Author note: Hello and welcome! This story is COMPLETE, so I will be able to upload regularly and quickly. I hope to see you again in future chapters!

Was it murder if no one found the body? They damn well wouldn't find any evidence, she'd make sure of that. It wouldn't even be that hard. Medical school had taught her everything she needed to know to make an easy kill. And between her knowledge of science and her love of true crime, Shaw was pretty sure she could make a six-foot-three man disappear with relative ease.

She sighed and tossed the letter onto the coffee table. How could he do this to her? They'd had plans! Damn good ones, too. Ones that had served them well so far. But no. He had to up and join the army, for no good reason.

That wasn't entirely true. She knew why he'd done it. John had demons, lots of them, ones he never spoke of and she never asked about. She didn't think running would save him, but that was his decision to make.

She just wished he hadn't left her with his half of the rent in order to do it. He knew damn well she couldn't afford this place on her own. Hell, they'd been scraping to make ends meet from the moment they'd signed the lease. But he'd wanted his independence and she'd needed the quiet. If she had to share a dorm room, the other person was unlikely to survive the semester.

Now he was gone, with nothing more than a letter explaining, apologizing, and reminding her that she hated goodbyes, so this was for the best. Sure, she hated goodbyes, but it wasn't like John Reese was a man of many emotions, either. It was why they'd worked as friends. He could've explained in person, like a decent douchebag would, and she coulda kicked him out like she should've had the chance to do. It wouldn't have been entirely bad. But maybe he was the one who couldn't face her. Maybe this was easier for him.

She scoffed. Lucky him. The military was going to pay off his student loans, give him a place to live where he didn't have to deal with eviction notices, and occupy his tortured little mind. Actually, it kind of sounded like a sweet gig. Maybe she needed to rethink her career choice. She wouldn't, of course, but it was tempting.

As it was, she had three years of medical school left, bills to pay, and a sudden need for a roommate. Preferably one she wouldn't kill. She scoffed. Likely outcome. Where in the hell was she supposed to find someone like John? No, not like John. That was never going to happen. No one could accept her the way she was, not like he had. But she needed to find someone who she could stand to be around, since running into each other was inevitable. Perhaps someone who worked a nightshift? That would keep interaction to a minimum.

Shaw jumped up to grab a notepad and started making a list. Preferably no guys, or at least, not single ones. She wasn't going to have the person she lived with trying to get into her pants. That was asking for messy. Whomever it was going to be would have to meet a list of criteria that wasn't exactly small. But that was the only way it would work.

And even then, she had doubts.

She cursed John as she made the list. She cursed him as she posted an ad online. And she cursed him as she printed out flyers to put on campus. If a nightshift worker wasn't an option, a fellow student was her next bet. The studious kind, not the partying kind. Parties were a no-go in her home.

She set the interviews for the following weekend. It was only a few days, not much time to allow responses to come in, but she was short on time. John had left her rent money, his way of making up for bailing out without warning, which she would definitely kill him for the next time she saw him, but it wouldn't last. And with classes resuming after the holidays, she wouldn't have time to hunt for a roommate and keep up with her grueling courses.

When she woke up the morning of, she had seventeen confirmed interviews. Yay. She was taking them all at the bookstore. Public, but not too crowded. Centrally located for the student applicants. She was able to walk there, the cool morning air bringing out goosebumps on her skin. She bought a coffee to take with her. The bookstore didn't actually allow beverages inside, but she had an in with the owner. He trusted her to never spill anything. And unlike many of those filtering in and out of his place, she wasn't there to fool around with some boy.

At ten sharp, a man of her age sat down across from her. Prompt. Good. Shaw looked him over. Clean cut, didn't look like a student. He was tall and lanky, his chocolate brown hair messy and curly. His pressed slacks and cheap suit jacket screamed wanna-be-businessman, perhaps aspiring CEO. She waited for him to speak.

"Are you Sameen Shaw?"

"Call me Shaw."

"Sure, okay. I'm Devin."

"Let's cut to the chase. Why do you want to rent a room from me?"

He squirmed uncomfortably at her directness. She tried not to let it bother her; she wouldn't make it far today if she let herself be put off by people who were put off by her demeanor. Because that was pretty much everyone. "I, um, just finished school, and I don't have a place of my own yet. I had to move back in with my parents temporarily." He cleared his throat. "I was going to-"

"I don't need your life story, Devin."

"Uh. Sorry. Uh." She sighed heavily, prompting him to hurry on. "I have a steady job now. But housing is insane, so I have to find at least one roommate. A friend sent me your ad."

"Why would I want to live with you?"

"Ah, you...wouldn't?" He seemed confused.

"Is that a question or an answer?"

"I'm not sure," he nearly whimpered.

She sighed again. "Devin, think of this like a job interview. You said you have a job," he nods, "so you've obviously been to an interview. Why. Would I. Let you. Live. With me?"

"Uh, uh," he stuttered. "Y-you need the rent, right?" She chose not to answer that. "I mean, obviously." His brow furrowed as he tried desperately to keep up. "Well, uh, beside that, I, uh, I-I'm not particularly messy. I don't party or anything."

She rolled her eyes as he scrambled. She was sick of his 'uh's already. She abandoned her list. "Look, Devin. It's not you. I'm not an easy person to live with, you see. I don't do small talk, in fact, I don't really like to talk at all. I don't like people. I swear a lot, I never learned to observe societal niceties, and I have a bit of a temper. Also, I keep odd hours and I'm not very quiet when I get in. I need someone who doesn't care about things like that."

Devin swallowed hard, staring at her with wide eyes. Finally, he stood up and held his hand out. Then he rethought that and jerked it back like she might bite. "Uh. Right. Okay. Thank you for your time, but I don't think this is going to work out." He left so quickly Shaw thought she smelled burnt rubber. She almost laughed.

With another sigh, she pulled her feet up into the chair. This was going to be a long day. Her interviews were going to be at least fifteen minutes apart, so she pulled out a textbook and studied while she waited for the next one.

"Excuse me. Can I sit here?"

Shaw looked up into a pair of startlingly blue eyes. "Are you here for the room for rent?"

"Sure am." He smiled brightly and held his hand out. She ignored it. Ruining her weekend with this shit was bad enough; she wasn't going to shake three dozen grimy hands. Her new subject took it well enough, retracting his hand and sitting down. He was a pretty good-looking guy, in a next-door-neighbor kind of way. His brown hair had hints of red in it and was carefully styled to look slightly messy. He had straight, white teeth and dimples. She hated him already.

"Name?"

"Carter Wright."

"Age?"

"Twenty-five."

"Smoker?"

"Would you like a complete medical history?" He laughed. She didn't. "Uh, no."

"Do you party much?"

He shrugged. "I like to go out on weekends. See what's popping."

Shaw clenched her teeth.

"But I'm usually the attendee, not the holder."

"Kids?"

He laughed again, too loud for the small space. "Never!"

"Girlfriend?"

He leaned forward and winked. "Never."

Shaw closed her notebook. "That'll be all, thank you."

His eyes widened. "That's it? Is that a yes?"

She curled her lip. "I have fifteen more interviews to do."

He seemed to take that as encouragement, though she had no idea why. He rested his elbows on his knees and asked, "So, how about I ask you some questions?"

"How about no."

He just chuckled. "Why are you being so short with me, sweetheart?" He ran the back of his thumb over his bottom lip. She suspected he thought it was enticing. It wasn't. "Perhaps you need to go out, loosen up. Tonight, I'm-"

"Not interested," she snapped. "This is an interview, not a fucking date. Move your ass out of that chair before I dump you out."

His flirty demeanor dropped. "Whatever, bitch." He stormed out, looking like a pissy toddler. Now she did laugh.

Her third was early. He was a little older, around thirty, she guessed. A bit paunchy, but otherwise an ordinary man. Her guard was instantly up.

"Hello. I'm Raymond."

"What can I do for you, Raymond?"

"Hopefully, allow me to rent a room."

He was polite enough, and so far, not hitting on her. She decided to allow him to continue. "And why do you need a room?"

"I just moved to the city and so far, all I have is the job. I don't want to live out of a hotel indefinitely, so...here I am."

"What's your job?"

Raymond folded his hands in his lap and started saying something about being a lawyer, but she zoned out at the tan line on his finger. Married? Or divorced? Easiest way to find out...

"Smoker?"

"No."

She rapid-fired the next two. "Drinking? Drugs?"

"Neither. Well, the occasional beer when I go out to eat, but that's it." He chuckled.

She eyed his burgeoning belly skeptically. "Kids?"

"No."

"Girlfriend?"

"No."

"Age?"

"Thirty-one."

"Responsible with money?"

He spread his hands wide. "I've done okay up until now. No major debt."

"Your job a sure thing?"

"Yes."

"And how long have you been married?"

"Eight years," he chuckled. Then blanched and stuttered, "Wait, what? I-I misunderstood! No! I-I'm divorced, you see. Newly, um..." he trailed off.

"Mhm." She leaned forward. "Go back to your wife, asshole."

Raymond looked so confused as he left, like he couldn't pinpoint where he went wrong. Meanwhile, she scrawled on her notepad in all caps, 'no men!'

It took another two interviews before she finally got a woman. She nearly sighed in relief. At least she wouldn't be getting hit on.

"Name?"

"Charlene," she said with a pretty smile. Shaw reminded herself not to hate her yet.

"Age?"

"Nineteen. I just moved out here from Texas, and-"

"Where are you living now?"

Charlene seemed a little off-put by her abruptness, but she recovered quickly. "With a friend. I appreciate the couch, but, well, I'd like to sleep on a bed at some point." She giggled.

"Occupation?"

"Massage therapist."

Of course you are...

"How long have you had your job? Is it stable?"

"Oh, I don't have a job yet." Shaw's head whipped up. "I only arrived-"

"Why the fuck are you here?"

This time, she didn't recover so quickly. Shaw had to prompt her to get a response. "This...is for the room for rent, right?"

Shaw scowled. "Duh. But I can't figure out why someone jobless would be applying. Rent costs money, you know. Is it different in Texas?"

Charlene laughed nervously, the sound little more than a squeak. "Uh, no? But I will have something soon. I just need-"

"I need rent money. If you don't have a job yet, you shouldn't be here."

Charlene looked like she might cry. Shaw hoped not. "I need time," she whispered. "I'll pay you, I swear, as soon as rent's due." Shaw sighed. "I-I'm good for it-"

"I said, I need money. Not promises. Go now." She shooed her away.

It took Charlene a moment to decide that Shaw was indeed quite serious, but she finally rose and took her obnoxiously large purse with her.

"It's not different in Texas. You just got a young and naive one," a laughing voice said from behind her.

Shaw twisted in her chair to find a brunette behind her. She was facing Shaw, comfortable in her own chair, one jean-clad leg crossed over the other. She winked a brown eye at her and smiled. Shaw scowled. Was she eavesdropping? Before she could ask, the woman added, "I grew up there. It's a bit backwater in places, I'll admit, but that one...still a bit of a child, to put it nicely."

"An idiot," Shaw spat. She was annoyed to have a stranger talking to her unsolicited - why did people do that? - but at least she wasn't calling Shaw a bitch for being so mean to the poor little Texan girl.

"Quite possibly." The woman reopened her book while adding casually, "Sorry, couldn't help it; I overhead. Wanted to point out that not all Texans are so...white," she said delicately.

Shaw snorted. "Good to know." She turned back around, tense now that she knew the woman was there. She seemed nice enough, but Shaw hated knowing she was being observed. It always made her feel like a bug under a microscope. And people never liked what they saw.

She did try. She checked the worst of her behavior in public, John had made sure of that. She wasn't rude, usually, unless they were rude first. Although, she had pretty narrow and short goalposts for what constituted as 'rude', John had once told her. He'd tried to explain that not everyone's posts were so hard to find, and that was why people got offended by her. She'd declared that their posts were hard to find, for being so damn broad she couldn't find them. And added that they were all stupid, as well as rude, and he shouldn't bring her into public if it bothered him.

It didn't bother him, that was the thing. John seemed to find her personality defects to be no more odd or difficult to live with than anyone else's. He didn't care that she didn't emote, rarely took her mood swings personally, and didn't expect her to act normal. It allowed them to have something resembling friendship, a novelty for her. It had worked, though. And she knew she'd never find anything like it again. Just finding someone she could tolerate without killing them, that was proving to be challenge enough.

Her next interview was another male.

"Jerry." He tried to shake her hand, which she ignored. He was a thick guy, clad in a jersey and a pair of basketball shorts. He looked like a frat boy. She hoped not. He noticed her taking him in and stretched his shirt out. "You a Cubs fan, too?"

She shrugged. "They're okay. I prefer football."

"Aw, man! Me too! The Bears are having a great season, aren't they?" They weren't. But Jerry just shook his head, slapping one knee. "We're going to get along great, I can tell!"

She doubted it. "Jerry-"

"Hold on, I didn't catch your name. What was it?"

Unimportant, she wanted to growl. "Shaw."

"Nice, nice. So, about that apartment."

"It's a small house, actually. Two bedrooms."

"Cool, great."

"Rent is five hundred. Can you pay?"

"Oh yeah, yeah. First and last month's? I work at a sports bar, got a bit of a savings, so I'm good."

A sports bar. Of course he did. "You in school, too?"

"Senior year!"

His enthusiasm was starting to give her a headache. Everything he said came out with a smile, and at a level of happiness no lower than an eight. Maybe she wouldn't have to talk to him? Ever?

"Weird hours at the bar?"

"Sometimes. The manager is really great, though, works around my class schedule."

"So, late nights."

"Best time of day!"

"Right. But it's full-time?"

"Sometimes."

Helpful. She sighed.

"Hey, I can totally get you free drinks, too. I mean, not all the time, but sometimes. You know, since we're gonna be roomies!"

Shaw grit her teeth. "We might be." That was the best she could force out.

He looked disappointed, the first sign that he felt anything other than ecstasy. "Oh. There are others?"

"Uh, that's what the interview process is for, Jerry."

"Oh, right, okay. No worries!" He brightened back up, blinding her. She closed her eyes for a moment. "But I think we're gonna be a great fit! I've got subscriptions to all the best sports channels, we won't miss a thing! Also, I'm kind of famous for my gameday nachos," he stage-whispered. "How do you feel about Superbowl parties? I love to host them! We can supply all the beer and food. We'll need to plan for that, it's coming fast."

We who?

"Also, my girlfriend, she's gonna wanna stay the night. Just sometimes, but we'll be real quiet. I think she might be kinda weird about me living with another chick, at first. But don't worry, she's cool! Once she meets you, I'm sure it'll be fine. Do you have a boyfriend? He can watch the games with us, too!"

Shaw couldn't take it any longer. "Jerry!" He stopped short at her shout. She cleared her throat. "Thank you. I think I have everything I need. I'll be in touch."

"Oh, yeah, sure. It was great meeting you!"

She waved him away, rubbing at the headache forming. She hadn't asked him more than a couple questions, sloppy. But if she couldn't get through a list of questions with him, how was she supposed to live with him? She sighed again. This was hopeless.

She glanced at her list of candidates. One more, then lunch. She was pretty sure it was the only thing about her day that she would enjoy.

Another man sat down across from her. She tried not to be bothered by it. Maybe this one wouldn't hit on her or talk about his jealous girlfriend.

"Are you Sameen Shaw?"

"I am," she said tiredly.

"You can call me Mister Ell." He reached out for her hand, which she ignored. She nearly punched him when he picked it up himself. Her surprise saved him, allowing him to pump once and let go. She scowled at him as he got comfortable, sitting back in his chair.

"Okay, Ell-"

"No, Mister Ell."

She paused. He said it so simply, smiling back at her as if that wasn't weird. "Mister Ell," she said with unnecessary emphasis. "Why do you need a place to stay?"

"Just divorced, gave her the house."

Reasonable. "What's your occupation?"

"Licensed therapist."

They made good money, didn't they?

"Any kids?"

"No."

"Are you-"

"I'm sorry, can I ask you something?" He scooted forward in his chair.

"Uh, I guess."

"I saw the end of your last interview. Why are you so closed off?"

"What?"

He sighed quietly, in that way adults did when they were about to tell a small child something they thought would upset them. "You seem frustrated."

"Kinda having a shitty week," she answered uncertainly. Where was he going with this?

"I understand. Happens to everyone. But you do realize, talking to someone like that could make them have a shitty week, Sameen. And that's not fair."

"Name's Shaw," she muttered, staring at him in confusion. What the hell was he doing? She cleared her throat. "Right. Let's stay on track. Are you a smoker?"

"Not a day in my life." He smiled in a way that made the hair on her neck stand up. "You know, I can tell that you could use someone to talk to. Someone safe." He handed her a card. "Call my office anytime."

Who was being interviewed here? She'd lost track. Why did she need a therapist and who was he to decide?

Ell reached out again, this time to put a hand on her knee. "You can trust me, I promise."

Shaw jerked away. "Don't touch me! Seriously inappropriate, dude."

He sighed longsufferingly. "So much anger in you. Do you have any childhood trauma? That might be the source of it, it often causes issues in adulthood. But we can work through that."

This time, her 'what the fuck' was out loud.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Shaw looked down at her list. Fuck this. She didn't want to live with a therapist, let alone a touchy one.

"We can uncover-"

"Leave," she said shortly.

"I'm sorry?"

"Leave," she snarled. "We're done."

"Oh, Sameen, I think we're just getting started."

She glared menacingly.

He sighed again and rose. "If you insist. But please," he pointed to her lap, "use that card." He clapped her on the shoulder as she passed, and she grabbed the offending hand and twisted.

As he cried out and stumbled toward her, her other hand shot up for his tie, tightening it against his neck. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to touch a stranger?" She squeezed tighter, enjoying the way he whimpered. "It's inappropriate, for one, Mister Therapist. Second, a woman like me," she leaned in and hissed, "will break you for that kind of invasion." She pushed him away from her, taking pleasure from the way he scurried away. She would bet there was a wet spot on his pants right now.

"No wonder she divorced you," she spat, jumping up from her spot. She needed fresh air, food, and a stretch of her legs, stat.

The sunshine did little to calm her. Being outside felt good, but it wasn't enough. She desperately ached for a run. Her muscles bunched, ready to go. Away from these stupid interviews and stupid money troubles. It had been tough when it was her and John, but they'd made it work. Because they'd wanted it to work. She didn't want this. She couldn't scramble to pay her bills, keep up in school, and deal with some obnoxious roommate. There was no way.

Why was the whole world made up of idiots? Would her next set of interviews be a smattering of men hitting on her, frat boys looking for a party house, and losers wanting a free ride?

Despite how badly she craved taking off, she restrained herself. Her mind needed to be wiped clean the only way a good workout could do for her, but it would have to wait. But she could smother some of her stress in alcohol, for now. Shaw headed for the nearest diner.

Twenty minutes later, she felt a little less like exploding. She lingered to soak her anger a little longer, less than eager to resume that which was driving her toward homicidal tendencies. Perhaps she would schedule an extra training session this weekend. If Juan could spare the time, she could use the practice. Martial arts was one of the many tools that had kept her in check over the years. The only way she could function in society was to take her frustration at the world out on the mat. Judo, Muai Thai, along with a few others, had honed her reflexes, kept her safe in a couple of sketchy situations over the years, and allowed her to keep her head clear. She owed the practice a lot.

Finally, she had to call it. She dropped a few bills on the table and forced herself to her feet. It probably couldn't get much worse than it already had been, right? She just needed to be prepared for more of the same.

Shaw couldn't help but notice the same brunette when she returned. She was still sitting behind where Shaw had parked herself, a book in her hand. There was a laptop backpack next to her chair, rather than a purse. Likely a student, especially if she was spending all day in the bookstore. But for some reason, when Shaw looked at her, she didn't think 'student'. There were plenty of other vibes coming from her, but not that one. She tossed her own bag down, glancing around briefly to see if her next applicant was here yet.

"Feel better?"

Shaw glanced over at the question, with the sensation that it would be best not to acknowledge her. Instead of answering, she just sighed.

The woman never even looked up from her book. She just smirked and said, "My sympathies. Good luck with Round Two."

Shaw sat down without saying a word. She was rarely in the mood to engage, but certainly not right now. She needed to save her energy for more of this shit.

Unfortunately.