Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They say it takes three weeks to form a habit, but what about an obsession? For Cooper, it only took a thirty-second interaction.

It was a Tuesday evening. Coop and his partner, Rico, had been dispatched to someone’s home for a suspected heart attack. The crusty old woman didn’t make it, which meant that he and Rico took her to the hospital morgue rather than the ER. Cooper loathed the morgue. In his role, he couldn’t avoid the occasional visit, but it made him grossly uncomfortable. First off, it was a dirty place. Plain nasty. Any of the morgue attendants who knew how to use a mop got let go, he guessed. Second, most of his pets were there at some point, at any given time, awaiting their autopsy or for the funeral home to come get them. Being that close in proximity to his victims caused a mild panic for Cooper. As a firefighter-paramedic, he was Cooper. Being near Butcher victims... well, Cooper and Butcher had to remain separate.

On this particular night, when they backed up to the double doors, they swung open immediately, displaying a woman’s silhouetted figure backlit by the harsh, clinical fluorescents. He and Rico hopped down from their seats and unloaded their stretcher. Cooper couldn’t refrain from wrinkling his nose as the sweet stench from inside wafted out to him. They rolled inside and he saw the woman in full view for the first time and what he felt surprised him.

His first thought was that she was far too put together to work in such a disgusting place. She wore a long sleeve button-up and form-fitting slacks. Her makeup was precise, her hair up in a tight ponytail, and she smelled... delicious. Her fragrance hovered over the stench of rot and tickled his nose. It distracted him. It brought up a bubble of thoughts that he hadn’t anticipated. A coil of urges that he fought hard to push away while he was on the clock.

He shook his head and lined up the stretcher with the gurney that she’d prepared. Cooper was used to being the muscle. He didn’t expect anyone to help him move people, but the morgue woman gripped the edges of the body bag at the same time that he did. Together, they pulled Betty Langston onto the metal cart with almost no effort.

He stole a glance at her and observed her physicality. She looked to be about five five - the bump of her ponytail barely reached Cooper’s shoulder - and possibly 170-180 pounds. Not an exceedingly large woman, but there was a softness to her body that was accentuated by her fitted slacks. The sleeves of her blouse pulled taught against her arms when she moved Betty over, a display of her subtle musculature and strength. Her proportions were evenly distributed, a female figure without a doubt, something Cooper was familiar with in a variety of ways. He observed the crook of her elbow and pictured how a cleaver would cleanly split the joint, disembarking the forearm from her body. He pictured her ribs beneath the blouse, pictured slicing around her spine. He pictured heaving against her chest as she lay on her back, spatchcocking her like a chicken. An exercise too similar to compressions, the irony twisted like an orange peel on the rim of a glass. 

Cooper shook his head again. Not here, not now. Please. 

The woman pushed Betty’s cart into the cooler, the cold air sweeping over Cooper with another whiff of pungent decay. He wondered which of his pets was stinking up the place. He wanted badly to wash his hands, to scrub his knuckles and palms despite his wearing nitrile gloves. He wanted even more to step under a scalding stream of water and brush at his skin with antiseptic until it was raw. The rawness brought him peace at the end of a long, violent day. 

“Coop,” Rico interrupted his derailing train of thought, “don’t forget to get her info for the report. I’m going back to the truck.” With that, Rico passed off the clipboard and exited back through the double doors, leaving him alone. With her. 

She had her back to him, patiently spelling Betty’s name on a dry erase board. He cleared his throat and she turned to him expectantly. 

“Miss, can I get your name?” He asked, the pleasantness in his voice grating to his own ears. 

She gave it to him, first and last, without needing further prompting. How easy it was, how simple it was, to get someone to expose themselves to him without thinking twice about it. Though her name was all he required, he wasn’t ready to leave. He needed more from her. He needed more of her. 

“Are you with the Medical Examiner’s office?” He asked casually, pretending to continue writing though he had long ago completed her name. She gave a wry chuckle which puzzled him.

“Oh, no. I work with the hospital. They couldn’t pay me enough to work for them.” She gestured her hand vaguely at the morgue. “I handle all the hospital deaths. Talk to the families, that kind of thing. I’m only here because the ME on call couldn’t be bothered.”

He nodded, stopped using the pen. This moment would soon end and Cooper was at a loss at how he would recreate it. How he would make himself a fixture in her life, whether she was aware of it or not. If she didn’t work for the ME, he was unlikely to run into her on another DOA. If she worked for the hospital, there was a possibility they would cross paths but it was also unlikely considering his paramedic duties were rare. He was one of the many that were called to heroically pull the hose from the truck, stomp up the ladder in full gear, and extinguish harsh blazes. Would the chief let him do EMS runs more often if he asked? 

He caught a glint of light casting from her ears. A pair of clean diamond studs sat affixed to her lobes, accented with a gold border. They were small and restrained, but beautiful nonetheless. Who would appreciate them more, Riley or Rachel? They were probably too gaudy for Rachel. She liked subtle things, things that wouldn’t draw attention. Though these fit the bill, she would likely balk at the diamonds. Riley liked things that shone, glittered, or “popped.” She would likely wear them to school to impress the little assholes that don’t like her. They would be jealous of her small luxury, the sophisticated gift from her dad that showed that she was more mature than they were.

He pictured detaching the woman’s ear slowly with a fresh scalpel, pulling patiently at the tissue until it let go, rubbing his finger over the earring still hanging from it. Watching as the blood pooled beneath her cheek. 

Her perfume wafted over him, overpowering the rotten morgue stench again, confusing his senses and his personas. Again. 

“Alrighty, I think we’re all set then. I hope you enjoy the rest of your shift,” he paused. Then, as if on impulse, “what time are you out of here? They got you stuck here all night?”

She rolled her eyes at the prospect of another several hours of work. 

“Yes. Unfortunately, I don’t get to leave until 7. We do 12 hour shifts. Longer if things get crazy, which they often do.” 

This woman had zero restraint. She expelled information freely, not pausing for even a second to consider the motivations of the person asking. This worked for him. 

“Well, I hope all goes well. Be safe tonight.” He gave a little two-finger salute and sauntered away, out of the double doors, and into the dark night. He checked the time on his phone. Only 9 more hours.

-*-

The rest of the night with Rico passed uneventfully. He allowed Cooper to drive most of the shift, which he preferred. It allowed him time to think, to really focus, under the guise of watching the roads.

He thought of the woman at the morgue. He considered her hands and her legs, her shoulders and the angle of her jaw. His heart palpitated when he wondered what sound it would make when he dislocated it with his bare fingers. His head swum with images of his fingertips pressing tightly to her quivering chin and pulling, pulling, pulling, until… 

Inside the truck the radio was on, but all Cooper could hear was the snapping and popping of bones and tendons belonging to “Miss Thang” (what Rico called her) back at the hospital. While he drove and listened out for calls from dispatch, he replayed their interaction in the morgue over and over.

He fixated on the glimmering earrings, her neat handwriting on the whiteboard, and her sugary naivety. Cooper wondered how long it would take before she would be in his arms, legs dangling limply while he carried her down the stairs to one of his basements. The thought made him giddy and he could hardly wait until 7:00.

He and Rico would wrap up their shift and hand off at 6, then part ways. Cooper pictured himself cranking his car at the station, rolling out of the parking lot, and back to the hospital. By the time he would get there, there would be time to spare. He could use that time to search for the employee lot. He could spend the rest of that time waiting. And watching. 

Soon enough, the shift was over. Everything began to play out exactly as he’d pictured it, right down to the angle of the parking lot he would observe. He kept his attention focused on both the hospital exit and the swinging bar that marked the exit of the lot. Distantly, he tried to guess what kind of car she drove. A sedan, most likely. Four doors, five seats, and one woman to drive it. Did he think she had bumper stickers? Probably, even if it was just one. Was her car clean? Did she keep it junky? 

Lost in his musings, he almost missed her leaving the building.

She came through the automatic sliding doors, a bulky tote bag over her shoulder and her cell phone pressed to her ear. She seemed frustrated from the animated way she spoke. He continued watching, waiting for her to pull a key fob out of her bag, waiting to see which vehicle’s lights lit up. To his surprise, she turned and shuffled to a nearby bench. She leaned over, pressed a hand to her forehead, her shoulders hunched with exhaustion. She pulled her phone away and dropped it unceremoniously into her bag before removing a pack of smokes and a lighter.

Cooper’s curiosity burned a pit in his brain. After such a long night, he expected that she would practically be running to her car, eager to leave. Instead, she stuck around. What was the deal?

She continued smoking her cigarette, finished the first, then lit a second. Unable to handle the not-knowing of it all, Cooper crept his car out of his hiding spot and parked in a more conspicuous place.

He left his vehicle and found himself marching towards the hospital entrance. At least, that’s where it looked like he was going. When he was close enough, he glanced over to her, then did a double-take as though only now registering it was indeed her sitting on the bench. 

“Oh hey, you,” he called to her.

Her head lifted and her eyes indicated recognition. She wasn’t startled. This he noticed.

“If you have a dead person, you’ll have to call someone else. I’m off.” She quipped, dragging on her cigarette lazily. 

He raised his hands as though in defense.

“Nope, no bodies. Just other business,” came his swift reply, “you headed home?” 

Her lips twisted into what was likely supposed to be a smile but instead resembled a grimace. 

“I was, yes. My ride flaked on me, though. I’m just accumulating enough nicotine in my system before bothering with an Uber.” She held her pack out towards him, “want one?” 

Cooper loathed smoking. It was a dirty, disgusting habit that made his entire being itch. Watching her smoke made his arms and legs feel like they housed nests of insects. That being said, he also knew how to play the game. He took her up on the offer and removed one from the pack. He knelt before her and she lit it for him. Cooper continued kneeling, looking up at her boyishly through his hair. 

“Thanks, it’s been a long night.” 

She nodded in agreement. 

“Same here.”

He pulled at the cigarette and swallowed the bile that rose at the acrid taste. He ignored his buzzing limbs and focused on her. 

“Why’d your ride flake?” 

Her reaction to his intrusive question was muted. Nothing changed in her expression at the mention of her current troubles. Nothing in her posture indicated she was bothered. 

“Same shit, different day. There’s always something.”

Her second cigarette was almost finished. Would she go for a third? He remained quiet for a moment, pretending to be mulling something over even though he’d already decided long ago what he would say next.

“Do you live nearby?” He monitored her face, searching for a reaction. Hardly anything changed except the smallest hint of a smirk emerging. 

“Relatively.”

Not so transparent now, it seemed. 

“I’m only asking because, well, Ubers are no fun and I’d hate to see you pay your own money just to get home.”

She considered this, her cigarette finally finished and extinguished. He pretended his was done as well and finally rid himself of the loathsome thing. The taste still clung to his tongue and this irritated him. Redirecting his attention back to her, he saw that she was staring at him closely. 

“Are you offering me a ride?” She asked, crossing one leg over the other. The fabric of her slacks tightened against the top calf and cooper wanted to grab it and yank. Soon enough, he thought. 

“Ah, I’m not trying to be weird,” he chuckled, “I just don’t like the idea of someone like you getting in an Uber. I don’t trust those things. Won’t let my daughter use the app.”

“Someone like me?”

“Uh, yeah. A young woman getting in a car with a stranger just doesn’t sit right with me.”

“I mean, you’re a stranger. Right?”

She was smiling then, a genuine grin. Nothing about her indicated any amount of nervousness. Cooper noticed this, too. 

“Well, maybe so, but at least I know your name.”

“That’s true. But I don’t know yours.” 

He stood and extended his hand to her.

“I’m Cooper. Philly Fire and Rescue.” 

She clasped her hand around his and squeezed. For a woman, her handshake was strong and assured. The muscles in her forearm bulged slightly, showing that her work was not as desk-oriented as other jobs might be. 

“Nice meeting you, Cooper. I’m afraid I’ll have to decline the offer, though. Uber is good enough for me. I do appreciate it.”

A bubble of rage rose in his chest, a hot ball of gas that would pop and expose his true nature if he didn’t get it in check. Recalibration was one of his many skills and he flexed his ability to remain in control. 

“Sure, yeah, I get it. Just be careful, though. There’s lots of freaks out there.” He responded jovially, giving a big smile and nod like Good Guy Cooper does. She leaned forward on the bench, catching his gaze and holding her eyes on his meaningfully. 

“Maybe next time, Cooper.” 

A car bearing an Uber decal approached the curb and she gathered her bag. When had she made the call? The bubble, shrunken just a few moments ago, rose again. He didn’t like surprises. As she made to enter the vehicle, she turned back to him. 

“See you around, Philly Fire.” She called before climbing in the back seat and shutting the door behind her.

The driver peeled off, leaving Cooper standing next to the bench, his bafflement palpable. The bubble popped and he clenched his fist, flexed his jaw, felt his teeth tighten in his mouth.

That fucking bitch.

She escaped him, a rare occurrence in his experience, and he could never let that go. Now he had a project, a solid goal that would rule him for however long it took until she was trembling in his basement, begging for her life. 

Chapter Text

Emily’s Uber dropped her in front of her duplex. She thanked the driver and exited the vehicle.

While she trudged up the steps to her front door, she found that she was smiling to herself. How odd it was that such a profound crush could spark from so brief an interaction. A warmth had begun to bloom at the base of her spine the moment Cooper approached her outside of work. 

Emily’s crushes had always been intense. From the moment an attractive man’s eyes lit upon her, she went to the ends of the earth to secure their affection. This got her in trouble at times. She’d been known to misinterpret a glance or a sly comment a time or two and wind up making a fool of herself by exposing her desperation to a man who couldn’t care less. She vowed not to let that happen now, not with Cooper. Their brief meeting and subsequent reunion meant nothing more than coincidence. Him offering her a ride was only a friendly gesture. He was a fireman, a paramedic. Helping others blindly was his whole deal. Not personal and surely not because he burned with desire for her after a single meeting.

Additionally, there were other, more concrete reasons why the gesture was an innocent one. First, there was a bright gold wedding band on his ring finger. An easy deterrent for a woman of hunger like herself.

Second, he mentioned having a daughter. If he wouldn’t let her use Uber, she had to be old enough to have independent excursions. A married man with a teenage daughter was unlikely to be interested in sabotaging his entire family. Sure, many a married man would risk it all for some punani, but Philly Fire didn’t strike her as the type. Not now, anyway.

Emily stepped into her tiny bathroom and rid herself of her work clothes. She ran the shower and waited until the water was scalding before stepping beneath the stream.

While the room filled with steam, she found a different kind of warmth within herself.

She couldn’t escape Cooper. Images of him swarmed her mind - his arms, the defined biceps beneath the taught sleeve of his t-shirt, his hips, the loose cargo pants sitting upon them effortlessly. She thought of what it would be like to be carried by him, her feet in the air, weightless for the first time in her life.

A familiar tingle engulfed her and she allowed herself to give over to her senses. Lathered in soap, wet hair clinging to her face, she came hard as she leaned against the shower wall. She gasped for her life, imagining Cooper between her legs instead of her own digits.

In the self-imposed afterglow, she felt a prickle of embarrassment. Only one meeting, a single conversation, and he had already entered her “spank-bank.” He wouldn’t be the first stranger to have the honor, but he was still different.

Despite knowing better, despite her attempts at turning a new leaf, Emily longed to make Philly Fire a stranger no longer. She was determined to get him into this shower, a lofty goal. She could manage it. She rinsed, she dried, she combed her hair and donned her sleep clothes. How could she be sure to see him again?

~~~

Cooper arrived home just as Rachel’s car was pulling out of the garage. He let the window down and extended a wave. All three of his family members lit up with smiles upon seeing him, waving back with unbridled enthusiasm. Cooper Abbott, the family man.

They drove away in a cloud of exhaust, on their way to school. He pulled his own car into the driveway, checking his mirrors to make sure the vehicle was aligned just right. Despite the rage clinging to him the entire drive home, it evaporated upon the sight of his family. They centered him. His rage, his Butchery feelings, always subsided with them. It made it easier to divide his two lives cleanly.

Inside, the house was empty and peaceful. This would surely allow for a good sleep.

In his bed, freshly showered, blackout curtains drawn against the blazing morning sun, he allowed his eyes to close and his muscles to loosen. He focused on the hum of the air conditioner, on the birds chirping outside, on the darkness behind his eyelids. With slow breaths, he plunged into slumber. 

-*-

Abruptly, Cooper awoke. Drenched in sweat, the bed covers tangled around his legs, his heart pounding wildly. His entire body coursed with heat. He noticed with perplexment that his member was hard and throbbing like the rest of him.

Through a jungle of haze, he stumbled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, his cheeks blazing.

For Cooper, sex had always been a clinical thing. Mechanical. He went through the motions with Rachel, noting which actions he took resulted in her writhing beneath him. He often came with ease, if only because it was expected of him. The act of sex, for Cooper, was all part of the act. The display of normalcy, the warm-blooded male ready to go at a moment’s notice.

In the beginning of his marriage, sex was purely about procreation like it was for most species. After two kids, Rachel asked him to get a vasectomy and then sex was something he did to prevent suspicion. The first thing someone can do to raise red flags to their spouse is to become physically distant. Yes, he could get hard. Yes, he could come. But it hadn’t ever been an interest of his.

One could assume that the Butchery parts of him got off on the killing, but that wasn’t true either. His killing satisfied an urge, but not a sexual one. 

Cooper also rarely had dreams, especially ones he could remember.

In his sleep, though, his mind had been plagued with images of Emily. She had been twirling around his brain, lighting each synapse as she went. There had been one particular instance that seemed more profound than the rest.

A glimpse of her beneath him, his hands around her throat, his palms tingling with the softness of her skin. Instead of bulging, hemorrhaging eyes, hers had been hooded with pleasure. It was then that Cooper realized the source of his erection.

The part of his brain that processed sex had been gray his entire life. No interest, no passion. Just a purely physical task. Now, though, that compartment was entirely alight. As was his body.

His skin was tepid, his hair dripping and clinging to his forehead. He gripped the bathroom counter and, right then and there, pumped himself to completion.

His mind spun and flashed like a carnival ride. Warm wetness bloomed in his pajamas. Cooper leaned against the counter, stunned. Immobilized. His world was different now.

Chapter Text

Her sleep had not been peaceful.

Emily had awoken several times that day, her skin boiling beneath the surface. She’d turned her bedside fan on the highest setting, wet a cloth and pressed it to her face, chugged ice-cold water and still, she burned. It was similar to a fever, just with aches of a different kind. The ache of regret.

As she lay on her back, observing her ceiling, she wished that she’d followed him to his car. Then maybe he’d be there now, to quench her thirst. Douse her flame.

Unable to try to sleep any longer, Emily slid to the floor with her laptop. She ran searches for every combination of the words, “Cooper,” “Philadelphia,” and “Fire.” She stumbled upon a couple news fluff pieces about the department’s altruism and charity work. A photo of Cooper dipping up tomato soup at a soup kitchen zapped her brain like an electrical current. It was the single picture that featured only him. The only photo where he met the lens of the camera. Frozen in time was his full-toothed grin, his hazel eyes glittering, his arm poised mid-air as he held a dripping ladle over a waiting bowl. Emily saved the picture to her computer. She almost made it her desktop background but refrained. Nope. Too much, too soon.

~~~

Cooper’s chances at going back to sleep were shot. It would be a pointless endeavor with the way his mind was whirling. He was caught in the momentum of his thoughts, the world spinning around him. It made him nauseous. 

Something he often did when he was antsy was tidy the house. Typically there wasn’t much to tidy as he did this frequently, but he was known to find something to sweep or scrub or clean. 

Today he ventured to the office upstairs, the desk with the shared family laptop mildly cluttered from Riley’s recent school project. Robotically, he picked up the papers and stacked them together, sliding them into a folder. He used compressed air and cleaned the keyboard. He took a microfiber cloth and wiped the desk’s surface, watching with satisfaction as dust and fingerprints disappeared. 

The laptop was shared by the entire family which is exactly why he never used it. Anything Cooper would need to use it for wouldn’t be smart to do when his wife and kids could easily stumble across it. Cooper recognized that the Internet was forever and that hard drives, no matter how clean, could be picked apart and nasty bits could resurface. He avoided computer use as much as possible, pretending for his children’s benefit that he was technologically illiterate despite being able to use his phone to find anything. Or anyone. 

Along this line of thinking, Cooper was struck with an idea. He could find anyone. Why hadn’t he tried to find her yet? Sat at the desk, he pulled out his phone and opened up the Facebook app. Cooper did not possess a Facebook page, unless you count the fake one he made in order to search for others. He had the app itself hidden in a random folder of apps on his phone’s Home Screen to avoid questions from Rachel or Riley, both of whom were perturbed that he wasn’t active on social media like they were. 

Inside the app, he typed the woman’s name into the search bar. Emily Draper. Three people appeared, only one stating their location as Philadelphia. Her profile picture was a group photo so from afar, Cooper couldn’t tell if the profile was hers or not. Upon viewing the rest of the profile, though, he was sure. 

For Cooper, the sleuthing was the easier part of his trade. People were often sloppy with their online personas, leaving little clues scattered around about who they were. A trail of digital breadcrumbs that often led Cooper directly to their door. Emily Draper was no different. Her entire profile was public and Cooper, without having to jump through hoops like friend requests, could see every photo she’d ever posted. 

He flipped through them one at a time, noting when he noticed the same background. Finding her home wasn’t hard, either. He compared various exteriors and interiors with rental listings online. It was tedious, yes, but worth the time. 

In the case of Emily Draper, it took roughly one hour for Cooper to determine that she lived in Polly Square, a neighborhood of duplex rentals that sat nearly three miles north of the hospital.

~~~

“You cannot put me on night shifts anymore.” Emily announced to Joby just as she piled into their cubicle that Monday morning. 

Still sleepy, Joby rubbed her eyes and grunted.

“Why’s that?”

Emily spun in her chair and faced her, her eyes big and shiny. She was far too hyper for such an early morning and seemed to only be getting more so, as evidenced by the venti coffee cup on her desk.

“I get into trouble.” Was the answer. 

“Am I gonna have an email? Or several emails?” Joby asked. 

Emily laughed in response. Joby was Emily’s boss and best friend, conveniently. It was because of Joby that Emily was even near the morgue on a Tuesday evening. It was thanks to Joby that Emily and Cooper crossed paths. 

“Oh, no. Not work trouble. Boy trouble. Man trouble.”

“That’s probably worse.” Joby groaned while she waited for Emily to expand upon her statement. 

Emily had been waiting for this moment for nearly an entire week. Joby had been off the weekend and during the week they’d had opposite schedules. This was their first real conversation since the week before. Since that fateful Tuesday.

Emily launched into her version of the morgue drop-off Tuesday night, describing the handsome firefighter that brought Betty Langston to their door. She spared no detail and excitedly set the scene. While she spoke, she nearly vibrated with giddiness. It was so thrilling to have a new crush, a new dude to daydream about. Someone to picture while she trudged through her boring days. Someone to long for on cold nights. 

“So, he’s totally and completely perfect for you except he is already married and has children?”

“Yes.”

“And… wait, he was waiting for you after you were off?”

“No, he wasn’t waiting for me. I was on the bench and he happened to be going back in for something, I dunno.”

“Right.”

“And then we shared a smoke and I left in an Uber.”

“An Uber? What happened to your car?”

Emily halted. She forgot to spare one detail.

“Uh my car -“

“Because you definitely drove yourself on Tuesday.”

Busted. 

Of course Joby would know she had her car Tuesday night. Joby was there when she arrived at work. 

“Right! Yeah, duh, I-“

“Did you think this guy was going to be looking for you? At 7?” Joby leaned forward and watched Emily carefully. 

Emily avoided her friend’s gaze and felt her cheeks burning. She had been caught being creepy. Well, perhaps not creepy. Silly was more accurate. Or fucking stupid. 

“He asked when I was off and I told him. I just wanted to see.”

“And you saw.”

“Yes, it happened! He came here right when I walked out. It was like clockwork. Pure coincidence.”

“Is it though? A coincidence?”

“Oh, like he knew I was bluffing?”

“How did you get your car back, anyway?”

“I Ubered back that afternoon.” 

The pair burst into laughter, causing others to turn from their computers and stare briefly.

“So you’ve already spent like twenty bucks on this relationship?” Joby wheezed. 

“Seems that way.”

“Did you even get his number?”

Emily groaned.

“No! I was trying too hard to be coy. He offered me a ride and I turned it down. Told him ‘maybe next time.’ Didn’t think to get his number. I’m such an idiot.”

“Not for that, you’re not. Looks like you’ll just have to burn your apartment down in order to see him again.”

Joby and Emily dissolved quickly into laughter once more.

Chapter Text

The next time she saw him, two weeks had passed. Fourteen days on the dot. 

It was another Tuesday and Emily had made it back to day shift. While she was wrapping up a case in the ED, the sliding doors of the ambulance entrance whipped open and Philly Fire rolled a stretcher in, partner in tow. 

They were met by a flurry of nurses and staff, but Cooper’s head stood tall above them all. He gave report, focusing on one of the nurses, then his eyes scanned over everyone until they landed on her. 

Emily’s reaction was entirely physical. It was as though a rug had been pulled out from beneath her feet. Her vision tunneled until the only thing she could see was Cooper, still watching her. Her blood rushed in her ears, a perpetual ocean shell whispering waves over her. Inside her stomach were a flurry of butterflies, violently flapping their wings against her insides. 

She felt so goofy, so lame, about the fact that she was so enraptured by him. After meeting him once. One day. Two weeks ago.

A panic stirred within her at the thought of him slipping away from her again. Walking out of the hospital and hopping back into his truck without any promise of them ever again crossing paths. She couldn’t face that possibility. No, she needed to make them become closer. If there was not a path, she would make one. 

Abandoning the cart she was loading, she spun across the hall and landed in front of him. He was taller than she remembered. Her memory and having only one photo of him to rely on had warped her mental image of him. Yet, here he was, in front of her.

She craned her neck to meet his gaze. He had watched her make her way over to him, an amused expression lighting his features. He wore this expression still, angling his head down to look at her in return. 

“Hey, Philly Fire,” she managed to get out.

Cooper’s partner gave them a knowing look before pulling aside the stretcher, wiping it down, and discretely eavesdropping. 

“Emily,” Cooper nodded. 

“Busy day?”

“Yes. I hope it isn’t busy for you,” he pointed behind her at the shrouded gurney she’d been preparing.

“Not busy, no. This hospital would be pretty panicked if my department was having a busy day.”

This made him laugh, and she gained more confidence. Now or never, baby. Now or never. 

She held her hand out to shake his.

“We didn’t formally meet the other day,” she began, “Emily Draper.” 

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but he blessedly played along. 

“Cooper Abbott.” He said as he collected her hand in his. 

Please be discreet, please be discreet, she silently begged him as their hands closed together and the note slipped from her palm to his. He withdrew his hand and closed it into a fist before jamming it into his pocket. 

Thank you! 

“Later?” Emily asked. 

“Later,” Cooper agreed. 

~~~

Chapter Text

Cooper had done a great job at keeping his two lives, his two selves, separate. Seven years of butchering by night and being a doting father and husband by day proved that. But what he felt now, what he was doing now, constituted a third life. He wasn’t sure enough of his skill to believe it could all coexist. Rachel and the kids at home, a twelfth body bundled up in the morgue, and Emily Draper’s phone number curled up in his hand tested him.

A very short time ago, he’d lumped the issue of Emily into his Butcher life. She wasn’t anything more than his next. This could still be true if Cooper would do what needed to be done, if he could just pull the trigger and take her. But he couldn’t and that was a problem for him. It warped his brain beyond what he was able to comprehend. A normal person would pursue a counselor and talk it all out, beat the dead horse until it was mush.

Cooper, of course, was no normal person.

Since their first encounter, she had consumed his thoughts. Day or night, Emily danced in his mind’s eye, and he found that his thoughts of her body were less objective and anatomical and more… something else.

At night, his mind often drifted to the rise and fall of her chest. Her breathing, slow and steady, causing her breasts to lift and release. He wanted to catch one between his teeth. He pictured bruising the soft mounds with bites and then comforting her after.

Comfort. A foreign concept.

He crinkled the sticky note between his fingers, his eyes tracking the comings and goings of the hospital employee entrance. He was parked towards the back of the lot, headlights and interior lights off, his vehicle mostly obscured by a dumpster. He didn’t dare raise his phone for fear of the screen’s glow illuminating him and giving him away. The doors burped out workers two, three at a time, except for her. It was five after seven. He remembered her saying she could be caught at work longer and he conceded that that could be the case now.

He fingered the adhesive on the note that held her number. It wouldn’t be smart to call her, not yet. She needed to be patient, just as he was being patient. No instant gratification. He had to show Emily that she couldn’t drop her number in his lap and expect a call the same day. Besides, he needed time to strategize. When would he make the first call? It had to be when she least expected it, but not at a time that would cause alarm. Not at 3 am when he was sweating in his bathroom, his latest dream still imprinted on his eyelids, silently willing Rachel to stay asleep. No, it needed to be at a normal hour.

Timing aside, there was another factor: what would he say? He couldn’t exactly dial the number and breathe into her ear, saying nothing. As much as he preferred that route, it would creep her out and he needed to maintain her comfort level.

There was that word again - comfort. Cooper wondered if he even knew the meaning of the word. Had anything been comfortable for him? More importantly, had he ever spared a thought for anyone else’s comfort before now? Certainly, reprieve was achieved at the climax of his hunt, after he watched the life drain from his victim’s eyes. The cutting and hacking allowed the rage and distress to drain from his mind, opening the door for a few days or weeks of elation and settling him back into form. It was always short lived, though, like a weekend that is too brief. A perpetual Monday, slogging back into the office, the refreshment waning with every moment that passed between the now and the time he spent with the blood.

Cooper had no experience with courting. Rachel was his high school sweetheart and she’d made everything so easy. He didn’t have to work hard to impress her, he didn’t have to do much to endear himself to her. She was locked in from tenth grade on. Marrying her was a no-brainer - she’d provided him an out, a way to continue perfecting his mask. Sure, he’d had to figure out how to be a “good boyfriend” and, later, a “good husband,” but he’d been able to skip the flirting stage entirely. Lucky him. This thing with Emily, this delicate balance between hunter and prey, was too close to dating.

It felt almost like what people described as a crush. A woman constantly on his mind, his thoughts constantly dwelling on her and her looks, his stomach boarding a teeter totter each time she crossed his mind (which was often). It was all tangled up. He didn’t know how to chase her properly, the way he wanted. He didn’t know how soon was too soon to call her. He didn’t know what to talk to her about that wouldn’t raise red flags. He couldn’t exactly send a text that said “I want you, I think.” He didn’t know what he would do once he had her in his clutches.

Everything surrounding her was basked in conflict and it made him almost want to give up entirely, move on to something (or someone) else. There were victims at every turn. He was surrounded by people who had fooled themselves into believing they were whole. People who foolishly believed they were good. He could have anybody, it didn’t matter. A kill was a kill. That wasn’t enough for him anymore, though. He’d been struck by that harsh reality when he laid eyes on her earlier that day in the emergency room. Seeing her, recognizing her against the backdrop of the usual mundanity, lit a lamp in his soul.

His soul. Jesus Christ.

People always waxed poetic about how feelings were complicated. Cooper never put stock in that concept. Feelings were trivial and unnecessary. They were not that difficult to understand. All people had motivations and, despite their best efforts, they were always obvious. A guy wanting a quick fuck was easy to read from across a bar. A woman wanting a man to prove her worth always stuck out like a sore thumb. Pain, joy, hunger, and anger were always so clear. He could always see it, analyze it, consider how to use it to his advantage. Not once in his entire life did he have to decipher feelings of his own.

Yet, here he was.

Anger was his easiest emotion to access, and he felt a lot about the situation he was in. He was enraged at the fact that he couldn’t just kill her. It would be so easy. Follow her home, climb in a window, drag her out to his trunk and unload her in a safe house. Cut her, squeeze her, drain her until she was nothing. Leave her in bits and pieces at a dog park, watching in satisfaction as she was later discovered. Why couldn’t he?

He looked to the entrance, startled out of his pondering as he realized he hadn’t been watching. He could have missed her. By some stroke of (admittedly undeserved) luck, there she was.

She sat at her bench, smoking a cigarette. Waiting a few minutes to see if an Uber showed up, he fixed his eyes upon her. He couldn’t let her out of his sight, not now.

Her phone dangled in her hand while she smoked, her gaze pointed down at it. Was it longing that she displayed? Dejection? It was Cooper’s narcissism that made him believe it was him she was expecting to appear on her screen, but couldn’t it be?

Some time passed, and no car appeared for her. The foot traffic into the hospital had since ended, the next shift starting in earnest. Around them, the sky darkened and the street lamps flickered on.

Patience was a virtue, it was often stated, but Cooper was not a virtuous man.

When he pulled his van up to the curb in front of her, she didn’t even look up. How easy it could be if he would just let it. Rolling the passenger window down, he leaned over and called to her.

“Emily?” He said it like a question, though he knew it was her.

Her head popped up and she lit into a grin. Her expression glowed without shame at the realization that he had appeared to her.

“If it isn’t Philly Fire.” She called back simply, ashing her cigarette and flicking the butt into no man’s land.

“Where’s your ride?” He asked.

To his surprise, she gathered her things and stepped toward his vehicle.

“Right here. That is, if you’re offering again. I don’t want to assu-“

“Get in.”

~~~

Things had certainly taken a turn. 

Emily slid into the passenger’s seat of Cooper’s car, her feet bumping against something on the floorboard. Cooper had to lean over her to pick it up, and she felt the warmth of his body as it hovered near her own. It was the closest they’d ever been, the closest she’d ever expected them to be, and she was electrified. 

The object in question was a brown leather doctor’s bag, an old-timey antique that was worn around the corners. It looked soft, well-loved. Cooper placed it delicately in the backseat before turning back around. 

“Neat bag,” Emily commented. 

“Thanks,” he paused, “where to?”

“You know Polly Square?”

She waited while he scrunched his brow, racking his brain to see if he knew where she was talking about. It was a youthful expression and it warmed her. 

“It sounds familiar, I’ll admit, but you’ll probably have to guide me there.”

She got him on the way to her home quickly, not wanting to waste even a second of their 10 minute drive on directions. Ten minutes in heaven. She smiled to herself.

His vehicle, from what she could tell in the dark, was immaculate. Freshly vacuumed, clean cupholders, and not even a smudge on the glass of the windshield. It smelled good, too. Like a new car, yes, but with a lingering cozy smell. A human drove this van - it was lived in but not abused. She wondered how he managed it, being a dad and all. The thought of him having kids broke her trance and she swallowed hard. 

“Do you and your family stay in Philly?” She asked, her heart bobbing in her throat. 

“Sort of. We’re in the suburbs.”

“Oh yeah? Let me guess, picket fence? Someone cuts your yard? Jogging neighbors who don’t mind their business?”

He laughed softly at her quips, the sound rumbling in his chest. She longed to lay against him, to listen to his chest rumble against her ear as he spoke. 

His body filled out the entire driver’s seat, his head nearly touching the ceiling. His elbows were wide as he drove, one of them leaning on the center console. She settled into her seat to get more comfortable, placing one of her own elbows on the console as well. It grazed his gently, and she feigned surprise at the contact.

“Sorry,” she muttered, drawing it back quickly. 

From the corner of her eye, she caught him glancing at her briefly. His head clipped to the side for a split second before diverting back to the road ahead. She eased her elbow forward again, pretending to be preoccupied with the view out her window, unaware of her movements. It was like dipping a toe into a swimming pool before plunging in. Their arms touched a second time, but she didn’t move. He didn’t withdraw his, either. His arm was warm where it met hers, a smolder just beneath the surface. She wondered how his hands would feel. They were large, too, wrapped around the steering wheel at exactly ten-and-two. 

Despite her dreams of learning everything about him on this one short ride, they settled into silence. There was a peculiar tension inside the quiet. She hadn’t noticed before that the radio was off. Only the hum of the tires on pavement could be heard above her own heartbeat. 

Perhaps she’d made a mistake. Luring a married father to her home with hopes of jumping his bones? Yeah, not a great idea. Not quite the actions of someone “turning a new leaf.” Her loneliness had impaired her judgment tremendously. She wished she could rewind and stop herself from perching on the bench. Even more so, she wished she could remove her note with her number from his possession. 

It was too late. She’d taken the plunge, headfirst as always. 

“How long have you worked at the hospital?” Cooper’s question smoothly landed between them, not breaking the tension so much as circumventing it. 

“Nearly six years,” she replied, “what about you? How long have you worked for the fire department?”

“I’m showing my age,” he began, “but I started there back in my twenties. It’ll be eighteen years this October.” 

She did the quick math. Which end of his twenties? She guessed that he was around forty, maybe mid-forties. She was okay with that. 

“Did you start by getting cats out of trees?” 

His laugh rumbled again. 

“No, no. It was 9/11, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. FDNY inspired me, I think. I wanted to do what they did. If it came to that.” 

“But you didn’t start right away?”

A beat passed between them. 

“Hm?” 

“I mean, eighteen years this October. That would be 2006. Did it take long to train up?”

“Well yeah, it’s a very physical job.” 

Silence flopped over them like a wet blanket. Great, she’d offended him. Cloaked in silence again, just the pair of them.

“I wasn’t trying to call you out or anything. It’s an… honorable thing. You know, saving people.”

She waited for him to speak. In the meantime, the sign for her neighborhood came into view.

“Right here? Polly Square, you said?” He asked.

“Yeah, that’s it. It’s at the end of the road. In the culdesac.” 

He took the turn and they rolled down her street. Disappointed, Emily knew that their chance to talk was now over. On the console, their elbows continued touching. Even after her weird comment, he hadn’t moved away from her. It was a small comfort. 

Being near him now, she felt small. Dwarfed by not only his size, but his silence. It was profound but it didn't seem to disquiet him. Emily, on the other hand, couldn’t stand awkward lulls in a conversation. It made her uneasy. 

“Cooper, I -“

“Here?” he pointed to her neighbor’s place.

“Oh. Uh, no. It’s the one to the left.”

He pulled up into her empty driveway, the headlights splashing over her front stoop. She thought about taking an Uber to get her car from work in the morning, then decided against it. She would let Cooper drive off, then call Joby to take her. They needed to debrief anyway. 

Removing her elbow regretfully, she turned to face him. It was startling to discover he was staring at her. Watching her, really. In the dark, his eyes were nearly pure black. She could only see the quirk of his mouth in a half smile. 

He had a nice mouth, she noticed, and drew nearer to him. It was an automatic movement and, to her dismay, she couldn’t help herself. Heat rose to her face as it grew closer to his. Her eyes fluttered closed and their lips touched. 

The kiss was chaste, their lips touching without parting. Blessedly, as though she finally regained control of her body, she kept her hands in her lap. He didn’t reach for her, either. Only their heads mingled together in the shadows. 

He smelled like aftershave and something else, something organic. A metallic, earthy scent, almost like fresh potting soil. It was nice. 

The entire moment was nice. So long had she been removed from moments like this. It was almost enough to cure her loneliness, to soothe her longing, and she prayed it wouldn’t end. They could sit like that until morning, until the sun rose and illuminated the windows, and she would be okay with that. 

A large hand gently landed on her shoulder, nudging her away and back into her seat. It was tender, no violence to it, yet she could still sense his strength through the action. He was holding back. She opened her eyes and he was watching her again. Though her brain was nestled safely in her skull, she was afraid to speak for fear it would crack and spew like a shaken soda. His lips pressed together in a thin line. Was he angry? Or was he savoring the moment just as she was? She was a deer in headlights, now. Completely stunned into silence and inaction. Only a few moments before she had been so brave and so sure, and now she could only await whatever fate was hers. He spoke.

“I think you should go in, now.”

“Cooper, I’m sorry, I sh-“

He pressed two fingers into the center console, tapping them three times gently.

“I think you should go in, now,” he repeated huskily, “before I do something I shouldn’t.” 

It was an ominous statement that infused her with adrenaline. He kept his eyes leveled on her. She tried to match his unshakenness but knew that her reddened face likely gave her away. She was convinced he could hear the pounding of her heart from within her chest, it was the only sound in the quiet of his car. 

“But.. what if you should?” She asked meekly, “what if I wanted you to?”

Despite her best efforts to disguise her desperation, it clearly rang in her weak voice. It should have been humiliating, embarrassing, but she found that she felt neither of those things. The wanting overrode her dignity. 

“I shouldn’t.” He stated with finality. 

Of course he shouldn’t. Of course, they shouldn’t. 

Unable to help it, she glanced down at his hand that rested on the steering wheel. The glint of his wedding band was the cold bucket of water that she needed.

“Right,” she said, “thank you for the ride.” 

As she made to get out of the car, she felt his hand again on her forearm. She looked back at him, too hopeful. 

“I’ll call,” he promised with a smirk, “see you later.”

Chapter Text

Just down the street was an empty unit with a sign in the yard stating “FOR RENT.” With darkened windows and a padlock on the door, it was clearly unoccupied. Cooper pulled in front of it and killed the engine. He angled his rear view mirrors so he could see Emily’s place and watched. He assumed she would simply go to bed, so he took this time to observe and think. 

There was no shortage of things to think about. 

Emily had kissed him. It was a surprise as he hadn’t thought of her as being so forward. For the Butcher, this should only make his hunt easier. Gaining such a significant amount of trust in such a short time would only make her more susceptible to him. He could use that trust to get to her, to snatch her and break her like a porcelain doll. 

For Cooper, though, this only made things more complicated. 

He wasn’t a “butterflies in the tummy” type. Sure, he experienced a thrill whenever he was hunting, but this was a feeling beyond that. When she kissed him, all he could think about was her smell. There was the stench of a cigarette at the forefront that would typically cause him to gag, but just past that was her smell. It was the scent of her perfume, a fruity floral, but also her body. She was so soft, so delicate and sweet, and it came through her pores and her hair. Notes of humanity just beneath the surface, bobbing up to meet him with her lips. 

She was quickly morphing from an object, his plaything, to a person. 

Thoughts of her pain, once the focus of his obsession, now caused him uneasiness. Not anguish, exactly, but a not insignificant discomfort. He needed to clear his mind of this. To focus on the objective, his whole reason for pursuing her, he couldn’t allow himself to get attached. Despite all his efforts, there was a tenderness he felt towards her that troubled him. The only way to clear this from his mind, to scratch the persistent itch, was to kill. He wasn’t ready for her, though. He needed to find another in the meantime, work his way up. 

Behind him, a dark sedan blew past on the street. He watched in the mirror as this car pulled into Emily’s driveway. She emerged from her home instantly and darted to the passengers side. Cooper slid down in his seat, still watching as the car pulled off with Emily in tow. 

He gave it a couple minutes before he gave pursuit. Following behind, ensuring there was a car between them, he saw in amazement that they were headed back to the hospital. Had she been called back into work? Did she leave something behind? He parked in his hiding spot by the dumpster, headlights off, feeling a peculiar sense of Deja vu. It was as though the night was beginning all over again. He thought of the film Groundhog Day, a movie Rachel made them watch once. 

The sedan parked next to another. No one came from the vehicle. He could see Emily and another woman through the windshield, Emily speaking with animation and excitement. She talked with her hands. Cooper found this endearing. He wondered if they were talking about him. Most likely. If he knew anything about how women operated, they generally had a confidant who would hear all the details of their friend’s most recent exploits. 

That seemed to be the case here as Emily danced her hands around. The idea of her sharing their moments together with someone else rattled him a bit. He would have to let her know that conversations about him, if it could be helped, were off-limits. It would be under the guise of keeping their “affair” a quiet secret, but also to protect himself from suspicion. 

When something happened to her, at least one person could point to him as someone she was spending time around prior to her disappearing. No, he would play the family card. Emily, you can’t tell anyone about us. If someone found out, it would break up our family. I can’t have that.  

A half hour passed, the conversation concluded, and Emily finally stepped out of the car. The sedan they parked next to blinked as it was unlocked and, to his complete shock, Emily slid easily into the driver's seat. Both cars left the lot, leaving Cooper behind. He was stunned, something unfamiliar to him. With Emily, though, this was becoming a common occurrence. Full of surprises, was she. 

He remained in the same spot, unmoving. So she did drive. Why? Why had she lied to him? 

He didn’t enjoy being lied to, and he often saw through the deceit of others. How had he missed this? 

He didn’t give chase. Instead he sought an explanation, replaying all of their interactions in his head, trying to puzzle this together. He couldn’t remember seeing a key fob when she pulled out her keys and entered her home earlier. In fact, he hadn’t thought to look for one. He had taken her at face value, a rookie mistake. 

A thought occurred to him abruptly, one that felt stupid and narcissistic - had she orchestrated it all? Each of their meetings, planned by her outwitting him and taking advantage of his interest? 

She couldn’t know the reason he was so interested in her from the start, but he knew now that she could at least sense the fact that she occupied some part of his mind. She just didn’t know which part. Or, parts. It was a fascinating twist. It both enraged and intrigued him. As much as he could play with her, she had played with him, too. 

His mind raced with possibilities. As Butcher, he could slide in her bedroom window and confront her. Tell her he knew all about her. Sedate her and take her with him to a safe house. While there, he could torture answers out of her. Why did you lie? What else have you lied about? Do you think I’m stupid? This wasn’t very smart of you, girl. 

Cooper, though, found this almost flattering. It touched him in a strange way. She cared enough to strategize and come up with excuses to talk to him. She pretended to be without a car, leaving hers behind at work for an unknown number of nights in a row, only to hope that Cooper would make contact with her again. 

This also meant that she could read him enough to know that he would look for her, seek her out. Cooper couldn’t have her making such lucky guesses. He needed to play it smart. Play hard to get, if you will. It was time to move into a new phase of this game - cold shoulder. 

Grimly, he considered never texting or calling her. This was wise anyway, as he couldn’t have her number showing up on his phone. Especially if he was going to be killing her. It was too much evidence. Additionally, it would risk having Rachel see it and start questioning him. That couldn’t be. 

He would pull away, just as easily as he had drawn toward her, and just as swiftly. Leave her wondering and speculating about how it went wrong. Force her to reconsider her decisions, make her feel stupid for planting her mouth on his, make her feel like she messed up somehow. The comment she made about his career came back to him. Maybe she would be left wondering if she’d offended him after all. 

Cooper cursed himself for making up such a transparent lie in the first place. He shouldn’t have given her so many details to fact-check. And how quickly she figured it out, too! But you didn’t start right away? 

God, and 9/11? Really? Only the most infamous date in all of American history. He knew now to keep his answers shorter and more vague. He thought he’d done so, but she was far smarter than he’d given her credit for. 

-*-

The next few days were boring. Cooper refrained from hanging out in the hospital parking lot during the evenings, instead coming home on time and eating dinner with his family. He had no idea if Emily still sat outside and waited for him. He didn’t care, really. She had a ride home in the form of the car she led him to believe she didn’t have. 

He never called, nor had he texted her. Her number sat in the center console of his car, under the false bottom. Hidden from his family but ready for him should he decide to pursue her again. 

Rachel had been needy lately. Usually Cooper could dodge her advances by staying up and hanging out with the kids or talking to Riley about her school troubles, but he knew he couldn’t avoid her forever. 

This came to fruition when, one night after dinner, Riley announced she was going to Jody’s for a sleepover. 

“Jody’s?” Cooper questioned, raising his eyebrows at his wife. 

“Yeah, she was invited at school yesterday. I thought it would be okay?” Rachel answered. 

“Of course it’s okay,” Cooper turned to his daughter, “just don’t stay up too late and don’t watch too many boy band music videos. We want you to still have a brain when you come back!” 

He ruffled Riley’s blonde head playfully and she laughed. 

“No, we’re probably going to listen to Lady Raven’s new album.”

“Lady Raven? Was Lady Crow too busy?”

“Dad, stop! That’s so lame!”

He chuckled as she covered her face and groaned into her hands. Playing the goofy dad role suited him well. It was the easiest to settle into. 

“Logan said he wants to go to bed a little early. Is that right, buddy?” Rachel stated, pulling Cooper’s attention from Riley to his son. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Logan said softly, pushing his fork around his plate of shepherd's pie. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Cooper asked, pressing the back of his hand against Logan’s forehead. 

It was a little warm, but not a fever. 

“Yeah I feel okay I think, I’m just tired.”

“Oh, well, we’ll keep an eye on you. Make sure you aren’t coming down with anything.”

Logan nodded and ate a bite of food.

Rachel gave Cooper a sidelong smile, and Cooper clamped down on his annoyance. With both children out of the way, she would be expecting his presence in their marital bed. 

Remaining focused during sex with Rachel had been an issue as of late. Cooper found himself a bit too preoccupied with someone else. It angered him that his mask, so carefully molded, was slipping. It made him feel even better about the punishment he was doling out to Emily. It was because of her that he couldn’t get it up with Rachel, though she didn’t know that. Neither did Rachel. Each attempt was followed by Rachel rubbing his back and murmuring nonsense to him about other men “his age” having similar troubles. He wouldn’t be surprised if she came home with a Viagra prescription for him. She had no way of knowing that he didn’t need that. 

On this night, after Logan had been tucked in and Riley seen off to Jody’s, Cooper begrudgingly entered the master bedroom to see Rachel, completely nude, splayed on their bed. It was a good try, Cooper could give her credit for that. Any time in years past, he would launch himself upon her with theatrical gusto, entering her and doing all the little things she liked until she was done. This time, though, the sight just made him tired.

Rachel, still playing with herself in an attempt at enticing him, noticed his fallen face and beckoned to him with her other hand. He held it in his, lightly brushing his thumb over her knuckles. Her eyes pleaded with him and he only watched. 

“Cooper…” she whispered, “are you even… are you even hard?”

He let out an exhausted groan.

“No. No, Rachel, and I’m sorry.” 

Rachel ceased her activities and sat up. She dropped his hand from hers and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Well, talk to me then. Is something wrong? Did I do something?” 

“No,” he rubbed a hand down his face, “it isn’t you.” 

“Talk to me, Cooper,” she repeated, “tell me how I can help you.” 

“You can’t,” he answered honestly through pretend tears, “it’s something I need to work out.”

“Coop,” she held his hand again, this time with her other one. 

It was slick with her and it made his stomach roll. Before, sex had been a necessary thing that he tolerated. Now the thought of fucking his wife repulsed him. He almost felt guilty about that. Instead, a swell of rage engulfed him and he had to bite back the fire that filled his mouth. Emily. 

“It is not you,” Cooper said again, “I just feel bad that I can’t, uh, perform.” 

“Oh, Coop,” Rachel pulled him to the mattress next to her, “it’ll be okay. I’m sure we can work something out. Have you gone to your GP?”

“No, there hasn’t been much time to get to a doctor.”

“I think you should go. Maybe a counselor, too? I mean, could it hurt?”

“No counselors.” He stated with far more venom than he’d intended. 

Rachel’s eyes widened for a moment before she settled again. 

“No, of course. No counselors. Just talk to Dr. Ryan. See what he thinks.”

He looked into his wife’s eyes and gave a sad smile, his best beaten puppy look.

“Of course, dear.”

-*-

Cooper knew what would help. It was what always helped. In the safety of the dark, he leisurely rode up and down the streets of Philly. Surely someone would appear to him. 

He refused to return to Polly Square. Not now. He needed more time before he could face her, before he would allow her to see his true face. Even if it would be the last thing she saw. 

A homeless encampment was nearby. It wasn’t his usual hunting grounds, but he needed a quick fix. Something to take the edge off. 

Chapter Text

“Have you been down to the morgue today?” Joby asked casually when she arrived at the office that morning. 

Emily looked up at her. She had been lost in her mental ramblings, her phone sitting on the desk staring at her. She had been willing it to ring, willing the screen to light up with an unknown number. It had been four days since her ride home with Cooper and he had yet to call her. 

“No, why?”

“There’s some shit going on down there. Let’s go.”

The two of them left their office and headed down the hall. From outside the door, Emily could hear a cacophony of voices. Inside was a scene of chaos. People were everywhere, most of them gathered in a clump at the door of the autopsy suite. 

Joby led them to Brielle, one of the pathology assistants. 

“What’s going on?” Emily asked, noticing that there were at least three people donning jackets that said “FBI.”

“Come here,” Brielle led them into her office and closed the door, “they think they found another Butcher victim.”

“Oh fuck.” Said Joby.

“Yeah, except it doesn’t add up.”

“Won’t this be the thirteenth?” Emily asked.

“It would,” Brielle agreed, “but they don’t know. It’s not his MO. They found this guy behind a dumpster at a gas station. His throat is cut and his head is dangling, but they don’t think it’s him.”

“Why not?”

“Okay, so first off, this is a homeless guy. All of the other people he’s killed have been, like, normal people. Middle class or whatever. Then, this dude is almost completely whole. He’s sustained a ton of trauma, of course, but his arms and legs are still intact. They can see where he started to be dismembered but there's no follow through. They’re gonna run tox to see if he has carbon monoxide in his system but it’s a long shot.”

“Carbon monoxide?” Joby asked.

“Yeah, the three of his most recent victims had anoxic brain injuries from carbon monoxide poisoning. They think he gasses them and then cuts them up. The trauma is almost never the direct cause of death. If it’s him, he’s getting sloppy.”

“So, if it’s not his MO, why are they looking into it?” 

“I’m really not sure. At this point, I think they’re just desperate to get him. I’m sure his partial decapitation is what triggered PD to call in the Butcher team. But nothing else adds up. This guy didn’t have any known enemies, so a random killing would at least possibly point to Butcher. It’s just too opportunistic and disorganized.”

“You’d think the FBI would have this place under lock and key right now.” Joby pointed out.

“Sure,” Brielle rolled her eyes, “but you know how messy this whole thing has been. I mean, they didn’t even do anything about that guy who leaked photos of the bridge woman to Twitter.”

Emily remembered that image vividly. She’d come across it organically, doom-scrolling on her phone like every other night. She wasn’t remotely prepared to happen upon photos of a dismembered woman in some grass with the hashtag #butchergother. It was a spectacle and it solidified the role of this serial killer in Philadelphia history. One of her other coworkers was the one who ended up talking to the woman’s family, but Emily had spoken to another Butcher loved one in the past. The schoolteacher, his most recent before now, had a sweet wife and young kids. She remembered how his wife’s voice cracked when Emily asked her about a funeral home. She remembered the sudden wailing of a child in the background at the mention of their father. She also remembered having to verify the toe tag and being baffled when she found it affixed to the stump of his ankle. 

“They never found the foot,” she was told at the time. 

The Butcher’s presence was felt in the city, but she imagined that the people in the suburbs had more to fear. Like Brielle pointed out, the Butcher favored the middle class. He also mostly killed men, which was an interesting quirk. Growing up in such a panicked, true crime consuming society, Emily had been under the impression that she was a perpetual victim due to her womanhood. Being a woman, especially one who lives alone in a large metro area, required constant vigilance. Couldn’t go out at night because she could be raped or murdered, or murdered and raped. Couldn’t leave the door unlocked even while she was home for fear that a strange man would bust into her apartment and attack her. Couldn’t even ride the subway, go to the mall, go for a walk… it was constant. It wasn’t the Butcher Emily had to be afraid of, but every other man in Philly. Any guy, anytime anywhere, could prove to be a threat. 

Of course, her recent actions contradicted her own fears. “Can’t take rides from strangers” and what does she do? Hop willingly into a strange man’s car, almost as though presenting herself as a gift, complete with a silk bow. Even worse, she was fine, meaning she would likely do it again without a second thought. 

She didn’t fear Cooper, though. Not once had he caused her to feel unsafe in their very few, very brief interactions. Even when she kissed him, he reacted cautiously, as though any sudden movements would cause her to pounce. No, she didn’t fear Cooper. She was only afraid of running him off. Maybe it was her that Cooper should fear. It was an absurd concept - a man with as much bulk as Cooper quavering at the likes of her - but there were ways beyond physicality to scare people. With her phone remaining dry these last four days, Emily was concerned that she’d done just that. 

Maybe he’d smelled it on her - the desperation. The wanting. The loneliness. Maybe he’d caught a whiff of what lurked beneath the surface and was running far away. Maybe he was packing up his home and moving his family to Oregon to escape her. 

For Emily, that was the only possible explanation. As the hours since their kiss turned into days, Emily’s shame had begun blaring its full volume. It was embarrassing to be so desperate and so willing. It was pathetic. It was unbecoming. 

-*-

After dinner, Emily sat alone in bed. She was tired from the day. There had been so many people in her face for all twelve hours that she was sure she’d be fine if she never saw another person again.

Except for one.

Her chest tightened as she, for the one-thousandth time, replayed her ride in Cooper’s car. 

There were a few moments that stood out to her as possible red flags. 

For one, she shouldn’t have questioned his fire department timeline. Who gives a fuck if it took him five years to start the job? That wasn’t any of her business. She supposed the reason behind her saying anything at all was because she wanted to picture it. To place herself back in time with him. She wanted to know his story as well as she knew her own. It was more than his body she pined for, after all. Pointing out discrepancies wasn’t meant to imply that he was being deceptive. It only meant that she wanted to know everything. 

Second, she kissed him. She leaned her happy ass across the seat and kissed him. Despite his seemingly positive reaction to the gesture, she knew that he had a wife and children. It could be that he was on the same page with her there in the moment, then maybe found himself plagued with regret later. 

Most detrimentally, though, was her words after the kiss. What if I want you to. 

What would have happened in the car if they continued? She was willing to do whatever it was that he wanted. Emily would have led him inside, straight to her bed. Or they would have stopped at the couch. Or they wouldn’t have even made it that far, fucking right at her front door. 

She wanted to know what he liked. Vanilla sex or doing it rough and deep, she was game for anything he told her to do. That is, if he even wanted her at all. 

Rising from her bed, she stepped into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her make up had since been scrubbed away and she was wearing her sleep clothes, a huge Smashing Pumpkins T-shirt and bike shorts. Emily observed herself closely, placing a critical eye on her appearance. Her eyes were tired-looking, dark circles encompassing her sclera. She bent her neck, observing the folds of the skin beneath her chin as it doubled. Beneath the shirt, she pinched her stomach into a tight roll. She lifted the hem and carefully tried to pull the bottom of her shorts down to hide the way they pressed divots into her thighs. 

Dissatisfied, she lifted the shirt over her head and pushed her breasts up to her neck. She mentally considered her bank balance and wondered if she could afford a nice bra. One that would push her once-perky chest to high heaven. 

Being thirty-one, she knew that she wasn’t a spring chicken. In order to entice Cooper, she would need to position herself as a newer model. An upgrade. It wouldn’t be worth the risk for him if she didn’t have the appeal of being a younger woman. 

She returned to her room and opened her laptop. The screen lit up at once with her lone photo of the man in question, his sparkling eyes glowing at her. The image brought visions of him in her kitchen, chopping veggies in preparation for a shared meal. It was so domestic. 

She imagined him at home cooking for his family, startled by the bright green ball of envy that rose at the idea. 

Emily could be a stepmother. A good one. She was partial to children, never having wanted any of her own, but she would shower his kids with grace and warmth. They were his kids and she would love anything that he loved. 

She wished suddenly that she knew his wife’s name. Not for any nefarious reasons, of course, but only to find her on Facebook and see if there were more photos. Emily wished to curate a collection, a pile of images that would give her the comfort she so needed. To remind her at all times what he looked like so she could never forget. She could crop the photos so that they only showed him, or him and his kids. She could fill a book with all the hopes and fantasies she had for them. Beach trips with the kids, driving down the highway in his van, windows down and wind blowing their hair. They would play road trip games, pointing out the license plates of vehicles from other states. There would be music pulsing through the car speakers, whatever he wanted to listen to. They would all have big smiles and laughter. It was a pleasant scene. 

“Get a grip,” she said aloud, “don’t do this again.” 

She slammed her laptop closed and bunched her knees up to her chest. A large grief seized her. Emily squeezed her eyes tight against the tears but they came anyway. 

How she wished she could be normal.

Chapter Text

Rico was being nosy. 

Rico was being nosy and not only did this annoy Cooper, but it was an unnecessary hazard. Perhaps more hazardous to Rico than to him at that point. 

“So,” Rico began while they were dressing out in the locker room, “what was that about the other day?” 

Cooper removed his pants and folded them tightly, quickly smoothing out the fabric before placing them on the locker shelf.

“What was what?” He asked. 

“At the hospital. With Miss Thang.” 

Cooper pulled a t-shirt over his head before pulling a long-sleeved shirt on top. He stepped into the cargo overalls one leg at a time, snapping the straps onto his shoulders. 

“I’m not sure what you mean, Rico.”

“It seems like that girl is into you.” 

“Who? The morgue attendant?” 

“Miss Thang,” Rico dragged the name out, stretching the vowels. 

“Unfortunately for her,” Cooper replied, “I am a happily married man.” 

He stepped into his bulky boots, buffing out a gray smudge with his fingertip. 

“Coop,” Rico lowered his voice, “word of advice? Get it while the getting’s good. And trust me, from what I could tell, it is goo-“

“Rico,” Cooper slammed the door of his locker, “shut the fuck up. Okay?”

Rico looked taken aback but complied. He didn’t speak another word about it the rest of the day. Or anything else. Cooper received the silent treatment the rest of the shift, Rico only speaking when it was relevant to their work. 

That was fine by Cooper. They weren’t friends, so he didn’t feel like the silence was any sort of slight. In fact, he enjoyed the break from Rico’s random comments and outbursts. He didn’t have to look at any stupid videos Rico had on his phone, he wasn’t subjected to stories about his latest escapades, and he didn’t have to spend his energy pretending to listen. 

Rico believed they were friends, though.

He’d been to Cooper’s home, eaten Rachel’s cooking, smiled in her face while he praised the meal. For him to suggest such a thing, well, it only displayed his duplicitous nature. That didn't sit right with Cooper. 

Killing Rico would be easy. He was not bright, so he wouldn’t suspect a thing if suddenly one of his tires was flat and he needed a ride. He was stronger than Rico, so one knock to the head or a punch to the neck would subdue him long enough for him to be stabbed through the eye. 

After work, though, Cooper had errands to run. 

-*-

Walmart bustled with evening patrons grabbing their last minute groceries. Cooper waited semi-patiently in line behind the others, the package in his grip. When it was his turn, he pulled out the cash and handed it to the cashier. Only cash. Untraceable. 

Taking his change, he exited the store and entered his car. There, he ripped open the box and read the thin manual.

To load minutes, activate the device and dial this number. 

He did this, listening as the phone confirmed his purchase. It was a prepaid cell phone. The only way any of this would work. He experimented with the device, marveling at its antiquity. It was a flip phone, and he hadn’t used one since the emergence of the iPhone. He whipped it open and closed a few times, satisfied by the click that it made. 

The Walmart was thirty miles outside of Philly. Knowing that CCTV was everywhere, Cooper chose a place far enough away from his home that it wouldn’t bring suspicion. If anyone figured it out and tried to find him, it was unlikely they would come here. If they did, it was likely that the footage would have been overwritten by the time they decided to run it back. Most places held onto footage for a maximum of thirty days. It would take longer than that for anyone to catch up with his trail, if they ever did. 

These were necessary measures to take. One simple mistake, one slip-up, and it would all come crashing down. In the center console, Cooper lifted the false bottom and retrieved Emily’s sticky note. It was folded into crisp quarters - his doing - and he opened the square. Inside, her dainty handwriting shaped the ten digits. She hadn’t written her name, knowing she didn’t need to. It wasn’t like he had a stash of sticky notes to sort through. 

Cooper flipped open the new phone and punched in her number. While he expected her to answer on the first ring, he ended up getting her voicemail. 

Hey, you’ve reached Emily. I’m not able to take your call right now. Please leave me a message and I’ll call you back.

He snapped the phone shut. No voicemails. He didn’t need any recordings of his voice floating around out there. Not with what he intended to do.  

Clutching the phone in his hand, he debated calling her a second time. Would that be too much? He didn’t want to scare her. Not until she needed to be scared. 

Less than five minutes passed before the phone buzzed and Cooper’s decision was made for him.

Chapter Text

She missed the call while she was in the shower. Wrapped in a towel, Emily grabbed her phone to see a number she didn’t recognize. A thrill fluttered in her chest. 

Six full days later and he finally called. 

Praying it was actually Cooper and not a bill collector, she returned the call. 

The line rang three times, the suspense nearly too much for her to take, before the other end picked up. 

She was met with a beat of silence. She thought she could hear the ambient sounds of the other person driving.

“Um, hello?” She said, “I just missed a call from this number?” 

“Hi, Emily.” 

His voice rumbled in her ear and she had to sit on the edge of the tub to keep from falling over.

“Cooper?”

“It’s me.”

Though she’d been waiting for this moment for nearly a week, she was in disbelief. She’d taken the plunge and he’d followed. 

“Sorry I missed your call. I was in the shower.”

“No need to apologize,” he said.

“I’ll be honest, I thought you wouldn’t call.” 

“I had to get my ducks in a row,” he responded, “sorry to keep you waiting.”

“I wasn’t waiting.” She said quickly.

“No, of course not.”

His voice was gravelly, just like it had been in his car the night he brought her home. It sent a shiver down her spine. 

“It’s just good to hear from you,” she caught her breath, “I hope I didn’t weird you out the other night.”

“You didn’t.”

“Are you at home?” She asked.

It wouldn’t feel right if he was calling her from the house he shared with his family. 

“No. But I’m headed that way.”

“Oh, okay. How was work?”

“Not too bad. What about you?”

“I was off.”

“What does a girl like you get up to when she’s not at work?” 

Looking at a photo of you. Thinking about you. Hoping you’re thinking of me.

“Not a whole lot,” she replied, “I was gonna go shopping but decided against it.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t have anything to buy.”

She’d planned on going to the mall and buying a new bra, but changed her mind. Instead, she rotted in bed all day, battling the waves of despair that threatened to pull her under. 

In the lowest moment of her day, when she had a headache from crying so much, she almost called Beth’s office. She didn’t, though. It had been six months since her last session and she was embarrassed at the idea of crawling back to therapy. 

No medication or “hashing it out” or breathing exercises would help her. It was an inevitable conflict she was in, one that she created, and one that she would need to work through on her own. 

“So why would you go shopping?” Cooper asked, sounding genuinely curious. 

She sighed.

“Sometimes I just like to spend my money. Not that I have a ton.”

“Retail therapy?” 

She laughed. 

No, she giggled. Like a schoolgirl. It wasn’t even that funny. 

“Yeah, retail therapy.”

He laughed, too. 

Emily wished she could bottle his laugh, keep it on her nightstand in case of emergencies. Even more, she wished she could hear his laugh in person.

Over the last several days, she’d tried to picture Cooper in her home. Standing in her living room, she would try to picture his figure filling the doorway, greeting her. In the kitchen, she stared at her counter, envisioning him towering over it. It almost always resulted in an absurd image of him, like Alice in Wonderland, his too-long limbs sticking out her windows. Her duplex would be a dollhouse with him in it. 

“What are you up to now?” He asked in a soft voice. 

The growling had disappeared and he now carried the cadence of warmed butter. 

“Getting ready for bed,” she answered, “but I’m not really tired.”

“Then why are you going to bed?”

“Because that’s what people do at night. Most people, I mean.” 

Cooper didn’t respond right away. In the background, Emily could hear the roaring of his vehicle barreling down a road somewhere. She wanted to speak, to break the silence, but some force unknown compelled her not to. Instead, she just listened to the sounds of Cooper driving in her ear. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was there with him, in his passenger seat, admiring his features in the glow of the dashboard. 

“You’re not most people,” he said finally. 

~~~

Rachel had turned off all the lights, forcing Cooper to enter their home in the dark. Luckily, he only had two keys on his key ring, so finding the house key was no challenge. He pushed the door open slowly, guarding himself for whatever may be on the other side. 

The front hall was cloaked in shadow. Not even the light above the kitchen stove was on. Only the flood light above the back porch shone, casting cold beams through the kitchen window. 

He closed the door behind him softly.

“Where have you been?” 

Cooper spun to find Rachel on the stairs, hand on her hip, glaring down at him. 

“Work,” he answered swiftly, “we had a busy evening. Plus, I had to get gas on the way home.”

“Oh,”

“I’m sorry I missed dinner. I’ve been trying to do better about that.”

“Your plate is in the microwave,” she muttered, “Logan is sick and Riley is upset.” 

“Sick? How? And why is she upset?”

“I think he has a sinus infection. COVID was negative. Riley and those girls are fighting again.”

Cooper removed his work boots and placed them in their spot on the shoe rack. He wiggled his toes in his socks just as he did every time he took his shoes off. 

In the kitchen, he started the microwave to heat up his dinner. 

Rachel came downstairs and followed him. As he watched the plate rotate, he felt her wrap her arms around his waist from behind. Instinctively, his muscles tensed. She let go. 

“Did they say something rude to her?” He asked, continuing on. 

“No, but they’re excluding her from stuff,” Rachel hung her head, “I don’t get it. They were all hanging out last week.” 

“Teenage girls are fickle,” Cooper removed his plate and faced his wife, “remember?”

Rachel stood still, craning her neck to look him in the eye. He saw her sniff. 

“I made spaghetti,” she said, gesturing to the plate he carried, “do you smell that? It smells like bleach.”

“We had to clean up one of the trucks,” 

“You use bleach at the station?”

“It kills everything, including C-Diff, E Coli, blood borne stuff.”

“Oh,” she chuckled timidly, “ew.”

“Are we keeping Logan out of school tomorrow?” Cooper quickly changed the subject.

He didn’t like her asking questions. 

“He doesn’t have a fever, so I don’t think we will.”

He nodded before setting the plate on the counter. He ate his dinner standing up, annoyed that Rachel wouldn’t go to bed. He needed to collect his thoughts. To do that, he needed space to think. 

She didn’t leave. Instead, she just stood there, seeming to want to say something else but neglecting to. 

“I’ll talk to Riley,” Cooper offered around a mouthful of wet noodles.

“I think she’d like that. She tends to talk to you about stuff more.”

With that, Rachel finally returned to the stairs. Looking back at him, her eyes looked sad. Something else was there, though. Something that almost looked like fear.

Chapter Text

To his chagrin, Cooper was back in Polly Square. 

It was close to midday and Emily was at work, much like the rest of the neighborhood’s residents. The street was quiet with no one else in sight. 

Being situated in the culdesac at the end of the street meant that Emily had no neighbors behind her. A small expanse of trees separated her home from a small park with a clearing just before the fence of her poststamp backyard. The fence had two gates and there was a divide between hers and the neighbor’s. 

His gloved hand pulled her gate open and he winced as the hinges squeaked. He made a mental note to rectify this later. 

It was a tiny yard. Barely a patch of grass before a concrete patio. There was a decrepit looking table and chairs on the concrete, the surfaces weathered and a streak of pollen still clinging to the tabletop. Just beyond the table was a glass sliding door with blinds that were savaged and hanging by a thread. 

He was disappointed at the lack of upkeep. Whoever rented the property to her didn’t seem to be keen on fixing things up. He wondered if the space was even liveable. 

Through the cracks in the blinds, Cooper saw that the door entered her bedroom. He imagined she felt secure with such an open view being that the glass only looked out into her backyard, obscured by the fence. It was only an illusion of privacy. With no lock on the gate, any old creep could stand on her patio and observe her in her room. 

He placed his palm on the glass and pulled, surprised to find that it slid open with no resistance. Looking closer, he found that the flimsy lock was busted. 

Jesus Christ, her landlord was despicable. 

Pulling the door closed behind him, Cooper stepped into her bedroom. 

Filling most of the space was an unmade queen bed in the center of the room. The pillows were covered by gray silk pillowcases and a large down comforter lay rumpled at the foot of the bed. Slowly, Cooper bent over and inhaled. Clinging to the sheets was her scent, light and airy with a hint of stale sleep. 

His eyes closed involuntarily, a deep calm settling in his bones. 

No time for that, now. 

His exploration had only just begun. 

There were two nightstands. The one to the left of the bed held a stack of books, a water bottle, a phone charger, and her laptop. A standing fan stood nearby, dust caked on the blades. 

Cooper inspected the pile of books, chuckling when he noticed Twilight was among them. 

The series came out before Riley was even a toddler, so he didn’t have to deal with a vampire phase from her. All the kids her age were more interested in TikTok and YouTube than they were books. He wondered if Riley would enjoy Twilight. Or was it considered lame by her and her peers now? 

Other books he saw were From Hell by Alan Moore, The Catcher in the Rye, and The Body Knows the Score. Curious, he opened the cover of the last one. It was about trauma and psychology. He closed it quickly. 

Against the wall near the bedroom door was a tall dresser. Cooper pulled open each drawer, noticing with satisfaction that her clothes were folded and organized. T-shirts, jeans, socks, and underwear each had their own designated spot. They were a rainbow of shades and colors, some bright and others neutral. Surprisingly, he was most interested in the soft, lacy things in the top drawer. He resisted the urge to pull off his glove and rub his fingertips over the silky fabrics. Staring at them was enough sensory overload. 

Cooper was startled by a twitch in his core. His cock was hardening against his boxers, protruding slightly through his jeans. 

That’s new.

Objectively, they were just clothes. A utility. They served no purpose other than to be worn. 

Despite that, Cooper found that he wished to see them in a different context. 

He imagined removing a pair from her bare hips and shoving them in her mouth, watching with satisfaction as she gagged around the dry fabric. He could rip off a sliver of duct tape and adhere it to her face, locking them in, delighting in her struggles. 

She would be totally susceptible to him. Under his control. 

He could place a blade against her throat and watch as the blood flowed. No gas. He would kill her up close, deftly slicing and chopping at her delicate skin. She deserved a more intimate experience. After all, this was personal.

His jeans tightened uncomfortably and he adjusted himself. There would be time to analyze this later.

Moving on from the dresser, he stepped into the kitchen. It was more of a kitchenette. In three steps, the tour was finished. There was a comically short fridge and a narrow gas stove. The counters were uncluttered, only adorned with a coffeemaker and an empty dishrack. The tile floor looked clean, no crumbs and no coffee stains. In the sink, though, was a stack of used coffee mugs. He tried to reason why a single woman would need so many cups. 

Compulsively, Cooper approached the sink and began running the faucet. The water pressure was nearly nonexistent and he groaned. No wonder she hesitated to wash her dishes. 

After cutting the poor flow of water, he wandered into her living room. A couch sat across from a wall-mounted television, a worn coffee table between them. The room was carpeted in beige, displaying any small blemish on the rug prominently. While her kitchen floor was spotless, her living room carpet showed evidence of life. Occasional brown stains appeared close to the table, likely from spilled coffee. There were small scorch marks as well, places where she may have accidentally dropped a cherry from one of her cigarettes. It looked like she had tried to clean the blotches but it was hopeless. The carpet was unforgiving. 

Her living room window was cloaked by drawn black curtains. Against the window was a potted plant. When Cooper inspected it, he discovered it was fake. Its leaves were made of threaded plastic and the “dirt” it was nestled in was brown-colored shredded paper. The plant provided an illusion of life in the space, a perpetual greenery that created a facade of coziness. He was amused by the idea of her trying to maintain real plants, eventually resorting to the false one after too many had shriveled and died. 

Off the living room was a narrow door that led to her bathroom. Emily had attempted to create a theme with the decor, the shower curtain, bath mat, and towels all being seafoam green. On the counter of the sink was her make-up stuff. Brushes, eye shadows, random creams that Cooper didn’t recognize. It was like stepping into an artist’s loft. 

Despite the clutter, all of the fixtures were clean. No embarrassing things in the trash, no hair on the wall of the shower, not even toothpaste in the sink. He had to admit he was impressed. Emily kept things tidy even when she wasn’t anticipating guests when most people wouldn’t. 

But, again - she wasn’t most people. 

He checked his watch. It was only 1pm and he still needed to stock up on supplies. It was soon enough for him to go to the hardware store and be done in time to pick her up from work. 

He left through the broken patio door and slowly closed the squeaky fence gate behind him. He decided to pick up some WD-40 while he was out, too. It would aid him in being imperceptible. 

~~~

Emily was buzzing. 

It was her second trip in Cooper’s car. So much time had passed since her last ride that she had almost made it through the parking lot to her own vehicle before being surprised by Cooper’s van pulling up next to her. 

“Emily,” he’d called to her, “need a ride?” 

There was no hesitation. She shoved her keys to the bottom of her tote and hopped right in. 

“Be sure to buckle up,” he told her before they pulled away from the hospital. 

Buckle up. No restraint could keep her from him. 

They rode in a comfortable silence, the radio off again, his elbow again resting next to hers. A quiet routine. 

She closed her eyes, allowing the calm to settle over her. Her limbs relaxed and her shoulders fell against the back of the seat. She breathed deeply, savoring the closeness. 

She moved her arm and clasped his hand in hers.

Opening her eyes, she looked at him, pleased to see his half-smile as he continued watching the road ahead. 

Cooper’s hand engulfed hers. She watched as the veins under his skin rippled. With her free hand, she absently brushed over them with her fingertips. He was surprisingly soft. She expected a man as rugged as him to have rough callouses from his laboring. Instead, his skin was smooth and warm. 

Forgoing shame, Emily brought his hand up to her lips and pressed them to it softly. 

She felt his muscles tense briefly before relaxing again. 

Lowering his hand, she continued holding it with both of hers. 

He cleared his throat.

“How was work?” He rasped. 

“Not too bad,” she said, “lots of phone calls but thankfully no one died.”

“That’s good,” he replied, “what kind of phone calls?”

“Families asking when their loved one’s autopsy will be done, funeral homes checking to see if someone is ready to be picked up. Doctors with questions about death certificates. The phone rings pretty constantly.”

“I can imagine it does.”

“On weekends it rings much less, but during the week it’s off the hook.” 

“Do you ever get to see anything cool?” He asked, “like, in the morgue?”

She hesitated, unsure if it would be appropriate to bring up the most recent drama. The FBI and their possible Butcher victim. She didn’t want to run around discussing trade secrets, violating the privacy of the medical examiner or the victim. She feared giving too much away and the word spreading. She didn’t want to get in trouble. 

“Well, recently the medical examiner had a pretty interesting case,” she began, “a homeless man was found half-decapitated. Half-cap, we’ve been saying. Like half-caf? Anyway, I got to see part of the autopsy. There were a lot of police there but I’m not sure what the outcome was. Obviously it’s a homicide, but they think… they have a theory that it’s the Butcher’s latest.”

His hand suddenly grew rigid. Withdrawing from her, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his knuckles white. 

“Why do they think that?” He asked, his voice stilted. 

“I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s him,” she said, then, “are you okay? I don’t have to talk about this kind of stuff if it bothers you. I know you have kids and the idea of a serial killer running rampant is probably freaky.” 

She was disappointed that he wasn’t touching her anymore. More so, she was perplexed by his reaction to her story. He had asked, after all. 

“He’s never killed a child,” he said quickly, “from what I’ve seen on the news.”

“No, just adults as far as anyone knows.”

“Anyway, I just think it’s terrible for the families,” he stated after a few beats.

“It is,” she agreed, “we haven’t been able to locate any family for this man, though. He’ll probably end up going to the state. It’s really unfortunate, such a violent death just to go unnoticed.” 

He nodded, then, “do you have family?” 

Emily had been dreading this question. Where to start? How much should she disclose?

“Well, yes, but we aren’t close. They’re all up north, in Canada.”

“Oh, are you Canadian?”

“No, my parents lived here in the states when I was born,” she answered, “they moved back after I finished high school. I never bothered getting dual citizenship or anything so I’ve stayed here ever since.” 

“Do you visit?”

“Not as much as my mother would like,”

“Bad blood?”

“You could say that.”

“I get it,” Cooper said, “my mother and I weren’t exactly close, either.”

“Do you talk to her?” 

Cooper paused before placing his hand back in hers. He squeezed her hand lightly.

“No, she died awhile back.” 

“Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be.”

They held hands until he reached her home. He parked in her driveway and the pair sat in silence for a spell before she spoke.

“Thank you for the ride,” she murmured.

“It’s my pleasure,” he rumbled. 

Unbuckling her seatbelt, she drew closer to him.

With her face inches from his, she observed him closely. His eyes were dark, long hallways to his mind. Emily wanted to climb inside them and look around. She wanted to see what he saw. 

They peered out at her, unmoving, watching her just as closely. 

His nostrils flared as he inhaled suddenly.

Placing a large palm on her cheek, he ran his thumb down her jawline. She shivered as he brushed her throat, putting light pressure on her neck. His other fingers gripped behind her, just at the base of her skull, leaving his hand wrapped loosely around her throat. 

Curiously, he tightened his grip. 

It was a small squeeze - and brief - but it surprised her. Rather than flinch away, though, she merely continued staring. 

Cooper’s expression hadn’t changed. He continued watching her with muted fascination. It was like a test. 

Emily wondered if she was passing.

She closed the space between them, pressing her lips to his. 

His hand moved from her neck to her hair, clutching it and pulling her even closer. She groaned unwillingly, sparks flying in her abdomen. She felt a far-away rumble in his throat. 

His tongue brushed her bottom lip and she parted them. 

She reached for him and he pulled her onto his lap with no effort, not even having to pull away from her kiss to do so. From her new position, she rested her hands on his sides. Beneath the sweater was his skin, warm and soft. She ran her fingertips beneath the hem. She experimented with the waistband of his jeans, hooking her finger into it, tugging at it beneath his belt. 

In response, he bucked his hips, and Emily could feel his hardness pressing against her. 

Abruptly, Cooper pulled away. Her lips grew cold from the breeze that filled his absence. He grabbed her by her hips and flung her back into the passenger seat. Emily’s head lightly bumped against the window, sending stars flying in her eyes.

“I can’t,” was all he said. 

The vibe had shifted. 

Once filled with longing, Emily now grew worried. 

Her head throbbed mildly where she’d hit the window.

Of course he wasn’t going to go through with anything physical. Not with a whole-ass family at home. 

She, on the other hand, had nothing to lose. 

Undeterred, Emily leaned over and palmed his crotch through his jeans. Cooper’s head planted against the seat and he grunted. She found the zipper to his fly and tugged before his hand enveloped her wrist tightly. 

“Stop it,” he growled, “I can’t.”

She obeyed, yanking her arm back from him. He let her go and she folded her hands in her lap. With his eyes closed, Cooper breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling. She could see the bulge still remaining in his pants.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately, “you’re right. I got carried away.”

He coughed and then laughed. 

He laughed for what felt like forever and Emily grew more embarrassed with each chuckle. She definitely felt like the joke. 

With her tote bag on her shoulder, she fixed herself, then turned to Cooper.

“Well, goodnight then,” she gave the words as much indignation as she could muster. 

There was still time to save face. 

“Wait,” he grabbed her wrist again, “don’t go yet.”

“Why? Obviously this isn’t what you want.”

“No, wait a second.”

“No!” She shrilled, “you’re laughing at me!”

“I’m laughing at me,” he replied loudly. 

His grip tightened on her wrist and she could feel her circulation begin to constrict. Emily flung her arm wildly, giving her best effort to shake him off. It was useless. His hand didn’t budge. 

“Cooper, let me go,” she muttered through gritted teeth. 

Without speaking, he pulled her towards himself roughly, catching her ribs against the console. She exhaled sharply, a jolt of pain sending the wind right out of her. His eyes glowered down at her. They twinkled in the light of his dash. The half-smile was still painted on. 

She watched him levelly, refusing to allow her expression to betray her fear. 

“You’re so small,” he pointed out, “and so helpless.”

“Well, you’re huge and pissing me off right now.” 

“Pissing you off?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t mean to.” 

“Then let me go.”

He did then. Her hand fell limply into his lap, brushing the crotch of his jeans. His hardness persisted. 

She didn’t move away from him. Emily instead reached for his face, brushing her fingertips across his forehead and removing his hair from his eyes. 

“I like you a lot,” he blurted. 

Emily stared in disbelief.

“Funny way of showing it, Philly Fire.”

“I’m just not… I’m not used to this.” 

“Of course you’re not. It’s not a habit of yours, clearly.”

“Habits,” he breathed, “are for weak people.”

“They are,” she agreed, “but we are all weak.” 

“I’m not.”

“I am.” 

“I know,” he said.

She sat up fully, her bag tangled around her arm. 

“What is your deal?” She asked, exasperated. 

“I’m not used to feeling this way,” he answered, “this isn’t anything I’ve ever felt before.”

“Not even with your wife?”

He shook his head.

“No, not even with Rachel.”

“What is it then? The feeling?”

“I don’t know what to call it.”

Emily saw him press a finger to the corner of his eye.

God, is he crying?

Her heart softened and she picked up his hand. 

“I don’t want to make you feel guilty,” she said.

“I’m not,” he replied, “guilty. Maybe I should be, but that’s not what I feel.”

“What then?” 

“I feel,” he started, “an urge.”

“That’s normal.”

“I don’t think it’s that kind of urge.”

“Well, what kind?”

Cooper didn’t answer. 

Chapter Text

He almost told her. 

In the confines of his front seat, when he had her exactly where she needed to be, he almost laid it all out. The only thing that held him back was the fact that it would be the last thing she ever heard. He wasn’t yet prepared for that. 

No, the game wasn’t over. Not until he decided. 

His body had betrayed him, though. It was like his skin and muscles didn’t belong to him anymore. Like he’d surrendered control of his faculties over to something else.

Someone else.

Cooper didn’t like to feel out of control.

Emily was objectively attractive, it was true. She possessed a proportionate chest and rear. Her body was soft and she smelled good. Her mouth tasted sweet. Her hand molded into his own, like it was meant to be there all along. She ticked all the boxes on the checklist of any heterosexual male. 

But Cooper had no sexuality. No one, man or woman, had ever caused him to feel that pull that everyone described. The lifeblood of romance fiction, the inescapable lust that humans were slaves to - that was never part of his experience. His dick only hardened when he commanded it to. When Rachel was keening and he needed to play his part. For it to be operating on its own volition, without Cooper’s permission, was unheard of.

Until then.

Until Emily had brushed her fingertips along his hipbones. Until she’d opened her lips to him, allowing his tongue to graze the smooth muscle of her own. Until he’d shoved her into the window, the sound of her skull against the glass firing off a flare below his waist. 

He hadn’t meant to say it. 

The words had tumbled from his mouth clumsily, piling into the air between them like a stack of blocks. Her presence, her hands tickling his face when she parted his hair, had made him unable to hold back his confession. 

He did like her. A lot.

Cooper just wasn’t sure what that meant. What did it mean for him to like someone?

Emily had managed to dance past his misanthropy. She had effortlessly skirted past the edges of his disdain for humanity and had inserted herself into a different category of his mind, her own separate compartment. There had been “Butcher’s Things” and “Cooper’s People” (his family). Now, Emily was occupying a space in between that could only be classified as “Other” until Cooper could organize his thoughts. Until he could untether his thoughts from all the feelings. 

Emily was undoubtedly attractive, but that wasn’t all that drew him to her. She was funny. She was smart and quippy. Sharp as a tack and just as shiny. To his bewilderment, she also wasn’t afraid of him. She had been the closest any living person had ever been to the Butcher and she didn’t even blink. 

It wasn’t unusual for people to be comfortable around Cooper - Cooper was harmless as far as anyone needed to know - but Butcher was the one who made grown men walk to their cars with their keys between their knuckles. Butcher was who Emily had glimpsed that night as she lay in his lap, who had peeked out at her from behind Cooper’s mask. He had been the one to manhandle her, to twist her arm and feel the bones straining within. The one who was going to either drive off with her or sneak into her room after she’d been to sleep. 

She’d seen a flicker of his true form and didn’t turn away. Most times he would attribute that to stupidity, naivety. With Emily, he knew that wasn’t the case. She was too smart for that. She possessed too much self-preservation to ignore the warning bells that her instincts would be clanging. Instead, she sprinted towards them. She seemed to want to plunge deeper into the cloudy depths until she found whatever lost treasure she believed to be there. He didn’t want to be the one to tell her that the bounty was a myth. 

Despite that, he had almost told her. He’d begun to tell her, to confess to his secret acts and urges, but he’d stopped himself. No, he couldn’t tell her. Not until he was prepared for what would come next.

No one was special enough to meet Butcher and live. 

Abandoning his plans, Cooper sped away from Polly Square, rubber pounding pavement until he was safely in his own driveway. He was brimming with a strange anxiety, an unfamiliar tension that contracted his muscles and fibers. The bubble of rage that he carried sat squarely in his chest, expanding continuously but not breaking. He didn’t know how big the bubble could get without bursting. He wondered if he would simply carry it until his last days. He knew he couldn’t let it go, he couldn’t push it away and watch it float across the sky to another world. In this world, the bubble was his and his alone. 

Emily was sharp enough to pop it. If he got too close, she would prick the sides and he would have to face the combustion. 

He entered his home quietly and shucked his boots. Scuttling his toes, he felt the tension begin to ease. A light was on in the living room and he could hear the soft sounds of the television. As he turned the corner, mentally preparing himself to face Rachel, he was pleasantly surprised to see Riley’s unruly curls sticking up from the couch. She was watching some show on Netflix, the volume low, and she looked half asleep. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he announced, not wanting to startle her. She turned to him and lit up instantly.

“Dad!” She greeted him.

“What are you doing awake? It’s kinda late.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep. Plus, I wanted you to see something.”

She pulled a folded sheet of paper from the cushion beside her and held it up to him. 

“Your report card!” He reviewed the paper closely, “four As and a B. Very nice!”

They high-fived and he took a seat next to her. No longer sleepy, Riley excitedly explained how her most recent project elevated her standing in her history class. She described her teacher’s comments, thrilled at the compliments she had received on her skilled writing. Cooper listened with interest, relieved to feel the bubble shrink and float back down from his chest. He fluttered the report card.

“This is great,” he said, “we’ll have to celebrate!”

He stood and affixed the paper to the fridge with a magnet. 

Riley glowed from her spot on the couch. Cooper ruffled her hair. 

“I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

~~~

A harmless crush.

That’s how her high school guidance counselor had first described it to Emily’s mother: harmless. Emily knew better, though. 

She was there, after all. 

She was there after school when Mr. Booker had said: “if I didn’t like you so much…”

It was Emily who was there when Mr. Booker offered her a ride home. It was Emily who politely declined, but couldn’t escape her thoughts of him.

It was Emily who would eventually show up at his home and scare the pregnant Mrs. Booker. 

The counselor’s tune changed then. Suddenly, Emily was “troubled” and had to be placed in a different high school. 

Emily’s mother had sensed something was off from the very beginning. When Emily had returned home one day and her conversations became “Mr. Booker” this and “Mr. Booker” that. 

Emily’s mother became even more concerned when “Mr. Booker” became Danny. She’d sought out the school’s guidance counselor, foolishly believing that anyone involved in the school system could provide any sort of “guidance.” She’d been assured that Emily was behaving as any normal teenage girl would. A young, handsome teacher surrounded by hormonal teenage girls would surely be subjected to a crush or two. It was inevitable. 

Inevitable.

It frightened her mother, then, when Emily began turning up with a neck bruised with hickeys. Bright purple splotches that belonged to no one but Danny. She’d confronted Emily, begged her to see the truth: she was being taken advantage of. No one was mad at her and no one would be. It wasn’t her fault that a grown man (with a wife) was pursuing her. She was the victim in this situation. 

Emily wasn’t a victim, though.

She was special.

She had entered a realm that her peers had not: an adult relationship, sophisticated and mature. She was somebody’s partner, now. No longer was she a child. No longer was she just an extension of her parents. She had become her own person with her own desires. To Emily, there was no “power imbalance.” She and Danny were equals. The playing field was level. 

That wasn’t true. It was so beyond untrue that everyone could see it except for her. The power he held over her became apparent when he announced to their class that Mrs. Booker was expecting. It was a shock to Emily, who had been under the impression that Mrs. Booker didn’t put out anymore and that Danny was lonely and sad. It was a quick spiral. 

Danny pulled away from her, avoiding her in the halls and after school. Telling her to go home instead of waiting for him. Explaining that his priorities had changed. 

Was she not a priority when she sucked his dick in his car?

She had certainly prioritized him, as evidenced by her grades dropping in every class except for one. 

No, she spiraled quickly and savagely. She found his address - it wasn’t hard - and showed up one evening. She only wanted to talk to Danny, and hadn't expected his wife to be alone in the house. 

Mrs. Booker, upon first glimpse of Emily on the porch, called the police. Philly PD showed up while Emily was sitting on the doorstep, refusing to move until Danny showed up.

No, Emily couldn’t be a student at a school where one of the teachers had a protection order against her. 

Beth was aware of this particular baggage. It had been the subject of many sessions, the jumping off point for many of Emily’s revelations about herself. As she sat in Beth’s office, the white noise machine hissing on the other side of the door, Emily knew that Danny had influence over her current state, too. 

“It’s been awhile,” Beth acknowledged, one leg crossed over the other, her legal pad balanced on her knee. 

“It has,” Emily agreed, “things got busy.” 

Beth nodded and waited patiently for her to continue. 

Emily hesitated, not sure where to start. She was embarrassed of her extended hiatus and even more embarrassed of her reason for returning. 

“Um,” Emily began, her throat dry, “I met a man.”

“Oh, okay! I’m glad to hear that. What’s he like?”

Emily blushed deeply.

“He’s a firefighter. Works here in Philly. I met him at work a few weeks ago,” she paused, “he’s handsome.”

“What’s the status? Are you two together? Taking it slow?” Beth asked. 

Their rapport had always been casual. Formalities often fell to the wayside and sometimes their sessions felt like two girlfriends catching up, gabbing over coffee. Emily enjoyed that dynamic, but found herself feeling exposed now as she was asked to put her… situation with Cooper into words. 

“Well, we’ve been seeing each other. He’s given me rides home from work and we chat on the phone here and there.”

“Okay, that’s a good start.”

“We haven’t been on a date yet, not unless you count the rides home. We haven’t really pursued anything physical. Not yet.”

Beth nodded.

“But?”

“But…?”

“What’s the catch? You sound like there’s more you want to say.”

Emily picked at the skin of her thumb. 

“Well, the main reason we haven’t been on a date is probably because he’s married,” she stated logically, keeping her eyes locked on her hands while she fidgeted. 

“Married, is he?”

“And he has kids. Two of them.”

“Does his marriage cause you concern?” Beth asked softly, her voice absent of any judgement. 

“It does,” Emily admitted. 

“Why’s that?” 

“I don’t know his wife, but she doesn’t deserve a husband who runs around behind her back. No one does. His kids don’t deserve that kind of drama either.”

“What does he say? About his wife, I mean. Is he worried? Guilty maybe?”

Emily shook her head.

“No, he said he doesn’t feel guilty. He seems conflicted about it, sure, but I don’t think it’s because of his wife. He seems pretty checked out of his marriage. Mentally, I mean.”

“Does he talk about her much with you?”

“God, no. He’s brought her up a couple times, but not in a meaningful way. He never talks about them doing things as a family, he doesn’t talk about his time with her at all. I’d believe that he made her up if not for-“ Emily stopped abruptly.

“If not for what?” prompted Beth.

Emily’s shame had reached a boiling point. Her face burned and her skin crawled beneath her clothes. Her scalp tingled uncomfortably. She reached a hand up to her head, absently grazing the knot from Cooper’s car window.

“If not for the fact that I’ve seen her. I know she exists.”

“How did you meet her?”

“We haven't met. I’ve seen her. At her job.” 

Even as she said it out loud, Emily knew it was a creepy thing to do. At the time, though, it didn’t seem that weird. She was a random person walking past a random school. Never mind the fact that she had to ride the bus and take two transfers to get there. 

Riley’s school - the school Rachel taught at - was so far out of the way that Emily worried she was headed to the wrong place. Were they going to New Jersey? The driver of the third bus pulled up to a friendly-looking bus stop in the suburbs. It was in the center of a shopping plaza and was cleaner than any street corner or bus depot. Emily climbed down the steps, her pocketbook slung on her shoulder. She wore sunglasses and a knit beanie, her lazy attempt at a disguise. She wasn’t sure who she was hiding from. Rachel didn’t know who she was, nor did Riley. Emily supposed she was concerned that Cooper may happen by. He was the only one whose opinion mattered, anyway. 

There was a Starbucks within the plaza Emily had been dispensed at, and she went in and ordered a coffee. She was surrounded by stay-at-home soccer moms meeting up for their midday shopping, nannies wielding unruly children that didn’t belong to them, and the college-aged kids slinging their coffees. As usual, Emily was the odd one out. They were demographics she was glad she didn’t belong to, but she couldn't help but feel awkward. Her discomfort was amplified when the moms sipping lattes gave her strange looks as she approached the register. Since when was it weird for a woman to get a coffee? 

Emily paid and waited for her drink. Near her was a nanny, a very young blonde woman surrounded by three brunette toddlers. Emily listened as she attempted to soothe the children, her voice carrying an accent that she couldn’t place. The children listened to her and quieted. Emily was impressed. She wondered how it would go when one of Cooper’s kids gave her grief. Emily liked to imagine that she would be as graceful as the foreign nanny, comforting them with only her words and taking them to Starbucks after, but Emily knew she wasn’t that lucky. Plus, his kids would have leverage. You’re not our mom, she could already hear them saying.

She shook her head violently, ridding herself of her ponderings and earning some whispers from the gossipy moms in the process. Collecting her drink, she left the store and began her trek down to the school. Well, past the school. She wasn’t going inside. She was just a woman on a walk with her coffee. 

It was only a mile down the street from the shopping center, a campus that sat back a few yards from the sidewalk, with a footpath that wrapped behind the building. On her first pass, she only sipped her drink and wandered down the sidewalk, barely glancing up at the school. Then, once she reached the intersection, she turned around and passed a second time. This time, she watched the building as it grew closer. She could hear teachers with their classroom windows open, giving lectures on algebra or To Kill A Mockingbird. Emily could hear the clattering of the lunchroom staff taking out the trash or unloading product. She surveyed the windows, trying to see if she could spot a familiar face. No, Rachel’s classroom didn’t seem to be on the front side. Taking the footpath, Emily strolled behind the school. A sense of nostalgia crept into her as she found herself exploring the middle school campus. She liked school as a child. At least, she liked school until. 

A large oak tree sat just a few feet away from the path, and Emily approached it. She laid her palm against the trunk, feeling the bark beneath her fingers. It was a sturdy tree. She wished she could climb into the branches, hang upside down like a monkey or lounge and read a book.

A breeze carried the light trills of a piano. Emily followed the sound, keeping her distance. Through a window just at the end of the building, Emily saw her. 

Seated at a piano was a blonde head, bobbing along to the notes she was plucking out. The room of children began to sing and Rachel mouthed the words with them, lifting her head to nod along and smiling while she guided them through the song. It wasn’t a song Emily recognized, but it was nice. She continued observing Rachel in her habitat, watching as she played and sang. Watching as she grinned, her face glowing with joy. There was no questioning what Cooper saw in her. She was plain but pretty. She was happy-looking and glimmered with kindness. It was like an aura surrounding her, a white light of samaritanism that penetrated any nearby shadows. 

Emily wondered what her own aura looked like. She pictured herself, standing there in her beanie and sunglasses, with bright green waves of envy rolling off her skin. It was like a perpetual sunburn, the heat of her jealousy warming the sleeves of her hoodie. Hot radiation leeching from her pores. 

Or maybe it was black smoke that she emitted. Opaque wisps of despair, creating the shadows that Rachel’s light would fight off. Yin and yang. Two sides of the same coin. Can’t have light without the dark, etcetera. Perhaps Cooper was greedy. He indulged himself with each of them - bathing in the sunlight of Rachel’s gaze during the day, cloaking himself in Emily’s shadows by night. Maybe he needed them both. The idea didn’t exactly jive with Emily’s vision - being a perfect stepmother while maintaining a friendly neutrality with his sunny ex-wife - but she knew she could settle. If Cooper needed both, she would ensure he had them. Even if it meant that she couldn’t have him to herself. 

Beth cleared her throat, yanking Emily away from her memory and landing her back in the present moment. 

“Well, you probably don’t need me to tell you that this type of behavior isn’t healthy.” 

“Of course not,” Emily agreed. 

“I understand you’re enamored with this guy, and I don’t blame you, but you gotta think about the reality of the situation. Don’t get carried away with your fantasies. Right?”

“Right.”

“Are you still taking the Lexapro?” Beth switched gears and Emily swallowed. She figured it would come up. 

“I stopped over the summer.”

“Did you have any trouble with it?”

“Gained some weight. It stressed me out.”

Beth nodded and scribbled on a prescription pad.

“Maybe try this. It’s Zoloft. It’s still an SSRI, but it is different from Lexapro. We can start at a low dose and increase it as needed. How’s that sound?”

She leaned over and passed the prescription to Emily. She held it in her fingers, the blue paper of disappointment. Despite everything, she would always wind up with a little blue sheet. An unwelcome homework assignment. 

“I’ll try it,” Emily promised. 

Chapter Text

Emily was almost asleep when it happened. She was living in that floaty half-reality that exists in the space between wakefulness and unconsciousness. It was from this place that she heard someone call her name. She ignored it initially, continuing to drift into slumber. Until it happened again.

Emily, it said. 

She felt her eyes begin to flutter open, her brain being scooped up from the bottom of the swamp she’d been wading through. Still hardly awake, she observed her bedroom through sleep-slogged eyes. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. 

Emily! It sounded again, this time urgently. 

She groaned from behind her closed lips, sealing her eyes shut and draping her arm across her face. She tried her best to drift off again, paying no mind to the sounds of her name being spoken in the dark.

“Emily, wake up,” he said, “I mean it.” 

Her eyes snapped open immediately. The voice was real. 

Before she could utter a reply, a warm panel of leather pressed over her mouth. She mumbled into it, disoriented. An identical sensation pressed over her eyes and, startled, she realized they were gloved hands. Gloved hands covering her eyes and mouth. She let out a muffled groan which only caused the hands to press harder, tightening their seal. 

Fully awake now, Emily struggled against the hands, trying to free her senses. She wished to yell, to scream, to lay eyes upon the intruder. Instead, she was blind and mute, her groans and grunts carrying no power.  Instinctively, she flailed her arms around, catching one against a corner of fabric nearby. Her mattress dipped and she felt the weight of someone’s legs on either side of her. The intruder was straddling her, pressing his weight into her abdomen, keeping her locked to her bed. 

Panic seized her fully, her chest weathering sharp jolts of pain. Her lungs couldn’t fill all the way with her mouth covered and her ribs ached against the knees of her captor as they pressed harder into her. One of the hands retreated. Before she could even register this, the other pressed its palm over her mouth and fingers over her eyes, still obscuring her vision and keeping her screams at bay. His hand was nearly the size of her head, a fact that nagged at her with some distant familiarity. 

She wiggled and squirmed as his free hand gathered her wrists and pinned them high above her. Her arms stretched uncomfortably, extended further than what was natural. She lay beneath her captor, struck by the realization that she now had fully relinquished control. She groaned into the hand across her mouth and he squeezed her face tighter. Tears pricked her eyes and she fought them back. She didn’t want to give him, whoever he was, the satisfaction of her despair. 

In a swift, practiced movement, the hand was replaced by a pillowcase that was jerked over her head. She still couldn’t see, but her breaths came a bit easier now that her mouth had been freed. She made to scream, gearing up with a deep inhale, but was interrupted by his palm clamping down on her mouth again over the pillowcase. Warm breath steamed her ear through the fabric. 

“If you scream,” he growled, “I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.” 

She nodded violently, indicating her intentions to obey. He released her mouth again and she stayed quiet, just like he wanted. He made quick work of binding her wrists, still keeping them in the stiff position above her head. Her chest rose and fell with her labored breathing as she did her best to remain fearless. Level-headed. Her hearing had intensified now that she couldn’t see, and she could hear the rustling and squeaking of her bed as he repositioned himself atop her. His legs squeezed her between them, her hips aching from the sudden pressure. His body was warm against hers. It would be nice in another context, but here it was stifling.

She lay still as the gloves surveyed her body, a haphazard pat down like she was in line at the airport. They lingered on her throat, the fingers grazing the soft skin above her collarbone, before continuing their journey. They patted down her shoulders and sides, her stomach and hips. She shuddered when she felt them ghost over her crotch, her muscles contracting with apprehension. 

Emily knew then that she was preparing to face the inevitable.

The horror that haunts every woman - a male intruder in her room at night, glove-clad and probing. The universal terror that afflicted her kind. Her birthright. 

Instead, he moved on, patting his hands against her thighs and calves. 

“I need to make sure you don’t have any weapons,” he explained. 

It was odd, him justifying his actions to her. It seemed almost respectful. 

His voice carried a darkness to it, a low grumble that sounded like an attempt to disguise it from her. She relaxed a little beneath him, now convinced that he’d only come to rob her. He would trash her apartment, take her (very few) valuables, and slip out the door. Emily would remain unscathed, though thoroughly frightened, and would carry on the next day. Days would pass from this moment, then weeks, until years would eventually pass and she wouldn’t carry the fear of this night with her anymore. She would make the police report, acknowledging that she didn’t have enough information to identify him, not even his voice, and he would happily pawn her laptop before moving on to someone else. She waited for him to stand, to begin searching her place, but he remained. 

Her neck tickled as she felt cold metal press against her skin. Pressure was applied, a flame of pain alighting where he pressed. 

He leaned into her, his torso flush with hers. His face hovered over her own, his breath tickling her lips beneath the pillow case. Through the threads, she could only see the silhouette of his head. He was wearing a hood, it seemed, and she couldn’t tell what his hair looked like. She strained her eyes open wider, trying to allow as much light in as possible. She needed some image of him to describe later. 

Leather-covered fingers scurried across her neck, then tugged at the hem of her shroud. The lower edge lifted over her chin and then her mouth, the top half of her face remaining covered. Emily kept silent, listening to her own panicked breath in the darkness of her bedroom. 

How had he gotten in? Her back door was situated in her bedroom and the lock had been broken as long as she’d lived there. She’d received half-hearted promises from her landlord to repair it, but he never delivered. In an attempt to create some semblance of safety, Emily started keeping a wooden block in the doorframe to prevent it from sliding. The problem was, she moved it one day to go outside and never replaced it. She’d become complacent, her continued experiences of comfort and security allowing her to believe that she would always be comfortable and secure. Surely she would have heard something, though. Right?

As her mind gurgled on, she was yanked from her thoughts by a pair of lips forcing themselves against hers, the blade still pressed to her neck. 

Ah, right. Not a robbery, she thought to herself cynically. 

Her next thoughts were less coherent. 

As the intruder pried her mouth open with his own, she found her resistance begin to wane as she was plunged into a sudden familiarity. Her senses were overwhelmed by the distant fragrance of a store’s garden center, an earthy scent that trickled in through the threads of the pillowcase, smelling almost like potting soil. Just beneath was a fresh, coppery smell. A mineral smell. She couldn’t place it, could only admit that it was one she recognized somewhere. The scent was triggering a distant memory, a memory so far removed from her current situation that it seemed like another lifetime. Her brain was so overworked in those moments that she couldn’t see the obvious. She was blind to it. Blind to him. 

Blinded by him. 

Rough stubble scratched her face as his tongue surveyed her mouth. She responded in kind, flicking her own tongue across his. He tasted fresh, like minty toothpaste. Had he prepared for her? Her heart pattered unevenly, a combination of fear and thrill engulfing her and resounding deep in her chest. His hands roamed her body, less objective than before, groping her breasts beneath her sleep shirt. A moan escaped her throat, a natural reaction beyond her control. The second her lips were free from his, she asked:

“Cooper? Is it you?” 

Her voice was hardly a whisper, but the words plopped into the air like lead weights. The intruder paused - not long enough for an answer, but a pause nonetheless - before hurling himself off of her. Emily heard his scuffling away from the edge of the bed, heard the clatter of his weapon dropping to her floor, heard the sliding glass door whip open and slam closed. She lay by herself in the dark, her hands still bound above her head, the pillowcase still covering her eyes. After a few beats of hesitation, she rolled off the mattress, thudding clumsily to the floor. She brought her hands to her head and rid herself of the pillowcase before scrambling over to the door, pressing her face to the glass. It fogged with her breath, clouding her line of sight. She squinted and scanned, but nothing. Her back patio seemed completely undisturbed. The table and chairs were still in place and the gate was closed. She hadn’t heard it squeak. She hadn’t heard any of it. 

Adrenaline sunk its fangs into her finally, forcing her breath out in large huffs. Woozily, she stood and stumbled into her kitchen. She held her wrists under the light. They were secured with a heavy-duty zip tie, white in color, and zipped so tight that her skin puckered. Rodent-like, she gnawed at it with her teeth. She made a few small dents, but no punctures. She dragged the plastic against the edge of the counter, then the stove handle, but it held fast. In desperate frustration, she smacked her conjoined arms down against her thigh, giving a startled chuckle when she realized that had worked. The band popped with a snap, flying off and skidding away across the floor. She rubbed her wrists and hands, working circulation back through them. Darting back into her room, she grabbed her phone off the charger and punched at the screen with shaky fingers. 

“911, where is your emergency?” 

“1877 Polly Square Drive,” Emily croaked.

“Police, fire, or medical?”

“Police.”

The operator transferred her to police dispatch. 

“Philadelphia Police, what is the nature of your emergency?” 

A sob escaped her unexpectedly, and she took a moment to compose herself enough to speak. 

“Hi, yes. Someone came into my apartment and, uh, assaulted me,” she replied. 

It sounded silly. There wasn’t a sufficient way to describe it.

“Is anyone injured?”

“I don’t know, I think he had a knife..”

“It was a physical assault?”

“Um, yes. And sexual. I guess?”

“And you were the one assaulted, ma’am?”

“Yes,” she breathed. 

“Do you need medical?”

“No, I… I don’t know.”

“Ok, ma’am. Is the intruder still there?”

“No, I heard him leave.”

“Do you know who it was?”

“No, I-,” she halted briefly, “no.”

“Please remain in your home if it’s safe. We’re sending an officer to you.” 

Emily ended the call with police and immediately called Cooper’s number. It went straight to voicemail.

Hello, the person you are trying to reach doesn’t have a voicemail box set up. Please try your call again.

She texted him, her fingers flying.

Hey, some really weird shit happened. Can you call me?

She scrolled up through their text conversation, noting the ratio of her green messages compared to his gray ones. This seemed to be another green bubble sent out into the void. 

She debated calling Joby. Was she going to be calling as her friend who was in distress, or as her employee who wasn’t coming to work tomorrow? Both, she decided.

“Hey,” Joby answered, sounding just as awake as she’d been during their shift together.

“Hey,” Emily quavered.

“Are you ok?” 

“Um,” Emily inhaled deeply, “no. No, I’m not. Someone broke into my place.”

“Fuck, dude,”  Emily could hear the rattle of Joby’s car keys in the background, “did you call the police?”

“Yeah, they’re on the way.”

“Okay, so am I.”

-*- 

Emily and Joby waited three hours for police to arrive. 

While they waited, Joby put on Flavor of Love and gave Emily a fresh pack of smokes and a lighter. She didn’t ask any questions, knowing the police would make her repeat herself ad nauseam when they finally came. The pair simply smoked and watched the screen, laughing at the pleasant absurdity. It wasn’t enough to take Emily’s mind off things, though. Even as she coated her tongue with nicotine, she could still taste him.

She was sure it was him, though she had no proof. If he would only call her or answer her texts, tell her where he’d been that night, tell her it was him who tied her up and molested her. 

Emily wanted it to be him. She clung to the hope that he was the one who entered her home and touched her, kissed her. She hoped it would be some weird fetish that he had, some play-rape scenario. Emily knew she could deliver on that. As long as she knew what was happening. 

When the police arrived, an officer sat on the coffee table in front of Emily, placing himself at her level. He wrote on a tiny notepad while he questioned her. The officer was muscular and tall - though easily dwarfed by a certain someone - and he was charming. He spoke to her gently, without patronization. It helped her speak more freely, even with Joby there. 

“Some dude came in and groped you?” She hissed incredulously when Emily got to that part, earning a warning glance from the cop. 

“Um. Like I said, he… got on top of me. He bound my hands. He touched my, um, chest.”

The cop - Officer Bingham, per his badge - nodded for her to continue, leaving Joby stunned on the couch next to her while Emily proceeded with her sordid tale. 

“I think he had a knife. He put it to my throat,” Emily’s hands fluttered up to her neck where the blade had pressed against her, feeling the skin swollen and raised. Pulling her fingers away, she saw no blood. 

“It looks like he may have tried to cut you,” Officer Bingham noted, “but it doesn’t look bad. Are you sure you don’t need EMS?”

“No. I mean, he didn’t cut me.”

Officer Bingham nodded again, scribbled some. 

“Do you have any idea who he could be?”

Emily hesitated. As much as she wanted to name Cooper, to have it confirmed for her that it was him, she didn’t want him under the heat of the law. If it wasn’t him, she didn’t want to expose their relationship by having cops show up and question him in front of Rachel. 

“No, I don’t,” she answered finally. 

Beside her, Joby stiffened but didn’t say anything. Emily knew she would be drilled about this later.

“So, Ms. Draper, usually we do this kinda thing at the station, but we want you to be comfortable. May we photograph your injuries?”

Emily agreed to this and a female officer appeared. She’d been there the whole time, only making her presence known when it was clear she would be needed to chaperone her undressing. In her bathroom, Emily held out her hands and watched remotely as the female officer placed a ruler against her wrists. Officer Bingham clicked a large camera, the flash blasting through the small room. The same was done for her neck and chest, the light from the camera blinding her as she displayed her throat and breasts. 

“There is some bruising on your ribs,” Officer Bingham pointed out, “did he hit you?”

“I fell off the bed trying to get up. After he left.”

More nodding, more clicking, more flashing. 

She pulled the edges of her pajama pants down at the female officer’s prompting, showing her hips where his knees had dug into her. Another photo was taken, more evidence of her plight being cemented into reality. 

Emily felt like a bystander to her own life, observing from a place nearby but not in the thick of it. It had happened to someone else, a different Emily, leaving her free to watch and take notes. Even as more officers entered her home, some asking more questions and others photographing her room and dusting for prints, she still didn’t feel like it was her home they were trampling through. It didn’t feel like it was her skin that had been touched, squeezed, prodded. 

It didn’t look like her kitchen knife or her pillowcase that were bagged and carried away, despite her recognizing them as such. 

When she opened her mouth for the female officer to perform a buccal swab, she was entirely numb. She hadn’t realized the action had been completed until the officer told her she may close her mouth again. 

“This will help distinguish your DNA from that of the intruder’s,” the officer explained, bagging the large cotton swab and sealing it tight. 

“This might be an awkward question,” Officer Bingham began, “but we do have to ask: were there any penetrative acts?”

“No, not at all,” Emily responded quickly.

“So you don’t believe you’ll need the hospital to do any swabs of your genitals?” The female officer asked, “in case there’s more DNA?”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” Emily confirmed with finality. 

The act hadn’t been vulgar, Emily realized during this exchange. Despite the violence of it, there was a bizarre tenderness. A gentleness to his touch, his movements. Even with a knife to her throat, his actions seemed reluctant. Like he wanted to ask her first. 

A flash of hot anxiety swept over her and she grabbed the arm of the nearest officer. It happened to be Officer Bingham, his large biceps flexing with surprise.

“I need to sit down,” Emily slurred before being guided to the couch. 

Joby was there and fanned Emily with a throw pillow. 

“Do you want water?” Joby asked and Emily nodded, her face drained of all color. 

Joby gave Officer Bingham a pointed look, and he began rummaging through the cabinets to find a cup. Returning to the couch, he passed a full coffee mug of tap water to Emily who downed it in three gulps. She hadn’t realized how thirsty all this business had made her. 

The crew of officers who had been delegated to her bedroom emerged then, exchanging brief words with the other two before exiting through her front door. Officer Bingham approached Emily. He passed her a business card.

“Here’s my card, in case of any questions about things. A detective will call you at some point for further interviewing. Just standard stuff.”

Emily nodded, her eyes unable to focus, the words and numbers on the card blurring into one another. Joby removed the card from Emily’s weak grip, thanked the cops (somewhat sarcastically, to Emily’s ears), and showed them to the door. After they were gone, Joby helped Emily lay back on the couch. She elevated her feet on a throw pillow and moved the fan from her bedroom to a spot next to her. The breeze was welcome and Emily began to regain her vision. The dark spots around the edges began dissipating and her head stopped buzzing. Joby looked down at her, her face bunched into an expression of concern.

“Well, you’re not working today,” she announced. 

“Tomorrow,” Emily corrected.

“Today, sis. It’s four o clock.” 

Emily rushed to sit up. Joby’s hands fell upon her shoulders and gently pushed her back against the pillow.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go in. I’ll catch a couple hours of sleep and then rock it out. You need to rest. Chill out.”

Tears came flooding then, wet waves of tangled emotions barreling through Emily’s eyes. She was thankful for Joby, her heart aching from the kindness she had bestowed upon her. She was mourning for herself, for the horrors she’d experienced that night. She was relieved that it was over, despite knowing that it wasn’t. Not really.

Chapter Text

It was a fucking stupid thing to do.

Cooper believed he was ready. Preparations were complete, a tarp spread on the backseat of his utility van and the chair ready in the laundry room of one of his safe houses. Chains were already locked to the pole, draped across the chair, the key dangling from the string around his neck. He’d slid into her backyard, the gate blessedly silenced since he’d oiled the hinges. He’d stepped into her bedroom in the dark, laid his hunting eyes upon her sleeping figure. 

Emily slept peacefully. Her light breath filled the air. Cooper almost regretted having to wake her, enjoying the vision of her peace. Wishing he could join her, allow her calm to spread over him like a warm breeze. Instead, he spoke her name into the dark, keeping his voice low. After she didn’t awaken the first couple times he beckoned, he almost retreated. The third time, though, he knew he would have to stay. Complete the task. 

When she finally woke to him, he transformed. His heart hardened and his brain locked in. He sprung upon her, strapping her limbs down with his own. She riled and struggled under his heft, the movements all too familiar. Yet? A difference. Even with her hands bound and her face covered, he felt her moving him in a different direction. Even with a knife blade pressed against her, her life hanging in the balance, she’d taken hold. Her hands were on the wheel. He couldn’t let her know she had control, but his brain and his body were on opposing sides of a bloody battle. Despite being ready to take her, he found he wanted to taste her first. Just like that night in his car, only she wouldn’t know it was him. Not until her head was uncovered in the safety of the laundry room. 

It was a fucking stupid thing to do, kissing her. Feeling her. The forbidden fruit, juicy and ripe, leaking its poison through his veins. He should have carried her through the trees. He should have laid her on the covered backseat and taken her away. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was frozen there, his mouth and hands roaming. He could feel the fear draining from her body, her movements slowing and her breathing regulating. That should have been his first clue, but no. He didn’t figure it out until her words smacked him over the skull. 

Cooper? Is it you?

Reality and all its venom hissed at him in that moment, tail coiled, ready to strike. 

He couldn’t stay. He knew he had to run, like a fucking coward. Escape her grip. 

As he careened down side streets and backroads, his foot stomping the gas pedal to the floor, he was flush with rage and humiliation. Embarrassment clung to him, beading his forehead and lip with bitter sweat, making him forget that his seat belt wasn’t fastened. He realized this as he slammed on brakes at a red light he’d nearly blown through, his body lurching forward violently and his head nearly colliding with the windshield. 

“Fuck!” He cried aloud, his voice foreign to his own hearing. 

Untethered. That was the only word for it. The only word for the state of mind Cooper found himself in. 

Everything was so disorganized. 

He hated unfinished business. He hated feeling like something had been left undone, some loose end left flapping in the breeze. Emily was that loose end. 

He’d taken all the usual precautions. He knew his plan of entry, his mode of escape. He’d grabbed one of her own knives and blinded her with her own pillowcase. He wore gloves and kept his hood up and made sure she didn’t make a sound. Yet, when he finally had her in his clutches, his wires got crossed.

With her wriggling beneath him, his brain woefully misinterpreted the events at play. His body had only reacted accordingly. 

He knew she wasn’t stupid, yet when she uttered his name it made his blood run cold. How had she guessed? How had she known? 

“Fuck!” He wailed again, agony seeping into his voice. 

He punched the steering wheel, a juvenile act, and winced when the thing creaked beneath his hands. This settled him somewhat, grounded him enough to focus again. He changed course and got on the route to the safe house. The home he’d made for Emily. As he drove, calmer this time, a thought occurred to him that made his gut churn with apprehension:

What if she called the cops? 

He pictured her sitting in an interview room at the station, perfectly composed, telling the police all about her clandestine romance. She would smoke her stinky cigarettes and describe his appearance to the eager detectives, their mouths watering with the possibility of catching him. Squad cars would light up his neighborhood and wake the kids. Rachel would condemn him. He would be carried off in cuffs and forced to stand trial, watching Emily stare him down while she bravely testified about the incident. Of course, he would do what he had always planned to do if such events ever came to pass: deny, deny, deny. 

But, Cooper wondered, could he lie to her?

He had already, by omission. By blocking her view of his true self. Almost. But could he lie to her face? If she faced him head on and asked -were you in my room? - could he deny it? It felt like a physical impossibility. Her hold over him was like verbal ipecac - he would expel whatever it was she wanted to hear. This made Cooper his own liability, a thought that made him want to pluck his hair out one strand at a time.

His jaw worked on its own accord as he pondered, his teeth tightening. It was a nervous habit he’d picked up when he was younger. Back when his mother had forced him to get braces. Whenever something got under Cooper’s skin - which was often - he would flex his jaw and suck in his lips until the corners of metal pinched the inside of his mouth. Sometimes he drew blood. Most times, though, he was able to distract himself with the satisfying tug of the wires around his teeth. The orthodontist would chide him at his follow ups, wondering aloud how he could manage to misalign the tough metal. He would shrug and sit still as the orthodontia was readjusted, knowing he would only do it again. And again. And again. Long after the braces had been removed, the habit remained. 

As soon as he entered the safe house, he took a shower. He scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed again, picturing each trace of her sloughing off and down the drain. After he was changed into fresh clothes, he dumped a gallon of bleach into the tub. He made sure it splashed upon the sides as well as the faucet handle. It was the only way it was safe for him to shower there. Bleach would obscure, if not totally destroy, any trace of his DNA. Were anyone to come looking for it, that is. 

In the darkness of the safe house’s kitchen, he placed his flip phone in the center of the table. He stared at it for a little while before turning it on. As soon as it came to life, it began buzzing incessantly, blasting with the artillery of Emily’s attempts at correspondence. He watched the device skitter across the table with each new text message. Eventually, she seemed to cease fire. He flipped the phone open and began catching up.

There were several missed calls. No voicemails - there was no way for her to leave one - and twelve text messages. Four of the texts had been delivered prior to the events of the evening. The other eight came after: 

Hey, some really weird shit happened. Can you call me?

Sorry, don’t mean to be vague. I’m freaking out. Please call me.

Come over.

Cooper. Call me.

Come over. I’m freaking out.

Please Cooper.

Cooper. I am scared. Please call me.

Come over. Prove it wasn’t you.

~~~

Her front door sounded like it was being beaten down, startling Emily from the couch. She froze, hugging her knees to her chest. Someone was knocking. No, pounding. Fear rose in her throat in the form of hot bile. Did she even have anything left in her stomach? Her dinner was only a memory by then. Afraid of throwing up, she squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed twice. The unknown person hammered away at the door again. 

He didn’t knock last time, she reminded herself, summoning enough courage to approach.

She pulled the door open an inch, rays of golden sunrise spilling in. 

“Who is it?” She called through the crack. 

“It’s me. I brought breakfast.”

Without hesitation, she swung the door open wide. Cooper stood on her stoop with a greasy paper bag in one hand, a Starbucks cup in the other. His eyes twinkled.

“Come in,” she beckoned.

He entered her duplex, standing awkwardly in the entryway as she closed and locked the door.

“I’m sorry I missed your calls,” he said, “I was working and didn’t have my phone on me. What happened? Are you okay? I tried to call you back. Got worried when you didn’t answer.”

She glanced at the coffee table where her phone was. The screen was black. Probably dead after an entire night off the charger. 

He waited for her to answer. Emily wanted to make him squirm, let him sweat. Instead, she dissolved into tears. Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed unabashedly. Her cries clawed their way out after a long night of holding them in. As she wailed, she felt Cooper fold her into a hug. 

He gathered her to him, holding her tight against his chest. He was wearing the sweater he wore the last time she saw him. It was soft against her cheek. She didn’t want to ruin it with snot and tears. They began to sway, Cooper gently rocking her side to side. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and murmured into her hair. She couldn’t tell what he was saying, or if he was saying anything at all. She just basked in his gentleness. 

Overwhelmed as she was by her despair, her curiosity still burned. Or her desperation. She breathed in deeply through her nose, picking up his scent from the fibers of his sweater. There was his aftershave, fresh and tart, then an herbal shampoo smell. Just beneath that, harsh notes of bleach. It was subtle, but it was there. 

Cooper smelled familiar, but it didn’t match her memory of the evening prior. Emily didn’t know what she expected or what she wanted the truth to be. Damned if he had, damned if he hadn’t. 

“Was it you?” She questioned into his chest, her voice muffled. 

“Hm?” 

Reluctantly, Emily pulled back from him. Still standing close, she craned her neck to look him in the eye. 

“Was it you, Cooper?” 

“Was what me?”

“Last night, in my room?”

“What are you talking about?”

Though her eyes were wet, she kept them cold as she held his gaze. His eyes were deep and dark. Bottomless. He quirked his brow in confusion. She remained steady.  He shook his head lightly, his expression begging her to elaborate. She held fast. She couldn’t let him off the hook. She deserved to know. 

“Was it you, in my room?” 

Cooper paused - the briefest hesitation, nearly imperceptible if it weren’t for her hanging from his every breath. Her eyes grew into giant disks at the small spot of silence. Had he just given his answer?

“Emily, can you tell me what happened?”

“Fuck that, prove it wasn’t you,” she dismissed his hands from her, backing away, “fucking prove it,”

“Prove what?” He asked, his voice raised almost to a yell.

Beyond his incredulity was concern. He looked - and sounded - worried for her. It was a look that was all too familiar. She’d gotten it from friends, from her mother… any time she got stuck on something and couldn’t shake free, people would give her that look. Concern. Pity. Fear. As though they were more worried about what Emily would do to them than what she was doing to herself. To her brain.

Emily was stricken by the possibility that it very well may not have been him. It knocked the wind out of her. She held her stomach, clenching her gut to keep the bile at bay.

He watched her closely, his hands bent at the elbows, palms out so she could see he carried no threat. She was a wounded dog that he’d pulled over to help. 

“Oh, my god,” she breathed, “oh. My god.”

Fire raged in her chest. Her tiny apartment somehow shrunk further, the scuffed walls closing in around her. With great difficulty, she wobbled to the arm of the couch before tipping over it face-first. Cooper rushed to her, picking her up by her arms and sitting her upright. Her eyes rolled in her head, her image of him twirling and warping. Spinning before her, he called her name. 

“What do you need?” He asked.

“Please, tell me it was you,” she begged, her skin too hot beneath her clothes, “let it have been you.”

Chapter Text

Emily was reeling. 

She sobbed in Cooper’s lap while he stroked her hair, gently pulling strands away from her face. He looked down at her, watching as her features contorted with grief. Instinctively, he murmured inconsequential utterances in hopes of soothing whichever part of her had frayed. 

It’s okay. You’re okay.

It was what he did for Riley when she was an infant, for Rachel when she had a tough day. Cooper summoned as much comfort as he could and attempted to transmit it through his voice and his touch. 

The irony didn’t escape him. 

Just hours before, he’d held her in place, a knife from her own kitchen against her throat. The blade was dull and had likely never been sharpened, an oversight that had saved her life. Now all that remained was an angry scratch, glowing pink against her neck. He’d noticed it as soon as he’d stepped foot inside her home. It gave him a peculiar jolt of unease, a different reaction than he’d expected. Rather than satisfaction or thrill, he’d felt disappointment. He believed he was disappointed at the fact that he hadn’t managed to complete the task. Or was he disappointed that he wasn’t satisfied? 

Even the thought of her lifeless body had been zapped of pleasure. No longer did he feel compelled to snap her neck, break her bones in his bare hands. Her fragility was all too apparent now. Though he enjoyed the moments when her stoicism dropped away and her vulnerability showed through, especially when he was the cause, he didn’t like this. Her tears unsettled him. 

Absently, he rubbed her earlobe between his thumb and forefinger, tracing the surface of her diamond stud. Her eyes flicked up at him, set in a glare that contained so much violence it rattled him. It was a brief moment, so brief he wasn’t even sure that it was real. Just as soon as the expression appeared, it faded away. Her sobs softened to quiet sniffles. She closed her eyes, lids notably puffy. Cooper stared down at her, willing her to look at him that way again, just to prove that he hadn’t hallucinated. That it wasn’t just something his brain had conjured. 

Had anyone ever looked at him that way? He was accustomed to fear - raw, unadulterated terror staring back at him just before the graceful release of death. This was not fear. This wasn’t an animal cornered, claws at the ready. 

This was predation. 

A flicker of sinewy urges hovering just below the surface. 

It had been like looking in a mirror.

It was only for a millisecond - a drop in the bucket of his entire life - that he finally glimpsed himself in someone else. His true self. 

He placed his palm against her head, held it there. Felt the heat radiate from her scalp to his skin. Felt the sturdy skull beneath. If he cracked it like an egg, what more would he find? 

There was so much to learn, so much to share. The depths of his curiosity were bottomless. He wanted to know it all. He wanted to be there, sifting through the yolk of her brain, marveling at each artifact he stirred up. 

Her eyes fluttered open, remaining fixed upon some point in the distance. A thousand-yard stare through her apartment walls, out into space. 

“What do you need?” Cooper asked, “What can I do?”

Her eyes rolled and settled on him. 

“Take me for a drink,” was her reply, “there’s a place a couple blocks down. Mimosas by the gallon. Brunch menu.”

He nodded. She sat up slowly so not to get dizzy. He placed his hand upon her back, just between her shoulder blades, steadying her. From there, she stepped to her bedroom and closed the door. 

Cooper waited on the couch while she dressed. He stared dutifully at the fake plant near the window, allowing her privacy. The door opened after a few minutes and she emerged, dressed in a brilliant white sundress. 

The dress was long, the gauzy hem hovering just above the floor, cloaking her feet. Additionally, it was sleeveless. An odd choice considering autumn was approaching in earnest. Cooper’s eyes scanned over her, taking in the image of her bare arms as he realized he hadn’t seen them before. She always wore long sleeves whenever he was around. They looked soft and smooth, her skin emitting a healthy glow. Her muscles were strong but subtle, the hardness of her triceps only just peeking through. Cooper wanted to run the tip of his finger from her shoulder to the crease of her elbow. He wanted to make her shudder, feel the muscles beneath her skin tighten and release. Feel the bones working within. 

His ponderance shifted then, without warning, to what it would feel like to be inside her. To feel her walls tighten around him. Would it be different with her than it was with Rachel? Could it be better? He watched her face, trying to picture what it would look like. What faces she would make while he ravished her.

Ravished her . Did he even know how? 

“I’m ready if you are,” she announced, fixing her hair upon the top of her head in a wayward-looking bun.

“I like that dress,” Cooper coughed out, stunning them both. 

Emily looked at him, her eyes blank. Unreadable.

“Oh. Thanks.” 

She slid her feet into a pair of black Doc Martens and donned a pair of shades. She wore no make-up, a fact that troubled Cooper. It was a deviation from her routine.

They left through her front door, pausing only so she could lock it behind them. The sun was blazing, fully risen and shining bright against the sky. It allowed some reprieve from the sharp breeze the air carried. 

At his van - his regular one - he opened the door for her. She slid into the seat gingerly, hesitantly. She jumped when he shut the door, despite him doing so gently. Her hypervigilance gave him a pang of regret. If he’d finished the job, she wouldn’t be suffering so. 

Her car sat in the driveway just feet away, taunting him. But Cooper wouldn’t mention it. Not yet. There would be time later for that conversation. 

They had more important things to talk about.

-*-

Emily directed them to a cherubic cafe that sat caddy-cornered at a small intersection. She approached the hostess and requested an outdoor table, puzzling Cooper. The outdoor seating was covered by an awning, squandering any relief the sun may have offered. Once they were seated, though, Emily withdrew a pack of cigarettes and placed them on the table. Of course.

“What can I get you two?” a cheerful waitress asked.

“Bottomless mimosas,” said Emily, lighting a cigarette.

“A coffee, please. Two creamers on the side,” was Cooper’s order.

“Uh, okay! Anything to eat?”

“No,” Emily declined, blowing smoke.

“Maybe later,” said Cooper. 

“Sounds good. I’ll be back.” 

The waitress disappeared inside. Emily continued puffing on the cigarette, bitter smoke curling around them. It made Cooper’s brain fizz. He picked up the napkin in front of him. In his hands, the starched fabric was thick and rough. Folding it into a neat rectangle, he smoothed the edges and placed it back on the table. 

The smell of coffee rose above the smoke as the waitress reappeared. She placed the mug and saucer in front of Cooper, the two tiny creamer jugs balanced on the side of the dish. For Emily, she brandished a giant carafe filled with orange liquid and a comically small champagne flute. 

“Let me know if you two need anything else,” she chirped. 

Emily nodded, already dumping part of the pitcher’s contents into her glass. She filled it to the brim while the waitress floated away. Cooper plucked up the creamers and pinched one into the steaming mug. He stirred, waiting for the coffee to turn bronze. Opening the second, he used only part of it as the coffee finally started to look right. 

“That’s so weird,” Emily muttered.

“What’s weird?”

“That,” Emily gestured to his coffee with the cherry of her cigarette, “do you really use one and a half creams?”

“I base it off the color,” Cooper explained, “I never know how strong coffee is somewhere. It can’t be too light but can’t be too dark, either.”

A ghost of a smile twitched across Emily’s lips. It was the first time he’d seen her express anything resembling joy since he’d arrived. He was okay with the fact that she was mocking him, if only mildly. As long as she wasn’t crying. 

“What about sugar?”

“No sugar. Too sweet.”

“None at all? You don’t find it bitter?”

“The cream cuts the bitterness,” he said, “once it’s got a nice tan, it’s just right.”

“Okay, Goldilocks,” she quipped, “I respect your peculiarity. I mean - particularity.”

A joke. At his expense. Finally, she was settling back into him. Their familiarity. It could only mean that she didn’t truly suspect him - not anymore. He felt his jaw and shoulders relax before even noticing the tension he’d been carrying. 

“What about you?” He asked after a pleasurable sip, “how do you take your coffee?”

“In abundance.”

A chuckle escaped him, causing him to sputter into his mug. 

“Just cream and sugar,” she said, “well, Splenda.”

“Splenda has aspartame,” Cooper stated, “it’s supposed to be bad for you.”

“It’s sugar free. Less calories.”

“Like you need to worry about that.”

She froze and Cooper immediately regretted the comment. Why had he said that? It was a complement, albeit an ungraceful one. Despite its awkwardness, it had slipped from his mouth as naturally as his breath. He wasn’t well-versed in flirtatious banter, but he hadn’t been flirting. He was only pointing out an observation. Emily had no use for calorie counting or watching carbs. She was strong. Even as a smoker, she could move and breathe with ease. Physically fit. It was something he’d known all along, part of why he knew he would need to restrain her when the time came. While he could easily overtake her, he knew she would put up a good fight. 

Across from him, Emily gulped down her drink and refilled the glass. Her cheeks were already flushed, two perfect pink circles rising under the frames of her sunglasses. He wished he could see her eyes. Instead, he could only watch his reflection in her dark lenses. The end of her cigarette had accumulated a decent amount of ash that threatened to jump onto the table and make a mess. Cooper pushed his saucer over, offering it as a makeshift ash tray. 

“Thanks,” mumbled Emily as she flicked ash onto the dish. 

She sipped more, smoked more. She stubbed out her first and lit another, smoke wisping from her nose, dragon-like. Cooper noticed her fingers trembled when she put out the cigarette. He saw goosebumps on her arms.

“Are you cold?” He asked her.

She rubbed her hands over her arms as if noticing the crisp breeze for the first time. 

“A little.” 

“I have a jacket in my car,” Cooper announced, “stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Upon his return, she stood from her chair. He held the jacket open for her and she slid her arms into the sleeves. It was from work; a black fleece with “Phila. Fire Dept” embroidered on the back and their department’s emblem on the right breast. He’d been given the option to have it customized - “C. Abbott” stitched onto the left side - but he declined. He didn’t want his name floating around. 

Emily drowned in the jacket. It was a 1X, necessary to contain his bulk, but more a cloak than a coat on her. The waist dropped below her hips and the sleeves fell far past the tips of her fingers. Noticing this, she bunched the sleeves up to her elbows. They were loose and slid down some, but mostly stayed put. 

As she made to sit again, Cooper realized that the vision of her wearing something belonging to him tickled his brain. He wanted to take her home and dress her in his closet, like a doll. Long button-ups draped gracefully over her figure, tall pants hung comically off her hips. He pictured her in one of his t-shirts, the cotton clinging to her chest and -

“Are you gonna sit down?” Emily asked from the table, looking up at him through her shades.

He sat. 

“Thank you for the jacket,” she said, “it’s much better.”

“I was wondering why you wore a summer outfit,” he mused, “it’s only sixty degrees.”

“It’s the easiest thing I could think to put on,” she breathed, her voice wavering, “after last night - getting dressed is hard.”

“So,” he began, seizing his opportunity, “do you wanna talk about it? Tell me what happened?”

She hesitated. Her hands were in her lap but he could see the movement of her fingers fidgeting. Nervous energy encapsulated the pair of them as she did her best to gain enough air to speak. 

“I was attacked,” she stated simply. 

Though she meant for it to sound detached, matter of fact, it came off like she was admitting it to herself for the first time. As though she’d gone over it countless times in her head, struggling to find a label for exactly what went on just a few short hours ago, finally settling on a turn of phrase that could encompass it all. I was attacked.

It was phrased well. It was an action that happened to her, but it wasn’t accusatory. She didn’t say, Someone attacked me. She especially didn’t say, You attacked me.

She was attacked.

“Oh god,” Cooper shakily set his coffee cup on the table, purposely spilling a couple drops, “Are you okay?”

Emily’s head nodded, but Cooper knew better. It would only take one tug for her to unravel completely. Cooper hoped to find that thread. 

“I’m better now,” she indicated the pitcher of mimosas, nearly empty, “but it was scary. Terrifying.”

Cooper wondered if she would commit to the “bottomless” part of “bottomless mimosas.”

“Did they break in?”

“I don’t know. I think he came in the back door. To my bedroom. The lock is broken.”

He.

“Were you hurt?” 

“He had a knife,” she leaned her head back, exposing his mark on her throat.

He.

“Did you call the police?”

“I did. They asked me some basic questions. I told them everything I could. I just couldn’t tell them who he was because I... wasn’t sure.”

He. 

“Why did you think it was me?” Cooper demanded, the most direct he’d ever been with her. 

She barked out a laugh, startling him.

“His smell,” she answered, distantly mouthing the rim of her glass, “he smelled like you.”

Unconsciously, Cooper sniffed. 

Emily’s bug-eyed lenses were fixed on him, unmoving. Her face - her mask - was unreadable. Again, he wished he could see her eyes. He wanted to know what her mind was doing. 

“Did the police say much?” He changed the subject.

“Not really,” she answered, “they’re supposed to call me in at some point to talk more. A formal interview, I guess.”

Cooper listened and nodded. He wanted to feel relief, but still his gut churned with unease. He couldn’t push her much further without giving himself away, but there was so much left unsaid. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he offered dutifully.

“Me too,” she agreed.

Their waitress returned to the table, lugging another giant carafe of alcohol. Emily gladly accepted it.

“Anything else for now, guys?” the server asked.

“No, this is all I need,” Emily paused for a moment, angling her head towards the door of the cafe, “do you guys have speakers out here? I love this song.” 

The waitress wandered inside after promising to see what could be done about outside speakers. Indeed, after a few seconds, music trickled out to them. 

Emily lit yet another cigarette and loosely nodded along to the beat. She swayed in place, her head bobbing to and fro. Cooper could see the champagne blurring the edges, her movements having abandoned their rigidity thanks to a simple breakfast cocktail. 

“What’s the song?” Cooper asked, truly not recognizing it.

“Pulp!” Emily exclaimed over the instrumental, “it’s Pulp! Common People .”

“Oh, Pulp. I never listened to them.”

“I love 90s Britpop.”

“It’s pretty catchy.”

It was. Cooper found himself nodding along with Emily, humming along to the chorus once he’d figured out how it went. Her exuberance was contagious. 

Common People. Pulp . 

He made note of this as he looked on in amusement. Her bun wobbled on top of her head as she danced in place. Strands of hair had fallen away and were framing her face in a way that charmed him. 

After the song faded out, Emily leaned back in her chair, laughing to herself and glowing from the exertion. 

“God, that’s a good song,” then, abruptly, “I’m gonna find their bathroom. Be right back.”

When Emily made to stand, she swayed precariously, seeming to forget how to use her legs. While she held the back of her chair for support, Cooper jumped up and put a hand on her hip.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, good. I’ll be back.”

Emily broke away from him and marched inside the restaraunt. He cringed as she stumbled past the hostess stand, nearly tumbling into it, her movements jerky and uncertain. 

On the table was the new pitcher, half of the contents drained already. Cooper wasn’t sure how he’d missed her sucking down so much drink. He cursed himself for not stopping her sooner. He supposed he’d been too distracted by her antics and relieved at her joy to really notice. 

Joy and light proved, definitively, that she was comfortable. No more did she seem like a wary injured creature or a hot fury. She was regaining her composure, her animation. It brought Cooper relief, certainly, but another feeling had risen - her joy, it turned out, had spread to him. 

There were three times in his life that he could consider himself feeling truly “happy.” 

First was the birth of Riley. Holding the tiny infant in his arms, seeing how small she was compared to him, and how fragile, had melted something in his heart. From the very moment they met, he knew he couldn’t picture the world without her in it. Cooper swore he would do everything in his power to keep her safe. 

Second was the day his mother died. While he didn’t dwell on that memory often, he distinctly remembered how the news made him feel unshackled. Free. It was how he imagined students felt at their graduation. Pomp and Circumstance should have played at her funeral. It would have been more apt. 

Third was his first kill. The day he finally allowed his urges to stretch their legs. He kept that memory buried. Not out of shame, but in hopes of keeping it fresh. Unsullied. He didn’t want to wear it out or see the colors fade. 

Sitting there at the little cafe in Philly, he knew he was experiencing that feeling again. Little trills of his heart in his chest, his brain warm and malleable, his eyes molding to her and taking in every moment. This would be the fourth.

Emily hadn’t returned yet, but their waitress approached.

“Hey,” she said awkwardly, “your, er, friend seems to be having a tough go of it.”

“Is she okay? She said she was going to the bathroom.”

“Yeah she’s fine I’m sure, I just think maybe I should bring the check?”

Cooper nodded, half-expecting this.

“Do you mind bringing a coffee, too? Black, no cream or sugar. We’ll leave very soon.”

She nodded, looking relieved, before returning inside. Not long after, Emily bumbled back to the table. She was disheveled, bun hanging off the side of her head and her sunglasses skewed. Her face was flushed entirely red from her neck to the tops of her ears. 

“This isn’t how I pictured our first date,” she giggled, preparing to light a cigarette from the filter end.

“Hey,” he snatched the cigarette from her, “they’re kicking us out. Do you feel okay?”

“Kicking us out?” Her voice raised.

“Do you feel okay?” He repeated, maintaining his patience.

“Yeah I’m feeling really good, actually. For the first time in, like, fucking weeks I feel good and they want to kick us out?”

She was indignant. He shouldn’t have said anything.

The server returned with the bill and a mug. Before Emily could even speak to confront her, Cooper dismissed her and slid the coffee to Emily.

“Sip some of this,” he demanded, slipping cash (with some extra) into the bill book.

“Ew, no way, there’s nothing in it.”

“Just have a little. You’ll feel better.”

“I feel fine .”

“Emily,” he leaned forward and yanked the lopsided sunglasses from her face, leveling his gaze with hers, “drink the damn coffee.” 

Without her shades he now saw how glassy her eyes were. They rolled around aimlessly in her head, unable to focus on any one thing. Soon, she would become nauseous and dizzy. If she wasn't already. 

Reluctantly, she raised the cup to her lips and slurped loudly. She pinched her nose as she placed the cup haphazardly back on the table.

“Drink more,” Cooper growled. 

She gave him what he assumed was an attempt at a glare before submitting. After two more theatrical slurps, she set the cup back down again. She was resolved not to drink anymore. 

“That’s enough, I think,” she slurred.

“I’m taking you home now and you’re going to have some water.” 

Cooper stood and grabbed her under her arm. She teetered up from the table, leaning into him as she nearly lost her balance. 

“Cooper, I’m fine .”

“That may be true,” he conceded, “but I’m still taking you home. We’ll talk more there.” 

This promise seemed to work and she began quickening her stride to match his as they left the cafe behind. He continued holding her arm, pressing her close so as not to allow her to fall. At the crosswalk, she hesitated, her head lolling. The light changed and as he made for them to cross, she planted her feet.

“Emily, come on.”

“No,” she said simply.

“Come on .”

He knew he couldn’t exactly drag her, so he chose the next best thing. With one hand in hers, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and lifted. Emily, clamped to his side, was effectively being carried. It was nothing to him. Her feet hovered just above the pavement, the toes of her boots not even grazing the street, as he marched them to the other side. The white skirt billowed behind them in the breeze he created. She was silent now, seemingly stunned at his persistence. Once he set her down again, she obediently walked with him to his car, this time giving no resistance. There wasn’t much she could do with her arms tangled in his, his mild pressure a silent warning. He liked it this way. 

At his car, she leaned against the door. Her head rolled towards him, the same lazy glower sitting upon her features. 

“I don’t like being told what to do,” she announced, pouting her mouth childishly.

“Neither do I, but sometimes we have to listen,” Cooper reasoned.

If she was going to behave like a kid, he had no problem treating her like one. Emily would learn that she had to listen to him one way or another. 

“Why are you being mean to me?” 

“I’m not,” he answered, softening his voice, “I want you to be safe, so I’m taking you home.”

“Will you leave? When I’m home?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No!” she cried out, louder than expected, “No, I want you to stay!”

“Then I’ll stay. Now, hop in.”

He opened the door and she climbed into the seat, her movements much less assured than they’d been earlier. As soon as he got to his side, he saw her slumped over, her head between her knees. 

“Emily?” He asked, panic rising. 

“Mmm,” she answered.

“Can you sit up? Put your seatbelt on?” 

She thrust back against the seat and clambered for the belt, her fingers scrambling around the buckle. Her head rocked on her shoulders, her body having left her behind. He took over fastening her in. She slumped to the side, moaning. 

“Tell me how you feel.”

“I’m dizzy,” she groaned weakly.

“I bet you are. You’re pretty drunk.”

“I’m not drunk .”

“Maybe not,” he appealed, “but try to sit up. You’ll feel better.”

She stayed put, her head dangling over the center console. A soft groan escaped her as Cooper began to pull away from the curb. 

“So dizzy,” she mumbled.

“I know.” 

At a stoplight, she raised her head and looked at him. Her eyes, still gooey with drink, watched his face intently. It took a great amount of effort for her to focus. He returned the stare, curious. While she may have wanted to look angry, she only succeeded in looking lost. It was a confused expression, like she was trying to remember if she left the oven on at home. 

“I like you, Cooper,” said Emily.

“I know,” Cooper rumbled, “I like you, too.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

Emily melted into a sweet smile, her eyes soft and a blush glowing high on her cheekbones. 

“You’re still gonna stay, right? When we get home?”

Home.

“Yes, I’ll stay.”

The light changed. Cooper edged the car forward, breaking away from her gaze. Beside him, he caught a flash of white as she whipped herself forward. Next came the heavy groan - a horrible, guttural sound dredged up from her very core - and then the splash . 

She’d thrown up on the floor of his car. How endearing.

Chapter Text

Thinking about it later, Cooper realized how far he’d sunk. How much of himself had been lost. Stolen. 

She was so vulnerable - and he had done nothing with that fact. Never in his life had he ever been handed such a gift. A miracle, really. He’d worked for everything he had - fought and planned and coerced people to bend to his will. While he’d gotten more skilled over time, there was still an element of effort on his part. Now, he was presented with a “gimme” and had taken it for granted. 

He felt foolish. Naive. 

Images of her bound and begging now brought up strange thoughts. Strange feelings. Not long before, he’d delighted in visions of her corpse. Now, he just wanted to make sure she was still breathing. 

Her decision to drink so much, to become so incapacitated, was stupid. While stupid on a normal day, it was even stupider for her to do it around him. She had no way of knowing that, though. She couldn’t possibly know that at one point he would have used these moments to drag her away - from her life and life itself. No, she trusted him fully and completely. 

This was evidenced by the fact that she said nothing when he pulled off her soiled boots, leaving them on the floorboard of his car. 

Or the fact that she made no complaint when he lifted her from the seat and carried her inside, unlocking her door with the keys he found in her bag. 

Or the fact that she didn’t balk at him draping her upon her bed, ensuring she was on her side. 

Nor did she react to him sitting at the end of the bed, watching her until she was safely asleep, his height casting a shadow upon her face and blocking her eyes from the sunlight trickling in. 

The fact that his floorboard was coated in bright orange puke nagged at him, but he pushed the thought aside. He had vinyl floor mats, ones that were customized and molded to fit the shape of his vehicle’s make and model. They could easily be sprayed down with a hose or rinsed with a bucket of water. They wouldn’t stain or soak up any smells. While he never thought it would be Emily’s vomit that he would be spraying away, he was still glad he had them.

By some miracle, she’d missed her clothes. It was a relief that the hem of her skirt wasn’t stained orange. Cooper wasn’t sure how he would have navigated that one. Surely, Emily would have some thoughts about him undressing her while she was only partly conscious. Any woman would, and should. Especially when it was him. 

In her sleep, she moaned weakly. Her face bunched into a grimace. Cooper leapt across the room and grabbed a trash can right on time. While she was sick, he held her hair back. Her bun had long since fallen down and was now a loose knot flopping behind her head. He pushed hair away from her damp forehead, noting her clamminess. Though she needed to eat, he knew it wouldn’t be wise to feed her. Not while she was still so sick. The thought of her aspirating on food or vomit made him nauseous, too.

Eventually there was nothing left for her to expel. She went limp exactly where she lay, her head against her dangling arm, emitting soft breaths through her nose. Cooper watched her body rise and fall, monitored her continued respirations. With his hands now free, he pressed two fingers against her wrist. Her pulse was quick, but strong. She was okay, and though he knew this, he still worried for her. Would he spend the rest of the day fretting over her? 

He would. He knew he would. It wasn’t even a question. 

His eyes scanned her room. The handle and doorframe of the sliding back door were covered in dark smudges. He chuckled to himself, imagining how perplexed the police had likely been when they couldn’t lift a single print. His black leather gloves, thick and snug, left no trace. 

While her home didn’t hold signs of him, he knew her body did. As well as her mind. 

Whether she knew it or not, whether or not she paid attention to his utter lack of denial, her body knew. 

Carefully, moving slowly so as not to wake her, he lifted the flowy fabric of her skirt. With the dress tented, he had an unobstructed view all the way up to her waist. 

Her hip was bruised. Her side was bruised. The delicate skin around her ribs glowed an angry purple. 

Cooper’s breath caught in his chest. Was that him?

His breath stuttered once more as he realized her legs were bare beneath the dress. Her hips, though bruised, were otherwise uncovered. Was it intentional? What plans did she have for them?

He allowed the skirt to fall, the hem slipping from his fingers and floating gracefully back over her unconscious figure. His face bloomed red.

It could all be so easy.

Satisfied with her condition for now, Cooper rose from her bed and trudged into her living room, his own exhaustion raising its head over his shoulders. With Emily asleep, he decided he should rest, too. 

The couch, where he presumed Emily had slept, looked inviting. He pushed it over some, angling it so that his head was pointed towards her bedroom. He wanted to be able to hear her and get up if she needed him. Laying down, his legs touched the arm opposite him. He drew his knees up, doing his best to extract some amount of comfort from the small furniture. Behind his head, he fluffed up the throw pillow, a quick waft of Emily whispering over him. The scent threw him into an unexpected calm, his shoulders relaxing and the muscles in his legs releasing. It was like she’d lay down beside him. He thought of her sleeping figure just feet away and worked his jaw, trying to rid himself of the impulse to lay next to her. 

Her apartment was quiet, a soft silence blanketing the small space. Only the buzz of her fan rose over the quiet. He reached over and cut it off. There were faint noises from outside - the distant bark of a dog, a chirpy giggle from someone’s child - and Cooper finally allowed his eyes to close. 

Never did he expect to snooze in Emily’s home. Never did he expect to be so close to her, so close to getting her, and yet - he merely slept.  

Chapter Text

Emily shuddered awake, her vision greeted by her darkened bedroom. It was nighttime, the only light being that which filtered in through her back door. She fought with her memory, trying to reorient herself into the present. It was a challenge, her brain pounding harshly against her temples as she strained to remember. 

The back of her throat tasted like sharp vomit. Her teeth felt fuzzy and gross. She was laying in bed on her side, her face peering down at a trash can on the floor. Emily didn’t remember being sick. But - she didn’t remember anything. 

She sat up, her head bleating in protest. A familiar scent wafted over her and she felt the effort of her memory trying to jog. It merely stumbled. 

The scent needled at her, poking her all over, until a flash of scenes blasted through her mind’s eye in quick succession. 

A hooded man. A knife. Her pillowcase. Officer Bingham and Joby’s concerned faces.

Awash with terror, she leapt to her feet. She listened out closely, praying she would only be met with the usual sounds of her home. 

While she stood in place, frozen and waiting, the scent continued trickling into her senses.

A garden scene, tilled soil, a patch of grass in a warm yard. A deli counter, a jar of pennies, a cold package of ground meat.

From the direction of her living room, through her open bedroom door, she heard rustling. Then, a distinct cough. A man’s cough. 

Clutching her throat, she darted for her back door. She barely slid it open enough before bursting into her backyard, her arm banging painfully against the doorframe. A scream sat lodged in her chest, aching to be let out, but she held it in. She willed herself not to make a sound, wishing not to give herself away. 

Rather than risk the squeak of the garden gate, she vaulted over the fence - an impressive feat for someone who wasn’t sure their legs even worked yet. 

Safely on the other side, she ran towards the nearby courtyard. Her bare feet pounded the ground, her soles scuffed and scraped by leaves and branches. Through the trees, she sprinted with all the power she contained. Her calves burned with the effort. Emily discovered she was wearing a dress, though she had no idea why. It hindered her progress, her thighs hot and chafed from the friction of running. 

Somewhere behind her, she heard another’s feet thumping the earth floor. Twigs snapped and creaked, leaves rustled. The sound of her pursuer encouraged her to keep going, egged her on. They sounded far enough away that, if she just got to the courtyard, she had a strong chance of escape. 

The distance stretched before her, vast and unending. Her chest ached. Her throat burned. Her feet screamed. It was a marathon and she was the final runner. The finish line seemed an impossible goal. 

She thought she heard someone call out to her by name, but she refused to stop. Refused to turn around. She only burst forward. 

She tried to remember the last time she truly ran. Running was not her favorite thing and she only ever chose to work up a quick walk for her cardio. This was taxing. Adrenaline made itself her friend and gave her the strength to keep going. It allowed her heart to keep up the pace, allowed her brain the clarity to focus on the current task. Despite the blurriness of her memory, her mind was clear. She didn’t need her memories right now. She just needed to get to the courtyard. 

The edge of the park inched closer and relief descended upon her. She didn’t slow down. She couldn’t. Not yet. As she edged toward the park, the wind was knocked out of her. A tree branch had slammed into her stomach, sending her to the ground, the limb still pressed into her waist. 

Scrambling to stand up, to get back on her feet, she realized it hadn’t been a branch at all. It was an arm that she’d crashed into. A strong one. 

Looming over her was a dark figure, a man cloaked in the shadows of night, peering down at her with his head cocked. She yelled out - no words, just noise - and he knelt closer. 

“Emily,” he said, “it’s me.”

A glint of light cast over his face - the only light in the entire patch of trees - and her pursuer was revealed to her.

“Cooper?” 

His name crackled in her mouth. Her tongue was dry.

“It’s me,” he repeated, “just me.”

Her body fell limp, her limbs zapped of strength. The adrenaline drained away, leaving her feeling weak and uncertain. Her mind raced ahead of her and she knew she wouldn’t catch up. 

She was disoriented. Confused. What was Cooper doing there? Her head was blasting with pain and pressure. Her stomach did somersaults. Acidic bile pricked the back of her throat, a feeling that was somehow familiar. 

“What..?”

He shushed her and tentatively reached his hand out. Instinctively, she flinched. His face, what she could see, fell slightly. 

“We had some drinks,” he said, “you passed out.”

Her gut fluttered.

“Did we-“

“No,” he knew what she meant, “nothing like that.”

A relief. As much as she wanted him, she wanted to remember it. Cooper’s assurance allowed her to breathe easier, assuaging some of her anxiety.

He laid a hand upon her arm. She could feel his heat through the sleeve of her jacket.

It wasn’t her jacket, though. Covering her arms and body was an unfamiliar coat, soft and fleecy. The scent she’d been running from floated up to her. It had been clinging to her. It was Cooper’s. 

“Is it okay if I carry you?” He asked, “you don’t have shoes.”

She nodded, knowing she didn’t have the strength to resist. Her legs held no more power. She’d used it all up.

His arms slid under her, strong beneath the crook of her knees. Effortlessly, he lifted her off the ground, handling her gently. His hands were placed respectfully, dodging any part of her that was considered crass. Emily almost wished he’d taken the opportunity to be unseemly. An inadvertent brush against her butt or thigh, an errant palm somehow grazing the side of her breast. It would be so easy for him that it seemed almost intuitive. 

Cooper, however, did nothing of the sort. He maintained a tender, professional air about the matter. Perhaps he was treating her as he would a victim of a fire, carrying her bridal-style away from the flames. Her chest tightened. In some ways that day - most she had yet to recall - he had saved her. 

His heart thumped against her ear. This was what she’d dreamed of, the closeness she’d craved - his body warming hers. 

Being lifted was a new sensation. A small thrill had alighted in her when her feet left the ground, like when a roller coaster climbs the hill. She never knew a person could be so strong. He really made it seem like nothing, like he was holding a pillow. Feeling so light, being treated so delicately - it was all new to her. 

She would cut off her legs if it meant he would carry her everywhere, forever. 

Back through the trees, Cooper walked slow and steady. He took care not to jostle her. She was thankful for this as she had the spins already. Her bare feet dangled, the pain of her escape cooled by the breeze. She wondered if she’d stepped on a rock.

Nestled against his chest, she stole a glance up at him. He looked laser-focused, staring straight ahead as he retraced their steps. He wore no expression. His mouth was set in a neutral line. His dark eyes betrayed nothing. He was a tall, slow-marching sentinel. A silent protector, a guardian who keeps her safe because he has to. Because it's his prime directive. 

It was hypnotizing. 

Their bodies mingled together, his arms cradling her close, his strong chest pressed against her… she tilted her head back, angling her chin upwards facing the sky. He looked down at her then, his expression shifting into soft amusement. It was so quick, the way his face changed. Effortless. 

He stopped walking. She didn’t move, only watched him, matching his gaze. 

Slowly, cautiously, he lowered his lips to hers. 

She returned the kiss, making no attempt to disguise her eagerness. His stubble grazed her cheek, prickling her skin, sending goosebumps across her entire flesh. A gasp bubbled up in her chest, a shudder perched on her shoulders, waiting. An urgent heat blossomed in her stomach. Another may have interpreted it as fear, a warning, but not Emily. She embraced the heat, raising her arms and wrapping them around him, drawing him as close as possible. She needed him even closer. There was only one way for him to meet her need - her desire - for proximity. 

With her fingers tangled in his hair, she tugged. He grunted against her mouth. Her stomach fluttered at the sound. She pulled again, gently, reveling in the way she was marionetting him. 

He drew back from her. Cooper looked into her eyes, their faces so close she could taste his breath. His expression stunned her. The heat bubbled in her stomach again - her senses begging her to tear away. He looked treacherous, a dramatic shift. It was like he’d donned a mask.

Or shed one.

“Careful,” he rumbled through gritted teeth, “don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Chapter Text

Emily froze in his arms.

Good.

Finally, she was showing some apprehension. Finally, her body and mind sensed the danger within him. The danger in his words. The danger she herself was gunning toward. Pity it had taken so long. 

Her hands were still buried in his hair, though she didn’t move. 

It had been an foreign sensation, having his hair pulled. It had caused the ever-familiar bubble to rise, though slower this time. And smaller. 

Though this bubble wasn’t one of rage - it was something akin to lust.

Cooper knew the two feelings weren’t all that different, nor were they mutually exclusive. At least, that’s what popular media and others’ told experiences had led him to believe. Rage and lust reportedly operated in the same zone of consciousness - both being expressed through waves of passion.

Or something.

For Cooper, the bubble sat solidly in his chest - just below his sternum, nearly in his stomach. He pictured it moving, rolling against his insides, slick and unwieldy. It was more of a steel ball than a bubble, frankly. It was heavy. Dense and slow. He wondered where it would go next.

His answer came when Emily, bold as brass, flicked her wrist and tugged a fistful of his hair again - much less gentle than before. A brief unpleasantness spanned his scalp. His neck tingled. His face burned. The bubble - the ball - plummeted downward, along with all the blood in his body pooling in his core. Suddenly, his jeans felt far too tight and his quads twitched. 

Oh. 

In the sliver of moonlight that flickered down through the trees, Emily’s eyes glittered. She cracked a wide grin, her eyebrows arched deviously. She yanked again, harder still, and monitored his reaction. He groaned, irritation picking its way through the dredges of his mind. It didn’t hurt. He was annoyed. More irritating was the look on her face - her satisfaction at the control she held. 

She didn’t know she wouldn’t hold it for long. 

There was one more solid tug - one final pull that whipped Cooper’s head back, angling his face toward the tops of the trees above. 

In no time, Cooper had Emily flat on her back. He was on top of her, holding her wrists together with one hand against her chest. It made her look like she was praying.

Maybe she should pray.

Ragged breathing filled the space between them but neither spoke. Emily’s face had been wiped of her stupid grin. She stared up at him with wide, saucer-like eyes. Cooper met her gaze, his eyes likely as wide - But not from fear. 

Urges coiled and churned within him, perfuming his blood and pumping through his aorta to every capillary. His skin felt hot. He pictured steam rising from his chest. His senses were attuned to everything - he could almost hear her heart, could almost count the beats.

Beneath him, Emily remained perfectly still. His knee was conveniently positioned just between her thighs, her skirt hiked up with it. Slowly, he dragged his knee up further. The dress raised even higher, the fabric puckering around her hips. She warmed his skin through the denim pressed against her folds. He pressed harder. 

She half-heartedly squirmed in his grip, her wrists tight in his clutch and going nowhere. Her hips inadvertently ground down against him and she gave a close-lipped squeak. She had no fight left in her. With one arm, he lifted her so she was straddling his knee, no longer laying. He kept her arms locked tight between them. Emily watched his face, still not speaking and seemingly not breathing. Shock was a common reaction Cooper received, but usually from different activities. He wasn’t sure how to navigate this. 

For once, he had no plan.

Weeks ago, he would have just crushed her windpipe or cut her throat. That wasn’t part of the deal anymore. He had opened a door to a world unfamiliar. He wanted to see how the body reacted to him. What the body would do when he twisted here, rubbed there. 

Not the body. Emily’s body. Emily.

Experimentally, Cooper bounced his knee. She gasped, a gust of breath blowing against his bangs and tickling his face. He bounced again. She gasped again.

The sound muddied his mind, melted it like butter. Her short little exhales, the whistle of air from her lips - it was nearly too much. He bobbed his leg a few times in a steady, unobtrusive rhythm. She shuddered as her body jiggled before him. Her next gasp became a moan and she sealed her lips self-consciously. Hungrily, he took them in his own, catching her bottom lip in his teeth. A hiss escaped her. Without thought, he released her wrists. Now free, Emily took the opportunity to reach for him. Her palms rubbed against the fabric of his sweater before scurrying beneath. He jerked inadvertently, unprepared for the shock of her cold fingertips. Cooper distantly felt the thought of pinning her down again nagging at him, but he ignored it. Rather, the thought was overridden by less logical means. 

His ability to make decisions had disappeared, as all the blood required to power his brain was now in his crotch. A cliche, indeed. 

Straddling his knee, her hands exploring his torso, her lips swelling against his own - Emily seemed very much alive. She worked herself against the leg of his jeans, the sudden damp warmth short circuiting his brain and causing him to stop thinking all together. Cooper slipped a hand between them and couldn’t suppress a hitch of breath at the discovery. All her textures, the evidence of her enjoyment, were too much. Cooper surrendered to his organic matter. No more reason, no more calculation. Just another hand reaching for her breast, sliding the strap of her dress down to expose it to him. 

Detaching his lips from hers, he bent his head to her chest. He caught the tip of her breast and, despite the urge to bite harder, he merely rolled it between his teeth. She hissed again - a sharp inhale - and her nails dug into his ribs. 

Cooper’s other hand occupied itself between her legs, traversing the slickness and coaxing more sounds from within her chest. He bit down then, very briefly and abruptly, only a momentary pinch of her nipple. She yelped in surprise before the sound whirlpooled into a groan. It vibrated her chest, mere inches from his face. 

It was animalistic, this scene of lovers in the forest, hunter and prey finally catching up to one another.

Cooper remotely wondered which of them was truly the hunted.

Emily swiftly brushed her hands against his hipbones, not unlike the night in his car, and wiggled her fingers into the band of his boxers. She pulled and tugged, though they were bound by the waist of his jeans. Her movements were restricted so despite her best efforts, she couldn’t gain leverage over the snug denim. This suited Cooper. Each of their encounters had ended with her having the upper hand, whether she was aware of that or not. This time, Cooper would be the one in control. Despite the aching of his loins, despite wanting her to whip him out of his jeans and have her way with him, he remained patient. Patience was key. A virtue.

Straightening his back, he removed his face from her chest. 

“Get up,” he ordered, his voice husky and dark.

Emily, always one to have the last word, said: “make me.”

So he did.

Cooper stood abruptly, causing her to slide off his lap and plop onto the ground. She yelped as it happened, a sharp giggle of surprise. Her skirt fluttered around her, exposing her to him, glowing pink even in the dark. Cooper worked his jaw, trying to remain in control. His teeth tightened in his mouth, the ever-familiar sensation, and he relaxed some. 

Still laughing on the ground, Emily’s eyes twinkled up at him. They caught sight of something - perhaps his lingering expression or his gaze set between her legs - and they narrowed. Undeterred, she cocked a knee to the side, causing the skirt to strain open fully. 

He would not let her have control. Not this time.

“Stand up,” he ordered a second time.

She waved her leg back and forth leisurely, a most playful defiance. His skin prickled at her silent taunting. 

Cooper shucked the fleece from her shoulders. He flapped it once before draping it onto the forest floor. 

“If you won’t stand,” he growled, “then lay down. Here.”

Emily finally obeyed. She crawled the short distance to the makeshift blanket and laid down on her back. She sat up partially, leaning her chin on her hand, staring at him expectantly. Cooper stalked towards her, his mandible aching with the amount of strain he was exerting upon it. 

“Lay down, I said. All the way.” 

She did this, confusion peppering her features. Was she finally catching on? Would she willingly relinquish her control - or would he have to take it?

Despite his irritation, he was in awe of her brazenness. Even now, after she’d been attacked in the night (by him, though she didn’t fully know that), she was unafraid. Eager, in fact. This was evidenced by the streak of slickness on the denim covering his leg. Cooper longed to test how far her bravery and enthusiasm went - when would the eagerness become fear? Apprehension? Would she ever fear him? Was she that taken by him that any move he made would bring her only contentment? If true, this could mean many things for a future between them. A life without hiding or shielding. Cooper, with her full support, could be his true self. A novel idea. 

A silly idea.

He brought himself back to the moment by kneeling before her laying figure. In one fist, he gripped her skirt into a ball. His other hand explored her bare legs, brushing away twigs and grass from the surrounding nature.

“What are you -?” She asked, tilting her head to look down at him. 

He took two fingers and pressed them beneath her chin, gently nudging her head back and away. His other hand - the one gripping the skirt - he raised towards her face. He considered her for a moment - her softness, her unflinchingness - before pushing the skirt into her open mouth. She coughed briefly around the dry fabric, likely more surprised that anything, and Cooper pressed it deeper. He was sure it had reached the back of her throat when she gagged softly. Cooper pressed his hand over her mouth. He would like to see her try to speak now. 

With one hand clamped over her mouth, he lowered his other to the apex of her legs. She was warm and smooth and quivered with each exploratory stroke. He fixed his eyes upon her face before inserting a first digit. Her eyes, once wide open, narrowed with pleasure. With this singular touch, he went to work. Slow and steady, monitoring every wiggle and exhale of breath she made. Cooper added a second finger, curling them ever so slightly before continuing his movements. Emily’s hips bucked before him, and she coughed against the makeshift gag. A warm sliver of drool grazed the palm he held against her face. He didn’t stop, only assessed her briefly to ensure she wasn’t actually choking. He quickened his movements, the curl of his fingers against her soft muscle causing her to emit muffled sounds of what could only be pleasure. His thumb explored upward, applying the smallest pressure to the swollen nub above. Emily’s coughing and moaning were indistinguishable at that point - each moan beckoned another cough from around the expanding cotton dress in her mouth. Her legs and hips were nearly flailing - her body only remained in place because he made it so.

With a burst of gagging and choking, an extended groan beneath, Emily came around his fingers. Her body shuddered and bucked and whipped. Her chest moved with large breaths, in and out. Cooper could feel the throb of her walls closing around his hand, the pleasant pressure raising ponderances of that pressure being applied elsewhere. 

Not now. That would be saved for another time. 

Emily stilled, her sounds quieted. Cooper delicately removed the dress from her mouth, pulling it gently to the side, allowing her to breathe through her lips again. A few beats passed and Cooper realized he was waiting for her to speak - for her to say anything. He was suddenly hit with a concern - had he gone too far? 

As though she could read his mind - he still wasn’t convinced that she couldn’t - Emily finally spoke:

“Okay, damn.” 

Chapter Text

Emily couldn’t think of much else to say. 

She was pressed beneath Cooper’s body, his hand still inside her, and her core was pulsing with tiny aftershocks. In the sliver of light that managed to break through the trees, she saw a crinkle of concern in his brow. 

“Okay, damn,” was what she finally said when she realized he was waiting for her to speak. 

“Did I - did I go too far?” He asked hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper.

She processed his question slowly, her mushy brain taking its time to resolidify. Cooper awaited her answer in silence. After he'd removed her skirt from her mouth, he cupped her cheek in his palm. It spanned the entire half of her face, the tips of his fingers grazing her hairline. Somewhere between the pressure of his torso and his hand engulfing her face, a bell dinged. It was a soft jingle, distant and polite. A gentle reminder of something important. 

Emily didn’t process it - not then. 

“No, you didn’t,” she breathed. 

On top of her, she felt Cooper relax. He bent his head and pressed his nose to her throat. She could hear the hiss of his inhale, his chest expanding with his lungs as he took her in. She felt his lips kiss her skin briefly, which sent a ripple of pleasure down her spine. 

She reached for his arms, gripped his triceps. Heat permeated the sleeves of his sweater. His warmth was a consistent comfort. She felt his arm muscles flex as he readjusted, woefully removing his hand from her cunt. Her legs, already spread, wrapped around his hips. Their position allowed her to press her sex to his and her heart tittered when she felt his hardness against her. 

So close, yet so far. 

Only a zipper between them. 

She made to reach for his fly. He grabbed her hand the second it moved. 

“Let’s get you home,” was all he said. 

Slowly, he extracted himself from her and stood. He offered his hand. She accepted his help, swaying as she got up. While she was perplexed by his denial of her, she had no time to be disappointed. Her head was rushing and the spins had returned. While she held her head in an attempt to remain on the earth’s surface, Cooper busied himself with her dress. He unfurled the wrinkled skirt and smoothed it over her legs before gently tucking her chest back into the straps. From the ground, he retrieved his jacket, beating the grass and dirt off of it before draping it back over her shoulders. It was oddly affectionate. 

Without asking, he picked her up by her waist.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he ordered calmly.

She obeyed. He had her in a koala carry, and she rested her chin on his shoulder, watching the trees shrink behind them as he carried her home. 

~~~

Cooper was shaking. No, trembling. His bones were damn near rattling, clattering against each other inside his skin.

In an effort to prevent Emily from noticing - and to distract himself - he made sure to keep his hands busy. He fixed her clothes and picked her up and carried her home - just like Gentleman Cooper should. 

Gentleman Cooper, it turned out, was also a bit of a prude.

He found himself replaying the very recent moment in his head, identifying key points that he could break down later. 

The skirt, in particular. 

To act upon such carnal urges - to relinquish his own control and allow himself to pursue what his dick wanted him to do - was unheard of. Yet, the sight of her gagging on her own clothes as he made her come had unleashed a dizzying sense of unreality.

Cooper knew what Rachel liked. He’d spent their entire relationship studying this so he could get it exactly right. 

Cooper didn’t learn what he liked until about ten minutes ago. 

This, for lack of a better word, scared him. 

Once so sure of himself, Cooper was now in a place of uncertainty. The concept of Emily making him come - making him find out what he really liked - unsettled him. This experiment was meant for him to study her , to learn about her and understand the way her brain and body were one. Instead, he found out much more about himself. 

No, he didn’t want to kill Emily. But seeing her in mild, controlled distress - that was appealing, to say the absolute least. 

When she reached for him, when her fingers angled for his zipper, he panicked. He couldn’t let her see him in such a vulnerable state, nor could he let her witness his revelations about himself in real time. He would need more time to ponder, to prepare, to understand - all before ever letting her touch him. The thought of the faces he might make - the faces she would see him make - while spilling his seed made him cringe. To lose composure with Emily - out of the question. He would just need to find a way to regain his hold, to remold his mask. 

That was the problem, wasn’t it? His mask wasn’t slipping - it was crumbling away. Breaking off piece by piece each time he was disarmed by her. He needed time to craft it again - to allow it more time in the kiln - before he would allow her to explore him. Until he was sure she wouldn’t find anything unseemly.

Across the threshold of her back door, he sat her down on the edge of her mattress. She seemed woozy, her movement soft and blurry, her blush rising high. The skirt was wrinkled around her feet - a reminder - and there were smudges of dirt sullying the white fabric. Without much thought, Cooper went at one of the smudges with his thumb and forefinger, rubbing at it until the skin of his fingertips grew hot from the friction. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she assured him, “I’ll just use some Shout or something. It isn’t a big deal.” 

Cooper let go of the skirt, the object of his recent fixations, and found it difficult to look at her. He could feel his own blush, red warmth tingling across his face. 

More heat traveled lower. His abdomen was fluttering, an odd sensation, while his cock twitched again. The denim of his jeans was rather constricting, and he almost wished he would have allowed her to relieve him of the pressure. 

He finally raised his head to meet her gaze, only to see her stare fixed upon him. Her eyes were narrow and unreadable. They looked out at him behind hooded lids, only the sparkle of her irises visible. She sat comfortably on the bed, partially reclined and leaning back on her hands. 

“What’s the plan for your clothes?” She asked, almost teasingly.

Cooper knew at once what she meant. His jeans were compromised without a doubt, large expanses of denim coated with her . His knee in particular. 

“That’s a good question,” he admitted.

“I mean,” she began, sitting up and edging toward him, “you can’t exactly go home smelling like another woman, right?”

Her statement hung ominously between them. It was a low-looming thundercloud, thick with precipitation, ready to burst at a moment’s notice. Emily rarely alluded to Rachel. If anything, she pretended she didn’t exist - a tact not too dissimilar to his own. For her to so explicitly invoke her - well, it stoked the flames. 

“What happens in my home,” Cooper measured out, “is not much of your business.” 

“What about my home?” Emily asked, her voice remaining even, “What about what happens here?”

“Nothing has to happen,” Cooper stated, matching her tone. 

It felt like a threat. 

The steel ball of lust had rolled away, making room for the rage-bubble to rise. He felt it in his throat, constricting his breathing. His jaw flexed. His teeth felt hardened and sharp. 

“Sure it does,” Emily replied smoothly, “don’t you need a controlled study? Something to compare?” 

Deep within him, somewhere past his muscles and sinew, the bubble burst. Hot gassy fumes of fury floated through him. His chest tightened and his pupils shrunk until she was the only object within their tunnel. 

Cooper lost control.

There wasn’t much he could recount later, but he knew he lunged at her. He remembered his hands connecting with her throat and could recall the soft skin beneath his palms. He could forever hear her garbled protests, her sharp yelps of surprise and fear. She called his name at one point, the familiar vowels and consonants sounding foreign as they fought through the blood rushing in his ears. Despite her fear, when he observed her face, he saw an expression he’d only seen in his dreams. Her face relaxed in pleasure, her lids hooded over her eyes, her lips curled in a teasing smirk. Despite being unable to speak, her expression told a lurid tale. It confused his senses, as his interactions with her often did. 

Cooper lost control.

With one hand still gripping her throat, he used the other to free himself from his jeans. Without tenderness or conscious thought, he hiked up her skirt. Emily could only create moans, her breathing constricted and her voice lost. She moaned encouragingly as he prepared her for him. He sized her up with the tip of his index finger, appreciating her tightness more than before. He moved his hand to her hips, lifting them one-handed to line up with his own. His other hand was still choking her, her throat bobbing beneath his palm. Her moans vibrating into his skin. 

He entered her without notice. She gasped harshly, the air wheezing from her lungs. He wasn’t sure how much air she had left. It would be foolish of her to spend it all in one go.

Cooper gasped, too, as he stroked inside her. She closed around him, snug and smooth, exactly (if not better) as he pictured. Rather than his usual steady, practiced movements, he plunged into her without abandon. He moved roughly and abruptly, speeding up and slowing down as he saw fit. She continued her moans and gasps. Cooper glanced up at her face, wondering if it was turning blue - then wondering if that would change anything.

To his surprise, her face was tilted towards him, watching him intently. 

Cooper quickened his thrusts, watching with curiosity as her eyes fluttered closed. She finally threw her head backward, connecting with the mattress beneath her. There was endless movement and commotion. She was moaning, he was groaning, and her bedframe was emitting similar sounds.

Cooper let go of her neck and her moans melted into hungry gulps of air. He then stuck his thumb between her lips and grasped her bottom jaw. He felt her teeth, hard little chiclets of bone, and pulled against her lips. She shuddered and grunted. She tightened around him, a sudden pressure that marked the end. As he felt her close around him, his core tightened and, just in time, he removed his throbbing cock, watching as it emptied itself upon her abdomen. A strange sound escaped him - somewhere between a moan and a yell - and she gasped with pleasure. Her skin glistened with his seed, her hips pulsed before him, and when he observed her face, her eyes were closed in ecstasy. 

As he stood before her, stunned and immobile, his eyes traveled to her throat. The angry little scratch was still present, but it was now surrounded by the beginnings of harsh bruises. This sight made Cooper suddenly feel ill. He retreated from her, zipped himself back into his jeans, and ran both of his hands through his hair. He rubbed his scalp, at first as a soothing massage but quickly turning into a rough scrub. His skin crawled all over, his jaw ached, his shoulders were quivering with fatigue. For the first time in his life, he wanted a cigarette. He almost asked Emily for one before realizing he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. 

Cooper couldn’t bring himself to look at what he’d done.

Chapter Text

Emily regained consciousness with Cooper’s thumb inside her mouth, grasping her bottom lip and jaw, clinging to her for dear life. As though somehow she was the only thing keeping him anchored to Earth. Her body tingled as her nerves reawoke, and she felt herself tightening, her abdomen aflame. She erupted with a violent shudder. Her hips moved of their own accord, working to keep him inside her just a few moments longer. The sensation was dizzying and the room spun around them as Cooper pulled his dick out and came on her belly.

The man was practically roaring, the unfamiliar sound grinding out from between his clenched teeth. She felt his presence disappear as he turned away from her. His spunk was hot and wet on her skin and she ran a hand through the pool, inspecting the traces of him on her fingers with reverence. 

Finally.

A mild breeze floated over her, cooling her flushed skin. She was entirely speechless. Part of that was for practical reasons - her neck was unconscionably sore and the back of her throat stung. She could feel the phantom of Cooper’s grip still clutching her, wringing her like a wet rag. It didn’t make speaking ideal at that moment. Additionally, she was floating somewhere between reality and another plane of consciousness. She attributed it to her recent loss of consciousness, but also to the fact that her dreams had very abruptly entered her reality. Instead of picturing Cooper above her, pumping himself into her, she had experienced it. 

In order to ensure he was indeed real, she rose from the bed and padded over to him. While he held his hands in his hair, his fists balled as though he wished to tear it out, Emily casually reached for him and placed her hand flat upon his back. The muscles turned solid beneath her palm before he spun around and seized her wrists. He pulled her to her tippy toes, forcing her to dance to remain standing. He looked crazed, his eyes wide and flitting across her face wildly. 

“Coop -” 

He said nothing, instead smashing his face into hers. He nearly headbutted her as his mouth found her own, his teeth and tongue and lips all exploring hers with urgency. A sharp taste of blood touched her tongue, the salty copper flavor mingling with the taste of his breath. Emily distantly wondered about pheromones - was that what was happening here? Some unconscious sensual experience, propelling them toward further destruction? 

Cooper pulled her wrists even harder, this time lifting her into the air, leveling her face with his. She hung painfully by her arms as he continued eating at her. Her hands felt like they could be plucked straight from her wrists, the way he was holding her. Despite the soreness and discomfort, she felt a familiar spark in her gut that caused her heart to titter against the walls of her chest. She matched his hunger in earnest, more notes of blood, breath, and fire punching against her senses. Her teeth caught his upper lip and she gently pulled back, tugging his flesh with her. He groaned, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep and dark.

Returning her to the ground, he spun her around. Her back was pressed against his torso. She felt his heat and the rhythm of his breathing. His hands ran up and down her sides, squeezing her hips tightly. It was a sudden pain, her hours-old bruises alighting with his touch. She yelped aloud and heard him huff out a sigh of pleasure. On account of his height, his hips were aligned with the small of her back, and she felt his cock twitching against her from behind its denim trap. She wanted to reach behind her and pull it out, revitalized and ready again. Instead, Cooper held her still, her arms pressed to her sides. 

“I’m in control,” he rasped into her ear, sending shivers across her body, “not you.”

She nodded quickly, her mind made up - yeah, he was definitely in control.

Cooper nudged her toward her bed. Her arms were still pinned as he guided her and once her knees bumped the bedframe, he let them go. Instantly, he placed his palms upon both her shoulders. They were warm and comforting. She laid her head back, rolling it against his chest as she looked up at him. She wasn’t sure what he saw, but his mouth twitched into a treacherous smirk before he abruptly shoved her face-down onto the surface of the mattress. 

Her face connected with the covers. She turned her head so she could breathe.

Excitement and apprehension mingled within her. She was confused, certainly, but now a strange fear had bubbled up. Never before had Cooper given her proper reason to fear him, even when he twisted her neck in his giant palms. Now, she felt her muscles trembling at even his lightest touch.

And she loved it.

Chapter Text

Emily was face-down on her bed and she turned her head to look at him.

“Turn around,” Cooper ordered.

She obeyed, her face again in the mattress. 

He didn’t want her looking at him. He also didn’t want her believing he would allow her the upper hand - again. 

No, this time it was his show.

Cooper dragged his eyes across the span of her body. Her shoulders were still covered by his jacket, her legs loosely cloaked by the crumpled fabric of her dress. Cooper approached her quietly, causing her to jump when he callously yanked the jacket off. Her arms briefly got tangled in the sleeves, and she yelped in pain while he jerked them free. 

Cooper bit his tongue at the sound.

He tossed the coat somewhere across the room, his vision focused on the image before him.

Her legs wiggled, her feet kicking lightly. Cooper used his own legs to still them, pinning them to the bedframe with his shins. He could hear her gasp into the mattress and his heart raced. 

Finally, she held still. Cooper stretched out an arm and flattened his palm between her shoulder blades. He could sense all the tension she was carrying - the fright, the anticipation - and took a moment to savor it. This was one of the few moments when he allowed himself to feel . Having someone restrained before him, their mind already aware that these were their last few moments on Earth, knowing they would die at his hand - he was the most important person in their life. In that short space of time, Cooper was able to sit with his pride.  

As he ran his hand down Emily’s spine, he felt it then, too.

When her skin rippled at his touch, when her lungs inhaled their shared air, when her lips tugged into a smile under his gaze - he knew.

He could kill her without ever brandishing a blade.

He palmed her lower back and pictured the workings within - kidneys, pelvis, nondescript viscera - and as he worked her muscles gently with his fingers, he envisioned slicing into them, pulling them out, stringing them around his neck like a scarf. 

Emily startled Cooper when she inched backward, arching her back and raising her ass toward him. He pushed her down again and thought he heard her whine into the covers.

“Don’t move,” he demanded. 

She mumbled something unintelligible, but listened and stilled.

“Good,” he said.

She practically melted at his praise.

Biting back a grin, Cooper knelt and ran his hands up her legs. He lazily tossed the skirt up and away, treating it as an afterthought. It was her he wished to see. The dress was merely in the way. 

Despite the bruising, her flesh was supple and smooth. With keen eyes, he took in every detail - every freckle, every divot, dip, or line. He worked to memorize them, to capture them permanently. His fingertips brushed over the backs of her thighs, and he delighted in the goosebumps that raised at his touch, stippling her flesh. 

Her topography was satisfying. It quelled a long-held anxiety within him, one that hovered just outside his consciousness. He couldn’t describe it exactly - in fact, he’d never tried. It lived within him his entire existence, buzzing inside his skin, just below the surface. Something about this closeness to her body calmed the stir. Was it the way her rear dipped steeply into her back? He ran a hand over it like a car cresting a hill, causing Emily to let out a soft moan. 

Was it the way the slope of her spine was perfectly symmetrical? Each half of her back was evenly spaced, no deviations in the spinal column. He imagined she had yet to experience lumbar pain - lucky girl. 

With both hands, he held her ribcage. He snaked his fingers around her sides, felt the heft of her breasts as he silently counted each bone through her skin. He pictured the crimson jewel pounding within.

This , he thought, is the miracle of life.

Being this attuned to the body of someone else was something he only experienced in a singular context - when it came time for his knife to slip smoothly into muscle. When it was time to cut, slice, detach, and separate. 

Emily was the only body he didn’t mind keeping in one piece. 

To watch her breaths rise, to hear her heart beat - all a reminder of the impossibilities that presented themselves, only for life to persist anyway. For one flailing sperm to enter a single egg, to create a zygote that fought off countless attempts of the host body to snuff it out, to nestle itself firmly into a womb and bloom into Emily, alive and breathing and thriving before him - yes, the miracle of life indeed. 

His hands moved up to her shoulders, to her neck. He felt the heat of her skin where he’d wrung her before and experienced a sharp poke of shame. Around her head, he loosely wrapped his fingers to encase her skull. He pictured the gray matter contained inside, reminding himself yet again that there was more beyond the body. 

Emily, contrary to all his instincts, was a person.

“What was that song again? At the cafe?” he asked, his voice low.

More unintelligible mumbling. Cooper realized she still had her face pressed to the bed’s surface. He moved his hands.

“You can look,” he said.

She turned her head, her face only visible to him in profile. Her cheek blazed pink and her eye looked tired. Despite this, it shone in its socket. Alive.

“It was Common People . By Pulp.”

Cooper nodded. 

“I liked it,” he stated simply.

“What music do you like?”

Cooper shook his head.

“We’re not talking about me right now.” 

He expected her to balk at this, to demand an answer. Instead, she just watched him quietly while he loomed over her. Though only one eye was staring, her gaze was doubly penetrative. It shot clean through to the back of his skull. 

Cooper wondered how much of her subconscious was aware of him - of Butcher. Did the knowledge live inside some botched evolutionary trait, a misfired fight or flight response? Perhaps her nervous system had been warning her all along. Perhaps she misinterpreted her fear as something else, something like butterflies. 

Perhaps the quaking fear existed in tandem with the flutters. 

Experimentally, he pitched himself forward, collapsing on top of her with a fluid grace. He pinned her arms with his, his face in line with the warm skin of her cheek. His knees were on either side of her. 

She didn’t even flinch. 

Her eye glittered at him, taunting him. The corner of her lip curled upward. 

What are you gonna do? He could hear her ask, what’s your plan?

Cooper squeezed her between his legs. She grimaced in pain for only a moment before her expression settled again, her eyebrow raised expectantly. 

He felt like a cat that caught the mouse. In triumph, he tossed the creature from paw to paw, his arrogance giving rise to its confidence. He allowed it to live, to escape, if only to celebrate the joy of the catch. 

Above her then, Cooper bent and softly pressed his lips to her splotched neck. He inhaled, all the scents of the room and her body flooding his senses. Cooled sweat, stale air, the unmistakable musk of Emily’s womanhood all wafted over him. Silently, he listened to the sounds of her throat - the whisper of breath, the workings of her esophagus, the firm thump of her arteries - all a symphony of her life that gave him no incentive to leave. He closed his eyes, plunging into the blackness of his mind. He immersed himself in her, his sense of self magnetized to her. How could he exist without her? How had he existed all this time before?

Cooper, for a few moments, no longer felt like an alien. No more did he feel like an otherworldly being, observing and learning and going through the motions in order to remain unquestioned, undetected . He existed, there and then, in Emily’s room. In Emily’s world.

She saw him.

Chapter Text

Cooper saw her. 

He’d jolted awake, a cool stillness in the air yanking him from sleep without warning. 

Until then, his sleep had been peaceful. His mind had been free of his usual hyper vigilance. His ears didn’t flick at every sound. A small, soft hand had been resting on his bicep, the warmth and light pressure evoking a calm within him that aided Cooper in surrendering to slumber. 

Now, though, goosebumps bubbled up on the back of his neck. 

When he bent his head, the troubling visage entered his view. 

She stood at the foot of Emily’s bed, looking like she always did. Droopy shoulders, sagging face, tired blue house dress. 

How long had it been since she last appeared? Six months? A year? There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. Despite his best efforts, he never quite unlocked the algorithm of her appearances. She was just as unpredictable then as she had been in life. 

Mother.

In spite of her short stature, her presence was oppressive. She filled the room, made it stuffy. If opening a window could get rid of her, Cooper would have beat down a wall. 

Get out, willed Cooper, unsure if he’d spoken aloud. 

He was frozen in place. His limbs felt trapped and he could only stare helplessly as her gnarled hand touched the duvet covering Emily. 

Out. Now. 

His teeth gnashed. His jaw ached. He didn’t want to wake Emily. He didn’t want to trouble her. He tried to focus on the warmth of her hand against his skin, tried to rehash the recent memory of their evening. Anything to make her evaporate. Instead, sweat prickled along his hairline as the knobby fingers stretched closer to the sleeping woman. 

What could he do?

Most times, he could simply ignore her. In line at Starbucks? Oh, nothing to see here. Logan’s t-ball game? Just some leaves fluttering alongside the bleachers. Those times were different, of course. During those times she never did anything.

Now, instead of lurking and sulking, she was reaching for Emily’s face. Cooper could only watch in terror as her features were warped by the skeletal hand of Mother. 

“Leave her alone,” Cooper hissed into the darkness.

Does she know? Asked Mother, How much has she seen? 

“Wha-?”

It’s right there, look. Your violence. Your rage. She’s seen some of it - what else will you show her?

Unwillingly, Cooper’s eyes flicked to Emily’s throat. Sure enough, even in the dark bedroom, he could see the bruising. He met Mother’s lazy stare.

“Out. Now.” 

Cooper was struggling to keep his voice low. He didn’t want to startle Emily. He didn’t want her to get involved. 

It’s cruel to keep her in the dark. 

Cooper regained control of his arms and placed his hand atop Emily’s, sealing it to his skin. With his eyes squeezed shut, he tried to will her away again with silence and sheer determination. 

I bet you wish you’d met her sooner, taunted Mother, before Rachel. 

A few beats of silence. 

It worked out, though. Now you just get to hurt more people. 

“I said out!” Cooper howled.

He opened his eyes in time to see her silhouette blink from existence. No ceremony, no shimmering cloud - just a blip. 

Emily yelped beside him, her hand stuttering beneath his. She whimpered awake, her confusion and fear palpable. 

“What’s going on? Cooper?” 

“I’m here,” he said, “right here.” 

Cooper gathered her hand and brought it to his lips. He felt her fingers relax. 

“Did you just yell?” She asked.

“Bad dream,” was all he said.