Just missed them.

When he looks out into the hallway, whatever was happening has already ended, and only the aftermath remains. He can see a young girl, maybe twenty or so, blonde, wearing a short black skirt and a torn collared shirt. She's leaning against the wall, shaking; her purse is on the floor, contents strewn around her. He sees lipstick, makeup case, a worn and tattered letter, a small wallet, a prescription medication bottle. He also sees a small trickle of blood on her chin; someone has hit her. A wave of cold fury stirs in his belly, the monster growling deep inside him. He must have made some kind of noise, because she turns suddenly toward him, her eyes widening in terror.

He knows what he looks like, the image he gives off, so he turns away enough to cover the left side of his face. "Are you okay, miss?" he asks as politely as he can, trying to seem non-threatening.

She nods guiltily, as if she's done something wrong. "Sorry to disturb you, sir," she says, dropping to her knees to scoop her things back into her purse. As she does, she winces in pain, and a slight gasp escapes her lips.

Without thinking, he steps out and kneels next to her to help. Here, close to her side, he can see better, his eyes picking out the details he missed before. Thin hips, small and elfin cheekbones, the barest hint of masculinity in her frame. No breasts, barely noticable adam's apple. _Crossdresser, _he realizes. She catches him studying her, and her fear is pouring off her in waves. "Please don't hurt me," she whispers, a slight quiver in her voice.

"Why would I do that?"

She searches his face, trying to decide if she can trust him. He places the last few items in her purse, then rises and reaches down, helping her to her feet. Here in the shadows of the hall, he's suddenly struck by how painfully blue her eyes are. Something else stirs inside him, not the monster, but something that's been quiet for a very long time, a different type of need. Brushing it aside, he brushes the blood from her chin, sees her lip is split. when he touches her, he can feel her trembling like a frightened rabbit. She's wavering between thanking him and fleeing as fast as possible. He suddenly remembers that she can see his face, the ruts and gouges. He turns away quickly and retreats to his room.

To his surprise, he hears her footsteps, light and feminine, as she follows him. He goes the five steps from the door to the sink, searches quickly for a handtowel and wets it, squeezing the extra water out. When he turns back to her, she's come in and closed the door behind her. "Some men get offended when they realize I'm not-" She stops, uncertain what to say. He doesn't interrupt, just slowly steps to her and lifts the wet surface to her chin, carefully and gently wiping her off and inspecting the damage. He gets a strong whiff of her then, some sort of floral spice scent he can't quite place. He can feel heat radiating off her, and feels his cock start to stiffen in response. It's not a reaction he's had for a long time, and it catches him by surprise.

She notices, her eyes travelling down his chest to linger on his growing erection. "Oh." Involuntarily, she licks her lips, then looks back up to his face. If she's upset at his looks, she doesn't show it. "Not a what?" he asks as he drops the hand towel in the sink again. Thoughts are buzzing around his head, half-formed. He's unused to being around people now; he keeps expecting her to leave.

"Not a real girl," she grunts, and he can hear the barely contained anger and frustration in her voice.

"You look real to me," he says, and pulls the microwave dinner out, placing it on the counter in front of her. "Hungry?"

She picks it up, peeling back the wrapper to reveal a semi-congealed and rapidly cooling mass of red and grey lumps. Laughing, she shakes her head no. "Not that badly." She sticks her hand out toward him, and when he takes it, he can feel heat in her palm. It sends a tingle up his spine, and down into his crotch. "I'm Tommy," she chirps brightly.

"Nickolas Aden."

"What do your friends call you?" She looks around the one-room efficiency, seeing the absence of personal items, the cold nothingness of his life.

"Nick." Again, he feels momentarily confused. Typically, he would have said his last name, and then disengaged. People had always been hard to read, and he could count the number of friends he'd ever had on one hand. And some of them were dead now.

He watches her sit on the only stool at the counter, her face curious. "Where are you from, Nick?" she asks, one hand nervously fidgeting with her torn shirt collar.

"Nowhere," he says. "Who hurt you?"

"Now that's a million-dollar question," Tommy answers, laughing as she smoothes her skirt over her thigh. The motion isn't intended to be flirtatious, but it draws his eyes to her skin. "Well, fifty thousand dollars, I guess."

"You owe money."

"Yah." Tommy pauses, gauging what she can say to him. Somethings seems to lock into place for her then. "Not for anything bad, really. Not, like, or anything."

"And they sent someone to collect."

"Uh-huh." She frowns. "Which reminds me, I need to get moving. If they find me here, they'll hurt you, too."

Aden laughs coldly. "I doubt they could." Behind her, as she rises from the stool, he sees his laptop, still open, Kate's email unanswered. She's about to go, and he suddenly can't think of anything but how badly he wants her to stay. "Tommy, do you like to fly?"

She cocks her head to the side, curious. "I love it. Why?"

"Because I fucking hate it." He begins scooping his small collection of property into his shoulder bag, making a mental note to buy an extra ticket.