"When hope is non-existent, our instincts all scream "Run",
We never turn our backs or even bite our tongues."

-Rise Against

The night cast a blue light in the hallway. The carpet swallowed the boy's footsteps as he made his way out the door with a bag in hand. As he was leaving, a single picture frame on the wall caught his eye. It was a frozen moment that depicted the four of them sitting on the front porch. His mother, with her angelic blond locks and caramel eyes, seemed to be judging him from inside the memory. Her tight-lipped smile said it all. His father never seemed to smile in pictures, but his blue eyes radiated the paternal love that the boy had grown up with. His little sister was barely two in the picture, and her chubby cheeks were dotted with a red flush. Her sandy curls were held back with a blue bow that matched her little dress. She had a plump thumb in her mouth and appeared to be sucking it happily. He was holding her and smiling just barely. He had his mother's hair and his father's eyes and his own personality that never seemed to be okay with them.

He contemplated his idea for barely three seconds before he shoved the year-old picture into his duffel bag. His only regret was that he was leaving behind his baby sister who he would never see grow up. He sighed unhappily and eased open the back door. Without looking back, he stole into the New England night.

If someone had told Derek thirteen years ago that a dark apartment on the seventh floor of a gray building would feel like home, he would have rolled his eyes and shoved his nose back into whatever book he'd been reading. And yet, there he was.

He smiled when his trudging footsteps brought him to the familiar door. He rolled his neck, attempting to relieve some of the stress from his shoulders. He put down his suitcase to rummage in his pocket for his key. His fingers grasped it with little difficulty despite the heavy feeling that seized his body.

He'd recently spent three weeks moving non-stop around the country on his book tour. That fourteen-year-old boy would have been proud to be an accomplished author. Some of the other things that Derek had done since, however…

He carefully opened the heavy door and tip-toed into the apartment. The cramped entryway led into a sitting room, where a dim light was shining. To his left was the kitchen, and he quietly ducked inside and placed his suitcase on the table with a soft thump. He pulled open the door to the fridge, flooding the small space with a bright light that disappeared almost as soon as it appeared. The only sound was the soft fizz as he uncapped a beer.

He heard the softest sound come from the dimly lit sitting room, and he crept over to the two-sided bar that looked into the room.

Right next to the small lamp with its dying bulb was an armchair. A fairly plain one at that; it was a simple maroon color made of corduroy. The recline was broken and the footrest had long since jammed in a half-pulled-out position. Curled in this ordinary chair was a young woman who was anything but. Her paperback had fallen from her hands and to the plush carpet, and her hand was open, holding an invisible book in her palm.

Derek's lips curled into a smile around his bottle, causing a dribble to flow from his mouth and down his dress shirt. He cursed, the moment ruined, and placed his beer on the bar. He winced slightly at the loud noise that came from putting it down. Derek moved to the washer-dryer set, pulling his shirt over his head as he did so. He tossed the soiled item into the empty basket to the right of the stacked machines.

He leaned his head against the dryer's clear circle. He wanted nothing more than to go back to his beer, the cold flavor suddenly much more than appetizing. However, he was in that stage of exhaustion in which his joints had seemed to cease moving, locking him in his current position. He could barely groan, let alone move.

"Long trip?" A voice said. A pair of warm arms wrapped around his bare torso. The soft fabric from her shirt felt incredibly soothing against his back. The fact that she was very obviously not wearing anything underneath didn't hurt. He leaned back into her and she giggled, struggling slightly to hold his weight.

"Yeah." He responded. She raised a hand to ease her fingers through his light hair, mussing it up as she pleased. She knew that he could refuse her hands nothing.

"Come on, let's go to bed. You're exhausted." She murmured, and he reluctantly stood from his comfortable place in her arms. He turned around to face her and his smile flickered back up. He leaned down and kissed her almost chastely. She pulled away, her eyes glinting in what little light filled the room. Her shirt- well, his shirt- was too large and had fallen over one of her shoulders, revealing a strong collar bone that was accentuated by the shadows. Her hair was piled in a messy bun atop her head and one curl had escaped, tickling her cheek. He brushed it behind her ear.

"I'm not that tired." He insisted, leaning in for another kiss. He was surprised to find nothing but empty air where her lips had just been waiting for his. She'd pushed past him and was flipping on a light switch. The room flooded with brightness and he groaned, throwing a hand over his eyes.

Erin nudged him as she breezed past him again, her own yawn breaking her words. "Derek, you're practically asleep on your feet." She turned around and smiled. "How was the trip?"

"Good, I guess. Long." He answered, the light waking him up. She bent down to pick up his shirt, and once she was facing away from him he took advantage of his newfound awake-ness by grabbing her around her small waist and plucking her from the floor. His shirt fell from her grasp as she squealed. She craned back her neck and was rewarded with a crushing kiss.

Erin put her feet on the ground and spun around, pushing against his chest. He smirked and held her hands there, placed against his bare pectoral muscles. They kissed gently again, followed by a much more passionate one in which he picked her up so that they would be at closer levels. Her legs, bare but for a pair of lacy boy-shorts, wrapped around his waist.

He broke their kiss to whisper against her lips, "So… I take it that you missed me?"

She hissed indignantly and pulled his face back to hers. He stumbled back, trying to make it to their bedroom without incident. However, her discarded novel proved to be an obstacle and he tumbled to the ground, landing roughly with her straddling him. She smirked down at him, both of them very much awake.

His beer sat forgotten on the granite countertop.

He woke up a few hours later, her naked chest gleaming in the dim light. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw that the time on the digital clock read 2 am. His neck ached terribly from where it had hung without support for so long. The two of them had fallen asleep in the sitting room; he was leaning against the couch with her form curled against his chest. At some point he'd managed to pull on his boxers, leaving him more dressed than Erin was.

He carefully stood from the floor, lifting her with him. She made a quiet noise but stayed asleep, the content ghost of a smile carving into her face. He made his way to the master bedroom and carefully laid Erin on the bed. Derek pulled the duvet over her naked form and tucked it around her. She squirmed in her sleep, burying herself in her pillow. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, glazed with sweat.

Derek reached into his dresser and pulled a pair of sweats and a plain shirt on. For some reason, he couldn't sleep unless he was fully clothed. It probably had to do with some of his ordeals during his teenage years and the stories that were whispered as warnings amongst his peers.

He was about to crawl into bed beside her when a loud crash tore through the air, jump-starting his brain and rousing Erin. She sat up, her worried eyes crusted with sleep. She pulled the blanket with her, concealing her torso. "What the hell was that?" She asked, a break in her usually smooth voice showing the hidden fact that she was scared.

Derek froze, one knee on the bed and his hands bunched in the covers. He moved his head slowly to look at Erin, who was growing more and more frightened. "Derek." She breathed as if her lungs were collapsing. He moved then to her side of the bed. He pulled open the top drawer in their nightstand and found the small hand-gun that he hoped to never use.

"If I don't say anything for five minutes, call 911." He tossed her cell phone to the bed and quickly checked to make sure that it was loaded. As always, it was. He went to close the drawer, but her hand caught his wrist. He looked at her. She was suddenly the tentative teenage girl that she was when they first met, her dark eyes terrified.

"Don't." She begged, but he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it, releasing her to leave the room. He resisted looking back, knowing that if he did he would stay behind instead.

Every shadow seemed threatening as he slowly stepped to the sitting room, his gun raised. The sore muscles in his arms screamed in protest, but he kept it up. He noted the lack of lamp-light and flipped on the main switch with his shoulder. The room, suddenly illuminated, revealed a figure standing next to the lamp that lay broken on the ground.

The person turned around. It was just a kid; a girl, who could barely be older than seventeen. Her strawberry-blond hair was messily thrown into a long braid that hung over her shoulder. Her face was greasy and a touch smudged, as if she hadn't washed up in a few days. Her bright eyes were narrowed at him, and her thin arms crossed over her chest. She wore men's clothes, carpenter jeans and an oversized plaid top. The black ski cap on her head seemed to be the only thing that actually fit her. Her dirty feet were bare. She raised her hands up and smiled crookedly. "A gun? I'm impressed. What are you gonna do, shoot me?"

His rapidly beating heart slowed. The first thought that had occurred to him was of a colleague who had been found beaten to death in his apartment with his cell phone inches away from his hand, the first two numbers of '911' already pressed. There was no way that the killer could be this very same girl, right?

"What are you doing in my apartment?" He snapped, still holding the gun with steady hands. She shrugged, dropping her hands to her large pockets.

She wandered despite the gun that was trailed on her. She spoke in an almost distracted manner. "Just passing through. Didn't mean to break your lamp, though it looks like you can probably buy another one." She looked around; a wistful expression crossed her face for a mere moment before she focused back on him. "You're that author guy, aren't you?"

"Yes. Are you a fan? If so, I'll sign-" He was getting annoyed, his thoughts already traveling back to Erin.

She snorted, about to answer, when the subject of his thoughts decided to enter at that particular moment. Erin came into the room, not seeing the girl who was hidden from her initial view. Upon seeing Derek alone in the room, she wrapped the blanket around her bare torso tighter and her expression shifted from worried to annoyed. "Derek, what's going on?""

"It's just some kid." He responded, jerking his head in the direction of the girl and looked towards his girlfriend to give her a comforting smile. However, her returning face was one of surprise, her full lips forming a shocked 'o'. When Derek wasn't looking, the girl had managed to press a gun of her own to the back of Erin's head.

She smirked. "Looks like the kid's got a gun as well."

A/N: PLEASE REVIEW. That is all.

(I blame this story on watching a certain cop show as well as my HeadCanon for Les Mis)