(A/N: Hope y'all had a good x-mas! It's good to be back! On w/ the story then.)

Mort looked over when he noticed Marissa hadn't spoken in a while and saw that she'd fallen asleep on the sofa. He smirked and glanced back at the TV screen, deciding he might as well find out how the Powerpuff girls were going to save the day. There was a soft knocking at the door and he turned, wondering who on earth would visit him besides the sheriff.

Shrugging, he walked over to the door and opened it, not surprised to find Juliet there. "Sorry," she said softly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything..."

"No," he said, surprisingly calm. "I was just watching a... scary show." Juliet nodded and held up a bag.

"I got some Barbie dolls and clothes for Marissa," she said, handing him the bag. "I ran into Chris at the gas station and he told me about her." Mort glanced at her, seeming worried.

"Chris just told you?" he asked.

"I told him not to tell anyone else for you so don't worry." He looked at her suspiciously.

"And what about social services? Thought you were going to get them involved?" Juliet looked down and shook her head.

"She seems so happy around you," she muttered. "Figured after loosing her family she's basically been through enough." She nodded and he nodded, knowing he wouldn't be able to find a reason to get angry with her. "Listen, I had you all wrong. Sorry. Just wanted you to know that I don't think a murderer could be that friendly and loving to a little girl."

He knew it was meant to be a complement and he accepted it, giving a small smirk. "Thanks," he said softly. "And thanks for the stuff," he added, holding up the bag.

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "Look, I gotta go now, so, bye."

"Yeah, bye." She nodded and left, driving away and leaving Mort to go through the bag and see what all she had gotten Marissa.

(One hour later...)

"Wow! Cool!"

Mort looked up from the stove and smirked. He was making tomatoe soup and grilled cheese sandwiches when Marrissa had woken up and walked into her bedroom. He waited patiently and soon heard the sounds of eager footsteps running towards him. Marrissa was holding a box with a Barbie in it in one hand, and a box with a different one in the other.

"Look what I found on my bed!" Mort pretended to be surprised.

"Wow!" he said with a smile. "Where'd you get that?"

"I found them on my bed! Did you put them there?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I don't know where they came from."

"Maybe... maybe Mr. Jibby put them there!"

He shrugged. "Maybe. I think you'd better go say thankyou." Marissa smilled and ran off to her room and Mort soon heard a very loud, "Thank you, Mr. Jibby!!!"

He laughed to himself, knowing she'd figure out the truth eventually, but for now he might as well let her think it was magic.

"Mort! He gave me a hat too!"

Mort looked up and made a face. Hat? He didn't recall seeing a hat in the bag Juliet gave him. "It's too big," said Marissa as she walked into the kitchen with the hat on her head. Mort sucked in his breath and took a step back. It wasn't her hat. It was Shooter's.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked, unable to sound calm. Marissa looked up nervously and pointed to her bedroom.

"It was on my bed with the Barbies," she said innocently. Mort reached out his hand.

"That's my hat," he said, now sounding a little more calm. "Just give it to me, please." She did, watching him with unsure eyes, and he set it down on the counter. "There," he said, turning back to her and smiling. "Do me a favor and never touch that hat again, okay? It's sort of special to me and I don't want it getting ruined."

"Okay," said Marissa.

"Well, er... go on and play. I'll call you when dinner's ready." She nodded and went back to her room, giving him a weird look before she left.

Mort closed his eyes and held the hat in his hands, fingers enclosing around it tightly with anger. He didn't remember putting it there which could have only meant one thing...

"Shooter," he called softly. "We need to talk..." There was silence, then footsteps behind him. He turned, and standing there was John Shooter in the flesh.

"What can I do yeh for, pilgrim?" he asked. Mort sneered at him and held up the hat.

"You think this is funny? It's sick. You're sick, and I told you to leave the girl alone!" He was being very deffensive, and Shooter merely grinned.

"My, my, my, how the soccer mom gets deffensive," he mocked. "Afraid you might walk in her room one day and find her hanging from the wall with a screwdriver through that young neck of hers?" Mort felt his stomach do a barrel roll.

"You sick bastard!" he shouted. "Leave Marissa alone! She hasn't done anything! Just go away! Leave me alone!"

"The only way I can leave that girlie of yours is if you get her away from yourself. But you're not going to do that, are you?" He gritted his teeth.

"You said you wouldn't do anything to her unless she presented a reason," he retorted. "Other than annoying the hell out of me with her cartoons, what has she done? Well?"

"Mr. Rainey, if I killed her now, it'd be a mercy killing, do you understand me? You still think she's safe with you. I've met drunks that were brighter than you, sir. If only you knew the torment you're capable of putting that girl through. And you never know how much a little girl like herself can endure before she dies in your arms..."

"Go!" shouted Mort. "Get out of my house! Leave us alone!"

"First, let me just warn you. If that girl isn't out of your house by this time next week, I will put her through a living hell, and you won't be able to stop it. You can only watch. Do you understand me?" He disappeared before Mort could do anything, and Mort was left standing there, Shooter's hat in his hands and images in his head of what might happen.

Mort lay wide awake in bed for hours, only thinking of one thing, Marissa. What did Shooter have in mind with her? He could only see her innocent face in his head and he didn't want to see it hurting. He didn't want to be the one to hurt her. She wouldn't know it wasn't him, she'd never understand.

"Moooort," came a whine. Mort had been so busy thinking that he hadn't heard Marissa step into his room, sniffling and brushing tears from her face. He sat up and looked at her in concern.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Her bottom lip was sticking out, her hair was a mess, and her cheeks were red with tear stains.

"I had a bad dream," she whimpered. Mort extended his arms to her.

"Come up here," he said softly, and she ran to him and jumped onto the bed and into his arms. "Want to tell me about it?" he asked.

"No," she sniffled.

"It'll help."

"No. I'm just scared."

"Okay," he whispered and wrapped his arms around her, rocking her back and forth.

"Can I sleep in here?"

"Of coarse," he said softly. "Will that help?"

"Yes," she sniffled, and he laid down on his back, Marissa laying on his chest, a doll clutched in bend of her arm. He put and arm around her, and used his free hand to pull the blankets up and keep them warm. Marissa was soon asleep in his arms and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on her breathing, rather than Shooter's warning.

(A/N: How's that? My mind is still a little drained. Yesterday, I watched all three LOTR movies, one after the other. The extended versions! It took like, 11 and a half hours! Mom's idea. I love TV, and I can sit still for about an hour and a half at the most, but after two you're ready to run laps around the house or something! Sheesh! Oh well. They're still the best movies in the universe. Second best are the Tim Burton films, followed by the Gore Verbinski films (The Ring, Pirates of the Caribbean...). So, R&R! Bye!

-Smeagol's (No, I never did hit the old man with glasses! I hit him with a baseball bat.) girl.)