:D :D :D So here it is! So sorry it took me this long to get it you to you guys, and I know that it's a few days later than when I said I'd post it, but there were some things I had to add...and take out.

A Dream Shattered

They were holding her on bogus charges. Israel knew that, and it was pissing her off. She'd seen the inside of the Gotham City Police Department one too many times, but this was the only time she'd been there for three days straight. She knew what they were doing. They were trying to break her. They hadn't let her have a proper meal, but they had no idea who they were dealing with. She had gone hungry before, knew that restricting her movements would help her hold on a little longer. Then again, three days was nothing to her. She could go almost a week and a half without proper sustenance. It wasn't the lack of food that was bothering her, thought. It was the fact that they hadn't let her retrieve any decent clothing since they'd apprehended her at Dollies. And so she sat day after day in baby blue underwear, unmoving from her cot as many a different officer would come by, tell her that if she talked they'd let her out, and they would say it as they leered hungrily at her. But she didn't talk. She didn't say anything because it was ridiculous of them to think that she knew anything.

Day three was drawing to a close, and the black officer with the heavy mustache, the man she'd come to know as Dowdy, came and brought her a bread roll and a mug of water. He held the plate and cup out to her from between the bars and when she didn't take it, he set them on the floor. She could tell by his sympathetic eyes that he wanted to say something to her, something to help her along. But before he could get a word out Cramer, a pudgy man who was intentionally cruel and had trouble breathing, appeared in the hallway. He unlocked the cell, slid the door open and cuffed Israel after lifting her harshly to her feet.

"Come on, sweetheart," he bit out, not bothering to hide the way his eyes ogled at her breasts. He pushed her ahead of him, walked her down to the interrogation room, the one she'd seen way too much of. He sat her down in the chair and promptly left. She hung her head. She was so tired. She hadn't gotten a proper night's sleep in a while and it was catching up with her. She was alone for a while but eventually the door opened again, and when she looked up Officer Marshall, her ex-boyfriend for all of two years, walked into the room. He'd aged a bit since the last time she'd seen him, but being an officer in Gotham could do that. She watched him for a moment, noted that he was still just as handsome as ever. He had aged some, but he still had that killer chiseled jaw, those high cheekbones and honeyed brown eyes. He smiled gently and she couldn't help but smile back. To her, he was still the same gentle face. He was still the man that had been her savior when everyone else wanted to condemn her to death.

He handed her his jacket before he sat down, pleased when she took it and wrapped it around herself. Next he produced and ashtray and a pack of Camels along with a lighter, slid to her.

"I quit smoking since the last time you saw me." She slid the unhealthy temptation back to him.

"It's good to see you, kid." His voice had gotten a bit scruffier since the last time she'd heard him. They both sat in silence and then Marshall said, "I just got back into town. Had I known you were here and what was going on, I would have busted you out sooner." They both smiled and then his faded around the edges. "You know I have to ask…" He let his words hang, watched her eyes harden before looking at the wall.

"I'd like to think I'm not that dumb…"

"You've got to give me more than that. I need actual words, Israel."

She flinched. She'd heard him say those words before. He'd said them a lot when they were dating, said them in an effort to get her to communicate with him. But she was so locked up, so tight about her own emotions that it was too hard to try to express them. She'd never been taught how to do that and so instead of trying, she was quiet. It had been something that bothered him, but he didn't know that it bothered her just as much. Her mouth would be shut, but inside her there was a sea of emotions and words just begging to be spoken, but when it came to the mushy stuff, when it came to conveying her emotions that had nothing to do with anger and defending herself, she couldn't do it. It was hard to be vulnerable with someone, and that was what had ultimately ended the one relationship she'd even had that was worth a damn. When they'd first broken up, it had been his idea. She'd been wearing him thin, and he wanted more from her than she was willing to give. She'd agreed because fighting for him was hard, more than she could do. Fighting for him had meant bearing herself. It mean more than just being naked in front of him and letting him look at her. It meant turning herself inside so he could see how nasty and ugly she was, so he could poke and prod at the placed inside her that were wounded and scarred and inflamed. And so, she'd let the relationship die. Had forced herself to avoid him and what they were. It was only now, now that he was sitting across from her, that he was so close and that she didn't have a place to hide from him, that she realized how stupid she'd been, and how much she missed him.

She looked down at her handcuffed hands. "So ask." She didn't want to do this with him. It could have been anyone else…just not him.

Marshall dove right in. "Do you know who Bane is?"

"I'm guessing he's not the nicest guy around."

His lips thinned. "Are you associated with him?"

"No."

"Are you his girlfriend? Have you been intimate with him?"

She turned her rage filled eyes to him, leveled him with her stare. "…no."

"Do you know his whereabouts?"

"No."

"Do you have any information regarding him that would be useful in our investigation?"

"Seriously, what kind of shit is this?" She had finally snapped. "Do you really think I'd be involved with him?"

"…It's not so farfetched to think so. I know you from beginning to end and-"

She snarled, leaned forward and bared her teeth before she could help herself. "You don't know anything about the beginning."

He gave her time to calm down, to catch her breath. "I know your story, is all. And I know that girls with your story tend to let themselves be caught up in things that make them feel better, things that give them comfort. Now I'm sorry for all this trouble, but these were the questions I had to ask."

She was angry because he wasn't speaking to her with kindness and with sincerity. He was talking to her like he didn't even know her. "He saved my life. He saved me from being…from…he was there. He took those men off of me and he cleaned me up, even though I didn't ask or want him to. The fact that we were in the strip club together was coincidence. I don't know anything more about him than what's been said on the news. Happy?" She was ready to leave, and she was too tired for this bullshit.

"And when he saved you and he cleaned you up, where did he take you?"

She was looking at him, but she didn't answer. Not right away. "I can't say."

"Did he have you blindfolded?"

"No."

"Were you unconscious?"

"No."

"Then damnit, Israel, where did he take you?!"

"He took me down!" She yelled back. "And I hope that's enough for you because that's all you're getting out of me!"

Marshall grimaced. She was a tough kid, always had been. And he knew for sure that she was done talking. He couldn't blame her. He was told that she'd been held in a cell for three days and only God knew how she'd been treated. But there was a clue in what she'd said. There was something to it that triggered an answer in his brain that was foggy and unclear. "Alright. Alright, you are free to go. But I don't want you leaving town for 24 hours, understand?"

She frowned at him.

"Israel?"

"…fine."

He uncuffed her, allowed her to stand. "There's a bathroom down the hall. Wait there, I'll have someone bring you something to put on." He reached for her then, extended his hand to either pull her in to a hug or lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. She didn't know which it was going to be, and she didn't care. She recoiled from him, gave him harsh and critical eyes until he moved aside to let her get out the door. He didn't get to try to be sincere to her after he'd degraded her the way he just had. Sure she had a record, but it had never involved trailing around behind sociopaths and murderers.

The bathroom was easy enough to find, and once inside she locked the door behind her and sat on the toilet. Staying for 24 hours was out of the question. That was too long, too much time for something else to go wrong. She'd be nice to Marshall as he'd no doubt have someone tailing her. She'd stay for 10 hours at the most, and since it was already night fall she knew the time would pass quickly. She'd find somewhere to eat, get some shut eye, and once she had all her things packed she'd be gone before noon the following day.

She'd been given sweatpants and a large GCPD shirt to put on. She threw her lingerie in a plastic bag and felt ridiculous as she walked from the holding cells to the police desks as she was still clad in heels. As she was escorted to a desk for processing a few of the officers whistles and made cat calls. Luckily Marshall was quick to silence them. She sat in a chair and stared at the chubby officer who processed her paperwork in order for her to leave. All the while, Marshall stuck around, standing over them both as he watched Israel with concerned eyes. She ignored him, was tired of him and his cops. She wanted to lie down somewhere and sleep. She wanted to forget that she lived in an awful city. She wanted leave behind the life she'd live and hurry up and start a new one.

She was finished being processed, and Marshall was kind enough to walk her outside. The minute the doors opened Israel faltered, shivered. She'd been away from the outside world for three days, and somehow in that time the temperature had dropped. She hugged her arms around herself, already bothered by the irritation her heels were causing her, and started down the steps. She had almost reached the sidewalk when Marshall stopped her. She turned, looked at him, saw the sympathy in his eyes.

"I'll get you a ride," he said.

She'd started to protest, but another cop was headed up the steps and Marshall stopped him. "You," he said, "Officer…"

"Blake," the other cop offered. He had a heavy accent with a bit of attitude behind it.

"Do me a favor and take this one where she needs to go." Marshall motioned to Israel who scowled and hugged herself tighter. Just what she needed, to be hemmed up in a car with a stranger.

"Didn't know we were running a taxi service…" Officer Blake murmured.

That caught Izzy's attention and she looked at him then. Maybe he wasn't as bad as he seemed.

"That will be all, Officer Blake." Marshall gave his ex one last look and then headed back inside Gotham Central.

Officer Blake and Izzy stared at one another until he spoke first. "I'll bring my car around."

"Or I could just follow you to it. Seems…easier." He was handsome. He had a very pleasing face with expressive eyes and a hard jaw. But there was something about him that reminded her of herself, and she wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. He seemed to be broken, just like she was, only his wounds, his hurt, wasn't as severe as hers. He'd had somehow found a way to mend what had been undone inside him. She worried her bottom lip as she wondered how he'd done it.

He started walking, and she fell into step with him, balancing on her toes as she walked so her heels wouldn't make noise. "I'm Israel," she offered. The moment she'd spoken, she shut her mouth, chewed on her bottom lip. It was new to her to want to talk first. Most of the time she was around people who willingly offered to fill up the silence, who made it so that she didn't have to speak if she didn't want to. And most of the time, she was all too happy to let them. But Officer Blake was a different story. He didn't speak, and the way he held himself made her feel awkward and out of sorts. She really didn't like that.

"My name's John," he said as he unlocked the driver's side and climbed into the car. She followed suit after he'd unlocked the door. He was immediate to start up the car, easily maneuvered out of the parking garage and into the streets of Gotham. "Where ya headed?" His tone had changed, become a bit more conversational, and she was about to answer when her stomach beat her to it. It sounded loud enough to fill up the entire car, and Israel put her hand over it and winced. "So food then?" John asked.

"Uhh, well I'd have to stop by Dollies to get some money first."

He looked at her like she'd grown two heads. "Okay…" He was suddenly making a U-turn and it made Israel so uneasy that she reached from the handle on the door. Her movement went unnoticed as John said, "I'll buy you dinner. I know this great diner a couple of blocks away. They make a great steak." He was smiling then, a beautiful that lit up the car, and Israel would have smiled back if she wasn't so leery of what had just happened.

The diner was old timey and small, and John directed her to one of the booths while he went to the bar to talk to the waitress. She watched him for a moment, considered him, but then her mind went to other things. She began strategizing, fantasizing about where she would go and what kind of life she would live. She'd been to the south once. She'd visited her grandmother in Florida, and she had enjoyed the sun and the beach, but she wasn't overly fond of the heat. No, the north was her best bet. She was in love with Autumn and Winter and loved wearing coats and boots. She was so deep in thought that she didn't notice when John had sat back down, and didn't feel him watching her until he shifted and moved the table with him. She blinked, looked at him.

He smirked. "Long day?"

She didn't smile back, but she nodded. "Something like that…"

"You look uncomfortable."

Honesty was always the best policy. "I'm trying to figure out what you want from me."

He was genuinely amused. "What do you mean?"

"People don't do nice things for nothing. So, why are you being buying me food? What do you want?"

The smile on John's face melted. "I…it's not like that."

"I'm capable of feeding myself, I'm capable of taking care of myself. I don't need you or anyone else to give me handouts or think that just because I'm a stripper," she flinched even as she said it, "that I'm easy and that all it takes is a meal for me to-"

"My God, would you calm down?!" He was looking around the diner to see if anyone had heard. When he caught eyes with Ms. May, the waitress, he knew that she had. "Look, I don't want anything from you, and I'm not judging you because you're a stripper. You looked hungry. I figured I would buy you food. That's all."

She eyed him. His face was sincere, but she didn't trust him. When it came time for her to leave, she would be sure to see if he really wanting nothing. "Fine," she said. She picked up the menu and scanned it, fully aware that, though John had done the same thing, he was steadily glancing in her direction. She had just about made up her mind about what she was going to order when she noticed him fidgeting. Oh for God's sake, here it comes…

"So why are you a stripper, anyways?"

Israel looked up at him, didn't bother to hide her perplexed anger.

John went on. "I mean, you're a pretty girl. I'm sure there's some guy out there who'd be more than willing to take care of you."

She clenched her jaw, thought back to Marshall. "I'm a tough girl to take care off," she offered quietly.

"Or maybe you haven't found the right guy." Honestly, John didn't know if he was hitting on her or just making conversation, but she looked up, leveled him with a cold stare, he knew he'd crossed a line.

"Talk about something else, or don't talk at all."

He took the hint. "Alright, why were you at the station?"

Her head snapped up. "You're…you're not good at picking conversation topics, are you?"

He smiled then, and it was genuine. "Come on, tell me. What did you do? Smash a car window, break a man's heart, beat up your boyfriend?"

"Give a lap dance to Bane," she added in the same conversational and listing tone. John had stopped altogether, his mouth hanging open as he just stared at her. She could see the questions behind his eyes and before he got the chance to ask, she stopped him. "I'm not going to talk about it, so don't ask."

The waitress came over then. Israel ordered the steak with a side of scalloped potatoes and broccoli. It would be the first balanced meal she'd of had in a year, maybe more. John ordered a steak as well, but ordered fries with his. They received their drinks first, Israel sipped on water while John had a Coke. She could tell that there were more questions he wanted to ask, but he was being polite and kept his mouth shut. She surprised them both when she asked, "Why are you a cop?"

"It helps," he answered automatically. "It keeps me busy."

"That's how you fixed yourself, then?" She was staring at him, waiting for him to acknowledge that in some twisted way, from another twisted world, they were kin. And he did recognize it, watched as she let every hurtful and rage filled emotion fill her eyes for less than half a second, and then disappear. But that half of a second had been enough. He'd seen it all because he knew what she was feeling, had felt and sometimes did feel the same way. He wanted to reach out to her then, wanted to touch her and let her know that he knew that they were the same without having to say anything. But Israel saw this, saw the way his hand twitched on the table, and she slowly pulled hers into her lap. She realized the position that she'd put herself, mentally kicked herself because she'd gone back on her promise. She'd never opened up to anyone like that before, or maybe she had and they just hadn't seen it. But this John Blake…he'd not only seen it, he'd understood it, saw her for who and what she really was, and he wasn't running away or asking for explanations. He was still sitting opposite her in the booth, his eyes apathetic and kind. She could feel herself slipping. She wanted to tell him things, things that she hadn't told anyone else because they wouldn't listen. But maybe John would, maybe he'd really understand. To justify her feelings, she told herself that she'd be gone by noon tomorrow. The she'd never see him again and that there was really no harm in telling him some things about herself. We're the same, she kept telling herself. He's just like me. I can trust him. But when she opened her mouth to speak the emotions and the words died in the back of her throat. The wall she'd built around herself was too high and too thick. She'd spent years reinforcing it, and after her latest ordeal with Paul she'd reinforced it again. She tried again but the words wouldn't leave her mouth. Had this been what Marshall was talking about?

"It's okay," John offered. "It ain't easy, that's for sure."

Their food came and even though it smelled delicious, Israel was too disgusted with herself to try and eat it. There was something wrong with her, something very, very wrong and what upset her the most was that she didn't realize how bad it was until that very moment.

John cleared his throat. "Let's just eat. We can talk later, or never if you want. No rush." He pushed a fry into his mouth and motioned at her food. It did look mouth-watering. All it took was one bite of her steak for her to dig in and destroy every single item on her plate. She finished before John did, and sat back in her seat while she sipped leisurely from her water. She was a full. It was an alien feeling for sure, and though it was uncomfortable, she relished in the moment.

John chuckled as he watched and finished the rest of his meal. She looked like she was in heaven, and even dreamily gazed out the window of the diner. He could tell by how slow she was blinking that she was tired, and when a yawn caught her by surprised he laid 30 dollars on the counter and stood up. She followed suit, but he stopped her. "You go use the bathroom and I'll warm up the car. It's cold out."

She gave him a skeptical look, but went to the bathroom anyways. It wasn't the cleanest place in the world…but it was dirtiest, and she knew that because she was sure she'd been in the dirtiest bathroom in Gotham…maybe even the continental United States. When she was done and she had washed her hands she gave herself a once over in the mirror. She looked like the definition of haggard. There were dark circles under her eyes and her makeup had run a little. She took a wad of paper towel, ran it under the cold water, and wiped her face down. She didn't look daisy fresh, but she looked a hell of a lot better than she had before. And her hair was a mess. It was tangled and frizzy. She immediately pulled it up on top of her head and twisted it into a tight bun. She was sure it would stay that way until she could at least get to Dollies. She went out to the car, chilled through her clothes when she get into the vehicle, and was so thankful that it was warm and cozy on the inside. She could feel John looking at her.

"What?" She asked.

He smiled as he pulled the car out onto the road. "I thought you had drowned in the toilet or something."

She quirked her eyebrow. "Well you're funny…"

John gave a small shrug. "So where am I taking you?"

"Dollies," she answered immediately. "You still workin' tonight?"

She shook her head. "My ride is picking me up there."

He nodded absently. "Ya know, I could just take you to your friend's place. It'd be no big deal."

"Dollies," she said again.

They drove in a comfortable silence, both of them sneaking glances at one another like a pair of shy teenagers. Israel didn't like it, but she couldn't stop herself. She liked him. She'd never tell him that, but he had a natural calmness about him that drew her in, made her feel comfortable, almost safe, and those feelings, they were so foreign that they were almost new to her. The sign outside of Dollies was lit up, but the parking lot was empty.

"You sure someone's home?" John asked as he watched her get out of the car.

"Papa Joe is always here." She leaned down into the car window. "Hey thanks…for the food and all."

"Any time you're hungry give me a call." He winked and they both laughed because he'd looked stupid.

She went to the door then, it was locked. She thought about pounding on it but Papa Joe's room was in the back, so instead she turned, waved to John who was still sitting in his car, and trotted around back. She tried the backdoor but it was locked as well, but this time, she did beat on the door. She even called out Joe's name, but there was no answer. Oh great, she thought, now where will I sleep. She didn't dare go back around to see if John was still there. There was no way he could be. She looked at her surroundings. Sleeping right outside the door was just plain dumb. There was no protection and anyone could just walk by and see her. The dumpster was pushed against the side of the building, and she figured that if she could wedge one of the corners out she could slip behind it and sleep there. While that was a good plan, she didn't know what she was going to do about heat. Her shirt was short sleeved, and while it was big, she just didn't see herself sleeping with her arm tucked inside the shirt the entire night. Besides that, her shoes were basically sandals. She eyes the dumpster again. Maybe the club had thrown out a piece of carpeting or curtain that she could wrap herself in. Just as she was going to look a hand touched her shoulder. She whipped around, pushed the person and flung herself back at the same time. Distance was always good, just until she could see who she was up against.

John caught his footing and immediately put his hands up in defense. "Hey it's just me!" He called. She looked terrified.

"What are you doing back here?" She asked trying to calm her racing heart.

"I came to check on you and make sure you got in safe. You didn't come back around to say if you were alright-"

"Was I supposed to?" She countered.

John shrugged. "I guess not…" He was looking at her now, really looking at her and she backed away.

She suddenly realized that they were alone and in the dark and that he was a cop, and she knew first hand that not all the cops in Gotham were good.

John didn't miss the change in her expression and immediately said, "I'm not gonna hurt you. Honest I'm not, I just wanted to make sure that you were okay." He stuck his hands in his pockets. The silence that settled around them was deafening, and finally he said, "There is no friend, is there?"

She frowned. "No. I was going to sleep here."

He nodded. "Yeah I figured…"

"I'm guessing that after last night they arrest Joe just like they arrested me."

John nodded absently. "He'll probably be back in the morning."

"Probably."

"So…where are you going to sleep then?"

She glanced at the dumpster. "I've got a few places in mind…"

He smirked. "Come on." He started walking and when she didn't follow he stopped, looked back. "you comin' or what?" He started walking again, satisfied when he heard her heels clack along after him.

"Where are we going?" She was cautious behind him.

"My place. You can sleep there. And you'll be safe."

The memory of her night at Paul's came to memory and she shook her head. "I can sleep here. Or I can find somewhere else. Not that big a deal…"

He already had the driver's side door open. "Look, I know you've been hurt, and I know it's hard to trust people, but I don't want anything from you other than to make sure you get a good's night sleep…and maybe some video games. It's hard to be Borderlands when you're playing by yourself."

She was still staring at him.

"I'll give you my gun, if it makes you feel any better…?"

The weighed the options of sleeping behind a dumpster versus sleeping inside on a couch or even a floor. "Deal."

[/] [/] [/]

John Blake's apartment was small. There was a living room and a kitchen and one bathroom that connect to both the bedroom and the living area, but it was cozy and simple, and Israel liked it. He'd let her in first and while he busied himself with shutting and locking the door, she amused herself with looking around his apartment. There were no paintings and she was guessing that the paint on the walls had come with the apartment. There was barely any food in the kitchen and hardly any utensils. The bathroom was bare of anything except a clear shower curtain and the necessary toiletries. His bedroom held a queen sized bed, a dresser, a hamper with a few dirty clothes in it, and a closet. She was about to go into his closet when he came into the room suddenly. He noted that she tensed up, her eyes immediately mapping out her exits.

"I'll let you have the bed." He looked around awkwardly. "Uhm, are you gonna sleep in those?"

She looked down at the shirt and sweatpants. "I can…?"

He smiled. "I've got a pair of boxers you can wear…and a wife beater…and maybe some socks. It can get cold in here. But that's only if you're comfortable with that."

She nodded then.

"They're in the top drawer." He backed to the door. "I'll just uh…I'll let you get changed." He shut it behind himself and Israel set out finding the items he'd named. As her feet were cold, she put the socks on first and then she undressed herself, felt a little awkward about standing in a stranger's bedroom naked, but reached for the wife beater and put it on. It hung low, just at the top of her thighs. She was searching for a pair of boxers when the door opened and John came back in, stopped mid-sentence when he caught sight of her ass as she was bent over going through his drawer. She snapped up and turned around, her eyes wide as she pulled the shirt down further. He shut the door, slammed it almost and went and sat on the couch. It was a good thirty minutes before she came out, and he was half expecting to see her clad in the GCPD shirt and sweats, expected her to say she had to leave. But instead she was in his boxers, her sock covered feet soundless on the hardwood floor. She took a seat on the couch next to him and very softly said, "I don't know how to play video games."

He was so nervous about seeing her bare ass that he almost didn't understand what she'd said. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I have never played video games."

He blinked at her. "Are you just gonna pretend I didn't just see your-"

"Yes," she said automatically.

"Alright then." He got up to turn on his television and xbox, and went back to the couch with two controllers. "I'll teach you."

They stayed up late playing Halo and Borderlands, and after a while Israel became at least decent at the games. Halo was her specialty, and she and John had become so competitive that they had begun talking smack and the tension in the room had risen. Israel was sitting with her knees to her chest as she talked the corridor of the game, her gun held high. She thought she was well on her way to finding John, but then a blue light stuck to her player's leg. She was so angry about it that she shook the controller. "I can't get it off," she huffed. "Why won't it come off?"

But it was too late. The light exploded and her character died. John jumped from his seat and fist pumped the air. "I win!" He said happily. "That means you lose."

Israel immediately took a pillow from the couch and threw it at him. "You're a cheater!"

He took the pillow to the face and immediately pounced on her. "I'll show you cheating."

It had been so long since Israel had been tickled that when John's fingers wiggled under her arms she forgot to suck in air to breath. It took all of 10 seconds for her to cry uncle and when John relented they were both left huffing and panting on the couch. When she came back to herself she realized that he was on top of her, his arms on either side of her body. She froze, but didn't feel as afraid and as wary as she normally did. John felt her freeze up, but when he went to move she stopped him. He remained perfectly still as she ran her hands up his arms and shoulders, and when she brought herself up to kiss him, he dipped his head, fed her his mouth. The kiss was chaste, sweet, and she was so timid about her movements. His mouth was hot and open to her, and she felt comfort in him letting her do what she wanted. He didn't rush her or take control, and she needed that. Their kiss grew heated and passionate, both trying to devour the other's mouth. Their hands roamed over each other and when John ground himself against her, she moaned and grinded back. He pulled her up then, lifted her so that her legs could wrap around his waist as he felt his way to the bedroom. They freed each other from clothing and were almost frantic in their need to fully divulge in one another. John's mouth was hot and wet and he did his best to cover every inch of her. The only time she stopped was when he moved to kiss between her legs, and he didn't push the issue. Instead he kissed his way back up her, was quick to reach into his dresser for protection and after covering himself, he slid into her. They both groaned at the contact and while he was going to wait, to let her adjust, her fingernails dug into him and her hips bucked, urged him onward and inward. Their sex was hurried and intense and Israel had almost let herself give into it all, almost let go, but as she felt him climbing higher and higher, her own sex was left stagnant. She felt wrong and cried out in frustration because this time would be like all the other times. She didn't know she thought it would be different. The problem wasn't with the men she laid with, it was with herself. She could feel him sliding against her and into her, and the movements felt crude. John's thrusts faltered. He dipped his head into the crook of her neck and as he came Israel had a brief moment of thanks for the condom. He didn't roll off of her immediately, he stayed still, kissed her neck and shoulder and mouth, and she let him while nausea rolled like a torrent sea in her stomach. He left her then, went to the bathroom to dispose of the product of their coupling, and she rolled onto her side facing away from the door. The light was flicked off, and when he came back to the bed he spooned with her and fell asleep within minutes. She, however, was not so lucky.

Her disgust didn't stem from him. John Blake wasn't the problem. Her disgust was with herself and with her past, because it was still taking from her, still weaseling it's way inside areas of her life that she felt it had no place. She shook her head into the pillow and then disengaged herself from John's arms. The tiptoed to the bathroom and shut the door, and then stared the shower. The water was scalding hot and she flinched as it beat down on her, but she didn't move away. It was always like this afterwards. They could always sleep fine, but it was in these moment were her past crept on her, clouded her eyes with nightmares and hurt and shame. She used his soap, Irish Spring, to wash herself. She felt dirty and cheap and it was no one's fault but her own. She thought she was ready for intimacy, but it was now to obvious that she wasn't. Probably never would be again. Thanks, dad, she thought.

She turned the shower and dried herself after finger combing her hair. She didn't reach for John's clothes, but instead donned the GCPD shirt and sweatpants. She didn't return to the bed or the room. It smelled too much of sex and it made her feel even worse. Instead she went to the couch and slept curled into a ball in one of the corners. As she went to sleep, she mentally told herself a story about a girl with a horrid past who left her troubles behind and went to live in a city called Paradise, because there every one could have a new chance and a new life.

[/] [/] [/]

She once again woke before the sun and as the pale blue light that she'd come to know as friend filtered through the windows she stretched on the couch. John wasn't up yet, and she knew she had maybe an hour to get herself together and get out before he woke. The first thing she did was rummage through his kitchen for coffee. He had plenty, and she'd expected him to. He was a cop, after all. She sat on the counter while it was brewing and made a checklist in her head. She needed to get to Dollies to get her things and her money. But if Papa Joe hadn't been released then she needed to stop by the police station to get his keys. Something told her that the police wouldn't just hand them over to her. Maybe she could pick the lock? No, she'd never been any good at lock picking. She could just break a window. Sure, Joe would be pissed about it but she'd be long gone and it's not like she was going to steal anything. So she'd go to the club, get in, get her stuff and buy the cheapest plane ticket. Or maybe she could buy a used car. That sounded better. That way she'd have her own mode of transportation.

A rustling came from the bedroom and John appeared in the doorway. He smiled when he saw her perched on his counter. "Boy, you wake early."

She forced a smile. "I made coffee."

"The smell is what woke me up. Good morning, by the way."

"You too…"

The silence was loud and uncomfortable, and then they both started speaking at the same time.

"Hey John, I gotta get outta here."

"I have tickets to the game today if you wanna go. Oh….you have to go."

She winced at the disappointment in this voice. "Yeah. It's just that I have a lot to do today so…"

"Yeah… Well hey the game doesn't start until three."

"John…"

He rushed back to his room and came back with the ticket. "Here, just take it. It's not like I have anyone else to go with."

She just started at the paper in his hand.

"Israel, just take the ticket. If you can't go, well then you can't. You can be a little late. I've got to check on the Commissioner and run some errands for him before I get there anyways."

"John, I don't think I'll have time."

"I'm not taking no for an answer."

She begrudgingly took the ticket and when John moved into the wrap his arms around her and give her a kiss she pulled back, removed his arms. "I really have to go." She saw the question on his face and as she slipped from the counter and eased into the bedroom she silently hoped that he wouldn't make a big deal out of what had happened. All she wanted to do was leave, and the only thing holding her up was the temptation of coffee and the fact that she couldn't find the bag she'd out her lingerie in…or her shoes for that matter. She was in the middle of looking under his head when she heard John come into the room. When she looked up he's placed a cup of coffee down on the dresser. It was obviously meant for her. She stared at it, her mouth suddenly turning sour at the thought of drinking it.

"No thanks," she murmured. "Have you seen my shoes? I have got to get out of here, I've got a lot of things to do…" She trailed off when she noticed that John was watching her intensely. And here it comes, she thought.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asked.

He got points for not sounding needy. "No." She shook her head.

"Then what's going on here? It's like you've….you've just turned yourself off or something."

She could still see the mirror of herself peeking out behind his eyes, but the image was clouded with confusion. "It's not you… It's me… I'm just…" Her mouth shut because the wall wouldn't let her say what she was feeling. She could never say what she was feeling, and she looked up at John, tried to convey that with her eyes, but she was scared that maybe he wouldn't see, maybe he didn't know after all.

But relief flooded her when he nodded, gave half a smirk. "Okay," he acknowledged. "Okay… But at least let me give you a ride to where you're going."

She nodded. "Yeah, I can do that…if I ever find my damned shoes." John left the room, set about looking for them as she continued to look under the bed, even though she wasn't really looking. Her mind had begun to fill with the possibility that maybe she'd met the right guy at the wrong time, because with John, he understood. He knew about the hurt and the guilt and the anger, and he wasn't pushing her to do something she couldn't do. It was like…breathing, and it scared her that she felt so natural around him, free and safe and herself. Besides the horridity of not being able to be intimate with him, or anyone, she had a hope that they could at first become friends. The promise she made to herself lingered just behind her eyes and she shut them tight, told herself that maybe he wouldn't hurt like everyone else did. Maybe she could trust him. She felt foolish even as she was thinking it, but the hope she felt was overwhelming and all-consuming.

When John came back into the room holding her shoes, Israel smiled. She wanted to ask him if she wanted to go get breakfast, but when she opened her mouth, those weren't the words that came out. "I have to go back to Dollies. All my stuff is there." She had confused herself. She was going to ask about breakfast. Why hadn't she asked about breakfast?

In the time it took for John to find her shoes, he'd managed do dress himself and sneak out to the car to start it up and run the heat. He stood by the door and waited and once she was ready, he opened the door for her. The morning was cold and Israel was all too thankful for the heat the enveloped her when she got into the car. As John drove they found themselves silent, listening to the background noise of the morning radio. The announcer was bragging about the Gotham Rogues and that caused John to glance over at Israel and smile. She forced a smile back, feeling a tad bit guilty that, after he dropped her off at Dollies, it would be the last he'd ever see of her. Sure, she liked him, but that wasn't enough, and he wasn't enough for to stay in a city that had caused her so much anguish. She had to leave.

The ride to Dollies was quick and this time, instead of dropping in the front, John drove around back, surprised when he saw a rather large older man standing outside the back door having a smoke. Israel smiled upon seeing him and when she went to simply hop out of the car, John stopped her. He'd gripped harder than he meant to, and the pressure of his hand made Israel snatch back. He let go immediately.

"Sorry," he uttered. "Hey look, the game starts at 3…I won't get there until 4…4:30. Just, at least try to show up, would ya?" He smiled sheepishly.

The corners of her mouth twitched, her effort to smile back. "I'm not making any promises."

He nodded. "Well if you can't make it to the game, at least let me take you to dinner sometime."

She opened the door, breathed deep from the outside air that free of the contaminations of John's questions. "Let me think on it." She got out then. Shut the door behind her and gave him a wave before she turned to Joe. John drove off, and the tension in her shoulders eased.

"You got a new boyfriend or somethin'?" Papa Joe let out the smoke in his lungs and held the cigarette out for to snag a drag from.

"I don't smoke anymore…" But she stared at the cigarette with longing.

"Right, right… You don't smoke no more. You don't drink no more. I couldn't be prouder of you if you were my own daughter."

"And you," she huffed. "What would your wife say if she saw you with that cancer stick between your lips?"

He winked. "Well what she don't know won't hurt her." He considered for a moment, let his eyes wander across the letters on her shirt. "They got you too, huh?"

She leaned against the side of the building. "Held me for three days."

"Yeah…fuckin' cops. I told 'em, I tried to tell 'em that me and my girls didn't have nothin' to do with the fuckin' guy in the mask. Buncha fat fuckin' chuds, didn't even believe me. Threw me back in that shit hole of a cell to refresh my memory."

"Sounds like you and I got the same royal treatment. Are you opening tonight?"

Joe snubbed out his cigarette. "Yeah, but I don't see the point. After the whole ordeal who's gonna wanna come back into my joint?"

She patted him on the arm reassuringly. "You've got the best girls in Gotham. Someone will turn up. Hey listen, I've gotta grab my stuff and go."

"So you're still leavin' town?" It was a question, but there was pride in his eyes as he asked.

"You know it."

"Good for you, girlie. Hey, if there's anything you need, you let me know."

"Actually, could you point me in the right direction to get a car?"

Joe chuckled, a movement that made his stomach jiggle. "Do you even have a license?"

She fixed him with a stare and he his laughter died in his throat, the smile on his face stayed though. "Come on." He headed inside and she followed after. He went to the nearest station and took a piece of blot paper and wrote down a name and an address. "This is my cousin Louie. You go there and you'll get a good runnin' car cheap."

She set the paper on the table. "I've gotta get changed and get going."

"Yeah you do that. I got some calls to make. If you're gone before I get back down here…just promise you'll keep in touch okay? You know how I worry."

She smiled sympathetically. "You'll be the first person I call as soon as I get settled in somewhere."

He gave her a soft pat on the back and then waddled away to his office. She had never been more happy to get out of GCPD attire and was quick to slip on a pair of cargo skinnies along with a grey, black, and white plaid button up and her hoodie. She zipped it up tight and slipped on her boots before crouching below her makeup station to free up a loose board in the floor. It took her few minutes to get it up, but once she did inside she found a pudgy manila envelope. She lifted it gingerly and when she looked inside she was happy to see that all her money was still in place. She pulled a fifty from it and went to the wall phone to call a cab. It didn't take them long to get there, and since Joe hadn't come back out she left him a note with the most minimal amount of sap she could and then left.

From there things ran smoothly. Israel had managed to find her way to Louie's junkyard and Louie had turned out to be a very tall busty woman with brown hair streaked with car grease as she had no doubt been running her hands through it. Even after Israel had mentioned that she'd been sent there by Papa Joe it took the two women a little over an hour to come to an agreement. Louie had wanted to sell the girl a 2008 GT Mustang for six thousand, and Israel was only willing to spend twenty five hundred to three thousand at the most. Sure, the mustang was nice, but it was going to cost her more than half her earnings, she wasn't going to take it. In the end they'd settled on a 2004 Honda Civic. It was a more than a nice car. It was white and shiny and the wheels looked new. Cosmetically there was nothing wrong with it, but Louie had said that there was a still a tiny bit of work to be done to it and that the only reason she hadn't sold it was because someone had been murdered in it. Strangely, this didn't deter Israel. She was more worried about the work that needed to be done.

"A few parts here and there need to be replaced, but I got all of 'em in the yard. I just need to clean 'em up and put 'em on."

"And after you do that, how much will it be?"

"I'll leave it at 2300."

"That sounds reasonable. Can you put the parts on today? Like before tonight?"

Louie nodded and ran her dirty fingers through her hair. "Hell ain't nobody here anyways, and I doubt anyone'll be comin' in. Everyone's hyped about the game."

The mention of it made Israel think of John.

"Not much of a football fan myself…" Louie mumbled while starting to walk away. "It'll take me a few hours. Gotta find the parts and clean 'em up, put 'em on…like I told ya." She absently pointed to the small shed. "You can wait in there if ya want. There's cable and a couch and a fridge with some fixings in it." After that Louie disappeared, but Israel could faintly here the older woman rummaging through other cars.

After much consideration she went into the shed, found that he heat was on and that the place wasn't too bad off. There was carpet and a computer and a flat screen with the pre-game coverage on. She took a seat on the couch and set her bag down near to her, being sure to keep it within her sight as her money was in it. The first hour of her waiting consisted of sipping on a Coke, watching cartoons, and listening to Louie give short clipped updates as she came in and out of the shed to grab one thing or another. The second hour consisted of Israel venturing out into the cold to watch Louie work. The older woman had nimble fingers and was surprising efficient about her work even though she wasn't quick about it. But Israel appreciated that. It meant that Louie did quality work and cared about the cars she was fixing up. The third hour was nothing but mind numbing boredom that had rendered Israel motionless and frustrated on the couch. It was at that point that she decided to at least try and take a nap. She settled down on the couch after shedding her hoodie, draped the material over herself like a tiny blanket and watched as Tom and Jerry chased each other around their living room. She didn't know how many cartoons she had watched before her eyes started to droop. Before passing completely out, she had a few moments where she fought sleep, where her head would snap up or her eyes would fly open and she'd startle herself. But eventually sleep won.

Her nightmare was short, but it was so real, so vivid that she didn't she was dreaming. It was dark and she was trembling, and someone was holding her arms behind her back, laughing in her ear. She fought against the grip and every time she did a blade would press in earnest against her neck. She could feel his breath through the bag over her face, hear him telling her that she had a very important choice to make. And then the bag was lifted and the nightmare played out in earnest.

Israel shot up in a cold sweat. Her mouth was so dry that it hurt when she tried to swallow. She hadn't had one of those nightmares in a long time. And even though her brain was already shutting down the painful memories, giving her the strange feeling of terror without really remembering what she'd dreamed about, she knew. She'd been there and it had been real, and she knew. She was fighting to catch her breath, to slow her heart and to ease the tension from her shoulder. She was almost there when the shed door tore open and Louie walked in covered in dirt and grease with a small pout about her mouth. She took the younger girl in for a moment and then motioned for her to follow her outside.

"You're car's ready." As Louie went back outside Israel literally shook herself, ran her clammy hands over her face and told mentally told herself that it had only been a dream, and that it was over and in the past. She reached for her bag and pulled twenty four hundred from her envelope, and then shoved it back inside, put on her hoodie. The car was parked in the driveway with the engine running and purring like it was brand new. Louie beamed as Israel handed her the money and counted it. She didn't mention that the girl had gone over by a hundred. She didn't know if it had been on purpose or not, but she wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"It'll run like a dream. And ya know Honda's are reliable cars anyways. You're all set to go, but I would put some gas in it before you seriously hit the road." Louie, not one for long goodbyes, especially with strangers, turned on her heels and left.

Israel sank into her new car, marveled at how clean it was on the inside and was pleased to see that the title and the insurance had been placed in the glove compartment. She had a license. Marshall had made sure she knew how to drive, but the last time she'd been behind the wheel of a car was when she was with him, and she was a little apprehensive about pulling the thing out onto the main road. She drove slow at first, telling herself that it was just like riding a bike. By the time she pulled up at the mall and parked, she was sure that driving wouldn't be a problem.

The time was getting later. She'd slept at the junkyard for too long as it was already 2:57. She marched into Old Navy and sought out Paul, who was in the office. He beamed when he saw her.

"Where have you been?" He went to pull her into a hug but she pulled back.

"I've been busy." She wasn't one to forgive so easily. "I'm just here to pick up my last check."

"Your last check?"

She nodded. "I'm kind of in a hurry here, Paul."

"What do you mean your last check?"

She didn't say anything.

"Are you…are you quitting because of me? Because of me and Kristen?"

"Don't flatter yourself," she mumbled. "I'm leaving. I have to get out of Gotham."

"Leaving…" He was standing now. "Well, where are you going to go? And who gave you money to just up and leave?" He eyed her suspiciously. "You didn't…you didn't do anything for money did you?"

She didn't have time for this. "Paul…my check. I need it. I'm running on borrowed time here and I have a flight to catch."

He was rummaging through a drawer. "Flight? But you told me that you hate to fly."

"I also hate living in this city. You tell me which is the lesser evil."

He found her check, held it out to her and when she reached for it he pulled it back. "I don't want you to go." His voice sounded sad, hurt.

"Why?" She challenged. She was becoming fed up.

"You and I…we never-"

"Paul, there was never a you and I. There's you and your wife and me your employee. That's it. There was never anything else."

His brow knit. "So you never felt anything for me? Ever?"

The tension between her eyes was growing. "Just hand me my check. I need to go. I have to go."

"Israel…"

She'd had enough. She grabbed her check, tore it out of his hand and turned to leave. When his hand wrapped around her arm she reacted on instinct. She turned on him, grabbed a fist full of his shirt and pulled him close so that when her knee intersected with his stomach the blow was hard, intense, sharp. He went down immediately, and Israel all but ran from the store. Once in her car she locked the doors and left the parking lot so fast that her tires squealed against the pavement. At the gas station, while she was pumping gas, she'd managed to calm down. She told herself that what had happened was okay because she wasn't going to work the next day and she wasn't going to see Paul or Gotham City ever again. She was going to leave, and that would be the end of it.

She took care to fill the tank up as she didn't want to have to stop unless it was absolutely necessary and then she was on her way. Traffic in Gotham was murder. Everyone was trying to get to the game or leave the game. She wasn't sure, she just knew she was annoyed, but all such annoyance disappeared when she caught sight of one of the bridges that led away from Gotham. Her hear did flip flops in her chest as she drove on to it. She was still stuck in stop and go traffic, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter because she was well across the water already and when she looked in her rearview, Gotham was steadily getting smaller, further away. She delighted herself with turning on the radio and didn't even mind that the song playing was stupid and that she didn't know the words. She hummed along with the tune and fought the urge to scream nonsense out the window. This was the happiest she could ever remember being and she it made her giddy and fidgety.

She inched forward, stopped again, repeated. She was almost to the middle of the bridge when a small tremor wracked her car. At first she didn't pay it any attention, but then it happened again, and this time stronger. Strange, she thought, as Gotham had never had any earthquakes before. She looked to the car next to her. The person inside looked just as confused as she was, and just as Israel rolled down her window to ask what was going on, the screaming started. It was a soft echo at first, a noise that was coming from Gotham, but then it was all around her. The tremors started in earnest and when she glanced to her left she noted that one of the other bridges that led both in and out of Gotham was shaking and trembling, and then the middle of it suddenly exploded. Her wide as saucers, and her body and limbs moving mechanically, she opened her door and got out. Her legs moved of their own accord, drawing her nearer to the edge of the bridge just like the other drivers were doing. She watched as the debris fell into the water taking cars and people with it. There were more blasts then, and Israel was willing to bet that the other bridges in town were being blown apart as well. Her realization came too late, and it was only as the bridge she was on started to rumble and shake that she started to run. The sound the bridge made as it cracked and upheaved underneath her feet made her stomach knot. Other people were running now, pushing past and shoving and throwing people out of the way to get themselves to safety. Someone shoved Israel, she almost fell, caught her footing and since no one else was doing it, she took to the top of cars. She didn't think she'd make it. In fact, she was almost positive that she was going to die, but her survival instinct was strong, and after years of keeping herself alive and taking care of herself, there was nothing in her that was just going to let her lie down and accept defeat.

She heard the blast before she felt it, and the sound of the explosion made her pump arms harder, drove her to pick up her feet faster. And then heat and fire were touching her back, pushing her up and forward like an angry hand. She was airborne for all of 5 seconds, but she felt it was longer. Her adrenaline was so high that it canceled out all other noised except the sound of her own heartbeat. Her vision tunneled as she sought out a suitable place to fall as if she could somehow control it. She was nearing the tops of cars now, and she forced herself to think back to something, anything that would help her from being too injured. Immediately grade school and tumbling came to mind. She remembered the mats and how she was to place her hands, the nausea that rocked through her when she had pitched herself forward, rolled along her back and ended up on her feet with her hands in the air as if she'd been some kind of gymnast. The same rules could apply, she told herself.

She leaned forward, her hands reaching out and when they touched the top if a red SUV she pushed herself, willed her knees to tuck into her chest as she rolled. She was numbly aware of the pop and crack that happened her in wrist and arm, the way her hip collided with the top of car, but she kept rolling. She ended up falling on the ground, and her shirt rose up so that the pavement could scratch tear at the skin on her side. She pulled herself up as fast as she could because the sound of objects hitting the water filled her ears. She was running again, not as fast as she was before. There was something wrong with her legs. She couldn't figure it out, but the adrenaline overcompensated, and she told herself that, if she made it out of this, she would personally check herself into a hospital.

She glanced behind herself once and horrid fear washed over as cars and people began to disappear, to fall. A curse word flew from her lips as she pushed herself, but a noise stopped her, made her slow her pace. A voice, tiny and loud, rang out over the screaming. It was crying, pleading for help, and it was ahead of Israel. She kicked herself into high gear, memories of her past telling her exactly what was happening and who was crying and that if she hurried she could help. The car was slanted to the side, but the side of the car facing the oncoming disaster was blocked by another vehicle. Israel could still hear the crying, could still hear that little voice crying out. And then she saw him, a small boy, maybe only 6 or 7 years old, was stuck in the backseat of the car. He had his book-bag on him as if he'd just left school, and there was a Batman toy in his lap. He was crying and had been yelling so hard that he was hoarse and was hiccupping. The two made eye contact and Israel wasted no time wedging herself in the small space between his door and a car that was a little too close. She tried the handle, it gave, but nothing opened, nothing happened. The doors had locked up, but Israel could see that the sunroof was open. She climbed inside, panic setting in as she noticed that the bridge was crumbling faster now. The boy was in hysterics.

She touched his face as she tried his seat belt, it was locked up too. "Hey, hey it's okay. Hey calm down, okay? I'm gonna get you out of here." She was beginning to tear up because she didn't know if she could get him out, could get either of them out. "What's your name?"

It took the boy a couple tries, but he finally managed to croak out, "Roman."

"Okay, I'm Izzy. Roman, I'm going to pull as hard as I can, and when I left the seatbelt, you've got to slip under it, okay?"

The boy nodded, his eyes huge and glassy and red. She did what she said she would do, she hefted herself above him, used her feet as leverage while she pulled at the seatbelt. He was a small boy thankfully and he slipped beneath it easily enough. Once he was out, she climbed out of the sunroof first and was helping him out afterwards the when the ground gave way and the car slipped into the water below. Israel had hold on him, was holding on tightly even though it was killing her. Her arm, her wrist, they were injured and though the boy didn't weigh anything her hands were losing grip. She could feel the section of road she was lying on start to give. "No!" She yelled out as if her words alone would stop it.

Roman cried, his eyes continually going from hers to the water and back again. "Don't let go!" He cried out.

"I'm not!" She answered, trying to ease more of herself back so she'd be able to gradually pull him up. "Help!" She screamed. "DAMNIT SOMEONE HELP ME!" Both their hands were slick and she was saying no repeatedly as she was his small hand slip from hers. She didn't look away as he fell, and he didn't look away either. She was crying, openly cry as she watched him fade away, smaller and smaller until the water enveloped him…and he didn't resurface. More of the bridge was giving, but she couldn't make herself move. She just kept staring, hoping that she'd seen him resurface even though she was blind with her own tears. He didn't.

Strong hands found her then, lifted her around her middle and pulled her to standing. A face filled her view, cupped her cheeks with big warm hands as she looked into bright brown eyes. "Come on. Come on, snap out of it! We've got to move! You've got to move! Let's go!"

She was numb on the inside, barely knew she was running or that someone was leading her. She wasn't even watching ahead of herself and occasionally she'd stumble, trip. She made it back onto the mainland along with at least 50 others. Something had happened and gone wrong because the streets of Gotham were disrupted and its citizens were in panic. There was a coffee shop nearby, and the man who had saved her lead her there, had her take a seat while he asked for something black and hot for her to sip on. But then a voice rang out on the television, and it was a voice that Israel knew too well. She raised her eyes to him, watched as he stepped out over a fallen and trashed football field. She couldn't hear what he was saying, couldn't make herself listen. She could only watch, stare, because he was the cause of this. He had shattered her dream, taken her hope. His name went around the coffee shop like a hushed and deadly secret. She watched him on screen as he spoke to an older man…hand him kneel down. He asked him a question, she didn't make out what it was, but that didn't matter, because Bane snapped his neck.

Israel jumped a little when a mug of black coffee was placed in front of her. She didn't reach for, and instead looked up at a black haired blue eyed man who taken a seat on the stool next to her. He glanced at her as he sipped from his own mug. "You're pretty banged up." He said. He motioned to her coffee. "I didn't get that for you for nothing."

She still said nothing.

"What were you doing just lying in the road like that? If I didn't get you when I did…you'd have fallen."

The image of large chocolate eyes flashed behind her own and she squeezed them shut, hugged herself. "There was a boy…I…I couldn't…I didn't…" She could feel the breakdown coming, could feel herself starting to shut down. She wobbled on the stool, started to fall and was expecting to hit the floor hard, when hands and arms caught her, lowered her down.

"Hey….hey kid."

But she was already gone, passing out and falling in to herself.

The part with the child...that was hard to write. I think I cried a little. And the guy who saved her, I'm starting to love him. So much so that I'm thinking of using him in my own book as he won't get too much spotlight in this fic.

Sutur: I have no idea how many chapters there will be. I feel like it will be somewhere in the double digits as there are many characters and scenarios to cover, but I don't have an exact number in mine.

Heavenly Condemned: I would LOVE to see those drawings! AND, for anyone else who is reading this and likes the fic and is capable in the drawing/painting area, I would be more than excited to see any artwork you may have pertaining to this fic. If my drawing skills weren't limited to stick figures then I'd put out a pic with each chapter...but I can't draw. Soooo yeah.

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