FIC: Remember the Idea, Chapter 8
Here it is, the fluff-ish chapter. But yet, not quite all fluff. This chapter marks a major shift in the story. Sorry to anyone who did not want a shift, but I have planned it all along this way. Only two more chapters after this, but don't worry - I won't end this story in a depressing way.

(I've got your interest piqued now, don't I? :)

Previous chapters can be found here or at my journal.

Note: this is my new longest chapter, and I even ended up moving about three pages into the next chapter. No word yet on when you will get chapter 9, but hopefully not too long.

Title: Remember the Idea
Author: skinny_bacon
Rating: strong PG-13 (maybe even very strong)
Summary: Finch and Evey struggle to define their newfound closeness.
Disclaimer: I disclaim. Entertainment only here, folks!


~o~

Chapter 8

Eric Finch couldn’t concentrate.

Evey time he closed his eyes, every time he allowed his mind to wander, all he could think about was Evey, and a bed, and the feel of her lips on his.

Their first kiss.

And every time he thought of that kiss, of the sight of her sleepy eyes looking at him, the soft curl of her lips as she smiled, the feel of her skin, he would get an odd faraway look in his eyes and a distinct grin on his face. Then he would realize he was at work and it was actually a bad day at work and he should not be grinning, or smiling, or even feeling anything remotely happy.

It was a really bad day. Dominic was out in the field, running down some leads, while Finch remained in the office to run phone calls and research. There had been another arson, a more frequent occurrence these days. Usually a puzzle was enough to occupy his mind. Usually all he needed was a whiff of a trail to follow and he was off like a bloodhound. But never before had there been such a reason to stay behind.

Shaking his head as if to physically dislodge the images from his cerebellum, Finch stood, grabbed his jacket, and went to go meet Dominic. He needed something to think about besides Evey and if he couldn’t find in it his office, he would go find it elsewhere.

~o~

Evey Hammond couldn’t concentrate.

Every time she sat back in her desk, every time she allowed her mind to wander, all she could think about was Finch, and a bed, and the feel of his lips on hers.

Their first kiss.

She had been wanting to kiss him for a long time; if she was being completely honest with herself, she may have wanted to kiss him that first time she went to his home to do the interview. And living with him for the past four weeks had been almost too much temptation for her to handle. How could she possibly resist an adorable, compassionate man who woke up early to make her breakfast, who made sure there were fresh flowers in her office every week, who opened his home and his heart to her and asked for nothing in return?

She didn’t want to resist him any longer. If she had known that all it would take to get him in her bed was a water leak, she would have pounded a hole in the ceiling herself weeks ago. As it was, the past two days had been very welcome and special. When Evey had woken up this morning, staring at Finch as they had both laid in her bed, his hand making small circles on her hip that were rapidly reducing her thought processes, she could not help but pull him close for a kiss. Just a taste; just to know what it felt like.

Now that she knew what it felt like, she wanted more.

A lot more.

Shaking her head as if to physically dislodge the images from her cerebellum, Evey stood, grabbed her bags and called her assistant. She needed something else to think about and if she couldn’t find it in the office, she would go out and find it elsewhere.

~o~

Finch had to laugh.

When he had arrived at the arson site, a large licensing and registry office, Dominic was busy talking with witnesses who had seen the building erupt in flames early that morning. A night janitor had died in the fire. Half an hour later, Evey appeared with a news crew.

For all their efforts at avoiding even the thought of each other, they had ended up working at the same scene. There had been a few shy smiles, a wink across the street, and surprisingly, they had both been able to concentrate on their work.

As her crew was packing up, Finch pulled her aside.

“When do you think you’ll be home tonight?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Dominic looked over at their close forms.

“Late, most likely. I want to get this story ready for the night news, and there will be follow-up that I’ll need to work on. How about you?”

“Late as well. There is never a shortage of work.”

Another smile, bashful, both looking down at their shoes. Finch put his hand on hers. “All right, then. See you.”

And then she was gone, turning once to smile at him. Dominic walked over to his partner’s side and in a rare role reversal, put his hand comfortingly on Finch’s shoulder.

“It’s going to be all right, you know. Soon, this world will get better.” Dominic paused, not certain how far to push. “Maybe then, sir, things won’t be so complicated for you two.”

Finch turned to stare at Dominic. It was as open as he had ever been about Finch and Evey’s relationship and Finch wasn’t certain whether to be relieved or upset.

In the end, it was relieved. They both watched as Evey’s news van pulled away.

“I hope so, Dominic, because I’m getting bloody tired of complicated.”

~o~

It was after 11:00pm when Finch finally pulled himself through his door. The house was dark, Evey’s bedroom door closed. Probably just as well, Finch thought. He wasn’t sure how much he would be able to resist tonight. Changing into his pajamas, Finch went to the kitchen, a sudden hunger tugging at his stomach. As he was pulling food out of the fridge, his phone rang.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, Eric, it’s me.”

Finch turned to look at the closed bedroom door. “Evey?”

“Yeah, who did you think it was?”

Finch pushed open the door to see the room empty. “I thought you were asleep. I was being quiet so I wouldn’t wake you.”

“That’s sweet. But I’m actually just on my way home now. I didn’t want you to worry.”

Finch returned to the kitchen. “Afraid I’d miss you too much?”

He heard Evey laugh. “I know you’d miss me too much.”

He smiled. “Probably. Are you hungry? I’m just making supper.”

“A little late, don’t you think?”

“Does that actually matter?”

“Nope. I’m starved. I’ll be home soon.”

Finch made a small salad, frying up some fish to go with it. Delicious smells greeted Evey when she walked in the door.

“Hey,” she said warmly, smiling at the sight of him cooking barefoot and in his pajamas. Finch walked over, grabbed her lightly by the waist and, pulling her close, kissed the corner of her mouth. She smiled back at him, delighted by the change in greeting.

She changed into pajamas as well, a light yellow tank top and flannel pants, and they ate their late supper in the kitchen, Evey sitting on the counter and Finch leaning on the counter next to her. Every now and then he would move close, bumping his hip against her legs as they dangled off the counter. The third time he did that Evey wrapped her legs around his waist, effectively trapping him. She giggled as he put up a weak fight to free himself.

After struggling for a few moments he turned so he was facing her, placing his hands on either side of the counter by where she sat, her legs still wrapped around his waist. They both felt the sudden change in tension and Evey grinned slightly out of nerves and excitement.

Finch was nervous as well. What was prompting them to be so bold? Without stopping to think about it, he leaned forward, gently placing his lips against hers. She kissed back, a little less gently, moving her lips over his.

One kiss became two, which became three. Evey wrapped her arms around his neck and he held onto her waist tightly. After a moment they both loosened their grips, Finch leaning back to look at her face.

“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he admitted.

“Me, too.”

They finished eating and Evey hopped off the counter to help him wash up. It was just midnight as they entered the bedroom, both of them feeling less bold as the entered the confined and intimate space.

Sitting on their respective sides of the bed, Evey voiced her fear.

“Are we moving too fast? I mean, is this okay, do you think?”

Finch turned to look at her as she stretched out under the covers and mimicked her actions. “I’m not sure,” he said as he grabbed her hand under the sheets. “I think however fast we move will be the perfect pace.”

She reached out with her other arm and he shifted across the bed to draw her close. Lying in each other’s arms, they fell asleep.

~o~

On the third morning of sharing a bed, Finch woke first. Evey was settled on his chest, her warmth and weight bringing a contented grin to Finch’s face. He glanced over at the clock. 5:13am. Still very early; they had not been asleep that long. Settling into the pillow, his hand moved to her back, dipping under her shirt, rubbing lightly. He closed his eyes, committing his senses to the feel of her, the smell of her. He did not know how long he laid there before he felt her hand moving up and down his chest, rubbing his t-shirt. He opened his eyes to find her staring at him.

She smiled. “Good morning.”

He continued his movements with his hand. “Good morning to you, too.” They looked at each other shyly, nervously, before Evey stretched and placed her lips on his.

Finch needed no other encouragement. Their pace was about to increase.

Pulling her up his body, Finch held her tightly, kissing her lips, her face, feeling more daring than he had last night in the kitchen. She, too, was relentless in her attack. No part of him was left untouched. They rolled around the bed slowly but with a definite purpose. Finch kicked the blankets down past his feet as Evey ran her legs up and down his. They remained this way, touching, kissing, stroking, as the minutes silently passed.

This is what they had both been craving. This closeness. This intimacy. Not just someone to connect to, but to have each other. Finch ran his fingers through her short hair, kissing her eyes, her mouth, her throat. Nothing else mattered; not the age difference, not the political troubles outside, not the memory of V, nothing.

Finch rolled on top of her, his hands drifting up her side. Maybe something else did matter…he could bear it no longer.

“Did you have sex with him?”

Evey burst out laughing, moving her hands to his hair. “Oh, what a way to kill the moment!”

“What?” Finch demurred, moving to trail kisses along her neck. She pulled his head up to draw him in a deep kiss.

“What if I said I did?” she asked, breathing heavily against his lips.

Finch growled, kissing along her ear.

“What if I said I didn’t?” Evey hooked her leg under his and flipped them over. Settling on his stomach, she pulled her tank top up and over her head. Finch pulled her down to him and before long, his shirt ended up on the floor as well. They stilled a moment, holding each other close, reveling in the skin-to-skin contact. Then Evey smiled and started a trail of kisses down his chest and he never asked again.

The phone rang, pulling them from their embrace. Finch looked over at the nightstand; it was his phone. He swore under his breath and Evey giggled, moving to settle on his chest. Finch grabbed the phone, knocking over the clock, which hit the floor with a dull thud.

“What?” he barked into the phone.

“Inspector, it’s me. I’m so sorry to call you so early, but we’ve got a situation here.”

Sometimes Finch hated his partner. Slipping from Evey’s arms he sat on the edge of the bed, picking up the clock. 5:42am.

“What is it?”

“Well, I don’t want to say too much over the phone, but we’ve got a body here and you really need to be working this one.”

Finch rubbed his eyes. He felt the bed shift and saw Evey out of the corner of his eye. She pulled her shirt back on and picked his up from the floor.

“Where?”

Evey watched as Finch jotted down the address and smiled as he hung up his phone forcefully, moving to rub his hand over his face. She walked over to him, handing him his shirt, grinning at the look of total desperation on his face.

“Don’t worry,” she said as he pulled the shirt over his head. “There’ll be other times.” She leaned forward, her hand on his face. “I promise.”

Finch smiled and she stood back. “Now, go have a shower and I’ll put on the coffee.”

Finch stood and pulled her to him. “Thanks,” he said, placing a kiss lightly on her lips.

“My pleasure.”

~o~

The scene before him was familiar, eerily familiar, unsettlingly familiar.

A body stretched across the floor, limbs contoured in unnatural angles. Trails of vomit spewing from the mouth.

A blood red Scarlet Carson across the chest.

Finch knelt down next to the body, trying to process what he was looking at. He knew Dominic was staring at him, worrying about him.

When Finch had arrived at the scene, Dominic had met him outside the building, a run-down factory that had been converted into lofts during the decadence of the last century, and then fallen into decay during Sutler’s regime. Two police cruisers were parked outside in the October dawn; Finch had expected to see more.

“I’m sorry, Inspector, for getting you up for this,” were the first words Dominic said as Finch exited the car. He held out a cup of coffee and Finch accepted it gratefully.

“What is this place?” Finch asked.

“Old residential building, condemned. It’s was set for demolition before McManus dropped the funding. That’s not important, though, chief,” Dominic said as he grabbed Finch’s arm preventing him from going further. “Before you go in, I just wanted to tell you that I’ve tried to keep this quiet. It’s only George, Peters, Carston and Avery in there, good guys. Nobody else knows and for now, I’ve classified it as eyes only – nothing written until you say so, okay?”

“What is this, Dominic?”

Dominic paused looking tired and drained. “Just have a look.”

Finch had been silent since he entered the room. In his head, he heard his wife reciting the lines to ones of her favourite poems, her voice soft in his memory: “I lost my way/ When the shadow of my life walked before me instead of behind.” He heard the others around him; he knew Avery was taking photographs of the derelict room, George was in the hall, and Peters and Carston were searching the building. He knew Dominic was there, anxiously waiting to see Finch’s reaction.

Finch almost didn’t know what to think. What was there to think?

It couldn’t be V. V was dead.

But it looked like V’s work; it had the feeling about it that Finch felt at V’s crime scenes.

He couldn’t focus on this. He couldn’t focus on V. Pull it together!

“Do we have an ID on the body?” Finch asked, finally standing up, his knees wincing in protest, his body feeling old and worn.

“He didn’t have anything on him, no wallet, no identity tag. I was waiting for your decision before I put in a call.”

Finch stepped back, looking around the room. Something wasn’t right. Something about this whole setup was very wrong, very out of place.

The room was in bad shape; a loft long since gone to better days. The walls were peeling, broken. Trash littered the floor and obscene gang graffiti covered almost every surface.

Finch looked back at the body. The man did not belong in this place. It didn’t make sense. Finch once again knelt by the body, examining the layout.

Something familiar. Something so familiar.

And then Finch knew what it was. A sickness formed in his stomach, twisting and turning. Finch swallowed to keep back the urge.

Maybe he was wrong about V being dead. Because who else could have known?

Finch stood up, a look of determination, frustration, and unbearable anguish covering his face.

“Dominic, bag the incriminating evidence then call in some guys to finish this up. I’ll meet you back at the office when you’re done.” Finch turned quickly, exiting the room.

“Inspector, what is it?” Dominic called, chasing his partner out of the room. Finch had already descended the stairs and was out the front door.

“Inspector!”

Finch got in his car, a numbness washing over him. Opening the door quickly, he vomited onto the street. His stomach heaved, burning. He vomited again, spit twice, then sat back, wiping his mouth with his jacket sleeve.

This couldn’t be. This could not be!

And just when Finch thought his day could not get any worse, it did.

Two more bodies found, this time in an abandoned tube station directly below Creedy’s former office building. Two more Scarlet Carsons. Two more victims of a dead masked revolutionary.

Finch went directly to the new crime scene, releasing unnecessary officers from duty and doing his best to contain the evidence. The looks on the faces of the officers told him enough; if this ever got out, their chaotic country would get a whole lot more unruly. For nearly a year, the influence McManus’s government had over the people was tenuous at best; its only strength was in the fact that V was dead and these were the people he wanted in his stead.

And if V was alive, then the public perception would be that the government had lied.

Riots, chaos, and incalculable death would be the only outcome.

~o~

It was mid-afternoon when Finch was able to talk with Dominic in their office.

“This is not possible, Dominic,” Finch insisted, pacing their small office. “This doesn’t make sense. V is dead. I know he is dead. Evey knows he is dead. He was on the train car with the explosives.”

“Is there any way he could have survived? You told me that he had lived through Larkhill when he probably shouldn’t have.”

Finch sat down, rubbing his hands over his face. “He’s dead.”

Dominic thumbed through the crime scene photos then asked, “What happened this morning, Inspector? What’s going on here?”

Finch sighed. “Have you got an ID on the first victim yet?”

“We sent his prints and samples to the lab but they haven’t called back.”

Finch turned to face his partner. “You needn’t bother. His name is Albert Dunsmore.” Finch paused, working up the courage to say the words aloud. “He was the man driving the car that killed my wife and my son.”

~o~

Dominic had been overwhelmed, sympathetic, concerned. What did it all mean? Did Finch know the identity of the other two victims?

Finch wished he did know who they were. He wanted to know what was going on. All day his mind had been running, running.

What if V was alive?

What if V did somehow find out the identity of the man who had killed Finch’s family and then killed him? What if he had enacted revenge in Finch’s place? Finch knew he had certainly thought about revenge. He had always known who was driving the other car. The police had known. Prosecution was a flimsy word in those days, reserved only for ‘political criminals’. Finch had never the courage, or perhaps the cowardice, to do anything about it.

If V was alive, Finch would be indebted to him for doing the one thing that Finch never could do. Finch also had more selfish thoughts. If V was alive, what would that mean for him and Evey? How could he tell her?

Both Finch and Dominic worked through the night, looking through old files, examining the case notes from V’s cases, rechecking every assumption, every conclusion, every connection.

Evey had called him around dinnertime and Finch had not known what to say. Conscious of Dominic in the room, Finch had told her that he had a new case, he had to work late, and he was sorry that he couldn’t come home. He meant it, too. He wanted to forget what had happened and go home and be with her, connect with her, continue where they had left off. He wanted his ideal bubble of a life again, to be welcome in the open comfort of her arms. His home seemed a million miles away.

Evey had sounded disappointed on the phone. That alone gave Finch a small measure of hope. Maybe it would still be okay. Maybe there was still a chance for their happiness.

Finch had returned home in the morning for a shower and change of clothes to find the house empty; Evey had gone to work early, leaving him a note that she missed him and hoped he was okay. He called her at her office and, unable to keep the exhaustion from his voice, Evey had comforted him. He didn’t tell her what exactly was wrong but she knew him well enough to know that he was burdened. So she spoke for five minutes about nothing in particular, knowing the one thing he needed most was the sound of her voice. At the conversation ended, the word love popped into Finch’s mind but he had not the courage to say it aloud.

The day dragged on, or went by too fast; Finch wasn’t sure which. He knew who Albert Dunsmore was, but what of the other two victims. Who were they? There had to be a connection; even if the killer wasn’t V, there still would be a connection, but where? Was it a connection to Finch, to Evey, to Dominic, or to someone else entirely?

For the second evening in a row, instead of joining Evey in their home in her bed, he remained at work. Dominic never left his side, even when Finch insisted the younger man return home to sleep, even when Finch wanted so much to be alone, he threatened suspension. Dominic would not leave Finch alone. He was scared of what might happen to the older man if he did. He was his partner, he had a responsibility to protect him, even if the kind of protection Finch needed maybe didn’t exist, maybe never would.

Finch wanted to call Evey to say goodnight, to say he was sorry, to spill the secret he was holding; V might be alive. But how to say it? Some things could not be said; there were no words to describe the conflict.

She came to visit him the next morning. Dominic left the office to give them some privacy and Finch fell into her arms. She was worried, so worried, and held his trembling body tightly, kissing his head, his neck.

Feeling more guilt than the fires of hell, Finch took her face in his hands and kissed her hard, deep, wanting the kind of hope and love and happiness he feared he lost. She gripped his hips and pulled him close, propping herself up on his desk. The minutes passed with only the sound of their frantic breathing.

Finch could not stand the guilt, the lie he was keeping from her. He stepped away, running his hand over his face in a familiar gesture of frustration and strain. Evey slid off his desk, walked to his side, kissed his cheek.

“Don’t keep me out forever, Eric,” she whispered in his ear. “I can help you if you let me.”

She wrapped her hand around his arm, squeezing gently, willing to comfort him. And then she was gone.

~o~

Dominic entered the office, his face grim, and a folder in his hands. Finch knew the look could not be a good thing.

“Do I even want to know?” he asked.

Dominic hesitated before handing Finch the folder. “Their names were Ashley Chandler and Kevin Canel; both started out as black baggers for Creedy before each requested a transfer to detention services. Chandler had eight strikes against him in his file for excessive violence before asking to be transferred. They were both stationed at Belmarsh.”

Finch closed his eyes, the realization making him ill.

Dominic answered his unspoken question. “The records aren’t entirely accurate, but I think we can safely assume any omissions in paperwork cover up the fact that Chandler was working in the women’s sector during the hunger strike, probably one of the guards that was in love with his riot stick that final day, and Canel aided the military when they retook the shed.”

Dominic paused, then stated the conclusion. “These were the men responsible for Evey’s parents. That’s the connection.”

~o~

Finch could no longer keep this away from Evey. He called her at lunch, asking her to meet him at his office, knowing there would be more privacy here than at her busy open office. She arrived quickly, ignoring Dominic’s presence in the room and rushing to pull Finch into a warm hug.

“Are you okay?” she breathed heavily, clutching at his suit jacket.

“I’m not sure,” he confessed. From the corner of his eye, Finch saw Dominic turn away slightly, an unusual expression on his face. Was it remorse, sorrow?

Evey sat down in Finch’s chair as Finch tried to explain what the past three days of his life had involved.

“That morning,” he began, blushing slightly at the memory and the fact that Dominic was in the room, “that morning, we got called to a murder scene. The victim had been poisoned. There was a Scarlet Carson on his chest…just like the ones V used to leave.”

Evey shook her head, confused.

“That same day,” Finch continued, “we found two more bodies, killed in the same way, two more roses.”

“What are you trying to say, Eric?”

It was Dominic who answered when Finch looked over at him, his eyes begging for help. “Are you sure he’s dead, Evey?”

Dominic did not need to elaborate on who ‘he’ was.

“Yes.”

“There’s no way he could have survived? Maybe even after the explosion?”

She turned to Finch. “He’s dead, Eric. You know he’s dead. This is probably just random, a copycat looking for some attention. You know that.”

“Except it’s not quite so random.”

“What do you mean?”

“Their names were Albert Dunsmore, Ashley Chandler and Kevin Canel. Dunsmore…he was the man driving the car that killed Jane and Peter. And Chandler and Canel were at Belmarsh. They killed your parents, Evey.” Finch paused. “This wasn’t random.”

Evey looked down at the photos covering the desk.

“Dominic, can you give us a minute please?”

Dominic looked at Finch who nodded his agreement. “I’ll be outside if you need me,” he said, exiting the office. Finch sat down on the corner of his desk and Evey stood up next to him.

“Eric, whoever did this isn’t V. I know he’s dead. I would know it if he was alive.”

“It just seems like too much of a coincidence and I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Just believe the coincidence. That’s all it can be. Believe in yourself, Eric. Believe in me.”

Finch wrapped his arms around her. “You’re probably the only thing I do believe in, Evey,” he confessed.

~o~

To say Evey was troubled when she left Finch’s office would have been an understatement. Knowing his state of mind, she had tried desperately to keep it together while in his presence. He was tortured enough without her breaking down. Instead of returning to work, she began the walk home.

Was it a coincidence? Could V be alive? Could he have survived?

Evey was certain that she would have been able to feel it if V was still alive. As she had stood on the rooftop with Finch that night, almost a year ago now, she had felt a small portion of her heart die as she had seen Parliament engulfed in flames. She knew that part was the part V held on to; the piece of her heart consumed by him, now consumed by fire.

Just when she had begun to think her heart would not operate without the presence of V, Eric Finch had entered the picture. Over the past year he, too, occupied a place in her heart, a piece more substantial than the memory of V. The past few days without him near had made her chest contract, tighten. She almost felt that she was bleeding inwardly at the distance that had grown between them.

V was dead. Finch was alive and in her heart. And whoever was doing this was just trying to change things.

It didn’t mean anything!

Evey walked on, not convinced.

~o~

After Evey had left, Finch felt a small portion of relief. Some of the burden upon his shoulders had been lifted. He still needed to find out more, still needed to solve the crime; but he and Evey were still all right.

Real life prevented him from leaving work early as a demonstration over water shortages in Piccadilly turned into a riot. Once again, it was late by the time Finch returned home.

The first thing he noticed when he entered his home was the piece of paper resting on the kitchen counter. It was an invoice from the repair crew. Finch picked up the paper, uncertainty filling his mind. His room was fixed, the ceiling repaired.

Even though the nights of sleeping with Evey had been precious and comforting, he was not sure they would be able to do it without the excuse of his ruined bedroom. If he entered her bed again, if would have to be out of want, not because he had no other place to go. And despite all the want he had, he was not sure he deserved it after his behaviour the past three days.

He passed Evey’s bedroom, watched her slumbering form, the sheets move up and down with her breathing. She lay on the right side of the bed, the left side, his side, open and inviting.

Not knowing what to do, Finch retired to his room. The bed had been moved back to its proper space, made up again in sheets and blankets. The repairmen would not have done that; it must have been Evey. Too tired to think about it any more, Finch changed clothes and slipped into his own bed, alone and cold, all the time thinking he didn’t warrant any better.

~o~

It was Evey’s smile that woke him up. He had been dreaming, and in his dream, they were in a park. The colors were fierce and animated, the greens and blues and reds and yellows seeming to blend into each other creating a wild and moving kaleidoscope. They sat against a tree with Evey nestled in his lap. He stroked her hair, her arms, the textures and smells seeming almost supernatural in their vibrancy. She turned in his arms, looking at him with open eyes. She smiled, and Finch felt a weight come upon him, settling deep in his chest.

Then he woke up.

He opened his eyes to see Evey sitting on the edge of his bed, her hand running lightly across his face. The room was dark, the sun had yet to rise. Finch was startled, panicked. Was something wrong?

And then she smiled at him, and all fear vanished in an instant.

“I missed you,” she whispered, and Finch motioned for her to stand up. As she did, he lifted the covers and she slipped in, climbing across his body to settle on the right side, her side, of the bed. She draped her arm over his chest, leaning on his shoulder. Finch’s hand moved to the back of her neck, rubbing and smoothing.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t mean to be such a git.”

She laughed into his shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re my git.”

~o~

Next chapter: a killer unmasked

Sorry for any grammatical mistakes. I was in a hurry to get this posted tonight.