Words and Action

The female officer, 22 years of age lifted the Yellow Tape up and ducked under. The first thing to catch her eye was a man, running as if his life depended on it. She considered pursuit but realized the futility behind it. The man was already 5 blocks away and she knew unless Mercury's winged shoes were on her side, she'd never catch the man at this rate. And even if she could, she had bigger fish to fry. The suspect got into a car, started the engine and drove off the nearby exit to Naito Parkway. She took note of this in order to repeat later.

Before she continued, she took a look up to the sky. Sometimes, she thought, God was hard to see past all these buildings. She stared up as far as she could, and it seemed that the sky was much more distant here than it was anywhere else. The buildings stretched up only a few hundred feet, but the Portland overcast skies that couldn't take a hint that they needed to leave seemed to make columns of gray clouds, adding downcast weather to the downcast scene.

She approached a younger man lying in the street. He wore a red and black cap and clothes of the same nature. He was not dead, thank god, but he certainly wasn't going to be able to get up and walk away. Blood lined his clothes, the deep crimson a sort of mix between the tomato red and charcoal black of his shirt. His arm sort of dangled off to the side as if it needed to be attached better, which was very likely, and his legs were bent at an angle that even a contortionist would shudder at. His face read a subtle expression of pain, but more evident was the outright shock lining his eyes and gaping mouth.

As if to prove her point, the man lifted his head up and asked "What the hell just happened?" He looked over, saw his arm and uttered "Jesus." Looking farther down he saw his grotesque leg and retched, but controlled his stomach.

"You were mugged," the female officer said outright. "I vaguely saw him in the distance, but he was too far to catch. I'm going to head out after him and you, my friend, are heading to the hospital."

"No freaking kidding," the boy said, but his voice was laden with a melancholy wonder rather than a snide sarcasm. "So my wallet is gone, right?"

The officer nodded.

"Shit," he blurted.

The officer nodded. "One of those days." She noticed a small crowd who gathered in front of the area that mirrored the downcast weather, whispering among themselves. They were surrounded by an eclectic mix of old age stone buildings and new age concrete. The woman gave them a subtle nod to acknowledge their presence. "My partner should be here any moment, so we can get to work on retrieving your stuff."

The boy managed a small nod. "Red James. What's your name, ma'am?"

The female raised an eyebrow but continued. "Primrose Davidson."

It was Red's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Interesting name for a police officer."

"Well, I am an interesting person." she replied matter-of-factly. She did have to agree though. She definitely didn't have a typical police officer name, and she sure as hell didn't look like it. Aside from her uniform, she looked like she should be running a cake bakery, not battling criminals. Her long, straight golden hair reached her shoulders, styled well yet subtly so. Her eyes were a hue of gemstone blue, shining innocently and wondrously. Her face had slight, beautiful touches to them, from her regal lips to her nose, which seemed lost somewhere between slim and button. Her voice was very high-pitched and almost squeaky, but her demeanor allowed it to portray her force of authority and strength. As a final feminine touch, she wore pearl earrings. What could she say? She was a very feminine person. She just happened to be a police officer. Funny how life turns out.

After her quickly speeding train of thought, she heard a car door slam, and instantly she knew her partner had arrived. His rough, raucous voice shouted out "Okay, Prim, what the hell do we got here?"

Prim nodded and greeted the man. "Hello, Farrow. We got a mugging. Victim's name is Red James. Lost his wallet. Unknown how much we got in there, but that's not the real issue."

Farrow Lake nodded. "I should say not. Kid looks really damn tore up. A fucking miracle he survived."

Prim knotted her brow in frustration. Leave it to Farrow to throw manners to the wind followed by a middle finger. "You trying to scare the damn kid?"

Farrow rolled his eyes. "What, it's true."

Prim growled internally. "Christ above. Anyway, ambulance on the way, they'll take this kid to the ER and we'll get back to him later. Suspect fled north on Naito Parkway, towards the Industrial area. We'll head after him next."

Farrow gave her a thumbs up and a devious grin. Prim couldn't help but notice with a silent chuckle how out of touch he was with the rest of the crowd, which he was speaking to now.

Wait. Oh, dear lord.

"For Christ's sake! Stop looking so upset, you guys! What is this, the fucking Emo convention? What, should I bring some makeup, Paramore and some dark poetry I ripped off from Poe?" He ranted, almost incoherent and off-kilter in his tangent, and Prim had a feeling that this was certainly not politically correct. "You know what, why the hell are you guys all standing here anyways? Give the goddamn kid some space!" The crowd looked at Farrow, bewildered, and then awkwardly dispersed. Prim took this moment to slam her head into her First Aid Kit, taking a break from cleaning up the blood from Red's chest.

Farrow walked over, another devious grin on his face as he said "Crowd's cleared. Got some peace and frigging quiet," which came out ironically loud, echoing off the suddenly lifeless area. Prim gave him a drop-dead glare and watched the ambulance come in, sirens blazing.

"Alrighty, kid," Prim said to Red. "Good luck, and heal fast, you hear? We'll be back in a little while to talk a bit more if necessary."

Red nodded, and then shifted his gaze to Farrow. "Mad character over there, right?"

Prim nodded, but felt slightly offended by his comment, even though it seemed like a harmless breaking of tension. "He's a really good guy once you get him talking."

Red chuckled. "He sure does enough of that on his own," he said, but apologized when he saw Prim's cold glare that she was unable to hide.

"No, my apologies," she said.

Red chuckled awkwardly.

Prim did the same.

"Well, uh..."

"Yeah, catch you later," she said as the EMTs loaded him in the ambulance.

Prim turned her attention to Farrow with a look that communicated "The hell was that?" clearer than words could ever do.

"What?" he replied with his trademark devious grin. Prim eased into a smile. She had to admit, that grin was pretty hard to resist. It clearly revealed Farrow's unrelenting and unmannerly demeanor, but as odd as it sounded, she sensed a hint of innocence when she saw it, a kindness, an "I'm only having fun," feeling. It was actually quite adorable.

Really, Prim? She thought to herself. As she walked to her side of the car she gave herself an incredulous look in the side mirror. Farrow took a last look around, shrugged and got into the driver's seat.

It was silent for the first couple of minutes as they scanned the area up Naito for the mystery attacker. Farrow kept his eyes on the road, pausing once to put his hand through his blue hair, which reeked of hipster but certainly wasn't, feeling exhausted. Not that he was tired from all five minutes of standing out there. He had already had a somewhat long day beforehand. When he glanced in the mirror he saw his steady, hardened face and the top of his fit, but not very muscular chest. He certainly looked like what he was; a 23 year old, fresh on the block police officer and damn proud of it.

Prim broke the silence with "Alright, seriously, what in God's name was that?"

Farrow grinned, not devious but a humored grin. "What? If I got my ass knocked into the street, I sure as hell wouldn't have wanted an audience. Damn sure of it."

Prim sighed, less anger than frustration. "Well, you certainly made yourself look like a jackass, that's for certain."

"Hah, you act like I give two shits what they think."

"Yeah,” she said enthusiastically, but proving its sarcasm by following up with “only no. I just don't wanna be carting around a total incompetent dipstick."

A short wounded look flashed across Farrow's face, although he'd never admit it. He convinced himself that he didn't give two shits, remember? Yeah...only no, He thought to himself.

"...Sorry. That was a low blow," Prim said apologetically.

Farrow shrugged it off.

Another 5 seconds of silenced breezed through until Prim added, "Besides, I rather like Paramore."

Farrow laughed loudly and said "Before they came a pop band?”

"What do you mean 'before?' " she laughed back.

“Seriously?” Farrow threw his hands up in the air dramatically, almost swerving into train tracks causing Prim to squeal in surprise.

“Learn to freaking drive!” she laughed.

“There's no hope for our generation, you know that?” he retorted.

“So you do like Paramore?”

“Hell yeah.”

Prim smirked and looked at his face for a second. Farrow looked back at her and said “Problem, sweetheart?”

“So... that is guyliner you're wearing, isn't it?”

“What in the hell?”

"Seeing as you are certainly an emo; after all, you listen to Paramore.”

“Damn you,” he said with a growl.

“Face it, you walked into that one, dumbass.” she laughed.

“True,” he chuckled. “But... do I really look like I have guyliner on?”

“Naw,” she replied. “I just wanted to mess with you.”

Farrow sighed in relief and said “Good, because I was wondering how the hell it got there.”

Farrow ended the conversation by laughing "Sure." He then turned to his stereo and pressed play. Prim groaned as Kanye West started to play. Everyone calls it a work of art, but it sounds like an attempt for a world record of the most obscenity-laden Album of all time, she complained to herself, immediately reprimanding herself for being overly saintly as she eased into the music. She couldn't argue too much about how aptly she was named, she was the embodiment of Miss Prim and Proper... if she was a police officer.

Still, she couldn't help but flinch when the chorus came through.

Gossip, gossip, nigga just stop it. Everyone knows I'm a motherfuckin' monster.

Farrow turned to her. "Too much dirt for you, sugar?" he wisecracked.

"No!" she automatically defended herself, which as everyone knows always gives you away.

Farrow grinned and turned to the road. "Haha. But when all is said and done, I kinda get the message in the song."

Message? she thought. "Message?" she blurted out.

"Yeah, sure there is." Farrow stated. "I mean, no one starts out a monster. It happens, and most of it here in what I like to call reality, it's very much caused by others. Y'know, when you get so much pressure to be what everyone says, it either conforms you or you just say 'Fuck it, I'm a monster. Deal with it, bitch."

Prim was surprised to find some meaning behind Farrow's coarse words. "Ah," she replied.

Farrow nodded and finished with "Long story short, when people turn you into a monster, you fight your demons and then you become who you want to be."

Prim was impressed every time Farrow's random tangents gave way to his thoughtful philosophy. She smiled and made a sudden grasp for his free hand. Farrow just smiled and pulled over. "Well, I think this would be a good area to search. Sound about right?"

Prim nodded. "In fact, I think I see him by the docks. Let's go."

"Alrighty!" Farrow grinned, leaping out of the car. "I rush up to him and knock him out and you-"

"No. Hell no!" Prim stopped him cold in his tracks. "Are you TRYING to kill yourself? We approach him casually first. Don't scare the wits out of him."

Farrow nodded. "Alrighty. But if he makes a move, I'm going all out, guns blazing."

Prim nodded. "Deal."

The two casually started to walk up to the man on the docks. He wore a scarf over his face and was decked head to toe in a sort of gray jumpsuit with some odd symbols on it.

Prim found herself looking up again, smiling when she saw that the sky was much more visible here. The wharf was the only escape from the overcast shadows that almost brought nighttime during the day in times of bad weather. She often liked to drive along the industrial riverside, if only to enjoy the increase of sunshine.

Prim led the way casually, approaching him. She started with "Hello, sir, can we have a word with-" before the man punched her in the nose and started to run off, at a breakneck speed.

"Jesus!" Prim breathed, falling to the ground. Tears started to form over her lashes as she said "Farrow! Blaze those guns!"

Just the corny action line he needed. With a confident smirk, he started to dash after the attacker as he ducked behind a warehouse. Farrow leapt over an entire set of empty railroad tracks, clearing the 15 foot space with ease.

Prim wasn't surprised as she watched Farrow leap the distance with a weary smile. She always knew that even when his people skills were at his worst, Farrow Lake was definitely an Action Badass.

Said action badass continued to chase the assailant through a warehouse, empty yet not abandoned, when he saw him disappear into a maze of shipment. "Son of a bitch," he muttered before he followed. Damn maze looked so intimidating that he would be lucky to get out alive. What a sucky death it'd be, Death by Maze.

He first took a right. After all, it was called right; therefore it must be right. Right? Wrong. Lead into a damn dead end. Irony. My middle finger greets you.

He backtracked, sped to the left and wound around some crates until he found his scarved amigo. He took out his gun and started firing some shots. Not to kill, just to get him to fall on his face long enough to bag and book the guy. Although he'd enjoy blasting a bullet through the bastard's head; the damn guy broke his partner's nose. No one ever lays a damn hand on his Prim.

His Prim? The hell was that all about, Farrow? he thought to himself. But hey, he had a manner of business to attend to.

Like bagging a bastard. The assailant dodged all the shots with expert precision. Holy shiiiit, this guy's gonna be hard to catch, he muttered inside his head.

As further confirmation of this fact, his target jumped onto a jet-ski and started to speed off upriver. "Oh no you don't!" he growled as it started to depart. A split second later, he took a running start and took a flying leap onto the watercraft, landing with a punch to the guy's face. To hell with guns, it's all down to a full-out brawl.

The man knocked Farrow off of him, almost off of the jet-ski. Farrow leapt up and performed a kick to the man's neck, landing perfectly balanced on his feet on the seat. Scarved Man, as Farrow decided to coin him, replied by lowering his arms and tripping Farrow to his knees. While he was bent over and defenseless, Scarved Man landed a kick to the stomach, and the force of his foot knocked Farrow up to his feet unsteadily.

“I don't fucking think so!” Pissed as all hell, he spit on Scarved Man, a mixture of blood and saliva, right into his eyes, the only open spot in his scarf. He heard an unintelligible growl as Scarved Man stumbled back into the steering wheel. Before he could tip the boat over, however, Farrow lifted him up and threw him into the water, watching him flail.

Farrow couldn't help but take this time to yell out a victorious fist pump and "Fuck, man, I'm on a boat motherfucka!" Oh yeah. He had been saving that one. He stopped his ego parade long enough to see Scarved Man swimming like hell back to the wharf and running off. Seconds later, he had disappeared.

Damn it. The hell was he thinking? He sped the boat back to the wharf and ran up and around the warehouse, defeated. He made his way to Prim, who was unsteadily sitting on one of the flat stakes in the wharf fence. His face was a intentional sign of defeat and self-loathing. That may have seemed like too strong a term, but right now Farrow wanted to stand in a mirror and have his reflection smack the shit out of him.

Prim frowned. "Didn't get him?"

Farrow growled. "Nope. I pulled a dumbass move, and he got away."

"Damn."

"You're telling me. God, I feel like an idiot."

"Get over yourself," Prim snapped; although comfort was her intent, she ended up sounding rather bitchy. She sighed in resignation. This was not their day.

"You're right, you're right." he said. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Are you sure? That freaked me out." Farrow frowned, his face a mask of worry and offense, offense not aimed at her.

"Dude, I'm fine. I'm fine. A bloody nose. I'll just bandage it up. I should be asking you the same. You're hocking up blood spitballs."

Farrow grinned his devious grin. "Yeah, I'll get over it. But we have some regrouping to do. And I could go for a cup of coffee. You?"

Prim grinned. His idea of a cup of coffee was a large assortment of breakfast items, no matter that it was three in the afternoon. "Sounds good. I could use a little boost."

Farrow smiled, grabbing Prim's arm as they walked back to the cruiser with a slight haphazardness that only a beat-up pair could sport.

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"Yes, Sammy," Prim spoke through her phone to a fellow worker. "The suspect did get away after attacking both of us... no, I'm fine... yeah, he's fine, too... heh, you're right, that's Farrow. Don't know how he does it... yeah, so we could use some backup... Farrow said this guy had some freaky moves...yeah. Meet us up at Stumptown Coffee... the one off Third Street... alright, thank you, Sam. Buh-bye."

She hung up her phone and set it gently down by her plate and glanced at Farrow, who was just finishing guzzling down the last of his coffee. She grinned as she looked down at her plate, which held a donut, and English Muffin Egg sandwich, and a croissant, and over at Farrow's single cup of coffee. Funny how things work out, she reminded herself.

Farrow set his cup of coffee down, jarring Prim out of her thoughts and causing her to jump into an upright position. Farrow grinned, this time more sheepish than fun-devious. "Sorry 'bout that."

Prim shook her head. "Nah, it's alright."

Farrow laughed, but mid-laugh, he started coughing into his napkin. Not just coughing, but hacking up a lung. About 30 seconds later, he stopped, took a breath, and looked at his napkin, now dotted with blood. He frowned, crumpled it up, and took a glance at the trash bin. He moved his hand, did a quick second of measuring, and then tossed the dirty napkin overhand into its target. It flew through the air in a straight downward line. It nearly hit a young girl in the face, but it landed in the can nicely. Farrow smiled and sighed in relief.

Prim looked over at him. He still had a bit of dried blood on his face but he didn't seem to care. "Man... I'm really sorry about what happened to you." she told him.

Farrow smiled. "Naw, don't worry. This isn't that bad. I'm a cop, this happens to me a lot, y'know?"

"But still, I was right there," Prim's words started to stumble out her mouth before she could stop them. "I should have at least tried to do something instead of just sit there, I mean, I know I'm not as agile and strong and stuff as you are, but you're my partner, and I should always have your back, and-"

"Hold it, hold it, hold it!" Farrow put his hands up in the air. "You're too damn hard on yourself. I mean, I'm alright, you're alright, and we're gonna get this guy. Seriously. You don't need to worry about me. Just like you don't want me to worry about you."

A few seconds passed before Farrow blurted out "Besides, I'm supposed to be this kind of guy. I mean, people pretty much see me and they run. Considering that half the time I looked mad as hell, I just, you know, kind of fit the guy who chases people down and stuff. You know, people see me and they feel intimidated, like... that fast."

As soon as he finished, Farrow had to wonder to himself what the hell he had just said. It was as if he just pulled out a few random nagging thoughts and just...barfed them out.

Prim finished her last piece of egg and said "Well, that's cause they don't have a damned clue. I mean, I'm just one person, but what I see is a man who doesn't take any bullshit. A man who looks for the truth and wields it. A man ready to kick ass, but only for the right reasons. A man whose mean exterior hides a mind so insightful and intelligent." She stopped for a second and added "Besides, I thought you didn't give a damn, right?"

"Technically, I said I don't give two shits." Farrow sighed. "But... thanks. It's nice to hear that, even though I wasn't expecting it."

Prim smiled and finished the conversation with "It's only the truth."

Farrow turned a slight shade of red. He tried to hold it back, hoping somehow he could change his current facial color back to normal just by willing it. Prim's way with words were about as good as his way with action. Maybe better. Yeah, probably better.

He turned to Prim, back with his devious grin and chuckled out "Did I ever tell you how I got my name?"

“I always figured it was after Mia Farrow,” Prim responded matter-of-factly.

“Well, yeah, but there's a funny story behind it.”

"Oh, really?" Prim smirked lightheartedly, resting her head on her hand. "Do amuse me."

Farrow grinned and cracked his knuckles. "Alrighty, like you said, I was named after that Mia Farrow actress chick. My mom loved her, but only because she played Daisy Whatshername in The Great Gatsby movie adaption back in '74, 5 years before I was born. My mom was obsessed with that book like it was Twilight. Constantly quoting it and telling me I should read it. And you know what? I did, I read it, but I forgot it in a week, completely, what it's even about. I can't even name anyone besides the two characters, and for all I know it could be set in Timbuktu.”

Prim giggled. “Like I always say, it's funny how things turn out!”

Farrow grinned and added “As an added bonus, I've never seen a Mia Farrow movie, if entirely by coincidence. I never bothered watching the Great Gatsby movie since the book could have poofed right off the earth and I wouldn't have batted an eyelash, and I never ran into one of her movies or shows. So if anyone were to ask me what I were named for, I'd pretty much have no clue.”

Prim grinned at this. “I suppose there's some life lesson behind this?”

“You tell me,” was his response. “You're better at this.”

“Well, you can make a life lesson out of a Kanye song.”

“That? Aw, that's just a fluke,” he laughed.

“Well,” she replied “all I can think of is something about making a name for yourself, and I think you do that quite well.”

“And that I like,” he says with a smile. “You're a real smart girl, you know that?”

“Aw, thanks,” Prim smiled and looked towards the door as it opened. Her eyes swiftly narrowed in shock when she saw the Scarved Man walk through, with an air of nonchalant. She turned her head away and hissed "Scarved Man at 8 o'clock!"

"8 o'clock? The hell direction is that?"

"Behind you! To your right!"

Farrow gently looked behind him and saw Scarved Man nodding and grabbing a cup of coffee.
“What the hell is he doing here?” he hissed back to Prim. “He just flipped a bitch trying to get away from us!”
Prim shushed him with “Listen.”
Farrow stopped to listen, but shrugged a bit into it. “He’s having small talk. What does that mean?”
“It means that he doesn’t know we’re here,” she explained, frustration in her whisper. “Now, when I give the symbol, we both apprehend him unawares.”
Farrow nodded. “Okay, gotcha.” He followed this with a mumble of “All the damn coffee shops in the city and he picks this one to get some Joe at.”
Resuming a façade of nonchalant, the two paid their attentions to their phones, not letting their peripherals off of the man. Then, Prim put hers away and quietly gives the signal. “Now!”
Right when the two prepared to get up, the Scarved Man reacted by picking up his coffee. The moment he grabbed it, he swiftly threw it at the server's face, causing him to scream in agony and fall to the ground.

"Son of a bitch." Farrow growled. Before he could say more, he was thrown to the ground, his feet pulled from underneath him. He sat there, stunned, as he saw Prim fall to the ground herself, also surprised, but not before she could pull off the scarf from his face.

Actually, her face.

"Son of a bitch's cousin." Farrow was a bit surprised but figured in the long run it didn't matter, as he went to get his gun and leap up. He stopped in his tracks as the Scarved Woman pulled out a knife and held it to his throat before he could even realize what had happened.

"Twice removed." he added; even with a knife to his throat he was spouting out witticisms. He looked at Prim, who looked back at him with anxiety and surprise.

Farrow looked at the Scarved Woman and roared"You better let us the fuck go right now, or I swear to god there will be hell to pay!"

Scarved Woman glared at him, insanity in her eyes and hissed "Shut up. I have no problem ending things for you right now.” Her bloodshot eyes narrowed as she finished with a menacing “Do you really wanna play with me, boy?"

Farrow was speechless for the first time he could remember.

Prim looked at the whole scenario. Scarved Woman was holding Farrow at knife-point. But she wasn't taking any money out of the register, she didn't seem to be making a move on killing Farrow. Why the hell was she here?

All Prim knew for certain was that Farrow was not going to die on her watch.

"Alright, ma'am, I'm going to ask you to put the knife down." she started.

"And why the hell would I do that? You think I'm gonna buy the whole bullshit about 'you're not gonna go to jail if you put the knife down and just walk out?' Anyone who's seen an episode of Law and Order knows that that's not gonna happen." Scarved Woman replied, hate spewing from her words. But if Prim was correct, the hate didn't seem to be directed at them at all.

"I wasn't going to, ma'am." Prim replied, trying to keep her nerves steadily. "You're going to jail, one way or another. But are you really ready to go to jail for killing a cop? Are you really ready to face that?"

"I don't give a damn anymore!" Scarved Woman's voice grew into a yell, blasting Farrow's eardrums. "I've got not a damn thing on this Earth I care about, not a damn thing, and it doesn't give a damn about me either! I don't give a shit if I drag it all down to hell with me."

Prim looked at her eyes, and the pain that clouded out all the traces of hate and evil that she should have right about now. She saw, and she understood. "The whole Earth abandoned you, you say? I think I understand."

"Understand? How the hell do you understand?" was the response.

"I was a kid once too." Prim continued. "And as soon as my parents saw me, it seemed that they had me figured out. All throughout my early life, it seemed that I was always doing what they told me. And not just stuff that you should do that they tell you. It was like they always told me what I liked or should like, they had every day planned out start to finish, they told me what I was going to be when I grew up, who I was to be friends with, who I was to date, it was insane. It was like they were living out their youth again using me as their body. But I didn't really get a chance to have a youth. Everyone says that the rich kids get to have whatever they want. Ignorant people, very very ignorant.

"One day, I just, boom, I had it. That was it. I took all the stuff they made me like, all the clothes and colors they made me wear, and I walked into the living room.

“I told my parents 'I am not doing this anymore. You think you know me so well but I don't have a damn clue who I am! This dress you had me wear? It about damn near suffocated me! This skirt you had me wear to your friend's birthday party? Are you really comfortable with making your daughter look like a slut? I almost got cornered by 3 boys 3 different times that day! And when the hell did I ask to play the flute? You know that I get headaches from sharp noises easy! Oh, wait, no you didn't.'

“ 'And as for my friends, oh yes, my friends. Your per-determined friends for me. Sure as hell were trustworthy. Like Tiffany? Who spread rumors about me screwing her boyfriend after I didn't let her cheat off my test? Or Jake? Charming boy, at least I bet that skank he cheated on me with thinks so. You see, Mom and Dad, I've become exactly who you wanted yourself to be, but I'm the only one who's goddamned miserable because of it!' “

I took the pile of stuff, threw it in the fireplace, and walked out with only my purse and wallet.” Prim stopped, taking a heavy breath and then continued.

"I don't wanna say that's exactly what happened to you, but I can tell. Just by looking at you. That you've been shut out by everyone in favor of what you ought to be. A monster is never made. People turn you into one. But when you face your demons and fight them off, then you become what you envisioned of yourself."

Farrow gasped even with a knife to his throat. She actually used his words. And she actually said them better than he did. He felt a pang of pride.

Slowly, the Scarved Woman dropped the knife, fell to her knees and started sobbing. No words or explanation were needed. Farrow got up, too stunned to do anything and not about to attack, as Prim handcuffed her gently.

"You're going to be heading to jail now, it seems. But take this as a chance. Use this to fight your demons and become your vision. And despite what Lawyers may spit at you on the stand and what people who hear of this may say of you, you are not going to be a monster anymore."

Right around there was when their requested backup arrived. Farrow rolled his eyes and said "About damn time. Always arrive after the fight, don't they?"

Prim nodded as she walked the Scarved Woman out to the cruisers and talked with their co-worker, Samantha Aaron, for a short time. Sam nodded and gently led the Scarved Woman in the back of the cruiser.

Farrow opened the door and let the cold wind let him sober up to what happened, let it wash over him and alert him out of this surreal daze.

He walked over to Sam and quipped “Hey, mag-fricken-nificent timing there, Sam!” She only responded by flipping him the bird.

“Thank you, ma'am. I shall treasure that!” he sneered.

Laughing, he looked over and found Prim sitting on the hood of their cruiser, looking up to the sky, searching for some clear spots between Mother Nature's moodiness.

Without looking over at him, she said "Her name was Shelly L’Oreal. She was the one who mugged Red. Looks like she'll get a plea deal and we'll get Red his stuff back."

She blinked a bit and added “And Sam told me our shift's about over. So we can head home now.”

Farrow nodded and sat next to her. He looked at her and said "Sure thing, darling. By the way, that was amazing, what you did back in there. You really made me believe that that was what happened to you."

Prim's smile was dashed into a frown, and she looked away, as if she got an electric shock.

"What? Was it something I said?"

Prim said nothing as she got up and started to walk away.

"Wait, where are you going? No, wait! Don't go! Get back here! Please!" he called out after her, but she didn't even look back. Farther and farther away she drew into the shadows, not reacting to Farrow's desperate pleas.

Farrow looked at her, and then buried his head in his hands. He slammed the hood of their car with his fist and said "At least tell me what I did wrong!"

Prim turned the block away and slumped against the wall. She looked down at the sidewalk and saw a puddle. She looked in the puddle on a whim, and she saw herself standing there. In her mind, she could only see who she was as a teen. She stomped in the puddle out of frustration and started to cry.
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To: Prim

From: Farrow

Time and Date: 6:17pm, 3/31/11

Prim. Meet me at Cathedral Park ASAP. Pretty Please? Thanks. Farrow.

Farrow sighed as he put his phone back in his jacket pocket and took a seat on the edge of the fishing dock, his feel dipping into the river. This wasn't the wharf Prim loved to drive by, but this place was beautiful nonetheless. The Gothic styled Saint Johns's Bridge loomed a hundred feet overhead, giving the park its name, its arches eerily similar to a cathedral arch. The park was lined with beautiful trees that were starting to bloom in the spring. This was a place he wanted to remember today.

He was wearing no officer's suit today. Today he was simply wearing a jacket, shirt and a pair of old ragged jeans. He was ready to sit here all night if necessary.

The hell was wrong with him? What had he done? He hated that he had hurt Prim so badly. It was like he had taken Shelly's knife and stabbed himself with it, right in the heart.

Why on Earth did he have to open his big, fat, stupid-ass mouth? Why the hell couldn't he have just- shit! Goddamnit! He was so pissed at himself, he didn't even notice Prim walk up until she tapped him on the shoulder silently.

He looked behind him. She was wearing a nice green sweatshirt, and a long floral skirt. God, she looked amazing. The hell took him so long to figure it out? He was a bitter bastard with a sharp tongue, but he couldn't begin to measure how much he loved her.

And every time he told himself that, he cursed himself for being such a corny little sap. But he couldn't disguise the truth. She was graceful, intelligent, beautiful inside and out... and he understood her. No one ever seemed to understand him the way she did.

He faced her and said "I'm sorry... it was all true. Everything you said?"

Prim started to cry, trying to hold it in like a leaky faucet. "Yes. It was...my parents..."

Farrow blinked for a second and then continued with "I didn't know... I'm so sorry." He looked towards the ground and plucked out a hair from his head, befuddled and hardly feeling the sharp prick the strand's removal left. "And... it affected you more than you cared for her to know, I can tell."

Prim nodded again. "Exactly. I didn't want her to have the burden of what I felt, especially with her heading to jail. She had a hard life, and the sooner she can start patching things up the better."

Farrow frowned. He found it astonishing that she really meant all the things she had said to Shelly, especially since he would have just shot her the first chance he got; and actually did try. It just proved what he felt for her. Even those who seemed so mean and wicked had a place in her heart.

"Well, I'm right here. I'm not exactly the best at dealing with emotional trauma-"

"That's me." Prim interrupted with a small smile, which surely wouldn't hold up very long, so it was nice to coax that out of her.

"-yes, exactly. But I can try my damndest."

"Well..." Prim replied, "There wasn't really much more to it... even though they controlled me so much... they only wanted the best for me, and I knew that. I... always regretted what I did to them and how I dealt with things..." she paused a second to choke down a sob. Farrow looked at her, clearly pained. He was seeing her falter for the first time, and he felt like there was nothing he could do. Goddamnit, he wasn't good with comfort, and it wasn't like he could go punch out Prim's parents for putting her through such turmoil. He felt helpless, in a way. I can't be helpless! he growled to himself. I'm trying to help her!

Prim choked out the most painful part. "And...it's been 7 years since we last spoke... I still haven't had the courage to face them. I mean... I never knew if I should or not. I mean, I was right... but I showed them in the most wrong way."

Farrow didn't know how to respond to that. You'd never guess it, but he had gotten along rather well with his own family. All he could bring himself to do was squeeze Prim's hand between his as she started to sob and choke out her last words. "It makes me feel like a monster."

That Farrow knew the response to. "No. No way, no how, no chance in hell. You are not a monster, let's get that straight."

Prim looked at him through a filmy screen of tears. The sun was starting to shine through the clouds, and the shadows started to disperse from the city. It was something that rarely happened. "What am I?" she asked.

"You're what I always envisioned myself to...uhm...”he became frustrated and swore “...fuck... no, not that kind of fuck!...Fuck as in... God, I totally just..."

Agh! he thought to himself as Prim gave him a quizzical smile, as if she hadn't quite understood, and she was trying to stifle a giggle. Fuck as in “I totally fucked it up!” Ah, well. Only one way he could make himself clearer.

He put a hand on Prim's face, smiled, and kissed her.

Just a soft kiss, that communicated everything he always meant to say. He let go, and he saw her smile. So good to have that back. She turned to him and said "I love you too."

Farrow beamed, honest-to-god beamed, for the first time since... forever, as he brought Prim close to him in a sincere embrace.

“And thank you... I always thought it best to wait until you told me first... nerves, you know.” she added.

He released her since he had a feeling that if he hugged her any harder he'd probably break a few ribs and said “Well, it's just like they say, love.” Relishing the new title for her, he closed the conversation with “Sometimes, actions speak louder than words.”

Prim giggled at that as they sat on the dock. “You’re a total cornball, you know that?”

“I pride myself on that,” he responded with a grin.

“Besides, one could say that words come in very handy as well,” she responds.

“True,” he considers her point. “I guess we could call it a truce?”

“Yeah,” she dips her feet into the river. “I suppose one could say that words and action synergize very well.”

“We sure do, Prim,” Farrow said distantly, concluding the discussion. “We sure do.”

"Cornball."

"Yep! Don't I know it!"