Disclaimer: I do not own Lost Girl, the plot is of my own imaginings, and any characters that are unfamiliar. (This is set AU of S3 episode 11—Lauren's job was not Fae related, and Bo's father has not yet gotten involved)

01 December, 2013

It sparkled in the light of the dim side-table lamp, the soft clink of beads clicking against each other as they were passed through calloused fingers. A soft sigh and another pull of a near-empty beer found the delicate silver and frosty pink bracelet settled on the wood counter. It was tiny, made for someone much smaller and much more feminine than the man drinking his way through his indecision about the thing.

It was stupid, it was just a bracelet after all, he decided. A bracelet he had bought on a whim because it reminded him of her. A whim he had tucked away in his safe along with his clan tartan, his clan sword, and other things that would likely never see the light of day again.

He plucked the bracelet from the counter and ran his fingers across the silver branches which linked the delicate pink cherry blossoms. Delicate but so resilient that they bloomed year after year despite the hard winters and the storms. Just like her, no matter what life threw at her, she weathered it all.

He sighed again, downing the last of his beer as his phone skittered across the countertop, vibrating thickly. "Thornwood," he answered having swapped the empty bottle for his phone. "I'm on my way, Sir," he straightened, orders from his police captain pushing the bracelet from his mind though he tucked it in his breast pocket before leaving his apartment.

Hale stared across the short distance of their desks at his partner. The partner that he had just recently been reunited with after a lot of chaos and Fae-ness, "What's with you man?"

"What do you mean," Dyson arched a brow at his friend.

The siren shrugged, kicking back and letting his feet land on his desk. "You just seem different lately."

"Have you been seeing that therapist again," Dyson chuckled.

"No," Hale sighed. "You just haven't been your usual self, you're a lot more moody, and in Kenzi's words, not mine 'a sulky-wolf-man'."

"Is that so," Dyson barely suppressed the smirking laughter, "Well maybe I need to pay Kenzi a little visit and show her that I am not 'a sulky-wolf-man'."

"Right," Hale chuckled, "Cause Lil' Momma is really going to believe that with that perpetually five o'clock shadow and stale beer cologne."

"Women like a little scruff, it tells them they're dating a man, not a baby-faced teen," Dyson chuckled, tossing a wadded up report at the younger man.

Hale ducked, a frown crossing his face, "Only you aren't dating Lil' Momma, and she can read B.S. at 50 paces."

Dyson sighed deeply, feeling the light pressure of the bracelet that was pressed between his chest and leather vest.

"See," Hale pointed out, "that's it, right there: the heavy sighs and the vacant stares."

"Stop reading the self-help magazines," Dyson smirked burying the feelings he was having more and more trouble controlling.

"Hey," Hale stood up and walked over to his partner's desk, "I'm just concerned for you. It is my gorgeous ass you're supposed to be watching, not hers."

"It's not," Dyson stopped, not sure how to go on.

"Yeah it is," Hale corrected, "to everyone else you might be hiding it well, but I know you man, I see the way you look at her. The way you always have. There's a reason that after three years, I haven't made a move." Dyson sighed again, Hale's hand clapping him on the shoulder. "I may have bowed out, man, but not everyone is me, and Kenzi, she's pretty oblivious."

As Hale walked away to flirt with the new receptionist, Dyson pushed himself out of his desk chair. What was the harm in just giving her the bracelet, Kenzi wouldn't think anything of it. To her it would just be something shiny to dress up with, hell, she never thought anything of her bar tab mysteriously being paid at the end of each month.

Decided, courage strong, Dyson strode from the station headed to the one place Kenzi would be at noon on a Sunday.

Shortly, Dyson pushed the diner door open, ignoring the tinkling of bells above his head and focused on the dark haired, tiny, woman curled into a corner booth. With silent steps, he moved to her table, standing before her for a moment before letting his smile turn to a slight smirk, "Want some company?"

Kenzi started, her book slipping out her hands and landing with a thump on the seat beside her. "D-man! Seriously, make some noise, little-human Kenzi doesn't want to have a heart attack this year."

Dyson chuckled, ruffling his hair quickly as he slid in across from her, "Sorry."

She rolled those icy blue eyes that had a tendency to shift to pale green when he least expected it. "So what's the haps, Dyson," she drew out his name, a smile softening the eye roll.

He leaned forward, matching her pose, arms on table smile full force, "Nothing, just wondering how my favorite human was this fine Sunday."

"Mhm," Kenzi purred, "and I'm sure Johnny Law came knocking just to check that Little Red wasn't holding the wolf hostage."

"Maybe Johnny Law wanted to join in on the fun," Dyson arched a brow, eyes flashing lightly.

"Right," Kenzi rolled her eyes again, "so what are you really doing here?"

Dyson sat back, "I was hungry, you being here is just an added bonus. So, can I join you for lunch?"

The petite woman shifted, her hair gliding over her bare neck and shoulders, "It's a free world."

"I'm buying," Dyson teased.

Kenzi straightened, her smirk sliding into a polite, sweet smile, "I suppose we haven't had a chance to chat in a while." Their eyes met, and neither could prevent the laughter that spilled forth.

Dyson flagged down a waitress, "Two cups of tea and two burgers with fries, medium rare."

The woman bit her lip and cocked her hip, smiling flirtatiously at Dyson. He smiled politely back, trapping Kenzi's booted foot as it was about to connect with his shin. He pretended her 'subtle' hint about the woman's attraction hadn't happened. A few more polite words and they were alone again. "Are you going to try to kick me again if I let go?"

Kenzi pouted like a child, "Maybe."

"Then 'maybe' I won't let go," Dyson smirked, tracing her delicate ankle with strong fingers.

"Fine," Kenzi nearly growled, jerking her foot out of his firm, but gentle grip. "So no Hale?"

"Hale was too busy chatting up the new receptionist," Dyson told her. "Bo?"

"She and Tam-tam are hanging," Kenzi admitted, a little down, "I didn't want to join in on the orgy so I decided to have some Kenzi-solo time."

"Orgy," Dyson asked, only half surprised.

"Okay maybe less naked-fun-times and more drunken strangers who can't dance," Kenzi shrugged, setting her book on the table so she wouldn't forget it.

"Ah," Dyson nodded, stretching his long legs out, one foot slipping between Kenzi's feet. Silence swelled around them, the only noise was the soft breaths that slipped between lips that held the half-formed thoughts they didn't dare form into words.

Their tea came, and they went through the ritual of adding sugar and cream, of stirring and tapping, and finally sipping and sighing. Dyson set his teacup down and his eyes caught once more on the book Kenzi had been reading when he first surprised her. It was a slim forest green book with gold outlined diamonds pressed gently into the leather cover. Lithe fingers slipped through the air and snatched up the book before Kenzi could object, which she did, with her heel on his toes.

Dyson could only smile as Kenzi leaned across the table, her top slipping lower as she strained to reach her book. He held it just out of her reach, curiosity getting the best of him. There was no title printed on the spine, so Dyson flicked the slightly worn cover open to read the title page. He let out a breath at the title, Heart of Darkness. A somber tale to be sure, the story of a slow descent into immorality—into freedom and the synonymous loss of everything.

To be short, it wasn't a novel that Dyson imagined Kenzi, sweet Kenzi, reading. "What made you choose this?"

She flipped her outstretched hand, palm up, waiting for him to return the book. When he didn't, she withdrew the hand, "It was a present, it was my great-grandfather's. He gave it to me to protect when he was on his death bed, I was only eight."

Dyson frowned, glancing at the Russian script on the inside cover, "Why this book, Kenzi?"

She took a sip of her tea, "Because it is a reminder of what he taught me, he fought in three wars out of duty and honor, and by the end he was more human than anyone I've ever met. He came across this book, in England when he was a youth, and for two days after reading it he drank himself into the gutter. Then he got up and became a better man. He used to sit me on his lap and read to me, and tell me stories of what happened when men lost their way and their ties, and he made me promise to not to lose what made me, me."

Dyson reverently placed the book before Kenzi. Her strength in the face of adversity, her courage in the face of danger, her utter unbending nature when it came to what made her, her. Those were the things he admired so much, loved so much.

There was very little Dyson could say in response to all she had said, so he settled for the truth, "He sounds like a great man, I wish I could have met him, Kenz."

"He was," she smiled down at her tea. "He nicknamed me Kenzi, you know."

"Did he," the wolf sat up.

Kenzi nodded, "Thought MacKenzie was too anglicized for a proper Russian girl. So he nicknamed me after his best friend Kenya, eventually it became Kenzi when my grandmother refused to call me a boy's name."

The snicker of laughter that Dyson let out was followed by a very serious look, "Well I happen to know you make a very handsome man."

Kenzi's eyes narrowed, "Ego much, D-man?"

"Well, it's not often I get to watch myself walk away," he argued.

"Uh-huh," Kenzi scoffed, "I'm still not convinced you didn't do something sketchy with my body when you took it for a walk."

It was Dyson's turn to scoff, "Which of us is the policeman and which of us is the delinquent?"

Kenzi waved it off, hand falling to rest at her hip in a show of defiance, "Yeah, because no cop was ever dirty-minded."

Dyson huffed, "I'll have you know I was the perfect lady during our little body-swap incident, even if I did accidentally learn one or two things about what gets Little Kenzi going."

"Hey," the human yelped, arms crossing protectively over her torso as the wolf's eyes traced every curve and line, a hunter's glint ever-present.

Dyson laughed and leaned back, "Oh," he sat forward, his right hand sliding underneath his vest to produce the bracelet which he dangled on his index finger in front of her. "I almost forgot."

Kenzi's eyes narrowed in confusion, the blue edging more towards green with each moment. "What?"

"I got you something," Dyson smiled.

"It's not my birthday," Kenzi replied, confusion clouding her bright face.

Dyson reached across the table and drew her left wrist to him. "I know," he told her as he deftly, slowly, draped the bracelet around her tiny wrist and secured it. "One of the women at work brought a mess of jewelry in, her daughter makes them by hand. Nearly everyone bought something, and I thought you might like this."

Kenzi stared mystified at the delicate bracelet, the lights in the dinner flashing and catching on the bright metal. "It's gorgeous!"

Dyson watched, pride swelling as she smiled softly and rotated her wrist so she could see every bit of the bracelet. "I'm glad you like it."

"Like it," Kenzi looked at him, eyes full of warmth, all traces of her snarky attitude missing, "Dyson, I love it! Thank you."

He recaptured her wrist, turning it slightly so he could admire the piece with her. In truth, he was just enjoying the feel of her tiny hand engulfed in his. This tiny little human woman who inspired him to be a better man every day was positively oblivious to the affect she had on him.

"I am just one human being."
-Dalai Lama