old, whitewashed and creaking, was nevertheless quiet beneath her feet, and she could hear the men talking from ten feet below. Some laughter, a quiet murmur. She opened the door easily, subtly, and closed it behind her.

Dean was slouched behind a counter, smoking nervously and shooting Hymie terrified looks with his eyes. Hymie was trying not to laugh, but his spine was arched with worry. The third man, Viola didn't know, but he was clearly the dangerous one here.

"Am I interrupting?" She asked, and if the others were judging by the way Dean sighed, she understood exactly how much she was interrupting. She came over anyway, wrapped one arm around his waist and pressed her lips to his in a quick, near-predatorial display of ownership. He's mine, she wanted to say, and you can't have him. She shot a bright, wide smile at the third man. You can't take him from me.

"Viola," Dean's voice was all warning, and she huffed a laugh.

"Hello," she reached out her free hand to the third man, "I'm Viola, Dean's wife." His face creased uncomfortably, as though this was a tragic, unforeseen development.

"John. Johnny Torrio," he took her hand, and her grip was tighter than his.

"Are you married?" Viola piped cheerily, gneuinely interested. "Any kids?"

"Ah, well I-" And Dean would be laughing right now, if the situation wasn't what it is.

"Viola, we're having a meeting."

"Rude," she pouts, but in her eyes there's a flicker of worry.

"A business meeting," he grinds out, chuckling depsite himself.

"Ugh, fine." She shakes Torrio's hand again. "Lovely meeting you, Mr. Torrio." Hymie is near hysterics behind him, and she swoops in to kiss him on the cheek. "Try to keep my husband from getting himself killed," she directs him fondly. And then, shooting one last dazzling smile over her shoulder, she stalks from the room, Red Sea parting before her.

"That's your wife." Torrio states, flatly.

"Yes, sir," Dean agrees, in a way that would be leering if it weren't so simultaneously loving, ever awestruck by the hurricane of magnificence Viola can be when she chooses to.

"Hell of a woman." Torrio says, eventually, in that same flat voice.

"Isn't she?" Dean sighs, and if he is a little lovelorn, then Hymie has no right to laugh. (He's seen how the man gets over Libby, and it ain't pretty. Goo-goo eyes, flowers and love letters, the whole thing.)

~*~