Authors Notes: A short narrative/canto/story or whatever in regards to 7x20 (WISC) told from two perspectives.


He staggers into the bathroom, gasping for breath. Pain ensues throughout his body endlessly. A light-headed feeling comes over him as he turns his head and observes his face. Beaten, bleeding and bruised.

She elegantly travels to the en suite. Her hand reaches for the tap when footsteps behind her interrupt her one track thought process. Her lover comes up behind her, smirking as he stares at her in the reflection.

He unbuttons his dress shirt and attempts to pull it off, but a wound with the fabric caught in it stops him. A grunt briefly escapes his lips. He doesn't want to bear the pain again, but he can't stay in this shirt. A sharp breath is drawn in and quickly the fabric rips off his skin. Curse words are lowly spoken as he breathes out.

A splash with water to wake herself up, she's ready to go get dressed. The black, thin silk robe won't do. She wonders where he is for a second - though she is soon distracted by her lover calling her name from the bedroom.

It wasn't anything new to him. Running on zero hours of sleep, many agonizing injuries he'd have to leave untreated and the sting of his sister's foundation to cover up the bruising.

Once she's had a shower, freshened up and put on yesterday's clothing, she leaves the bedroom. Her bag is sitting on the kitchen counter with her car keys beside it. She says she has to go yet her lover insists he'll drive her. They come to a disagreement about how she would get to her condo, change clothes and head to work.

He managed to rid of the blood stains and hides his bodily wounds underneath a fresh grey blazer, his favorite jeans, dress shirt and the ligature marks around his neck by having the collar done up with a tie.

Eventually she gives into her lover's stubbornness.

His hair is combed out of it's shaggy mess, gelled back and done neatly like yesterday. His appearance is no longer an issue. He grabs his phone, taps in a number and holds it to his ear. He's going to be late for work, but there were bigger issues to address.

They stop by her place. She gets out the car, closing the door behind her as she runs to the front door. Her lover watches. After disappearing into the apartment, she comes out a few minutes later in a different set of clothes with her hair done up nicely. He compliments her as she gets into the car, but she rolls her eyes and shuts the door.

He stopped by his sister's place. Since she was a paramedic, he hoped she would be able to do something about his ribs. His pale skin decorated with blue/purple splotches of bruises that ran along with a rib on his right side. The paramedic, his older sister, is horrified when she becomes witness to his injuries. "God help us," She utters, getting started on treating his rib problem.

A feeling of guilt comes over her upon arrival at work. She can see fellow co-workers examining them carefully. Their "little secret" wasn't exactly hidden well. Her lover couldn't convince anyone that there wasn't something going on to save his life. So she walks swiftly ahead of him, making sure not to catch the eye of the captain, who's talking to the lieutenant and a uniformed officer beside him. Her lover doesn't understand why she's embarrassed. He tries to catch up, but she's already gone.

"Promise me that you'll tell your boss what happened?" His sister begs. He simply shakes his head softly, admitting that it's uncertain as to whether he would ever come clean about what happened after his tire was punctured on road. She frowns and pulls him into a gentle hug. It's needed. He hadn't felt so lonely since the last shooting incident.

She doesn't want anything serious with her lover, and hopes he realizes that.

He hates worrying his older sister like this.. But anger washes over him, replacing the melancholy feeling, as he knows nobody bothered to even look for him anyway when he gets to work.

Her day is like any other day. She goes to get coffee, catches up on some paperwork in her office and awaits the next callout to come soon.

His shoulder is killing him. Spikes of an agonizing sensation with every movement sends his body into panicking frenzy. But he plasters an "ok" front up for the day. He'll need to think of a reason why he never came back after his tire went out and left his department-issued vehicle on the side of the road.

She sees him walking down the hallway in direction of the reception desk. He winces, holding onto his arm and purses his lips. A classic sign of discomfort. But what from was a mystery to her. He never clocked out yesterday.

He knows they're all staring at him. Wondering what happened. He thinks of a blatant lie, knowing that the likelihood of them believing he got abducted and taken hostage by Russian criminals, ones in which his friend was in serious debt to, would be slim.

She hopes that he'll be honest. Tell her why. But instead he avoids her when she comes his way, and rushes out of sight.

His sights are set on fixing these issues. He hears whispers calling her names. Saying that she slept with the mentioned lover. If his rib on the verge of fracture hadn't been the most physically painful thing, the way his heart tore was second to none when he heard it.

He's not happy. She can sense his annoyance. The rumors are true, although, protocol was already the top reason why her and her lover couldn't be together.

She's been lying to him. He doesn't know what to say about it. When desire is put above concern, it really does make him wonder what he means to her. She says she cares but he can never convince himself she's phrased it correctly. The trust he had in her dissipated unknowingly.

"..If there is anything bothering you.. anything at all, you do not have to keep it a secret from me."

"I'm not keeping anything a secret." He lies, guilt quenching into his suffering dignity.

Why he lies is something she'll never figure out,

..though he knows that it's because he believes bringing others into his personal life problems wouldn't solve the situation. That was up to him. Not her, his boss, or his other colleagues.

Two mirrors. Two people. Both stuck in something spiralling out of their control. Self destruction vs an unrequited love. She didn't know if she could forgive him for what he did, but he knew that his trust issues had only grown stronger from the stemming issue.

Secrets are, realistically, hidden lies.

Whatever he was hiding, there was a reason he wouldn't tell so willingly.