Southern Miss [90% Complete]

[Brandy Wyatt]

Prompt List

• Wedding
• Paranoia
• Devil
• Power Outage
• Ring
• 4th of July
• Uhhh
• Rejection
• Lullaby
• Sick

[Brandy Wyatt]

W E D D I N G

[Brandy Wyatt]

P A R A N O I A

"You ever get the feeling you're being followed?" Brandy said to John as they stood by the hotdog vendor near the area of Central Park where they were waiting for a suspect. She slid two fingers on her cheek, moving strands of honey-coloured hair away from her brown eyes, and squinted beneath the noontime sun. Spring sure felt a little hotter when you had a damn long-sleeved shirt on.

"Is that supposed to be a joke?" John asked with a little laugh before biting down into his dog, which was maimed with relish, onions, and various other condiments that made Brandy go "vleeeh" and stick her tongue out. They seemed to have been partners now, especially since Brandy officially transferred from Dallas to New York, which he thought was odd considering the whole reason she came out was to be with someone else. "I mean, what the fuck is it you think we do all day?"

"Besides paperwork?" she asked, her twang coming out in the last syllable. "I dunno, I mean - I guess. But this is different. We didn't do anythin' wrong to deserve bein' followed. Least I don't think we did. I didn't. Did you?" she asked, looking up at him from her newly found seat on a bench that wasn't covered in bird shit. She put her hand over her forehead to scan the path for the person they wanted, but so far there was nothing.

Despite that question being more relevant than she knew, John brushed it off with a pointed tilt of his sunglasses and a flat look on his face. He didn't like that she was bringing it up, though, because if she was, it meant that her weird little female intuition was on the fritz, and since John didn't one-hundred percent buy into that shit he was inclined to believe she was going to start her period and get all stupid for a week. He generally avoided her during that time. "Why you asking this all of a sudden?" he asked, throwing his wrapper into a trashcan and nailing the goal. "Oh, he shoots, he scores," he hissed, doing a small hand gesture of celebration.

She looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction. "Well..."  she said, scrunching up her nose.

"Ah shit," he said. When she made that face, he knew she'd given whatever she was about to say a lot of thought. Instantly, those doubt flood gates opened, letting the paranoia rush back into his brain. It gave him a near-instant adrenaline rush, causing his pupils to contract and his entire body to tense up as he struggled to maintain his composure and not tip her off. "Brandy, what did you see?" he asked, speaking deliberately slow.

"For the past few days, there's been this car outside my house, like on the curb? I ran the license plate number, and it - it doesn't belong to anyone I've ever heard of before. I keep thinking they're there to visit someone, but honestly, I park between property lines all the time to confuse people into not knowing where I'm going to go. And, really, I just got that feeling. Anyways, it was just weird. I'm sure she'll go away."

John tilted his head back a little. "She? Do you remember the name?" He felt his palms begin to sweat, just a little. No fucking way. Not this time.

"Uh," she trailed, looking out across the park as though her answer was out there. "Loring? Fuckin' shit, that's the car right there. Damn black Mercedes. And yes I know there are about a zillion of 'em, but look, the window's down - shit I can see her from here. Christine Loring. We know her? She connected to any cases we have? Somethin' we kicked? She like a gangster moll or some shit, lookin' for revenge?"

John looked over to where Brandy was pointing, and realized what was happening before she said any of what she did. He grabbed her by the arm, firmly, and yanked her up, walking quickly with her towards their own car. "Let's go," he ordered, voice terse.

"Ow! Hey fucker, you're a lot stronger than I am when you're all hopped up, so why don't you chill that Kung Fu grip? Ow, damnit, I said stop!" It didn't take much for Brandy to get mad, and being lead without any answers was a good way to do it. She managed to wrench out of his grip and gave him a shove straight to the chest, which moved him about as much as it'd have moved a brick wall. Well, now.

John generally played at human pretty well, but when this was at stake, he would use every ounce of supernatural strength to his advantage - that meant when Brandy pushed him, he didn't move, and in fact, pushed her back a foot or two by lack of energy absorption. "Brandy, I don't have time to explain, but I promise if you just go right now, I will tell you everything later."

"All right," she said, holding her hands up when he tried to take her by the arm again. "Hey, I ain't your dog. I can walk just as fast as you can," she groused, keeping in quick step with him. She saw him reach for his gun and his hand stayed there as they moved. "Shit, John, I wish I'd just been paranoid," she confessed.

"You have no fucking idea how much I wish that, too," he said, his voice throaty and dry from nerves. "Get in the car."

[Brandy Wyatt]

D E V I L

"This is the worst Christmas tree I have ever seen."

Brandy stood back, arms folded on top of her pregnant belly as she surveyed the criticism. The tree was uneven, leaning to the left, and the decorations were mostly concentrated in one spot - the spot Brandy could reach. She made an exasperated noise, pointing to John, and then to the tree. "You're a damn half a foot taller than I am, motherfucker - you decorate." And with that, she reached out and grabbed a bowl of popcorn that had a needle and thread in it, then flung it at him.

John caught it, barely, and the impact sent popcorn flying over his head and onto the floor around them. Brandy started to take off, and he shook it off, setting the bowl down on the sofa and trying to catch up with her before she could get to the bedroom and lock him out. "Hey! Hey, hey," he said, grabbing her lightly by the arm so he could turn her around. "Calm down. The tree is fine. It's fine," he insisted, a slight laugh in his words as Brandy made a face at him.

"I hate havin' to run errands like a goddamn housewife while you get to shoot people!" she cried, her Texas twang heavy in her words.

"You're not a housewife, and I haven't got to shoot anyone in... well, a few weeks anyways," he said, ducking away when she tried to swat at him. "Come on, chill out. Look, I'll finish decorating, you can watch A Christmas Story," he offered. He ushered her back into the living room and got her onto the couch, handing her the remote as he removed the popcorn. He sat down next to her and attempted to string the popcorn so that the tree would have a garland.

After a few moments of silence, John's phone rang. "Valentine," he answered, cradling the phone against his shoulder while he reached over to wrap an arm around Brandy. He immediately let go and sat forward as his expression changed - his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "What?" he said, shocked. "Where? Right, yeah, I'll be right there." He set his phone down and looked at Brandy, who was looking back at him with equally wide eyes - or perhaps more considering she was experiencing cabin fever.

"What? What is it? Who died?" she demanded.

"We have a small problem," he said, turning to look at her - and to stop her from crawling all over him. "O'Donnabhain wants me on scene. Evidently we got a rando that just got caught and he has some insight into some of the cases Britt and I have been working. I'll be home as soon as I can." He leaned over to give her a kiss on the forehead and then stood up before Brandy could hit him with a pillow. "I'll be home as soon as I can!" he protested.

Brandy was left alone in the apartment with barely a word in edgewise, which kind of pissed her off, but she lacked her usual speed and couldn't get to the door before he was already gone. She figured she may as well decorate the rest of the tree, since she was one-hundred percent certain she was going to bed alone tonight now, and plopped down on the couch with the television and the popcorn. She managed to eat more than she strung, and finally decided the popcorn was a shitty idea altogether. She put on her scarf and peacoat to head to Hobby Lobby, sending John a text to let him know where she was going.

Lol, ok. Can't believe you're going out to buy more decorations but I'm sure it'll look fine. Sry about being late. Going to try and hurry. Britton tries not to read minds. Might need to veto that shit so I can get back sooner.

She smiled a little as she opened the door to the stairwell, clearing her throat and listening to it echo in the empty pit. Her steps were the only sound for quite some time; thankfully John's apartment was only on the second floor (and only then because he didn't like the idea of a ground floor apartment). She got into the lobby without incident, and then headed for the parking garage. She was stopped short by a black towncar that pulled in front of her.

"HEY!" she shouted. "God damnit, I'm huge, do you really not see me walkin'?" Brandy waved her arms wildly. She was wearing a pair of cargo pants and a tunic top under that peacoat, and she reached for her off duty weapon only to realize she hadn't grabbed it before she'd left. Damnit!

The door opened and a man in a suit jumped out, followed by an older woman with long, long blonde hair that was braided in some strange intricate shit Brandy had never seen before. The woman had the lightest blue eyes and they were creepy, and she eyed Brandy up and down before focusing on her belly. She spoke a strange language that Brandy didn't understand to the man, who nodded and seemed to steel himself, standing just slightly behind her, arms behind his back. Meanwhile, the woman, clothed in fur and jewelry, looked back at Brandy, eyes narrowed.

"So. This is what Edward has been... up to," she said. She eyed Brandy hard, her words heavy with disdain, as though she were speaking and looking at a peasant.

"Uh, pardon? Listen lady, I gotta million things to do 'fore the night's over, so if you could walk on, that'd be okay," she said. "Bye now." And with that, she spun on the heel of her comfortable snow boot and began walking the other way to her car. "Fuckin' crazies," she spat, pulling her keys from her pocket.

"Wait!" came the cry from behind her. She felt a hand on her shoulder and whipped around, nearly taking a swing at the old socialite before the woman let go, realizing the danger she was in. "I'm sorry, I just - my son!" she exclaimed. "He's been gone for so long, and now I find out he's got a girlfriend and a baby on the way and - oh, all I ever wanted was to be in his life," she said, utterly theatrical in her gestures and mannerisms.

"Aw, shit, I know who you are," Brandy said. "You can just get the hell away from me, too. I ain't your son, and spoiler alert, I'm a cop, so unless you want me to slap some stalking charges on you that you can't buy your way out of, you'll get the fuck out of my sight," she threatened. Inwardly, she wished she had her gun. John had told her his family was crazy - he'd told her about the stalking, but he had never told her the half of it. If he had, Brandy would know why she was feeling as nervous as she was. As it stood, she felt almost like she was overreacting.

"Wait!" she cried again. "Can you just tell me - is it a girl or a boy?" she asked. "Please, I'm begging. It's only a few days before Christmas. I just want to let his sisters know what colour items to get. We'll have them delivered - you'll never have to see us," she swore.

Brandy sighed angrily. "It's a boy, okay? Now will ya take a hike?"

The woman straightened, and the watery tears in her eyes vanished completely. Her complete demeanor changed, actually - what before had seemed like a rich, spoiled and stupidly over dramatic woman now had all of the posture and command of a queen, and the warmth of an icicle. But there was something more - something behind her eyes, something Brandy could see that reminded her of the tales of how the devil would possess people - and it was scary.

"A boy, you say? How... wonderful. Hans," she said, turning and walking back to the car. The man who had stood silently suddenly cranked to life, stepping forward militantly. "Take her."

"What the fuck? HEY, FARMBOY, GIT YER HANDS OFFA ME!"

Gwendolyn pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed a number. "Yes, I have her. Prepare the room." She paused. "And tell the girls to get the equipment ready. I want a blood test done immediately to ensure it's a Prince. Of course Edward doesn't know. Or John. Or whomever he is playing at being now. No, and I don't care. Let him come. Let them all come. They can't touch us. We own the mayor."

[Brandy Wyatt]

P O W E R  O U T A G E

  "Hell of a storm out there, huh?" Shirazi called as she and Kassle passed her in the lobby.

Brandy turned, standing directly in the center of One Police Plaza, shaking out her umbrella. "You're shittin' me," Brandy said. "'bout wrecked my damn Mustang on the way here. Fuckers don't know how to drive. We got a whole season dedicated to this shit back West," she bitched, finally getting the umbrella to a satisfactory level of dryness. A heavy drone of thunder shook the building and caused Brandy to jump, while Kassle and Shirazi just sort of stared at her.

"What? Y'all two never seen anyone bothered by storms before?" she snapped, her voice arcing unbelievably high and thick with her twang. She ignored their laughter as she headed for the stairs, stopping when a maintenance man cut her off. He moved an 'OUT OF ORDER' sign in front of the doors and held his hand out.

"Sorry, miss. Leaking pipes have the stairs slick so bad you could break your neck. We need a few hours to get it cleared out."

Brandy looked dumbfounded. "So what happens if the building catches fire? The stairs turn into a giant Slip and Slide?" she snapped. Right before she engaged in a massive screaming match (because she really fucking did not want to get in that elevator with the storm like it was) with the entire maintenance crew, she felt a warm hand on her arm, yanking her back.

"Come on, Yosemite Sam," Valentine said gruffly, effectively dragging her across the damp tile floor and towards the elevator. "Look, we've only got to go up twelve floors. I don't like it, you don't like it, but I think we'll be okay."

"But - no - I don't want - " And that was all she got out before the doors slammed shut. Brandy remained pinned back against one wall while John, who was much more "manly" about his issues with enclosed spaces, stood by the door with a relaxed posture, one hand on his hip and the other rested next to the panel with the buttons.

"So you don't like thunderstorms? How have I never noticed this before?" he asked, a teasing tone to his voice. He'd rather focus the discomfort on her, as asshole as it was, to take the pressure off of himself.

Brandy shifted and folded her arms, looking at the ground. "I just got my own thoughts about 'em," she said, and refused to say anything else on the matter. She could handle gunfire, grenades, hell - even bombs when she'd served, but something about storms was just bad. The power in her house had flickered several times while she was getting ready for work - once when she was in the shower, which scared the bejezus out of her. She was a little woeful that she didn't have someone there with her. Since things with Will had... blown apart, there was nobody to calm her down. Not that she was weak - she wasn't - but still, it'd have been... nice.

A loud noise drowned out whatever John was about to say, and the entire box jerked to a neck-breaking stop, causing Brandy to get dumped straight down on her ass with a surprised shriek. That was immediately followed by a nervous giggle, and then a low, "You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me." It was totally dark for a full three minutes, then the elevator was bathed in bright red light from the emergency lights.

"And this is why I don't like storms," she said. "Always somethin' bad just waitin' to happen." She shook her head when John held her hand out to her, then looked away when he came to sit down next to her. "How long do you think this will take?" she asked, finally looking at him. Her big brown eyes were turned down, and it was obvious she was already sketched out.

John took a deep breath in, the air entering his lungs already slightly warmer than before. His body temperature alone would increase the heat in the car, but the fact that Brandy was nervous and the vents weren't pushing their refreshingly arctic breeze anymore did not help. "Not long, I think. Remember when Tanith and London got jammed up in one of these? It took about a half an hour."

She shook her head. "I was still in Dallas when that happened. I heard about it, but only 'cause Rasmus told me about it." She fell quiet, then put her chin on her arms, which she'd folded atop her knees when she'd drawn them up to her chest. Thank fuck she'd decided to wear jeans today. She inhaled, the mixed scents of her own very light perfume coming from the sleeves of her soft blue sweater filling her nose. They were lightly mingled with whatever cologne John wore, and she closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the smells, the sound of his breathing, anything to try and remove herself from the situation.

"Brandy?" John asked, looking over at her again. He'd noticed she'd been quiet for a while; he had started to play a game on his phone, so he had stopped paying attention. It was helping him concentrate and ignore the fact that he was suspended in a metal box roughly three or four hundred feet in the air (he was factoring in the parking garage and basement, too).

Brandy seemed to have fallen asleep, but when he touched her lightly, her eyes popped open with surprise. "Are we out?" she asked, the adrenaline practically tangible in her voice. She must have actually dozed off, because she seemed disoriented, but then she closed her eyes tightly to try and focus the room out. "I gotta stand up for a second," she insisted, changing positions as she struggled to upright herself. John carefully stopped her and pulled her back down to a sitting position, surprised to find she was shaking.

"Hey, sit down," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "You're going to have a damn panic attack if you don't sit still." His voice was tight, like he was having more difficulty maintaining his composure.

"I just feel like I'm gettin' crushed," she protested, her voice weak. She began stripping off her sweater, and tossed it to the other side of the car, rubbing her arms up and down a few times to flex her fingers. "John, this is no good. Why couldn't you let me take the stairs?" she asked, a warble in her words.

"Jesus, Brandy," he said. He knew she didn't like small spaces, but he'd always seen her get out before she started to - well, to disintegrate. He remembered when they'd had to go dredge a body out of a sewer and they'd been the first response. She'd gone in through a huge above ground pipe and had come out with about fifty rats on her heels - and in fact, she'd jumped right up into his arms as he pretty much leaped with both of their weights into the bed of her Silverado. Being a shifter, even a Cygni, had its perks. He still had strength, speed and stamina. "Here, just sit right here - put your head right here," he told her, repositioning her.

She was effectively huddled against him, with his arm around her and her head on his chest, by the time they were done moving. "Here, take my phone," he instructed. "Look, here's Angry Birds. Do you know how to play?" When she made a small noise of affirmation, he smiled. "Good. Just play that until they let us out, okay? I'm sure it won't be long now."

He sighed, resting his chin on her soft hair while she gingerly picked at his screen, trying to knock over strange stone structures with pigs and birds. He had to give her credit: he hadn't heard a word about her ex at all since he found out they'd split up. He hadn't even really gotten the full story, but he figured asking in an elevator wouldn't be the best time, either. He'd ask Nadia later - she knew the details, he was sure.

After about thirty minutes passed, there was a cool rush of air and the lights came back on. The car lurched onward, moving sluggishly a few more floors up before the doors popped open with a chime. "Well, look at this," was the greeting they had from London and Tanith, who entered and offered their hands to the duo.

"Welcome to the club," London said, his gravelly voice uncharacteristically laced with humour.

"No kidding. Seems like our claustrophobics are the only ones to ever get wrapped up in one of these," Tanith said. "You okay, honey?" She looked Brandy over, a worried frown creasing her brow. "You're about as white as a sheet. Go sit down. Valentine, can you grab her some juice, please?" Tanith asked, watching as Brandy almost dropped his phone while she tried to hand it to him. Her blood sugar probably bottomed out through the last hour.

At her desk, Brandy put her head down, looking up only when John set a 20oz of Minute Maid in front of her. "Thanks," she said. She picked it up, opening it and taking a long drink while he sat at his own desk and watched her. "What a shitty day this is going to be," she added, her laugh a little forced as she tried to recompose herself. "Sorry for freakin' out on you in there. I just... don't do well. Thanks for lettin' me play Angry Birds. Sorry I beat your high score," she said sheepishly.

John looked down at his phone sharply. "Wha - oh, that's fucked up!" he said with a laugh. He felt the pressure rushing off of his body rapidly, the void it left behind swirling instead with relief. He could see colour returning to Brandy's cheeks, and reached out uncharacteristically to put his hand under her chin and lift her face up a little to see it. "You look about as healthy as when I found you," he concluded.

Brandy blinked rapidly. "Well, that's good, then," she said with a grin that almost hadn't come quick enough. Was he fucking with her? She put her hand on his own for a split second, then pulled away. "Come on, I think Korakas is waiting for us," she said with a nod to the conference room where Tanith motioned to them from the door.

John nodded, looking down at his phone again. He shook his head a little. Unbelievable. Staving off a panic attack and she managed to get four stages ahead of him and triple his score. Brandy was definitely a unique woman, and that he finally felt comfortable acknowledging. He glanced up as she called to him, now moving at her usual quick pace, and pushed his chair back in to join them.

"Any coffee made?" he asked, shutting the door behind him.

[Brandy Wyatt]

R I N G

They were all out to dinner, which Brandy was pleased about. Finally, a break from the grind that they'd been experiencing. She glanced to her left, where Britton and John were talking about something at the bar she couldn't quite discern. She arched a brow as she studied their body language - whatever it was, it seemed important. Britton was shoulder to shoulder with her (what was he, anyways?) - with John, and his jaw was clenched as John explained something with his hands, like he tended to do when he was excited.

"How long do you think before they start arm wrestling to prove who's manlier?" Nadia suddenly whispered into Brandy's ear, prompting her to swallow her beer before she was ready. She coughed a few times and looked up as the Spanish-Iranian woman knitted her brows. "You good?" she asked, concern crossing her features.

"Yeah, you just scared the shit out of me," Brandy confessed. "Before who starts arm wrestlin'?" she asked, her twangy voice making her sound more bumpkin than she really was. She had been too transfixed on what John and Britt were doing to really get a better gauge of the room, so when Nadia gestured to the pool table where Nikolai, Joshua and Drew were arguing over whose shot it was, she had to take a second to catch herself up to speed.

"Fuckin' SWAT. Y'all wonder why I never went out for it," she said, although they all knew why. As much as she loved her job, she did not deign to make it any more dangerous than it already was, especially now that she had a kid to think about. Speaking of which, she wondered how Felicia was getting along with Sam. She almost reached for her phone to call her when the red-headed man at the pool table finally slammed his stick down and proclaimed they'd wrestle for it.

"Damn, I should have bet money," Nadia said.

"Hey!" a loud voice from the bar called. An attractive man pointed to Nadia and then made a swiping motion towards the three men at the table who had already begun to roll up their sleeves. "Control your people!"

"Hold that thought," Nadia said, putting a hand on Brandy's shoulder as she straightened herself up and went to go and separate the boys before they broke something of value. Brandy watched her as she put herself in between Nikolai and Drew and pretty much dominated them all into submission by pointing at her high-heeled shoe and then pointing at Drew's crotch area.

Brandy let out a wistful sigh and looked over to the bar where the yelling bartender had gone back to talking to the Serpiente sisters, Blair and Iris. A second man joined the conversation, this one massive in stature and also good-looking. Damn, did she know any ugly people? She took another sip of her beer and nodded to Blair as she glanced over her shoulder with a gorgeous smile. Nope. She didn't think she actually did.

Blair and John were still touch and go, but John had changed once his family had finally been put to rest, so to speak. Brandy was thankful for that; she and Blair had been working more closely as of late since Brandy was back from maternity leave, and that girl was definitely helping her get back into shape. Blair was a taskmaster at the gym. John couldn't complain too much when his girlfriend was back in a size four only two months after their kid had been born - at least not to her.

In fact, they all had Blair to thank for this little police party. Evidently hot bartender and hot friend had known Blair and Iris since before they had even thought about the departments; Blair somehow talked her friends into lending the place out to them for the evening. Somehow Brandy doubted it would have been the same were the normal crowd to have been mixing in with everyone - of course, it could have proved entertaining all the same. Inevitably a fight would start and whomever was stupid enough to have picked it would find themselves surrounded by a good chunk of Ramsa and New York Police Departments - not to mention FBI.

It did surprise Brandy of the turnout, however, especially given who else had showed up. London and Tanith were there, as were Rasmus and Cassandra (looking comfortably close, the four of them). Gabriel and Katherine were seated with them, and the bunch all looked eerily similar, but she wouldn't bother making a joke because they'd all been made already. In fact, there was no point in looking over the room anymore, because everyone she cared about was right there with her - with the obvious exception of her son, who was comfortably asleep while Zeke and Felicia house-sat for the evening (she'd broken down and sent Felicia an inquiring text about Sam in the interim for Nadia to return).

When Nadia got back to the table, she pulled out a chair and dropped down, setting her empty beer bottle on the napkin and waving at Blair. "Hey, bring me another one when you make your way over here!" she called, cupping her hands around her perfectly-shaped mouth.

Blair was actually quite quick about it, which was odd, given how engrossed she'd just been in her conversation. In fact, Brandy noticed that everyone was sort of converging around their table and sitting down - or standing near enough that she thought they were about to sing 'Happy Birthday'. It was then that she realized John was standing in front of her, while Britton had turned around on the bar stool so that he was watching them. Even the tender (Coop, Brandy remembered) and his friend (Nathaniel?) had stopped what they were doing and were leaning against the counter with raised brows.

"Hey," Brandy said, moving to stand up as John held his hand out to her. When she took it, she realized it was almost clammy. She stalled out for a second, moving into his embrace by his tug more than by her own motion. "You feelin' okay darlin'?" she asked, brows furrowing.

"Yes. Great, actually. Sam asleep yet?" he asked, dropping a kiss on her cheek. His eyes flitted around the room, she could see it out of the corner of her eye as she nuzzled against his five o'clock shadow.

"He is, indeed," she responded smoothly. "Why, you want to get a hotel room for the night and go nuts?" she asked, grinning broadly.

"Maybe," he ventured. He trailed his lips against her jaw and down to her neck before stopping. "Do you?"

She jerked away like she'd been slapped. "You're kiddin', right? We can go right now if you want. I ain't had a decent few hours to dedicate to you in months," she blurted. "I'll get my bag and we can go pronto."

He hesitated to let her go, and she slid out of his grasp and turned around. "Hey, Blair, hand me my purse, would you? We're gonna take off."

When Brandy turned back around, John was on one knee. There was a robin's egg blue box in his hand, and the top was tipped back to reveal a ring. It was a princess cut diamond on a platinum band. Really, Brandy didn't care so much as what it was (not that it didn't escape her), but the fact that he was down on one knee she did care about.

"John," she hissed, trying to drop down to the floor with him. "What the hell are you doin'?"

"Proposing. Stop fussing and let me do it." He met her eyes with his own hazel-green ones, and in them she saw that he wasn't playing around. His voice was deadly quiet, so much so that she barely heard him herself and she was right in front of him.

Stunned, she stood back up, dropping her purse into the lap of whomever had taken her chair (and discovered that it was Blair by the sound of the gasp as it nearly knocked the beer out of her hand) and tried to hold her hands at her side. They were shaking. God. She felt like she was going to pass out.

"Brandy Rose Wyatt," he began, "from the moment I met you I knew that you were something special - but I had no idea how much so. You allowed me to believe that I didn't have to do this on my own anymore, and I love you and Sam more than anything in this world. This speech was going to be longer, but I really don't think I can wait another second for your answer, so. Will you marry me?"

Brandy just stood there until Nadia kicked the back of her heel. "Oh!" she cried, the bump jarring her back into reality. "Yes! Yes, get up off the damn ground. Of course I'll marry you," she exclaimed. The entire room burst into laughter and applause as John dropped his head and let out a (loud) sigh of relief. She didn't even wait for him to try and put the ring on her before she had her arms around him, which was yet another trait about her that he loved. She wasn't easily distracted by shiny objects (much - she did pull away to let him put it on after she nearly crushed his ribs).

She looked up at him after a long kiss (the room was loud as everyone received champagne for a toast) and reached up to dab at the corner of his eye with her thumb. She knew her own eyes were a little wet, but she really hadn't anticipated that. "John?" she asked, her voice hitching.

"I really didn't think you were going to say yes," he confessed. He buried his face into the crook of her neck as Brandy blindly accepted two champagne flutes thrust into her hands currently behind his back.

"Quit, you're gonna make me cry," she commanded. It didn't matter - she was crying already.

"To Brandy and John!" Cassandra's voice rang out over the din. The room echoed the cheer, while the two of them stood locked on eachother's forms trying not to let their friends see them acting like giant sissies.

[Brandy Wyatt]

4 T H  O F  J U L Y

Brandy was drunk. The kind of drunk that got her into trouble, and as a matter of fact, she was looking for trouble. The NYPD annual 4th of July BBQ had kicked off with a bang when Josh and Drew had managed to set themselves on fire, but thankfully their respective girlfriends had been kind enough to throw them into the lake as soon as it had happened, extinguishing the flames and averting a crisis. Brandy, apparently, wasn't the only person who was drunk. Everyone was - even the shapeshifters, courtesy of the Mojo Juice that had been generously distributed among the guests by way of little flasks here and there, cleverly added to their beers and mixed drinks when the normal humans weren't looking.

John was one of those lucky few who had avoided the Mojo up until this point, having done well enough on beer alone. He didn't like to be out of control, if only because he always had to be on guard. Brandy made up for that by slipping a few drops into the shots she'd prepared for them, and after a few minutes, he'd started to feel it. He'd started to feel her, too, come to think of it. They were dancing - everyone was, actually, but John had somehow managed to find Brandy in the crowd and stole her from Nikolai - who gladly let her go to John. The rare human addition to SWAT had been one of the only real friends John had, and though he liked Brandy (and he did find her attractive), he didn't see her like that, so when he saw John sort of swagger over, he motioned to him and simply traded partners. Ironically, John had been dancing with Blair's sister, Iris, who was every bit as sweet as Blair was sour. He found it hard to believe the two were related, despite the fact that they looked very much alike.

So now Iris and Nikolai were getting friendly by the heavily spiked punch bowl, trading jokes (and punches), and despite Brandy wrapping her arms around John, he still managed to give his friend a subtle thumbs up. Nikolai nodded, returned the gesture, and quickly had his attention brought back to the sexy blonde who was raising her glass to his as a challenge. That girl could drink.

Brandy managed to segregate John enough that she could hear him speak, but it was only to hear that he confessed he had crossed his limit. She started to laugh, and despite having her hand firmly grasped in his, he held his arm out to let her step away from him and assess his "situation".

"What's so funny?" he asked, aware that he felt a comfortable fuzzy feeling creeping into his legs.

"I slipped you some Mojo Juice when you weren't lookin'," she drawled. She laughed, pretty pleased with herself.

John let go of her hand, more than a little shocked. "What? Why? Brandy, you know I don't like to - "

She came back into his immediate proximity, putting her finger over his lips to stop him. "Relax, Valentine," she commanded. "I know you don't like to enjoy yourself, but we're all friends here, and nobody is gettin' within a thousand feet of this place without anyone noticin'. So calm down, kick back, and have a good time. Okay?"

He wanted to argue with her, especially because Blair was still at large somewhere within the fray (even though she'd made it a point to stay away from him, despite seeing him with her sister earlier), and he felt a little irritated that she'd taken it upon herself to liven up his personal party. Instead, he spoke before he'd totally formed a thought. "You're just trying to take advantage of me, Wyatt," he accused her.

Brandy's expression turned to one of mock shock, and she put a hand over her mouth before responding. "Why, Officer Valentine, are you flirting with me?" she challenged.

John let her tether herself out again, then pulled her back in a little more forcefully, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction when she made a noise of surprise at finding her short frame pressed against his so suddenly. She furthered that satisfaction when she placed a hand flat on his chest, obviously realizing for the first time that the man she worked with so often was built. Like a fucking rock.

"What if I am?" he asked. He couldn't even believe what he was saying at the moment, but he decided that for once in his life, he would just go with it. She'd apparently gone to some great length to get him to chill out, so he'd allow her the completion of her plan for a little while longer before he took his leave. He did plan on going home alone, mostly because he didn't like to mix work and pleasure. That, and while he found Brandy attractive (undeniably so), he didn't think that she felt that way about him. The whole William thing wasn't that long ago, and thought that she still wasn't over it.

He realized he was wrong when she leaned in and pressed her lips to his jaw, dropping a few kisses along the stubble from twelve hours prior. "What if that was my plan from the start?" she asked, her breath tickling his ear a little. Yes, he found Brandy attractive, but he'd never really pegged her as seductive up until that point. And yet, suddenly, he found himself being very successfully seduced.

"So, you planned to get me drunk and then throw yourself at me? What if your plan didn't work?" he asked, backing up until he found a bench behind some bushes. He sat down on it, and Brandy dropped down next to him.

She seemed to genuinely consider his question, then smiled at him and batted her lashes. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I never considered it wouldn't." And with that, she maneuvered herself so that she was straddling him on the bench. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, not in an unpleasant way, and she pulled back to catch his eyes.

"I could go... I mean, if you're not interested," she said slowly.

John raised his brows, letting his hands wander down her sides to rest on her hips. "I didn't say that," he said, holding her in place before she could slide off of him and stand up. This was an interesting game he'd found himself playing. "But I thought that you were... involved."

Brandy looked genuinely shocked. "Involved? No! That's over and done with, it's been over and done with," she insisted. "You're really dense, you know that?" she said suddenly, letting her hands fall off of his shoulders and rest on her own thighs. "I've been trying to ask you out for the better part of a month now. This was my last ditch effort, then I'd just ask for a transfer and go home," she blurted.

"What?" he barked. Had he really been THAT oblivious? He thought back to all of the little instances that suddenly seemed to have different meanings, then suddenly understood why Nikolai and Britton had been making little comments here or there. He felt like an idiot. "You'd really go if this didn't work out?" he parroted, more or less shocked that she'd give up so easily.

Brandy sighed. "I won't say you're all that's keepin' me here, but you're a big part of it. I should be goin' back to Dallas anyways, John. I've overstayed my welcome, and it's time for me to either submit papers to stay here permanently or go back to my own turf. I figured if you weren't into me, it'd give me a reason to justify going home."

"And here I thought you were just looking for a quickie," he joked.

She smiled, and shook her head. "John, as much as that would be fun... you don't strike me as the quickie type. Am I wrong?"

He smiled back. "No. And I do like you. I just... always assumed you weren't interested. So I guess we were both a little wrong," he confessed.

"Well...." she trailed off.

"Well...?" he prompted. He let one hand slide up her back to the back of her head, allowing his fingers to tangle themselves in the hair at the base of her skull. He gave the fistful of blonde/brown locks a little clench, watching her eyes close involuntarily as she tried to suppress a sigh. 

"Give me a reason to stay," she challenged him, her voice slightly labored. Her eyes opened, only half lidded, and she felt herself smile a little more broadly than she had been before.

"I can give you a few," he assured her. The ground shook as he spoke, the percussion from the fireworks echoing through the park. They were bathed in rainbows of sparks as the display began, but they'd both have to hear about it from the others, because neither of the duo were paying much attention to anything that wasn't right in front of them at the moment.

[Brandy Wyatt]

U H H H H

It had been a few months since Brandy had been followed, but she'd mostly forgotten about it. As it turned out, having a gun stuck in your face by a police officer who swears they'll bring the entire precinct down on you is a pretty effective way of being left alone. At any rate, it was September in New York, and it was already starting to cool down. The dog days were over, and Brandy found that she had to carry a light jacket around with her until about noon when it heated up again. It was also entering rainy season, as per her luck, and today she'd almost been late to her doctor's appointment because of tourists still not knowing how to drive in the rain. Thank god visiting season was ending soon.

She sat in the doctor's office checking her phone while she waited for her bloodwork to come back. She'd been feeling like shit lately and she didn't know why, but she assumed she was about to find out. Of course, she could have just had Gunnar put his hand on her neck and do some Vulcan magic or whatever and been over with it, but she was right around the corner from the hospital so why the hell not? Besides, she didn't want to run into seeing William or that new whatsit girl, even if she wasn't new anymore.

A cat-eyed woman came into the room, looking down at a chart for a moment. She was on clinic duty evidently and didn't look happy about it. "Wyatt?" she asked, her eyes never actually focusing on Brandy. When Brandy confirmed, the woman cleared her throat and sat down in a chair across from her. "Listen, I'm just going to say it. You're two months pregnant. I see you're a detective, so I don't know how this factors in to your life plan. Do I need to set an appointment up at the clinic or with our pre-natal specialist?"

"Whoa, Doc Holiday, what did you say?" Brandy squawked, standing up and nearly dropping the jacket she'd folded over her arm. Her phone definitely hit the ground, and she had to break her slack-jawed stare so that she could put the battery back into the case and turn it back on.

"It's funny because that's actually my name," the woman said. She smirked and handed Brandy the chart for her to see for herself, and then lost the smirk when she realized that Brandy looked like she was about to vomit. "Here, I'll take that before you drop it, too," Doctor Holliday said, holding her hand out.

"Shit Doc, this wasn't in my cards," Brandy said, unable to wipe the look of shock off of her face. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

Daphne sat down. "Well," she began, brushing her long dark hair over her shoulders, "like I said, we can call and set up an appointment for you at the clinic - or I can put you in touch with a good obstetrician. It's up to you. You've got time to think about it," she added. "About another month worth, if that's what you need."

"Uhhhh, yeah," Brandy said, nervously wiping the palms of her hands. "Look, I gotta get to work. Can I get out of here?" she said.

"Yeah, go," Daphne said. "Oh, and by the way - you aren't obligated to tell anyone at your job about this. I don't care what insurance says, and I'll never say I told you this, but it doesn't have to change your life. Do you know who the father is?" she asked, standing up. Brandy took a cue and stood up as well, taking whatever forms Daphne had to give her.

Brandy grimaced. "I got a pretty good idea. Two months you say?" she asked.

Daphne shrugged a little, tilting her head. "Well, about seven and a half weeks." She paused. "You have a good fourth of July?" she asked.

"Oh, damn," Brandy hissed. "Yeah. Yeah, I sure did. Shit, do I gotta get one of those sonograms? I really don't want to have to carry that around with me all day, I'll get busted," she whined. She bent at her knees as she said the word 'busted', a look of total teenage distress crossing her face. She really, really didn't want to be having this conversation right now. "What the hell am I supposed to do with it? Put it up in my locker with a frame and some fuckin' hearts?"

"Not if you don't want one," Daphne said. That smirk was back. Daphne was child-free, always would be, and she could see a kindred spirit in Brandy. "Women parade them around like family photos. Every time someone uses a sonogram to make a profile photo on their Facebook, God kills a kitten," she said, venom practically filling her mouth.

  "No, I don't want one," she confirmed. "Look, I gotta get back to work. I'm just gonna forget any of this ever happened. How long 'til this info hits my boss?" she asked, shrugging her jacket on.

Daphne tipped her head from side to side slowly, trying to estimate the time it would take to get back through the grapevine. "If I forget to submit your paperwork? A while. Tell you what," she said. "Do we know any of the same people? Are you familiar with Doctor Batten at all?" she asked, her teal-coloured eyes conveying other things in them.

Brandy sat back a little. "My normal Doctor knows him. Arissen," she said. She sized Daphne up at that moment, and she felt the feeling was mutual. Finally, she watched Daphne snatch the documentation copies back, wadding them up with the originals on her clipboard. She threw them in the trash, then doused them with a bottle of rubbing alcohol, tossing the empty on top.

"I think he would be opposed to helping you clear this little hiccup up," Daphne said. Smokes revered life; they didn't respect wishes. At least, none she'd ever met. Of course, Daphne was more like a product of Midnight than some of the people who came from there. It was strange, to say the least. "But I'm not. So talk to the father - or not. I don't really care. Just take my card, and let me know." And then she smiled a cold smile at Brandy, who was creeping out the door.

"Sure thing, Doc," she said, tipping an imaginary hat at her. She walked down the hall as quickly as she could, unable to shake the feeling that Daphne was right behind her with that toothy grin. She'd have thought she was a vampire if she didn't know any better.

[Brandy Wyatt]

R E J E C T I O N

  Brandy had a feeling it would be a bad day. She'd woken up late, for starters, which was ridiculous considering that she'd gone to sleep before nine the night before with a headache, which she never got. Then, of course, she'd been stuck in traffic for some stupid construction she'd forgotten about at four in the morning on her way in. After that, she broke a heel on the stairs, but thankfully Nadia was in early to hit the gym and they had the same size feet, and for some ungodly reason Nadia had an extra pair of heels in her Tahoe.

Then she'd spilled her coffee on herself in the elevator with John where they'd both been fucking stuck like sardines on their way down to go to court, and she'd been so mad she'd almost cried. She held it in because she was with John and crying over coffee would have blown her credibility for the rest of her life, but her headache was coming back and then it started to rain. At lunch, she went home to change, catching a flat when she was pulling into her driveway. She left the Silverado and got into the Mustang, utterly disgusted with how her day had gone by eleven AM. She almost rear ended someone on her way back because of too much horsepower and not enough dry asphalt, so by the time she got back to her desk, she was literally shaking.

She ended up putting her head down on her desk for what was intended to be a few minutes, and that turned into an hour and a half. She woke up to her phone going crazy, and with arms that were still asleep she struggled to answer it. Then she had to rush down to the other side of town where they had a case that was so bad they had to kick it over to SVU: a twelve year old girl had been brutalized and violated, then had her appendages cut off (still hadn't found them by three PM when she finally left the scene) and had all of her hair cut off.

When she got back to the office, she hadn't said more than three words to anyone other than what was absolutely required of her to communicate her information integral to the job. She was so ready to leave, and as she got her things together she realized she was supposed to meet Billy for drinks in a half hour. She rushed out of work and got down to the bar by the station as quickly as she could, but the second she walked through the door, she felt the juju of the worst kind wash over her. She scanned the room and saw him finally over by the bar - and for a second, she relaxed. She breathed a sigh of relief and took a moment to recompose herself before approaching him, but she only got about halfway through the room when she stopped dead in her tracks.

A beautiful (and Brandy was a looker, she knew) light-eyed and coffee-skinned woman was approaching him, and she was smiling the sort of smile that Brandy remembered smiling when she was in high school and Billy asked her to the prom. She stopped short and actually got bumped by someone passing her by as she managed not to fling the first glass she could reach off of the nearest table at the back of his head. She watched as they kissed like it was that first magical sort of kiss and she grit her teeth together so hard that she thought she might break a crown.

She turned around without a word and went straight out the door, back to the office where only one or two people still remained. Dropping down into her chair, she took out her phone and deleted all of Billy's contact information from it at once. Then she went into the break room, kicked off Nadia's shoes, and dropped down onto one of the cots for some well needed rest that didn't involve having to see or speak with anyone else that day.

[Brandy Wyatt]

L U L L A B Y

He had never seen the truck coming.

It was late. He'd insisted that they go upstate to see his contact with the guilds (and beyond). Brandy had tried to explain to John that she knew people in Diamond, but John was John and he wanted to go through his own channels when it came to his family. It was November, and the roads were absolute shit. A mixture of snow and rain poured down, and he insisted that he drive, since he was the superhuman one and all.

Brandy was fine with that. She was three months pregnant, and unfortunately, already showing - no getting around this one. She tipped the seat back in the Navigator and closed her eyes. The last thing she said was, "Ben better have a really comfortable guest bed," with a tired smile. She reached up to rest her hand on is knee, and after a few moments, it began to slide off as she fell asleep.

He'd only glanced over at her for a second.

The crash was so loud he thought he blew his eardrums out. It was all metal and cold and bright lights and the sensation of rolling and then there was a freezing cold that he was only dimly aware of creeping through the back of the vehicle. He was laying back in his seat, the entire side of the SUV caved in. He was mostly on his side, and struggled with the arm that wasn't mangled by vehicular shrapnel to undo his seatbelt. He had a sinking feeling in his chest.

No, it wasn't in his chest. It was the SUV. They were fucking sinking.

He looked up with blurred vision and made out a broken section of guardrail. Off in the more shallow part of the ravine there was a Dodge Diesel that had landed on its cab. There was nothing - no motion, no signs of life. Not for miles.

Just the sound of Creedence Clearwater Revival's Bad Moon Rising blaring out of the radio of the overturned truck, the lights of which still illuminated the pond John was slowly sinking in to enough for him to know that if he didn't snap out of it, he was going to die.

That was when it struck him - he was not alone in the vehicle. He looked over in panic to see Brandy pushed up against the window, obviously unconscious. Blood decorated the left side of her face and exposed part of her arm where glass securely embedded itself into her flesh, and John knew that every second he had was one second closer to both of them dying - all three of them, actually. Baby No-Name had certainly gone from a terrifying thought to something he had to protect at all costs.

It occurred to him, as he somehow pulled her from the vehicle (OnStar in the background chirping, "It seems you've been in a collision! Help is on the way! Remain calm!"), that this was the role of a father. Not whatever the hell his own father had done. It was certainly the role of a parent, and he couldn't honestly say that his mother would have made a gesture such as this to save any of her children except for him, but not out of love - out of necessity and status.

Hours later, in the hospital in some town he'd never heard of where they'd gotten airlifted to, he still shivered. He had long since warmed up from the sub-zero temperatures of the water he'd had to physically carry his severely injured and dead-weighted girlfriend through. He was a swan, for Christ's Sake - water that cold didn't bother him on like it would have, say, a Mistari. But even still, it was what the water represented that was cause for him to pull the itchy blanket tighter.

He listened to the steady beep of the monitor that Brandy had been hooked up to (and a smaller, softer sound for Baby No-Name, which he now knew to be a boy - and would Brandy be pissed he knew when she woke up), resting his hands on hers. Ben came and left, came and left, offering coffee, food, cigarettes, a shoulder - John would not be moved. He'd gotten up exactly four times, and each time was only to go to the bathroom. He then came right back and resumed sitting.

It was almost totally dark in the room, save for a very low light source that he'd adjusted on his own after the nurse showed him how. He didn't want Brandy to wake up with blinding lights shining down on her - she'd panic. Because she would wake up, very soon, and then he could tell her he ruined the surprise and "We're having a boy, so tell everyone to stop buying ribbons and shit" and thump his chest with masculinity (and hide how excited he actually was).

Unaware that Ben was just around the corner to hear the entire exchange, John leaned in very close to where Baby Boy No-Name was, resting a hand gently over him. He started to sing, very softly, the first song that came to mind.

"Inside you the times moves
and she don't fade
The ghost in you
She don't fade
Inside you the time moves
and she don't fade"

Ben would have, under any normal circumstance, leaped at the chance to get John Valentine on tape doing anything sentimental, but in this instance, the lullaby bothered him so deeply that he turned on heel and left, calling his sister to check on her, unconcerned with waking her up at 3 AM to do so.

[Brandy Wyatt]

S I C K

  Brandy couldn't believe how things had gone so bad so fast. She loved John, she did. She knew that she did, and she couldn't go back on that fact, regardless of how she felt now. She sat on the couch and twisted the pretty garnet ring he'd given her for Christmas around on her finger over and over again. The baby, Samuel (Sammy, she called him), kicked up a storm against her womb, giving her a moment to pause as she squinted and took the abuse. Sam wasn't happy, either. Unfortunately, it didn't matter how much Sam protested, or how much her heart ached at the moment: Brandy was tired. She was tired, and she was sick, and it was all over the endless stream of shit that had been seemingly non-stop over the past few weeks - no, months.

It had all started with his sisters following her around. That she thought was strange, but John said he'd take care of it, and it had stopped. Then, she'd started getting strange phone calls, and a woman she didn't recognize had followed her to her doctor's appointment to get a check-up on the baby. John had said he'd take care of it again, and that had resulted in them traveling to upstate New York to see a relative of his, a hunter who offered his services. Despite Brandy protesting the trip, and despite the weather, John had packed them up and insisted they go - as a result, she'd nearly been killed during a car accident.

If that had only been the end of it.

At the end of it, she'd been kidnapped. That little adventure was only a few weeks behind them, and now Brandy was safe and sound and in their apartment, ready to pop with pregnancy. She'd been basically confined to bed rest for the last few weeks, mostly because her doctor wasn't confident that the child wouldn't be a Cygni, and she was worried that it might do Brandy harm if she got much more worked up - like she was even capable of being more worked up then she had been in the past few weeks. Her bruises hadn't even healed, and she could still see faint yellow blotches on her hands and arms. It was worse when she looked in the mirror. Her entire body had been through hell, and it showed. She was ashamed for John to look at her, because she was a very capable woman, and somehow she'd still gotten her shit kicked in. She'd nearly LOST Sammy, a point that John did not miss, and the entire reason that he'd been extra nice to her lately. It was like he could tell that she was sick of the uphill battle she was enduring. And for what? For him? John didn't even feel like he was worth the effort, so Brandy wondered why she should keep trying.

She stood up and walked into their bedroom, dragging a suitcase out from the spacious closet that John had redesigned specifically with her in mind. It had been an early Christmas present. She had to work around her massive baby bump and it frustrated her, so she finally resorted to opening the drawers she wanted and throwing handfuls of clothing onto the floor, then kneeling down to a much more comfortable position and folding them neatly before packing them away. She could swear that she felt a sadness overtake her that wasn't her own, and it made her stop in the middle of rolling up a pair of socks to cry.

These fucking hormone rushes were driving her mental. She angrily slammed the socks into the suitcase and got up, crying her way into the bathroom to get her travel bag. Toothbrush, hair brush, makeup, bath wash, shampoo, conditioner, deodorant... she was absolutely sobbing as she zipped the bag up and trampled over the little trail of dirty clothing John had left from the night before when he'd come in from work and immediately gone from the door to the shower to the bed. She threw the bag with some force at the suitcase, and it landed with a soft noise on top of the clothing. After several unsuccessful attempts to zip the pack up without falling over, she finally managed.

The last thing she needed to do was leave. She rolled the suitcase into the living room and turned around to retrieve her coat from the closet. It had also been a gift from John, this one a 'just because' when he realized that her last beloved peacoat had been shredded during the underwater adventure. It was black and soft, and it fit nicely despite her rather enlarged belly; it would still look good once Sam had taken his leave, too. She clutched the house key in her hand and stood in the center of the apartment, tears streaming down her face as she tried to leave.

It was a lot harder than she thought it would be, unfortunately. Sam kicked again, obviously disagreeing with this development, and Brandy covered her mouth as she nearly doubled over in pain. She just couldn't make her way to the door, for whatever reason, and felt as though she was in a personal stalemate over the issue. She saw no reason to stay - John could be as nice as he wanted, but it wouldn't stop the bad things from happening. On the other hand, leaving would just make her own life harder. Could she afford to raise a child on her own? She supposed she couldn't afford it if she were dead, and with that resolve, she made her way for the door again.

Just as she got to it, she heard John's key jingling around on the other side, and froze. Oh shit. The whole plan had been to leave before he got home. What time was it? Was he home early? On the other side of the door, she heard him stop.

"Brandy? Are you okay? Give me a second, hon, the lock's stuck," he called. New set of keys always gave him problems and now was no different, it seemed.

It gave Brandy the jolt she needed, and she turned on the flat heel of her furry booted foot, darting for the bedroom. She dropped the suitcase on its side just as she heard the door open and slid it under the bed as hard as she could - just in time, too. John came inside the apartment and rapidly to where he could hear her. He came in just as she was taking off her coat, assisting her as soon as he'd put down the bag of groceries in his hand.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice pained - concern. "Is everything okay?" He surveyed the room out of the corner of his eye, noticing that there were certain objects missing, and didn't miss the fact that the dust ruffle at the bottom of their bed was kicked up and stuck on top of her black suitcase. He chose not to mention it, waiting for her to answer.

"No," she lied. "Sam's kickin' hard and I just got a little overwhelmed," she said. It wasn't the total truth, he could tell, but it also wasn't a direct lie, either. He almost pursued it, but she suddenly jumped on him (as much as she could), holding him so tightly that it alarmed him. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her in return, squeezing her as tightly as he would allow.

"I'm here now," he said softly. "It's okay." He felt strange reassuring her when it looked like she was about to dip out, but he pushed his own worry to the side for the moment. Something was obviously wrong, and he needed to find out what it was before he ran her out the door by mistake. "Come on, let's go sit down," he urged.

She followed him to the couch, where she curled up next to him and buried her face into his chest. He rubbed her back lightly, mind still racing. "Is everything else okay?" he ventured.

"No," she said honestly. "No, it isn't."

He fell silent, but she relaxed against him, shifting so that she could see his face. He reached down and gently brushed her tears away, then leaned in to kiss her lightly on the forehead. "Will it be?" he asked softly.

She was quiet for a while, then he saw something change in her eyes. "I think so," she answered him honestly.

Whatever decision she'd almost made before he'd come home, she'd changed her mind about it. When John had to run out for errands later, he was terrified she'd be gone when he got back, but instead he found her on the couch reading some Mommy and Me book. The suitcase was curiously back in the closet, while her toothbrush was back in its holder, along with all of her other odds and ends. He found a pair of clean socks wedged atop the dresser in the corner, though, like they'd been thrown in frustration, and he said nothing as he plucked them out and tossed them across the room and into the laundry basket.

He knew how close he'd come to dodging a bullet right then, and told himself that he'd do everything in his power to make sure that whatever Brandy felt that made her want to run away, she never, ever felt again.