Author's Notes: I am truly grateful to my reviewers. I have just finished my term exams and currently high on satisfaction. Do forgive me if this seems a little.. strange.

This is the Myles/OFC (still no name) part of the fanfiction. Beckett/OFC will be coming soon.

I might include one of my reviewers in the fanfiction. Just in case, do drop off the name you want to go as, personality, looks, quirks, etc. I'm feeling good today.

Disclaimer: Nope.

WARNING: Pale, pubescent male stripping ahead. You have been warned.

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Punkartgurl13: Nah, it doesn't. But I'ma freshman, and proud. YES, I HATED WRITING ABOUT MYLES STRIPPING. It is not enjoyable to see slender, pale, sexy boys take their shirts off. –grin-

SioPao-chan: Aw, really? Hehe. This isn't really a self-insert, but the character's based off of me heavily. –cough- Thank you for the compliment, and I'm glad my story interested you!

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"She figures out their intentions

Her heart just keeps on beating

But will they really do it?

Oh, fuck, her face is heating."

-A Reona-chan Poem-

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You walk up to a person in the hospital, sitting calmly near the emergency room. You ask them what the hell they're doing here, and they tell you they're waiting – but they aren't twisting their engagement/marriage ring or anything, nor are they looking like something's shoved deep up their ass.

No, you see them sitting there with a stupid smile on their face.

And you go, "Damn, that chick's patient."

I am not a patient person. I have never been a patient person. I don't even like patient people as a personal rule of mine.

Now Myles was making me wait, and I was dying.

Why, you ask? The throwing of shoes to his head did not seem very appealing to him. He decided that he would talk to me or something, and see me in his 'quarters' (which was actually reminding me all too much of a prison cell).

What the hell did that monk dude see in a cell that made him think of human cells?

He must've been high or something.

So I waited, yeah, for just a little while, just standing there in the room, thinking and trying to tell myself not to do anything extremely stupid, anything to get myself in a worse mess than I already was. But like Alice said when she fell down that rabbit hole (which, in my opinion, was really stupid), I often give myself very good advice, but I seldom ever follow it.

Ergo (one-point vocabulary word), after only a few minutes of waiting patiently, I found myself going through the good (hint the sarcasm) genius's belongings, looking for nothing in particular. Anything, to take my mind off of the fact that he (and Beckett) obviously thought I was someone else, someone important, who he needed and couldn't be allowed to be kicked out of this house. Not wanting to think that instead I was indeed a stranger and most likely unimportant, and sure to be of little to no use to him. Not wanting to admit to myself that there might be no getting out of this one (which, personally, sucked).

I took my locket out from my shoe (I actually brought one around, sorry to say I never mentioned it before – but right now it was digging into my ankle and reminding me all too much of when Holly found her acorn and went, 'aha!'), and stared at it. Heart-shaped. Now I would never get to fill that locket with a beautiful picture of me and my over-sized mother who eats jelly doughnuts on her belly. Here I was, in a manor where I most likely would die in, and I think about wasted moments with my stupid locket.

Wow, I'm a genius.

I slipped the locket around my neck and continued with my shenanigans.

There was a desk against the far wall, and the first drawer in it was filled with a variety of useless objects: a few pens with the Fowl name engraved that didn't have any ink, various trinkets which most likely had sentimental value (though I threw them over my shoulder like I didn't care – oops) and trash (he has trash in here?), and most importantly some scraps of paper which were all crumpled up. The next drawer, however, was marked "Emergency Use" and was filled with stress balls. The last drawer was empty except for a small knife and one more crumpled piece of paper.

I felt like Sherlock Holmes right now, and not even Myles's naturally bastardly personality could keep me from reading it. I pulled the paper out of the drawer and smoothed it out so I could read it. In perfect calligraphy, read the words:

The way to the treasure is through her heart.

What the fuck was that? Some corny love poem?

I felt my head shoot up when the sound of footsteps rang through my head, and I quickly stuffed the paper back in the drawer. I was sitting on the bed, my heart (amazingly) trembling and my hands sweating in (surprise, surprise!) fear, when the boy walked through the door to his room.

He walked in, taking the time to pull off his sunglasses and throw it on the desk, promptly ignoring me at the moment his hands move to take his jacket off as well. Now, this was all very nostalgic, but I sat there as he pulled it off, waiting for him to say something to me, anything, not quite wanting to speak out and draw unnecessary attention to myself that might get me kicked out. He didn't speak. My heart began to pound threateningly somewhere near my throat as his hands moved to the buttons on his white shirt and I finally opened my mouth to try to speak.

"'scuse me," I started, but it came out as a croak. He was now kicking his shoes off while finish off with the buttons. "Erm…" I tried again, as one shoe was (uncharacteristically – now I knew he was spiting me) flung across the room and banged against the wall. But then I saw it, when he tried to pull the boot off, just a flash of his face. He was smiling! He was trying to make me fucking uncomfortable! I stood quickly, my face blazing.

"Hey Demi Moore, save the striptease for someone who cares!"

Well, honestly (and I'm not very honest), that didn't make any sense; I wasn't even sure why I'd said it (probably because I've gotten used to blowing insults at him that I can barely remain normal around him). Nevertheless, it got his attention. He turned to me, feigning ignorance so well I almost fell for it.

"Oh, hello sweetheart, forgot you were there," he said, smiling widely. I looked at him, my mouth gaping, my mouth opening and closing like one of those fish I accidentally stepped on in my freshman year. The class fish. I think his name was Skippy. Mentally slapping myself, I found the ability to speak again.

"You are so full of shit, straight up to your eyeballs!" I snarled, pointing; realizing it was something my potty-mouth of a dad would have said. Myles's smile only turned into a smirk.

"I wonder why my eyes are blue, then." Now his smirk faded only a little, forming into a kind of smile you wouldn't normally see on a teenage boy's face, one that made me extremely uncomfortable. His other shoe fell from his hand and landed with a loud thud that echoed in the extreme quiet. I shifted backwards, my knees hitting the bed.

"But you mustn't really be talking about liars and the such, Miss Sanders."

There was a dangerous, dangerous undertone to what he said, and I looked at him, unsure of what I was supposed to say (1938128472395 of the things I thought of saying were insults, but that wouldn't really work). Finally I lifted my head defiantly; staring at him right in the eye (his sparkly blue ones were nothing in comparison to my lame, dull brown). So I was a bad liar, I knew that, but I also knew that the only way I was ever going to make out of this stupid thing alive was for him to continue to think I was whoever he had originally thought. The only way I could do that without really knowing who I was supposed to be acting like was to be defiant, to pretend like I had something to hide. I sat on the bed calmly.

"So maybe I'm a liar and a hippo.. crate.. hypothermia.. hypocrite, then!" I retorted, and forced myself to smile calmly. Now, eerily, he looked awfully pleased with himself.

"Really, now… then I do suppose you're in the right manor," he said with a small, airy chuckle, turning away, going back to the business of taking his shirt off. "We shall be setting off soon. Butler may have some clothes for you that Juliet used to own." He looked at me for a moment, glancing at my shirt and realizing it was indeed wet. "As much as I enjoy seeing through the fabric in your shirt, we can't be letting the crew we will soon be with to think our lovely cook is a whore, can we?"

I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster, and really, it wasn't that hard. Myles caught my glare and smiled as he moved to pull on a cleaner shirt, opening his arms in welcome and exposing his chest to me in between the spaces he hadn't buttoned yet (much to my pleasure, and dismay).

"Welcome to the Fowl Manor, Mary," he said with almost a cheerful tone which was almost mocking (and it probably was), and reached for the stress-ball drawer. He stopped when he noticed the bottom drawer slightly ajar, looking up at me without surprise. I shifted on the bed, feeling my pulse race.

That thing on that paper.. was it metaphorical?

Or would Myles be gruesome enough to actually cut my heart out?

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Author's Notes: Yay, so we're seeing a little bit of plot here. Myles-OFC interaction is the best, don't you think? Methinks Beckett-OFC interaction will be fluffy. But, meh. Hope you enjoyed.

Drop a review, please?