Blood soaked through the carpet, threatening to spill on the adjacent tile.

Small footsteps padded down the linoleum-covered hallway.

A gasp.

The sound of a bouquet of flowers hitting the floor.

A scream.

Ivy woke up the following morning in a similar state of terror to the previous one, though this time her backup pistol remained safely secured in her drawer.

She blindly grasped for her phone, squinting her eyes as she looked at the time on the bright screen.

Three-thirty.

She fell back into bed, her phone falling beside her. Six hours until her flight would leave. Three and a half hours until Agent Murray would arrive at her apartment, ready to take her to the airport.

Her bags were packed, a suitcase, a backpack, and her briefcase. Her cases were in the safe and capable hands of Agent da Silva.

She turned back over, wondering if returning to sleep was even feasible. Her alarm would go off in two and a half hours anyway. She sat up, turning on her bedside light. Trying to fall back asleep on such an important day was likely a worthwhile cause.

Ivy's therapist told her that she had an unhealthy relationship with sleep, in that she didn't get enough.

She got plenty.

Besides, sleep brought unprompted nightmares and memories of past horrors she was all too familiar with. Reality was far more governable.

Her therapist.

Ivy reached for her phone again, drafting an email for Dr. Taft. They met once a week, on Thursdays, after Ivy finished work. Seeing as Ivy was about to leave for New York, they would either have to change the format of their meetings or put Ivy's psychological treatment on hold. Ivy hoped for the former.

She told Dr. Taft of her temporary assignment in New York, and, if possible, how she wished to continue their sessions virtually. She hesitated, looking at the time before she hit send. She knew Dr. Taft would take note of that, and bring it up at their next session.

"Tell me, why are you sending emails at three thirty, Ivy?"

Ivy was now well awake, the blue light of her screen lulling her into a false sense of daytime. She got out of bed, stretching in front of her window, which revealed her dark, sleeping apartment complex, and strode to her closet. She reached for one of her pantsuits, hesitating on which one to choose. Some of the materials wrinkled easier than others, and since she was going to spend about an hour on a plane, and who knew how long stuck in New York traffic, she needed to choose wisely. The last thing she wanted to do was present herself to the detectives of New York's ninety-ninth precinct looking like she'd just rolled out of bed.

She decided on a navy blue set and a white button down. She headed for the shower, stalling a bit under the hot water, as she knew she had a lot of time to kill. After getting out, she covered her face in moisturizer, hoping the dark circles that lined her eyes from waking up so early would disappear before she got to New York.

After getting ready and eating breakfast, Ivy had only killed an hour. She wandered around her apartment, checking to make sure that everything she needed was packed. Of course, it was, because she didn't forget things. As she walked past her bookshelf, her eyes landed on the untouched pile of Owen's Detective Dragoneus series. She sighed, grabbed all six of them, and tucked them into her carry-on bag. They didn't take up much space, as they were graphic novels, and maybe it wouldn't hurt to see what her little brother was working on.

Besides, she'd have time to waste on the plane.

She sat on her couch and flipped on her TV, something she didn't often do. She consumed her news through the Washington Post and NPR, and she wasn't a huge fan of movies or TV shows. Her work kept her busy enough without a need for a hobby, and if she did want a hobby, she had a shelf full of books to enjoy. Still, she paid for a cable package, which wasn't a great use of her money. Then again, she needed something to spend her money on, besides her subscription to the Post, weekly Korean takeout consumption, and pantsuits.

Her TV was set to a movie channel, and a Bruce Willis movie was playing. Ivy knew it was Bruce Willis, because her mother's favorite movie, for some reason, was Armageddon. It wasn't Armageddon, though, it was something Ivy didn't recognize. She hit the guide button on her remote, seeing that it was Die Hard. Another movie she hadn't seen, and didn't care to see. She switched it to a documentary on mountain climbing and settled back on her couch, a mug of coffee in her hand.

She set her phone alarm for seven a.m., in case the documentary lulled her to sleep, and put her feet up, waiting until Agent Murray would come to take her to the airport. At this rate, she might as well have taken a taxi to the airport and sat there. At least then she would have plenty of time to check her bag and get through security, and it was always fun to people watch at the airport.

The mountain climbing documentary proved to be more interesting than not, and by the end, she found herself to be uncharacteristically invested. Would they make it? Did they have enough food?

She had to admit, she didn't even know where the mountain they were climbing was, but it was entertaining nonetheless. Just as the climber reached the summit, her phone buzzed, alerting her to a text.

Incoming message from: Geoff Murray

I'm a bit early, but I assume you're all set already anyways.

She typed out a response and turned off the TV, secretly glad that he was early. Getting to the airport earlier would alleviate pre-flight jitters. It wasn't the actual act of flying that made Ivy nervous — it was the bureaucracy of getting her bags checked, going through security, and reaching her gate in time that stressed her out. Not to mention, it was always quite the hassle getting her FBI-issued pistol through security.

She grabbed her bags, a small suitcase, backpack, and a briefcase, and headed for the door, taking one last look at her apartment. She didn't know when she'd be back. Part of her was sad about that. She liked her bed, her couch, her shower, and her kitchen. She liked everything being her way, and everything being hers. Sure, she'd be alone in her apartment in New York, but it still wasn't home.

She locked the door behind her, slinging the backpack over her shoulders and setting her briefcase on top of her suitcase as she wheeled it to the elevator. After arriving in the lobby, she waved to the security guard and exited the building, spotting Geoff's FBI-issued car by its federal plates in one of the guest parking spots.

He got out of the car, laughing as he watched her with her things. "Is that all you're bringing?" he asked. "That's the smallest suitcase I've ever seen. And you're paying to check that thing?"

Ivy shrugged. "I don't have that much stuff anyway," she said, loading it into the back of his car. "Besides," she added with a smile. "I'm not paying for it, the FBI is."

He laughed as they both got back into the car, where the Beastie Boys were playing loudly from his radio. "I thought this album would be an appropriate send off," Geoff said as he pulled out of the parking lot. "You know, Licensed to Ill?"

Ivy smirked. "Ahh, yes. 'No Sleep Till Brooklyn.' Creative."

"Thank you," he said, smirking. "Did you eat already? I got an extra coffee and a donut, if you want it," he said, pointing to the backseat.

Ivy wasn't one to turn down coffee or a donut, so she graciously accepted them and ate them as Geoff chatted about his family.

Though he was getting paid to drive Ivy to the airport, it wasn't technically work, so they didn't have to talk about it. Geoff liked to talk about his family, and Ivy supposed she didn't mind hearing about them. It was better than talking to her own family, anyway.

"Apparently they're not teaching cursive anymore in elementary school, can you believe that? How is Nola supposed to sign her name? Raquel and I are still going to teach her at home, but ... damn, I can't believe it. Are we getting old, Auden?"

"Maybe you are, Murray," Ivy replied, a flicker of a smirk on her face.

Geoff scoffed and slapped his hand on the steering wheel. "Shoot, maybe I am. Well, enough about my family. How's yours? Talk to them lately?"

Ivy knew Geoff knew that she didn't talk to her family much. Then again, Ivy didn't talk to anyone much, outside of her sessions with Dr. Taft and her time at work.

"I talked to them yesterday, actually," Ivy replied, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Yeah? How are they doing?" he asked.

She shrugged. "They seem alright. Same as usual."

"Is your brother still working on that thing? Those comic books?"

"Graphic novels, but yeah. He is."

Geoff nodded. "And your sister? How is she?"

"Well, I didn't talk to her," Ivy replied, clearing her throat. "But she's fine, I guess. She got a new job, so, she's still on the road to Emerald City."

Geoff looked over at her, studying her face for a second. "Are you okay, Auden? No offense, you look like shit."

Ivy rubbed under her eyes, stifling a yawn. "Didn't sleep well. Never do before I have to travel."

"Do you ever?" Geoff replied. "Lord knows I don't, not in this line of work."

Ivy remained silent, knowing he was right. She rarely slept well, though by now the line blurred as to what caused her lack of sleep. The things she read and saw in her line of work did haunt her sleep, and her anxiety disorder certainly didn't help things. Not to mention, of course, her Aunt Helen. She didn't think any amount of therapy would ease that memory from her subconsciousness. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ author's note ✫・゜・。.

aaaand we're headed somewhere! 

thanks for reading!

xx,

madi