this was inspired by a post by @isabellelightboob (it’s not letting me tag you, sorry)
It’s a slow evening at the hospital and most of the staff can take a breath, sit down for a cup of strong black coffee before another emergency. The quiet is broken up by the beeping machines, the distant hum of air conditioning, the gurgle of the water machine - all sounds he’s grown accustomed to.
Charlie leans back in one of the rolling chairs behind the reception counter, toying with his phone. He checks his Twitter feed, deciding to read another article about the murders later. With everything he’s seen lately, he’s not in the mood to scroll through two pages about another poor soul that got themselves murdered by their loved one. A nurse in blue scrubs walks into the reception, depositing the files of the new patients into the record drawer.
Charlie turns to her, pressing the block button on his phone from where it was open on the text app. She shuffles about for a moment, organizing documents and filling out forms before she senses him staring. Pinning up the dreadlock that escaped the elaborate updo on her head, she turns to him with a questioning look.
“Yes, doctor Cooper?” she prompts with a smile, setting her hands on her hips.
“Cat, do you know Isabelle Lightwood?” Charlie asks, sliding lower in the chair. The first time he’s met her, it was at this hospital floor, after she assaulted the poor vending machine. But before that, he’s seen her and her two brothers talking to Catarina; it seems that at least they’re familiar with each other.
Catarina’s face goes through a series of expressions before she settles on a mysterious smile. “Yeah, I might have met her once or twice. What about her?”
“We went on a date, then she invited me for drinks with her mom and siblings. I like her, but there’s something off about her,” Charlie explains and Cat cocks an eyebrow, amusedly intrigued.
“What are you talking about?” she crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the edge of the desk behind her, sensing she’s in for a longer story.
“She told me she’s a jeweller and that her whole family’s in the business-” Cat snorts, hiding her aborted laughter in a faked cough. She covers her mouth with her fist, but Charlie can see her eyes sparkle with a joke he’s not in on. “What?”
“Nothing, Charles. Go on,” she evades, waving her hand at him.
He takes a deep breath, filing the confusion away for later questioning. “She seemed reluctant to go out with me-”
“That’s not exactly suspicious,” Catarina interrupts him with a smirk.
“Hey, you know I’m a ladies’ man!” Charlie exclaims with a smile and the two women passing by the reception exchange a quiet giggle. Okay, that sentence may be a slight hyperbole, but he stands by his point.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, doctor.”
Ignoring Cat’s snarky comment, Charlie continues his tale. “Anyway, when we were at the restaurant, she evaded a lot of my personal questions and then left abruptly. I found her in an alley with an awful cut on her forehead. She told me she fell, but there’s no way that’s true.”
“Uh-uh.”
“And then, when we went out again, I noticed that both of her brothers have the same kind of tattoos like she does, strange dark marks. She disappears, shows up with blood on her arm.” Charlie gives a dramatic pause, propping his fingers under his chin. “Do you think they’re a mob family?”
“You mean, like Yakuza?” When Charlie nods, Cat shoots him an incredulous glare; she seems to weigh her words for a couple of seconds. “No, nothing like that. Not a mob, cult, gang or whatever your brain can conjure up. They’re a bit strange, sure, but nothing out of the ordinary. Her older brother - the one with dark hair and the tattoo on the side of his neck, is dating one of my life-long friends. I trust them.”
Charlie remembers the guy - Alec, who seemed slightly uncomfortable with them talking about the work they do, but maybe that was due to him constantly checking his phone. But it was easily noticeable how close he was with Isabelle, teasing her and exchanging knowing glances over the top of his glass; it was hard not to like him.
Cat’s pager beeps three times and she checks it, a frown settling onto her face. “I gotta go, but a parting word of advice - don’t dig too deep. Let her take it at her own pace, the girl’s been through some stuff.”
Charlie wonders what she means, but before he can ask, she pats his shoulder and leaves, ready to save another life. He watches her disappear down the corridor over the top of the half-wall and sinks deeper into his chair.
She’s right - Isabelle is special, he’s never met anyone like her before and he’s not going to blow it over some baseless suspicions. She’s beautiful, incredibly intelligent and interesting, always with a story up her sleeve; Charlie wants to know more.
He taps his phone screen twice, watches it light up with the picture of his dog. He swipes across it, opens the chat window with Isabelle and types out a message - lunch this weekend, maybe a walk. He wants to see her again.
A/N: This is inspired by @isabellelightboob‘s hilarious textpost and I couldn’t resist trying to write something for it.
It dawns on him after their seventh date. Charlie’s returning to their table, Isabelle’s margarita in hand and his own IPA in the other, when he sees a man step up beside her and lean in. As much as he’d like to do something, there’s too much distance between them and he can only watch as the man tries to rest his hand on her neck even as she shakes her head with a frown.
Charlie doesn’t hear the whimper that leaves the man’s mouth but he can clearly see his pained expression from being bent over the table with a twisted arm. Isabelle stands over him, an aborted hand towards her hip shoves her hair back instead as she fixed him with a terrifying scowl. She’d moved faster than Charlie had expected despite knowing she could handle herself after the incident in the alley; the ease of her reaction doesn’t look like a result of some self-defense classes but rather something that came without thinking, an instinct from years of use.
“That was some move!” he says, settling their drinks beside the bowl of peanuts. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
“My family is... really into hand-to-hand, just as a hobby. You know, martial arts. That sort of thing.” She pushes her bracelet around on her wrist, the one he’s never seen her without, and shrugs. “It’s sort of a tradition.”
“Jewelers who can fight. That’s some family history.” His own parents only really share an occupation with him, not much else. But Isabelle seems happy in what she does, following her parents’ footsteps and it makes him more intrigued.
“It’s nothing serious, there’s other families that do the same thing.” Her smile is back as she takes a sip of her margarita.
“Really? I’ve never heard of anyone else doing that,” Charlie admits, wondering what circles she travels in to have that kind of worldview. The thought hasn’t yet coalesced, but he has a sudden understanding of the goosebumps he gets around her. From excitement, surely.
“Oh… What do you like to do then? As a pastime?” She leans in and he lets the conversation get steered away. It’s only as he’s walking home, looking up at the stars that he starts to muzzle into some kind of realization.
The way her brothers had seemed to joke about their family business of ‘jewelry’, the measure of disbelief in their expressions when they’d heard. Like it was too tame.
The way Alec had seemed to bear a malleable confidence on his shoulders, the sense of strength emanating from their mother. Not threatening, but certainly dangerous.
The tattooed symbols that they all share. The others in the bar who’d had the same, though clearly not part of the family. The ones who’d stood near the entrances, as though guarding the place.
Charlie stops on the sidewalk, leaning against the bench in front of his apartment building as it hits him.
Isabelle is involved with the mafia.
He sinks onto the bench and stares at the puddles of light on the road as he struggles to process how he’d missed it for so long.
What is he going to do? He can’t condone the type of activities that she may be involved in, the people that could be hurt. But he can’t match the girl who’d joked about getting snacks out of a vending machine with someone who’d be capable of killing.
He’s left to stew in his thoughts until a few weeks later when Isabelle enters the hospital with the tall, black policeman from the Hunter’s Moon shepherding the two dozen missing people who’d been the focus of the news for the past few weeks. He stops her with a hand on her shoulder, noting the cuts bleeding across her arms and the way her stance shifts in an instant until she relaxes with a tired smile.
“Hey, I’m sorry… I didn’t know what to say.”
“It’s okay, I know.” He was admittedly surprised when she decided to break off their dates, but it gave him time to think. “You don’t have to hide it from me. I know about the… the fighting.”
“You do?” Isabelle fixes him with a surprised stare, her gaze sliding to where her friend is talking to the nurses on duty at the front desk.
“Yeah. I didn’t think you worked with the police though. Does he know?”
“Of course, he’s trustworthy.”
Charlie looks around, making sure they’re out of earshot before he asks. He has to know the truth.
“Isabelle, have you ever killed anyone?”
“No, I’ve never harmed another human being. We protect those who can’t protect themselves.” She looks towards the group of listless, battered people that they led in and she inclines her head. “Like them. There’s some awful things out there and they shouldn’t have to face them.”
“Shouldn’t you leave this to the law? The ones whose job it is to deal with this kind of thing?” He finds himself worried for her, remembers stitching her up and while he can’t even see the scar from it anymore it doesn’t mean she won’t get hurt.
“They aren’t equipped to handle it. I promise, Charlie, we’re the good guys.”
“Who go bump in the night.”
“Yeah.” She lets out a laugh and there’s a relief sitting in her eyes as she looks up at him. “Take care of yourself, Charlie. And thanks.”
He watches her walk away in silence. The woman who can wear blood and red and look stunning in both; he can’t imagine who would be dumb enough to cross her. The whole concept of knowing someone in a mafia is unreal, but he couldn’t have come up with something like this on his own. He fishes around in his pocket for some quarters and heads towards the end of the hallway.
