Chapter 1 - A Personal Question

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You had finally finished your job for the day, which had included basically standing outside Boss's office door and telling pricks who tried to get in to scram. Eventually you walked inside, the boss himself, with his slicked back hair and sharp eyes that seemed to constantly calculate how many ways he could kill a man, seemed to not really care all that much. A glance was all you got. You were used to that, though, he didn't give many people at all much attention unless they fucked up.

That wasn't good attention.

He set aside the papers he was working on, leaning back in his chair to take a good long look at you. You instinctively knew he had something to say.

"Yes, boss?" You asked, not much of a question more than a soldier-like request to spit it out already.

"Doll, I'm gonna need you to c'mere for a minute." He said, watching your every movement as you sat down across from him at his desk.

"Thank you." He continued. "Now, doll, ever since I met you I've noticed a little something."

You raised an eyebrow at him. There's quite a bit to notice. The bite marks and mottled scars coating your left arm like a thick coat of paint, the claw marks up and down your back. The claw marks nobody ever saw, though.

He narrowed his eyes at you, and you felt him staring, but not in an intimidating way, more as if he was deep in thought, thinking something through.

"Pardon me, my doll-face, but do you mind explaining how you got... those? I'm dreadfully curious.."

Mr. Darling asked as he used his index finger to motion to your left arm, and a sudden wave of anger came over you.

You don't like to talk about it.

"Yes, actually, I do mind explaining." You said, standing up. "I would much highly prefer to take my leave now. Goodbye, see you in the morning." You said, a tinge of that anger in your voice as you strode out of the room to leave.

"Wait." He commanded sharply, and, with a dramatic eye roll, you turned around to face him.

"Where do you think you're going, Doll?"

"I'm leaving." You replied, your anger audible. How dare he ask you about those scars, especially when he barely knew you? Insensitive asshole.

He glared at you for a few moments.

"Why don't you want to answer my question? Sweetheart, I just want to know in case there's anything I need to take into consideration. PTSD triggers, and whatnot."

He paused, looking away from you.

"I need to put the Family first, and doing that would entail keeping you away from missions that would send you home shaking and crying."

It was now your turn to look away.

"Dogs. Keep me away from dogs."

Then, with the question answered, you left.

Wally's eyes followed you out the door, and his gaze lingered still even after you left. He was practically burning with curiosity- what happened? He wanted to know the story, but he realized that it would take a little while before you were going to open up.

He'd just have to bide his time.

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