(TW: Brief mention of SA in this chapter)

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(y/n)'s POV
Arriving at work on time for a change, I stepped into the entryway, which felt more like a foyer. I stopped short when I spotted about six police officers inside, chatting with Doctor Kenobi. Thankfully, they weren't the same bothersome ones I had encountered before.

Unfortunately, I did recognize one of them.

"Jackson? What's happening? Why are you here?" I asked my fiancé as he approached me, his heavy boots thudding against the floor. The taste of blood still lingered in my mouth whenever I looked at him, but I was healing. It's been a week and I finally felt present in the moment instead of lost in a fog. I even cancelled my sessions with Anakin, not having seen him since he gave me my own therapy—as he called it.

I wasn't in my right mind and he deserved having me when I was, not when I was a shell of a person and could hardly help him, let alone know time of day it was.

He let out a sigh and crossed his arms, looking down at me with a worried expression. His concern for me felt oddly ironic. "It seems one of the night guards was murdered. A cleaning lady found him in the supply closet this morning; his throat was cut." He gestured to his neck, illustrating the grim fate of the poor man.

"Are you kidding me?" My eyes widened in disbelief, and he nodded. "Do you have any details?" I asked, my mind racing with questions about who could have done such a thing and why. I guess I should really be asking myself how they did it, because asking why felt stupid. This place is full of killers.

That made two deaths since I had arrived.

Jackson shook his head. "No, we don't have anything yet. And there are no security cameras in this hospital, either, due to patient privacy," he said, rolling his eyes at the obvious fact that most hospitals lack surveillance for ethical reasons. "So we're really at a dead end." He groaned, running his fingers through his short, dark hair.

After a few moments of silence to gather my thoughts, I took a deep breath and asked, "What was his name?" I sighed, hoping it wasn't someone I knew.

He shifted his gaze to the other officers still talking to my boss. "The victim's name was Carl, right?"

They all turned to look at us, and Kenobi gave a nod. "Yes," he replied, his eyes then flicking to me. He seemed to barely notice I was there, which I didn't hold against him. "Morning (y/n)," he said, tilting his head in a small greeting, a faint smile on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes, clearly troubled by the grim situation. While a death among staff isn't unheard of in a place like this, it's not something you see every day. "We'll talk about this in your office after your session."

"Yes, sir," I replied, keeping my tone respectful as he returned to his conversation with the police. Most places would close down in the face of something like this, but not here; this job doesn't allow for pauses, not even for murder. "So, what happens now?" I asked Jackson, knowing he would have the answers.

"For now," he stepped closer, and I fought the instinct to pull away. I was only talking to him for information, still feeling the sting from over what he did to me. I can still feel his hot breath on my neck and the way my skin crawled while his touch caressed every part of my body while I cried. "There's extra security on every floor, and we've doubled up at night. Also, a section on the fifth floor is off-limits until CSI gives the all-clear." He raised his hand slowly, brushing his fingers over the bruise on my neck that was almost fully healed, "Just go about your day as usual, and I'll keep you updated. Try not to be scared; you're safe."

I nodded, stepping back from his touch, and he let his hand fall with a solemn expression. "I deal with murderers every day; it takes a lot more to frighten me." Correction; they don't scare me as much as he does. Even now I feel safer here than in my own home.

"That's true," he sighed, a hint of disapproval in his voice. He had never liked my choice of career, but I had always stood my ground on that. "However, this situation could be serious. We're not certain if it was a patient involved, so just stay alert." He placed his hand gently on my shoulder, squeezing it in a gesture meant to comfort me. "A detective will be here soon to talk to everyone and make sure you're not considered a suspect."

I glanced at his hand resting on me before meeting his gaze again. "Yeah, I figured that."

He caught the look I gave him and quickly withdrew his hand. "Do you know if he had any enemies or if you recognized him?"

I shook my head. "No, I barely know any of the guards here." My focus was always on my patient, leaving little room for friendships. I had only spoken to a few of the guards who regularly escorted Anakin, exchanging a few words here and there.

He smiled at me. "Good girl, I don't want you getting distracted by other guys." He chuckled at his own joke.

I understood he wasn't really joking. He was a man filled with jealousy and possessiveness. I managed a smile as he laughed, saying, "I should get to my patient now; he's probably waiting."

"I'll walk you there," he suggested. "It would be nice to see where you spend most of your time."

I hesitated, knowing that refusing wasn't an option. It felt more like a command than a choice. "Sure," I replied, avoiding his gaze.

As we climbed the stairs, he bombarded me with questions about the place, and I tried my best to answer them honestly. But soon, to my dismay, his curiosity shifted to my patient. "So who is he, anyway? You never really talk about him," he remarked, following closely as I turned toward the room I used for sessions.

I sighed at his question. There was a reason I kept it to myself—Anakin was well-known, and I didn't want the attention or the endless questions about him. I refused to satisfy anyone's curiosity. As I had said before, he's a person, not an artifact in a museum.

"Anakin Skywalker," I replied, reluctantly but truthfully. I knew I couldn't lie; he would see him in just a moment when I reached the room. Every cop in the state, or even the region, had likely seen his face. Not everyone knew him, but I was sure every law enforcement agency had his picture somewhere.

Jackson's head whipped around to me, eyes wide. "Are you serious?"

I nodded without meeting his gaze, but from the corner of my eye, I could tell he was still staring at me, bewildered. "Yes, I'm serious."

"What's he like? Did he really kill his—"

"I'd rather not discuss my patients with anyone," I interrupted, feeling irritation rise within me. This was exactly what I wanted to avoid. As we reached the door, Rex was chatting with Echo, and they both turned to me, offering a nod. "Good morning, boys." I placed my hand on the door handle, ready to push it open, but then I noticed Jackson looking eager to follow me inside. "Sorry, Jackson, but this is where we part ways. You can't come in here."

He squinted at me, "Why not?"

"Because I said so. This is my workplace, my patient, my rules." I stood firm. I really didn't want him to meet Anakin; I was anxious about what Anakin might say to him about certain... matters he had noticed.

My fiancé scoffed, stepping closer and placing his hand over mine on the door handle. "I'm going in to check that his restraints are secure. If any of the stories I've heard are true, he's a very dangerous man, and I want to be careful. Especially after what happened with that other patient." He pressed down on the handle forcefully, causing pain to shoot through my hand, and flung the door open.

Anakin's eyes shot up to the door, narrowing as he saw Jackson approaching the table. "What the hell do you want?" he snapped, clearly not pleased to see a cop.

He's expressed his hate for them to me on many occasions.

My fiancé grunted as he tugged at Anakin's restraints to inspect them. "Just making sure my future wife is safe in a room with someone like you."

Anakin's eyes briefly met mine, and I wished he could sense my silent apology for the awkward situation. He then turned his attention back to Jackson.

With a grin, he said, "No need to worry Officer Grant. I usually save my expertise for those who truly deserve them." Anakin scrutinized Jackson from head to toe, "She doesn't, but you," He clicked his tongue, a fierce glint in his eyes, "Ever heard of flaying?"

"Anakin." I scolded him, though he didn't spare me a glance.

Jackson shook his head, chuckling at Anakin's dark suggestion, "You really are fucked in the head, aren't you."

Anakin laughed along, their eyes locked in a challenge, "You have no idea."

"Alright," I set my coffee and notebook down on the table, grabbing Jackson's arm to guide him out, "Now that you've had your fun, it's time for you to get back to work." I said firmly, steering him toward the door.

To my surprise, he complied without protest, likely because we were in my workplace and there were guards nearby that would listen to me over him in a heartbeat. "Fine, I'll see you tonight, babe." He placed his hand on my hip and kissed me, lingering a bit longer than was appropriate. I felt bile rise in my throat and I swallowed it down. When he finally pulled away, I noticed his gaze was fixed behind me. "I love you, and stay safe." He gave my hip a gentle squeeze before turning to leave.

I closed the door with a deep sigh.

I turned around, keeping my eyes on the floor as I walked to my chair, sitting down and opening my notebook. "Sorry about that," I said, clearing my throat awkwardly.

Anakin hummed. "A cop," he drawled, "That makes sense."

I slowly raised my gaze to meet his, "How so?

He shrugged and remarked, "It's one of the highest professions out there amongst abusers." He glanced down at the table before adding, "I bet he turns to alcohol to handle the stress of the job, using it as an excuse when he hurts you, right?" His bright blue eyes suddenly locked onto mine with intensity.

Feeling the weight of his stare, I awkwardly looked away and nodded, "Yeah." I cleared my throat, eager to change the subject, "So, were you involved in it?" I asked directly, hoping to redirect the conversation away from myself.

He frowned slightly and tilted his head, "Elaborate sweetheart."

I straightened in my chair and leaned in closer, "The guard, Anakin," I said firmly, "Did you have any part in his death or know who did? It happened on your floor."

"No, I didn't. Cross my heart," he replied, "But that's not really what I want to talk about with you today."

"What do you want to discuss then?" I sighed, feeling a bit exasperated.

His smile broadened, "Did you like your gift, sweetheart?" I must have looked confused because he continued before I could respond, "The drawing. I wanted to ask you about it last time, but you seemed a bit out of it."

"Oh," I gave him a small smile as I remembered the almost professional-like drawing of me, "Yes, it was beautiful and very thoughtful of you, thank you."

"Good," he leaned back in his chair, "But you know what's even more beautiful? The real thing."

His compliment made my heart race, and I quickly swallowed hard, feeling a mix of nerves and confusion. I wasn't used to receiving such praise; it felt nice but also unsettling. "Stop," I said firmly. "I know what you're trying to do, and it won't work on me." I flipped to a fresh page in my notebook and began to jot down the date.

"And what do you think I'm trying to do?" he asked, his curiosity evident.

"Play games with me," I muttered, still avoiding his gaze. "Trying to use me for your own sexual gratification, like you have with others. You're a handsome man, I won't lie and say you're not, so I'm sure you're very used to getting exactly what you want from a woman. But I am more than just a conquest and won't be feeding into your fantasies."

"I know that," he replied, his tone straightforward. Finally, I met his eyes, which were softer than I expected. "I actually like you, (y/n)."

I scoffed and shook my head. "We've already established, Anakin, that you're not capable of real feelings."

"Don't be so certain," he shot back.

"Well," I said, tapping my pen against the notebook as I considered my words, "I'm still your psychiatrist, and I intend to keep things professional. Not only that, but I'm engaged, and I won't betray that trust even if he doesn't deserve my loyalty. That's just who I am."

He tilted his head slightly. "Has he ever accused you of cheating?"

I nodded. "A few times. Why do you ask?"

He leaned back in his chair, shrugging. "He's probably the one cheating on you then," he said bluntly. "People often project their own faults onto others. You taught me that, love."

How did this turn into my therapy session? Again...

He looked at me, intrigued by my quietness. "Does that make you feel sad? Angry? The thought that he might be unfaithful to you? Sleeping with someone else and then coming back to you like a man starved for affection and forced himself on you?"

"No." I replied, answering as best as I could, "It makes me want to pray for her." If she is real, I can't help but wonder if we share some hidden scars.

He blinked, taken aback by my response. "That's quite something to say for an atheist."

Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. "How do you know I'm an atheist, Anakin?"

"You mentioned it before." He looked away, and I sensed he was not being truthful. I had never said that, not even once. I decided to pocket that for later, I won't forget this little slip up of his. Does he have someone on the outside looking into me? Seeing that I'm not apart of any church or Sunday school and therefore jumped to a conclusion?

"I wouldn't call myself an atheist. I just lost faith in a God who abandoned me before I hit double digits. But I believe he might still be there for someone else, perhaps even for that poor girl, if she really exists."

The corner of his lips curved upward into a grin, "You just get more interesting by the day."

I glanced at the clock. "We only have twenty minutes left, and it feels like forever since I last saw you." I dismissed his remark and pressed on, "So, how have you been?"

"Not so good," he answered.

"Why is that?" I asked.

He leaned in, lowering his voice. "It's because I missed you, especially those eyes and don't even get me started on your voice. I could listen to you talk about anything, everyday, for the rest of my life."

I rolled my eyes, but a small and traitorous flutter stirred in my stomach.

That single sneaky little butterfly...

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