Hey, it's a new story! Vince has got a lot on his mind. Tag to episode four.

I do not own The Cape.

Pretty As A Picture

Vince plopped down in his chair with a soft groan; nothing had gone right today, he mused to himself, massaging his temples wearily. He couldn't be with his son on his birthday, he had practically handed everything to Scales on a silver platter, but of course, everyone just laughed, and he still had a mysterious partner, who the vigilante was really starting to worry about. He knew that he couldn't make her talk, but…

The framed cop sat up and stared into the open space in front of him. Orwell had gone to bed a few minutes ago, so now it was just him and his thoughts. She had been right, though; this time next year, he'd probably be stretched out on the couch playing a game with Trip, maybe even go on another campout. But then there was the question of where Orwell was gonna be. In all honesty, he had no idea where that question came from. Vince cared about his friend's well-being, sure, but he felt like he almost cared too much.

Was he afraid of losing her? Possibly. That young woman was so guarded with everything that she did. It made Vince wonder what kind of life she lived before he met her. Whenever he tried to ask her about her past, it was like she shut him out. She didn't want to talk about it, for whatever reason. Orwell had been there for him without asking for anything in return; the least that he could do was be there for her during whatever it was that she was going through. She practically lived with him most days, and was starting to really grow on him. It wouldn't be so bad if he weren't married. He could never hurt Dana intentionally like that.

The blonde padded over to the beat-up couch he was temporarily sleeping on until his partner found a new place to call home. He stripped out of his jacket and threw it across the back of the couch. Oh how he was looking forward to seeing the inside of his eyelids…

Vince looked over at his partner, who was curled in on herself sleeping soundly. It was really quite adorable, to be honest. She was almost like a lost little kitten. And a mouthy one at that, he chuckled to himself as he recalled her telling Fleming off back on the train.

A wide smile stretched across his face as she mumbled something in her sleep. "Goodnight, Orwell."

One day, Peter Fleming wouldn't rule this city. One day, Orwell will trust him enough to confide in him. And tomorrow he was just a stride closer to clearing the Faraday name.

When the vigilante finally put his head down for a much-needed sleep, it didn't take him very long before he drifted off. The next thing he knew though, he had a pillow thrown at his head. Vince jerked his head upright and saw his partner gawking at him from his bed like an annoyed cat. "What? What I do?" he asked, rubbing his face awkwardly.

"Your snoring is giving me a headache. Now flip over; next time I'm upgrading from the pillow to your shoe," Orwell grumbled in reply, flopping back down.

Vince chuckled to himself and did how he was told. Why did this feel like the 'yes dear, no dear, whatever you say dear' kind of moment?

Whatever kind of moment it was, though, he didn't really want to think too much into it for now. He had enough insanity for one day, thanks very much.

And I'll end it with that. What did we think? Good, bad? Nice to see Vince's POV? You know what to do!