Okay, so I was going to wait until I'd finished posting my Chloe and Mox story before I started posting this one, but in the end, I just can't wait to get it out there into the world. So here, please accept this a couple of weeks early. My new story, for your viewing pleasure. Also, this might be my new favourite thing I've written. Even though it drove me to distraction at times.

Hope you like!

ONE

The crumbling brownstone has been split into offices. Although describing the rooms as offices is probably kind of a stretch, since the sign on each door seems more shady than the last one and decidedly less legal.

Lawyer. Bail bondsman. Thai Massage and not one of them the business that Roman is looking for, which Rachel from the agency had scribbled down on a Post-It note and then passed over the desk with a flinch of apology. He had taken it from her with a good natured frown,

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing," she had chirped way too hastily, which had meant she'd been lying. Roman had given her the look, the one that he tends to let loose on his daughter when she's done something wayward but won't tell him what and which clearly also works on bespectacled twenty somethings, with a penchant for dungarees and frizzy black hair.

"It's just that the guy is a bit of a weird one."

Roman had blinked in response,

"Weird how?"

"Well, I mean I don't know exactly," Rachel had shrugged at him, "But he's had nine temps in the past eighteen months and the last one only lasted an hour before quitting."

In hindsight it hadn't been the most positive of starts and looking around at the beaten up brownstone with its peeling flock wallpaper and its cracked art deco tiles, Roman can see why the last person scarpered. And the one before that. And the one before that. There is a woman stood smoking outside the massage place, which from what he can see only has a bed inside and not one of those flat white massage type beds either, but a very well used looking regular bed. Which he figures answers the question about the nature of her business. Not to mention the legality.

He smiles,

"Morning baby girl. Wonder if you could help me. See I'm looking for – ,"

"He's up there," she drawls back lazily with a point towards the stairs, not even letting him uncrumple his Post-It, "Second floor, around the corner, first door on the right."

He blinks,

"Uh, thanks."

"But I could be your baby girl," she bats her eyes at him, "For the right price that is."

Roman waggles his wedding ring at her and then chuckles,

"Nah, sorry, not this time baby girl. But you be sure to have a nice day now. Oh and hey stop smoking, because those things'll kill you."

"Screw you."

Taking the rickety staircase as instructed, Roman rounds the bend into yet another hall, although this one is darker since the window at the end of it has clearly been broken by something or someone and then patched up with boards, which means that it's kind of difficult to even make out the faded letters on the door. Although he manages. Just.

Dean Ambrose, Private Investigator.

Or in other words exactly what Rachel has scribbled on the note. Roman knocks against it and then stands for a second as nothing comes back at him.

He tries a second time,

"Hello?"

Behind the crimped glass he can hear something moving and so he gently twists the handle and then steps into the room, not really sure what to expect from a weird one but still not prepared for the chaos he finds.

The office itself is probably one of the bigger ones, since it seems to span not one but two rooms, the first of which has the original plaster mouldings and wooden window casements and a paper strewn wooden floor. Because boy oh boy is there paperwork everywhere. It's like a god damn tornado has blown through the room and flung open the drawers of the dark hued wood cabinets and left mess on every surface, including the chair, which Roman can just see under the debris like the place is supposed to be a waiting room of sorts. Although it looks like a while since anyone has used it. Or wanted to perhaps.

"Uh, anybody here?"

A pile of papers on the couch moves suddenly and a rat sized ball of fluff comes barrelling out, snarling and barking like a mastiff or something, although a hand scoops him up before he makes it to the door, or to Roman's ankles for that matter.

"Seth no. Sorry man, he gets that like, Napoleon deal sometimes an' goes around thinkin' he's like, ten foot tall ya know?" the guy who has grabbed up the snarling little cotton ball gives him a rueful looking grin that says kids, then fishes a doggie treat out of his pocket and puts Seth back down, "So what can I do ya for my man? Need dirt on a client? Because you gotta be a lawyer to be all dressed up in a fancy lookin' suit like that and oh holy crap, are you wearin' a waistcoat?"

Roman pulls his jacket folds in,

"I'm not a lawyer."

"Damn," the guy huffs snapping his fingers, which makes the bangs bounce over his hooded blue eyes, "Then what are you here for? Because I don't do wiretaps or put trackers on cars, but if you need proof your wife is like, cheatin' with her tennis coach then that I can do."

"The agency sent me."

Dean pauses,

"What?"

Not that Roman even knows who he is yet, since neither one of them has been formerly introduced, but he figures that with all the talk of detective stuff that it has to be and so pulls out his credentials,

"The McMahon temp agency. I'm Roman Reigns."

Probably-Ambrose gapes back in astonishment,

"Wait. You're my new secretary?"

"Well, actually we kind of prefer to call ourselves Office Managers, because it sounds more important. But basically brother, yeah, that's me."

"Fuck," more-likely-than-not-Ambrose breathes back at him, before hastily putting out his hand, "Hey man, I'm Dean. Cool name by the way. Uh, hope I didn't like, offend you with the secretary deal."

"Nah, no harm done," Roman smiles, "And besides, after meeting your neighbor in the hallway, I think the least I can handle is a little secretary jibe."

Dean grins instantly,

"Who, you mean Sunny? Trust me, her bite is way worse than her bark. She once chased a John outta here with a chainsaw when he tried to short change her. But I mean like, on the plus side she watches the door like a freakin' hawk or somethin', which has gotten me out of a jam like, one or two times. Or okay, three or four times, so I mean she's not all bad."

"Does that happen often?" Roman asks, feeling cautious. Not that he's never been in a fistfight before, but he's certainly never been in one while he's been working and he's not sure what the guidelines from the office on brawls are.

Dean shrugs evasively then scratches his head,

"Uh, you know. Now an' then – uh – think the last time was when I had that blonde temp. Guy came in an' threw a tire iron at her."

Which Roman guesses answers why the last clerk only lasted there an hour.

"Still," Dean chirps, "At least I got Seth now. My last client won him from his ex-wife in the divorce, but was gonna like take him to the freakin' pound or somethin', so I made the little guy part of the bill."

He pets Seth fondly on the head as he passes and the little dog tries to take a chunk from his hand, which Ambrose either misses or else isn't fazed by since he simply grins instead,

"So, this is the place," opening his arms out and then scratching his head again, Ambrose points at various parts of the room, indicating things mostly buried beneath paper, or else about to be, "Uh, so this here's the waitin' room, an' the space next door is kinda the office," more head scratching, "Uh, well, I mean, it's got a desk. Except everything's a bit like, jumbled up at the moment because I was tryin' a' find somethin'."

"Find what?" Roman asks, hoping that the answer is a needle in a haystack given that's about the chance they have of finding whatever it is. Ambrose shuffles his feet somewhat awkwardly and then itches his hair again, which Roman figures is a nervous thing. Well, either that or he's caught fleas from the building – which doesn't seem unlikely – or possibly from Seth.

"My toothbrush," Dean shrugs, "It's been kind of a tough few months for the business, an' my landlord was bein' kind of a dick about the rent. So me an' Seth have like, sorta moved in here. You know, like temporarily or whatever."

Roman blinks.

When Rachel had called him a bit of weird one she hadn't been kidding in any way shape or form and yet despite the damn dog and the mountain of chaos and the fact his new boss has nowhere to live, Roman can't help but feel weirdly excited, like he had done back before his forced change of career and when big airy office blocks and sprawling conglomerations with brightly lit file rooms had become his whole life. Because surely working for a real life investigator has to all beat that crap.

Right?

He looks to his left and then spots a cluster of bright green looking bristles sticking out of a mug under a file beneath the couch. He stoops and picks it up,

"Is this what you're looking for?"

Dean's face lights up,

"Fuck. I got a good feelin' about this Reigns," he grins as someone downstairs begins to bellow, which bleeds up through the floorboards and makes Seth ditch his treat to instead start barking and growling through the woodwork, "You an' me are gonna make a pretty great freakin' team here."

Roman nods,

"I sure hope so."

What the hell has he done?

Weekly updates on this one, as usual. Hope to see you next week, same time, same place!