A/N: Hi, friends! So, upon further reading back and editing this chapter, there is a LOT of mentions of dismemberment in one way or another. Am I ok? Should someone check on me? Should someone call someone for me? Have I really been projecting my concern for myself onto you guys all these years instead of having genuine concern for you?

Of course not. I love you guys and want all the best for you, too. Because you're all lovely. *chu* Anyway, my deeply shattered psyche aside, here. Have this lovely chapter that's been perfectly curated for you and your needs. And definitely not for me and mine to where I subtly put in a niche character from an even more niche webseries that hasn't put out anything since the Q word series at the beginning of the year we don't talk about. K? Love you x

"So…" Seven followed me back into our bedroom. If we had a date tonight, I'll be damned if I don't look cute for it. Granted, I still had a roller rink photoshoot still on me, but it's just that. It's photoshoot material. It's not 'I'm going on a double date with my fiancé and his bodyguard that could probably tear apart a body in three minutes flat, but is too nervous to go out on his own' material. And as cute as I was in pastel makeup and thick eyeliner, I don't think it's going to work for tonight.

"So, what?" I asked, digging through our closet. Let's see…I don't know where we're going. I'd have to ask Vanderwood that. Since we are kind of the ones hijacking his date.

"Who are we going out with tonight?" Seven put his chin on my shoulder, "Or is it just two of us?"

"No," I shook my head, "We're going with Vanderwood."

"Vanderwood?" Seven whined, "Really? That's not a date, MC. That's like us going out with a chaperone. Am I going to have to ask him before holding your hand, too?"

"No," I rolled my eyes, "I'm your chaperone, Seven. Vanderwood has an actual, legit date tonight and we're going for moral support. He's a little nervous about it since he's spent most of his free time saving you from yourself."

"You're not wrong," he agreed, "I am kind of a reckless little scamp sometimes. When I leave my office."

"You're beyond a reckless little scamp," I giggled, "I've heard horror stories from jobs you've had that didn't exactly go well, Seven. You shouldn't leave your office. Not without being wrapped in bubble wrap. The fact that you need Vanderwood in the first place should tell us all we need to know."

"Hold on," Seven let everything process for a second, "Since when does Vanderwood have a lady friend?!"

"Since the RFA party where I had to throw your drunk ass brother over my shoulder and take him home," Vanderwood came in and made himself comfortable on the bed, "Remind me to send Saeran a thank you note for that. And for not throwing up on me. That was a real bonus, too. Because something tells me that would've killed the mood."

"We got engaged that night!" Seven chirped, "I remember…But when did you meet someone?"

"Ever wonder why I took a little longer to get in the car?" Vanderwood pointed out, "I was getting a number."

"Vanderwood, you dog!" Seven squeaked, "What's she like? Do we get to meet her tonight? Is that what this is all about?!"

"Jesus Christ, Seven," Vanderwood held his face in his hands, "I swear, I'm jacking you up with tranquilizers before we leave. Yeah. You'll meet her tonight. But MC, you will be able to keep this one in check, right?"

"Of course," I promised, "I've done it before. I'll do it again."

"That's my girl," Vanderwood managed to smile a bit, "I don't even know if you two are tagging along. All I know is that I have a date with her tonight. I should probably call and ask her."

"Hold on!" Seven got defensive, "What do you mean, MC's your girl? She's my girl, last I checked!"

"Shut up, Seven," Vanderwood snapped, his phone already up to his ear, "Hey…I wanted to ask you a question. Feel free to say no to this, but I was wondering if we could turn tonight into a double date…She's got dark hair, dark eyes, and is an absolute sweetheart. He's a twitchy redhead…I don't think they'd be into it, but you get a gold star for trying. Sorry…They're the same ones that were with me the night we met…I know. It's a shame. I would've been down for it, but alas…I'm sure he would. She seems more of the quiet type, so if you were wanting to take it to behind the grocery store, I'm sure that'd be doable without cops getting involved…So, is it alright if they come along…? Ok. I'll see you soon…"

I'm scared. I worry greatly about the life Vanderwood lives outside this house. But I don't judge, "So? What'd she say?"

"She's in," Vanderwood threw his phone aside, "But she has to move something around. Yeah, we already had this planned, but she said that a group of people she sees semiregularly with likeminded ideals were throwing a potluck tonight and she has to bring guacamole. And she has to handmake it, so…You know how that goes."

"I've never made guacamole in my life."

"Me either," Seven jumped on the other side of our bed, "But that's sweet of her. I wouldn't say no to a good potluck either. We should go to that, too!"

"It's bad enough you're already going on our date," Vanderwood gave Seven a shove, "You're not going to the potluck, too. How much longer is it going to take you to get ready, MC?"

"Not too terribly long," I found something to wear. That was already half the battle. It wasn't anything overly fancy, but it was nice enough to get in anywhere. Nice enough to get in anywhere, but casual enough to where I won't be overdressed. Good for you, MC.

I went into the bathroom and started fixing up my makeup. Damn, Seven. I really am starting to think you used spirit gum instead of lash glue. Because holy hell, these weren't coming off. I'm sure I have something that would take them off somewhere, but I'll leave them for now. That's not hurting anything. Although, I'm thinking I drop the pigtails. As cute as I was with them, I didn't need to be rocking pigtails at dinner. I can pretend to be a grown ass adult for a minute. And then, throw pigtails back in and be cute as shit. Don't look at me like that. It's not my fault my fiancé decided to project some fantasies on me today and that we'll happen to monetize them. It's totally not prostitution. It's…Weirdly more fun that I thought it'd be, but I digress.

When I was good enough, I took one last look of myself in the mirror and did a quick spin. It doesn't matter how much of an adult I am. Every time I'm in a dress and my skirt goes up because I'm spinning around in it, I'm going to have the same reaction every time. It's good for the soul. Let me live, dammit. It did the thing. My dress had pockets in it. I was happy as hell.

"MC!" Seven groaned from the living room, "Are you ready yet?"

The loud smacking sound was very reassuring that nothing was going wrong in this house. Everything was fine. I'm not going to have to take Saeran over my knee and I'm not going to have to tell Seven to keep his mouth shut when Saeran's watching TV. Not at all. I have a wonderful fiancé, a wonderful brother-in-law, and I don't have to be their mother tonight. I took a few deep breaths and walked into the living room to find Seven nursing what I'm assuming was a sudden head wound courtesy of Saeran.

"I'm ready," I pulled Seven to my shoulder, rubbing the back of his head for him. My poor idiot, "Saeran…"

"I didn't do anything!" Saeran automatically jumped on the defensive. I'm not surprised. I should be. But I'm not.

"I didn't say you did anything." Although, he might as well have just confessed right then and there, "But as a general precaution, play nice with your brother."

"Then, tell him to keep his hole shut," Saeran rolled his eyes. Someone took an extra hit from the sarsaparilla bottle today, "Where are you two going?"

"We got a date with Vanderwood tonight," I told him, kissing his cheek, "Don't burn the house down while we're gone?"

"Ha…" Saeran teased, "You guys have to go on a date with Vanderwood…Have fun with that. I'll be here with Cutthroat Kitchen if you need an escape."

"You and that saucy minx Alton Brown," I giggled.

"You think he demands his subs to call him Daddy?" Saeran wondered, "Or do they call him Mr. Brown?"

"Oh, he's definitely telling them to call him Daddy," I drew my line in the sand, "Alton Brown is definitely the Daddy type."

"What?" Seven looked at us both strangely.

"Well, look," Saeran pointed toward the TV, "That guy's trying to work with a damn spreader bar on his arms that Alton Brown was way too comfortable using. There's no way he's not slightly kinky. He's definitely got his subs calling him Daddy. Then, there was that one episode where he was using nylon rope behind a chef's back. There is no way in hell Alton Brown isn't kinky as shit."

"That episode was total bullshit," Vanderwood came in, "Besides, if he wanted a knot that gets tighter as the person struggles to get out of it, you want a constrictor knot. A clove hitch works well in a pinch, too, but you don't just use a regular knot for that. But you have to be careful to not tie it so tight that it cuts off circulation. My god, have some common sense."

As Vanderwood walked out the door, both Saeran and I were completely and utterly dumbfounded. Out of everyone I knew, I didn't expect Vanderwood to be the one into kink. Honestly, I had that slot kind of saved for Jumin, but here nor there. Then, it hit me. Gee, MC. What does Vanderwood do for a living? What do you know about what he's done in the past? Of course, he's going to know about what knots can do what. Although, if he's used that knowledge to his advantage for the sake of kinky shit, who am I to judge?

"Bye, Saeran," I waved behind us, still concerned about the life Vanderwood lived outside these walls, "Love you."

"Love you, too, MC…" Saeran was still that same level of dumbfounded. And I couldn't blame him. But I guarantee he will never watch Cutthroat Kitchen the same.

When we got into the car, both Seven and I got into the backseat of one of Seven's cars and Vanderwood pulled the keys from Seven's hand. I mean…We might as well, right? Like Saeran so kindly pointed out, we were going on a date with Vanderwood. And like Seven said, it's basically like us having a chaperone. Not that I'm complaining. It's Vanderwood. Vanderwood may be technically off the clock, but making sure we stay safe is a twenty-four-hour a day job. And he was more than happy to do it…I think. Me, anyway. Seven might be a different story.

"Listen, Seven…" Before we even left the driveway, Vanderwood got serious. And…If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was preemptively pissed off, "I swear if you screw this up for me…I will make sure everything with your life insurance policy goes smoothly and that MC's taken care of. Do you understand?"

"Got it," Seven's voice went up a couple octaves. And his hand went to mine, "Point taken. I'll do my best. Pinky promise."

"Old school pinky promise?" Vanderwood threatened.

"Old school pinky promise."

"Hold on," I wondered, "What the hell is an old school pinky promise?"

"It's the origin of the pinky promise," Vanderwood backed out of the driveway and started down the road, "In the old days, whenever you made a pinky promise with someone, should that promise go broken, the other person was within all legal rights to cut off the promise breaker's pinky and claim it as their own. So, in this instance, let's just say Seven did something stupid to ruin my chances tonight…Let's see…Like…I don't know. Firecrackers in his pocket decided to go off."

"Dammit, Vanderwood…" Seven sighed out, "Those were supposed to be a surprise…"

"Do you actually have firecrackers in your pocket, you little shit?!"

"No…" Seven turned his pockets inside out. His phone and his wallet, but that was it, "No firecrackers in my pocket."

"MC?"

"He's clean," I assured him.

"So, for the sake of example," Vanderwood went on, breathing a little easier, "Let's say you lied to me, MC, and Seven does have firecrackers in his pockets. If one were to go off in the middle of the restaurant and possibly hurt her or me in any way, shape, or form, I'd be legally entitled to Seven's pinky. And I hope he'd know I'd be using it as a hood ornament…Or hang it from my rearview mirror. I haven't decided that yet."

"I love you, too, Vanderwood," Seven awed, "Personally, I'd have it put in a snow globe. Instead of glitter floating around in there every time you'd shake it, it'd be my pinky! That sounds morbidly cool…But that's just me."

"Seven…" I put my head on his shoulder, "We really do need to have you tested, don't we?"

"I've already been tested," Seven kissed my forehead, "You don't have anything to worry about. I'll be a good boy. I promise. Besides, how will I ever be able to play piano again if I don't have a pinky?"

"You don't play piano, Seven."

"Oh, yeah…" he let it go, "But what if I wanted to learn?"

"You're too twitchy to learn piano, Seven," Vanderwood chimed in, pulling up to a nondescript apartment building. Huh…I would've thought that'd take longer, "I'd pray for your piano teacher. You don't have that kind of patience."

"You'd be amazed!"

Sure enough, the faint figure of a woman stood in the darkness, only for her to get into the car, "Alright…First of all, I'm obligated to ask you if you're a cop before we discuss my rates and my limits."

"Hi, Bridget," Vanderwood smiled a bit, "Seven, MC, Bridget. Bridget, Seven and MC."

"Hi, Vanderwood," she might have been happy to see him, too. This one's kind of a hard read. But then, she looked in the backseat, "Oh…You two. Now, it makes sense. Although, I'm not surprised she'd be the quiet one. Do you not have any other friends?"

"I don't do friends."

"He barely even does me!" Seven chimed in…Only to realize he's definitely going to be short a pinky by the end of the night. He quickly bit his tongue, "That came out wrong. I'm sorry."

"Hold on," she thought it over for a moment or two, "Are you trying to tell me that you have an annoying little red head that you want dead more than anything, but you'd definitely kill someone for them all the same?"

"Worse," Vanderwood told her, "There's two of them. They're twins."

"Mine comes with her annoying best friend…" Bridget's bitter tone took a soft turn, "And an unhealthy TV addiction. But who am I to judge?"

"Can we just get a hotel for tonight?" Vanderwood asked, "We'll leave these two somewhere and just…Get a hotel for the night."

"I'm hungry, Vanderwood."

"Alright," Vanderwood let it go, "But…Afterward?"

"We'll see."

"So," I stepped in before this got weird, "Dinner?"

"Dinner!" Seven agreed. I wasn't quite sure what to make of Bridget. She seemed…Alright…I think. A little…She's an odd one. I'd love to know the context of her conversation with Vanderwood from the phone, but maybe I'm better off not knowing. I still hope she's got the number for a good therapist.