Sorry I haven't updated this story in a while, I was finishing up The State of Kings. To be completely honest, I have no idea what even happened in that fanfic. Like, I don't even know how I got to where it ended. Spoiler: To those who haven't read it, it goes basically from moving to kissing to sleeping to cheating to screwing to kidnapping to watching torture to being tortured (to the brink of death) to the hospital to a kiss to death. Honestly, I did not see that coming. But anyway, sure, why not. I sort of like it though, because of the title mostly. I'm proud of that title. XD

In other news, to those who are interested, I got my backpack! So there was a mixture of votes and a lot of indecision and anxiety and panic in choosing, but you will be happy to know that what I picked can satisfy everyone! The outside is gray with a cool flowery-ish design. The zippers are purple, and on the inside there is a tie-dyed-ish design that is pink AND purple AND blue. How fracking awesome is that?

So I'm happy to be back to this story. I hope it turns out nice. I don't exactly know what's happening though. O.O Ah well, it'll end fabulously. But I do have a lot of revisions to do on my book and (summer) homework to do and music to listen to so I'll leave you to it then.

I think this chapter may be a little short? I don't know, but I was looking at my word count and it's looking pretty high for this story, so I'm fairly proud.

For those of you that haven't already, you should listen to Crime Dramas Suck by Hank Green. It's a great song. :3 And it sort of reminds me of Cause of Death because...well...you'll see.

Enjoy and review pretty please? I love you, my beautiful ponies! :D

DFTBA, Sami.

Deviate
Chapter Six - Simplicity

"The truth resists simplicity." -John Green

"Maybe it isn't related," I mutter to myself. I am sitting the floor of the living room in my house and there are papers spread haphazardly around me. There are open manila folders and loose files and even notes I've written myself on the backs of napkins. "Maybe it's all a coincidence."

But I know it is related, all these recent murders. My life is too complicated for them to be simple cases; there must be another serial killer running rampant in San Francisco. After all, the truth resists simplicity.

Twelve murders in twelve days, twelve separate homicide cases becoming one. Another of Genevieve's psychopathic children, or someone more self-sufficient? I take another look at the fifth file that is laid near my left foot.

"Male, blonde hair, blue eyes. Wearing blue shirt when found. Bullet through head, no gun on scene."

That rules out suicide, I presume. I look over at File Eleven, one of the more recent findings.

"Female, blonde hair, blue eyes. Wearing pink/red dress when found. Cuts on chest (near heart) and face. Non-fatal marking around neck."

None of it makes sense. The causes of death are completely random and the genders differ in no obvious pattern that I can make out. The only thing related is their hair and eye colors, which seems fairly extraneous to me.

I set down File Eleven and pick up my coffee mug from the floor. As I finish off the remains of the steaming beverage, there is a knock on the door. Amy and I have reacquainted ourselves fairly well recently, but she knows I'm working; she dropped all of the paperwork off for me anyway. She wouldn't be interrupted. Confused, I stand and cross the room to the mahogany door and open it.

"Hey," Mal says. "I'm, uh, back, you know, if you don't…"

"Mal!" I shriek and throw my arms around him, knocking the breath out of him. After I let go, he stares at me awkwardly and apologetically. We stand there for several minutes just watching each other before I start hitting him.

"What – the – hell – were – you – thinking?" I scream, punctuating each word with a slap, generally aimed at his arms.

"Jesus, Natara!" He backs away. "Calm down, I came back to explain!"

"Well," I say, "I'm busy. Sorry."

"Work?" he asks, genuinely curious. "Do we have a new case?"

"It's been two months," I inform him coldly. "I have a new case. You've been MIA for two months, you asshat."

"Don't be so dramatic," he says weakly, gaining another scowl from me.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I say. "I thought we were supposed to be married. I thought we had a wedding in process. I must be mistaken."

"Nat, you can't really be mad," he answers exasperatedly.

"Mad?" I repeat. "Mad? Oh no, why would I be mad? My – I don't even know what you are, fiancée? Ex-husband? Partner? – disappeared off the face of the earth for two freaking months. Two months, Malachi Fallon, does that sound normal to you?"

"He came to our wedding, Natara. Oscar was at our wedding."

"You don't say?"

"You don't understand why I hate him, Natara. You never will."

I guess he expects me to think he hates Oscar because Oscar left me and hurt me, but I do understand. God, do I understand better than Mal will ever know. He obviously underestimates my abilities to keep a secret and to eavesdrop.

I stopped outside of the office Mal and I shared at the precinct because I heard voices. After debating the consequences internally, I leaned against the door frame casually and turned my ear to the door. Inside there was a muffled argument, and I immediately recognized the voice of my partner Mal Fallon.

"Don't hurt her, Oscar," Mal said. "Don't ever dream of it."

I heard the easy laugh of my fiancé Oscar Santos then, followed by, "What are you talking about?"

"Don't hurt Natara," Mal repeated, catching me slightly off guard. "Don't ever. I swear to God, Oscar, if you hurt her…"

"You'll what?" Oscar laughed again. "Hunt me down?"

It struck me as odd that Oscar was laughing, wasn't swearing that he wouldn't hurt me when I married him. It was slightly unsettling.

"Oscar, goddamn it, if you do hurt her…"

"Then I'll be far away," Oscar said. "Trust me, I don't want to get in a fight with you and her against me."

He still hadn't promised not to hurt me, which is what Mal wanted, I realized. He was just joking about it, as far as I could tell.

"Oscar…" Mal began again.

"I know you're jealous," he said suddenly. "I know you wish you were marrying her and not me."

There was silence on the other side of the door.

"You wish you could be with her like I am," Oscar continued. "That you could hug her whenever you want. Kiss her any time. Tell her you love her, propose..." He laughed. "See how amazing she is in bed…"

At which point I heard several yells and a bang. It was pretty loud and attracted the attention of more than just me, so I decided I should probably move.

Five minutes later, I watched from across the room as several people flooded back out of the office, separating Mal from Oscar, who had mysteriously acquired a black eye, and refused for the next several weeks to tell me how he got it. Eventually I stopped pestering him and the matter dropped, but I had my suspicions. Always.

"Mal," I say and my tone softens considerably. "It doesn't matter. That was our day, not his. It would have killed him to see us get married even after he interrupted. It would have killed him that we were happy. We could have been happy."

He frowns. "I know." And I suspect that is as much of an apology as I will get for the time being. "So what are you working on?"

I smile begrudgingly and walk back over to where my papers are spread across the floor. "A new case," I explain. "It's lucky you're here because I don't see how these murders could be connected."

"Maybe they aren't?" he says, sitting down on the carpeting with me and I give him a look. He laughs. "Yeah, you're right. Our lives aren't that simple, are they?"

He picks up a few of my notes and starts reading them and I watch him. His eyes slip across the papers quickly, skimming them to get an idea of what we're doing. His nose scrunches up when he reads the causes of death and his eyes widen when he sees the physical similarities. His face goes back to its 'thoroughly confused' state when he can't find anything yet either.

"No," I say. "No, they aren't."

And I smile.