*comes back marching in with a bachelor's degree* hello! i still live and like always i suck at being an adult and a writer at the same time. but what else is new? at least it was only a 7 months wait and not a whole year! i got my bachelor's and am starting my master's program in july so i still might ghost. but i'm here now with another chapter! honestly, i read The Boardwalk by sugarless here on Ao3 and it really inspired me to write so check that out. also, i changed the title because i picked it originally when i wasn't sure where the story would go. history will hate us feels much like the Killer Bass gang, which is awesome, but the focus of the story is duncan and courtney, which i think this new title reflects. welcome to the chapter! enjoy!


The phone rang again. The third time so far. Once again breaking the building silence. Duncan had let it go unanswered twice already. He didn't move to answer it–couldn't move to answer it. Quite frankly, he wasn't worried about it. Duncan had more important things to worry about. He was frozen, staring at where Courtney had disappeared into her room. He couldn't look away from the door, as if staring at it would somehow will it to open–will her to open it. He wanted to go after her, to ignore the persistent calling of what could only be his crew. He wanted nothing more than to knock on the door and ask–beg–her to let him in. Duncan never begged. Everything in him wanted to go back in time just a few minutes and keep her from running off. Or better yet turn off his phone. He wanted to walk through that door and try to get back into the moment they were having, maybe even have a new moment, a better moment. He could dream, but even he knew he couldn't open that door or get her to open that door. Courtney had shut and locked that door, both to him physically and to the moment that was so rudely interrupted. She was probably already thinking herself into denial.

There Duncan was right back at square one. Stuck with Courtney denying that she enjoyed his presence.

The phone rang a fourth time, as if to remind him that the interruption still hadn't been dealt with. He still had responsibility to deal with and based on the decreasing time between calls, he bet that his crew was ready to send out their own search party. He reached for his phone, taking one last look at the door before focusing his frustration on his phone.

"What?" Duncan snapped through the phone, doing nothing to hide the anger in his voice. It wasn't the first time his crew had to deal with outbursts from him. They were used to it by now. Besides, the mess ups his crew made were the entire reason he even had to show up at Courtney's apartment, not that he regretted that decision. More often than not, Duncan thought about excuses and reasons he could fabricate in order to see Courtney.

"Duncan, dude, finally! We were starting to get worried! No one had heard from you," Geoff spoke through the phone, obviously relieved to be hearing from Duncan. At the sound of his friend's worry, all of the anger dissipated from Duncan. His crew, his friends, were worried about him. Why wouldn't they be? The last they had heard from Duncan, he was drawing police away from them so they could get away. It had been hours since he had last checked in. Hell, the sun has set since they last heard from him. They probably thought he was killed in action, or worse, arrested. It wasn't their fault they had interrupted his moment with Courtney. Even in their wildest of dreams, Duncan doubted they would think he was with the woman who had saved his life, the woman he had become completely infatuated with. His crew didn't deserve his wrath. At least not for this. Screwing up the heist, yes, they completely deserved it. Still, Geoff didn't deserve any of that blame.

Duncan ran a hand through his mohawk. Never before in his criminal career, in his time as the Kingpin of the Killer Bass, had Duncan failed to check in with his team after splitting up. Hell, he would probably chew out anyone in his team who failed to check in with their safety and whereabouts. Courtney was really starting to become a distraction for him, affecting his judgment.

"Hey man, sorry I didn't call," Duncan apologized, standing up to pace the room. The room swayed slightly as Duncan leaned on the armrest of the couch to keep from falling over. The muscles in his side stretched uncomfortably, but he was able to keep from wincing in pain. Nothing about his wound was anywhere near as painful as the last–and first–time he had ended up in Courtney's apartment. He grabbed his side for a second, breathing out any sign of pain before Geoff could take notice. "I guess I just got side tracked." At this, Duncan glanced once again at Courtney's room. In the quiet of the apartment, he could hear the splashing of her sink. It took everything in him to will his feet to stay where he was, to keep from walking up to her door.

"No worries, dude. You're the boss man, we just wanted to make sure you were okay. You are good, right?" Geoff questioned, "You got away okay?"

Duncan carefully moved his way from the living room towards the kitchen, his lightheadedness still present. Luckily, the pepper spray Courtney had attacked him with earlier was no longer hanging in the air. He opened cabinets at random, looking for nothing in particular, but noting everything. Naughty girl, Duncan thought to himself as he examined the cabinet full entirely of alcohol bottles. Wines, Fireball, vodka, tequila, mixers, practically enough to run a small speakeasy.

"I'm fine, just hiding out from the cops. They're still on high alert out there," Duncan said, closing the cabinet and leaning against the counter. His fingers ran delicately along the makeshift stitches on his side. He was fine. A little grazed and rocking a new scar, but completely fine. He had been in much worse shape before and in much worse conditions.

He could still feel the warmth of her touch on his side. His entire body buzzed from where she had touched him. Something about Courtney's touch always left him buzzing, like she had electricity coming from her fingertips. Even days after, Duncan would still feel the memory and electricity of her touch.

Currently, his legs were buzzing from where he had pressed against Courtney earlier in the attempt to keep her from stabbing him. At the time, he hadn't gotten to enjoy the contact with her so adamantly trying to kill him. Even now he could feel the ghost of her still pressed up against him. His side buzzed from where she laid her hands while stitching him back together. Despite the attitude she held towards him, she was always very delicate when touching him. She hadn't wanted to hurt him. She placed her hands on his side like he was something fragile. What a rare thought. Duncan, the Delinquent, the Kingpin of the Killer Bass, leader of the most notoriois gang, criminal, murderer, fragile, something to be treated as precious.

Mostly, his hands buzzed. Better yet, his hands ached, longing to touch her again, even for just a moment. He could still feel the warmth of her cheek, the softness of her hair on his fingertips. He wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through her hair. He wanted to hold her face in his hands, hold her close.

"Duncan?" The sound of his name snapped him back to reality, away from his thoughts of Courtney.

"What's up?"

"Are you sure you're okay? You've been a bit…off today," Geoff said before dropping his voice to a whisper, "You've really got Bridge worried, man. Like completely worked up and paranoid that something happened to you. Like conspiracy shit. She's really starting to freak me out, dude, and everyone else too. She's been going around questioning people and giving orders like she's head of operations or something."

"She is in charge whenever I'm not around to give orders," Duncan reminded him, pushing off the counter and heading back to the living room. Bridgette was sweet and good natured, but she was also a hard ass. She was capable of being very stern and serious, when she wanted to be at least. She could hang with the guys and stand up to anyone, just like any other member of his gang. She could throw a punch if need be, she just preferred peaceful deescalation. She was no Delinquent, but she had great leadership qualities. More importantly, Duncan trusted her. He trusted her to make the decisions he would make, to make the right calls.

She was a great pseudo leader, always thinking everything through and confident in her opinions and decisions, which was why she was Duncan's second in command. Technically, Geoff and Bridgette shared the position. They were both considered his second in command since he couldn't choose between the two when the Bass were first starting out. They shared an equal level of power and leadership. As time went on, Duncan had grown more confident in his decisions to appoint both of them. It all worked out since Geoff and Bridgette were a package deal. Where one went, the other tended to follow. They also had different strengths. Geoff was the muscle. He was capable of being the badass, of doing the dirtier, grittier parts of the job, but he lacked the vision. He lacked the ideas and cunning. Bridgette, on the other hand, was the brains. She always was capable of coming up with a plan. She thought things through from every possible angle. She thought with both logic and emotion. However, she lacked what Geoff had. She doesn't want to hurt people. Bridgette always followed orders, but sometimes she did not want to do what needed to be done.

If anything were to ever happen to Duncan, Geoff and Bridgette would be the new leaders of the Bass. Alone, he wouldn't trust either of them to fully take over the responsibility of being him. Together though? Together, they were a power couple. Together, they could take over the Bass, keep the crime syndicate–the legacy–that Duncan had created alive.

"I know that, but she's getting seriously scary. She's been yelling at Harold to try to find some sign of you, like over his shoulder constantly waiting. She must have taken over your personality briefly because she yelled at anyone and everyone who was involved in screwing up the plan today. Duncan, she even yelled at DJ. The getaway car wasn't even his fault. She's been interrogating people about you. Like asking how they thought you seemed today, if anything had happened before we left. She's trying to connect some puzzle pieces about why you seemed so off your game today. I'm telling you Duncan, she's going straight to a tin foil hat. She keeps saying you've never been so off your game before, that something has to be wrong. I've never been so afraid of her," Geoff whispered as Duncan sighed to himself. He loved Bridgette, he did. She was his best friend. She knew more about Duncan than most people ever will. She was his most trusted advisor and his only real confidant. However, Bridgette was too perceptive for her own good. She knew him too well. It was hard hiding shit from her, she always seemed to know when something was going on.

From the way Geoff whispered in fear, Duncan figured Bridgette was somewhere in the background pacing around and Geoff did not want her to hear what he was saying about her. This was confirmed when Duncan could hear her yelling in the background, faint but nearby. The phone rustled at the sound of Bridgette yelling Geoff's name. Geoff must have almost dropped his phone in fear.

"Is that Duncan? Did you get a hold of him?" She was getting closer, becoming clearer for Duncan to hear.

"Yeah. He's totally fine, babe. Just like I told you he would be," Geoff told her, no longer speaking into the mouthpiece. Bridgette must have wanted to hear it from Duncan himself as they started arguing. Loud rustling filled the line, assumingly because Bridgette was trying to grab the phone from Geoff and he was resisting. Duncan pulled the phone from his ear, waiting for their argument to end. His head was already starting to feel like it was splitting open, he really did not need the extra of them arguing.

Duncan paced the room once again, waiting for his friends to get it together. He stopped at the bar stools where he had previously thrown his jacket. On the ground laid his mask, staring back up at him. It must have fallen out of his pocket. Duncan had a complicated relationship with his mask. He had been the one to design his mask and he had been the one to make it. Even now, with so many people in his crew, with so many different skills, he was the one who repaired his mask if it needed it. He was the one who duplicated it whenever it had taken too much damage for repair. Duncan liked the process, he liked feeling connected to his roots, to where he began. Better yet, it gave him something to do. He enjoyed working with his hands.

Even though Duncan enjoyed the process of making the mask, he no longer felt the thrill of looking at the mask. Instead he felt a sort of fear, fear of himself and the power he held. The mask of the Delinquent had taken on a life of its own. Duncan was the Delinquent, but some days he felt like a completely different person than the mask. The mask had its own persona, its own fable, its own legend. Putting on the mask made Duncan feel like a completely different person. Back in the beginning, back when the Bass just started, the mask was simply a way of hiding his identity and striking fear into the hearts of his enemies. As time went on, it morphed into something else, into a symbol. Now, the mask gave him permission to be a monster, to be somebody else completely. Somebody ruthless, merciless, cold. Even his crew noticed a difference. His crew feared him when he was wearing the mask. They knew he was not someone to be constantly afraid of for no good reason, but if he put on that mask, they were afraid.

Duncan wasn't sure he enjoyed the feeling. Lately, his mask had made him feel like a monster. He feared the Delinquent was the absolute worst parts of himself coming out from the depths of hell. Duncan knew he was a bad guy, there was no doubting that, but he had never thought of himself as ruthless, merciless, cold, an irredeemable monster. He knew he could be ruthless to his enemies, but he didn't enjoy hurting innocent people. In some way shape or form, Duncan had a reason for every person he hurt. He knew he was capable of mercy and was capable of being a genuinely warm person to be around. A small part of Duncan always thought he was redeemable. That no matter how far he went that he could find a way to somehow to redeem himself. At the end of the day, he was mortal, human, and he thought he had a chance of turning it around like everyone else. But now? Now he feared there were no redeemable qualities in the Delinquent. No, he knew there were no redeemable qualities in the Delinquent. But the Delinquent was just a persona, a means to an end, a part he played. Except now it was getting harder to tell where his persona ended and he started. It wasn't always like this. In the beginning, he was just as much himself in or out of the mask. But now, they ran together, overlapping. Was he truly as monstrous as his persona? Duncan always thought he was capable of doing good things, but maybe he wasn't if the Delinquent was truly becoming who he was.

His mask staring up at him was like looking into the eyes of a monster. Duncan briefly wondered if Courtney saw him as a monster. If she was afraid of him. She didn't act afraid of him. Snarky, annoyed, and irritated, yes, but not afraid. Duncan knew Courtney tried to see the human qualities in everyone.. It wasn't even to make them seem like better people, just to make them seem human, on the same level as everyone else, beatable. Everyone else looked at the large shadows, feared it. Courtney looked for the thing casting the shadow, proving every time that it was just a small creature casting a scary shadow. They weren't as tough and large as they acted. Maybe she saw the difference between himself and his persona, the reality that the Delinquent was just a persona, not who he truly was in his bones. Maybe she saw him as human and the Delinquent as a grandiose act put on by him. But Duncan wasn't sure the Delinquent was an act. It used to be. He used to exaggerate, embellish everything about the Delinquent, but he didn't find himself doing that anymore. He found himself falling into a rhythm, falling into a niche of behaviors he didn't want to have.

Courtney had never seen Duncan in the Delinquent mask, had never seen him at his absolute worst. A part of him feared it would change the way she looked at him. Change the idea she had of him. He knew she was aware he was a bad person, but maybe a part of her saw passed that, saw something good in him. Maybe she was the only one who saw pass it all, who saw him for who he really was, who even he was unsure he was.

Seeing him as the Delinquent would extinguish any chance of Courtney knowing the real him, who he was in his heart and bones.

Duncan leaned over and picked up the mask, ignoring the paranoia that overtook him when his vision blurred once touching it. He lifted his mask off the ground, placing it under his jacket. He didn't want to look at it anymore than he had to. Plus, it was always important to hide his mask in any place, but the Bass hideout.

"Hey, are you okay?" Bridgette finally questioned into the phone, confirming that she had won the battle against Geoff. Duncan once again pressed the phone to his ear.

"I'm fine, Bridgette. Nothing but a graze wound, and I have already gotten it bandaged up," Duncan said, trying to calm her, "Speaking of, is everyone else there good? How's the new guy who got hit?"

"Ezekiel? Stupid, useless, but going to live, just like everyone else," Bridgette answered in the most annoyed voice he'd ever heard from her. Ezekiel was the newest hire, so new he had yet to even be given a Killer Bass pin. He was young and completely inexperienced, but Duncan was desperate for new recruits and even more desperate for fresh blood. Killer Bass operations were always expanding and they were always needing more help. You don't get to be the greatest gang in the city by staying stagnant, doing the same old shit. Duncan was always looking and branching out into new business opportunities, as he liked to call them. However, being the greatest, most dangerous gang in the city had one fatal flaw.

Duncan had a lot of enemies and even more deceivers, pretending to be an ally, who'd be willing to backstab him at the drop of a hat if it meant a gain for them.

With that, Duncan had to be careful of who he recruited, especially those with previous experience in the crime world. Everyone had their loyalties and Duncan didn't want to risk a betrayal, an inside man. There were plenty of people who wanted to destroy him and the Bass from the inside out. That's why he was so adamant on fresh blood. They were a clean slate. No loyalties and buildable, malleable. Duncan could train them exactly how he needed them. He could build what he envisioned as the perfect team for the Bass. They didn't have to waste time unlearning bad habits. They were just a sponge for the way the Bass were trained.

"Where are you?" Bridgette inquired, eager to confirm Duncan's safety in person and get done being in charge. It was exhausting.

"I'm safe, just hiding out. Which you would've known if you listened to Geoff," Duncan said, mumbling the last part.

"I wouldn't have to listen to Geoff if you would've just called sooner," Bridgette said, "What safe house are you at? We'll come pick you up." Duncan glanced around Courtney's apartment at the question. Definitely not a safe house. The safe houses the Bass used were much more minimal than Courtney's apartment. It was lucky if the safe house even had furniture and running water. Duncan truly needed to put more effort into their safe house "budget".

Courtney's apartment was clean, polished even, and organized, but even with that she had a lot of shit. Her living room was lined with bookshelves, all full of books and other decorative knick knacks. Medical books, law books, poetry, classical literature, anything you could think a well educated, goody two shoes would stereotypically own.

Duncan would much rather be here than at some safe house. Though he would be willing to bet he'd go anywhere if Courtney tagged along.

"I'm not at a safe house."

"Then where are you? You can't really be safe and not at a safe house." Duncan still hadn't mentioned Courtney to his crew, to anyone actually. Duncan had never spoken her name to another living soul. He rarely even spoke her name to her, instead calling her an abundance of nicknames, including the one he gave her the night he met her. Princess. Sometimes in the middle of the night as he stared up at his ceiling unable to sleep and unable to keep her off his mind, he whispered her name to himself, as if saying it aloud kept her real. She was his dirty, little secret.

Duncan didn't hide much from the Killer Bass, or even have to hide much. Anything he ever kept from them was simply out of personal convenience, not some grand secret. It wasn't like they could voice their opinion on his personal life. He was the boss after all. Any opinions they had about his decisions were kept amongst themselves. Everyone minded their own business. Well, everyone but three. Bridgette, Geoff, and DJ were his highest ranked, but, more importantly, they were his closest friends. His only friends. And like all friends, they didn't know when to shut up. They were always voicing their opinions, both on his personal life and business.

Duncan knew he was very much tempting fate every time he saw Courtney. All it would take is one wrong annoyance, pushing the wrong button of hers, and she could turn him in. Sure it would put her and her career at risk, but Duncan knew Courtney was cut throat and conniving enough to figure something out. To save herself at all costs.

Duncan knew his friends would see the same issue. She was a lawyer for god's sake. An ADA. Her entire office was hell bent on putting him away for life. Duncan would never hear the end of all the risks from his friends if he told them about Courtney.

Besides, Duncan kind of liked having Courtney to himself. Everything between them was a secret. It wasn't like Courtney could–or better yet, would–tell anyone about her time with the Delinquent–no, him, with him. That was another factor. Being around Courtney was all for him. It wasn't about his crew or being the leader of the Killer Bass. It was all Duncan–not the Delinquent. In the beginning, Duncan just had a morbid curiosity about her. He wanted to know more about the woman who, despite knowing exactly who he was, saved his life. She seemed like an adequate way to fill his time. But the more he talked to her, the more he saw her, thought about her, the more it changed. It wasn't just curiosity anymore. It felt like more. Duncan couldn't remember the last time he had something so personal to him. He didn't know when it happened, but his life had become all about being the Delinquent. There was no longer a quest for happiness outside of the world of the Killer Bass.

For so long, Duncan felt like the Delinquent was taking over his life, taking over who he was. However, the moments he spent with Courtney left him feeling like his best self. The few times he had been with Courtney made him feel like a separate person from the Delinquent again. The Delinquent was a persona, a mask to the real world. Duncan couldn't remember the last time he got to take off the mask and just be Duncan.

"I improvised," he told her, not technically a lie, but even then he had hammered in the last nail of his coffin. He wasn't going to mention Courtney. "Look, Bridgette, you don't have to worry about me. I'm just hanging low until the heat dies down. I'll head back to headquarters when I can. Get back to business as usual." Duncan could hear it through the phone how badly she wanted to argue. She wanted to bicker back and forth, question him on his whereabouts, figure out what was going on with him. But she didn't. Bridgette always listened to orders and these were orders. A fancy way of saying butt out. She let out a sigh and told him to be safe before hanging up.

Duncan collapsed back down on Courtney's couch and stared up at the ceiling. It had been an ungodly long day and Duncan was completely exhausted. His head was also pounding. Between the heist and the shootout and the getaway and the almost getting killed by Courtney and the hiding stuff from his team and the almost kissing Courtney and the hallucinating Courtney. Yeah, it had been way too long of a day and he was starting to feel like utter shit.

"Why couldn't I have just become an accountant like a normal person?" he groaned to himself, rubbing at his eyes.


Courtney splashed some cold water on her face, finally—hopefully—calming her racing heart. Sure it had taken a few cold splashes and one good slap to the face to succeed, but she did it. Courtney Veras was no failure.

She looked herself over in the mirror, no longer seeing the features of extensional crisis on her face. Instead she steeled herself, making sure no evidence of Duncan's…effect on her was showing. She tucked her hair behind her ears before practicing a smile in the mirror. A smile she was hoping would say that she was fine. Nothing about Duncan had flustered her, nor did he make her heart race as if it was going to beat out of her chest. She raced off to her room to wash the ick of Duncan off her hands. Her cheeks were red from slapping herself, not because he had caused any sort of emotion in her. Everything was totally normal.

She practiced her eye roll and quick dismissals, her glares and scoffs. Only in Duncan's dreams would there ever be something going on between them, chemistry, a moment. He was simply starting to believe his own grandiose ideas. There was no almost between them, no crossing the line. Nothing even close to it. It wasn't like she could still feel his breath inches from her face and it definitely wasn't like she wanted that warmth any closer to her or her lips. The ghost of his fingers trailing ever so slightly across her cheek didn't make goosebumps form across her skin. There was nothing about Duncan and his blue eyes and green hair that made her want to be anywhere near him. Nothing about the tattoos littering his skin and the curve of his smirks made her feel anything resembling attraction to him. She would scoff and claim she hated Duncan and his nuisance of a presence—not a total lie—and all would be right in the world again.

Once she was satisfied, certain her face gave away no trace of what she was actually feeling, she turned on her heel and made her way out of her bathroom, back into her bedroom. She was going to march back out there—in her home—and act as if nothing had happened. Because nothing did happen, she reminded herself, Besides, there's nothing wrong with lying to the king of liars and criminals. Especially when it wasn't even a lie. She reached out to the doorknob, but paused, the impending and sinking feeling of dread finding itself back in the pit of her stomach.

Why was she making such a big deal out of nothing? Why was she rehearsing her every expression if everything was totally fine? What was there to make a big deal out of? A moment in which no one spoke and every thought and feeling was internal? Exactly, there was nothing to deal with. It was an almost, which was nothing. Maybe he had almost kissed her, but he was making the move and she stopped the moment before it could even happen. And that was that. Nothing happened.

That was the thing with almosts. They were always nothing, wishful thinking and daydreaming. Almosts were the path untaken, the words left unsaid, moments of tension left hanging in the air unresolved. There was nothing to face with almosts because there was no reality to them, no substance. Despite what he might believe, Duncan couldn't read her mind. Duncan would never be able to prove that she had felt the almost too, the tension in the air. Other than his own inflated ego, he couldn't know that she wanted him to kiss her, that for a split second before that phone rang, she was ready to chance it all, throw it all to the wind just for even a moment of his lips on hers.

The moment was an almost with no turn down the path of Duncan retiring from the Bass, from living in the gang life to a normal and happy life far away from the overtaken city. There was no chance of a normal life, a normal romance. There were no futures of white picket fences, children running in the front yard, mini vans, and soccer games. There was no turn to a more likely reality of Duncan staying in the life and Courtney losing her job, everything, getting kidnapped for ransom, being on the most wanted list, and inevitably dying in Duncan's blaze of glory.

Thank god for almosts.

Courtney was good. She had nothing to worry about. He could never prove anything. Lying to the king of liars. But she wasn't lying. Was she? In a painstaking moment of vulnerability, Courtney let herself wander into the possibility that maybe she was lying. Maybe there was a moment, maybe there is chemistry between them. Nothing romantic of course, Courtney wouldn't let her mind wander that far off. But maybe there was a chemistry there, something just fiery, unpredictable, and hot to say the least. Maybe he had left her heart pounding and maybe she had, in a moment of lustful thinking, wanted the almost to happen, but it didn't.

She would never be able to admit that though. Duncan would take it the completely wrong way. He'd think he was somehow making her fall for him. Courtney knew well enough that Duncan didn't know how to leave things alone, he didn't have the ability programmed within him. Duncan wasn't going to ignore this, he was going to push the issue. Push her buttons. Courtney wasn't sure he knew how to ignore anything, especially something he wanted and he definitely seemed to want her in some way or another. Courtney really wasn't sure in what way or why. Duncan was persistent and annoying.

She was a fool if she thought she could face him after that, as if everything would go back to normal—well at least whatever version of normal could exist with the Delinquent in her apartment, again. He was going to make a big deal out of nothing, gloat as if he had won whatever dangerous game they were playing. Whatever they were playing at, Courtney was certain they would both lose in the end.

She would just have to avoid him until the end of time, move to another city and forget about the Delinquent all together. She didn't mind that option. It's what she had wanted to begin with. Duncan was the one who kept seeking her out and she was the one trying to figuratively and literally push him out the door.

The problem with that option was that he was in her apartment, unwilling and unable to leave. She couldn't keep avoiding him in her own home. She had already spent a good thirty minutes locked in her room.

Staying locked away in her room was not helping her case that everything was perfectly fine. She couldn't keep inflating his ego, letting him think that he had gotten something over on her, caused a crack in the facade of Courtney Veras. With a breath and the tucking back of her shoulders, straightening her spine, she steeled herself to reenter the living room, unable and unwilling to give Duncan such satisfaction.

Courtney opened the door, entering the living room, expecting immediate gloating and mocking by Duncan. Instead, she was met by none of that. There was nothing but silence and Duncan sprawled out on her couch. Duncan had an arm thrown across his eyes, shielding them from the light of the tv he had once again turned on.

He looked like utter shit. Courtney probably would've thought he was dead if it wasn't for his low groaning and knowing she would never be so lucky. She made her way over to him, moving easily around the coffee table, before kicking him once in the leg he had placed on the floor.

"What's your problem?" she questioned, going to kick him again. He shushed her with a hiss, waving his arm lazily at her to swat her away.

"My head feels like it's been split open with an axe and I feel completely drained of energy," Duncan groaned out to her, arm thrown once again across his closed eyes. He looked pitiful and Courtney almost felt bad for him. Almost. "I haven't felt this sick to my stomach since being a kid and binge drinking peppermint schnapps." Just the thought of peppermint schnapps made him want to hurl the entire contents of his stomach. Peppermint schnapps wasn't very good on any given day, but to be a minor and only able to get your hands on whatever was around–peppermint schnapps–was even worse. Much worse than that, to overdrink for the first time and be hungover from the candy cane flavored spirit. Fucking fatality. Duncan let out a genuine gag at the memory as Courtney took a step back in disgust.

"Duncan, I swear to god, if you puke in my apartment, I'm throwing you out of this window," Courtney threatened, pointing to the windows. Duncan didn't doubt it and with how high up her apartment was, he didn't want to chance it.

"Wouldn't dream of it, darling," Duncan said, rolling his head to look at her. He really did look sick. His skin was completely devoid of color, a cold sweat glistening across his forehead in the tv light. His body shook slightly every few seconds like he was cold and Courtney could tell that he was trying his best to control it and make it stop. Despite trying to focus on her, he squeezed his eyes shut repeatedly, the tv light being too much pain for his head.

Courtney had seen Duncan look weak before. The first time she met him, he was completely to the whims of whoever found him. He was lucky it was someone with a conscience and the ability to do the right thing rather than anyone else. Duncan wasn't the type to show weakness. Given how he reacted to being shot and stitched up earlier, she doubted he ever made a big deal out of being hurt. It was a part of the job. He laughed it off like it was just an everyday thing. Maybe it was.

But there Duncan was now, looking at her as if death was upon him. The man could take being shot, but god forbid if he had a migraine and tummy ache. He was so overdramatic. Yet, there Courtney was somehow feeling bad for him again.

She reached out and gave him a tap on the leg resting on the couch, signaling for him to move over. She sat down beside him where his leg previously was as he carefully sat up, refusing the hand Courtney had so graciously offered him. Duncan gripped the fabric of the couch cushions tightly as he breathed deeply in and out a few times. Courtney gave him a warning glare, letting him know her previous threat of throwing him out the window still stood. Duncan leaned forward, putting his head between his knees as he let out another groan of misery as a wave of nausea punched him in the gut once again.

Courtney found herself trying to fight back a smile. She did truly feel sympathy for Duncan. Courtney wasn't going to brush off how he felt just because it was him. Annoying, criminal him. Besides, he genuinely didn't seem to be feeling well at all. However, something about him feeling like shit made her want to giggle. It brought this little warmth of amusement into her chest. Maybe it was joyful karma for all the misery and annoyance he had gifted to her in the short time of knowing him.

Duncan glanced up at Courtney from his position and gave her a scowl. Courtney bit her lip as an even bigger smile tried to make its way onto her face. Something about making Duncan as miserable as her just brought warmth to her heart. "Are you smiling at my pain right now? That's a low blow, even for you."

"I would never," Courtney assured him halfheartedly, a smile still ghosting across her face. He glared at her, though it was gentle and half hearted in return.

"Of course not, you're too good at heart to make fun of a sick man," Duncan said as Courtney rolled her eyes. Such a baby, she thought to herself before reaching out and pressing a hand to his forehead. Despite the sweat that clung to his face, he did not feel warm in the slightest. Honestly, he felt sort of cold.

"When did you start feeling bad?" Courtney questioned, moving to kneel in front of him. Courtney ignored the fluttering in her stomach as Duncan's eyes met hers. With her thumbs, she pulled at the skin under his eyes, allowing her to get a better look at them. Whereas before Duncan's eyes were filled with the most intense teal Courtney had ever experienced, they were now a sliver of a blue ring, completely overtaken by his pupils.

"Are you going to start playing doctor again? Cause you're really not that good at it," Duncan quipped.

"You didn't seem to mind before," Courtney mumbled, still pulling at his eyes as if they were going to change, "Stop being difficult, Duncan. When did you start feeling like this?"

"It started just a bit ago while you were off in your room panicking about your feelings towards me," Duncan told her, trying to pull away from where she was still examining his eyes. Even when feeling completely sick, he still enjoyed trying to get under Courtney's skin. He knew in this instance he had to. Courtney was going to pretend as if nothing had happened between them. She was going to sweep the entire thing under the rug. If Duncan ever wanted to get somewhere more with Courtney, he was going to have to do everything in his power to make sure she couldn't pretend it never happened.

"The only feelings I have towards you are hatred and annoyance. I went to my room to give you, the Delinquent, privacy while you talked to your gang. I'm trying to avoid as much accessory as I can," Courtney spoke with very little argument put behind it. Maybe if she put less energy into arguing with him, he would grow bored of her and walk away. It would be like Duncan to rile her up with false accusations of feelings when he was feeling so poorly. He'd flirt with her on his deathbed.

Duncan opened his mouth to say something smartass back at her, but was cut short when a shiver ran through his whole body once again. Courtney placed a hand on his neck and Duncan could've sworn he stopped breathing in surprise. He watched as she quietly counted his heartbeats to herself. There they were once again playing doctor and patient. If she wasn't so aggressive in her care, Duncan would've sworn she enjoyed it.

"Your pulse is racing," Courtney stated finally and Duncan could've sworn she sounded concerned. Any other time he would jump on the opportunity to tease her, to make some comment about how she really did care about him, but her concern left him with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Her eyebrows knitted together as she reached to press her hand to his forehead again. She made a face of irritation before dropping her hands to either side of his neck. Her palms grazed his skin as she pressed her fingers into his skin, double checking that she counted his pulse right the first time.

"I know we've had our differences, but I'd really appreciate it if you didn't choke me out," Duncan tried to joke as Courtney gave him a glare. Her seriousness about his mystery ailment was really starting to freak him out. Duncan did not like the unexpected and he was never one to show panic and fear. However, if Courtney was concerned, maybe he should be too.

"Shut up," she deadpanned, "You need to concentrate on your breathing and try to get your heart to calm down. It could simply be racing with leftover adrenaline."

"And if it's not adrenaline?"

"Then you're dying," she said sarcastically. Duncan narrowed his eyes at her, though there was no true annoyance behind it. Courtney brushed her thumb along his jaw, indicating for him to take a deep breath.

"My heart rate won't go down if you keep doing that," Duncan informed her as he exhaled the breath he sucked in. Being close to Courtney always seemed to make Duncan's heart beat faster. His heart beated the way it did during a heist. Like a high he didn't want to come down from. Fast and exhilarating. He liked to think he had the same effect on her. In reality, Courtney would probably scoff and say their hearts raced around each other because of all the arguing they did. That woman is in so much denial. Her touch was even worse for his heart rate. His heart pounded in his ears and his skin buzzed with electricity.

"Grow up."

"It's the truth." As if to prove his point, his heart picked up speed as Courtney's thumbs once again trailed along his face as he breathed in.

She could feel the pounding of his heart along his neck, the beating of his heart echoing through her own body. Courtney could feel the way his heart picked up speed, the erratic beating seemingly due to her touch. It wasn't something he could really fake or control, at least not so instantly. Courtney dropped her hands from his neck, settling to look up at him from her place on the floor.

He did look sick. He hadn't felt feverish, just cool and clammy. His heart was racing as if he was running a marathon, with or without her interference. He was shaking like he had a fever, but it was mostly sporadic throughout his whole body. Only his hands were constantly shaking. There was obviously something wrong with him, but Courtney wasn't sure what exactly was wrong with him.

Courtney continued to stare at Duncan, trying to solve some puzzle in her head. Picking up pieces and seeing if they fit together. She knew all those symptoms, she just couldn't string them together into an illness she remembered. A medical mystery, her mother would be proud.

"Princess?" Duncan whispered out, regaining her focus. It was now Courtney's turn to have her heart race. Duncan had called her a handful of nicknames before, most of which she simply brushed off without a second thought. Hell, he called her Princess the first night they met. But the way he whispered it now was something else. This felt different. Every other name had been teasing, a way to annoy her and get under her skin. Now, the way it fell off his lips felt natural. It felt as easy as her name, and it was one that seemed to make her stomach flutter. It wasn't some generic pet name that he'd call any other woman. It was personal. A way to make fun of her uptight behavior, but still personal nonetheless. Yet, he wasn't using it currently to make fun of her. Something about the way he said it, brought shivers to her spine. She resisted the urge to physically shiver as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. This was what she was trying to avoid, Duncan thinking she felt some kind of way towards him. She couldn't let him know. She filed through her own mind, desperate to think of something to get back on topic.

"Are you sure you weren't feeling weird earlier today? Illnesses don't usually drop on you with no sign," Courtney said as Duncan thought through his day before shaking his head no, "Are you sure? No other symptoms? Nothing out of the ordinary? Whatever that is for you." At that Duncan paused.

Bank heists weren't technically an everyday thing, but they weren't super uncommon. He was used to bank heists, it was like riding a bike. A skill he had perfected over time. It felt as natural as breathing but as exhilarating as the first time. However, Duncan had never experienced a heist like this one. Even as a newbie to the underworld he never felt so unfocused, so off his game. Never before had he so carelessly almost screwed up the whole heist. He almost walked directly into the line of sight of the cameras, almost got himself and his friends caught, put in the line of danger just because he thought he saw Courtney in the crowd of bystanders.

Courtney.

Never in his life had Duncan experienced such intense hallucinations. That's what they had to be. Courtney wasn't even near the bank, not even in the same part of the city. Instead, she had been safely tucked away in her apartment, just like he wanted. He didn't want her to be caught in the crossfire. He couldn't protect her if she was just an average civilian going about her day. He couldn't prepare for it, couldn't explain it to his friends. Everything would have gone to shit if she had actually been there. Hell, it almost did and she wasn't even there. At least if she accepted his offer into the Killer Bass, he'd be able to keep her safe.

Duncan had never been so concerned, so willing to throw away his entire plan before. All because he saw her. Or thought he did. That's how real it felt to him. This woman had a hold on him like no other. Duncan had thought maybe the hallucinations were stress induced or insomnia induced. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in a while, but maybe they were a symptom for the way he was feeling now.

"I had some hallucinations earlier today, at least I think they count as hallucinations," Duncan told her, trying to sound as casual as possible. Like it was just like any other thing that had happened today.

"When?" Courtney questioned, surprised at this new information, "What about?" Though it sounded like a symptom to his mystery ailment, Courtney had to be sure he wasn't just losing his mind, if he even had one to begin with.

"At the bank. I kept seeing and experiencing things that weren't there," Duncan explained carefully. Being attracted to Courtney and admitting it was one thing. Hallucinating about her being a scared bystander at the heist and telling her that was another thing entirely. Talk about obsessive stalker tendencies. I know I've only known you for a little while and you absolutely hate me, but for some reason I have been getting anxious at the thought of you being an innocent bystander of the Bass. Duncan envisioned her macing him again at just the thought. If only the Bass could see him now, anxious and mesmerized by some brunette lawyer with a fiery attitude.

That was another reason Duncan had yet to tell anyone in the Bass about Courtney. She was becoming a distraction, a weakness. His thoughts were always filled about her in some way or another. The nights since he met her were often sleepless. He would stare at the ceiling in his room, replaying their conversations in his head. He imagined what he could've said instead, what she would say if she would drop the act of hating him, what would happen between them if she accepted his invitation to the Killer Bass. He found himself becoming progressively more nervous about her becoming a victim of their chaos, of her seeing him as the Delinquent. He paced the Killer Bass base at night, trying to find some kind of distraction from the thoughts that plagued him. If anyone asked, he would simply say he was planning their next moves, going over the business that was going on, checking up on things. No one had to know that an ADA was consuming his every thought. No one had to know how much he was beginning to care about her. And no one had to know that he was making plans further and further across the city. He found himself keeping distance from where she lived, leaving a large part of their territory untouched.

"What kind of things?" Courtney pressed on. She was such a lawyer, always having to ask a million questions, get all the answers. She did not know how to just leave things be.

"A monkey wearing a top hat," he retorted sarcastically, "Does it really matter?" He really didn't want to talk about this. She looked him up and down suspiciously, trying to read some sort of message from him. Duncan was fairly certain she was trying to read his mind. After a few seconds she gave up on trying to read his mind. Courtney let out a sigh, holding her head up with her hand, fingers tapping against her face in thought. What a big symptom to leave out. What caused hallucinations? A lot of things, but nothing she thought of seemed to perfectly fit. Plus, a lot of the illnesses she was coming to were rare, required a few more symptoms, or were brain injury related. Courtney was sure Duncan was messed up in the head, but she doubted anything had happened today to make him turn downhill so quickly.

Courtney paused, fingers stopping the tapping on her face. She played the symptoms over in her head again. It clicked. She couldn't think of any plausible illnesses that had all these symptoms, but she did know something that was associated with it all.

It felt so obvious.

"You were hallucinating during your heist?" Courtney questioned again as Duncan nodded, "You didn't take anything before that? Nothing to get you revved up?" She felt like she was in a courtroom, leading the questions in order to get answers, tricking the defendant into revealing their lies.

"I don't get what you're trying to say here."

"Duncan, seriously, stop bullshitting. You know what I'm saying." Duncan paused in thought for a second before shrugging his shoulders in confusion. "Drugs! You took something before your heist. Wanted to get that high feeling before the danger?" Courtney stood up, once again putting distance between her and Duncan.

"What? No," Duncan said looking offended that she would even ask him something so preposterous. Courtney rounded the loveseat leaning forward to rest her arms on the back of the chair, always watching him.

"All your symptoms are a tell tale of a drug crash. I would also guess alcohol, but the amount you'd have to drink would be easy to smell on you, and you don't smell like you've been drinking," Courtney said evenly. It was irritating enough that Duncan kept showing up into her life like he belonged there, but it was even more irritating that he had the nerve to show up at her door while being actively seeked out by the police and high.

"Courtney, I don't even do drugs," Duncan told her exasperatedly. He still leaned forward, elbows digging into his knees, but his eyes never left her, and she watched him just the same. They were both trying to read each other, find some sort of truth or lies in each other. Despite the pounding that was still knocking around in his head, he kept looking at her, trying to make her believe him. She was so close moments ago and now she felt so far away.

"You want me to believe that the leader and operator of the biggest drug trade in the city–hell, maybe even nationwide–doesn't take drugs?" Courtney questioned with a sarcastic laugh. It was truly laughable. The Killer Bass were involved in nearly every criminal affair in the city, including drug distribution. The Screaming Gophers were the top suppliers a few years ago, but the Bass had slowly taken over the trade and pushed themselves further into the Gopher's territory, making it their own. The Bass themselves might not be drug runners, but they practically owned everyone who was. The Killer Bass were the puppet masters of the trade, and made a shit ton of money from it. Between all the runners, they were selling practically every street drug known to man. The Killer Bass ran off every other gang and drug ring in the city. The only ones who dared to try distributing anymore were the Screaming Gophers. Even they had nothing on the Bass, despite them always trying to push out newer and stronger products.

"Have you never watched Breaking Bad? You don't dip into your own product, it fucks up the economics," Duncan informed her as she rolled her eyes, "That's the first rule. I don't and haven't taken any illegal substances." The look Courtney gave him told him she still thought he was full of shit. "I have no reason to lie to you, babe. You know who I am, you know the bad shit I've done, everyone does. I have no reason to lie about taking drugs, of all things I could–and should–lie to you about."

Courtney faltered a bit at Duncan's logic, but she hoped it hadn't shown on her face. It did feel silly to think that Duncan would be open about all the awful things he's done–the robbing, the killing, the terror–but hide the fact that he likes to get high. He spoke with such sincerity, such a need to make Courtney realize that he wasn't lying to her. And Courtney was starting to believe him, but she also trusted that she was never wrong. Crashing was the simplest answer and kind of the only answer. It was consistent with how he was feeling, and given his line of work, it made sense.

"I occasionally take some recreational products, if you caught my drift," Duncan offered up, "But I don't and never have been into that hardcore shit. Besides, I haven't taken anything today. I wouldn't drink or get high before a heist. It would completely fuck everything up. I have to be on my game during a job or I could end up getting shot dead or worse, caught. I would never get fucked up before a heist. Do you think I have some type of death wish?"

"Well…" Duncan glared at her as she threw her hands up in a shrug. His whole line of work seemed like a death wish to her.

"Did I look or seem high to you when I got here?" he pressed on.

"I didn't really get a good look at you. I pepper sprayed you as soon as you broke in."

Duncan ignored the irritation in her voice as she emphasized the fact that he broke into her apartment. He leaned back on the couch, throwing his hands up as if he had the answer. "You ruined your own research. We'd have definitive answers if you hadn't felt the need to assault me." Courtney rolled her eyes as Duncan let out a sigh, rolling his head back and closing his eyes. There wasn't much else Duncan could say to make Courtney believe him. His word wasn't good enough, it meant nothing to her, which was understandable, but still stung in a way he couldn't explain. Duncan had never lied to Courtney, a fact that surprised even him. It was easy to lie and he did it so often that it was practically second nature. He was more honest with Courtney than he had ever been with anyone else. Sure, sometimes he omitted the truth, like about what he was hallucinating, but he was still sincerely honest with Courtney.

"Duncan, I want to believe you, I do. I do believe you," Courtney started hesitantly. It was true. She wanted to believe Duncan, believe that he was being truthful and honest with her, but the pessimist in her was still cautious. She couldn't let herself forget who Duncan was. He was the Delinquent and she had no reason to believe him at his word. No matter how genuine his words seemed, he was still a liar by nature, a natural manipulator. "But all the facts are clear here. I can't take your word over the completely obvious signs." Courtney always went with the facts, the things she could prove. Even in court, she had to make sure that the dots could be easily connected and make sense, even with circumstantial evidence. "As of right now, I diagnose you as crashing. Unless you have some other kind of explanation, I'd be happy to hear it. I don't know what else to tell you, it's not like someone could've–" Courtney paused, her mind racing as she connected dots in her head. Duncan was the leader of the Killer Bass, rulers of the city. He stepped on a lot of people, stabbed a bunch in the back to get the Killer Bass the title they deserved, to make them the most powerful. Duncan has enemies, a lot of them, there was no way to deny it. Plenty of people wanted to be him, be like him, take him down. The list could have been endless on the amount of people willing to do anything to get the Killer Bass–Duncan– out of their way.

Duncan opened his eyes at Courtney's sudden silence. Courtney wasn't exactly someone to just stop talking, she lived for arguments and back and forths. He looked over at her to see what the cause was. She looked lost in thought, mind in overdrive as she connected some puzzle only she could see.

"Princess?" Courtney jumped at the sudden sound before blinking at him. She seemed to be malfunctioning.

"Unless someone else drugged you," Courtney spoke softly as if she was handling a bomb of a reveal. Duncan scoffed at the idea. How the hell could someone have drugged him without him noticing? He was very rarely alone and even then he was always on guard. He would've noticed something if someone had decided to drug him. Today was a heist day, he'd been high strung and on guard all day, he would have noticed someone acting suspicious. Hell, he hadn't been around anyone outside of the Bass.

" I think I would remember getting dosed. No one has even gotten close enough to me to drug me," Duncan told her.

"Are you completely sure it's not possible? I mean, you've said it yourself that your seconds in command are like your shadow. They've obviously been close–."

"Don't. Don't go there," Duncan told her darkly, the Delinquent coming out of him. There was no yelling, no volume behind his voice, just cold and even intimidation. It was a simple but direct statement. Even then, it was enough to make Courtney startle in surprise–fear?

Duncan trusted Bridgette and Geoff with his life–no, not just his life, his empire. Duncan valued the Killer Bass empire more than anything, including his own life. Bridgette and Geoff have proven their loyalty time and time again. They had both saved his life numerous times. When shit was hard, they never left. They always stuck with him. From the beginning to the end, they are by this side. No matter how much he enjoyed Courtney, he was not going to let her insinuate that they were traitors, working behind his back to take him out.

Duncan saw the look on Courtney's face. She tried to play it off, but he caught it. A look of fear. A look that told him she was startled by the way he just spoke to her, afraid of the threatening tone. Courtney hadn't seen this side of him and he hadn't spoken to her like that before. He never wanted to. Never like the Delinquent. It was a look that told him that she was in stunned silence, afraid of what he could do or say next. Beauty coming face to face with the Beast, more like a monster. The intimidation melted off of him. He didn't want Courtney accusing his seconds of betrayal, but he felt a stabbing in his heart about the emotions she was trying to supress. Duncan hated that look, hated the idea of Courtney being afraid of him. Courtney Veras was not easily scared, something he greatly admired about her. Duncan took in a breath to calm himself. One step forward, three steps back.

"It's not them. They had nothing to do with this," he whispered out. Courtney herself took in a shaky breath, trying to calm the racing of her heart. She remained silent, the words caught in her throat. She knew who Duncan was, she knew that he could be dangerous to her, there was no reason to be so afraid just because he snapped at her. He was always dangerous. She had reminded herself about this every time she saw him. The things he said and the way he said them didn't matter. Beneath it all he is always the Delinquent, the one who had done all the terrible things she had read about. Get it together, Veras. He might say pretty words, but he is still that criminal bastard. Get over it, she thought angrily to herself.

"Okay, it wasn't them," Courtney started cautiously, hating the way her voice sounded small as she tried to force words out, "But if you're being honest, then someone had to have done this to you. There's no other way around it. You're obviously crashing."

"I'm not obvi–when would someone have had the chance to dose me?" he questioned. Courtney threw her arms up in a defeated shrug. Why was she the one who had to come up with all the answers? Unlike him, she wasn't the mastermind of the criminal underworld.

"In case you haven't noticed, Duncan, I'm not exactly immersed in the gang world. I don't know what you do with your day, nor do I want to know," Courtney retorted, "Most drugs start to kick in within a few minutes or hours, depending on what it is. You were probably exposed to it some time before your heist."

"Courtney, nobody has been within three feet of me today." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Present company excluded."

"Okay, then it was secondary exposure," she said. The look Duncan gave her told her he didn't understand what she meant. "Someone put whatever substance on something and you were in contact with that thing rather than a person."

"Okay, so enlighten me, what thing could have been contaminated that I was exposed to?" Courtney paused in thought, trying to think of a plausible answer since apparently she had to have all of them today. It could have been anything. Literally, it could have been any item that Duncan touched today, depending on what the substance was. Courtney didn't know enough about Duncan's day to day to make any accurate guesses. It could've been his phone, his gun, a steering wheel, his bed, a doorknob, anything someone else could get their hands on easily.

If I wanted to screw over Duncan–the Delinquent, how would I do it? Courtney thought, What would be the biggest fuck you while also having access to it? At this thought, Courtney pushed off the back of the loveseat and took the few steps over to the kitchen bar. Duncan's jacket was haphazardly thrown on one of the bar chairs. She glanced down at the pocket she had previously seen his mask sticking out of. She looked over to Duncan, silently asking for permission to touch his stuff.

Duncan was already watching her. He stood up from the couch, pausing briefly as the room spinned slightly, before rounding the furniture over to Courtney. He placed a hand on her arm, pulling her gently away from the bar. Courtney tensed slightly at his touch but took a step away willingly. Correction, one step forward, five steps back, Duncan thought, You make progress then you bring out the Delinquent and fall even further back than before. Dumbass.

He picked up his jacket, examining it quickly, though he already knew his jacket was clean. If anything was going to be laced it would be his mask. What a way to attack a symbol. Duncan moved his jacket to the side, coming face to face once again with his mask. He glanced over at Courtney, looking for any sort of reaction to the mask. Fear? Disgust? Hatred? Courtney was playing it incredibly close to the chest, making Duncan unable to read anything off her. She peered over his shoulder in curiosity, waiting for him to do something.

Duncan turned back to his mask and picked it up. He was gentle with it, as if it was some bomb that could go off at any wrong move, like it had a life of its own. He flipped it over in his hands. It felt so light, so fragile despite how heavy of a symbol it was. He pushed his feelings about his mask away, examining it closely. Duncan let out a sigh and set his mask back down. There on the interior of his mask was remnants of white residue. Duncan leaned on the kitchen bar, putting his face in his hands.

"You were right," he told Courtney, knowing she always loved to hear that phrase.

He racked his brain for any moment that he had set down his mask, when it was unaccompanied by him. The only moment that came to mind was right before the crew had set out. They were packing guns and ammo into the cars, double checking the plan and everyone's parts. Duncan had set his mask down briefly to discuss the security and blind spots with Harold.

"You know, word is that the Screaming Gophers have been pushing out a new hallucinogen. They're calling it the Matrix cause it takes you to a whole other reality," Courtney said quietly, "Which by the way sounds like a copyright suit waiting to happen." Duncan lazily glared over at her. "Right, sorry. From what I've been hearing at the DA's office, it's pretty bad. People have been going nuts on it and the police are desperately trying to find dealers and the producers. It's a super strong hallucinogen, like people jumping off buildings because they think they can fly. Fighting hospital staff, breaking out of restraints. One of my coworkers watched a prisoner break out of his cuffs and waist chains, jump over a table to attack a judge, and the guy was still able to fight off, like, five officers. He didn't even go down when they tased him. The crazy part is the dude said he was trying to fight off aliens from kidnapping him. I think he was a conspiracy freak, but the point is he was so convinced by his hallucination that he had the adrenaline to break restraints and fight a bunch of officers. This product they're pushing is fucking scary."

"It's always the Screaming Gophers," Duncan mumbled. He stood there cycling through every moment, every small event throughout the day. The hallucinations started right before the heist, but he hadn't even put his mask on yet. That's when he remembered Bridgette pulling his mask over his face jokingly as they were leaving. Duncan rubbed at his temples tiredly. His head was no longer hurting because of his crash, but instead was pounding from stress. "There's a traitor in the Bass."


this chapter was definitely more plot heavy/internal than previous chapters, but i promise it has purpose. i was going to add more to this chapter, but it was already really long (this is the longest chapter yet) and i thought the last line wouldn't have as much of a punch if i kept writing.

anyways, i just want to say i appreciate all of you who have stayed and read every chapter. i appreciate all of you who comment. i read all of them, even if i don't always comment back. those of you who comment on every chapter hold a special place in my heart. i see you, i appreciate you, i wait eagerly for your comments every time. i remember and recognize your usernames, i see your comments on other td fanfics. i appreciate you all and am thankful for your kind words, especially as i am trying to figure out the adulting and writing for my own sanity balance.

Thanks for reading! Until next time! (which i hope is soon, but ya'll know me, so i make no promises)