Guarded: A Roleplay

He takes in everything she says, her mannerisms, you name it. A twenty-three year old brat, he finds it quite easy to spot when she's lying. He looks at her one last time, "I'm still outside...like I said, if you're going anywhere, I will be there too."

Just then, he opens the front door and a black garbage bag was on the step. Paige is standing next to him, she reaches to touch and he pulls her hand back, "You don't just touch a bag..." He looks around, any sign of who dropped this off, some car tracks.

He focuses back on the bag, walking away and comes back. He has one of those examination gloves on his hand and starts to open the bag, he can see hair. He looks up at her, "You don't have to see this...,your Uncle just left didn't he?"

She gives a nod, "I am getting a team over here, why someone is dropping off a human head..on your doorstep?" He says,looking at her.

My eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. "A human head?" I sputter. "A fucking human head?"

Christ, no. They have to know I'm not talking by now. No one's been picked up for an arrest. I never said a thing.

I feel tears springing to my eyes. When was the last time I cried? I can't even remember.

"I didn't- I said I wouldn't..." I suck in a lungful of air and try to calm my nerves. "Jesus, they're going to actually kill me."

I meet his gaze across from me, and suddenly I want nothing more than for him to believe me on this. "I didn't do anything. I swear. I never did anything to them!"

Heath just gets inside, not moving the bag still and shuts the door. He insists on his word and gets a team over to the house. Forensics, cops, whatever needed turn up half an hour later.

Conners comes up to Heath, who has been on the phone and with Paige, who is sitting in the kitchen. Eating like nothing has happened.

Conners eyes what she is in, looks to Heath and smirks a bit. Heath rolls his eyes and moves Conners to the side, "This assignment, a lot more interesting than I signed up for. She of course, won't talk and tell me..., has anything been found yet?"

Conners shows him some notes, "The victim, he seems to be between the ages 25-30. Has a couple bruises around his eye, clearly beaten pretty bad. Coroner states, he was dead before you...."

"Before the decapitation..." Heath concludes. Conners nods.

I'm pretty sure I know whose head it was, but I don't dare say it. I nibble on some Cap'n Crunch, but then my throat constricts and I know I won't be keeping it down for long. There's a human head on my doorstep.

I slide away from the table and cross my arms. I don't want to look at any of them.

"If you don't mind, officers, I'd like to take a shower and get ready for work."

Heath looks up from his phone, taking a break from texting "You're not going anywhere from my sight, your employer has already been alerted that you will be off and will return when it's safe. Now, go pack some things to take with you, enough to last at least a week."

Conners leaves the kitchen, Heath drinks some coffee and goes back to texting.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from fuming. "I have to leave my own goddamn place because of these psychos? And be with you, no less? Jesus, talking to a brick wall is more entertaining."

The moment the words are out of my mouth, I know I've been too cruel. All he's doing is his job. He's saved my life once already. I let my eyes go from his down to the floor. "Alright, whatever. Fine."

Having nothing left to say, I stalk out of the room to get ready.

Heath just doesn't even take in what she's said, he keeps in contact with her Uncle until she comes back. He looks at her, she has heavy bags and she sets them down, eying him.

"Let's get going, the drive is going to be at least two hours and what?" He says finally, looking at her .

I glance down at my bags, then up at him. I roll my eyes. "Oh, don't strain yourself, Mr. Chivalry," I murmur, grabbing one and hefting it above my shoulder. I sway a little. I never was the type to pack light, so to speak.

"Where are we headed, anyway? Disneyland?"

Heath watches her, annoyed more than anything but watches as she heads out of the mansion. Cops all around, they get into his car and they drive off.

He keeps quiet as he drives, swearing at one person who cuts him off. Realizing he spoke, he goes back to being silent, suddenly his car is smashed into the side and he glances, to see a car next to him, window rolled down and gun in a man's hand.

He recognized the one driving but soon the other was shooting, it cracks Heath's glass. He holds Paige down and they are chased on the freeway. At some point, they finally lose them and he gets off, continuing the drive on country roads.

They get to a motel, hour and a half later. It was a very run down place outside of Jersey. He pulls up and gets out, just grabbing her stuff and getting her in the room, he shuts the door and takes a breath. He gets on the phone or about to...

"They knew we were leaving...only people who knew we were leaving, someone in on it...was in the house. Posing as a cop..,had to have been." Heath says, talking to himself more than anything, he takes off his jacket.

A little bit of blood, she sees it and he looks at her, "I was just scraped by a bullet, I'm fine..." A bullet had gotten into the car, messing up his window pretty badly.

I usually don't show much concern for others, and not that it bothers me because it helps me get by, but somehow, this time, I care. He was shot. Because of me.

I eye the blood on his shirt, wishing I knew what in hell I'm supposed to do to make it better. I head toward my make-up bag. There's some kind of stuff for my pores that almost entirely consists of alcohol. I pull out a make-up removing cloth from within, too, and soak it with the liquid. Who knew my vanity would end up helping anyone?

I nod towards him and hold up my homemade bullet wound disinfectant. "Are you going to take off your shirt or are you going to make me?"

He looks at her, knowing it is best to get it treated, the wound. Finally, he takes off his holster with the gun and then his shirt, his jeans low enough to reveal a tattoo from his army days.

He gives her a look, "The wound, maybe keep your attention on that..." As he sits down on the bed, "And I know this motel isn't exactly the Plaza but no one is going to look for you here."

He says, hoping to sound apologetic.

Is that an apology in his eyes? Well, damn. Mostly I'm still admiring his body, but then I see the blood, and a cut that isn't as bad as I'd once assumed, and remind myself I'd intended to fix it.

And he's right. No one in their right mind would ever think I'd hole myself up in this place. I cringe at the thought of what I might find, should I run a black light over these walls and bed sheets.

I take in the tattoo resting above his pelvis, that spattering of hair trailing down that beautiful, promising V, and swallow. USMC.

"A Marine?" I ask, and when I look into his eyes, I see them harden before me. I'm not going to get an answer.

"Sorry," I murmur, and then I close in on him with my alcohol wipe. "This is going to sting. I mean, it's not like, real alcohol. More like skin stuff, but..."

I'm blabbering. I snap my mouth closed. I press the cotton to his skin, lightly dabbing at the cut and trying to be as gentle as possible. He doesn't move, doesn't flinch a bit, doesn't even change his breathing patterns, and I figure a marine who barely speaks has to have been through worse.

He leans back a little on the bed, resting his weight on his palms, and I continue my work, maneuvering around the cut to clean up some of the blood.

And then, because the guilt is consuming me, I speak up.

"That guy... I mean, the head..." I don't dare meet his gaze. I keep dabbing his skin. "Did he have an eyebrow ring?"

Heath watches her, figuring she's never helped anyone. Her hands are shaky and materials are falling out of her hands, when he's satisfied with what she's done, he stands up and goes through his bag he brought in for a tank shirt, he pulls one on.

Hearing what she's asked about the man, he sits back on the bed and looks at her,"Yes, he did...they already have an I.D. for him, he was a well-known thief, stole anything and was paid for it. One of his heists obviously went wrong..."

He looks at her,"I followed you for a week...before anything happened, you didn't talk to anyone suspicious. Okay, I am done with twenty questions, I want more information from you."

I pull my legs up under me and sit Indian style on the bed. I pick at the edges of my sandals. I have to tell him the truth at some point, and my keeping the murder a secret hasn't helped anyone so far.

And I feel safe with him. If there's anything at all I wouldn't ever doubt, it's that fact alone.

"I don't deal with bad people," I promise him. "I mean, I didn't know them at all."

Silence greets me. He's waiting for more. Somehow I want him to believe me, to know I'm not all bad. He already acts as if I'm something he's scraped off the bottom of his boot, and I don't like that. At all.

"When I was leaving the club, that night they found me passed out? My heels were hurting, so I stopped to take them off. And that alley, the one right beside One? There were these guys. Three, and one other. They were saying stuff, I guess, but I couldn't make it out. And then this one guy pulled out a gun and shot the one with the eyebrow ring. Then I lost it, and I was stupid and I screamed. Then I fell and I guess I passed out."

I look up to read his expression. There's no stand-offish glare, no fatherly disappointment. He's just listening. He nods for me to continue. "And I'm thinking before they could kill me, the bartender found me. I guess it scared them away.

"And the night you saved me, those were the guys. Or two of them, at least. One of them was watching me in the club. When they confronted me, I said I wasn't talking to anyone about what I saw, that we were cool, you know? But they pretty much determined I was dead already."

I nibble on my lower lip. "Sorry I lied. I don't usually do that. I didn't want to end up dead, and well, it got you shot instead."

Jesus, when did I become such a tell-all? But his eyes have softened, and there's no glare, no hatred, no looks of annoyance. It's refreshing. I crave it. If I have to be a good girl every now and then to get that look, then so be it.

Heath takes in everything she's said, "Thank you for telling me and these men, they are dangerous. Killing the man I just told you about, it's clearly over a lot of money...enough to make sure anyone who saw anything, stays silent."

Just then his cell rings and sees it's his girlfriends name. He answers,standing up and moving more to the window, "Yeah...it would really be great if you could stay in Boston a bit longer, I doubt they know where I live."

He listens, "If you have a friend to stay with, that's even better. I'm fine, you too. Yes, I promise I will call...although, I thought you weren't a girl who..." he laughs, "Okay, yes, I was joking..yes I will call you. Bye babe."

He hangs up.

I've never been much of the jealous type. Hell, I'm the one who usually makes other girls green with envy. But now I'm -dare I say it?- jealous. That girl better know she's got a good one. Hell, I've all but told him I'm up for the taking, and he's refused. Any man who can do that is a keeper.

His girlfriend's probably a better person than I am, though, so what right do I have to get mad?

That's a sad thought.

I shift a little where I sit on the motel bed and force a smile. I hope I don't come across too bitter. None of this is his fault. "Mr. McSerious smiles? That's one for the books."

Heath looks at her,"Okay...,why do you keep referring me to McDonalds food items?"

Okay, so there aren't many nicknames that work with serious. I quirk an eyebrow. "Would you rather I call you McLovin, the twenty-two year old Hawaiian organ donor?"

Heath looks at her, "That doesn't help much either, look...just go to sleep. I will figure out more in the morning."

I sigh. "Superbad."

This time, his own eyebrow quirks. It's kind of sexy, but I won't say it aloud. Poor guy is lost. "A movie. It was a quote from Superbad. Lord have mercy, Detective."

I pull back the covers and snuggle between the sheets. For a shitty motel, the sheets do okay. They're not silk heaven, but they'll do. I'm too exhausted to care.

I hear not a peep from my new roommate, hardly a single breath, and I grimace. Is he going to get any sleep at all? Likely not. We could take shifts. When I wake up, I might suggest it.

My eyelids flutter closed, but before I can allow myself to sleep, I murmur into the darkness.

"Can I ask you something?"

Heath looks at her, "I guess so...make it a quick one, you know back on my tour days when someone said go to sleep, I took full advantage of it."

He sits on a chair next to the bed and looks at her.

An actual factoid about his past? I decide not to comment on it. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, they say.

"Since I now know you're a bad-ass marine cop who's doomed to stay with me for an indeterminate amount of time," I shrug, "I'd like to know your name."

Heath looks at her, finally gives a nod in agreeing "Fair enough, my name is Heath. Now, how about that sleep?"

The lights get turned off and he chooses the floor, taking a pillow and sets himself a spot just below her. "Night, Andrews."


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It was morning when she woke up, to laughter. It was early hours and Heath was awake, drinking a coffee and eating some Mcdonalds breakfast, he was craving it oddly enough and watching Superbad on his laptop.

He looks over, seeing her awake "I was curious..."

I grin. Waking up to Heath's laughter is something I could get used to. Granted, I'd rather see him smiling next to me in bed, preferably naked, but we can't have everything.

I prop myself up behind him and grin. "Heath, the detective, slowly emerging from beneath his little rock," I narrate, dramatically sniffling and reaching up to wipe away a fake tear. "What a beautiful thing."

He looks at her, "If only the world was a dream..." as if he could make out what she was thinking, "I got you some breakfast, I assumed pancakes...since generally most women go for that, the experience I have anyways."

He shuts up and just watches the movie, "Okay...some of this movie is stupid, yet hilarious." As she sits next to him, hands her some chocolate milk he also got for her.