it began at a butcher shop

by rymyanna

Summary:

The murder besties to married-for-tax-benefits pipeline. A radiorose human AU (written for radiorose week.)

Notes:

I'm not sure when this takes place exactly, I’m playing fast and loose with history here. All you need to know that it’s the ye olden times (not that olden though since radio is a thing) and Rosie and Alastor are contemporaries.

Rosie kills a bunch of her husbands in this one and then she and Alastor team up to murder someone else's husband in a later chapter. I don't think it's that explicit and I assume that since you clicked on a fic tagged with murder and cannibalism, you're fine with all that. Rated M for Murder.

Chapter 1: Routine

Rosie's first husband had a butcher shop. She had been too young when they'd gotten married, legal certainly, but far too inexperienced in the ways of the world and what love and marriage meant.

Near the end, he'd raised a hand to her and Rosie had been widowed soon after.

But that's getting ahead of ourselves!

 

Now, Rosie helps around the shop most days. She has a household to run but what kind of wife doesn't lend a hand whenever she's able? It's nice, she likes talking to the customers and she's not squeamish around the meat.

There's a man that comes by often. He buys meat, and sometimes he sells some fine bits of deer to her husband. He's polite enough, always with a smile on his face. There's something oddly familiar about him but it takes Rosie a while before she puts it together.

When he's at the shop next, just shopping for some prime cuts this time, and Rosie's husband is busy in the back, Rosie brings it up,

"It's been bothering me for such a long time, you know," she says while wrapping up his order. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere!" She hands the package over with a wide smile.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense, madam," he says, smiling back. “Share your insights!"

"You host late night radio!" she enthuses. "The jazz show! Sorry, I don't know what it's called, my husband doesn't like the music so we don't listen to it much," she goes on, "But I get some listening done whenever he's here late, and it's a real riot!"

She rings him up and he has a strange look on his face. Oh, he's still smiling but it's like he's seeing her for the first time. His eyes are an interesting shade of brown, almost reddish in the afternoon light, and sharp.

She meets his stare.

"Ah, forgive me, I just realized that whenever I'm here, it's your husband I deal with and never your lovely self."

Rosie laughs, "Hah, what a charmer! Don't let my husband catch you being sweet to me, that man gets so jealous." And she'd hear all about it in the evening over dinner. 

He smiles with more teeth. "Surely it's all the same if you don't mind, madam."

"It's Rosie to you, mister.” She corrects him. “You're one of our better customers, we're practically best friends already."

"I concur!" he agrees and holds out his hand. "Alastor, pleased to make your acquaintance officially."

She puts her hand in his. "The pleasure's mine."

 

Alastor comes and goes. They chat whenever Rosie gets the chance to talk to him without her husband glaring over her shoulder. He has no reason to be jealous in any case: Alastor is a friend. It's not that he's without his charms in both looks and manners but Rosie is married and there's something about Alastor that is peculiar. She can't put her finger on it; a bit of a pattern for her, but it's there, nagging at her. 

During their talks, she learns things about him. He enjoys drinking and dancing and good music. He is unmarried and in no hurry to find a wife. His father died when he was just a boy, in a hunting accident.

"Oh he went the way of so many men, fell onto his own sword so to speak," Alastor explains while browsing the meat selection. He's been at it for a while but Rosie doesn't mind. There's no one else in the shop and her husband is out running some business related errands.

"You don't say," Rosie comments, curious.

He smiles up at her, interrupting his careful meat inspection. "Indeed! A hunting rifle to the face, such a tragedy." His smile never fades but he does place a hand on his chest to convey the drama of it all.

"Do you miss him?" Both of Rosie's parents are still alive, although her marriage whisked her away, to a different part of the country.

"Certainly not, my dear. Some men this world is better off without," he says and goes back to the meat. "I think I'll go for some sausages today."

"A fine choice!"

 

"Did you read the paper, honey?" Rosie asks her husband one morning. She'd gotten up earlier than him, to read the news and to make his breakfast. "Those men going missing? Just awful, isn't it?" 

Her husband drinks his coffee and shrugs. "Probably just ran off somewhere, there's no bodies."

"Yet!" She points out. Naturally it is all very ghastly and grim, and yet so exciting.

"Enough of such morbid talk, let's get to work." He gets up and heads to the door and that's that. Rosie sighs; what an awful bore, her man. At least she can talk to Alastor about it later; he's always ready to gossip and speculate on the darker goings on of their community.

 

It all starts to come to a head one morning. Alastor is selling his meat wares and Rosie is there to greet him this time, her husband and his irrational behavior be damned.

She squints at a cut of meat. "Funny, this looks a lot more like pork than venison to me."

Her husband huffs, speaks to Alastor, "What does she know, right?" He laughs. Alastor smiles and does not join him.

"Quite a lot I imagine, considering she's here almost more than you are, my good man. Why, she's practically running your business for you!"

Rosie giggles at the not so subtle jab and her husband hears.

"Oh so now she has a sense of humor. Go mind the counter and let me do my job, woman."

"There's no need for that, honey," Rosie says, "You know I'd laugh at your jokes if you had any." With that, she turns and goes to mind the counter as her darling husband suggested. Behind her, she can hear Alastor bark a laugh.

The door to the back is open so she hears when her husband says, "You better keep your hands off her, you hear? I see how you look at her."

Rosie almost goes back out there but she stays her temper and listens a moment longer.

"And how is that?" Alastor sounds cutting in a way he never does with her. "Rosie is an extraordinary lady but rest assured, I have no interest in replacing you in her life."

"As if you could. What does someone like you have to offer her anyway?"

There's a silence so icy even Rosie can feel it shivering down her spine.

"Then why are we even having this conversation, hm? I am no threat to you and yet here you are, barking at me, about to go mark your wife's skirts."

Rosie covers her mouth, torn between wanting to smile and keep listening in, and going out there to save her poor husband from Alastor.

"What the Hell's that supposed to mean?" her husband asks. Rosie makes her decision. She can't have them having a complete fallout; when would she get to see Alastor then?

"Boys, you better get the meat into the storage before it grows new feet and runs off!" she calls out.

As if on cue, a customer walks in. The bell on the door frame rings.

"Good morning! What can I get you today?" she greets loudly enough that the two in the back are sure to hear and hopefully realize that getting into a fight in front of a paying customer is a bad idea.

They do. They disengage, finish their business with the meat, and part ways.

 

Later in the week, it's near closing time. The sun is setting outside and Rosie is cleaning the store. There's a lot of scrubbing involved and not many helping hands.

Her husband is in the back, taking inventory. It's a slow process, apparently. By the time he's done, Rosie is close to finished. The counter couldn't be cleaner and she's just arranging the knives to their rightful slots and hooks when her husband comes to join her.

"Have a drink with me," he says, holding up a bottle and setting a pair of glasses near the cash register. He must have had them hidden somewhere in the back, stored away from prying eyes. 

"It's late, I'm tired. Can't we just go home?" Rosie asks. A nightcap isn't a bad idea but she's been on her feet the whole day and everyone had been in a rush to get their meat for the weekend. "We can drink tomorrow night."

He doesn't like that. "You'd drink with that scrawny asshole who's always hanging around here."

"You know his name, you've known him longer than I have," Rosie points out. She leans on the table behind her, crossing her arms. "We're just friends, silly." 

"And I've never liked him," he goes on. "Always with that dumb smile, like he's laughing at me."

Rosie must admit that the insight takes her by surprise. Her husband is many things but he's never been the sharpest tool in the shed. "Honey, let it go, please. Let's go home. You must be tired, too."

He straightens out, bottle still in one hand and points at her. "You don't get to tell me what to do. This is still my shop, no matter what you think you do for it."

"Where is this coming from?" Rosie asks, throwing her hands up in frustration. "I know it's your shop, I don't mind helping out."

She has learned a lot about running a business while they've been married and she could run it herself. But she knows she's not the owner.

"You know what? I'm going home. It's your shop, you close it." She makes to leave when he throws the bottle at the wall behind her. The bottle explodes into a mess of glass and liquor that drips down the wall and onto the cutting board. And Rosie had just cleaned!

"What is wrong with you?!" she yells as he moves in on her.

The slap comes as a shock to her whole body. He's saying something about not speaking to him in such a disrespectful manner but Rosie can barely hear him. Her ears are full of static, not from the force of the hit, but from the rage that comes after. She sees black and then red. Red, the color of her husband's angry face. Red, the color of the blood splatter as she swings a meat cleaver into said face.

He falls backwards onto the floor. The rest of the colors return. Rosie stares at what she's done. She feels empty, then horrified, then relieved.

The bell on the door frame rings.

The horror is back and for a shining, red moment, she thinks about leaping over the counter and letting the cleaver have another go. It must show on her face because when she turns to see Alastor enter, cleaver at the ready, he raises his hands in a placating manner.

"Woah there, my dear. I had a sudden craving for some steak but I see this is a bad time. Terribly sorry to burst in so close to closing time and on a Friday, too," he finishes with a laugh. 

Rosie looks at him and then back at her dead husband on the floor. The body is behind the counter so Alastor hasn't spotted it yet but he can see the blood on her face clear as anything.

"I came with a peace offering if it helps." He pulls out a bottle.

The absurdity of the situation hits Rosie harder than her ex husband had. She starts laughing. It begins as small giggles, bursting into full blown hysterics.

As she laughs, she tries to control herself enough to get the words out, "I happen to have the glasses out already."

"So I see." Alastor comes over, steps measured. He peers over the counter. "Ah, fell onto his own knife, did he?"

He grins at Rosie and she feels it mirrored on her face.

"Went the way of so many men," Rosie says. The laughter has ceased and in its place, calm.

"Need help with the clean up?" Alastor offers, like he sees the aftermath of violent killing every day and it no longer fazes him. And that might well be the case, Rosie realizes. The pork. The father.

"I'd be much obliged, dear," Rosie says. She lowers the meat cleaver she didn't quite realize she's been holding at the ready this whole time.

"Now what to do with him," Alastor says, mock-thoughtful even as the same, obvious solution occurs to the both of them.

"Well," Rosie says, "we do have a cold storage and a lot of hungry customers."

Chapter 2: Meeting/Dancing

Notes:

Day 2! I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Rosie marries her second husband two years after the tragic disappearance of her first.

Her friends and relatives are very understanding of her need to move on after being abandoned like she had been by a cruel, uncaring man. She keeps the butcher shop despite some minor arguments against it made by her former in-laws.

The reception is held in her new husband's garden, a beautiful expanse of land behind his house filled with flower patches that Rosie is expected to tend to. She doesn't mind; who doesn't like flowers?

Alastor is of course invited to the wedding party. Oh, he had been such a pillar of support when Rosie had gone through the sudden loss of her former husband. And oh, he is such a good friend, he has to be there! Her new husband can't help but be a bit leery of Alastor but Rosie can tolerate it as long as he speaks no ill of good Al.

"To bigger and better things,” Alastor raises his glass and she clicks hers on the rim. They've managed to lose Husband Number Two for the moment; he's somewhere with his sister.

"I'll say!" Rosie says. The new house is bigger and the yard so much nicer. Her husband is nothing to scoff at either but she won't be sharing that information with Alastor, not before the wedding night.

"I'm so glad you could make it," she goes on to say. "I know the new show slot keeps you ever so busy but this party would be dead without you," she tells him in confidence, leaning closer and shielding her mouth with a hand. "I love my husband dearly, of course."

He grins, eyebrows high. "Of course."

"But his friends are so dull, not an interesting character among them."

"People tend to think that, once they've met me," Alastor says with a wink. Rosie laughs and hits him on the arm playfully.

"Modesty is not one of your virtues, my friend."

"Oh? And which is?"

She's about to tell him when her new husband pops back into the conversation, his sister in tow. She eyes Alastor shyly. As they do the introductions, Rosie can smell what her husband is cooking from a mile away.

"Charmed," Alastor says to Rosie’s sister-in-law, smile stretched tight as she blushes. She's a couple years younger than Rosie, unmarried but clearly looking to change that.

"How about a dance, dear?" Her new husband suggests, offering Rosie his arm. There's a band playing in the corner of the garden. Alastor shoots her a look, it says "save me" so loudly Rosie's surprised the whole party doesn't hear it.

"We have the rest of our lives to dance together but your dear sister is only here for today, not to mention how busy Alastor is all the time. I barely see him!" Rosie says and takes Alastor by the arm to drag him towards the other couples swaying along the music.

"We'll dance later tonight, darling!" She calls out to her husband, leaving him to stand around with his sister. She's pouting up at him, the poor dear, and Rosie doesn't feel the slightest bit of remorse for stealing Alastor away. Her sister-in-law has no idea what she'd be getting herself into in any case.

Alastor is a good dancer but Rosie already knows this and they glide among the other dancers. During the first year of the tragic accident that befell her first husband, they had spent quite a bit of time in different dance halls and sometimes just the privacy of Rosie’s home. It’s not good for a young widow to mope about alone, after all! 

"Thank you for the assistance, dear," Alastor says, close so no one hears.

"You're welcome. Though, it might not be such a bad idea," she teases, "We could be in-laws, wouldn't that be fun?"

He chuckles, "One big happy family," and spins her, brings her back into his arms. "At least until this one makes an ass out of himself and ends up in the cold storage."

"That won't happen this time," she argues. "I vetted this one more carefully, he’s my best option."

"Eh, I give it six months," Alastor says, grinning at her new husband. As he turns them, Rosie sees that they're being watched by the brother-sister duo with some suspicion.

"Oh don't be so negative," Rosie admonishes. "We’ll make it through at least the first year."

 

They're both wrong, in the end. Eight months in, Rosie calls Alastor to help deal with the body.

Chapter 3: Jokes/Horror

Notes:

How about making jokes while committing horrific crimes?

Poor Husband Three :(
I love writing Alastor; he's such an asshole.

Determined to not have her new husband's dislike of Alastor ruin her marriage again, Rosie tries to make them get along.

"He enjoys hunting, too!" she explains to Alastor who regards her with polite disinterest. "You could invite him to your hunting cabin and enjoy some manly bonding!"

"What about me says I enjoy manly bonding?" Alastor asks. He's lounging on Rosie's couch, back from his show, late at night or very early in the morning. They both keep rather odd hours.

"Besides my dear, you do know the people I invite to the cabin don't tend to come back," he goes on and looks at Rosie from under his lashes with a spreading smile. "Unless that's your angle? Tired of your boy toy already, hm?"

Rosie huffs. She goes over the couch, lifts Alastor's legs from where they take up the other half of the seat, and blops down, sinking into the cushions. Alastor puts his feet on her lap. At least he's not wearing shoes on her newly upholstered cushions.

"He's only younger by five years, hardly a boy," she corrects. "If I wanted him dead, I'd do it myself."

"Rosie, darling, you know I adore you and would do anything for you," Alastor says, wiggling to get more comfortable. "But spending time with your latest catch is a favor too far. He's the most uninteresting man I've ever met, and I've met all of your candidates!"

Rosie waves a dismissive hand. "You're too hard on him, he was just nervous!"

She places a hand on his leg and gives it a squeeze and then directs her most beseeching look at him. It'll work coming from her; Alastor isn't a kind man but he has the biggest soft spot for her. Rosie is ready to exploit it whenever it suits her best.

"Please Alastor, for me? It doesn't need to be a long trip, one day is more than enough."

Alastor sighs and she can smell his defeat. "Rosie."

She keeps the smile off her face in favor of making pleading eyes at him.

"Oh alright, stop before you start with the crocodile tears," he says. "But!" He holds up a finger with a smirk, "You're coming along."

"Fine, but we're spending the night. You're not making a lady hike there and back without a proper rest." It somewhat defeats the idea of manly bonding if she's there but it can't be helped. If she wants Alastor to do her this favor, she’ll have to be ready to make some concessions. Besides, spending time with her best friend and latest husband is hardly a chore!

 

She's unused to roughing it out in the wilderness but she puts on her best hiking hat and pushes through it. Her two companions are better equipped, and of course they're on Alastor's terrain so she's in good hands. Husband Number Three, Rosie notices halfway there, gets a touch competitive over being the one to help her past the roughest spots.

The cabin isn't the height of luxury, yet it has its charms. Log walls, stone fireplace, table, chairs, a bed. And a lot of hunting trophies.

"Some of them were shot by my father," Alastor says, gesturing at the antlers lining the walls.

"Oh wow," Husband Three says, looking in awe. "Does he come here a lot?"

Alastor gives him one of his sharper smiles. "In a sense he never left."

"Honey," Rosie leans close to her husband to whisper, "Alastor's father died tragically in these woods, best not to bring it up too much. It's a sore spot as I'm sure you can imagine."

"Aw shoot, I'm so sorry, Al, I had no idea," he says, the poor dear. Alastor's eye twitches though his smile never falters.

"Don't mention it," he speaks through his teeth.

"Alright boys!" Rosie claps her hands together. "Let's get settled in and then you can go play with your guns."

"I'm sure you'd be an excellent hunter, my dear," Alastor says. "With a little target practice." He looks to Husband Three at that. The poor man interprets the look to mean that Alastor is seeking his approval for the idea.

"I guess if she wants to but I thought Rose wasn't interested."

"Rose," Alastor mouths at her with a raised brow.

"Oh hush you," Rosie says. She’s fired a gun a couple times before and it’s not her favorite activity. "I'll gladly stay here and get everything sorted. I wouldn't want to get in the way of your fun."

"Everything is more fun with you," Alastor says and Husband Three hurries to agree,

"Yes, that's right! But if you're not interested, I'll just go with um, with Alastor." He looks apprehensive.

"You'll be fine. Alastor knows these woods, he'll make sure nothing bad happens to you." At that, Rosie gives Alastor a meaningful look.

"Never fear, my good man, nothing worse than me in these woods!" Alastor pats Husband Three hard on the back. He wheezes and has to bend down to pick his cap back up.

Rosie can't help the small giggle. "That's what I'm worried about!"

Husband Three looks from one of them to the other, out of the loop.

"Oh, just an inside joke between old friends, think nothing of it, honey!" Rosie explains.

The men leave for their hunt and she gets a moment of quiet.

They come back with a couple of rabbits and a tense silence between them. Rosie sighs but rallies. She knew to expect they wouldn't become fast friends.

"My brave hunters return!" she calls out to them and runs to meet them halfway. Her third husband gets a kiss on the cheek and Alastor a pat on the arm. Husband looks relieved that she's there; Alastor's smile gets less menacing now that she's around.

Even the relative peace doesn't last until that night. Alastor makes a fire outside to cook the rabbits while Rosie fuses with the bedding. There's one bed, they'd agreed that Rosie would share it with her husband and Alastor would camp outside. Rosie tried to halfheartedly argue against it but Alastor insisted on not sharing a sleeping space with the couple and that of course Rosie would sleep indoors.

"Rose," Husband Three says. He's restless, pacing the length of the cabin. "Do you actually like this guy?" At Rosie's look, he elaborates, "I only mean, he seemed a little off? In the woods earlier?"

Goddammit Alastor, Rosie thinks. "Whatever do you mean? He's never been anything but a gentleman towards me, " Rosie says out loud.

"That's great! But I uh, he made all these comments, about how he's hunted down all sorts of game out here and he kept uh, this is going to sound crazy, but he kept saying stuff like that and looking at me. Are you sure he's, um that he's alright to be around?"

"That does sound crazy, honey!" Rosie says, waving him off. "Alastor is an avid hunter, naturally he'd have a lot of hunting stories he's eager to share."

He still looks a little skeptical. "Alright, if you say so."

"I admit that he has a strange sense of humor." She goes back to arranging the bed, her back to him. "But he's harmless, unless you're a deer or a rabbit," she lies. 

"Then I will try to make friends with him again over dinner," he says. He’s too sweet for her by far! Then, on his next step, the floorboard creaks. He stops, puzzled, steps on it again.

"That's odd."

"I'm sure it's nothing, honey," Rosie says. The bed looks so comfortable. She's hungry and tired and she wasn't even the one who had to hunt down their dinner.

At the sound of boards rattling, she turns to see her darling husband lift one of them up and peer under it.

He squints in the light coming from the fireplace. "Oh my god," he says as Rosie moves closer to see what he sees. In the foundations of the cabin are bones. Rosie has seen enough human remains to recognize them for what they are; her husband takes longer to wrap his mind around it.

"Rose, these are-" He looks up, face a mask of terror. When he doesn't see it reflected on Rosie's countenance, he blanches further. 

"Let's keep calm, shall we?" Rosie says but from the way Husband Three starts shaking his head, she knows there's no salvaging the situation.

"You knew?!" he yells. "How can you-!"

"Dinner's ready," Alastor says. His approach had been silent enough that him being in the doorway takes even Rosie by surprise. 

Where she's surprised, her husband panics. He bolts towards the only exit, shoving past Alastor who trips him, making it for the woods after scrabbling to get back up.

Alastor rights himself, raises an eyebrow at the missing floorboard and grins at Rosie. "Well, isn't this quite the pickle." 

Rosie mourns that the situation has come to this a second longer before marching out the cabin, grabbing the rifle her husband left behind in his panic. Once outside, she spots the man running towards the trees, takes aim, shoots.

Husband Number Three falls down and doesn't move after.

She lowers the gun at the sound of Alastor's slow applause.

"My dear, you're a natural!"

Notes:

I drew a thing for this fic/day 3 of radioroseweek!
Link!

Chapter 4: Smile

Notes:

Day 4! Rosie sure knows how to pick 'em, huh?

"Both me and my darling Rosie know what it's like to lose a spouse," Husband Number Four says over the rim of his tea cup. "And us young widowers have to stick together."

Alastor is sitting opposite the couple, nursing his coffee. He's abnormally quiet. When he gives Rosie a bright smile, she knows something is off.

"I'm glad she's found someone who understands exactly what she's been through," he says, finally forcing his drink down. He drains the whole cup in one gulp.

Rosie sips her tea and as she watches her new husband, she catches him narrowing his eyes at Alastor while his friendly smile never falters.

They're recently married, in a small ceremony neither of them wanted people to pay much attention to. Rosie has been married and widowed many times in only so many years, and his wife had passed not that long ago.

"My late wife wouldn't have wanted me to wallow in misery," he says. "Her passing came as a surprise to us all but one must move on."

"Indeed," Alastor speaks through a friendly grin of his own.

"More coffee?" Rosie asks, joining in on the strained smiling, hers a question she directs at Alastor. She didn't expect Alastor to like Husband Four – the people he actually likes are far between– but what's happening is something different. She knows what Alastor not liking her dates or husbands for petty reasons looks like; this isn’t it.

"Please," he says and holds out his cup for her to refill. 

After they're done with the awkwardness of their cafe meeting, Alastor smiles at her, eyes squinted: a convincing display. "A word before you go, my dear."

"Rosie darling, remember that we're in a rush," Husband Four cuts in before she can say anything. He smiles at Alastor, apologetic. "We're hosting dinner for my boss and his wife, can't be late for that, can we?"

"Come by tomorrow and we'll go for a walk, just the two of us," Rosie says, her hand on Alastor's arm. It’s regrettable but she really does need to go.

 

The next day it rains. It comes down in heavy sheets down their windows. Rosie calls Alastor to tell him not to bother coming over.

 

Two days later, Rosie is doing some light rearranging of her husband's belongings when she finds the lock of hair. It's dark brown, hidden inside a binder filled with legal documents. Upon further inspection, she sees that the roots are still attached; not a lock someone gently cut off as a memento. Ripped out.

A trophy?

She goes through his office and secreted away in the back of a drawer, a loaded gun. The bullets, she slips into her pocket, the gun she places back where she found it. She tries to call Alastor but no one picks up. He hasn't been around; he's busy with work or she's somewhere accompanying her husband. It’s not unusual for them to spend time apart whenever Rosie is in the honeymoon phase of one of her marriages, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t sometimes miss him. It would be nice to have an ally when things start going South. 

That evening, she has dinner with Husband Four and pretends to not know.

This time when things come to an end, it happens on a Sunday in her own home.

Husband Four pops out for a cigarette and she goes to get ready for bed. From their bedroom ceiling, hangs a noose. The door behind her closes and she hears the clock click. There's movement behind her so she ducks and stabs Husband Four on the thigh with her knife. He yells out in surprise but doesn't drop the rope he's holding.

"What the fuck?" he says, holding his bleeding leg with one hand, looking at it and then at Rosie like he's never seen her before. In a way, he has not.

Rosie smiles, all teeth. "Done with your smoke, honey?"

"You stabbed me," he says, trying to take it all in. To his credit, it doesn't take him long to rally, to abandon the rope and pull out a gun.

"Alright, then." He points the weapon at Rosie, giving her a pained smile. "I'll just make it look like you're one of the poor bastards disappearing around here."

"Not sure you can pull it off; his victims have all been men so far," Rosie says.

He falters. Rosie attacks again. The gun clicks empty; she gets him on the arm. This time when she pulls back and the knife comes loose, both the gun and the rope hit the floor.

He falls on one knee.

When he looks up, his eyes are huge and frightened. Rosie would feel bad if he hadn't tried to kill her first.

He turns to crawl towards the door, only for his bloody hands to slip on the handle, for him to panic when the door doesn't budge.

"Oh you're so silly, honey," Rosie says, full of cheer as she approaches. "You locked yourself in." 

She grabs him by the hair, wrenches his head back and slits his throat. His blood hits the door; it's such a nice dark wooden one too and now she's going to have to replace it. What a hassle!

In the silence of a freshly committed homicide, she hears the front door unlock and creek open. The foot falls she's listening for never come and she knows only one person who would break into her house and move so silently.

"Alastor?" she calls out.

"Guilty as charged," he says and is that a note of relief in his tone? Surely not. "I thought this would be a fine evening for a spot of breaking and entering."

"I'm in the bedroom, hang on, there's a corpse in the way."

"Take your time, my dear!"

Dead men are heavy but she gets him out of the way enough that she can unlock the door and step out. As expected, Alastor is there. He looks her up and down, smile dropping a touch when he sees all the blood splattered on her dress.

"It's not mine," Rosie tells him. She moves to push back a strand of hair that got loose from her up-do in the ruckus. Alastor stops her, her bloody hand in his.

"You'll get it everywhere," he says, voice hushed. With a shaky smile and a nod, Rosie agrees.

“I think I need a break from trying to find Mister Right,” she confesses. Now that it’s over and Alastor’s there, she can relax, let herself feel how exhausted she is. 

His smile is wry. “A longer mourning period this time, perhaps.”

She hums and gives his hand a squeeze, looking mournfully down her ruined dress. It’s baby blue and lovely, a gift from her now late husband. Too bad she’ll need to burn it. “How do you feel about a backyard cookout?”   

He tilts his head. “Depends. Who are we inviting?”

“Anyone you want,” Rosie says, her smile lopsided. “But I’m only inviting you.”  

 

Chapter 5: Heal/Protect

Notes:

Day 5! This leans more on the "sometimes healing takes two" part of the prompt but there's some of "protect" in there, too, in a couple different forms. Usually these chapters come easily; this one fought me.

True to her word, Rosie takes a break from men. Except for Alastor, of course; he's never shown any interest in her in the romantic sense, so he gets to stay around. 

She gets more involved in the day to day running of the butcher shop. She'd hired a fellow widower to work the counter, but now she's there almost every day. Her business is ready for an expansion, she just needs people to stop being so convinced that she can't do it on her own.

The shop has a regular, a mother of two, who comes in every week and buys steak for Friday night dinner. She's a timid woman but Rosie can get anyone to be on friendly terms with her. And so they talk.

She brings her kids along most weeks but never the husband. She can never stay too long so she won't be late for dinner preparation. Her kids and home keep her so busy that she doesn't have time to go out.

Then, one day, she comes in with a bruised face.

It's clear that she's tried to hide it with makeup but the green and blue of it shines through.

"Will it be four steaks again, hun?" Rosie asks.

"No um, just three this time. Thank you," she says and doesn't meet Rosie's eye.

"Oh? Is the husband out of town?" She knows that's not the case but fishes for information anyway. If her instincts about the situation are right... She's already enraged just thinking about it.

"It's... No, I'm not very hungry tonight, is all," she lies; she's bad at it, too.

Rosie smiles at her but it turns into a frown when she turns around to weigh and package the meat. "I could slip you one on the house," she offers. "I'll even cook it in the back for you, how about it?"

She doesn't need to see her face to know she's scared to take the offer. It's in her voice.

"Please don't."

"Alright, dearie." She turns to her, smile back on, hands her the meat, and accepts the payment. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Thank you, I'm fine," she lies again.

Rosie takes her retreating hand and presses her card to it. "In case you change your mind," she says. "As you might be aware, I'm getting to be quite the expert when it comes to marriage, unhappy ones included."

Her eyes widen. She pulls her hand away and flees the shop. She keeps the card.

 

During the next couple of days Rosie spins the interaction around in her head. She talks about the customer with her part time employee and finds out that her late husband used to go fishing with the customer's husband. He never had any issues with the husband but the wife, we'll call her Mrs Smith, hadn’t always been so quiet and withdrawn. 

Next Friday, Mrs Smith is back, this time with the kids. Tactically, Rosie had asked Alastor to come help her with closing and to walk her home in exchange for some prime cuts. Really he had been invited to give a second opinion. It wasn't like there was anyone else she could talk about possibly murdering one of her clients' husbands.

Rosie's modus operandi when it came to murder is that it's more a spontaneous thing. She has never married anyone with the intention of then murdering them later, it just so happens that there are extenuating circumstances that force her hand. And then she has to get rid of the body and it just so happens that her first late husband had been a butcher who'd taught her the trade.

Alastor is a different beast. From what she knows of his methods, he prefers to draw out the process and plan and stalk. Taking down his prey once he's cornered them. And if she wants Mrs Smith's husband to go tragically missing with minimal consequences for her or for Mrs Smith, she needs a plan. And a helping hand or two.

It doesn't hurt that Alastor has a sixth sense when it comes to people and their little cracks and bruises. Hence, he's here to give her a second opinion.

Rosie knows, more than she did the previous week, that she's right when Mrs Smith walks in through the door and the bell chime catches Alastor's attention, that she was right. He's still smiling but Alastor has many smiles and this one is complicated. There are the two kids, quiet and well behaved like their mother, and Mrs Smith herself. Her face looks better but her neck is tightly wrapped up in a scarf even though it's balmy out.

Alastor takes it in, turns to meet Rosie's eyes and quirks an eyebrow at her.

Rosie gives him a private smile that she seamlessly transitions into a customer service one. She sells Mrs Smith her four steaks and casually mentions, "I'm relieved you've gotten your appetite back.”

One of the kids, the younger, a little boy, pipes up, "Mommy gets to eat with us today!"

Mrs Smith gives him and then Rosie a wide eyed look of someone who just got caught doing something bad. Rosie feels for her and wants her husband dead more than before.

"Yes, because I no longer feel sick," she says once she recovers, voice hoarse.

"The stomach bug, sore throat combination," Alastor says from where he'd been watching, farther in the store. "Truly a killer."

She gives him an unsure smile, thanks Rosie, and whisks her children away.

Rosie and Alastor stare after her, watch her scurry down the street and towards a residential neighborhood. 

Then, Alastor turns towards Rosie, leaning one elbow on the glass display. "Growing bored, my dear?"

"Never when you're around," Rosie tells him. "I do need your opinion on something but let's not discuss it here."

She closes up, Alastor offers her his arm and they start their walk towards Rosie's house. It's the one her second husband so graciously left her after the tragedy that befell him. Rosie likes it the best out of the houses she's inherited, it has the best garden. She had a gazebo built into a shady corner and that's where she and Alastor spend a lot of their quiet time together.

"You know, my dear," Alastor starts once Rosie comes back from fetching them drinks. "Your customer's husband is already on my radar." He takes a sip, smiling. A stray beam from the setting sun hits his face, highlighting the reddish hue of his eyes.

She takes a seat right next to him. "I was hoping you'd be on the same page," she says with a content sigh and drinks, leans her shoulder on his. "I must admit I'm in strange waters." 

Rosie tilts her head enough to meet his eye and shoot him a grin. "But I know you're an experienced sailor."

"My motives are far less noble than yours," he says, nudging her. "He walked straight into me on the street once and told me to watch where I was going."

"The audacity!" Rosie exaggerates her outrage but there's genuine upset mixed in. She knows sometimes people don't treat Alastor with the respect he deserves for reasons out of his control.

"Exactly!" Alastor agrees, grin growing. "So really he's getting what's coming to him." 

He holds out his glass and Rosie clicks hers against the rim. The roses in the garden are in full bloom, the air flagrant as they start to plot.

 

Things take an unexpected turn one morning. Rosie is at the shop, preparing to open for the day. She's alone but expects Alastor to stop by before his show to discuss business.

Mrs Smith knocks on the widow. She looks awful, like she jumped out of bed and ran there after a rough night. Rosie rounds the counter and opens the door for her.

"Oh sweetie, you look a mess! Come in, let's sit down in the back." There's a table and a set of chairs in a small office space along the hallway leading to the backdoor.

Rosie sits her distressed visitor down and regrets that she and Alastor finished the last bottle of their emergency stash during the weekend.

"I'm sorry to show up like this, I lost your card and I-I don't know what to do," she says, voice cracking from crying.

"It's alright, tell me what's the matter." Rosie reaches across the table to take her hand. Her fingers are cold.

"You... I know you've, hm," she tries a couple times before pausing. "I don't know how to ask you this."

"Do you want help with the trouble you're having with your husband?" Rosie helps her along.

She lets out a sob. "I'm so embarrassed!"

"There's no need," Rosie says. "I've seen so much over the years and across many marriages and not once has it been my fault."

Silence. Then, "It's getting worse." She makes a tired gesture towards her throat and face. "And last night, I heard him talking to his mother on the phone, about leaving to go visit in a couple weeks and taking the kids with him. And I just, I know I'm never going to see them again if that happens. If he, oh gosh, sorry." She looks up at Rosie, eyes haunted. "If he takes the kids and ever comes back, it'll be to... " She touches her throat, it's bruised. "Finish what he's started a couple of times now, I fear.”

Rosie regards her for a moment. To her surprise and delight, she looks back with determination she hasn't seen from her so far.

"I don't know what truly happened with your husbands and I don't want to," Mrs Smith says, "But I want mine to tragically go missing as well."

Rosie grins at her, clapping her hands together once in delight. Everything is coming up Rosie today! "You understand that a matter of this nature requires utmost discretion, don't you dearie?"

"I understand."

"In that case, I can help you."

It makes her job easier to get handed the husband's work schedule, the route he takes there and back, a list of his favorite haunts and when he's likely to be where. She presents the information to Alastor that evening and he seems as thrilled with the new development as she is.

"Oh, I've never done it like this before!"

He studies the material, grin malicious. "This'll be easy." He looks up at Rosie. "How involved are you looking to be, my dear?"

"I need to kill this man for my mental health," Rosie tells him. Anger has no place in a carefully planned hit but she's boiling. She could've turned into a Mrs Smith so easily. Had she been any more compassionate of a person, any of her poor choices in partners could've had her in a similar snare.

Thank everything that she didn't have children.

"Very well," Alastor says. "We'll get him here," he points at a location on the map. "This alleyway is along his route back from the speakeasy and close enough to the radio station that I can put on a couple songs and pop out without anyone being the wiser."

"You'll have to give me your setlist, I'll be listening by the window," Rosie says. She’ll make it look like she is, in any case.

"Mrs Smith won't be expecting him back and I have somewhere close by we can put him until we're ready to carry out the part where he disappears."

"I have a truck for the butcher shop," Rosie reminds him. It's brand new and such a good addition for her growing business! "I've driven it myself for supply runs before, no one will bat an eye."

Alastor's grin loses some of its murderous edge as he regards her. "Rosie, darling, you're an absolute delight."

She gives him a smug, pleased smile back. "I know."

"You may tell Mrs Smith to tune in, I'll be dedicating a song to her."

"Do this a lot, do you?" She's never really talked at length to Alastor about his extracurriculars but she knows people go missing, sometimes quite frequently. There are no misconceptions between them as to what happens to those people, and she's never asked after the gruesome details.

"Pop out for a quick murder during the show?" Alastor asks even though he knows the answer. "Well," he inspects his nails. "I prefer to draw things out more than this usually." 

He shoots Rosie a grin and a low lidded look. "But needs must. I have little time for my hobbies as is and this is more business than pleasure at this point. You understand."

She does. 

 

The night of the murder comes fast. Rosie sets up at home and leaves a light on before sneaking out. At their meeting spot in the alley, Alastor gives a look at her gloves and apron.

“I’m not getting blood on this dress, it’s brand new!” she argues for her fashion choices. It’s important for a lady to have her priorities straight. 

Alastor looks like he’s about to say something but before he can, they hear footsteps. 

When the moment comes, and their target is passing the mouth of the alley, it’s as though time both slows down and speeds up. She barely registers when Alastor moves to grab their victim, pulling him into the dark with a hand over his nose and mouth the muffle his startled yell. Rosie meets his eyes and sticks a knife between his ribs, aiming to snuff him out as quickly as possible, and then again just because the memory of Mrs Smith scared and desperate is so fresh in her mind. She sees his fearful eyes grow dull and unfocused, catches Alastor grinning over his shoulder, wide and predator sharp. 

And then it’s over. The slack body hits the alley floor. Rosie has a strange urge to kneel next to it to make sure it’s dead. There was a thrill of the hunt during the planning that culminated in the execution; she has an inkling of why Alastor does this. Now, as she stares down at the body, it’s like the act had emptied her out. She’s hollow of all feeling.  

"Rosie," Alastor says after she's spent some time staring at the body, lost in thought. She snaps out of it and looks up at him.

"Yes?"

He offers her a hand up. She doesn't take it, instead looking back at the body. It wasn't personal this time, yet it is.

"We can't stay here," Alastor says. "Come on." 

He takes her hand and she allows it, letting him pull her up. He's right; they need to be quick. They drag the body to a hiding spot deep within the alley. The process is a blur. 

Before they part, Alastor stops her. "I'm,” he says, hesitates. “I'm visiting my mother's grave tomorrow, would you care to join me?"

She blinks at him, surprised. She knows his mother died before they met and that he visits the grave regularly but she's never been invited to come along.

"I’d like that, yes. Come pick me up when you go." She doesn't want to sit alone with her complicated feelings and they can't stay and talk about them now.

 

The next day Rosie picks some flowers from her garden.

"They're lovely, I'm sure she would have liked them," Alastor says and offers her his arm. They’ll do a quick supply run in the truck to pick up the body and dispose of it later, but first, a walk.

The grave is plain but well taken care of. They set their flowers down and then stand there in silence.

"You've never invited me to come before," Rosie speaks up after a few moments.

"I come here after a busy night sometimes, it helps me get my bearings again," Alastor explains, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "I've seen you during and after, but never like that."

The unspoken question hangs in the air.

"It could have been me," Rosie says.

"The husband?" Alastor asks, grinning. Rosie shoves him.

"No, silly!" She sobers up. "The wife."

"Hm?"

"I got to thinking, I never had kids with any of them but what if I had? She’s so defeated, you know?"

"Resigned," he says like he knows exactly what she’s getting at. Maybe he does.

"Yes."

They stand in silence again. Wind blows through the pathways, there's no one else there in that part of the cemetery, during the late morning. It's her and Alastor and the dead.

"When I first started, I was killing my father over and over again, in my head" Alastor tells her, the confession spoken softly near her ear. "And then I'd come here, whisper my sins to her. Rinse and repeat, for the first couple of years."

"Did it help?"

Alastor laughs, "Not one bit, my dear."

She hugs his arm close, rests her head on his shoulder. "Aw, sweetie," she coos. "But you're doing better now, right?"

"You either learn to let go and have fun with it or it'll eat you up inside and destroy you," Alastor says. "I learned to have fun."

She smiles at him and gives his arm another squeeze. "Thank you for being there for me."

"Of course, my dear." He takes a breath and puts the smile back on. "Now, enough of this emotional nonsense! Lunch?"

"Please, I am starving."

Chapter 6: Marriage

Notes:

Time for wedding bells! The summary lied a little: I'm sure taxes come into it as well but it's mostly for mutual career related benefits.

Rosie is sitting in the back of the butcher shop, going through the books and thinking about the frustrating meetings she’s had about expanding her business. She has the funds, she has a location for a new storefront picked out, but she needs a husband or a male co-signer to purchase property. She could certainly find a man to marry if that was her sole goal. However, she’ss tired of that song and dance; it is so hard to find a good man circumstances don’t then force her to kill. Husband Three had been her best husband, in terms of personality. She sighs. If only he hadn’t been so nosy, rest his soul.

When she’s attracted her employee with all her sighing, the younger widower asks, “What about that radio man you’re always spending time with? Sorry if this is out of turn but I don’t get why you two are spending so much time dancing around each other like this.”

Rosie is too stunned to speak for a moment. Alastor exists and is a man she trusts above all other men. She’s never thought of him in that light, in the light of being potentially marriageable, for some reason. A lot of it has to do with her almost constantly having been either married or seeing someone the whole time she’s known him. The rest is her valuing his friendship above all else, and knowing how he feels about marriage and romance and all things attached. 

She smiles a smile of disbelief. “Marry Alastor?”

Her employee is not deterred. “Why not? You’ve known each other for a long time,” she lists, “You clearly like each other a lot, you’re both unmarried, he has a good job, and most importantly, he’s never simply disappeared on you, unlike all your previous husbands! That’s prime husband material!” 

It’d be so rude to laugh in her face. She’ll save it for later when she can do it behind her back with Alastor. “It’s not that simple, dearie,” she says and ends their strange conversation. 

 

That evening with Alastor, after going over the strange conversation in her head a few times during the day, she brings it up over the dinner he’s brought her. He’s outdone himself once again, the dinner table laden with enough food to feed a whole family. 

She places her utensils down and clears her throat. “You know the young lady who works the counter at the shop?”

“We’ve met, yes,” Alastor says, looking up from his food. He gestures with his knife for her to continue when she struggles. 

“Of course you have! Turns out that she has the silliest notion about us,” she goes on. “I told her about how property law was keeping me from expanding and she came out with this ridiculous idea that we should get married!” She laughs and he joins her. They both laugh a little too long.

“Anyway,” she clears her throat again and sips her drink. It wouldn’t be the most insane idea to have Alastor as a co-signer but as well as she knows him, she has trouble guessing how he’d feel about it. “I do need someone of the male persuasion to sign some paperwork with me.”

Alastor blinks at her. Delicately, he places down his utensils and takes a prolonged moment to wipe his mouth. After he’s done, he crosses his fingers and regards Rosie with foreign apprehension. “Rosie my dear, are you asking for my hand in marriage?” 

“No!” Rosie says, too fast to be polite. “No, we wouldn’t have to be married, but that would probably lend some legitimacy to the whole thing.” 

“Ah, well.” Alastor glances away. “This is all very sudden.”

“I completely understand!”

There’s another pause. It’s awkward in ways things never have been between them before. 

“Since we’re on the topic,” Alastor breaks the silence. “I haven’t talked to you about this before. I’ve run into a bit of a wall at work.”

“Oh?” She has no idea where this could be going. 

“Yes. I’ve been made aware on occasion that since I am,” he gestures in the air, rolling his eyes. “Of marriageable age and standing, it’s weird and off putting that I don’t have a wife to bring to, say, dinner parties with the boss or other functions. People are getting a touch suspicious.” 

“Oh?” she says again for a lack of anything more intelligent to say.

“Indeed!” Alastor replies gamely. “You know my feelings on the subject, so this all is,” he pauses, struggling to continue. “It’s difficult for me to deal with, and it could hurt my career,” he admits. 

It dawns on her where this is going with terrifying clarity. She jumps up from her seat to go to him, to grab his hand and stare intently into his eyes, wide with surprise. 

“We should do it,” she says, determined to see this through. “It would solve both of our problems!”

Alastor glances at their joined hands. “Now you’re definitely asking me to marry you,” he jokes; it falls flat. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“Alright then,” Rosie looks down at him, daring him to, “Ask me.”

All Alastor does is stare, mouth open slightly, for another prolonged moment. He catches himself and puts on a smile. “Rosie, you know I adore you. So, for the sake of my career and your business, will you marry me?”     

Despite his smile taking on a mischievous edge, she can’t help but be a little touched. “I will. There’s no man I’d rather have sign paperwork for me and go to work functions with than you, Alastor.”  

He studies her for a moment. “I need you to promise me one thing,” he says “If you ever feel like you no longer wish to be married, tell me and we’ll get a perfectly amicable divorce.” 

Rosie laughs. “I promise to talk to you before going for the knife,” she swears.

 

They keep the wedding ceremony a small affair. Alastor invites a few of his work acquaintances to attend and Rosie some of her friends and her one employee. The latter might have been a mistake; she can see the younger woman crying during the ceremony and hear her later tell everyone who’ll listen how she’d always known that things were headed towards nuptials. 

The “you may now kiss the bride” part of the ordeal is a touch awkward but they get through it. Rosie takes it upon herself to give Alastor a dry peck on the mouth and then make sure everyone hears about how her new husband is shy about public displays of affection. Alastor looks like he doesn’t quite know how to feel about being painted as shy. He’s on his best behavior nevertheless, smiling and charming. 

Later that night, when they’re finally alone, Rosie eats leftover cake while Alastor enjoys a well earned nightcap. Rosie’s house is the house they tell everyone they now live in, but Alastor’s keeping his own place to escape to on occasion. 

Rosie leans closer on the garden bench, smiling impishly. “So, what do you want me to say when people ask me about our wedding night?”

“The less you say about it, the better,” Alastor says with a look Rosie might take offense to if she didn’t know him so well. “But obviously if they insist on being nosy, you’ll tell them that I am extremely competent.” 

Her grin widens. “My husband’s performance in the bedroom is perfectly adequate,” she says, straightening out to seem as stuffy as possible. 

Alastor makes a face and she laughs. They keep to their own side of the bed.   

 

Chapter 7: Partnership

Notes:

It's done! Radiorose week is a wrap for my part! Writing this was so much fun, thank you all for reading and leaving kudos and comments!

Being married to Alastor is the easiest thing in the world; it’s Rosie’s most long lasting relationship to date! She misses physical intimacy sometimes but even the most skilled lover couldn’t make up for the synergy between her and Alastor.

The business side of things is going well; Rosie has her new store space and newly found vigor to expand beyond selling meat and meat byproducts. It is annoying that the people she does business with take Alastor more seriously even though it's clearly Rosie's venture. It says so right above the door of her new establishment: Rosie's Emporium.

She hires some shop girls– well, grown women down on their luck– to help with the customer service aspects. They're fine young women and Alastor's biggest fans.

"Alastor!" they greet him in an excited chorus when he enters the store on his way to work. 

"Ladies, lovely as always," Alastor greets back, making his way towards the counter. Rosie sees him coming, somewhat distracted from talking to a customer.

"Ah, the man of the house," the customer, an older gentleman, says. "I was just catching up with your wife. It's such a nice gesture to name the emporium after her."

Alastor gives Rosie a look that clearly asks if he should know who the man is and if he's important enough to the business to avoid offending. Rosie pleads with him to not start anything right then and there.

"I assure you, my good man, that she's the brains behind this operation. I'm an entertainer, not a businessman," Alastor says.

"How useful then to have found such a fine wife, eh?" he goes on, the poor fool. Alastor's smile is strained but Rosie doubts anyone aside from her notices.

"Will that be all?" Rosie asks, having packaged his purchases.

"I'd like a word with my darling Rosie before I'll be late for my show," Alastor says and that gets the customer moving and out of the store finally.

They watch him go.

"He's not on the list," Rosie tells him before he can ask. She knows the look Alastor is wearing.

"A shame," he says, giving Rosie a grin. "Do we know his wife? Maybe you can offer her one of your under the counter services."

"Oh hush," she says. She has met the wife and she's fairly sure they don't have any severe marital issues.

"He owns the bakery down the street, you've picked up pastries from him before," Rosie reminds him. Even though Alastor is a smart man and his memory for things that interest him is phenomenal, it's the day to day encounters with people he considers below his notice he has trouble recalling.

At Rosie's Emporium, there are clothes and knickknacks and other material goods. But she also offers a more discreet service for those who know what to ask for, or who she sees needs it. By either speaking the code phrase to her while she's working the counter or by looking in need enough, one can get their husband to tragically go missing.

Such is the way Rosie has found most of her shop girls. They’ve come to her in their hour of dire need and she’d agreed to take care of things for them. A lot of the time, it’s Alastor doing the heavy lifting, but there have been an occasion or two that Rosie has dealt with personally. Now all these young women have a steady job and an incurable crush on Alastor. It’s a little funny, and Rosie knows none of them stand a chance, so she spends her time hiding a smile behind her hand and occasionally swooping in to save Alastor from their attentions.   

“Hm, I can’t recall! They must not have been very good,” Alastor says, smile mean. 

“They were for me and the girls, and I liked them,” Rosie reminds him.

“Well, I guess in that case he can live.” 

“Oh sweetheart, you treat me so well,” Rosie says with some sarcasm. It’s mostly a joke but in a lot of ways, it’s also the truth. 

“You’re the last person I’d want to get on the bad side of, my dear,” Alastor says. “But unfortunately, I do need to borrow you for a work dinner this Saturday. It’s the station owner, can’t be avoided.”

“Saturday?” Rosie frowns. “That’s date night!” Saturdays are when they go dancing and drinking! She’s livid. It’s hardly Alastor’s fault, though. 

“Oh, I hate it, too. Depending how soon we can slip out, we might still be able to go after,” Alastor bargains with her, as though it’s not a foregone conclusion that she’ll go with him. It’s part of their agreement and she would never leave Alastor stranded even if it wasn’t.  

“Don’t worry about it, dear,” Rosie reassures him.   

 

It's a garish affair as are all mandatory work events scheduled for the weekend. Rosie is not in a good mood going in but at least she's with her favorite person and she can spot others faking cheer in the crowd. Both of them are well versed in keeping up a friendly facade while seething on the inside. She doubts anyone notices that Alastor hates everything and everyone there.

"Ah, Al, you brought the missus, how wonderful!" The host takes Alastor's hand to shake it and Rosie's to kiss it. "Looking ravishing as always," he tells Rosie. "I'm glad you both could make it."

"We wouldn't miss it for the world," Rosie lies through the most polite smile in her arsenal.

"Great! Lovely to see you again, unfortunately I have a party to host." He laughs and they laugh with him.

"Please, don't let us keep you," Alastor tells him. Rosie can tell he's gritting his teeth but to his boss, it probably just looks like a wide smile.

Once they're alone again, Alastor leans closer to say, "Now that that's over, shall we go find out what sort of slob they have on offer and pretend to enjoy it?"

Rosie hides her giggle behind a hand. "That sounds wonderful, dear. Lead the way."

They go join the rest of the party at the table. Alastor schmoozes some on the way, shakes hands, smiles his charming smiles. On his arm, Rosie can feel how tense he is, knows that despite the showman persona, Alastor is a bit of an introvert. As much as she loves a good party, she would much rather be at one of her choosing, and not this farce.

There's a speech. Rosie pays enough attention that she can relay any relevant bits to Alastor later; she knows he never cares enough to do anything beyond smile and clap like he's totally listening. 

It pays off when on the way out, they get stopped again and Rosie gets to tell the man, "What an inspiring speech! Especially the part where you detailed how the number of listeners correlates with the increased ad revenue."

"Yes, that was my favorite bit as well," Alastor says.

Rosie squeezes his arm and tries not to laugh.

"I am fond of that one. Your husband brings in a lot of listeners, you should be proud!" he enthuses.

"I am!" Rosie says and for once that night, it's not a lie.

"Good, good. Have a nice night now, Al, ma'am," he tells them goodbye and they can't be out the door fast enough.

"Do you think he remembers my name?" Rosie asks once they're out of earshot.

"I've certainly introduced you," Alastor says. "I think I caught him referring to you as Rosa the other week."

"We should eat him," Rosie says, only half joking.

Alastor chuckles. "If only we could, my dear."

"So, what now? Dancing?" Rosie asks. "If we go, I need to stop by at home, these shoes were a mistake." They compliment the dress but kill the feet. 

"I definitely need to unwind," Alastor agrees. 

They make their way home. It’s a quiet night. At the door, as Rosie is digging out her keys to unlock it, Alastor touches her arm to get her attention. As she stops to look up and follow his gaze, she notices it too; there's someone upstairs.

They exchange looks and start rounding the house. Rosie ditches her heels and sneaks in her stockings. The backdoor leading into the garden is open, the lock broken. Through the door, she can hear someone moving around in the kitchen.

The absolute nerve!

Alastor gets the look in his eye, a curious mix of excited and calculating that Rosie is sure she's the only one to ever see and live.

She gestures for him to wait as she fetches the axe leaning against their tool shed. He pulls out a knife from wherever he always keeps at least one.

"You'll make a mess," he whispers to Rosie, right against her ear.

"It'll wash off the kitchen tiles," she whispers back. "You take upstairs."

Alastor's face softens for a moment as he gives her one last look before he stalks into the house, a silent predator.

Rosie wastes no time sneaking up to the kitchen doorway. From there, in the light coming through the window, she can see a figure filtering through her nice kitchen silverware. That is unforgivable.

Without any fancy flourish, only pure anger at getting their home violated, she steps out and swings. The axe hits true with a crunch and the silverware thief sinks to the floor. She hears a muffled yell of pain from upstairs and knows that Alastor has everything handled.

Not too long after, he comes downstairs, humming a jaunty tune.

He stops in the doorway to take in the scene. It's only then Rosie realizes that she's gotten blood on yet another dress. 

"Dammit," she mutters. 

"You're brutal as always, darling," Alastor says as he inspects the corpse. He eases her fingers off the axe handle and places it aside. He's remarkably blood splatter free, except for his hands.

"How are things upstairs?" she asks. She debates taking his hand and then just goes for it, it's not like they're strangers to casual contact at this point.

"I'm happy to inform you that I managed to avoid getting blood on the wallpaper this time," Alastor tells her, pleased with himself. And he should be; they'd just had the bedroom renovated.

"That's great, dear," she says. "Too bad our plans for the night got decided for us." 

The kitchen looks appropriately like a murder scene. She'll need to do some scrubbing but next to the bathroom, the kitchen is definitely the best room to commit bloody homicide in, in terms of dealing with the aftermath.

Alastor kisses her knuckles, a bit of blood on his lips when he says, "Cleanup first, drinks after?"

She grins at him, sick with affection. "You've read my mind."

Notes:

I did some art for the fic Link here!