” You’re an idiot Ashton. There’s no way that Sam Spade would beat Dick Tracy in a fight.” Quin said as she climbed the steps to her apartment, arms half weighed down with grocery bags. How they’d gotten on the topic when he’d called to ask her something work related, Quin had no idea…but there was no way she was going to let him get away with such Tomfoolery. Sam Spade indeed.

”What do you mean ‘Dick Tracy is a fictional character?’ So is Sam Spade!” she exclaimed as she wrestled with her keys, phone caught between her shoulder and her ear. This was a talent, Quin decided, getting her sometimes hard-assed partner to joke around.

Finally finding the right key, Quin reached out and put it into the lower lock of the door…

…only to find that the thing was already unlocked. Ashton was still speaking on the other end of the line, but Quin hmmm’d thoughtfully, not really paying attention anymore. ”Hold on a sec. Apparently I left my door unlocked.” she said with a frown, nudging the thing open and making her way into the dark apartment, completely unaware of the invisible figure lurking to her left.

”I can’t believe I was that dumb…I sure hope nobo…urgh”

The wind rushed out of the redhead as something solid impacted her from behind, setting her off balance. She stumbled, going down in a heap on top of vegetables, tea bags, canned goods, and even a six pack of beer. She turned, ready to face her assailant, only to see nothing…nothing but the door slowly swinging shut just out of her reach. It clicked home, and the lock turned.

Someone was in the apartment. Someone had been waiting in the apartment, and she’d simply walked right into them. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

Gasping slightly from the fall, and wincing at a burning pain in her right wrist, Quin looked back and forth. Nobody was there. ”Who’s there?” she said, aware of the fact that her phone had slid a fair distance away, but still looked to be connected. ”What do you want?” she asked.

There was a creak and a snap as the phone seemingly shattered of its own accord and Quin gave a little squeak, backing away as fast as she could…until an invisible…something….tangled in her hair and pulled her head back. Quin screamed, struggling until what had to be a fist made sharp contact with the side of her head.

Slumping and dazed, swinging her arms weakly to try and hit whatever had her, Quin wove in and out of consciousness as she was pulled…dragged…or half-carried somewhere deeper into the apartment.

This was ridiculous. Dick Tracy was a comic book character. A Comic. Book. Character. That movie hadn't counted. Hadn't even been a film, like Malteese Falcon. So. He called bull****.

Ashton shook his head at her in disbelief.

>>”Hold on a sec. Apparently I left my door unlocked.”

Ashton froze.

Ever get that feeling, like when you're watching a scary movie, and you know there's something waiting for the main character around that corner, or behind that door? Behind their backs... sneaking? And you want to tell them not to go in there, or to turn around? Ashton got that sinking feeling right about there. Those words. They'd achieved a lot.

"Archer. Wait a..." He tried to cut in.

>>…I sure hope nobo…urgh”

!!!

"Archer? Archer!?"

There were sounds of clattering. Movement. It sounded like she'd dropped the phone.

Ashton was already on his feet, moving.

Someone was in her apartment. Someone was messing with his partner. No. She was not just a partner. She was a friend. And nobody messed with his friends.

His phone snapped shut before the line cut. Slid into a pocket.

He knew where she lived. He wasn't going to call this in. Time was of the utmost importance. And he wasn't going to wait around feeling impotent while her life was on the line.

He didn't even know what the hell was going on.

So what if he might have been overreacting? He'd lost a partner before. These things had a habit of making one take things seriously. Because one sloppy mistake...

He pulled his car door shut, powered it on, and backed out of the parking slot. Then, he was on his way.

Her hands. She couldn’t move her hands. They were stuck behind her, held in place with…something. Duct tape maybe? Quin tried to evaluate the situation, but that was half the problem. There was nothing to evaluate. Just rough movements and painful reminders that resistance was not going to be tolerated. Her wrist throbbed and her shoulders ached from the angle, and she whimpered. That wasn’t the worst part though.

The “hand” was tangled in her hair again, and Quin knew what was coming. She held her breath as the hand forced her head down into the bucket. The beer burned when it crept into her nose, and Quin tried to push it out with air. She could only hold her breath for so long though, and eventually opened her mouth. That was about the time the pressure would reverse itself and her head would be wrenched from the liquid.

Coughing and sputtering, Quin rambled, the words almost completely senseless. Surely Ashton had heard what happened, surely he was on his way with backup or something. Surely….

The hand tightened again and Quin twisted her body frantically, trying to lash out at her invisible assailant who….wasn’t quite so invisible anymore. Apparently she’d swallowed more of that beer than she thought.

”You….” she gasped, staring up at Maurice the pink elephant man. His smile wasn’t friendly now, and there was something about the way the light glinted off his pointed teeth that made Quin shudder even harder than she already was.

"Yes, me." Maurice sneered. "Forgot about me. How rude of you. Do you know how much that hurts?" Probably about as much as this. Without preamble, he forced her head back into the bucket's depths.

Yes, they could keep this up for quite a while. It was all good. Sad... but good. And... truth be told. He was just. Working. Up. An. Appetite.

***

Why was the car so slow? What Ashton wouldn't have given at that moment to be one of those other kind of teleporters. The kind that could appear anywhere they knew from anywhere in the world, and the only drawback was... okay. He vastly preferred his method. Smelling of sulfur was just not comparable to being cinnamon fresh.

Traffic was a pain. He took every back route, every shortcut he knew. Ashton drove at a breakneck speed he just felt wasn't good enough, sirens wailing. Heart pounding.

The car pulled into a spot. No, two spots. He'd deal with that later. At that moment, he didn't care.

Up the stairs he went. To Archer's apartment.

The door was locked. Well. Here was hoping she didn't like that door. Ashton took a moment to ready himself, and then... he broke it down.

He burst into the apartment, handgun raised and pointed. What he saw baffled him. Archer, head submerged in a bucket. And nobody else around.

"WHERE IS HE!?" Ashton roared.

Who was to say it was a man? 50/50 chance.

Maurice was taking no chances.

From out of nowhere, a form rammed into Ashton's side, forcing him into a wall.

She hadn’t had long to catch her breath that time. Maurice was there, the pink elephant she’d met in the bar that night…after the murder. Maurice was also mad…apparently he was real, and she had forgotten him…or something. That’s why this was happening…that was why he was drowning her in a bucket.

As her head was submerged again, snapshots from the last few weeks played like a slide show in Quin’s mind. The phone calls, the flowers, the post card. They were all connected. They hadn’t been a harmless telemarketer, or a secret admirer. They’d been Maurice, they’d been warnings, and she’d ignored them.

She couldn’t hold her breath any longer. Her eyes were open and burning, her vision darkening at the edges. She twisted, turned, kicked, but the hand in her hair held fast. Her kicking and twisting slowed. Fireworks started going off behind Quin’s eyes, her oxygen deprived brain starting to fire off random images.

There was a commotion, a banging crash, and a voice. Was someone there to save her? Had the hand loosened in her hair?

Quin didn’t know. As Maurice moved to attack Ashton, she slumped, her limp weight on the edge of the bucket tipping it and her over onto the floor while whatever was happening happened.

There was so much Maurice could have said about the situation. About how cute it was, with the man, rushing in for the attempted rescue... or about how ill-prepared he was. But. That. Would. Have been. Wasted. Breath. So, he did not. Instead, he let his actions speak for him.

Speak, fists, speak.

Good fists.

Ashton did not know the true nature of Maurice's attack.

Fists flew. He crashed into strategically-placed objects around the room. A mess was made. And ultimately, he wound up on the floor.

His arms were curled over him, trying to block the blows. Blow after blow made it around his guard. It was difficult to stop that which you could not see. Maurice was hunkered down over him, a weight on his lower half, and his chest. He was taking advantage of those blind spots to lay the beating on thick.

This was bad. Archer hadn't moved since he'd last spotted her. And this whatever was a real bastard. Ashton had tried punching him... but it had been like punching air. He knew the thing was there, but whenever he struck out... he struck out. A swing and a miss, like Casey at the Bat. His mind strained for something he could do. Some solution.

His mind came to something.

The guy was on top of him. He was right there! And... Ashton was a mutant. It was not as simple as 'punch, or be punched.' He could... if he could just...

His eyes strained, searching for ideas.

Strained, because 'strained' was a good word for the moment. Strained, because it was hard, with someone wailing on your face...

They settled on the door.

Maurice reeled back a thick fist, readying the finished blow. The coup de grace. This was the end. He thrust forward, and--

"Urk!"

Suddenly, there was something sticking through him.

Ashton grimaced as he sat up in the doorway, where once a door had been. He had traded places with it, sent it into his place in a moment of cinnamon scent. And then it had bisected the elephant man through mid-section and chest. Right where torso started and met its end.

He could see the guy now. Whatever power he'd had to be unseen must have worn off. Probably because he was dead. And, ew...

Archer'd have a mess to clean up on her floor.

Archer...

His head hurt. His whole body ached. But she was more important. Without waiting to see if he could stand, let alone think straight, Ashton dragged himself across the floor to where she was propped, head dunked in liquid... head dipped in...

"Beer?"

Weird.

But what the hell? Hauling her back by her shoulders, Ashton set the woman out on the floor of her apartment. She was unconscious. So. He began CPR.

This was technically their first kiss.

It was dark.

It was dark, and quiet, and it didn’t hurt. That alone was almost enough for Quin to want to stay. Besides that, though, it was warm and peaceful. There wasn’t any internship to worry about, no bills to pay, no bad guys to catch, and there definitely wasn’t a deranged pink elephant shoving her head into a bucket of beer.

She wasn’t even scared. She was just kind of floating right now. That part was nice.

Until it wasn’t.

Pressure. Suddenly there was a lot of pressure on her chest. The burn was coming back…she couldn’t breathe…

On the floor of her apartment, as Ashton did his third set of chest compressions, Quin’s body jerked and she coughed a gurgly cough, her diaphragm and stomach muscles working to push the beer from her lungs.

And yeah…there was plenty of it. But she was breathing again…and oh god it hurt.

Ashton pulled his hands away from her chest. There was relief in his eyes. With the side of his sleeve, he wiped his mouth clean.

Freaking beer.

Beer, everywhere. Enough to make a grown man go sober.

"What the hell happened?" Ashton blustered. Then, softer he added. "I was worried sick..."

The apartment. Her apartment. Quin was in her apartment, on the floor, and Ashton was close. Very close…and he looked like hell. She was coughing and retching, and pretty much all she wanted to do was curl into the fetal position and stay that way for a long time.

Now that she was coherent again, everything hurt. Everything hurt a lot from the deep burning in her lungs, to her scalp where the hand had been clenched, and her wrist that throbbed painfully. Ashton was talking, but the words were going in and out like someone was playing with the volume dial on a sound system.

“….happened” “….worried sick...” was all she heard.

Quin tried to talk and coughed, still trying to catch her breath on the floor. ”Jumped me….” she managed. ”Couldn’t see him until…until….” Man, it was all just too much. She gave up and just cried. She was entitled.

And now she was crying... great. Just great.

Well, there was only one thing he could do now, wasn't there?

God. This felt so out of character.

With a small sigh, Ashton leaned forward, and dragged her into a hug.

God. This was so out of character, but Quin could not stop crying…sobbing in fact.

It seemed like Ashton was destined to see her at the lowest of low, from drunk to beaten to a pulp. It was beyond ridiculous. Her head hurt, her face hurt, her lungs hurt, her wrist hurt…a hundred scrapes and bruises hurt. She was alive though. The rest...the rest she could deal with, eventually.

”You look like hell….” she managed after a few moments.

"I'm hurt, Quin." Ashton chided. He eyed her and added wryly. "Maybe I shouldn't have saved your life..."

Humor. Probably the way to go. Which was brutal, because he sucked at jokes.

Somehow, 'you should see the other guy' seemed ill-suited to this conversation and making her feel better. Probably because there was a crazy elephant guy with a door through him in the middle of her living room. They probably needed to call that in soon...

Quin groaned as she tried moving. So many bumps and bruises, in so many places... "Are you hurt bad?" She asked.

Tired and slightly bleary eyes scanned the apartment, flinching away from the bloody mess by the door.

Quin coughed again and worked at moving a little more.

”We need to call this in…”

His eyes fell on the mess again and he grimaced too.

"Yeah..." He muttered. "We need to call thi--"

His pocket rang the generic cellphone ring. Ashton was cut off.

Hand dropping to the pocket, he extracted the phone, staring down at it for a second. Then, purposefully, he flicked it open. Brought it up to his ear.

"Yeah?"

The voice on the other end of the line chattered. Something about a witness... a breakthrough on the case... guy only being visible when people were drunk. Woman from the crime scene a few weeks back. Someone had visited her. She'd been scared. Come to the station, and... Ashton cut the speaker off. "Yeah, okay. We've already dealt with it." Bah. Couldn't this call have come in before all of this had gone down? "Can you send an ambulance and some squad cars down to Archer's apartment. Address is..." He rattled directions off. Ashton finished up. "Yeah. Thanks."

Click.

His cellphone snapped shut.

With a sigh, he looked to Archer. "To answer your question from before. I'm fine."

He was just a bit beat up was all.

"Although I could use a drink."

And that was a bad joke.