The Chauffeur Chapter 1 - We Will Wake Up

Summary: Meeting a nurse named Bianca has sparked an obsession in Driver. Though he’s too cautious to approach her now, Driver does a little bit of observing from a distance. A guardian angel, or just a weirdo with a crush and a crazy way of showing it? You decide.

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Media: Drive (2011)

Pairing: Driver/Bianca Andretti (oc)

Word Count: ~9.5k

CW: Voyeurism, stalking (not in a bad way), alcohol, NSFW including: sexual voyeurism, masturbation, mentions of nudity (described somewhat)

…

Santa Monica, a new start. Even though he figures he's safe for now, Driver wakes up in a panic again, reaching over to his nightstand and gripping a hammer. That same hammer he'd used back in the club on Cook. It's still got bloodstains on it. Then he realizes, after several minutes of deep breathing, of looking around his new apartment bedroom, that he's fine, and his hands release the tool and drop it back on the nightstand with a loud thud.

He stands up and shuffles to the bathroom, stripping out of his t-shirt and the boxers he'd slept in and tossing them on the floor. Locking the door behind him, Driver then turns on the shower, steps in, and allows the warm water to pelt at his skin. For just a minute, he stands there, staring into nothing. Thinking about nothing.

No, wrong– he's thinking about how today is his day off. After moving to Santa Monica, Driver got yet another job as a mechanic, though this new boss has no criminal ties. Just a regular mechanic, if not occasionally hot-headed and angry with his employees. And at this new job, with this new boss, Driver works daily, as long and hard as he can, usually so much that he's so exhausted by the time his shift ends that he collapses in bed when he gets home– no dinner, no drinks, just sleep.

So on days off, Driver doesn't know what to do. It's Santa Monica, there's plenty to do– go to the beach, the boardwalk, get drunk, shop, even just walk around. But Driver doesn't do any of that. All he ever does is, well, drive. That same Chevrolet Malibu, though it's been given a fresh coat of slightly bluer paint and a new license plate. He takes it for drives along the coastline, just listening to music and chewing on a toothpick. Clearing his mind.

Today, however, he feels like he deserves a change. There's a little walk-up restaurant near where he lives, just near the beach, and the smell of the food they serve always entices him, but he's never eaten there. So today, he decides as he scrubs a fresh-smelling bar of soap over his skin, he will go get something to eat from that restaurant.

When his shower is finished, Driver ruffles his hair in a towel, then dries off his body and wraps the towel around his waist. Back in his bedroom, he digs through his closet for today's outfit– a plain charcoal t-shirt beneath a denim overshirt, jeans of a close-enough color, and those same brown boots he always wore. A typical outfit of his.

After dressing himself, Driver looks over to the back of the closet door, where his jacket hangs, the gold scorpion emblazoned on the back standing out against the fabric, the white satin still lightly stained puce from the bloodshed he'd endured. Several washes hadn't taken the blood out, and he doubts they ever will come out. Tucked into one pocket of the jacket are his leather driving gloves, which he takes and shoves into the back pocket of his jeans.

On the top of the dresser are his watch, wallet, and sunglasses– he tucks the glasses into his denim shirt's pocket, wallet into his pants pocket, and puts on the watch, then leaves his bedroom. The rest of the apartment is essentially one room, a small kitchen that bleeds into the living room. It's mostly bare, painted a plain beige with carpet of a similar color. The loveseat and recliner are a matching light brown, and the TV– which barely works– rests against the wall and faces the two seats.

The kitchen is just a few counters, a sink, a stove, and a refrigerator. The sink is full of dishes, but the counters are otherwise clear. Driver knows the inside of the refrigerator is populated mostly by beer, cheese, and condiments, while the freezer hosts the food for them– that being frozen pizzas, corn dogs, and other such meals that only need to be heated up. No wonder he was craving a real meal from that restaurant.

Plucking his keys from the hanger on the wall beside the door, Driver exits his apartment, out into the warm California sun. He crosses the balcony and descends the stairs, then goes directly to his car. Once inside, he starts it, and the radio immediately begins blasting Nine Inch Nails. It was the CD he'd put in last, their album Pretty Hate Machine. A car so old only had a CD player because he'd customized it to be so– his skills as a mechanic were beyond just changing tires and rotating axles.

Driver turns down the loud synth of "Terrible Lie" and backs out of the parking lot, then drives slowly down the street towards that little restaurant. He doesn't even know what it was called, but he knows it by sight and smell. It's a small shack, one has to walk up to order. The siding is white but the roof and awning are striped with red, and surrounding it are picnic tables of the same color. It always smells of fried food, like a carnival.

He parks near the sidewalk leading up to the restaurant and shuts off the car, pocketing the keys and heading over to the restaurant, which he now sees is called Mary Mae's. At the window, he looks at the menus hanging around it, wondering what he wants from here. He's been anticipating it, after all, and whatever it is they're cooking smells incredible. Driver finally makes a choice, then hits the bell on the counter to summon the cashier.

"Welcome to Mary Mae's," the cashier greets, "what can I get you?"

Driver is quiet for a moment, giving the cashier an awkward smile, which he returns in an equally awkward fashion. The cashier nearly closes the window before Driver speaks up.

"I'll have a cheeseburger with some fries, and a soda…oh, and also a cup of soft serve."

"What kind, what size?"

Driver blinks. "Huh?"

"What kind and size of soda and soft serve?" The cashier asks, starting to look annoyed.

"Oh. Um…a medium Dr Pepper, and can I get a swirl of chocolate and vanilla for the ice cream? And make that a medium, too."

"Yeah," the cashier says, scribbling down his order. "Okay, so that's a medium cheeseburger combo, Dr Pepper to drink, and a medium swirl soft serve. That'll be $12.75."

Driver nods and digs in his wallet for the cash, then gives exact change. The cashier nods and begins yelling at whoever is in the back cooking, handing them the slip of paper the order was on.

As the meal is being cooked, Driver leans against the wall of the shack, taking a toothpick from his shirt pocket and chewing on it. His eyes flick over to the seating area, where he notices only one person is sitting. A blonde girl wearing washed out teal scrubs, one hand scribbling notes from her textbook to a notebook and the other holding a spoonful of ice cream.

He smiles as he watches her– something about the sight is so cute to him. She's also got music playing on her phone, one earbud in and one lying next to her textbook. Driver wonders what she's listening to, almost going into a fantasy about what it might be, until the bell dings.

"Your order's ready!" The cashier shouts, giving Driver his tray. "Enjoy."

Driver simply nods and smiles, then carries his tray over to the tables. He considers sitting right next to the girl, but instead takes a seat at the table beside hers. His focus is taken away from her for a moment as he digs into his meal, the first non-frozen food he's had in weeks, and although he doesn't realize it, he's eating like a starved animal.

Although it would normally disgust her, seeing someone eat like that, the girl looks up at him and thinks about how cute he is. For a split second, their eyes meet, but just as quickly they dart away, and her eyes are back on her textbook. Driver returns to his food, just as good as he'd imagined it would be, and he's finished eating all but the ice cream fairly quickly.

Now that he's only eating the soft serve, he wants to approach the girl. His eyes are attracted to her phone, where he can see she's listening to some album with a cover featuring a girl in a bikini. Even though she's listening through earphones, Driver can hear it ever so slightly through the one not in her ear, and he's intrigued again.

"What are you listening to?"

Startled by his shadow over her and the sudden burst of conversation, the girl jolts a bit, but settles down when she realizes that it's just him.

"Oh, uh, I'm listening to Deftones," she replies in a soft, high voice, a small smile on her lips. "You like them?"

Driver smiles back at her. "I've never heard them before."

She tilts her head and picks up the free earbud, offering it to him. "You wanna listen?"

He nods silently, his smile widening, and he sits down next to her and puts the earphone in. The song that plays begins with a cymbal-heavy drum part with breathy vocalizations peppered in, before the guitar and proper singing begin.

"I like it. What's it called?" He asks after the chorus concludes.

"Around the Fur," she replies, tucking a strand of long, blonde hair behind her ear. "It's the title track."

"It's good. Can I keep listening with you?"

"Of course." She nods, and her smile widens.

The two return to silence as they enjoy the sound of Chino Moreno's voice together– he eats his soft serve, she continues to skim her textbook and scribble notes, and he watches where she looks. It's a nursing textbook, which makes the fact that she's wearing scrubs make a lot more sense. Her handwriting is somehow simultaneously messy and neat, and she's writing something down about wound care.

"Are you a nurse?" He asks suddenly.

She jolts again, somehow startled by a simple question. "Um, yeah. I'm just working on some continuing education."

"That's cool," he replies, taking a quick bite of his ice cream. "What's your name?"

She brushes her fringe bangs out of her face and looks at him with big, brown eyes. "Bianca. You?"

His eyes dart around nervously, and he hesitates. He doesn't have a name, he can't afford to have one. But she has to call him something…

"Well….they call me, um…Driver."

"Driver?" Bianca asks with a giggle, taking a bite of her own ice cream. "Really?"

"Yeah. 'Cause I drive." He stares at Bianca, wondering why this doesn't make sense to her. It makes sense to him.

She snorts. "Okay, nice to meet you, Driver."

The two continue to sit there together, sharing earbuds as more of Deftones’ discography plays for them. Driver is quiet, always is, always has been, but so is Bianca, he notes. Her eyes don’t stray from her educational materials, except for the occasional darting glance to him, and she doesn’t speak. The most noise she’ll make is humming along to the music, which Driver actually enjoys and finds endearing. He scans her textbook as she does, though he doesn’t understand much of what it says. He finds himself focusing more on her, from the obvious physical traits to the smallest of details.

A double Dolly Parton beauty mark adjacent to the corner of her lips. The way her hands tremble ever so slightly, even while she writes. Her handwriting itself, girly and almost script-like but still a mix of print and cursive. The way her thick, dark eyebrows emote as she reads and thinks. Her lips’ corners twitching into a small smile when a song she particularly enjoys begins to play– he notes the name, “Engine No. 9.”

French tipped nails tapping gently to the song, but not the drums, as one may expect– no, Bianca taps out the bass part, in a line like the neck of the instrument would be. Driver himself is attentive of bass parts in songs, and silently appreciates her knowledge of them. Is she a bassist, he wonders, his imagination beginning to wander to thoughts of Bianca sitting and playing, her delicate fingers plucking at the strings. Or, perhaps, she plays with a pick…

His fantasy is cut short when Bianca looks at her watch, and sighs softly. She flips the textbook and her notebook shut, sticking the pen in the spot she intends to pick back up on, then takes both earbuds into her hands with a yank and pockets them and the phone, and begins to get up. Driver instinctively reaches out and grabs her by the arm, to which Bianca responds with a small gasp, but she doesn’t fight him.

“What are you…” she asks nervously, big brown eyes wide in anticipation, not fear.

“I…” He begins to stammer, releasing his grip on her arm, “…where are you going?”

Bianca tilts her head at him, still unsure how to feel about the way he’d just grabbed her. “Well, I have work soon. I was going to catch a bus, I need to go. It was nice meeting you and listening to music together, though.”

Driver gets up and stands beside her, or, rather, over her, and shoves his hands in his pockets. He stares at her for a moment, and she’s caught in his icy gaze, unable to take another step closer to the bus stop.

“I can drive you,” he says with a ghost of a smile on his face, hoping she would accept his offer.

Bianca giggles and tucks a blonde lock behind her ear. “Sure, why not. You are Driver, after all.”

He nods, his smile widening. “Okay. My car’s over here.”

Bianca follows the mysterious man to the side of the road where a bluish grey Chevy Malibu is parked. Driver unlocks the passenger door and holds it open for her, and Bianca slides into the car. She clutches her books against her chest, not bothering to put on a seatbelt, and Driver shuts the door behind her. He then gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car. A loud, powerful engine springs to life and startles Bianca slightly, but she recovers quickly. Driver takes notes of her surprised little gasp, the way her lips part ever so slightly, how her eyes widen just a bit more than normal.

“Where’s work?” Driver asks before pulling his car out of its spot. He knows every location in this city, so even just a name will tell him where to go.

“Saint Christopher’s hospital,” Bianca answers. “It’s at–”

“I know where it is,” Driver cuts her off. He then whips out of his parking spot and onto the road, accelerating quicker than any car Bianca had ever been in.

As they drive to the hospital, Bianca smiles. “I really love your car,” she tells Driver. “I’m such a fan of these older model muscle cars. I’m partial to the ‘69 Chevelle myself.”

This puts a grin on Driver’s face. “You like the Chevelle? It shares a common ancestor with this car, did you know that?”

Bianca nods. “Yeah. I love the Malibu as well. A shame what modern models have turned into. They don’t have the style or power of one like this.”

Driver’s grin is now so wide it's showing teeth. “Yeah.”

They soon reach the hospital, what with Driver’s knowledge of LA’s every location and the speed of his car. He screeches to a halt at the front entrance, and Bianca bounces back and forward in the seat at the sudden stop.

She laughs, an exhilarated, amused laugh, and readies herself to exit. “Thanks for the ride, Driver. I’m glad I met you.”

As she steps out and shuts the door, Driver nods in response to her, clearly meaning he feels the same. He watches attentively as the blonde bounds into her workplace, her hair bouncing as she practically skips into the door. She walks on her toes, he notices. How cute.

Now that he’s spent his time with this new acquaintance, Bianca, Driver needs to find a way to spend the rest of his day off. But Driver has no other plans– he already ate at the little shack he’d planned to. Maybe he’d just drive around as usual, but that oddly doesn’t seem enjoyable like it usually would. He finds he can’t get his mind off of Bianca, her and her enchanting presence.

Her unflinching willingness to trust him, despite not knowing a thing about the man. It comes on suddenly– at least, it feels that way– but Driver suddenly becomes possessive of her. Protective of her. What if she is to trust someone who she shouldn’t, behaving the way she did with him with someone dangerous? He needs to be there to protect her, right? To keep her away from other new acquaintances that would steal her attention from him.

Driver wants to study Bianca, to see if this would happen. He doesn’t dare set foot inside of the hospital to do this, that would be far too obvious and dangerous. He’d likely get kicked out anyways. So instead, he parks in the lot with a clear view of the entrance, and he waits. He is used to waiting, but in the past it had only been five minutes that he’d do so. This time, he plays through the same three Nine Inch Nails and Front Line Assembly albums multiple times over, and he sits back in his seat, gnawing on the same toothpick for hours, waiting and watching for his little blonde doll to walk back out of the hospital when her shift is over, so he can follow her home.

Finally, that hour comes, ten at night, and Bianca exits the hospital through the employee’s door near the ER entrance, and Driver carefully observes her. Her gait is less bouncy and light than before, but she still walks on her toes. Her hair is messier, eye makeup smudged, dark circles mirroring the dark eyeliner on her top lids. Once neat, clean scrubs are wrinkled and a large stain decorates her front. When she breathes, her chest moves in ragged, shaky inhales and exhales, indicating she’s tired. Driver knows her work as a nurse must be draining, and infers that’s what makes her appear like she’s limping out of a war zone.

Bianca eventually crosses through the lot he’s parked in, not even noticing the Malibu is still parked there. She sits down at the bus stop not too far from the hospital’s parking lot, slumping into the bench. Driver slowly, meticulously pulls on his driving gloves, his fingers making themselves at home in the leather, squeaking as he flexes them. He wraps his hands around the steering wheel and eyes Bianca from the rear view mirror, waiting for the bus to come, just as she is.

When it arrives and she steps on, Driver pulls out of the hospital lot and begins to follow the bus. He stays close, but not too close, cruising just behind another car to look inconspicuous. The bus makes a few stops, which he compensates for by slowing down and sticking a few more cars between it and himself, then speeding up again to make sure he’s close by. It takes several stops before he sees Bianca exit, and she does so on a street of townhouses. Driver recognizes it– he knows every inch of the city, after all– but he recognizes it in a different way than he would had Bianca lived elsewhere.

It’s right across the street from his apartment.

He has seen that townhouse before, with its beige brick exterior and arched windows. The little wreaths she’d hang out for each holiday, the current one being made of autumn leaves in the shape of a heart. The pink rose bushes next to the doorway, the statue of a dolphin in the small piece of lawn that the building allows.

Driver just didn't know Bianca lives there.

He pulls into his own apartment parking lot, knowing that wouldn't arouse any suspicions, and watches as Bianca enters her home. There's a clear view of the bottom floor, which isn't much other than an entrance, as the real living space is upstairs. Through the biggest window, the arched one, he can see her ascend the stairs and drop her books on the table at the center of the living room. She then stands for a moment, running her face over her hands, and heads to a part of the apartment Driver can no longer see.

This angers him. He wants to see more, even the most mundane things. Bianca making dinner, Bianca having a drink after work, Bianca washing the dishes. When she doesn't come back from the kitchen for a few minutes, Driver decides to exit his car and go back into his own apartment, though his window faces her home, so he can still watch if he chooses.

And he does.

Driver heads to the kitchen and grabs a beer– uncharacteristic of him, he rarely drinks the things, despite his refrigerator having plenty of them– then cracks it open and perches in a dining chair he drags to the window. Through a small opening in the curtains, he can see Bianca’s apartment again, and this time she's back in view.

Across the street, Bianca has grabbed herself a drink– for tonight, a green apple Smirnoff Ice– and goes to sit down on the couch, before she realizes she's still in her work clothes. Bianca groans and places the bottle on the coffee table before heading into the bedroom. She gathers up some clothes to change into– a white tank top and a pair of plaid pajama pants– then heads into the bathroom to shower off the germs and scum of the hospital.

Stripping unceremoniously out of her scrubs and the underwear she wore with them, Bianca tosses the dirty garments on the bathroom floor and steps over to the sink. She takes off her makeup with a remover wipe and tosses it, then turns on the shower as hot as it will go and steps inside. The water envelops her in warmth, and she feels the tension of the emergency room wash off of her, down the drain.

As she showers, Bianca thinks back on her day. Not on the patient who moved during an IV insertion and caused her to get a splatter of blood on her scrubs and an unpleasant trip to the room that employees are sent to when exposed to blood like that, not on the patient who begged for a laxative despite their blockage causing appendicitis, a contraindication for such a medicine, and not on her supervisor and friend Dr Bennett treating the break room like a high school cafeteria table to gossip at.

No, she thinks back on Driver.

That man from Mary Mae’s, who had so easily approached her and asked to listen to music with her. Truth be told, she only accepted his offer and tossed aside any doubts or fears about strangers simply because of the fact that he was insanely attractive. His dirty blond hair, slightly messy, a pair of icy blue eyes with long lashes that watched her intently, a sweet, crooked smirk that alternated holding a toothpick and a spoon for ice cream, strong hands that gripped the steering wheel of that sexy car of his, and that absolutely gorgeous nose, the perfect centerpiece to a seemingly angelic face.

As for his personality, Bianca adored it. He was quiet, reserved, but she knew there was more behind those blue eyes than what he spoke. His mannerisms were calculated, as if even the tiniest things in life were a risk. The way he looked at her was a cross between infatuation and the way she'd inspect a wound on a patient– curiosity, morbid curiosity. She is a specimen to him, and whether that is a positive thing or not, she doesn't know.

At least he was sweet enough to give her a ride to work, and took interest in her education. They even shared a love of cars. Admittedly, Bianca is intrigued by the man known only to her as Driver. No, not just intrigued– attracted to. She wants more of this mysterious man, more of his big blue eyes and sly smile and likely deceptively soft mannerisms.

By the time Bianca catches herself having fantasized to Hell and back about Driver, the water is running cold. She's unconsciously cleaned herself, at least, so she shuts off the water and heads back into the bathroom. Bianca takes a towel from the cabinet and dries her body before wrapping her hair in it and wringing it dry. Once both are as free of water as they can be, she slips into the white tank top and pajama pants and exits the bathroom.

Now she can have that after work drink. She slumps onto the couch and sighs before tilting the bottle to her lips and enjoying the sour taste of the malt liquor. Feeling the warmth of the alcohol in her chest, she sighs in satisfaction and reaches for the remote, then flips on the television. Settling on whatever Adult Swim had lined up for the night, Bianca relaxes further into the couch and curls up her legs, leaning against the arm rest. She eyes her continuing education on the table across the room, considering working on it, but after the night she’d had, she wanted nothing less than to deal with anything nursing related.

…

Back across the street, Driver watches her intently, even if it is far away, he can see her lips wrap around the bottle as she sips on her Smirnoff Ice. Seeing such an action sends a pang of arousal through him, settling in his abdomen. He tries his best to get a closer look, nearly smashing his nose into his window trying to do so, and he becomes frustrated. Surely there would be a better way to get a view of her, right? There was the idea of binoculars, but Driver felt that was a little far, even for him. He had a pair somewhere, from back when he was a getaway driver, but would he really use them to watch Bianca sit on the couch and do fuck all?

It’s not like she’s stripping out of her clothes in the middle of her room, but even just the thought of seeing her do so, Driver feels himself get hard. He unconsciously moves his hand to his pants, palming at the hardening piece of anatomy beneath the denim. His breath hitches in his chest, his heartbeat stopping momentarily, but he doesn’t make a sound. He stands up and goes to his room, opens the closet, and reaches for the top shelf. From it, he produces a box full of random things– a flashlight, batteries of all sizes, a few different tools, and most importantly, a pair of binoculars. Taking only these and putting the box back in his closet, he returns to his seat beside the window.

Holding the viewing device up to the window, he adjusts the sights so he can see Bianca much clearer. So much so, in fact, that he can see even relatively small details. No bra underneath that white tank top, he can tell by her visible nipples and the fact that her breasts aren’t as pushed up as they had been in her scrubs. No more makeup, her eyes are fresh and bare and he can tell that her eyelashes are naturally long, without the aid of mascara. Her hair is still damp from the shower, lying in slowly drying strands over her shoulders. Even the glint of her silver hoop nostril piercing is visible to him.

But what especially excites him is the enhanced view of her soft lips around that bottle of malt liquor. Each time she takes a drink, Driver feels a shiver through his body, imagining that those lips of hers were wrapped around him rather than that ring of glass. He’s now far too excited by this simple action she’s doing, one that isn’t inherently sexual at all. He’s hard, so much so that his zipper strains against his erection, that his underwear is surely damp with precum.

With a shaky, barely audible sigh, Driver unzips his pants, freeing his painfully hard cock, and runs a gloved hand up his length, He bites down hard on his toothpick, so hard it may snap if he puts on any more pressure, and presses his face into the binoculars, which are pressed against the window, aimed directly at his pretty blonde doll. While she simply exists, sipping on a drink and watching television, Driver strokes himself– slowly, deliberately, pretending it’s Bianca that is doing it. The barrier his gloves provide is enough to make it feel like another person is touching him, which only makes things worse. He’s trembling under his own touch, particularly each time Bianca takes a drink. With each touch of her lips to the bottle, he rubs his thumb over the leaking head of his cock and growls deep in his chest.

It’s not long before he’s close– he has been feeling like this about Bianca since the moment he met her, but seeing her so casual, so alone…with one more drink and one more motion of his thumb, Driver cums into his own hands, letting out only a small groan at the sensation, despite how fucking good it feels. He continues to stroke himself until he’s overstimulated, then he tucks himself back into his pants. It only sinks in that he’s made a mess of his gloves after a moment of recovery, so he takes them off and walks over to the sink, where he wipes them off gently with a wet cloth. He secretly wishes Bianca could see the mess he’d made over just the thought of her alone, but it’s washed down the drain in seconds.

Maybe someday she’d really cause such a mess, with her hands, with her mouth. Then she’d get to see.

After this incident, Driver is exhausted, and decides he’ll leave Bianca alone for the night. He closes the curtains, locks his door, changes into a fresh pair of underwear to sleep in, and throws himself into bed. Nearly instantly, he falls into a deep, dark, dreamless sleep. Thank God he doesn't dream about Bianca, or he’d be needing to change again.

…

The next morning, Driver wakes up earlier than usual. Around six o'clock. For once, since moving to Santa Monica, he doesn't wake in a cold sweat, instinctively going for the makeshift weapon at his bedside, and he feels rested. Attributing that to what he'd done the previous night, and perhaps even Bianca's influence of simply existing, Driver actually sits up and stretches and doesn't feel like he's been hit by a car for once. He feels refreshed.

But he's woken up this early for a reason, and that's to watch Bianca. When he goes to check through his window, he sees into hers and notes that the lights are still off. Her shifts must always be later in the day, he assumes, and decides to go take a shower while she continues to sleep.

It's a fast shower– quick, aggressive scrubbing of the skin and hair, rinsing off, no time for standing around and thinking. After, he changes into a grey Henley top and acid wash jeans before heading over to the window again. Bianca's light is still off, and this frustrates him. Driver doesn't want to leave the house, especially not his spot in front of the window, until Bianca does.

He chews on a toothpick as he waits, rolling it back and forth on his teeth and tongue. It makes him imagine Bianca's tongue in place of the little wooden stick, and he finds himself aroused again. But this time, he won't do anything. She isn't even in front of the window to provide a visual aid. Sure, he could fantasize, imagine her, but looking through that big, arched window was so much better than just thoughts.

Hours pass, but he waits patiently. Finally, around ten, Driver notices the lights on the right side of the house come on. He assumes this is the bedroom– of course the first light to come on would be in there. What he wouldn't give to be standing on the neighbor's fire escape, in the shadows, peering into that bedroom window. No, not necessarily in a sexually voyeuristic way, but in the way one watches someone they care for.

Like a guardian angel. Or a pet’s owner.

As he waits for the light to the living room to come on, Driver fantasizes about watching Bianca through the bedroom window. He thinks about how deliberate she is in her movements, and how she likely changes clothes in this way. She's intelligent, absorbs words and information like a sponge, she may have books on her nightstand. The scrubs she wore the day before were neat and tidy, at least before her shift began, and he wonders if she keeps them hung neatly in her closet, ready to wear the next day.

He's thrown from his fantasies about Bianca's bedroom when the living room light comes on, and in comes Bianca. She's not dressed for work, but rather in casual wear. A white t-shirt with the logo for the musical artist Filter, tight and cropped just above her hips, with grey sweatpants that hang just around her hip bones. Driver unconsciously licks his lips at the sight of her revealed midriff, the way the two garments work together to show off her hourglass shape perfectly, but he swallows down any horny thoughts and decides to keep his viewing domestic for now.

Bianca enters what he can assume is the kitchen, and returns a few minutes later with a canned energy drink and a bowl of chips. A better breakfast than he had, which was nothing at all. This makes his stomach growl reflexively, and he rises up and walks to the kitchen to grab something. Settling on a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios sans milk and a glass of water, Driver returns to the window and watches while he eats.

He and Bianca are in sync as they have their breakfasts, though she's more delicate with the chips than he'd be. She breaks them into small, bite-sized pieces before putting them in her mouth, he notes. Meanwhile, Driver himself is stuffing spoonfuls of dry cereal into his mouth while he looks at her, as if he is someone so enamored by a movie that they are shoving handfuls of popcorn into their mouth.

They finish breakfast at seemingly the same time, and when she goes to likely toss the used bowl into the sink, Driver gets up and does the same. Both parties return to their seats at the same time, too. For a while, all Bianca does is watch television, curled up against the arm of the couch as she had been the previous night, but around an hour later, she stands up and slips on a pair of checkered Vans sneakers, grabs her purse, and goes downstairs to exit the townhouse.

Driver jumps up, literally, and plasters his face and hands against the window. He observes Bianca walk over to the bus stop and sit down, and instinct takes over and he has to follow her. Quickly, but not so much so that it could garner attention, he leaves his apartment after grabbing his wallet, keys, sunglasses, and driving gloves, then gets into the Malibu and starts it.

He sits and waits for the bus to come, and when it does, Bianca gets on. Driver does as he did the previous night and follows the bus, his mind focused only on keeping up with it. At each stop Bianca doesn't take, his mind wanders further from its mission, curious where she's going. But he swats away that curiosity and keeps going, because he knows that what he's doing will answer those questions rattling around in his head.

The bus finally stops at a train station, and Driver sighs in annoyance. He has to follow a train now? It's not a difficult task, considering he knows all the streets and where the trains go, but it's still much easier when the target is a bus. Regardless, he parks for a moment outside the platform and watches Bianca run up to another person, the two exchanging waves.

Whoever this other person is seems like a faulty clone of Bianca. She's taller, slimmer, less busty, but shares the same hair color and a similar style, although her bangs are parted to the side and it's shorter and in a ponytail. Her eyes are blue rather than brown. She wears something similar to Bianca– something casual, a pale blue tank top emblazoned with the Nike logo, with black leggings and plain navy blue sneakers. The two have a similar vibe, yet are totally different.

He watches the two converse and laugh together, and grips the steering wheel tight. Why is he jealous of a friend Bianca already has? Has had for some time? They only just met yesterday, and knew next to nothing about each other, but Driver can't help but be jealous of Bianca's mysterious friend.

When the train arrives and the blondes get on, Driver is snapped out of his jealous little trance. He follows the train closely with his car, until it finally stops near a location he doesn't expect– Little Tokyo. As Bianca and her friend exit the train, talking and laughing, Driver cruises around so that they remain in his view, but he doesn't make his presence obvious. When he watches them enter a shop, he parks and gets out of the car, dons his sunglasses, and skulks around just out of view.

Through the shop's window, he watches the two order some mochi. Driver has had mochi, and enjoys it, and wishes he could share it with her. They snack on a couple of pieces before packing it up, thanking the shopkeep, and exiting. Driver ducks into an alley before either one can see him, and he catches their conversation.

“Bennett, seriously, I think he'd like it!” Bianca says to her friend. Bennett is the name, apparently.

“Soft serve in Santa Monica one day, mochi ice cream in Little Tokyo the next,” Bennett replies, “you live in such a fun fantasy, Bianca. Who's to say you'll ever see him again?”

Bianca swats her friend's arm. “Oh, fuck you, don't put that negativity into the world! We'll meet again, I am manifesting it.”

Driver smirks at this comment. Of course they'll meet again, though he isn't sure when that will be. He still wants to observe her from afar, at least for now, before he approaches her again. It's not only easier to gauge if she's trustworthy, but also gives him time to ready himself for another instance of closeness with another person.

After Irene, it felt like it would be impossible to do such a thing. But Bianca had shattered that mindset in the blink of a heavily mascara decorated eye. The second she offered that spare headphone to him, Driver decided he wanted that same closeness with Bianca. Even more so, in fact.

Bianca and Bennett cross the street and head into a store– Driver follows them at a distance, which isn't difficult since there's a decent amount of people bustling around. He stands at the edge of the front window and looks in– it's a store that sells all kinds of trinkets, toys, and plushies imported from Japan. A smile cracks on his face as Bianca gushes over one plushie in particular, a large one, a white animal with long ears and a mouth shaped like a three. Driver recognizes it as one of the Hello Kitty related characters, and takes note of Bianca's affinity for it. He doesn't know much about those characters, but he's partial to the frog.

The frog and the scorpion, how ironic.

It seems like Bianca is going to buy the stuffed animal, but when she checks the price tag, she's clearly disappointed. Bennett places a hand on her shoulder and points her towards some figures on another shelf. Driver watches the two giggle and point over the toys like a pair of children, and at some point Bennett picks up a box containing some anime figure. Bianca settles on a keychain of a squishy cartoon octopus and the two go up and pay.

Driver leaves the vicinity before they exit the store, sitting down on a bench in the plaza that's far enough out of the way that she can't see him, but he can see her. He watches her excitedly clip her new keychain to her purse and give it a couple of squishes with her fingers. Bennett follows suit and then they both laugh. Driver is fascinated with these grown, adult, medical professionals– he knows Bennett is one because he hears Bianca refer to her as “Dr Bennett” – acting so giddy over little toys. There's something amusing about it.

After a trip into another store, which Driver doesn't observe too carefully, Bianca and Bennett head for a street food stand. Takoyaki is what they order– fried octopus balls. Driver is shocked she would order something so ambitious, considering the terribly bland and simple breakfast she had, and watching her eat the Japanese snack, he wants one, too. As soon as the two blondes leave, he's going to grab some of his own.

Luckily, they walk and eat, so Driver takes a small break by sitting at the takoyaki stand.

“What can I get you?” Asks the girl running the stand.

Driver looks a bit confused. Was this not the only thing they served?

“Um…takoyaki?”

She tilts her head at him. “What kind? We have variations. Tokyo style, Osaka style, Nagasaki style…”

He doesn't know what any of these variations are. “...Osaka style, I guess.”

“Okay, five dollars.” She turns around to make Driver his snack, and Driver pulls out a five from his wallet, placing it on the counter.

He still watches Bianca and Bennett, making sure that even if he's stopped for a snack he still has them in his sights. Luckily, they go into another store, which should be enough time for the chef to prepare his snack and for him to eat some of it.

When he receives the octopus balls, they're steaming hot, but he digs in regardless. Such a unique texture and taste, he thinks, and considers coming back at another time, when he can properly enjoy it. He's only able to eat about half the dish before Bianca and Bennett exit the store, so he hops off the seat and leaves behind his half-empty plate, walking behind them at a decent distance.

The pair go into a larger building, a complex with multiple stores inside. He peers inside and waits for them to enter a store before coming into the building, and then he goes into the store across from the one they are in. Once more, they're giddy over action figures and other toys, and Bianca finds a figure of something she likes. But judging by her expression and the fact that she puts it back on the shelf, she can't afford it.

After they peruse the store some more, Bianca and Bennett leave empty handed and move on to another in the building, luckily not the one Driver has been in. He crosses the hall and goes into the one they'd just been inside and immediately heads for the figure Bianca had been holding. It's one of a character called Mars from the anime Sailor Moon, one hand on her hip, one outstretched, legs crossed as she stands. How ridiculous anime poses are, Driver thinks, but if Bianca likes it, then perhaps it's worth the hefty price of two hundred dollars. The manufacturing date says 2003, so it's technically vintage, which makes the price make some sense.

Driver takes the figure under his arm and carries it to the register, but as he's walking there, he finds a keychain of that white character Bianca had been eyeing a plush doll of. Cinnamoroll, says the tag. He picks it up, too, and places both on the counter. The cashier makes little conversation with him, other than telling him the price, and he thanks her with a nod before taking the bag of his purchases and leaving.

They're obviously gifts for Bianca, but Driver isn't sure when he'll be able to give them to her. Should he do so in person, or anonymously? Mail them to her, set them on her porch? He's unsure, but what he is sure of is he needs to keep up with her, so he rushes forward.

After Bianca and Bennett exit the building, Driver overhears them talking about going home. This sends a sense of urgency through him, and he heads back to his car as quickly as he can without looking suspicious, starts it, and waits for the girls to head back towards the train station. As they do, he cruises slowly behind them, and when they get on the train, he knows exactly where to go to meet it, and heads there.

While he waits for Bianca's train to arrive, Driver taps his fingers on the steering wheel and chews on a toothpick, anxiously awaiting her return. Finally, the train screeches up to the platform and Bianca and Bennett part ways with a wave. Now, Driver presumes Bianca will get on the bus again and go home. It's not too late in the day, only five in the afternoon, so maybe she has other plans, but Driver figures that she will return home and spend her day off resting.

As he follows Bianca's bus, sure enough it returns to the station by their houses. Before she can get off of it, Driver whips into his apartment's lot and heads inside, locks the doors, and watches out his window again. Bianca heads into her house, walking on her toes as usual, and when she reaches upstairs, she hangs her purse on the wall and heads into the kitchen, then returns with a bottle of water.

Driver wills away the feelings he gets when her lips press into a bottle– how stupid, how desperate of him to get off on such a mundane action. He bites down on the toothpick in his mouth and manages to avoid getting hard for now. Picking up the binoculars from the floor and focusing them on Bianca across the street, he watches as she picks up her continuing education materials from the table and sits down on the couch.

Zooming in a bit more, Driver can barely make out that she's switched to a chapter focusing not just on wound care, but specifically puncture wounds. He feels a phantom pain in his stomach, from where Bernie had twisted a knife in him, and places his hand over the spot.

But then he imagines Bianca caring for him– knelt at his feet, wearing her scrubs and a pair of gloves, gently and carefully cleaning up the stab wound, then stitching it up, slowly, deliberately, gently. He knew in his heart that Bianca was gentle when she worked. It was obvious in her mannerisms, her speech, her demeanor. He also knew she would say sweet, encouraging things as she treated him, telling him he's being so good, he's doing great…

At this thought, Driver feels his cock twitch in his pants. To hear her say something like that would drive– no pun intended– him over the edge in seconds, he'd be unable to resist it. He wants to get off again, but decides against it, because he has a plan to get a better view of Bianca.

With just a slight flick of the wrist, Driver's binoculars are now focused on the fire escape. It's at a window just near her kitchen, which would give him a nice view of her in the living room, but that's not what he wants. His focus changes to the neighbor's fire escape, which is parallel to another window in her house, the one that he has ascertained to be her bedroom window.

It's not that he wants to be voyeuristic in a creepy, sexually violating way– no, he doesn't want to watch her get naked or walk around in her underwear. That isn't what this desire is about. He wants to see her safe in bed, sound asleep. Or perhaps watch as she applies her makeup, which he knows she does delicately, like she does with everything. He honestly just wants to see more of her, and looking in her bedroom is probably the best option for this.

But, despite his intentions being pure– at least, by his standards– Driver can't help but secretly wish he'd end up seeing Bianca changing clothes or getting out of the shower while he hangs around the fire escape. It would be a thought that would linger in his mind for eternity, and he may go insane if he never gets to actually touch her. But that's not the focus.

Now, he wonders when she'll go into the bedroom. When he should make his way to the fire escape. Hiding and keeping silent won't be hard– he's done such things for the work he used to do all the time, and he's a naturally quiet person. Not just in the sense that he rarely speaks, but he's also light on his feet and stealthy when need be.

Before going across the street to look in on Bianca, Driver decides to have a beer to calm his nerves. He sips on it slowly, still observing Bianca through the main window, and notices that they even occasionally take drinks at the same time. It sends a thrill through him– it’s like she knows, and she’s copying him on purpose. Of course, that’s impossible, but he likes to imagine it. Secretly, he hopes she would turn her head and look at him, those dark eyes meeting his blue ones, and they'd both know.

But she doesn't know. She can't know.

It takes him a while, far too long, to finish a single beer. By the time he does, Bianca is milling about the living room, putting away her books and flicking off lights. Driver's heart rate increases, and he jumps out of the chair, grabs a bag, and leaves his house. Crossing the street at an average pace, unassuming, he walks down the street, eventually ending up at Bianca's neighbor's house. Their lights are all off, so his worries lessen, and he walks up the steps of their fire escape on cat feet, making barely any noise when the soles of his shoes touch the metal– when his weight hits it, there's nothing.

Finally at the level that meets Bianca's window, Driver lingers in a corner up against the wall of the neighbor's house, in the shadows. She wouldn't be able to see him unless she intentionally shone a flashlight over there, and that doesn't seem likely at all. So he stands, watching, waiting.

Bianca enters the bedroom and slams the door shut, then digs in her dresser and pulls out what he assumes are her pajamas– a baby pink camisole top and a pair of fluffy pants with a heart pattern on them. Although she takes them into the bathroom, she returns a moment later and Driver nearly chokes when Bianca begins to undress. Right there in front of him, she's peeling out of that tight t-shirt, her breasts bouncing as she does, sliding off her pants and underwear in one motion.

He can't help it– Driver gets hard. But he's not going to do anything about it. Not while she's so vulnerable. He clenches his hands into fists, the leather squeaking while he does, and Bianca takes off her bra. Driver is taken aback– she has the most beautiful breasts he's ever seen, and he fantasizes about holding them in his hands, no gloves as a barrier. Skin on skin. He knows they're soft.

Sadly, Bianca disappears into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. Driver huffs in frustration and waits for her to come back out. In the meantime, he just chews on his toothpick and pokes at the contents of the bag he took with him. It's unimportant now, but he needs to make sure it's still there. It will be later.

It seems like hours before Bianca emerges from the bathroom, but according to his watch, it's only been twenty minutes. She walks out in her pajamas, still wringing out her long, blonde strands in a towel, then drops the towel unceremoniously on the floor.

Driver watches as she messes with her alarm clock radio, setting an alarm for six AM. At least he knows when she'll be up, he thinks, watching her delicate hands press the buttons on the device at her bedside. She then flicks off the lamp on her nightstand, darkening the whole room, and crawls under the covers of her bed.

Soft, pink sheets made of what looks like silk, a fluffy blanket of a matching color, Driver imagines what it's like in that bed. Once more, not sexually– he wants to nestle under those covers with her, to feel not only the warmth of the pink bedding, but also Bianca's body. A closeness he'd never felt before, sharing a bed. He'd like to experience it.

When Bianca settles into bed, finally done shifting around, she looks so…angelic. Her eyelashes, now devoid of mascara, are still long and curl against her cherub cheeks. Her lips are barely parted, and her chest rises and falls slowly as she drifts off. She's asleep in only a few minutes, much sooner than it would've taken him to fall asleep.

Once he's absolutely sure Bianca's out, Driver walks forward just a bit, almost inaudibly. The fire escape only barely, barely makes a squeak as he steps on it. He peers through the window at his sleeping beauty and smiles, a genuine, warm smile. His hand reaches out to touch the glass of the window, but he changes his mind, recoiling his fingers, the leather of his gloves squeaking as they curl up.

It's not creepy, the way Driver watches her. He wants to make sure she's okay. And he knows now that she's okay, and always will be since he is here. He feels almost like a guardian angel of sorts…if a guardian angel was attracted to the person they were intended to watch over, of course.

It's at least thirty minutes that he watches her– she tosses and turns a few times, but never wakes up. He loves watching her, just seeing her. He doesn't want to stop, but he has to leave at some point. Yet he needs to keep this moment, this image. So he digs into his pocket and pulls out one of his many burner cell phones, one with a camera, and snaps a quick photo.

Jumping when he realizes it lets off a small flash, Driver immediately flips the phone shut and dashes back down the fire escape. Before he leaves, he does one more thing, but then he returns home.

 Back at his own apartment, Driver's heart is racing. He jumps into bed immediately and flips back open the phone, staring at that photo he took. Beautiful, sweet Bianca, sound asleep, surrounded by pink. She's like an angel, he thinks, and smiles as he falls asleep himself, dropping the phone on his chest.

…

The next morning, Bianca wakes up to an obnoxious alarm and heads to the kitchen. She takes her meds, sorting them carefully, then scoops them into her hand and swallows them all at once. After returning to her bedroom, she slips into a pair of dark teal scrubs and sits down to do her makeup.

As Driver assumes, she does so delicately, methodically, switching hands when switching eyes. She doesn't cake it on, just some liner and mascara, then goes into the kitchen once more. Taking an energy drink under one arm and her purse over the other, Bianca heads downstairs and shoves her feet into her hospital sneakers.

When she walks out the door, locking it behind her, Bianca notices something at her feet on the porch. A bag, it has Japanese writing on the side. Curiously, she picks it up and rifles through it, discovering it to contain something…interesting.

A Cinnamoroll keychain and the Sailor Mars figure she’d been eyeing. Where the Hell did it come from?