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Despite how strict Maebe was in her orders for Dawson to arrive on time and dressed sexy, she for her effort hadn't really put much time into it. She'd only combed her hair to almost shining perfection, and she'd worn the pink pleated skirt that reached only to her mid-thigh, and not higher. Her cleavage wasn't falling out of some children sized top, but her makeup was on point in every facet, lending to a flawless execution that was only marred by the fact that she'd been crying on and off for days. No makeup could hide that.

She remembered, only belatedly, that she'd invited Dawson over for something. What was she asking him over for? She wasn't actually going to show him around anything. She hardly knew half the facility, for sheer lack of giving a s**t. She'd meant it as a booty call, but she had no idea who she was talking to. It didn't matter. Not much mattered to her, anymore.

The sweet, good hearted man standing in her doorway was faced with a strikingly beautiful, completely empty doll. It walked, it talked, but it did not have a soul, and there was nothing to reach out to within. She gave him her best smile, but her eyes might as well have been made of glass and painted on with skilled perfection. There was nothing there.

"Mr. Grace." She emphasized the sound of his last name with thick, elongated purpose. "We finally meet."

She hadn't taken the time to even look at his icon, let alone care what he looked like, when she'd invited him over. It wasn't like it mattered, and it never did. If Dawson could have taken a look into her past, and the men she'd slept with just to keep herself from being homeless, he would have realized that he looked like a superstar compared to them. She felt waves of an aura of good and sweet and love coming off of him in waves, and she imagined herself a black hole, devouring them all into oblivion.

She held her hand out, stared at him seductively through her lashes, and urged him inside with a crook of her finger.

She looked down at her body, and wondered what about the pathetic clothing choices she'd thought she'd made that day would make him feel underdressed. Of course, when she looked back up and actually took him in for a moment, she realized that Dawson was one of those very familiar types of men who actually wasn't trying to look sharp every moment. He wasn't even trying to look casual. He wasn't trying. He was just him. No well placed vests adjusted just so, no expensive sneakers with colored laces, no quirky shirts just slightly too long to fit his body-

Stop it, She told herself. Don't do this. It's not fair.

He had the perfect antidote to steal her attention away from her melancholy thoughts, and he clutched it to himself desperately. She watched him walk inside, but her eyes were on the lunch box, transfixed.

"Is that actually a lunch box?" She breathed out in disbelief. "People still have those?" She wanted to steal it from him. So bad. She hadn't wanted to steal this badly since Shiloh's ducky boots had made its first appearance. "Is your actual lunch in there?" She imagined tiny sandwiches or lunchables and fruit. She imagined him sitting at a long wooden table, eating it quietly in the midst of thousands of tiny teenagers who shunned him for his social status. (Of course, in this imaginative scenario, Dawson was fully grown, so it was all rather funny to her.)

She closed the door, and immediately moved to direct him down onto the only chair in the room, urging him to sit in it. There, she lounged behind him, where he couldn't quite see her, but he could feel her presence. She slowly leaned down, arms and head using him for support. "There. Now you can talk all you want, without having to look at me. At least, until you get used to me. I don't want to play hide and seek forever."

Every word was slippery, sliding off of her tongue with easily read intent. "So what's in the box? Careful; If you say Lunchables, I might just fall in love."

Dawson's reactions were nothing new to Maebe. She mentally began to flicker through her files of seduction, to find all the listings for sheepish good boy who had no idea how to handle a woman. Be gentle. Guide him. Show him -

She rolled her eyes and held back the groan from sudden exasperation over how tired plotting made her. She just wasn't made for this s**t, anymore.

"I've got some water if you get thirsty." And just like that, she'd turned it back on like a light switch. "But we'll save that for later." Her hands disappeared from around his shoulders, and a moment later he felt them sliding up into his hair. "How long did it take you to grow all this out? You could do a lot with this much hair. I could do a lot with this much hair." Another momentary distraction. "But you don't have the right face for a braid. You look hotter shaggy. Maybe.." Her hand snaked out and caught his chin, pulling it to the side so she could get a look at the front of his face. Her expression was calculating, and thoughtful. "No, that wouldn't work either. This is the right haircut for you. I guess I'll just have to settle with playing with it.."

Her hand let his chin go, and returned to his hair. Her fingers slid up and down his scalp, brushing the skin with light touches, all the way down to his neck before venturing up again. She noted with vague interest that he had a thick neck. No one was going to be choking him, any time soon.

"Does this feel good?" She asked, brushing her fingers up his scalp. "Do you like when people touch you like this?"

When he disappeared from under her hands, they remained in that exact position, still crooked with running through phantom hair that no longer existed under it. She turned them up to look at the palms of her hands, and regarded them for a moment.

Thaw briefly murmured something about having lost her touch, and she gasped in surprise of the first sarcastic insult her weapon had ever managed to make, ever. She was such a bad influence on him. It made her proud.

Then she straightened up, and looked at the frightened fleeing deer in front of her, ready to bolt. She stayed exactly where she was, settled her hands carefully on her hips, and gave him a soft, pursed smirk. "You didn't make me think so. I know you're not that kind of guy. I promise, I know exactly the kind of guy you are. And I know this isn't right, and it isn't what you grew up learning was a proper way to handle things."

Very small, tentative steps led her towards him, careful not to spook. "So you don't have to worry about that. You have given off the exact right impression. You're a sweet, soft, lovely man. And I think you're very kind for coming down here to see me, despite all of that." She'd reached him. When had she reached him? She was suddenly there, right in front of him, touching no part of him and yet leaving no space between two bodies. She reached up, and cupped his cheek gently with one hand.

"But you are a man. A very cute man. Has anyone ever told you that?" Her hand, still cupped on his cheek, was leading him forward with such subtlety it was hard to realize he was moving at all. "You have very rugged features. And you deserve a little happiness every once in a while, without worrying so much about the consequences."

She had him an inch from her face, but she stopped there. "I'm not asking you to sleep with me. I'd love if you did, but not asking for it. I'm not going to be insulted if you don't want me. All I'm saying is that you worry too much. The world wouldn't explode if you and I enjoyed each other for a little while. The next day would still come. And you would have nothing to worry about."

She smiled, a brilliant, bright smile. "And you don't even have to decide right now. Just stay with me a while. Hold my hand. Breathe me in. And see what it feels like to really be free."

He was handing her his lunch box.

Maebe froze, trying to understand just what had happened. She looked down at the lunch box, and then picked it up. She recognized the cartoon on it - who wouldn't - and in her confusion, just blurted its name with no context. "Scooby Doo." It sounded like an observation, but really she didn't understand why she was holding a lunch box, and not a man's crotch rocket.

He didn't understand any of what she was saying, and she tried her best to tone it all down a notch, in order to put things in small, bite size morsels that he could digest and intake. She opened up the lunch box, and started to look through its contents. They were just as he'd listed them.

"I don't have any weed. I could get you some, if you come visit me again some time. I can see why weed would be a good idea, right now." She had never been forced to rely on intoxication or drug use of any kind to convince a man to sleep with her. It felt demeaning. She trudged forward regardless.

"I have a confession to make." She pulled out the Fruit Roll-up, and started to break it open with her teeth. "I can't give you a tour. I mean, I know the basics. I know where we spar and where we do those nasty encounters that people do for extra weapons. I know where people sleep and shower and swim, and the infirmary. That's, I think, it? The moral of this story, sweetheart, is that I really just wanted you to come to me." She shrugged, and smiled guiltily. "I'm not as complicated as I might seem. So, is this all for me? Because I'm not that hungry, but I'm taking the Fruit Roll-Up." She'd gotten it open, and started to unravel it. "I like my snacks like I like my men. Sweet."

A system of food and hugs. Maebe had tugged some of the fruit roll up out, but she paused when he said that, and a flash of genuine pain fluttered across her masked features. It would be easy to bribe Dawson, if food was the way to his heart. Just like chocolate had once been her weapon of choice.

She'd jumped into the pool too soon. She could see that now. She needed more time to forget, to cool down, to stop hurting, before she could win over strangers and corrupt innocent lives.

Dawson was spared. For now. Maybe.

She took the crackers before he could get them, and opened them up. In her hand she held one out, refusing to let him take it with anything but his mouth. Safe or not, she was Maebe. And she would always be Maebe, until the day she died.

"If you come sit back down and show me what all this hugging business you're talking about is, I'll tell you." Maybe having someone to talk to wouldn't be the end of the world, for one day. She really didn't know for sure. But he looked warm, and strong, and if she had to feed him crackers for affection, and leave without having brought him down to hell with her, it wouldn't be the end of the world.

Would it?

Maybe it would.

Maybe she'd leave a cracker trail to her bed, later. She tried not to think too hard on it.

It was funny, how Dawson thought there were safe zones in Maebe's room.

As soon as he crossed his legs, she flounced over and flopped down hard on them, curling into the hole his lap had conveniently made for her little form to sink down into. She picked up his hand with her own, put the crackers in them, and then held them out so she could pick them out one by one and feed them to him.

"Oh, stop being a baby. It's better this way. Just eat them."

She'd never had to deal with the problems of the underground troll basement life, but when she looked at her room through his eyes, she could appreciate how much better it was here. "I came in just at the end of when rooms were filling up. Barely made it. I count my lucky stars." The fruit roll up was shredded into strips. "But if the basement gets too cold, there's always a warm bed waiting for you here." She couldn't promise him a warm body, because she was sure that she was cold, and she already felt how much heat he emanated. The only thing she had to offer was the room, not herself.

"Grace." She muttered, laying her head on his shoulder. "It's such a beautiful word. I've never heard it as a last name. Where is your family from?"