Thanks oodles for the reviews! :adore:
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Miami, APL Manhattan building, 48th floor
Scott: *steps off elevator, walks over to reception*
Woman: *smiles* Mister Finch, welcome back.
Scott: *smiles* Tina Abrams, is she around?
Woman: She should be in her office.
Scott: Thank you.
Office
Scott: *opens door, looks around* ...What a pigstye. *closes door, turns around*
Mail cart flies by
Guy: WHOOO!
Scott: *backs into wall*
Mail flies
Scott: *looks around*
Woman: *stands in cubicle* HEY GLENN!
Glenn: *stands* YEAH!
Woman: Shoot your spitballs somewhere else! This isn't highschool!
Glenn: Shut your face, bitch!
Scott: *places hands on hips* Interesting. *walks away*
Photocopy room
Scott: *opens door*
Donna: *lifts head*
Guy: *looks over*
Scott: ...Miss Wilson.
Donna: *closes shirt, stands*
Guy: *stands, walks away*
Scott: *rubs face* Pull your skirt back up, sweetheart.
Donna: *pulls up skirt*
Scott: Where's Tina?
Donna: *shrugs*
Scott: Do me a favour, wash that makeup off your face and then go have a seat in Tina's office please.
Donna: *walks away*
Scott: *shakes head*
Office, 20 minutes later
Scott: *walks in, shuts door*
Donna: *resting legs on top of desk, chewing nails*
Scott: Put your legs down, get in this chair.
Donna: *rolls eyes, stands*
Scott: *walks around desk, sits*
Donna: *slumps into chair*
Scott: Sit up.
Donna: *frowning* What for.
Scott: Because I'm your boss and I'm telling you to.
Donna: *rolls eyes, sits up* Oooh I'm so scared, Scott.
Scott: *stares at Donna*
Donna: *crosses legs, looks out window*
Scott: You want to tell me why you were engaging in inappropriate behaviour with that man in the photocopy room?
Donna: No.
Scott: You're 16. He's 45.
Donna: Fine, I'll find someone in this office who isn't growing a bald spot.
Scott: *opens drawer, pulls put paper and pen* I'd like the your parents' phone number please.
Donna: Why.
Scott: Because I'm going to call them.
Donna: They died in a car accident when I was 6.
Scott: Who's your legal guardian?
Donna: I'm emancipated.
Scott: Does Tina know about your behaviour?
Donna: Tina hasn't showed up to work in like 4 days.
Scott: Are you staying with anyone at the moment? Roommates, maybe?
Donna: I have my own apartment.
Scott: *nods* Okay. *grabs card, scribbles* If at any time, day or night, you want to talk about anything, give me a call. *slides card over*
Donna: *looks at card*
Scott: You went through something terrible, Donna. You don't have to deal with it alone.
Donna: *rips card, drops pieces*
Scott: *looks down at floor*
Donna: *frowning*
Scott: ...You know my address. Feel free to stop by anytime. *stands, walks around desk*
Donna: *grabs Scott's hand*
Scott: *stops, looks down*
Donna: *lies head on Scott's arm*
Scott: *kneels*
Donna: *looks down at lap*
Scott: Have I ever told you about Krista?
Donna: *shakes head*
Scott: She was disowned by her parents for being a little slower than most and was was dropped off at a therapy and treatment facility here in Miami because they were the only ones who would take her longterm for enough cash. Anyway, I met her when I entered that same facility and we grew pretty close. I considered her to be somewhat of a little sister.
Donna: *looks at Scott*
Scott: She was about your age when she was assaulted and later killed.
Donna: *stares at Scott*
Scott: I never forgave myself for not being there when she needed me and I don't want to see you fall down a similar path.
Please be careful.
Donna: *nods*
Scott: I mean it.
Donna: I know.
Scott: Have you had any time off since last week?
Donna: *shakes head*
Scott: Okay. I'm going to take you home and I don't want to see you back here for at least 2 weeks. Got it?
Donna: But how am I supposed to pay my rent and my car paym-
Scott: It'll all be taken care of so I don't want you to worry about that. *stands* Let's go.
Donna: *stands*
Near elevator
Scott: I'll meet you downstairs.
Donna: Okay. *gets into elevator*
Doors close
Guy: *sticks folder into mailbox*
Scott: Hey, guy from the photocopy room, right?
Guy: *looks over* That's me.
Scott: Yeah, you're fired.
Guy: What?
Scott: Get moving before I kick your ass out myself.
Guy: Hey! She's just as much at fault!
Scott: One word. Minor. Be glad I don't call the police. Out.
Guy: Ugh. *walks away*
Scott: *points to reception* Get Tina on the phone. Tell her she'd better get her butt up here pronto. I'll be back in 30.
Woman: Yes sir. *grabs phone*
House
Speed: *sits on couch*
Steph: *staring at TV*
Speed: *looks over*
Steph: *wipes nose*
Speed: Your mom used to do that a lot. Although, granted it was for a slightly different reason.
Steph: *sneezes*
Speed: Unless she's slipping you cocaine. *grabs Steph's face*
Steph: *looks at Speed*
Speed: *squints* Hmm...no, your pupils look okay.
Steph: *pulls head away*
Speed: Although, I'd be interested in taking my own 'tour' of this house. How 'bout it?
Steph: *stares at Speed*
Speed: It's a good idea, trust me. *picks up Steph, stands*
Steph: *points to TV* TOONS!
Speed: We're going on a little investigation first.
Upstairs bedroom
Speed: *walks in*
Steph: *grabs Speed's shirt* TOONS!
Speed: Soon. *looks around* Where the hell is their dresser? Here, have a seat on the bed. *places Steph onto bed* I'm going to have a look in this bench here.
Steph: *starts jumping on bed*
Speed: *opens bench* Laptop, briefcase, shoes...obviously not Lori's hidey hole.
Steph: *crawls over, pokes head over foot of bed*
Speed: *closes bench* Let's check the bathroom. *picks up Steph*
Steph: Toons?
Speed: Not yet.
Bathroom
Speed: *opens medicine cabinet* Okay, let's see here. *moves containers* Aspirin, ibuprofen, dairy digestive supplements, ah. Diazepam. *picks up container* Prescribed to Scott Finch.
Steph: *points to container* DADA!
Speed: That's right. I guess that's what he meant by slightly medicated. *throws container onto shelf* Let's see here...*moves containers around* carbamazepine. Filled 3 months ago, doesn't look like she dipped in. Jesus Lori, take your meds. *closes medicine cabinet*
Steph: *points to doorway* Toons.
Speed: Later.
Steph: *frowns* TOONS!
Speed: *sits on toilet, pulls garbage can over*
Steph: *angry sigh, crosses arms*
Speed: *reaches into garbage* Hello, pregnancy test.
Steph: *struggles*
Speed: Go. *puts Steph on floor*
Steph: *bounces up and down*
Speed: *turns test over* Negative. Good, keep it that way. *throws test into garbage, looks at Steph* What.
Steph: *points to diaper*
Speed: *frowns* Great. Where are your diapers?
Steph: *stomps, screeches*
Speed: Looks like I'm on the hunt.
Living room
Speed: Okay, hold still.
Steph: *kicking legs*
Speed: That's not holding still. *puts on latex gloves*
Steph: *screeches*
Speed: You're starting to turn into prime evidence as to why sex is bad. *dumps powder everywhere*
Steph: *coughs*
Speed: *throws diaper into bin, wraps diaper under Steph*
Steph: *points to TV*
Speed: Television will rot your brain out.
Steph: TOONS!
Speed: No! For God's sake, stop saying TOONS!
Steph: *starts to cry*
Speed: *frowns* Premadonna. *closes diaper, picks up Steph*
Steph: *crying* MAAAAAAMAAAAA!
Speed: *frown fades*
Steph: *sniffling, sobbing*
Speed: *stands* Why don't we get you some lunch or something. *walks*
Steph: *swipes photo from fireplace*
Speed: *looks at Steph*
Steph: *staring down at picture* Mama.
Speed: *lifts brow*
Steph: *hugs picture*
Speed: *smirks*
APL Manhattan, 2pm
Scott: *steps off elevator*
Kimberly: *leaning on reception desk*
Scott: *lifts head, stops*
Kimberly: I see you got the memo that our Miami branch went apeshit.
Scott: *stares at Kimberly*
Kimberly: Let's take a walk.
Scott: Yes ma'am.
Hallway
Kimberly: *walking* How are you?
Scott: *walking* You didn't have to come all the way down to Miami.
Kimberly: One of my employees shoots my right-hand man and then offs himself in the lobby, I think it warrants a visit. *pushes door open, walks through* How many suicides have you witnessed in your life, Finch?
Scott: One is too many.
Kimberly: Exactly. I seem to have rectified the CEO problem, now we have an employee problem. An autopsy was conducted on Mark Stapleton per my request, here are the M.E's findings. *hands over folder*
Scott: *opens folder, looks down* Traces of haloperidol in his system. That's an antipsychotic.
Kimberly: 18% of our employees around the country have psychiatric conditions managed with medication. And those are just the ones documented by our branch psychiatrists.
Scott: We have branch psychiatrists?
Kimberly: Mental health services are provided with our benefits package. We're an investment company, Scott. Our clients are putting their trust in us and we've got people bringing guns to work and shooting from the watchtower.
Scott: Well you know how the economy is.
Kimberly: *stops walking* Have you ever been dumped?
Scott: *stops, looks back* ...Curious segway.
Kimberly: Seriously. Have you ever been dumped?
Scott: Yes.
Kimberly: Was it ever because of your career?
Scott: No.
Kimberly: *throws hands up in the air* Must be me then. I found a good guy a couple weeks ago and all of the sudden this morning, he tells me he doesn't like a woman that's 'into' her career. Because apparently, it makes me too aggressive. Do you find me aggressive?
Scott: Uh-
Kimberly: It's either yes or no, Finch.
Scott: No. Well, maybe a little.
Kimberly: You'd think some guys would like that. Do you find aggressive women attractive?
Scott: ...Can we go back to discussing the economy?
Kimberly: No. You're the closest thing to a girlfriend that I have and I want girl talk.
Scott: *blinks*
Kimberly: I'm 27 years old, I'm in the prime of my career and I'm single. I was sort of hoping to have a kid someday, say before I'm 35. Ugh, I'm seriously considering a turkey baster.
Scott: You ever ask Bob?
Kimberly: *laughs*
Scott: *smiles*
Kimberly: Something tells me he'd rather be hands-on in the process and I'm not sure I consider him a prime donor anyway.
Scott: *nods* Well as much as I love girl talk, I think we should get back to work.
Kimberly: Good idea.
Scott: *walks away*
Kimberly: *tilts head*
TBC............................
