When the Rain Washes You Clean, You’ll Know Chapter Two - A Little Less Conversation

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Media: The Nice Guys

Pairing: Holland March/Bianca Andretti (oc)

Word Count: ~11.9k

CW: Religion, sexual assault/abuse mention (not descriptive), alcohol, smoking, NSFW including: slight exhibitionism/vouyerism, blowjobs, drunk sex acts (consensual)

"Okay, we can start with Byron, since he's the one I want to get out of the way first."

This is Bianca's response to Holland requesting that they dig deeper into her evidence against her abusers, what he's dubbed "The Scumbag Files." A fitting title, it made Bianca giggle when he first said it.

She reaches across the desk to take back Byron's file, and pulls out the photo of him with her handwritten notes scribbled on it. Holland has already checked it out, but she decides to summarize it anyways.

"So, like I said, Byron was a family friend," Bianca begins, staring blankly at his photo. "Back when I was a little kid, he would…well, you know. Every time he came to a family function. He was always there, because I have a big Italian-American family, and we invite basically anyone we know over."

"Is it the mafia?" Holland asks inquisitively, his fingers holding his chin, earning glares from both Bianca and Healy.

"Do you really think that's an appropriate question to ask her?" Healy asks, like a parent scolding their child.

Holland shrugs. "I mean, if she has mafia ties, that could be a lead, right? What if this guy's in the mafia?"

Bianca sighs. "He's not. I'm not, either. It may sound like it when I mention the whole family thing, and the fact that he works at the same mechanic shop as my father, uncle, and grandfather, but it's not mob related, I swear."

He nods, takes a pen, and begins to scribble on a notepad. "Not…in…mafia," he mutters to himself as he writes.

"Anyways," Bianca continues, "from what I could gather through work-related avenues, Byron is now married with two kids. They live out on the way to Santa Barbara, he has his own business now apparently, doing roadside repairs with his son."

"I'm sorry, if you have all this information, what exactly do you need us for?" Healy asks, thumbing through another one of her files.

Holland puts a hand up to shush him. "This wonderful angel comes to us for help, and you want to deny her our services?"

Healy shakes his head. "No, I never said–"

Pointing at him with his cigarette, Holland continues, "you're a real detective now, and we have a code, remember?"

"Yeah, well, she's a nurse, and they have a code. Confidentiality, ethics. Doesn't seem like she cares much about following codes." Healy eyes Bianca, and the corner of her lip twitches into a smile when he says this.

"Whatever," Holland says with a wave of his hand. "Bianca, please continue."

She scoffs. "It's okay. I need you guys because you can help me get the real evidence. Sure, I have names, addresses, personal memories…but you guys can get real dirt. Do real investigations. And then I'm going to take what you gather to these motherfuckers' wives, employers, friends, whoever will listen. I'm going to ruin their lives, because they ruined mine."

Both men look at each other, then at Bianca, who no longer looks depressed. She looks…inspired. Confident. A shine in her eye that isn't just welled-up tears. Holland smiles when he sees her change in expression.

"That we can do," Healy says, taking a seat. "Now, this Byron guy you want to start with. What do we do with him? Do we need to find out any places he frequents? Try to get some work from his repair business?"

Bianca shakes her head and smiles, digging more into the file. "Nuh-uh. I've got just the place to get him. See, Byron's wife is a hard-core Catholic. When they got married, she made him follow the same path. Get confirmed, all that. Their kids are christened, have godfathers, all that nonsense.

Anyways, Mr Repentance does go to their small church in Santa Barbara, but he also takes trips to a cathedral right here in the City of Angels. He never goes in, but he stands around it. He wants to, but he doesn't. I think he's scared. It's La Chiesa di Molti Santi. Big, elaborate place. We can find him there on a Wednesday around noon."

Taking a puff from his cigar, Healy nods. "Okay, okay, so we find the guy at this church. But what should we do from there? Follow him around?"

Having been quiet for just a minute, sipping on a glass of bourbon, Holland's eyes go wide and he swallows hard so he can speak as soon as possible.

"Undercover! We go undercover!" He shouts.

Healy narrows his eyes. "Fuck you mean, undercover? He doesn't know us. We don't need to go undercover."

Holland begins pacing, pointing with his cigarette. "No, no, get this. You and me, we dress up as priests–"

"Oh, fuck off," Healy laughs with a dismissive wave.

"Let me finish!" Holland says defensively. "Okay, so me and you, priests. Bianca, a nun. Bianca and I can convince him to go do confessions, right? And you, you can be the other side of the confessional! And you can record it all!"

Healy scratches his chin and sighs, not speaking for a moment. "Even if we did do this, what's to guarantee Byron's gonna confess about this subject in particular?"

Bianca smirks. "I know. We guilt him into it. Subliminally. And he won't recognize me in the nun disguise, or with my blonde hair, but I know he'll see my face, and while he won't immediately know it's me, he'll think that I resemble…well, me, and memories will come flooding back."

"Yes, yes!" Holland says, taking a quick swig. "Bianca, that's genius."

"I dunno…" Healy says, still not sold on the plan. "It feels like we're missing something."

Just as he says this, the door to the agency opens, and Holly enters with the snacks she was sent to get. Holland smiles mischievously.

"An innocent little church girl to manipulate him into confessing."

Holly raises her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Your father is coming up with some great plan to get a confession out of one of our targets," Healy says, taking the bag of chips that Holly hands him. "Thank you, by the way."

The young girl puts her hand on her hip as she tosses the other bag of chips to her father. "And what incredible idea has the world's worst detective come up with this time?"

As he opens the chips, Holland furrows his brow. "Holly, what did I tell you about saying that in front of the clients? She doesn't mean that, by the way. It's just an inside joke." He looks at Bianca as he says this.

Bianca laughs behind her hand. "Oh, it's okay. Holly, your dad's plan is actually pretty good. I'm actually all in on it, so far."

Holly sits on the desk and pulls a bag of candy from her pocket, then begins popping pieces into her mouth. "Like I asked before, what's the plan?"

Holland swallows the chips he's been chewing and chases it with bourbon before speaking. "Okay. So this guy we're after is a hard-core Catholic. We're going to sneak into this cathedral he hangs around and get him to confess. Bianca is going to use subtle psychological cues and a nun disguise to get him to confess, right? Me and Healy, we're priests. Healy will be in the confessional, ready to record all his sins."

"Mhm," Holly says, kicking her feet lazily, "and where do I fit into this?"

"You lure him in," Bianca says. "See, Byron never goes into the church. He's like…scared. But you could play the innocent little church girl, lure him inside, and then you and I will talk and convince him to confess. Your dad will play a part in this too. Then, he goes to confess in Healy's confessional, where he'll have a tape recorder, and we have plenty of dirt on that testa di cazzo. That is, if you're comfortable with it, of course."

Holly looks up in thought, weighing her options. Something she does enjoy when being involved in cases is deception, and deceiving a scumbag Catholic by playing innocent sounds fun. Seeing her father and Healy in priest outfits also sounds like a funny experience, and all of this to help out sweet Bianca?

"Sure, I'll do it," Holly decides. "I'm going to be Anna, an innocent and pure churchgoing girl who studies the good book every day and wants to be a nun when she's older. Bianca, your nun character will be Sister Andrea, Anna's mentor. Dad, we'll call you…Father Elliott. You're a priest that secretly gets drunk on communion wine."

"Hey!" Holland interjects.

"And Mr Healy is Father Monaghan, the trusted priest that we can all trust with our confessions. He's toooootally not recording them as blackmail." She winks at the mentioned man as she says this.

"And there we go!" Holland says loudly, victoriously. "Holly's put everything together! I knew she'd be the perfect addition."

His daughter narrows her eyes. "You didn't even want me on this case."

Holland points at her with his cigarette. "But I changed my mind, didn't I? And I'm glad I did. This is going to be the best plan we've ever made."

Healy, who was initially skeptical, shrugs. "At first, I thought it was stupid, but now, it's sounding better. My question is, where do we get the outfits?"

Bianca smirks. "I know some people who are…into…religious role-playing. They can point me in the direction of some authentic-looking, yet not totally sacrilegious, nun and priest getups."

Shocked that she knows this, but pleasantly so, Holland raises his eyebrows. "I…actually know of a shop that sells that stuff."

She feels her face burn at the thought of her and Holland, as Sister Andrea and Father Elliott…

"Oh, really? Are you…into that?" She asks sheepishly.

"No, he just works in a sex cesspool," Holly answers, still kicking her feet. "He could find you any kind of weird costume you need."

Holland shrugs and grins. "This is Hollyweird, after all."

Healy begins to write down everything that's been said. "Okay, so we've got this all planned for Wednesday. March, you're getting the costumes. I'll get the recording equipment. Bianca, why don't you help Holly get made up into a church girl?"

Bianca looks at Holly and smiles warmly– Holly can tell she's starved for friendly interaction. From what she saw at the hospital, Holly knew Bianca as a kind and friendly person, so she trusted that she'd get her looking right for the part easily.

"I'll give it a shot. Why don't we go to a thrift shop for the clothes, so we don't have to spend a bunch?" Bianca suggests.

"Sounds good," Holly replies with a smile.

…

Bianca adjusts her habit in the rear view mirror, and pushes her glasses back against her face with a single hand on the side of the frame. Holland tugs uncomfortably at his priest's collar. Healy checks the recorder. Holly flips aimlessly through the Bible they'd stolen from a motel room.

"Are you ready for this?" Holland asks, placing one hand on Bianca's shoulder and the other on Holly's.

Holly nods confidently. "Yeah. Are you, dad?"

Holland scoffs. "Of course I am. Healy, you ready?"

"Ready." He places the recorder into the hollowed-out Bible and snaps the book shut, tucking it under his arm and stepping out of the car. "Just hope we don't all catch fire when we go inside."

First, Healy goes into the church. There's a side door that they're all going to use– nobody sees them go in, it's inconspicuous. Once he's inside, he heads to one of the empty confessional booths and takes a seat on the side a priest should be in. He feels mildly guilty, in the Catholic sense, as his Irish upbringing would consider this blasphemy, but Healy has grown wise and given up on God, so the guilt disappears. He'll take confessions of random people in the meantime, assigning Hail Mary's he has no business giving, absolving people of things he's unsure he should, but it's all necessary.

Next is Holland. He smokes a cigarette before he goes in, and when he enters, he tries to look harmless, to blend in. His anxious prey animal mannerisms and darting glances don't help, but he decides to get to work by plucking each Bible and hymnal from the backs of the pews, flipping through them. He'll claim that he's checking to make sure nobody has drawn or written in them– that excuse was his idea entirely, even if everyone else told him it was ridiculous.

Bianca goes inside a few minutes later, also finishing a cigarette before assuming her role as Sister Andrea. She saunters into the cathedral with a gait and general air unbecoming of a nun– a role-playing person assuming the role of a sexy nun, maybe, but not a real nun. She matches glances with "Father Elliott" and flashes a demure smile, half in-character and half real. He winks back at her with a cute little lopsided smirk, as he does, and her heart skips a beat when he does this. "Sister Andrea" then goes to the candles at the altar, watching the flames dancing.

Holly is the last to exit their little hiding spot, parked just behind the church, but she doesn't go inside. She heads to the front steps and sits down, flipping open her Bible and attempting to parse the scripture. All of the old English phrasing and numbered paragraphs make her head hurt– Holly loves reading, but the good book isn't exactly her cup of tea. She waits until Byron shows up in the piazza across from the church, because Bianca knows he waits there and stares at the building, scared to go inside.

Soon, "Anna" spots the man, knowing him well from Bianca's descriptions and photographs. Slowly, inconspicuously, she shuts her Bible and tucks it under her arm, then steps across the street to the square, and meanders through the crowd seemingly aimlessly, flashing an innocent smile at all the strangers. When she gets close to Byron, she feigns concern by knitting her eyebrows and approaches him.

"Hey, mister, you look sad," she says as innocently as she can sound. "What's wrong?"

He gives a small chuckle and smile to her. "Oh, it's nothing…just checking out the church, you know."

"Anna" tilts her head. "Why don't you come inside? We welcome everyone. We'd be happy if you joined us."

Byron looks away, shuffling his feet in what seems to be anxiety. "Ah, I dunno…I already belong to one church, I wouldn't feel right going to another…"

"Please," she says, "we don't mind if you visit more than one church. That just means more chances to worship, right? Come with me, I'll take you to check out La Chiesa di Molti Santi. We can pray together."

"Hmmm…" He hums with uncertainty. "I don't know that I have anything to pray about right now…"

"Anna" laughs. "Sure you do! There's always something you can tell to God, no matter how small. I'm sure I can help you find something to pray about."

As she says this, she flashes up innocent, bright eyes and a smile to match, hoping her youthful appearance will remind him of a young Bianca. It seems to work, as he shifts uncomfortably.

"Ah, okay," he finally agrees. "I'll go with you. Lead the way."

She smiles victoriously. "Of course. Follow me."

As they cross the street, "Anna" walks in front of Byron, so he cannot see, but that smile turns to a devious smirk, and she anticipates meeting up with Bianca inside the church to really begin the plan.

Byron follows "Anna" into the church, which is grand and gilded, decorated by statues and paintings of saints, of angels, of biblical scenes. Chandeliers provide the lighting in the place, with the altar candles adding only slightly more. "Anna" spots "Father Elliott" in the pews and they share a subtle nod with each other, but she leads Byron over to a pew in the front rows, right by the altar that "Sister Andrea" is tending to.

They sit down together, and Byron admires the interior of the church. "Anna" smiles at him, anticipating a conversation. Her eyes flick over to "Sister Andrea" for a second, who smiles in response.

"So," she says after a moment of silence, "why don't we think of something to pray about? There has to be at least one thing you'd like to talk to the Lord about, mister. Me, well…I need to apologize for something."

Byron looks sort of nervous. "You? What do you need to apologize for?"

"Anna" sighs an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, it's just…I really hurt my friend Janet when we were younger. She's still traumatized about it, and has to take medicine for her anxiety. I feel so bad about it, I dedicated myself to God to absolve myself. I even want to become a nun when I'm old enough."

Bianca's abuser swallows nervously. "Y-you pray for forgiveness for things you did years ago?"

Trying not to smirk, she nods. "Yes. Even if it happened when you were too young to know what you did wrong, God will forgive you."

"Huh…" Byron avoids eye contact.

"Anna" looks up at "Sister Andrea" when Byron's not looking, and beckons her with a jerk of the head. She walks over, waving and smiling excitedly.

"Oh my goodness, Anna! How are you doing?" She puts on her customer service voice– higher and sickly saccharine in comparison to her normal tone. "Who is this? Have you brought someone new to join us?"

The younger girl nods excitedly, grabbing Byron's hand, shocking him out of his guilty trance. "Yes! He wants to pray with me to ask for forgiveness."

"Sister Andrea" takes a seat beside the two of them, dark eyes meeting Byron's. He blinks nervously, then squints, as if he's trying to place who she is.

"Oh, that's a lovely idea, but Anna, we need to go work on your studies," she says. "If you want to become a sister when you're older, you have to start as early as you can."

"Anna" fakes a disappointed sigh. "But I was going to pray with this man!"

Having been listening, "Father Elliott" takes his cue and walks up.

"Hey guys, how's it going?" He asks casually, hands on his hips.

"Father Elliott!" "Sister Andrea" squeals excitedly, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight. "It's wonderful to see you."

As they pull apart, "Father Elliott" feels his face burn with blush and he's stunned for a moment. Did she really just hug him like that? In front of everyone? Was it part of the act, or did the real Bianca feel this way…

"Oh, uh, yes, very nice to see you too, Sister Andrea," he replies. "And you, Anna."

"Anna" smiles. "Father Elliott. Hope you're staying out of the communion wine."

He narrows his eyes at her. "Hey now…"

"This man wants to pray for forgiveness with us," "Sister Andrea" begins, "but Anna and I have to go study. Would you have time to pray with him?"

"Father Elliott" fakes a sigh. "I would love to, but I have to prepare for my, uh…my next sermon. Why don't I take you to confess with Father Monaghan? He's great with that kind of stuff."

Byron scratches his head, still avoiding looking at "Sister Andrea." "Oh, I don't know…"

"Ah, c'mon," "Father Elliott" says, grabbing Byron by the arm, "let's go confess. I'll see you around, Sister Andrea, Anna."

"Goodbye, Father Elliott!" They both call with fake smiles and waves.

The two men arrive at the confession booth, which is ready for a confessor. Empty. Byron looks nervous, but "Father Elliott" is impatient and honestly just wants to push him in.

"Well, go on," he encourages. "You'll feel so much better after."

Byron sighs heavily and enters the booth, watching "Father Elliott" disappear behind the outside of the curtain. The center partition flips up so that only lattice separates him from "Father Monaghan."

"Hello, my child," says the gruff voice from the other side.

Swallowing hard, Byron says, "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It's been two weeks since my last confession…"

On the other side, "Father Monaghan" opens up the Bible and pulls out the recorder, then flicks it on. The tape inside begins to spin as it records. "Go on, my son."

"Today, I was reminded of a sin I committed years ago. A little girl here told me I could ask for forgiveness for them."

"Of course," "Father Monaghan" responds, "as long as you repent, the length of time does not matter."

"Okay. Well, this little girl…her and this nun, they reminded me of a girl that I hurt years ago."

"Father Monaghan" wants to punch through the partition and strangle Byron just knowing what Bianca went through because of him, but remains calm.

"She was the daughter of a family friend. The Andretti family. Bianca was her name. And sometimes when I'd visit, I'd….I'd…"

As "Father Monaghan" listens to Byron describe what he did to Bianca, he feels sicker and angrier with each word. His urge to kill the man grows and grows. He imagines a young Bianca crying and hiding and shoving herself into a corner, he imagines her fear. He wants to vomit.

"And that's about everything, I think," Byron finishes. "Please, forgive me."

"Father Monaghan" bites back rage, and speaks calmly. "That's two hundred Hail Mary's. And never, never do that again."

Byron nods and swallows hard. "That's a lot of– never mind. Yes, Father. Thank you."

Meanwhile, Bianca, Holland, and Holly are sitting on a random pew, discussing biblical stories only half correct, until an angry looking older nun, a real priest, and two kids approach them.

"There's the fake guy!" One kid says, pointing at Holland. "Says he's called Father Elliott, but he got the story of Jacob and Esau wrong when I asked!"

"There is no Father Elliott at this church," the real priest says sternly. "Who are you?"

Holland scratches behind his head. "Oh, uh, I'm new here."

"She's not a real nun either!" The other kid shouts, pointing at Bianca. "I heard her saying something blasphemous! She took the Lord's name in vain!"

The older nun narrows her eyes at Bianca. "Yes…and that habit is being worn incorrectly. And your dress is far too tight. Tell me, "sister," when did you join us?"

Bianca's eyes widen and she swallows hard. "I, uh…I just joined today."

"What a coincidence," the priest says, "a new priest and a new nun on the same day. Yeah right. You need to leave."

Holland nods, putting up his hands. "Okay, okay, can I go get my friend?"

"You have another lying sinner among you?" The nun snaps. "Get him, and get out!"

Holland gives a thumbs up as he rushes over to the confession booth and knocks aggressively on Healy's door.

"Occupied!" Healy shouts, as if it's a bathroom stall.

"Um, Father Monaghan," Holland says, trying to stay calm, "let's just say the uh…the sacred lamb has been slaughtered. Cain has killed Abel with a rock. Lucifer has fallen from heaven."

Healy shakes his head in confusion. "What?"

"We need to leave!" Holland hisses, hoping Byron can't hear. "Come on!"

"Oh!" The real nun shouts, pointing at the confessional. "He's in there? I can't believe this!"

Healy groans and packs up the recorder, then exits the booth. He and Holland begin walking quickly to the exit, meeting with Bianca and Holly, and they all hurry out.

"Don't ever come back!" Screams the priest. "Filthy, blasphemous wretches!"

The group runs down the street, back to the car, and they all hop into the convertible, laughing the entire time. Healy starts the car and they peel out of the parking spot, making a beeline for the office.

"I can't believe they caught us!" Holland laughs. "What do you think gave it away?"

"I look like I'm wearing a slutty nun Halloween costume?" Bianca suggests with a giggle. "I mean, it is a nun costume from a sex shop…"

Healy is laughing too. "Whatever, we have all his sins right here." He taps the Bible that holds the recorder.

Bianca eyes it, curious exactly how much detail Byron went into when he spoke to Healy. Hopefully it's enough to get back at Byron at least a little bit. It will never make up for what he did to her, but it could be something.

…

Back at the office, everyone chooses to take off their disguises except for Holly, who actually likes the outfit Bianca chose for her, and the braid she put in her hair, even if she normally wouldn't go for that type of look. However, Holland immediately pops off his priest's collar and strips out of his shirt, now only in a white tank top with his regular pants.

Bianca's eyes widen at the sight, and at the fact that he'd do this in the middle of the office, in front of everyone. Healy changes in the bathroom, into one of his usual button up short sleeved shirts and jeans. But Holland has stripped right before her eyes. Bianca doesn't know why this affects her at all– she did help him down to his underwear back at the hospital, after all. So why was him simply shrugging out of a black button down so special to her?

"Are you going to change?" Holland asks, now behind the bar pouring a drink. "Or are you just going to be a nun forever?"

She rolls her eyes and scoffs. "Absolutely not. As fun as dressing up is, I'd never subject myself to the nun lifestyle. Like, first off, I'm not Catholic, and second off, you can't fuck. I mean, I'm sure the nuns are out there fuckin' each other, but they can't have sex with outsiders."

Holland makes a tsk sound and shakes his head. "Being a nun really would suck. It's a shame, you look so good in the outfit."

Bianca nearly starts choking on her own spit, then gathers her spare clothes from the couch and rushes into Holland's private office, locking it behind her. Her back is plastered against the door, and she slides down, a sigh escaping her as she descends. Once she's sitting down, she yanks off her glasses and habit, tossing them aside and running her hands over her face.

That man was going to drive her crazy.

His flirtatious remarks in the hospital were understandable– he was high on morphine, after all. Well, not the whole time, considering he hadn't been administered the medicine when she had to help him change into the hospital gown, and that was certainly something…

But everything else…it's intentional. His compliments, the way he looks at her, those smirks and winks and tilts of the head…Holland is definitely flirting with her. It likely didn't help that she hugged him when they were in disguise at the church, but she had been acting on instinct. The hug was, admittedly, one of the nicest feelings she'd felt in years, and she wouldn't complain if Holland wanted to do it again.

Or more than just a hug.

Bianca manages to stand up, and begins to pace Holland's office. It's unorganized, as she'd expected– there are notes and files scattered about, pinned haphazardly on the wall. Pens, office supplies in just as much disarray. He notably has a framed photo of his family– himself, a younger Holly, and the woman that must've been his late wife. She was pretty, Bianca thinks– long, blonde hair that was clearly passed on to Holly, a sweet smile, delicate features. Secretly, she feels envious, but stows the thoughts away.

She remembers the reason she actually came into the office, and that was to change. Bianca slips off her boots, kicking them to the corner, and then goes to unzip her dress. However, she can only get the zipper halfway down before she can't reach it anymore.

"Shit," Bianca hisses, weighing her options.

First, there's the idea to dig in the desk for a paperclip or something and use it to undo the zipper, but what's the guarantee it will even work? Then there's the idea of Holly helping her, but she doesn't want to expose a young girl to herself. And then there's the dreaded option of asking Holland or Healy.

If she asks Holland, there are several outcomes. An awkward encounter where she and Holland freeze up. He sees her body and gets disgusted. When she asks, he refuses. He makes a joke of it.

Or…something else.

With a sharp inhale, Bianca unlocks the door and peeks her head out.

"Um, Holland, could you help me with the zipper on this thing?" She asks timidly, fingernails digging into the door.

He shrugs and sets down his drink. "Sure."

Holland enters the office and locks it behind both of them, and Bianca faces her back to him. They stand there, silently, but it's not necessarily an awkward silence– there's a heavy warmth in the air, it's almost suffocating.

"Okay, uh, here I go," Holland says softly, playfully, taking the zipper in his fingers and slowly pulling it down.

His other hand slides the dress off her shoulders, down to her chest, and when his skin brushes against Bianca's, she whimpers. As soon as she realizes the noise she made, her face lights up pink and she bites her lip.

Holland continues to pull the dress down, taking some effort to pass the fabric over her bust, and it reaches her waist. When his fingers touch her lower back, Bianca jolts, whines, and backs into him by accident.

"Whoa," Holland chuckles, feeling his own face heat up.

Bianca puts her hands over her face and scuttles away from him, hiding in the corner of the room.

"I'm so sorry," she mutters, wishing she could just disappear.

Holland smiles and scratches behind his head. "It's okay. I guess I'm not as gentle as you were when you took off my clothes to put on the gown."

Bianca looks over her shoulder at him, eyes wet with tears. "Y-You are gentle. I'm just…sensitive."

"I'll get out of here if you want to, uh, finish yourself," Holland offers, picking up her spare clothes from the floor and offering them to her.

She nods and turns back to him, her upper body bare other than a lacy white bra, and his eyes widen. He didn't think he'd ever get to see her like this, and he was enjoying it, but in his eyes, Bianca was clearly embarrassed.

"You, uh, you look good," he says awkwardly before turning and leaving the room, leaving her there all alone.

Bianca sits down on his desk, still half naked, and groans angrily into her hands. She had the perfect opportunity to do at least something with him, and she ruined it by being weird and not sexy. It was something she's always thought about herself, that she isn't sexy– just weird.

As she changes into her regular clothes– a white short sleeved turtleneck and lavender flared pants with a floral pattern– Bianca feels a throb of pain in her wrist wound. Shame, regret, anger, self-hatred, they all triggered that pain. It was inflicted for those reasons, after all.

Back in the main office, Holland is quiet, sitting behind the bar and nursing a glass of scotch. Holly is reading a book she does like this time, and Healy is scribbling down what he can remember from Byron's confession on paper. Holland is thinking about how he fumbled Bianca just now– reacting to a clearly aroused noise and motion by saying "whoa?" Offering to leave the room when things were getting better? He wants to punch himself.

After a minute, Bianca returns from Holland's office and takes a seat in the chair in front of the desk.

"Can I listen to the confession?" Bianca asks Healy. "I want to make sure everything is accurate."

Healy nods. "Yeah, sure. March, you should…" He tilts his head at Holly.

Holland makes a zip noise with his mouth and motions for her to go to his office.

"Out," he says. "I don't want you to hear this."

At first, she wants to be defiant, but after seeing the expression on Bianca and Healy's faces, Holly realizes it must be something truly bad.

"Okay," she agrees, taking her book and disappearing into her father's office.

Once she's gone, Holland takes a seat beside Bianca. She exhales shakily and bites her lip.

"Play it."

…

Minutes later, after the confession has been played, Bianca has tears dripping down her cheeks, but she says nothing. And there's no sobbing, no noise. Those dark eyes of hers are set in a thousand yard stare, and her hands are balled into fists, so tight the knuckles are white and her nails are biting crescents into her flesh.

"Do you…need some time to process this?" Healy asks softly, sliding a box of tissues across the desk to her.

Bianca takes a tissue and dabs at her face. "No. I was there, I already knew what that faccia di merda was going to say. He was…surprisingly honest."

"I'm uh, I'm really sorry," Holland says nervously, "about all that. I can't imagine how you feel. But trust me, we're going to get back at him."

She nods, giving a small smile to Holland. "Thank you. I know you will. How are we going to get this out there?"

"I'd say broadcast it over public radio, but that's…no, that's fucked up," Holland says, waving a hand at his own suggestion.

Healy nods. "Good call, March. I think we're going to make copies of this tape, and we're going to send them to his wife and the priest from his main church in Santa Barbara. Since he's self-employed, there's no boss to send it to, and I think getting him kicked out of the church is the next best thing."

"I agree," Bianca says with a sniffle, dabbing away the last of her tears. "But we're going to need to sneak into another church for this one."

Holland sighs, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. "He already recognizes us, though. How will that work?"

The door to Holland's office creaks, and everyone looks over to see Holly has been peeking in.

"How long have you been listening?" Holland asks, irritated. "I told you not to–"

"Byron never actually saw Mr Healy," Holly interrupts, walking back into the room. "He can give one tape to Byron's wife and one to the priest. If Byron sees him, it's no big deal."

The three adults nod at each other, then at Holly. She smiles victoriously, proud that once more, her contributions are important.

"You're right," Healy says. "Right. I'll get the copies of these tapes made, then come Sunday, we'll drive down to Santa Barbara and give them to the wife and the father. Sounds good?"

Holland nods and takes a drag. "Sounds good to me. I'm counting Holly in as well. You good with it, Bianca?"

Bianca grins mischievously and nods. "It's a deal."

"Good," Holland says, relieved that Bianca is in on the plan. "So that's a day of work done, right? You need another ride home, Bianca?"

Her face turns pink and she thinks back to the office moment. Alone in the car with Holland? Jesus…

"Yeah," Bianca agrees, grabbing her purse from the hook on the wall and slinging it over her shoulder. "Let's go."

"I'll be back," Holland calls, waving behind himself at his daughter and Healy.

In the car, Bianca sits in silence, hands folded in her lap. Holland gets into the driver's seat and starts the car, leaning his arm behind both of them over the seat and looking back as he exits the parking spot. They head down the road towards Bianca's apartment in silence, although there's much they'd like to say.

"Holland," Bianca says suddenly, although she doesn't look at him, "I'm sorry for being embarrassing earlier."

He looks confused, scrunching up his eyebrows. "What? You weren't being embarrassing. I was."

She scoffs. "No, I was trying to be sexy and I came off as weird. It was so stupid of me to try and get you to take off my clothes…" After this, she rolls her eyes.

"No, no," Holland argues, pointing at her with his cigarette, "you were not weird. You were sexy. I wanted to take off your clothes, like, all the way, but you made that noise, and I reacted like a dumbass, I ruined it."

Her eyebrows knit. "So wait…we both think we were the losers in that situation, but we weren't?"

"Total misunderstanding!" Holland says with a laugh. "Story of my fuckin' life."

Bianca actually laughs along with him. "Same here. Mio dio."

It's not long before they arrive at Bianca's townhouse. She gets out alone, assuming Holland is just going to wave her goodbye from the car like last time, but he doesn't. The engine stops and the keys jingle and his footsteps fall and he's up next to her in seconds.

"I should walk you to the door," he says, his voice like a nervous teenage boy on his first date. "After the day we've had."

Bianca snorts. "What a gentleman. Are you going to take me by the hand, too?"

Holland doesn't respond with words, but instead slips his arm around hers so that they're linked. He smiles down at her, his blue eyes sparkling with adoration, and she can't help but give a breathy, quick laugh. The two walk up to the front door and Bianca uses her free hand to dig in her purse for her keys, unlocks the door, and then slips her arm out of Holland's to go inside.

"Thanks for walking me to the door," Bianca says, beaming up at him. "And for going with that insane plan at the church."

Holland smiles down at her, leaning one arm against the door. "It's no problem. And the church scheme was partially my idea, after all."

She nods. "Right." Then she stands still, awkwardly, clicking her heels on the hardwood floor of her entryway.

Without much warning, Holland pushes her through the doorway and against the wall, giving her a deep, feverish kiss. Bianca melts into him, dropping her purse and keys on the floor and placing her arms on his back. She allows him to devour her with kisses, savoring the taste of the alcohol and nicotine in his mouth.

Holland breaks the kiss a few seconds later, panting heavily, hands placed at either side of Bianca's head. He's smiling like an idiot, and so is she.

"I'm sorry if you didn't want that, it's just–"

Bianca silences him with a peck on the lips, then says, "I wanted it. Thank you."

He nods and gives a sheepish smile, scratching behind his head. "So I'll, uh, see you Sunday? Or can I see you before?"

She rolls her eyes, but not at him. "Ugh, no, I have stupid work."

"You don't like work? When you were treating me, you seemed like you like it."

"I do, but I'll never have another day like the one I did when you were my patient." Bianca smiles shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "After that, every shift feels like a chore. Not to mention the whole mental distress I'm in, and the case…I just want to quit nursing and be with you and Holly and Healy all day."

Holland chuckles. "Don't quit nursing. You're the best nurse there is."

Bianca blushes, then sighs with a playful smile. "Whatever you say. I'll go be the best nurse I can for the rest of the week, and then we'll finish the first part of the case."

"Can't wait," Holland says. "Fuckin' Healy going into church again, and we get to ruin your abuser's life…sounds like a perfect day."

She nods in agreement. "Yep. I can't wait either."

They stand there for a second, before Bianca breaks the silence with a shuddering sigh.

"Holland?" She asks shakily.

"Yeah?"

"Is it bad if I want, um…if I want to beat him up, too? And like, you and Healy help me do it?"

His mouth drops open and he nearly drops his cigarette. "I mean, I don't fuckin' blame you, but what if we get caught?"

Bianca suddenly gets serious. "Make it so that we won't. I want to see you stomp his head. Just a little, though, I don't want you to kill him. And I want to get in some hits."

Holland takes a drag and nods. "I, uh…I'll ask Healy. Knowing him, it might cost you extra."

She shrugs. "It'll be worth it to watch him writhe. Just tell me how much and I'll gladly pay."

"We'll call and let you know, okay?" Holland says. "I'll see you on Sunday."

"See you Sunday," Bianca replies softly, giving Holland a quick peck on the cheek.

"B-bye!" He calls as he walks backwards to his car.

Bianca smirks as she closes the door and gives a playful wave. "Buona notte, Holland."

"Buona…goodnight!! Goodbye!! Night!!" Holland yells to her.

…

After the remains of the week pass by, days of boring shifts in the ER for Bianca and extra, easy cases for the Nice Guys, the group is reunited. They all pile into Holland's convertible and drive to Santa Barbara, Holly up front with Healy while Bianca and Holland share the backseat. They enjoy the contact, the closeness, the way that she can smell his perpetual scents of scotch and cigarettes and he can smell her sweet cherry perfume and the subtle tinge of antiseptic. Her long, blonde hair blows back in his face as they zoom down the highway, some stray strands tangling in his aviator glasses, but he finds it charming.

They're only minutes away from the church, so Holland pulls out the photo of Byron's wife from his pocket and shows it to Healy.

"This is the wife," he says, shoving it in the other man's face as he drives.

“Jesus, dad, he’s trying to focus on the road!” Holly snaps, slapping her father’s hand away. “Wait until we stop to show him.”

Holland sighs in resignation and sits back down. “Yeah, you have a point.”

“Yeah,” Holly responds with a tone that indicates she knows it’s obvious.

Soon enough, they reach a strip mall parking lot, just across from the church. Healy parks and shuts off the car, then digs in his pockets for the cassettes. In Bianca’s handwriting, “Byron is a guilty motherfucker” is scrawled on both of them. Healy shows them to Bianca and looks at her, as if to ask her if this is everything she needs for now, and she nods to him. He tucks each one into a separate envelope, both blank, and seals them.

“Go ahead,” she says, motioning to the church. “One for the priest, you’ll be able to tell by the uniform who he is. Holland, show him the wife again.”

Holland produces the photo from his pocket once more and shows Healy. Byron’s wife is far too pretty for a man like him– she looks almost like a noble Victorian woman, her chestnut brown hair swept to the side in a French braid, a placid smile on her lips and bright blue eyes. She wears a pale blue off-shoulder top in the photo, and a silver cross pendant around her neck. It’s safe to assume she’ll be wearing the same necklace, and hopefully a similar outfit.

Healy pockets the cassettes and steps out of the car, putting his hands in his pockets as well. He begins to walk towards the church, and the other three watch in anticipation. He’s dressed as casual and inconspicuous as usual, in jeans, a button down, and that blue jacket of his. Not a church-appropriate outfit by a longshot, but this was a small church, maybe they’d think nothing of it.

“Do you think this is going to go better than our last scheme?” Bianca asks. “I mean, how well do your schemes like this usually go?”

Holland shrugs. “Okay, I guess. We don’t usually get yelled at by old nuns, if that’s what you’re asking. Hopefully, this time around there won’t be any of that.”

“We never do stuff like this,” Holly interjects, “so who knows how it’s going to go. But since it’s just Mr Healy, I think it’ll be fine. The world’s worst detective won’t be there to mess it all up.”

“Hey!” Holland snaps, pointing at his daughter with his cigarette. “What did I say about–”

Holly rolls her eyes and finishes his sentence, “saying that in front of clients, I know. But Bianca knows I’m just joking, right, Bianca?”

The blonde flicks her wide eyes from father to daughter. “Um, yes, I get that it’s a joke. I make jokes like that with my parents, too. We flip each other off as a love language, you know.”

Both of the others laugh, and Holly says, “No way, us too! Watch. Hey, dad!”

Knowing exactly what she’s doing, Holland rolls his eyes and smiles, then looks over at his daughter and returns the obscene gesture. Then, they both look at Bianca expectantly, continuing to hold up their middle fingers.

“Y-you want me…okay,” Bianca responds with a light laugh, and flips the bird at them.

The trio burst into a fit of laughter, raising all of their middle finger-bearing hands into the air and tapping them together, almost like a toast. Bianca giggles and jokingly utters a “salud.” As they continue giggling, she can’t help but wonder– does this make her a part of the family?

…

Meanwhile, Healy joins the crowd of churchgoers crowded outside the cathedral. It’s much smaller than La Chiesa di Molti Santi, so it makes the group of worshippers seem larger than it really is. He weaves through the people, searching for Byron’s wife or the priest, whoever he encounters first. However, things take a turn, since everyone begins to sit down, and while they don’t say it, their eyes are urging Healy to take a seat himself.

Great, he thinks, sitting through a Catholic sermon. He hated it as a child, and he hates it now. At least sitting down will give him a chance to scope out the crowd and look for Byron’s wife. He scans the others sitting in the pews, and spots Byron first– next to him, sure enough, is the woman from the photo, and their two children. Somehow, neither the son nor daughter look like either parent. A shared hair color is the only trait that would mark them as biologically related, and even then it could be dyed. But Bianca’s files, stolen medical records, confirmed that they were related by blood.

Now, Healy has to find a way to give Byron’s wife the tape without him seeing. The priest will be easy– he can simply approach the Father after the service is over and hand him the envelope, lying that it’s a donation to the church. Maybe he can just slip the cassette meant for Byron’s wife into her purse or something. It’s a large bag, and it's just sitting there…wouldn't be hard to just walk by and drop it in.

As the priest begins his talking, Healy zones out and thinks about when he'll give Byron's wife the tape. Then it hits him– communion. When everyone is all lined up, he will squeeze into the crowd behind Byron's family, and in will go the envelope. So he waits for the little ritual to begin, and once the priest calls everyone up for their wafers and wine, he joins the crowd.

Healy weaves his way into the line, far behind Byron's family so that they won't see him, all the way at the back of the line. As he passes the pew where they sit, which is luckily close to the outside, the detective bends down ever so slightly and drops in the envelope, and continues in the line for communion.

He endures the little ritual, making a face at the taste of the "wine," which is actually cheap grape juice, and the bland wafer, which isn't much better. Sitting back down, he endures the rest of the service, and finally they're released. Healy makes a beeline for the priest, who's still milling about the altar.

"Hey Padre," Healy greets the man, nodding to the side, "mind if I talk to you for a second?"

The priest looks shocked, but still joins Healy off to the side of the altar.

"Well, my child, what do you need?" He asks, clasping his hands together.

Healy has to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes, but smiles regardless. "Yeah, uh, I just got a big bonus at work, and I was thinkin' maybe I should give some of it to the church. Y'know, put a little good out into the world."

The Father beams at him and eagerly accepts the envelope Healy gives to him. "Oh, thank you so much, mister…?"

"Monaghan," he lies, keeping the name Holly came up with. "And it's no problem. I'm glad to help out."

With that, both envelopes having been delivered, Healy makes his way out of the church, eyeing Byron and his family suspiciously as they walk the other way, and he feels relief wash over him that the deed has been done without any issues. He's back across the street in a minute, only to find that Holland, Holly, and Bianca are enjoying ice cream together in the car.

"Great," Healy says, "I have to sit through a Catholic church service, and you guys got ice cream. That's great."

Holland smiles and holds up a cup full of half-melted ice cream with a spoon stuck in it. "We got you one too. Mint chocolate chip. Your favorite."

He returns the smile and gets into the car, taking the ice cream from his partner. "Thanks. This kind of makes up for it."

Bianca leans forward. "So, how'd it go?"

"Other than a boring sermon and shitty communion?" Healy says between bites of ice cream, "I just slipped the envelope for Byron's wife into her purse, and gave the Padre his and told him it was money for the church. Easy."

"Good," she says with a relieved smile. "Now we wait."

The group sits and enjoys their ice cream for a moment, until Holly seems to think of something.

"Guys?" She begins, "how are we going to know what's gonna happen with Byron? Like how will we know his wife or the priest listened to the tape? We can't be sure it'll be in the news, and none of us can ask, since we don't know her."

"Bianca knows her," Holland says, "we'll just have her ask."

Healy looks at Holland like he's stupid. "March, that would be Bianca asking if Byron got caught for what he did to, well, her. It would get her caught. We can't do it like that."

Bianca pops her spoon from her mouth. "Actually, I've never met Byron's wife. They got married years after I stopped coming to family events. It was around the time I got sick, so my parents said I didn't have to go anymore. Byron's wife won't recognize me. As for me having a reason to ask about him, I'll claim I was a secretary at the mechanic shop."

"That's actually a good plan," Healy says, nodding his head to the side.

Holland scoffs and looks at him incredulously. "Actually a good plan? You act like Bianca's plans aren't good, and that is just rude. She is so smart and clever, and you're saying her plans aren't always good."

The older man defends himself. "I never said that. Holly, did I say that?"

"Nope," Holly says, taking a bite of her ice cream. "Bianca's always got good plans, and we all know it."

This makes Bianca blush– she honestly doesn't think she's all that smart, clever, or good at making plans, but if Holland thinks so, and Healy and Holly do too…

"When are you going to ask her?" Healy asks. "And where?"

Bianca tilts her head and looks up in thought for a moment, then seems to settle on a thought. "We'll give it a couple of days, and then maybe you guys can wait around their place and wait for her to go somewhere, like a store or something. I'll talk to her in the store, say something like, "oh my God, you're Byron's wife, right? I used to work with him! How's he doing?" And then she'll tell me about…well, whatever terrible shit inevitably happens to him."

"Well, that's more to Bianca's excellent plan," Holland says with a smile, leaning into the aforementioned girl. "She is so talented, isn't she?"

Holly rolls her eyes. "Dad, this is becoming the hospital all over again. Calm down."

"Alright, let's let everything ruminate for a couple of days, then we'll have Bianca finish up this leg of the case," Healy says, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot, ready to head back to LA.

On the drive home, Holland once more enjoys the closeness with Bianca in the backseat. He's almost intoxicated by her, like the warm, heavenly aura she puts off is getting him high. His arm stretches behind her, at first just barely making contact with her head and shoulders, but soon she leans into him, even closer to his chest, and he audibly whimpers.

Luckily, the music up front is loud enough that Healy and Holly don't hear it, but Bianca sure does. Her wide eyes dart up to meet his, which are just as wide, and he begins to stammer.

"I, uh…I didn't mean…" Holland begins, trying to squirm his arm away.

"It's fine," Bianca says softly, leaning her head back on his arm so he can't move it.

The rest of the way home, they sit like this– close together, sharing a small but enjoyable display of affection, loving the close company of each other. Holly looks back a couple of times, sneaking glances at her father and Bianca, and she feels a strange pang in her chest.

Holly likes Bianca a lot– she thinks she's sweet, smart, a genuinely good person. But seeing her under the arm of her father, the two of them gazing at each other all lovey-dovey, Holly can't help but feel…weird. Not particularly disgusted, not necessarily angry, not really sad…just weird. Seeing Holland share affection with someone who isn't Holly's mother is uncomfortable, and she isn't sure how to feel now.

Once they arrive back at the agency, Holland helps Bianca out of the car by taking her by the hand. Holly knits her eyebrows, still feeling odd about what's going on between the two, but follows them inside regardless.

In the office, Holly goes into Holland's office to read and process her emotions. Healy digs back into Byron's file, and Holland heads immediately for the bar and pours himself a glass, then offers, "Bianca, Healy? A victory toast?"

Healy shakes his head, but Bianca nods and approaches the bar, leaning forward on it. Holland notes that her chest is pressed up against the wood, only half-covered by the deep neckline of her top. His face heats up, and he even feels his pants tighten. In an effort to ignore these feelings, he pours Bianca a glass of whiskey, and the two clink the glasses together.

"Salud," Bianca says before tossing back some of her drink. "Not to Byron's health, of course…but my mental health." She finishes this with a short, breathy laugh.

Holland, however, lets out a loud bark of laughter. "Oh yeah, I forgot about how we were gonna beat him up, too!"

Clearly not knowing of this, Healy looks over his glasses at Holland. "Excuse me? There was never any talk of beating him up."

"Yeah there was," Holland says between sips, "the other day, I told you Bianca wanted to inflict some physical harm. When we went to the bar."

"You didn't tell me that!" Healy snaps, slamming the file he's been looking through on the desk. "You must've been drunk off your ass. Goddamnit, March, can we even do that?"

Holland holds up his hands. "Don't get mad, okay? We can do it with discretion."

The other man nods sarcastically. "Uh-huh, discretion has always been your strong suit, March. I don't think this is gonna be part of the plan."

"It was my idea," Bianca pipes up, punctuating her sentence by taking a drink. "I thought my plans were always good."

Holland smiles in admiration– Bianca has never spoken up like that, and he loves it. The more she opens up, the more he finds himself wanting more of her. For the first time since his wife, he wants to hold someone, to kiss them, to be with them. It's weird, it's exciting, it's like he's a teenager all over again.

With an annoyed sigh, Healy says, "Fine. How's this gonna go down then, Miss Perfect Plans?"

As Holland lights up a cigarette, Bianca motions her hand to ask for one. He holds one out, and she takes it between her lips. This only gets him more excited, and he lights it with shaky fingers.

Taking a drag and then pointing with the dart, Bianca begins to explain. "The roadside repair service. We call for a repair in the middle of nowhere on a school night, so the son won't be there. Beat his ass, then drive off. He won't even see it coming."

"It's not your finest plan," Healy admits, "but I'll do it. Now, I know you and me and March have become friends during this, but I've gotta ask for–"

"Extra," Bianca finishes his sentence, holding her cigarette between her teeth and digging in her purse, producing her checkbook and a pen. "How much?"

"Fou–" Healy begins, but behind Bianca, Holland makes a cutting motion across his throat and shakes his head furiously. "I mean, uh, two hundred."

Bianca nods her head to the side. "Fair enough. I've seen what you did to that guy at the diner, y'know. I'm hoping something like that can be arranged. Without the gun, of course." After she fills out the check, she hands it to Healy. "Here."

Holland nods with a devious smile. "Tomorrow, we'll call for a repair, but he'll be the one needing a repair. Y'know, on his body, because we're going to…y'know."

"I get it, March," Healy sighs, putting away Bianca's check in a desk drawer. "Tomorrow it is. You comin' with?"

"Fuck yeah, I am," Bianca scoffs, taking a drag. "I know where to hit where it hurts, but isn't lethal. We'll get his ass."

Holland and Healy nod at each other. "We sure fuckin' will," Holland says, finishing his drink.

After this, the room is nearly silent, as Holland and Bianca stand at the bar smoking and sipping their drinks, Healy flips through more files and smokes a cigar, and Holly is still in the other office. Since this piece of the case is nearly done, Bianca isn't really sure why she's still hanging around the office, but she'd rather be there than at home by herself.

"You know," she finally breaks the silence, "I can't thank you guys enough. I feel like you're the only people I can trust with this thing. If I'd gone to anyone else, I wouldn't have made near as much progress. Maybe none at all. And I feel…I feel like we're friends now. Do you feel the same? Or am I just a client?"

"Absolutely not just a client," Holland nearly instantly reassures her, "you are a friend. I mean, we already kinda knew each other before, right? From the hospital? We are friends, Bianca."

Healy hesitates– he doesn't have the same connection that Holland, or even Holly, has with Bianca, but he still does consider her more than just another person to give him money.

"Of course we're friends," he admits with a smile, "I don't think I'd sit through a Catholic sermon for someone I wasn't friends with."

Bianca beams at both men, looking happier than she has the whole time they'd been working together. "Thanks," she sighs, "I'm glad you think so."

Holland pours himself and Bianca more to drink, and lights up another cigarette. He offers one to Bianca, but she politely declines with a shake of the head. There's silence in the room again, but this time it's not awkward or tense– it's warm, friendly. Like hanging out with your friends doing fuck all.

This time, Holland breaks the silence. "Bianca, you don't have to answer if this is too personal but, uh…you said you "got sick." What did you, uh…what did you mean by that?"

Bianca sighs. "Lots of things. I have a lot of chronic pain and exhaustion, some heart-related fainting and near fainting, endometriosis, chronic headaches, arthritis…then there's the mental shit. PTSD and all that. I'm on a lot of pills, Holland. Lots of prescription baggage. On second thought, maybe you guys don't want me as a friend."

Holland shakes his head and hands. "No, no! Don't say that. We've all got our issues, right? You being sick is not a problem. I'll stick by you no matter what, okay?"

He sticks out his pinky. Is he really making a pinky promise? A grown man, with a daughter, with a business…and he's offering her a pinky promise.

How fucking adorable.

Her much smaller pinky locks around his, and she notices, for the first time since the hospital, how much larger Holland's hands are than her own. They shake their hands, smiling at each other warmly, eyes sparkling, and just as soon as the gesture of friendship begins, it ends. Their fingers unlink and neither one wants it to, missing the tiniest bit of warmth that they'd just shared.

"Healy?" Holland calls, offering his pinky.

"Not doing that," the older man replies, "but Bianca, we're friends unless you do something majorly fucked up."

"Yeah," Holland agrees, "like reveal that you support Hitler. I don't think we can be friends if that's the case."

Bianca laughs and rolls her eyes. "You don't have to worry about that, guys. I have a working brain, you know."

They all three share smiles, and both Bianca and Holland take drinks. For the rest of the day, Bianca hangs around the office while the two detectives dig around in the files of some other ongoing cases. The trio also spend all day chatting, about life, about this, about that. Holly even eventually returns to the main office, but she reads the whole time, not looking up at anyone.

When night comes around, both Holland and Bianca are thoroughly drunk. Still, he offers to drive her home and she accepts, and when they arrive at her doorstep, things are different than the previous time he brought her home. There's a heavy warmth in the air, making both of their heads swim, pulling them together.

"Bianca," Holland coos, his voice heavy with intoxication and lust, "do you want to kiss me again?"

She smirks and wraps her arms around his neck and shoulders, and hooks a thigh and knee over one of his hips. "What do you think?"

This leaves him hard as a rock, and he can't help but let out a shaky moan. Bianca responds with a breathy little noise of her own, pulling him into a messy, drunken kiss. Love drunk, alcohol drunk– it's indistinguishable as the pair make out in her doorway.

Holland presses her against the wall, keeping her pinned there mostly with his hips and achingly hard cock. Bianca can feel it against herself, and moans into his mouth. His whiskey-coated tongue invades her mouth, lapping at each and every corner of it, devouring her by the mouth.

"Ohhh, Holland," Bianca whines between kisses, throwing her head back so that he has access to her neck, "I want you so bad…"

His cock twitches in his pants and he smirks. "Is that right?" He presses his face into her neck's soft, smooth skin, leaving licks and kisses and gentle bites.

"Yes…" She sighs, balling up his shirt in her fists, "ever since the fucking hospital, I've wanted you. It took all I had not to drop to my knees when I was helping you undress and put on that gown."

Holland hums in satisfaction. "I wanted that, too. I still do."

Bianca pulls away from him and sinks down to her knees, perching so that her face is level with his dick, stretching out the blue fabric of his pants. Her hands rub along his thighs and Holland shudders, digging his fingers into her shoulders. Despite her intoxication, Bianca undoes his belt and pants with precision, then takes his cock in both hands.

It's a nice size, perfect shape, with a pretty pink tip leaking precum already. Bianca feels it twitch under her touch, and she smirks as she presses her lips against the tip, then slowly takes it inside her mouth, looking up at Holland with her sparkly brown eyes.

"Fuck me!" Holland groans, wrapping a chunk of her blonde locks in his fist. "Oh, Bianca, that is so good…"

She hums in satisfaction and continues her job, smiling around him as he bucks his hips against her face desperately. Knowing he's going to finish soon, Bianca drags her tongue along the length, until her open mouth is no longer around his length and instead eagerly waiting, with puffy pink lips and spit in the corners of them.

"Cum in my mouth," Bianca asks demurely. "Please, Holland"

Even just her breath and the tiny bit of touch from her lips at tongue on his tip sends him over the edge, and he cries out loud as he cums. Some of it goes into her mouth, but most of it blasts in thick globs on her lips and cheeks and chin. She looks up at him as she licks her lips clean and swallows what he'd shot down her throat, and he shudders and moans at the sight.

Holland is breathing heavily, now leaning against the wall. "Bianca, Jesus fuckin' christ…"

"I wanted that so badly," she breathes, wiping off the remaining seed from her face with the side of her arm. "I'm glad you did, too."

He nods, still out of breath. "Yeah. Holy fuck…do you want…?"

Bianca shakes her head and presses a finger to his lips. "Mm-mm. Not tonight. Not until after you kick Byron's teeth in, baby. When you do that, I want you to fuck me so hard I cry."

He's taken aback by this, but smiles wildly nonetheless. "Yeah, sure, of course! Tomorrow night?"

She stands on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Tomorrow night. Until then…"

Holland smiles and gives her a return kiss on the cheek. "'Til then. Buona sera, Bianca."

Appreciating that he's brushed up on his Italian, Bianca giggles at him. “That's more of a greeting, Holland. You should say buona notte, but we'll work on it.”

The two part ways and the door is shut between them. Back upstairs, Bianca collapses on her bed, face first, exhausted from everything that happened. Especially what just happened.

…

Monday night, Healy has driven the car to a small off-road just outside of Santa Barbara. He's called Byron's roadside repair service, and he, Holland, and Bianca are anticipating Byron's arrival. Holly doesn't tag along– she doesn't need to see this, nor does she really want to.

After a good twenty minutes, another pair of headlights appear and approach the car– Byron's service truck. He gets out and waves to Healy, but Healy does not wave back. Bianca's abuser approaches the car, which has its cover up this time, and knocks on the window.

"Hi, I'm Byron, I'm here to help you with your suspected radiator leak," he greets.

"Yeah…" Healy says gruffly, "can I ask you something?"

Byron looks a bit confused. "Uh, sure…?"

"You complete those two hundred Hail Marys?"

As he speaks this, Healy gives no chance for Byron to react– he punches him directly in the face, one hit knocking him to the ground. Bianca and Holland exit the car, and start inflicting their own attacks. Holland repeatedly kicks Byron in the ribs, hearing a sick cracking sound. Healy steps on one of Byron's hands, crushing those bones easily. Bianca stomps his head, heeled boots digging into his skull, leaving bloody boot-prints on his balding head.

The entire time, Byron is sobbing, and so is Bianca, but for a different reason– satisfaction. Pure happiness. Joy. She smiles as tears drip down her cheeks and sobs make her tremble and she jams her heels into his cranium. Holland and Healy stop after a moment, allowing her to get out her anger, but when things seem to get a bit far, each man takes one of her arms and yanks her back.

"Hey," Healy says softly, "that's enough. Come on. It's done."

Bianca accepts that she's done enough damage, looking down at her abuser, crumpled into himself, bloody, beaten, scarred.

"Fine. Faccia di merda!" She hisses and spits on Byron, then hops back into the car.

On the ride home, no one speaks. But Bianca is nothing but relieved.

…

Tuesday, they're parked outside the grocery store. They'd followed Byron's wife there, so ready to hear what his fate is after the reveal and his bloody beatdown the previous night. Bianca gets out of the car and walks into the store, casually, simply, ready to listen to Byron's wife.

She meets her in the aisle where pasta and rice is sold. Her blue eyes are rimmed with red, her normally styled hair in a messy ponytail, nice clothes replaced by what may as well be pajamas. She looks…unhappy. Bianca takes it as a good sign.

"Oh my God!" Bianca calls out in a fake, high voice as she approaches, "you're Byron's wife, right?"

The wife sniffles and looks down despondently. "Yes, well…was. I'm sorry, who are you?"

"An old friend of Byron's, I used to work at the mechanic shop with him. You say "was," did you guys get a divorce?"

She narrows her eyes. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes. And if I were you, I'd steer clear of him. I received an anonymous tape of him confessing to some heinous, heinous things. So did the priest at our church. As soon as I told him what we heard on the tapes, he admitted it was true, and I immediately requested a divorce. I beat him with a broom and chased him out of the house, and the Father excommunicated him from the church.

He even came up bloody and beaten last night, said some so-called "clients" jumped him and left. That bastard absolutely deserved it. I'm going to take everything from him– our kids, the money, the cars, everything. He won't even have his faith to turn to. He'll burn in Hell for eternity, there's no forgiving what he's done.

So, to summarize, spare yourself the disgust and forget Byron ever existed. Heaven knows I am."

With that, Byron's now ex wife departs down the aisle, and Bianca smiles, heading back out to the car. When she gets in, both men notice her refreshed, relieved look.

"So?" Asks Healy.

"His life is in shambles now. File one is complete."