Caution: Flamable

A small chime announced Dean's entrance to his after-work spot, The Inferno, an upscale-ish bar with a flow of customers. He ran a calloused hand through his short blond hair as he made his way to the bar stool furthest from the door. 

The restaurant section allowed for a sit-down experience, while the bar catered to people like Dean; a stressed-out lieutenant who wanted to drink alone. Several flat-screen TVs hung above the bartender, all playing the news.

Dean watched, hoping for some information about the second large apartment fire this month. The half-assed explanation blamed it on the increase in garbage fires, but his bureau had been assigned the case that morning, and he could see the connection.

The news was starting to piss him off. It wasn't providing anything useful, only scaring citizens into thinking there was a "psycho arsonist" or new gang running around.

He sighed, ordered his usual Bloody Mary, and settled into his thoughts.

After about twenty minutes, someone walked through the door alone.

Giant green eyes glanced around as if she was lost or waiting to be found. A late-summer breeze followed her inside, carrying a floral perfume that caught Dean's attention. The workaholic found himself studying the stranger.

Wild, messy pink curls framed a face covered in freckles. Her spring-green eyes seemed innocent at first, but when she turned and met his caramel gaze, something dangerous flickered through them. Dean felt himself straighten and wanted–needed to look away until he noticed her clothes. Which were not what normal people wore to The Inferno.

She wore a tight white blouse beneath a red bomber jacket decorated with a giant black rose. Her jeans were offensively tight. And her ass and thighs were stacked. Dean realized he was starting to look like a fucking creep with how long hes been staring but… damn.

The woman caught him looking. Her eyes traveled over his biceps and chest before she bit her lip, and something about the look made his stomach tighten. That was enough to snap him out of it. He grabbed his drink and forced his attention forward, but curiosity kept dragging his eyes back. When she leaned over the counter, her white shirt rode up slightly, exposing her freckled lower back. Dean looked away.

No.

Whoever the fuck that chick was, she was trouble. He hadn't found himself this attracted to someone in a long time, which was only more reason to stay the hell away. He liked control. He liked easy things. He didn't like headaches. That chick screamed headache.

Five minutes later, however, the stranger was standing beside him, leaning against the bar.

Dean groaned inwardly. God must be fucking testing me.

“Hey there, handsome,” the soft voice of the stunning pink haired stranger called to him. “I really like your shirt.” Dean snorted at the lame pick up line and cut his non-too-friendly eye towards the woman who was obviously younger than him.

“Not interested, kid. You got the wrong idea,” he grumbled and took another sip of his drink trying to hurry up and finish it, so he could walk home.

“Not a kid. And I think I do have the right idea though.” Dean glanced over to see a small smile graced her face. He took in the freckles that were spilled onto her face so carefree like stars across the night sky.

“What brings you here?” The woman prodded while leaning in more and Dean felt himself automatically go on edge and in defensive mode. He didn’t fucking want this–or at least that’s what he was telling himself when he felt something coil in his stomach.

“Tryin’ to catch a wave of peace. Now, fuck off. You’re ruining my night for me,” he spat out unkindly.

“Ouch, you have some bite to you,” the other chuckled before raising her eyebrows suggestively. “I think I like it. Do you like to bite in bed too?”

If Dean was anybody else, he would’ve choked on his spit at the out-rightness of the statement. It might be late in a bar but people don’t just say shit like that to each other.

“You’re trying really hard, you know that? Desperation isn’t a cute look.”

"Neither is stuck-up asshole," she shot back. "But I'm always willing to make an exception."

There it was again–that innocent yet challenging look. Dean took another drink.

"Do you usually just go around bar to bar looking for someone?"

"Maybe. Do you usually stare at a girl's ass long enough for her to feel you basically eye-fucking her?"

Dean froze.

"I watched you for fifteen minutes," she continued with a smile. "Excuse me if I got the wrong idea."

"Well, I'm clearing it up now. I'm not interested."

"...Fair."

She leaned back, giving him some space.

"Let me buy you a drink first."

Dean rounded on her. "What the hell did I just—"

"Relax!" She laughed, lifting her hands. "I'm not buying it for that reason. I'm buying one for your obvious broken heart."

Dean's expression dropped.

"What?"

"Did I hit the nail on the head?"

"I'm going to need you to piss off right now."

"I guess I did."

She handed the bartender some cash and ordered another drink for Dean. When it arrived, she slid it toward him.

"Here you go. On me. No questions asked. I'm sorry for whoever broke your heart. No one deserves that, y'know? Especially someone with such a nice scowl and pretty eyes."

Dean stared at her.

"What, so now you've switched from trying to get with me to trying to be my therapist?"

"Nope. Still very much trying to get with you. My prospects just feel low, so I'm chatting now."

Dean groaned and turned back around.

"How are my chances looking?"

“Absolutely not a single goddamn one.”

“Sounds good, I can live with that.” There was a thick moment of silence as Dean drank down the second drink and found himself wondering why he hadn’t just left yet. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the other ordered herself a screwdriver.

“...What was their name?”

Dean blinked several times at the shorter one. “Who?”

“The person who broke your heart,” She said while tilting his head to the side. “Everyone has one.”

“Why in the living hell would I tell you that at all?”

“I dunno, I’m curious. Just humor me for a while, I like deep conversations.” He watched as those rosy lips drink down the orange liquid and then licked up residue taste, making them shine in the yellow bar light. “You’ll never have to see me after this so think of it as a free therapy session or something. C’mon, live a little.”

“If I say a name will you fuck off?” He said with little resolve. Part of him wanted his conversation to be done, but the other half...the other half wanted something he no longer allowed himself.

“Yeah, I promise. I’ll fuck right off to find someone who will actually give me what I want.”

Dean almost dropped his goddamn glass straight to the fucking ground at the suggestive comment. This made it fucking crystal clear she came here looking for sex… and she waltzed straight up to Dean for it.

The warm tightness in his belly felt like it was a millimeter away from snapping and quickly Dean decided that this conversation needed to be over with. So, he gave the nymph of a woman what she wanted to hear.

“...Her name was Eliza,” he stated barely above a whisper.

“Ah, that’s a pretty name. I can tell that she probably was beautiful with that type of name. No wonder you’re over here with the world's worst attitude.”

“I’m not fucking hung up on her,” he quickly corrected without looking to the other. He thought back to that terrible month and something inside of him sung lowly and vulnerably. “That’s not the problem, me and her are way in the past but...that’s the start of the issue I guess. My stupid ass broken heart caused a lot of trouble and now I can’t reverse the damage it’s done.”

He finally turned to the side to see a sad look on the other young adult’s face. The shimmering emerald eyes studied him in what felt like a new light and Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Why the fuck did I say all of that to her? He angrily reprimanded himself. Finally, the silence broke when the woman twirled her drink in her hand and stared down in a dejected manner at the swirling alcohol.

“Hearts are...complicated things. They always make a mess.”

“Yeah, no fuckin’ kidding,” He took another sip of his drink and enjoyed the sudden silence that shifted between them. He watched as those eyes didn’t lift back up and drifted off to a faraway place.

Dean noticed the bandages covering half of her left hand.

"You know, it always perplexed me," she said, "how much love consumes and destroys us before we even recognize what's happening. Then, unfortunately, by the time we do notice...we've already been incinerated down to ashes by the havoc it's caused."

Dean's eyebrows knitted together.

"Sorry," she added with a laugh. "That got way too deep for a preppy bar on a Friday night."

But Dean wasn't fooled. He knew a defense mechanism when he saw one.

"Do you write poetry or some shit?"

"Hah. Sometimes. Why? Would you like me to read some of my broken-hearted stances?"

"You're strange."

"So I've been told."

Their eyes met again.

The woman leaned closer across the bar, close enough that Dean could feel the warmth of her breath. He froze, studying the freckles scattered across her face and the different shades of green in her eyes.

"What are my chances like now?" she whispered.

Dean's heart raced.

After a moment, she leaned back with a sigh.

"I guess still zero, huh?"

She smiled sadly.

"Well, it was nice chatting with you. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive yourself one day for whatever happened."

She waved before turning away.

Dean watched her leave, irritated by how badly he wanted to know who the hell she was. Why was she so bold? Why did she make his heart squeeze like that? A feeling he hadn't experienced in nearly four years.

For the rest of the night, Dean tried to focus on the television, but his eyes kept wandering back toward the stranger. He didn't notice how tightly he clutched his glass when another person whispered something into her pink curls. He watched the two leave together with an inkling of jealousy he would never admit to feeling.

The following weekend, Dean had an all-too-vivid dream about the nameless woman from the bar.

He cursed when he woke up.

Whatever. Like she'd said, he'd never see her again. The city was huge. There was almost no chance he'd ever cross paths with her again.

When Monday came, he arrived to work early. Captain Bennett had sent out an email to the entire day-shift Kingsley Ave.precinct officers saying that he had important news.

“What do you think the news is?” Mellisa asked as they all gathered around outside in the common office space in the build.

“I dunno, but I secretly hope it’s like food or something,” Charlie mumbled with his hands in his uniform pockets. “Gettin’ real tired of the fact we only have shitty coffee around here.”

“It probably is some type of case,” Dean interjected. “He hasn’t called a meeting this big since 2008 and there was a serial killer targeting officers.” He thought back to how serious the Captain had been.

“I have a very important announcement to make,” the loud voice of Captain Bennett boomed instantly, making everyone’s conversation die off.

“We have a new young detective joining us today. She’s a transfer from another precinct and I wanted to make it a point that everyone treats her kindly and fairly. She’s an important extension of myself because we’re from the same home town, so I just wanted to give a proud welcome!”

In that moment Captain Bennett stepped to the side and Dean felt his heart drop to the fucking ground.

Out walked goddamn sex on legs from Friday night looking absolutely perfectly professional and innocent in a plain light blue button up and her pants were still too fucking tight for her legs. A small cute smile graced those freckled features and green eyes scanned over the large crowd with a gentle shy wave until they stopped on him.

Caramel and green eyes quickly became twins tied together by all of the following emotions: absolute shock, a fairly hard to ignore rising heat, but above all, downright disbelief.

“This is Olena Petrova. She’ll be joining our team! I can’t wait to see what wonderful things will come of this year with her on board.”

...Fuck.

"Petrova, I'll show you around the building," Bennett continued. "We'll set you up at the empty desk in the corner."

Dean knew exactly which desk that was, positioned directly in front of his office window.

Just fucking great.

He spent the rest of the morning doing everything possible to ignore her.

When midday rolled around, Dean headed toward the break room, paperwork in hand. He walked through the doorway without looking up, relying on muscle memory to guide him toward the coffee machine.

Then he looked up.

Pink.

Olena was standing on her tiptoes, trying to reach the mugs on the shelf.

Dean sighed inwardly.

Without thinking, he reached above her and pulled one down.

"Ah! Thank you so m—"

She turned.

"O-oh."

Her expression changed instantly.

Dean frowned.

"Oh? What do you mean, oh? I can put this back if you don't want it."

"I-I didn't mean it like that, sir!"

Sir.

The word reminded Dean exactly what their relationship was now.

"Whatever. Just take the mug. You're acting weird."

They prepared their coffee in awkward silence.

Then they spoke at the same time.

"About Friday—"

"I'm so sorry for hitting on you!"

Olena immediately bowed at the waist.

"I am absolutely so sorry about how strongly I came off on Friday. It was completely inappropriate, especially considering our job positions. I promise it won't ever happen again. It's strictly professional from here on out. Please don't tell anyone."

Dean blinked.

Never in his life had he heard anyone talk that fast.

"Consider it forgotten, Petrova. But don't go around doing shit like that again. You have to keep a low profile as an officer."

He missed the hurt expression that crossed her face.

"Understood," she replied quietly. "But, with all due respect, my bedroom matters shouldn't be any concern."

He decided to ignore this comment, not wanting to further cross some HR violations. As he poured a splash of creamer in his mug, a concerning thought crossed his mind. Dean quickly cleared his throat, “Look, let's not discuss that. But about what I told you” another cough, “about… Eliza.”

“Oh!” the young detective exclaimed.

The blond's face scrunched in a cringe at the fact he's talking about this again, God he feels like a heartbroken teenager. Seeing this reaction, the detective suddenly changed her expression into one more serious, “Of course, I would never share something so personal to others… a-and I would never break your trust,” her voice laced with understanding.

There was a visible amount of tension released in Dean's shoulders and he suddenly lost his voice, only able to grunt in reply. Before he could walk away, a bandaged hand grabbed his forearm. “My lips are sealed, I promise,” Olena added with a smile that was all teeth and sincerity.

Dean felt a spark in his heart that spread warmth through his insides as he stared into her green eyes. Stop fucking doing that. He scolded himself and worked his jaw.

Suddenly, the break room's wooden door hit him, causing him to lose his footing and spill his mug directly onto Olena's arm.

Her eyes widened and she let out a sharp screech before pushing past him and the intruder standing in the doorway.

“Shit, sorry, Lieutenant,” Charlie's voice came from behind Dean, who stood in shock at what had just occurred. Not a moment later, his brain seemed to reboot and his body moved before he could think. Turning around and pushing past his idiot best friend, Dean all but sprinted to the washroom after Olena.

When he bursts open the door, his eyes dart toward the pink-haired woman standing over the sink. “Are you okay?” His voice comes out with a mix of concern and guilt.

Only then does he take in the now wide-eyed woman's appearance. Her blue button-up has been tossed onto the floor, leaving her in a white tank top. But that's not what shocked him–no. It was the burn scars that crawled up her left arm, starting at her palm and stretching across pale skin to finish at her shoulder. The scars were old, raised, and keloids were littered across some places. It was concerning for sure, but he would have to admit they also made her look even more attractive. They showed that she had survived something difficult, the muscle they wrapped around showed just how she'd rebuilt herself stronger than before.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Olena quickly panicked and all but leaped forward to cover his mouth. Eyes glassy with tears, “P-please, please don’t make this a big deal… I d-don’t want anyone to know,” her voice came out uneven and shaky.

The blond carefully lifted his arm to grab Olena's wrist. Her hands were shaking, and he lowered them down without letting go. They stood like that for a few minutes until all you could hear were a few deep breaths and Dean's thumb absentmindedly rubbing her hand. He took a small step forward.

“My lips are sealed.”