With the gun still in my possession, I lift it up as I spin around, meeting eyes with Detective Finn Breck holding his own weapon to the side of Thatcher’s head, his arm wrapped around his neck, yanking him into his chest to keep him still. Thatcher is still slightly taller, making this situation look quite comical if his life wasn’t in danger. “Why are people always pointing guns at me?” Thatcher sighs, rolling his eyes as if it’s only a minor inconvenience and not a matter of life and death.
thatcher the icon you are
