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I'll tell you all my secrets...all the ones I've kept inside.

1991

A Week Later

Emily wiped the sweat off her brow. Her feet ached, and her back was stiff. She waited patiently while the older man decided what he wanted to eat. The sounds of the diner around her carried on as usual. She shifted from one foot to the other. This was not her ideal job. She was doing this to get to university to get a degree in what she really cared about: fashion. Then she'd come back to this diner and give their uniforms a massive upgrade. She felt like a whale in the mandatory dress and apron they gave her.

"Coffee and dry toast, dear," the older man said now, giving her a smile.

"Are you sure you don't want to try something else?" Emily asked, raising a brow. He chuckled.

"One of these days, you'll twist my arm, but not today," he answered.

"All right, Mr. Jones," Emily said with a smile. The job got on her last nerves a lot of the time, but some of the patrons had grown on her, like Mr. Jones. She knew he was a recent widow, which made her feel sad when she saw his wistful expression as he looked out the window.

"Nothing new for Mr. Jones today?" Holly asked when Emily came back to start the order.

"No."

"Poor man," Holly said empathetically, pushing her dirty blonde hair out of her eyes. Emily said nothing. She couldn't imagine losing a spouse. It was hard enough to have her mother walk out, but being in love with someone and having them die just seemed worse somehow. She didn't know. She wasn't an expert on grief.

"Holly, my love," Brixton said, coming in. "How are you today?"

"Peachy," Holly answered with a smile. Emily rolled her eyes when Brixton leaned over the counter and grinned at her. It was the game they played together: flirt like crazy.

"Get a room, you two," she commented.

"Whatever, Em," Holly said. Brixton seemed to perk at this. He looked at Emily.

"Em?" he repeated. "As in Emily?"

"Yes?" Emily said, unsure why he was asking. He had never paid her attention before.

"Right on," Brixton said with a grin. Holly handed him his usual two coffees, and he paid her. "See you later, luv." He gave her another flirty grin and walked out. Emily looked at Holly.

"That was...odd," she noted.

"What was?"

"That whole thing with my name," Emily answered.

"He was just clarifying what Em stood for," Holly said with a shrug.

"No, it felt like there was more to it than that," Emily reasoned. She felt slightly bothered by it, but it was forgotten after a while. She started focusing on when her shift was going to end.

...

"I found her!" Brixton said in a singsongy voice. "I fuh-fuh-fuh-fouuuund her!" Deckard was standing under a car up to his elbows with what he was doing, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed as he strained hard.

"Huh!" he exclaimed, finally loosening the bolt and unscrewing it quickly with his fingers. "Shit, that was on there tight."

"Are you listening to me?" Brixton asked, reaching to tap his head.

"What?" Deckard asked, annoyed. He smacked Brixton's hand away before he reached for his coffee, but Brixton pulled it away. Deckard rolled his eyes and went back under where he had been working, not playing that game.

"I. Found. Her."

"Who?"

"Her! Emily!"

Deckard jerked upright, banging his head off the bottom of the car and making a growling noise from the pain. It was quickly forgotten, though, as he looked at his friend.

"You found Emily? Where?!"

"Right here," Brixton said, holding up the coffee cup.

"Are you high?" Deckard asked, giving him a look. "Cos that's a coffee cup, mate."

"No! Here!" Brixton huffed, pointing at the name on the cup. "Dexter's!"

"She works there?" Deckard asked, getting it finally.

"Yea, man! Geez, you're daft," Brixton said, handing him his coffee finally. "She's there now! I saw her!" Deckard felt his heart slightly miss a beat. He now knew where to find her. He could talk to her again.

"What do you say?" Brixton asked, his tone meaningful.

"You go there every day for coffee, and you couldn't remember that was where you'd seen her before?!" Deckard exclaimed.

"I was going for 'thank you,' but all right," Brixton said, waving his hand.

"Unbelievable," Deckard snorted. If he didn't have a time limit to finish this car, he'd have gone right over there to see her. He didn't want to piss off Brixton's father, though. He was grateful for the job and didn't want to lose it over a girl, even if he thought the girl was worth it.

"I bet I know where you're going for lunch today," Brixton commented. Deckard threw his greasy rag at Brixton's face, and it landed against his open mouth. Coughing and spewing, Brixton tossed it back and went to where his car was waiting. Deckard shook his head and went back to work. He couldn't wait for twelve o'clock.

...

Hattie typically liked Saturdays because she could lounge around home all day, but today, she wished she was anywhere but home. Her mother and father were going at it downstairs while she hid under her blankets. Owen was out with friends. Deckard was at work. It was just her there.

"I told you where I was!" her mother was shouting. "For God's sake, Harry, don't accuse me of something so ridiculously stupid!"

"Oh, so you're saying I'm stupid?!" Harry shouted back. Hattie covered her ears with her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't like the fighting. It seemed to be more frequent these days. After a while, she couldn't take it anymore and went to her window. She yanked it up and crawled out onto the roof. She carefully climbed down to the tree and stepped onto the branch. Once she was on the ground, she pulled her hood up and walked quickly away. She didn't care where she went so long as it was away from there.

...

Deckard sat on the bar stool in Dexter's at 12:07 and waited. He could see the girl Brixton flirted with constantly, Holly, rewriting the specials on the whiteboard. She had her back to him. He listened to the chatter from staff in the back and worried that Emily had gone home when she came out suddenly. She didn't notice him at first until she was a bit closer to him. Then she looked up right at him. For a second, she seemed stunned. Then she recovered.

"Oh my God," she laughed. "I get it now."

"Get what?" Deckard asked, feeling slightly confused.

"You're friends with Brixton," Emily started. "And you told him that you liked me but didn't know how to find me, and he comes in here and learns that I'm the mysterious Emily and rushes off to tell you."

"You should be a detective," he smirked.

"Am I right?" she asked, putting a hand on her hip.

"Maybe," he answered playfully. "Or maybe I just came for the BLT."

"Right. Okay," she said, playing along. "Sure thing." He was smiling as he watched her pass along the order. Holly was craning to see what was going on by this point. Deckard waved at her; she waved back.

"So, how are you?" he asked when Emily came back.

"Just fine, thanks," she answered. She noticed his dirty hands. "Working hard I take it?"

"Cars don't fix themselves," he said with a shrug.

"You're a mechanic?" she inquired. Her curiosity was not well hidden.

"Yup," he answered.

"You work for Brixton's dad then," she said, realizing. "Makes sense, since you're friends and all. He's been in here bragging about it to Holly all the time."

"You've got me all figured out then, have you?" he asked. She scoffed slightly.

"You're not that hard to figure out," she said, gesturing. She went to get his BLT and brought it back, sliding it across the counter to him. "Enjoy."

"You're not gonna keep me company?" he asked.

"I don't get paid enough for that," she replied. He chuckled to himself. He thoroughly enjoyed fire like that in a woman. He watched her interact with other patrons as he ate. He knew he was running out of time, but he didn't know how to proceed without risking getting rejected. When she came back for his empty plate, she asked him if he wanted anything else.

"What are the odds of you saying yes to going out on a date with me?" he asked. He had decided to just be blunt. She looked slightly taken aback but not all too surprised.

"If you can tell me what my last name is, I'll go out with you," she answered. Deckard felt slight panic. He didn't know. He caught sight of Holly's frantic waving behind Emily and watched as she quickly wrote "CHARLTON" in big letters on the whiteboard near the bottom. He pretended to think hard, running a finger over his chin.

"Let me think," he said, "would it perhaps be...Charlton?" His stalling of the response had given Holly enough time to wipe the name off before Emily could turn around and see it.

"Okay, how did you do that?" Emily asked, genuinely shocked now.

"What? You didn't think I'd learn your name before I came in here?" Deckard asked, fibbing slightly. He owed Holly big time, which was confirmed by her mouthing "you owe me" behind Emily's back.

"I don't buy it," Emily said. She looked over her shoulder at Holly, who was innocently finishing writing up the last of the specials on the board. A look of realization hit her face, and Deckard knew the gig was up. "Holly, you traitor." Holly looked at Emily.

"What?" she asked.

"You told him," Emily accused.

"Just go out with the nice boy, okay?" Holly said. Emily ignored her and turned back to Deckard.

"Since you cheated, you have to answer another question before I say yes," she said. She put her hand over her eyes. "What color are my eyes? And Holly, shut up!"

"I actually don't know," Holly admitted.

"Seriously?! You're my best friend!" Emily exclaimed, still keeping her hand over her eyes.

"Well, it's not like I stare into your eyes for hours on end," Holly said.

"You have ten seconds," Emily said to Deckard now.

"Blue," he said, and she removed her hand and stared at him with her beautiful blue eyes. He was still smiling, and she looked a bit flustered.

"All right," she said. "You've earned yourself a date, but I must warn you that my brother is Rusty Charlton."

"Works nights at the bar down the road from here?" Deckard asked. "Construction during the day?"

"Yes."

"I know him. I didn't know he was your brother."

"Then you know what he does to guys who don't treat me right," Emily said. "Right?"

"I know what you do to guys who don't treat you right, remember?" he reminded her.

"Oh yea," she said, laughing slightly. "Then you know what you're getting into."

"I do."

He watched as she wrote down something on her pad of paper and ripped it off, handing it to him. He took it, seeing it was her number and address.

"I'm free tonight," she offered.

"I'll be there for six."

"Seven," she said. "I don't do dinner dates."

"Oh? Why not?" he asked, raising a brow.

"I just don't. Take it or leave it."

"Seven it is," he agreed. He stood up, hating that he had to go back to work. "I'll see you later."

"Okay," she said with a nod. Deckard flashed her a smile before turning to leave. He had a feeling that underneath her tough exterior was someone who was afraid to be vulnerable. He knew exactly what that was like.

Later

Owen got home to find his parents angry and scared. He stopped in the doorway, taking the scene in before him. His mother was on the phone, hysterical, and his father was pacing.

"What's going on?" he asked. He was glad he hadn't smoked anything today.

"Your sister is missing," his father answered. "Have you seen or heard from her?"

"No..."

"I don't remember what she was wearing!" Magdalene was shouting. "I gave you her description! You'll find her wearing whatever clothes she's got on!"

Why would Hattie go missing? Owen felt confused. He knew things at home weren't great, but he knew his sister. She'd never leave on her own. Would she? Or had someone kidnapped her? He was starting to feel scared.

"Come on," Harry said, tossing Owen his car keys. "We're going to find her." Owen didn't argue. Obviously his father had been drinking and couldn't drive. He didn't have his driver's license at all, but he knew how to drive a car. Harry had made sure of that. He drove down the road, hoping his sister was safe.

...

"You got the date," Brixton said when the day was nearing its end. "That's why you're smiling so much."

"It took you long enough to figure that out," Deckard commented, lowering the hoist with the car on it. He'd finished it on time, and the owner was currently paying for the work. Joseph "Joe" Lore had hired Deckard knowing that Deckard could fix a car better than anyone. He didn't have any formal training, but he had lots of experience, especially under Joe's wing. No car left the shop without Joe checking it over, though. It was the rule. Brixton had been apprenticing under his father for years, and Deckard knew there was hope that Brixton would take over the shop one day. Deckard felt bad knowing that Brixton had no intention of doing this.

"When?" Brixton asked.

"Tonight."

"Wow. That's quick."

"What can I say? I'm charming," Deckard answered with a smile. He headed over towards the owner and gave her the keys. Then he went to grab his stuff and leave to go home. He was going to shower, eat, and pick up Emily. He had a place in mind where he wanted to take her.

"Good luck," Brixton said. Deckard just waved. He drove home thinking about Emily when he arrived to find his mother ballistic. He got out of the car and rushed over to her.

"Ma?" he asked. "What's going on?"

"Your sister is missing!" Magdalene bawled. "I don't know for how long. We only noticed an hour ago!"

Deckard felt his heart clench in fear. Where would she go? Why would she leave? He noticed finger marks on his mother's arm, and then he realized why his sister had left.

"You two were fighting again, weren't you?" he demanded.

"That's not important..."

"It's why she left!" Deckard shouted. "You know she can't handle your fighting when she's alone!"

"Just find her!" Magdalene shouted back. Deckard spun on his heel and got back into his car. He was thinking hard. Where would his sister go? In his panic, Emily was forgotten.

...

Emily wasn't sure why she'd agreed to go on this date. She'd just broken up with Dustin, and now she was going out with a guy known for getting into fights. She didn't tell Rusty. Her brother wouldn't exactly approve. She fixed herself up in the mirror and stared at her reflection. He'd known the color of her eyes. Dustin hadn't even known. Her own friend hadn't known! It made her realize that Deckard had noticed her, had taken the time to remember these details about her. Well, he hadn't been the only one.

She saw his hazel eyes every time she closed hers.

"Hot date?" Rusty asked, stopping in her doorway. He was on his way to work.

"Sort of," Emily answered.

"Not Dustin again..."

"No! Someone else."

"Oh yea? Who?"

"Just some guy I met at the party a week ago," she answered.

"Do I know him?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, have fun," Rusty said. "And don't do anything I wouldn't do." Emily just gave him a look, and he smiled before disappearing. She could hear her father downstairs watching TV. He hadn't started drinking yet, so she had hope that maybe they'd get a full night's sleep tonight. At 6:50, she went to sit on the front porch to wait.

...

Deckard pulled into the library parking lot and found his sister standing on the steps with the librarian and a police officer. He got out of his car and hurried towards them.

"Hattie!" he shouted.

"Decks!" she cried. She threw herself into his arms. "I'm so sorry!"

"What the hell happened?" he asked, pushing her back to look at her. "You scared us all to death!"

"I came here to just get away, and I got locked in when they closed at three," Hattie answered. "I finally got the attention of someone on the street, and they called the bobbies. The Detective Sergeant was just about to take me home."

"Why did you even leave home on your own?" Deckard demanded. "You know you're not to do that!"

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I just...they were fighting..."

"Shh," Deckard said as the Detective Sergeant came over to them. Neither of them wanted the wrath of Harry for telling the police what went on in their home.

"You're her brother, then?" the Detective Sergeant asked. His name tag said "Morgan."

"Yes," Deckard answered. "Sorry for all this."

"It's okay. What's important is she is safe and sound," D.S. Morgan said with a smile. He looked at Hattie. "Don't run off like that again, all right?"

"I won't," Hattie promised. D.S. Morgan tipped his hat and went back towards his car.

"What did you tell him?" Deckard asked her as they walked to his car.

"That I'd wanted a library book and left home without asking."

"You know Mum is hysterical."

"I can imagine," Hattie sighed.

"You're twelve, Hat," Deckard said. "Something really bad could have happened to you..."

"I know! I said I was sorry," Hattie cut him off. They drove home, and they found Harry waiting for them. Owen was hovering in the background. Hattie appeared to be afraid, and she gripped Deckard's hand tightly.

"Where were you, young lady?" Harry asked, his voice tight.

"The library," Hattie answered. "I was only going to be an hour, but they locked me in by accident..."

"You know better," Harry interrupted. He launched into a tirade of how irresponsible she had been and how terrible she'd behaved. Near the end, Harry beckoned her to come closer.

"No," Hattie said, shaking her head. "I'm twelve. You can't hit me..."

"Get over here right now," Harry ordered. "I won't ask you again."

"Harry," Magdalene tried.

"Hattie," Harry said, ignoring her. "Now."

"You want to hit someone, hit me," Deckard said as Hattie hid behind him. Harry surveyed both of them, and he gave a chuckle.

"All right," he said. "Maybe your sister will realize her actions have consequences for someone besides her."

"Decks," Hattie said, fear in her voice. Deckard detached himself from her and walked over to stand in front of Harry. He braced himself, and it came fast and powerful. Harry's fist landed on his eye, and he went down. Harry hit him again just below the same spot, and Deckard failed to contain his groan of pain. Harry hit him a third time, and Deckard was sure his skull was going to crack from the pressure. He was breathing hard as he sank to the floor, his hands in fists. He could hear Hattie crying.

"That's enough," Magdalene said strongly.

"Weakling," Harry scoffed, shoving Deckard over onto his side with his foot before walking away.

"Go to your room, Hattie," Magdalene said when Hattie moved to help Deckard. "Now."

"Come on, Hat," Owen said, reaching for her hand. Hattie hesitated but knew she was already in hot water and shouldn't push it. She went and took Owen's hand, going up the stairs with him. Deckard could hear Owen calling her a nutter for running off as they went.

"Decks," Magdalene said, kneeling down next to him and putting a hand on his shoulder as he did his best to recover. "You shouldn't have done that."

"I wasn't going to let him hurt her," Deckard said, pushing himself up to his knees.

"I wouldn't have either, but you can't keep taking it for them," Magdalene said. "One of these days, he's going to hurt you to the point you won't recover."

"I'll keep taking it for them as long as I need to," Deckard said, glaring at her now. "At least I'm doing something and not just standing by and watching."

"I'm doing everything I can, Deckard," Magdalene said fiercely. "Trust me. It would be a whole lot worse if I was doing nothing."

He said nothing else, and she got to her feet, leaving him alone on the floor. He noticed the time and felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. It was past eight. Emily would have given up on him now. He stood up, trying to keep his balance. He didn't want to call her. There was no way he'd risk his father hearing that conversation. He'd have to go in tomorrow and talk to her. He just hoped she would let him.

The Next Day

Emily was clattering the dirty dishes a little harder than usual. Thankfully, Holly wasn't there to ask her how the date had gone. Emily had felt ridiculous sitting out on her porch for almost two hours wondering what she had done to deserve getting stood up. Had he just been playing her this whole time? It was just after ten in the morning when he showed up.

"You have some nerve," she said when he approached her. She saw her angry reflection in his aviator sunglasses.

"Emily, I can explain..." he started.

"Explain what? That you stood me up? It's pretty self-explanatory," she said. "I get it. You thought you'd have some fun until something better came along."

"No, that's not it," he tried.

"Then what? What could have possibly happened to make you leave me high and dry like that?" she demanded. He removed his sunglasses, and the black eye and bruise under his eye was significant. She blinked.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Just let me explain..."

"That you chose to get into a fight over taking me on a date?" Emily asked. "I don't want to hear it. I knew better than to agree to this. I know who you are!"

The two people in the diner were trying not to stare, as was the other girl working the far end of the counter. Emily didn't give a crap. She was mad.

"Hey," her boss, Jim, said, sticking his head out around from the back. "Take it outside, huh? You got five minutes."

Emily knew better than to argue or not do what she was told. She moved around the counter and headed outside. Deckard was on her heels.

"It wasn't like that," he insisted as she stormed around to the alley.

"Don't even," she said, holding up her hand. "Just leave me alone, Deckard. Okay? Just go."

"If you would just let me explain," he tried again.

"Explain what?! There's nothing to explain! You went off and got into a fight..."

"It wasn't a fight..."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is there another name for it, then?"

"It wasn't a fight!" Deckard said loudly.

"Then what was it?!" she cried.

"It was my father!" Deckard shouted, making her open and close her mouth wordlessly. She stared at him, processing the words he'd just said.

"I...I don't understand," she said.

"My sister went missing," he told her, breathing hard now. "I found her and brought her home. He wanted to hit her for it, but I wouldn't let him, so I took the hit. Okay? It wasn't a fight. I know I should have called to tell you I had to cancel, but I'd just gotten home to learn Hattie was gone and nothing else mattered in that moment. I'm sorry. It's no excuse. I know you don't want to see me again, but I just felt that I had to at least tell you why I didn't show up last night."

"Deckard," Emily said quietly. "I...I didn't know."

"No one does," he replied. "You're the only person I've ever told. Brixton suspects, but I've never confirmed it with him. Things at my house are complicated, and I don't typically step outside the box, but I really wanted to get to know you, so I made an exception to the rule. You make me feel like things are going to be okay, as stupid as that sounds."

"It's not stupid," she said softly.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I should have never thought this would work. You don't belong in my world. I'm gonna go." He went to move past her when she stopped him.

"Deckard, wait," she said.

"I don't want or need pity," he told her.

"Just...ask me again," she said. She knew where he was coming from with the pity comment.

"Ask you what again?"

"Ask me out again," she clarified.

"No," he said. "You shouldn't be anywhere near someone like me, and I don't want you to think you need to date me because you feel sorry for me."

"My dad drinks too," Emily said, making him give her a surprised look. "And while he hasn't beaten me, he still gets destructive and hurls insults at me because he thinks I'm his wife and not his daughter. I understand complicated, Deckard. And I've never told anyone this stuff either."

He was looking at her now with an expression of surprise and understanding. She could see Jim gesturing at her through the window and knew she had to go.

"So ask me again or don't. It's up to you," she said. "But it's not because of pity or feeling sorry for you. It's because I think we understand each other better than anyone else would." Jim was rapping on the glass now, but she ignored him.

"Would you like to go out with me tonight, Emily?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. "Pick me up at seven."

"I will," he promised. She gave him a smile, and he gave her a crooked smile back. She ached inside at the sight of his black eye and bruise. She never would have guessed that Deckard's father was like that.

"Do you want ice for that?" she asked, gesturing to his face.

"No," he answered. "It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yea."

"Okay. I'll see you later."

"See you then." He bobbed his head slightly at her, and she smiled again. Then she headed back inside, still ignoring Jim's glare as she went back to work. She watched Deckard through the window as he put his sunglasses back on and got into his car to drive away. She felt butterflies in her stomach thinking about seeing him again later.