The Exception Pt 01

If I did this correctly, you shouldn't have to go back read the prologue in order to follow. However if you feel like getting a back story, feel free.

Much gratitude for the feedback. Even the not so positive ones. I'm hoping the issues have been addressed but you can be the judge of that.

I've split it into time frames to make it more manageable. Hope you enjoy.

**********

Wednesday 03 39hrs

"You sure that's her?"

Connor nodded with a deadpan expression. "Yep. That's her alright."

There had got to be better reasons for being up past witching hours.

He was still in pyjamas. He was also in a police station, half way across town. And with their air-conditioning virtually non-existent, it was nothing short of freezing.

The man in uniform walked up to the jail cell. He braced a forearm against the bars and stared at its occupant. "She's very pretty and all, I'll admit that much. But I doubt she's your type."

Connor chuckled briefly. "And just what do you know about my type?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say they like cars," he replied nonchalantly, and sounding rather sure of himself too. "They like stripping them down and selling the auto parts on the aftermarket. And if they can, they'll get their younger, mechanically gifted boy toys to disassemble the components for them."

The boy shrugged even though the officer couldn't see him. "What can I say? I was young and had a poor sense of judgement. Sue me."

At first glance you wouldn't believe it but he and Richard had quite a history. Not the best one either. Then again, warming up to the person who put you in a juvenile detention facility can be asking too much of a teenager. Even more so when that same person makes regular appearances there as a volunteer counsellor.

Back then, Connor found the whole thing hypocritical. You're either trying to lock criminals up, or you're trying to keep them out of prison. Not both.

In time, he understood and the two eventually came to respect each other. Even to the extent where Richard often called him in for piece jobs, allowing him to run light maintenance on their patrol cars.

It was his way of showing him that spare change could still be earned without resorting to unprincipled means. But today, it wasn't Richard who dialled his number.

The jingle of keys was heard before the grill was unlocked and slid open. Inside, a brunette lay on an immovable bench. Her trademark pigtails were splayed all over her head and ran over the edge of her makeshift bed.

The batter of a button stick against stainless steel roused her from her sleep. "Up and at'em Miss Yamato. Your ride home's here."

The policeman didn't wait for her to gather her wits. Instead he tapped Connor on the shoulder and started down the corridor. "You know your way out. And a word to the wise; She tends to be a little feisty when she wakes up. Good luck."

Luka sat up slowly and wiped the sleep from her eyes. So this is what she looked like when she got up first thing in the morning. The little demoness was so absurdly cute right then. She yawned and he felt his heart fawn over her.

In another life, Connor would have simply scooped her up into his arms and walked off with her, letting her continue her nap.

He then mentally slapped himself, irritated with how quickly he was willing to forgive her all the nonsense she'd put him through this past week.

He frowned watching her get up to unsteady feet. She was a mess. Her hair ran rampant, the torn jeans she wore was missing its top button and a strap of her top hung over a slightly bruised shoulder. Just what had she been up to these last few hours?

He waited for her to approach. Each step taken was made with delicate care. It confirmed his suspicions from when they spoke over the phone. The girl was wasted.

Her feet came to a stop in front of his. "Cute pyjamas." A teasing smile played along her lips as sleepy blue eyes locked onto his brown ones.

"It's cold," he answered indignantly. "And the last thing I expect at 3 am, is a call telling me to haul ass over to the other side of town." He took off his jacket and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders. His features softened. The mock annoyance was replaced by worry. "You look like shit."

Luka let herself go and fell into him with a sigh. "Don't judge me."

His arms encircled her and held her warmly against him. A comfortable groan left her lips, making him hug her even tighter. "What got into you Luka?"

There was silence before she spoke into his chest. "I wanted to go home."

"Oh, that I understand," he replied rubbing her back. "I just don't get what business you thought you had in the driver's seat, when you could barely even walk."

"I just wanted to get home," she repeated, balling the front pocket his top into her fist.

Connor sighed. For someone with her level of calm, she sure had heavy destructive tendencies.

He pat her back before prying her hand off and started guiding her down the passageway. Her balance was completely off and her eyes were shut, trusting him to know where they were going.

Most of these cells they passed were vacant. Nothing like the movies where they made an exaggerated show of notorious looking criminals threatening to have you for dinner.

No. Most of the people here were probably guilty of similar crimes as that of his ward.

He looked back at the girl and couldn't help the look of sympathy that befell him. "So who did this to you?" he ventured.

Chances were she wasn't in the mood for a chat. He didn't know for sure. This was his first time seeing her drunk after all.

"Who did what?"

"All of... this." He gestured to her body in general with a free hand. "You look like you've barely survived a streaking through a football changing room."

Even in her dazed state, she still managed a spiteful giggle. "A whore's wet dream come true, huh? How befitting of me."

His eyes narrowed. "I didn't call you a whore Luka."

"You thought it," she replied without having to think about it. Her eyes opened briefly to regard him. "That's why you keep giving me that look isn't it? You pity me like I'm some lost cause."

He returned her once over. "What's there to pity? You have it made with your room service, that yellow Porsche and platinum debit card." He focused back on the exit ahead. "Maybe that's the real problem. You can actually afford to screw up."

"Money's a problem now?" The girl sounded amused. "From the sound of things, I'd say you're jealous."

"Only a little. I can't say I regret being down to earth."

"I'm insulted," she said elbowing him in the side.

"It's the truth. Do you even know how much bread and milk costs?"

There was a pause on her end. "Well..."

"Or perhaps you could tell me how much you spent tonight?"

He didn't expect her to bother with a reply there. Simple math became quadratic equations when you were high. Unless you really needed the change that is.

Connor shook his head. "Chances are you won't even know how much your bail was after this," he finished under his breath.

She heard him nonetheless. "I will be paying you back every cent. In fact, I would have paid the fee myself if..."

"... They accepted bank cards?" he interrupted. It earned him a death glare. He only chuckled which served to irritate her more.

"You know Connor, I didn't pick which side of the fence I was raised on," she remarked. "So if you expect me to apologise for being well off then maybe you're the one in need of a reality check."

He arched a brow. "It's not your status I condone, it's your lack of responsibility. Namely over yourself." Came the reply. "You have this mind-set that ABC's are irrelevant to you. Like there'll always be someone to mind life on your behalf."

"Well yeah. Isn't that what you're there for?" Her archaic smile was back, almost as if she knew something he didn't. "In all honesty, I think you should consider yourself lucky. It's because of 'irresponsible' people like me that you even have a job."

An incredulous expression drew itself across his features. Was she even hearing herself? No wait. That

was

why he was here wasn't it? This is what he'd been reduced to. Her personal butler. The thought alone was enough to make him cringe.

"Tell me." She taunted. "How much are they paying you to look after me?"

His look was replaced by one of exasperation. She was baiting him. It had become common practise these last few days. Like she had found this sadistic pleasure in pushing his buttons every chance she got. He wasn't helping his situation either with the way he kept blindly walking into her kill zone.

"Know what? Let's just forget I said anything."

She however had different plans. "Let's not actually," Luka escaped the comfort of his support and with the little orientation she had left, her feet trekked backwards in front of him.

Her hands rose expectantly and his fingers intertwined with hers in response. "I personally would like to know how much I'm worth."

Connor's only response was to stare at her with a poker face on.

"Fifty a day? A hundred?" She continued when he'd made it clear there was no reply coming from his end. "Five hundred?"

He still held his tongue. A part of him told him that if it was her business knowing, then someone with the authority would have informed her already.

Their hands were still tightly clasped as they approached the reception area. The brunette stumbled here and there but he managed to be both hers and his own centre of balance with apparent ease.

"A thousand maybe? A grand point five?" Her eyes widened a bit in shocked amusement. "No it's more than that isn't it?"

She was shooting in the dark so if he was to wait until she guessed high enough, then this game could go on forever.

He decided it best to respond. "What's your concern?" He asked, doing a good job of completely avoiding the question. "I mean if there's anything you've made clear, it's that you don't hold money to any value worth speaking of."

"No. But you do." She said it with an impossibly sweet tone that could melt the North Pole. "See I couldn't care less what Katlyn is willing to spend on a keeper. She's just trying to ensure I'm someone else's problem after all." The new name was immediately noted to memory.

Her footsteps faltered again, this time in earnest which forced him to draw her in tight against him. It was either that or letting her drag him down on top of her.

How is it that after a hard night out, she still smelt like she'd recently stepped out of a shower? And was that chardonnay she got drunk off?

Luka continued in a hushed tone and rushed words due to the shallow breaths she was now taking. "Which is perfectly fine by me by the way. I've never really liked her much to begin with."

Her cool breath collided against his neck, sending goose bumps across sensitive flesh. "I just wanna know how much I'm worth to you. Maybe that way, I'll know how long you'll stay."

That last bit alarmed him a little, jerking him out of the reverie she brought about. "I'm not sure what to make of that. It kinda sounds like you're gearing to give me..."

"Hell?" It was her turn to finish on his behalf.

"A hard time," he corrected anyway. Not that there was much difference.

Luka giggled as she drunkenly broke free from his embrace. "It's not my fault you amateurs can never last. I'd guess the days before you tap out but you're so secretive of how much you're earning."

Wait. Did he hear her right just then? Was this the alcohol talking, or was she conscious of every word? Connor stopped and regarded her with questioning eyes. The girl however danced playfully ahead on light feet, a lofty smile lingering on pink lips.

The little nymph giggled again. This time at his confusion. "What? You thought you were special?"

"What has my pay have to do with any of this?" he queried back, avoiding the obvious question.

"Oh it's nothing big really. Just that salary men like you tend to be

so

predictable." She dragged on the '

so

' with a melodramatic flourish.

"Every time you look at me, you probably see a pay check instead of a person. It's your motivation to stick around no matter how low I treat you."

"So I'm just a toy." He stated more than asked.

"You're anything I need you to be." She responded coyly. "Errand boy, chauffeur, escort, concierge, play thing, anything."

He was having a hard time keeping the gall from showing his face. She picked up on it. She always did. Moments like these were what she lived for. To fuck with him as thoroughly as she could and revel in his displeasure.

No secrets were made of how much the sadist got off on it either. That impish smirk she wore right now told it all.

It dared him to say something he'd regret. Something she could punish him for. Not out of discipline, but basic spiteful pleasure. By the gods, he hated the brat.

"Mind your step."

The warning came too late though. One could question whether or not that was the intention.

The brunette's heel caught against the step and she tumbled through the doorway, bottoms first.

And yet even in that clumsy act, she still managed to look graceful about it. It disgusted him. How every action of hers never lacked an element of finesse.

Their eyes locked as he stepped past her collapsed form on the floor. The glares alone spoke volumes. One set of eyes told of unsung mischief in the works while the other bore traces of vexation, perhaps even resent. But there was something else well hidden in the boy's eyes. Something that betrayed the hostility they conveyed.

"Get up and grab a seat," he ordered pointing at the blue waiting chairs. They were the sort you'd find in a football stadium. Plastic, bolted down, with each one lined up right after the next.

"And you?" he heard her ask after him. Provided his ears served him well, there may have been a touch of concern in her voice.

"Someone needs to fill out your release forms. I guess that someone's me." Believe it or not, Connor found it difficult to just leave her on the floor like that. What really badgered his conscience was how she didn't complain or even call him back for help.

Just by looking around, one could tell this was your typical neighbourhood station. Everything was in one large space. From the dispatch call centre, to the waiting area, to the help desk.

The setup made sense. Communication was the key word here, and that couldn't be done effectively if everything was compartmentalised.

With a leisurely stride, he made his way over to the reception area. He returned a curt nod as an officer passed him by. They were all about their work like night time was just an inconvenience.

A look over his shoulder told him his little law breaker was not following instructions. It drew an involuntary sigh from him as he started walking backwards.

"Luka. No. stay in that seat- no, I don't even want to even know why you're standing up. Hey! Keep your ass on the chair." Oh look. Now she's sulking. Why couldn't she just be one of those reclusive drunks who were a danger to no one but their own social skills?

***

"Hey Connor, focus."

"My bad," he apologised turning back around. "Just got a little..." He trailed away as he saw a familiar look in Richard's eyes. One he last received years ago while still in detention. What was that? Pity, Distain, hopelessness? "What?"

The cop twirled a pen around in his fingers before sliding it over the counter. "She should be signing these, not you."

Connor took in his appearance a moment. The torn off department emblem on his shoulder, the slightly swollen cheek and bruised lip, the bandage on his index finger, ruffled up hair and plucked buttons among other things.

"Let me guess. A pack of wolves ambushed you on your way to work."

Richard looked up at him first, then shifted his gaze past him. "Yeah, something like that."

The addressee followed the trail his eyes left to spot four men sitting handcuffed on a bench, looking not so pretty themselves.

Apparently Luka was their subject of interest which didn't seem to sit well with the girl judging by the way she switched chairs.

Connor couldn't help but release a chuckle at the irony. She was, after all, so accustomed to the spotlight. The diva should be wallowing in the attention.

He turned back to face his attendant. "By yourself?"

"Epic aren't I?"

His eyes instinctively rolled at that. "I was just wondering why you insist on living in mob run territory with your line of work to begin with."

There was no reply.

Rather, Connor saw it coming to an odd stretch of silence so he opted for picking up the pen and filling out the papers.

"You didn't answer my question."

The young man cringed internally prior to sparing his attendant a glance. So much for changing the subject. "Richie, you want to try giving her the forms and seeing how well that works out?"

"No but I'd gladly leave her in the cell till morning when she's all sober. Where are her friends, shouldn't they be the ones here?"

"And what do I look like?" he asked indignantly.

"Please," the policeman scoffed, "I've seen this scene plenty a time before kid. Whatever relationship you two have is strictly by some sort of arrangement. I'm talking about the friends that left her in this state."

He was way too honest. Much like someone else he knew. It was a commendable attribute, and it was in character if you considered the occupation. But it often had him pushing the wrong buttons too.

A sigh escaped Richard as he rolled back his chair and stood up. "Fine, keep it to yourself. Just bear in mind you're not doing her any favours giving her the easy way out like this."

He pulled the filled in forms over to his side of the counter before adding; "You're not going to be around forever after all."

Of course. Just about everyone had their own two cents to chip in these days. No one had any qualms lecturing him on what he was doing wrong.

He thought back to his father, pondering on all the disapproving words he'd have to say. The mess he'd gotten into, the course of action he'd taken to rectify it, the tool he'd become.

And now this. The leniency he was showing his charge when she really should have been doing time.

Criticism was everywhere. Ironically he heard it most from people with issues of their own.

So what if he was allocating her most of his time. So what if she was in a whole different class from his.

Did not knowing where they were or what they were doing make it any harder for anyone else to breath?

It's not like they cared much for his curriculum before he met the girl. So why was it all of a sudden relevant now?

The sound of stamps hitting paper brought him back. His palms felt numb. Probably from holding the rail too hard.

A calming sigh was released as he stiffly let go and turned around. His lower back leaned against the counter in finality, hoping to evade any more confrontations.

Then he saw her. She was sitting, knees together with elbows on her thighs. Her hands were loosely clasped in front of her. And most notably, she was smiling at him.

His heart stopped for a second as if to double check for itself. If this one was real, then that would make it the first.

Nope, it definitely was not one of mock or spite. There was an authenticity portrayed by her eyes. One that told of actual care.

Connor couldn't even contemplate how to respond. Should he smile back, wave, look away?

And just when he was about to reply with a subtle smile of his own, hers was gone. She looked down and played with her hands, a sad sort of expression lingering on her face.