So this is the realized second chapter, I hope that you guys like it. The plot is still working itself out in my brain a little so there are only limited revelations in this chapter : P.

Any reviews are wonderful (and by wonderful I mean exciting and phenomenal) but signed reviews are even more lovely, just so that I can clear up certain comments and everyone can get more out of the story.

Thanks and enjoy.

You drive down the street in the dead of the night. Jerky motions, thoughts erratic; all of your being focused on his irrational behaviour. And suddenly there he is and you slam on the brakes and you think you're hallucinating. But goddamnit if that Catholic son of a bitch isn't coming out of a fucking whorehouse. The price is dirt cheap and there's no protection required. Lying, cheating FBI agent participating in illicit activity; just one more thing to add to the list of inconsistencies.

You may both be fucked up but you're still his best friend so you pull over and command him through the passenger door. He's a wreck, his shoulders slump, his eyes are red, his jaw is clenched like it's the safety on his gun. You stare in silence, make up your mind and drive off in the same direction that you were headed in the sixty seconds before your epiphany. His jaw stays clenched the whole ride there so you let the silence permeate your vehicle.

Pull into your parking spot. "Get out." You order calmly. He shakes his head vehemently. You repeat but get no response so you stalk around to his side, open his door, grip his wrist firmly and without give, pull him roughly towards you and march him up on to your apartment. It's only on your doorstep as you fumble with your keys that you feel the fresh slices on the underside of his wrist. He looks away, unwilling to meet your eyes as you glare from the deep angry red lines that mar his flawless, non-tattooed wrist to his face; and back again.

You watch his jaw clench some more and sigh. You drag him inside and firmly tell him that he's staying here and that everything, and it is everything that you stress, will be dealt with tomorrow. The only response that you get is another clench of the jaw. So you brusquely usher him – still gripping his wrist – to your bedroom where you remove his shoes and jacket, knowing that he won't do these things for himself. Not in this state. You leave him to what you hope will be some much needed sleep and plant yourself on the couch because you'll be damned if he escapes into the cold, helpless night.

Since the moment that he first set eyes on you, his jaw has not slackened.

See that beautiful violet (would you call that violet?) button? It wants you to touch it. Please. pouts