:D

Norman had woken up the next morning to a leaden-grey sky and the aches and pains of a restless night's sleep on the couch. That a foreign object (he hoped it was a remote or something) continually needled the middle of his back all night probably added to his current state of discomfort. Now that he was mostly awake, though still decidedly heavy-headed, the suspended agent fished around down the side of the lounge, his hand eventually emerging victorious as he grasped what was indeed a dejected television remote. It looked old, forgotten; he promptly dropped it where he found it, moving to an upright position.

Silver light poured in through the uncovered windows, the blinds having not been drawn the previous night. It was bright and horribly early, the light piercing as the agent rubbed his eyes and squinted against the grey slate. He could feel his headache worsen and decided to wash his face, hoping it would wash away his fatigue, clear his mind.

The adjoining hallway connected via the living room housed a few doors on either side, two located on the left and right sides respectively and one further along at the base of the corridor. It wasn't cramped, and the floorboards felt distinctly cool and clean under Norman's bare feet, as if they had been mopped recently. His footsteps were non-existent as he passed by one, two of the doors, the second one being slightly ajar. No light passed through, but he assumed they were the bedrooms. Ethan and Shaun were most likely still asleep, curled up comfortably underneath heavy covers and soft beds. Just what time was it, anyway?

Norman managed to find the bathroom without much difficulty, flipping the light switch almost mechanically. The light that bathed the small enclosure reminded him of being in a hospital; it was exposing. Slap, slap went his feet on the tiled floor as he moved toward the basin, sparing himself a lingering glance in the mirror.

"You look like death," A quiet murmur to himself, his eyebrows quirking down.

While it was true he had not had any decent rest since leaving Washington, which seemed like years ago, he expected to not look so… dishevelled. With hair out of place and eyes that drooped, on the verge of slamming shut and pallid skin that seemed to be losing its elasticity, he felt like a far-cry to his old suit-wearing, smooth-talking, crime-stopping self.

Perhaps the director was right. Maybe he had gotten a little too out of touch with reality, becoming co-dependant on his work ethic and, most of all, ARI.

And that.

"No, no, come on Norman," The disarrayed ex-agent breathed, pale hands gripping the edge of the sink. He had to be given some credit for holding his steady gaze for as long as he did. "You're an agent, through and through; you're still good at what you do, toys or no toys. You can do this…"

Inhale, exhale.

Focussing as much as he could in his current state, Norman began to examine his surroundings with those clear eyes, scanning, analysing every minute detail. Admittedly this was a lot easier with ARI, and he found himself feeling a little lacklustre compared to the device. But it was his eyes that found the evidence; it was his knowledge that pieced it all together. ARI would be nothing without him, not the other way around.

Oh, how he wished he believed that.

"Bathroom is meticulously clean; faint scent of pine still lingers in the air, no traces of dust or fingerprints visible on the ceramics; toothbrush containers located on the bathroom counter. Occupant might suffer from some sort of obsessive compulsion, or have a mild case of mysophobia" Upon further inspection, he noted the three cases. "Two adult sized brushes, perhaps a little 'his and her' action going on?"

There, see, he could do this.

It was just like the old days, when he was first recruited to the FBI. No one had thought much of the young agent then, but after finding countless leads and breakthroughs on multiple cases he had started to leave quite the impression. He had been young, intuitive, fresh and sharp; promising foundations though they were, they attracted attention from both sides of the spectrum. It was these qualities in mind that automatically nominated him as a guinea pig to test run the latest technology that came through his sector. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if it was because everyone had high hopes for him, or because they really wanted him to fall under the bus.

Startled by something unknown, ex-agent Jayden looked sharply at his reflection. He started to feel… odd. As if all the air had been sucked out of him, like a vacuum. A cold sweat had broken out across his brow, and he could feel his hands clamming up; the tighter he gripped the ceramic basin, the more his fingers began to tremble. Dizzy, he felt dizzy, he needed to sit down. Squinting hard as he backed away from the mirror, vision distorted beyond belief, he could have sworn that his reflection had been laughing at him; smirking, claiming victory, a sense of mirthful delight behind those methane eyes.

A gurgling sound began to fill his ears and Norman was surprised when he realized it was himself, a deep, growling sound rolling out from somewhere in his throat. Knees gave way beneath what felt like dead weight, and the dark-haired man found himself cowering back against the bathtub, the tiles cool and smooth under his feet. Stop it, stop it, stop it, go away, need to focus…

Palms sweaty, itching, his eyes darted around for something, anything, to lock with; he suddenly spotted the toothbrush cases again; this time the smallest one on the counter. Instinctively or out of old habit, Norman reached up and pressed two fingers to the side of his face. "ARI… Comment…" Steady now, breathe, breathe, and breathe. "Evidence a… child dwells in the residence… Age differs, though possibly somewhere between ten and… fifteen…"

I can't do this.

And he found himself reaching for his pocket…

"Mister Jay?"

Wide-eyed and innocent, little Shaun Mars didn't seem so little as he stood in the threshold to the bathroom, staring peculiarly at what probably looked like the pathetic, crumpled remains of a man. The kid looked bedraggled and worn; his hair and pyjamas had certainly seen better mornings. Norman felt a twinge of guilt then, feeling as if he was the one who had roused the boy from sleep at… really now, what time was it?

"Mornin', kid," Norman managed, the corner of his mouth quirking into a quick smile. He was still sweating and his chest felt like it was about to cave in, but hey, at least his hands had stopped shaking. It was a shame to be caught in such a state, though. Not something a kid needs to see first thing in the morning.

"Are you alright, Mister Jay?" Shaun asked sleepily, rubbing at one eye with his sleeve.

The kid had taken to calling him 'Mister Jay' only the previous night because, as he had put it, he was a 'mister' and his last name was Jayden. Norman, however, thought that Shaun had become a little too invested in some superhero comics, arguing that he was the type of person who arrested people like Mister Jay. Shaun was defiant and told Norman that that wasn't true, because he wasn't Batman.

Couldn't argue with that logic.

"Y… Yeah, Shaun, I'm alright. Had a rough night sleeping is all."

Shaun seemed to nod sagely at that and crossed the room, his footsteps ever so silent. He reached his smaller hand up and retrieved a cup from the bathroom counter and held it under the cold water tap, turning it and waiting for the glass to fill. It was the only sound to fill the small room, a welcome distraction as well as just the presence of another human, but the stream of silence does become too much after a while.

"Did you have nightmares?"

Blinking, Norman had to look the kid directly in the face to gauge the thought process behind those pure eyes. Even the most seasoned profiler might have had a tough time cracking this nut, as Shaun had mastered the art of veiling his entire emotional range when it suited him. Understandable, of course…

"Nightmares?"

Having his badge confiscated, ARI removed from his possession, knowing a murderer was out there somewhere and he had botched his chances to aid the in the investigation…

"S'pose you could say that," Norman nodded, more so to himself. It wasn't every day he found himself in a psychoanalyst-type scenario with a kid two decades his junior. The kid did have that wisdom about him, an air of absolute quiet and understanding that belied everything a child is supposed to be. It was depressing, really.

"Don't worry," Shaun said quietly, offering him the glass of water. Despite everything that had happened, was happening or was about to happen, Shaun was smiling, however faint. Norman felt a stab in his heart as he accepted the offer. "They can't hurt you."

Norman gripped the cup with steady hands and watched silently as Shaun retreated from the bathroom, his line of sight slowly dipping down. He stared at the clear water for the longest time, swimming around in the puddle of thoughts in his head.

All he was certain of was the scent of pine.

The morning became a little more hectic when Ethan realized he had overslept. It would have been a lie to say the sight of the single father bouncing from area to area of the house trying to pull on trousers and a sweater while balancing toast in his mouth and rolled up cardboard under his arms was not amusing. It was a miracle he did not end up chewing on the floor instead. His son was definitely the more organized of the two, with his school bag packed and breakfast eaten, his clothes on the correct way. The only time Norman could tell they were related was when they were sitting quietly, side by side.

Feeling decidedly commonplace after being lent a few articles of clothing from Ethan's wardrobe, Norman followed the older man out the front door after he checked twice to make sure his shoes were on the right foot. He still had absolutely no idea what time it was but by this point, it seemed irrelevant. Ethan had to drop Shaun at school and then turn up for work before 9:00am. He had enlisted the help of the former agent in bringing in his supplies and workloads to the office, distrusting the weather.

Really, the man was a walking weather forecast. Rain seemed to follow him.

Norman had agreed to help. It seemed only fair as the father had offered him shelter on such short notice, provided him with food and lent him clothes; Jayden had only packed two things with him in his haste to leave Washington, along with the clothes on his back. However, he did point out that he deserved some slack after Ethan had abandoned him to little old Edna Baker, who lived on the first floor of the apartment complex.

She was sweet, really, she was, but there was a line between too much ginger.

"I don't think I'll ever stop smelling like an oversized gingerbread man," The ex-agent grumbled in the passenger seat, decidedly still sour over the whole event. Beside him, Ethan was keeping his eyes on the road as they drove away from Shaun's school, heading east along the main road. The twists and turns of the city felt all too familiar.

"Would you believe me if I said I was sorry?" The father asked; flicking on his left indicator as the car rolled to a stop at a set of lights, only to have them flash green just as soon.

"No."

The buildings seemed to get taller the further they travelled into the small city, mostly apartments or the occasional offbeat boutique and café littered here and there. The foreboding skies seemed to have chased away all forms of life in doors or under shelter, parked cars being almost the only noticeable thing on otherwise deserted streets. It could still be early, but Norman still really did not know, or care.

There wasn't much to talk about on this cold morning. Weather was always a taboo subject and the city offered a less than stellar variety of subjects. The pair did not bother to discuss the previous day's encounter, even though something about it was still gnawing away at Norman's subconscious. But he wasn't an agent anymore; he had to let his instincts go. Even if the road hadn't been entirely too slick or that there had been a large enough berth between the sidewalk and road that the driver could have easily manoeuvred his truck away from civilians…

"Why's it so empty?" He asked suddenly, if just to staunch the flow of silence, and put an end to his wild theories.

"Most of the buildings along the avenues are under construction; major renovations or being torn down, things of that liking. It's quite a big city-wide project. Presumably to attract more, uh, people, I guess…"

"Can't imagine why anyone wouldn't want to live here… I think the colour of rust really brings out its glamorous side."

When asked about his current residence, Ethan had said, in a rather flustered manner, that the home he shared with Madison Paige had flooded somehow and the floors had to be torn up and replaced, along with a few other modifications. His home right now was only temporary, but gave both Ethan and Madison sufficient time to get back into their former groove, so to speak.

This also explained why Ethan was able to land a steady job amongst all the infamy and media attention surrounding him. Amongst a sea of architects and paperwork, he was just another face, just another worker looking to get the job done and getting his pay cheque. Norman almost envied the fact that Ethan Mars' life had returned to a moderate state of… normality. He even had a woman under his wing.

Norman was baffled to find the car was in park the next time he looked up; the journey had been significantly shorter than first thought. Other parked vehicles surrounded them and an office building lay not far beyond, situated in a more rural part of the city. It was easier to see the skyline now, a cluster of tall, red-brick buildings that lurched beneath a palette of monochromes. He counted several tones of grey as the hidden sun tried to bleed through the mass of clouds.

Ethan was leaning over into the back seat, scrambling to collect his suitcase, larger tools that would not fit into it and the projects themselves. Norman soon found a flurry of rolled up cardboard thrust into his arms. He had to juggle them carefully so that he was able to see the world in front of him and not bend or creases any of Ethan's hard work. It was a great effort in itself as he staggered out of the passenger-side door and was able to lock and close it, without dropping anything.

The air outside of the vehicle was crisp and cool, and didn't smell nauseatingly like pine. Or ginger, for that matter, something that still begrudgingly clung to him, however faint it seemed. The two men began the slow, arduous journey across the car park, taking care not to land in any shallow looking puddles that were secretly three-feet deep. It was like running an obstacle course, something Jayden was all too familiar with, as they swivelled and swerved between the cars.

This was Norman's first official day as a civilian; today he was normal. Normal Norman. And he had to keep it that way.

Even if his palms were beginning to itch again.

"You must have worked hard," He began talking once more, indicating the mass of designs in his arms. "Why so many?"

A pause.

"They're blank."

… What?

"I think we should switch." Norman said with a heavy frown, prompting Mars to look back at him over his shoulder.

"You seem to be doing fine."

"I look like you. I don't want to look like you when your boss decides your head would look better on a canvas than structural designs. And this sweater itches. Is it really necessary?"

"You're just a bundle of complaints," Ethan laughed, not feeling at all remorseful for the younger man. "I'm not entirely unfortunate looking, is it so bad being me?"

"Ethan," Norman began with an indignant huff, eyes planted firmly on their destination. "You are the last person I'd want to be right now."