I'm supposed to be sleep, but I wanted to write this for you all before bed. I was excited. Part 3 coming. :)

Abbie unlocked her studio and held the door open for him. He hesitated, which she understood. She'd be unnerved, too.

"I'm not going to murder you," she said. "If I wanted to, I wouldn't take you here. Relax."

He raised his eyebrow. "If you say so, Miss Abbie. One should always expect the unexpected."

She chuckled. That eyebrow thing was kind of cute. "I do say so. Go."

He stepped inside, glanced around her studio. It was small enough for three or four people. She only put two chairs, a small table, and a 12-by-16 inch canvas in here.

She pulled off her jacket, removed her boots while Crane observed the people on the wall.

"That's my family."

"They are beautiful. These are very nicely done, Abbie."

She stood by him and acknowledged her work. "Thank you."

"They must be your sister and your parents." He extended his hand along the first three. "I see the resemblance."

"Yeah."

He stood in front of Corbin's. "Would you care to explain this portrait? Could he be your grandfather perhaps?"

Abbie laughed. "No. He's more like a father-figure. I painted him last year before he was killed. Finally hung it up."

"My condolences."

She nodded. "Let's get started."

Abbie sat in the chair and organized her art supplies on the table.

Crane removed his suite jacket and got settled himself. "How long does this normally take?"

She sharpened her charcoal pencil. "Not too long. Roughly six hours. If you need to leave, we can finish another day. It's no biggie."

Abbie didn't like to keep people away from their lives. She asked for a lot already and wouldn't keep their time. Those that didn't mind stayed the whole way through. They left stiff and thinking.

He smiled. "My time is all yours."

She nodded. "Thank you. Just let me know though."

"You have my word."

She began to outline his face on her canvas. They sat in silence as she did so. She got the shape of his eyes and eyebrows, his slightly crooked nose, his extended goatee, his shoulder length hair. He interested her. She wanted to ask him all kinds of questions about his life.

It was like that with every person she bought here. Her lips stayed still, however. The only way she'd make conversation is if they wanted to. She wasn't going to force it. It had to come from them. She figured they were already slightly uncomfortable. They needed a minute to warm up to her, to adjust. That was okay.

As she worked on the outline, she glanced at him to make sure he was alright. His fingers twitched.

"You do that a lot?"

"What?"

"Wiggle your fingers?"

He looked down. "More so than I care to admit. It only happens when I am quite nervous or have a pressing question."

"Ask away."

Most of time, her guests kept their questions to themselves. They did ask the basics though: her name, where she lived, why she was doing this, her real job. She expected that much and answered them. It was the least she could do to ease their minds.

"I don't mean to pry into your personal life, Abbie—"

"Crane, what is it?" She was almost done with the first step. The hard part was choosing the right colors and the painting itself.

"How was your partner killed?"

He really was interesting. People saw the canvases on the wall, but they never asked the about them. The most they wanted to know was how she knew them, not about their actual lives.

She sighed. "Well, we were in a situation where the suspect held some people hostage. He wouldn't put the gun down when asked and went out shooting. Unfortunately, one of the people he shot was Corbin."

She's come to terms with his death, had to or else it would've kept interfering with her work. Her boss told her to take two weeks off. Most of it was spent at Corbin's grave. The other half was spent reconnecting with her family.

"Again, my condolences."

"Thank you." She put down her pencil and assembled her palette with the colors she wanted.

"How long did you know him?"

"Since I was about seventeen. I'm adult now, so it's been some years."

How did this become about her? It was never about her. It was always about their lives, how they dealt with things. This was new.

"How did you meet him?"

"My sister, Jenny, and I got into a lot of trouble when we were younger. Mama and dad split, so we did all kinds of shit to block it out. One night, we almost got arrested being stupid as hell, but Corbin let us off the hook. We ended up completing some volunteer hours at the station instead of going to jail for breaking and entering."

Though it still upset her, she was working on her relationship with her parents. It's gotten better. They're all in counseling if that says anything.

"I see."

They got quiet, and she peeked at his fingers. They wiggled again.

"Ask me, Crane."

"Why did your parent separate?"

She breathed and prepared herself for these memories and emotions. This was the last place she expected to go.

"My dad cheated and didn't look back. And my mom just completely checked out afterwards. She became depressed. That left me and Jenny to ourselves. That's when the trouble started. That's when we met Corbin. He helped us. He looked after us, even got our mom some help."

She mixed the colors.

"How did your parents' actions make you feel?"

She didn't know what he did, but leave it up to her to find a damn therapist. She stopped what she was doing, met his eyes, then glanced away. "Abandoned, unloved, angry."

He nodded. "What were your feelings when you lost Corbin?"

"The same. I told him to not go in the building, to try to talk the guy down from outside. He didn't listen to me. He said he could do it, that he'd be okay, that he wouldn't leave me. Next thing I knew…" She put her palette down.

"Please tell me if I am overstepping my boundaries, Abbie."

She sniffed, wiped her eyes. "No, you aren't. That's kind of the point of this. Not to overstep, but to feel everything. Get in tune. Restore."

"Do others question you this much?"

"No. I think the tables have turned. It's my turn now."

"It appears so as though you've been the one providing a safe space for others." He paused. "I want you to know you have a safe space with me, Abbie."

She really would start bawling if she didn't focus on something else. She picked up her palette and began to fill in his face.

"If you say so."

The people she painted weren't this kind to her, this genuine. This wasn't supposed to go this way. Now, she got a bit of what she did to people. If they let her, she questioned them about everything: their fears, their happiness, their loss, their regrets, whatever she could get. She interested in them. Their lives. Wanted them to just be without feeling like she'd judge them. Mostly, she wanted to capture their broken and revived spirit through their portrait. Funnily enough, it seemed like Crane was capturing hers. She didn't mind.

"I do say so."