#you want her to work through it for once instead of layering more trauma on top like a fucking trauma lasagna

[cargopantsprentiss]

God it’s SO like JJ to be absolutely broken by something, and still be telling everyone it’s nothing, don’t worry, because the case is more important. Add to that, her putting her everything into trying to help Holly because she reminds her of Ros, and that’s a good distraction, that’s something she can actually do something about.

God, it’s heartbreaking but it’s so JJ.

[chickensarentcheap]

Lost and Found - Chapter 9

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake and Esme Drummond (established OFC. Although you do not need to read the others to understand this one)

THIS CHAPTER IS A JOHN WICK CROSSOVER :D

Warnings: angst

Tagging:  @tragiclyhip @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @thesirenrealm @residentdormouse @asirensrage @munstysmind @muchadoaboutcj @starryeyes2000 @karimac @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @occommunity @themaradaniels​

My tag list is OPEN. Just give me a shout if you’d like to added :)

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/116371852

******

Despite both intense mental and physical fatigue, all attempts at sleep fail. After tossing and turning for nearly two hours, he’d contemplated contacting Delaney; knowing he had to ‘pull up his big boy pants’ and read and listen to the barrage of text messages and voicemails she’d left in just the last three hours alone. He’s the only one to blame for his current state of misery; solely responsible for Delaney’s unhinged -yet not unprovoked- behaviour. He hadn’t not even bothered to make physical contact before leaving Australia; instead stopping at her work and tucking a hastily written note under one of her car’s windshield wipers. It had been short and simple; he had to go out of town to tend to some personal business and should be back in a few days, and he’d contact her if it was going to be any longer than that.

He had hoped both the physical and emotional distance would be enough; either to keep her from incessantly trying to get ahold of him or piss her off to the point she cut ties with him completely. Yet neither has happened judging by the messages from worried to irate; beginning calmly and then escalating quickly with each missed call. A buffet of every emotion available to a human being; expressing her increasing worry for both his mental health and their obviously fragile relationship and begging and pleading for him to call her back. The latter soon transformed into pure despair; sobbing as she confessed her love for him and sorrowfully wondering why she wasn’t ‘enough’ and then cursing and swearing and calling him a coward for ‘running away’ instead of facing their issues.

It isn’t the first time he’s been guilty of the latter; his inability to support his wife through their only child’s illness and his fear of seeing his son suffer and pass away had destroyed both his marriage and his entire life. Infamous for his physical bravery but emotional cowardice, he’d put in the effort to change while with Esme; stepping completely out of his comfort zone and learning to not only be more open and honest about his feelings, but how to eradicate the disgust and shame that always accompanied showing even a flicker of emotion. He no longer wanted to be the guy that ran when the going got tough; instead trying to be the kind of partner that she needed, wanted, and deserved. And with her unwavering support and seemingly infinite patience, he’d begun to turn his life around; beginning with dealing with the mountains of baggage that had been weighing him down for years. Tearing through the layers of both physical and mental trauma and willingly checking into rehab and submitting to therapy; wading through a cesspool of toxic masculinity and anger issues and somehow managing to cut the once ironclad ties to the booze and the pain meds. For the first time since his son died, he’d found himself clean and sober. And genuinely happy. Content within that little bubble of domesticity that he and Esme had created. Both optimistic about their future together.

And then she’d left. Completing what all of the bullets and bloodshed never could. Destroying him completely.

He’s found something constantly tempted to challenge his sobriety; briefly considering ordering a bottle of the most expensive scotch on the menu and spending the rest of the evening and well into the night drinking himself into a stupor. Anything to numb the mental anguish; relieve the heaviness that sits on his chest and threatens to suffocate him. And while under normal circumstances he’d be obsessing over every little detail of a job and repeatedly running through every possible scenario, his brain has settled in a far different place. Not a single shred of the job and the circumstances surrounding it matter; the neatly typed and extremely well organized ‘mission notes’ Nik had slipped under his hotel room door simply tossed aside. Instead, he finds himself obsessed with the events of five years ago; replaying every second, every word, every movement he’d made on that very last day. Looking for any mistake that he could have made something; even something tiny and innocuous that could have sent her running.

And he dwells on the loneliness and the worry and the anger; the emotions that have plagued him and driven him since the day she left. And they accompany him to where he is today. At this very moment. Sitting in the dimly lit lounge at The Continental; ignoring the chattering of the patrons around him as he uses a fork to push the remains of a steak dinner around his plate . And while the establishment’s food is second to none and he has vivid recollections of the meals he’d been served during his handful of stays, he doesn’t recall tasting a single bite. His body and brain both running on auto-pilot; knowing that they needed to function together to silence the grumbling in his stomach and keep his strength.

While never a social butterfly and in no means in the mood for mindless chit-chat or the mere company of a stranger, he’d forced himself to leave his hotel room; the silence deafening and the loneliness almost physically painful. Anxiety had quickly settled in; tightening his shoulders and creating a pounding in his temples and at the base of his skull. Quickly finding it impossible to sit still; feeling as if the four walls were closing in around him and he was going to go crazy if he didn’t escape.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

The pretty little bartender breaks away from her other customers and steps in front of him. Abbie…Addie…something like that. She’s young and vibrant and extremely confident; not above being brazenly flirty and suggestive with her comments. And she’d be attractive enough IF he was even remotely interested. Tall and leggy, with near coal black hair that shimmers under the lights behind the bar; her willowy body on full display in a simple, figure-hugging black dress. Intricate and colourful tattoos cover both arms and piercings decorate her face; a silver hoop that travels through the middle of her bottom lip and a diamond stud that sparkles from its resting place on her left nostril. And she’s been making flirtatious small talk since he arrived; finding the place packed and having to settle for the last seat at the bar.

The corner of his mouth turns up; the beginnings of a smirk. “Believe me, even that’s overcharging for what’s going on in my head.”

“Rough day?”

“More like a rough five years.”

“Sounds ominous. If you’re looking for someone to unload on…”

“Actually, I prefer my bartender and my therapist to be two different people.”

Long past caring whose feathers he ruffles, he’s infamous for being brutal and unapologetically honest. He isn’t looking to impress; he has no interest in impressing women in hopes of filling his bed with a warm body. He’d indulged in too much of that in the past five years; avoiding the booze and the pain meds and instead returning to a less harmful vice. Never sure exactly what he was looking for; whether it be a temporary -and purely physical- cure for the loneliness or something more serious. His heart hadn’t really been invested in either; cold and callous with the women he bedded and never bothered to contact again. Until he’d taken the chance with Delaney; finding a brief glimmer of contentment until she started coming on way too strong. He doesn’t see himself ever settling down with her; taking it as a sign when her mere presence after her first night at his place had only bored and irritated him.

“Not much of a bartender if I’m not pouring drinks, am I? There must be something else I can get you. Ice water can only bring so much enjoyment.”

“I don’t drink. I told you that when I sat down.”

“Everyone needs to unwind. Especially you, by the sounds of it. Seems like you have a lot on your plate. And if a drink helps loosen the lips just a little…”

“I’m an alcoholic.” There’s no way to sugarcoat it. Not that he’s known for his subtlety. He’d learned in rehab that part of fixing your problem was admitting to yourself -and others- that you had one to start with. And if there is anything in his life that he’s proud of, it’s the fact he’s managed to stay sober; proof that the anger and the heartache and loneliness that had followed Esme’s departure hadn’t completely ruined him.

“Putting yourself through some kind of test?” Addie lightly teases. “Takes a strong man to be able to stare his demons in the face like this.”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I. There was no other place to sit.”

She leans back against shelves of booze behind her; arms crossed over her chest as she eyes him in bemusement. “Not much of a social butterfly, are you.”

“Maybe I’m just a certified asshole. Born and raised.”

“Something tells me that’s just a cover. For who you really are. Outside of this crazy fucking world we’re both tied up in. A lot of people are completely different in their personal lives than when they’re here. Maybe it’s a way of protecting themselves; a form of self-perseverance. This kind of life can really drag you down. Even break you. Only choice sometimes is to put up those walls to keep people out.”

“This kind of life doesn’t exactly let you get close to someone. Doesn’t let you have anything normal. Believe me, I tried. And it was an epic fucking disaster.”

“Someone broke your heart.”

“Yeah, just a little.”

“Well if I may be so bold…”

“I’d rather you weren’t.”

“…but it’s definitely her loss.”

He wants to tell her just how wrong she is. That he’d always been one with the most to lose. Esme had brought a much-needed brightness; easily breaking through his tough exterior and shining light on those dark and abandoned recesses deep inside of him. She had reminded him that he was still very much alive and that there was still a lot out there for him to experience; sunsets to marvel over and meals to cook and enjoy together, and the touch and love of someone that adored him. For years he’d been walking around in a state of numbness; caused by immense grief, guilt, and regret and further aided by the booze and the alcohol. And she’d wandered into his life and turned it completely upside down. Peeling away all those protective layers and exposing the long-buried humanity that still existed inside of him.

In the end, he’d lost a hell of a lot. His most loyal confidant and fervent supporter. His best friend and his lover. The sole reason that he’d kept going during those extremely difficult days following Dhaka; the months in the hospital, the long and extremely painful recovery once returning home, and the struggle to get clean and sober and STAY that way. With her, he’d found that he enjoyed being domestic; having someone to take care of and provide for and share his days with. And he thrived on the companionship; the cooking together and the meals shared and the intimacy they’d indulged in. And even the quiet times of just hanging out; at opposite ends of the couch with her feet in his lap as she read a book and busied himself on his laptop. It was comfortable. Normal. An existence he never thought he’d have the chance to lead.

And then just like that, it was all gone.

His head pounds. A mixture of jet lag, hunger, and the million and one thoughts running through it. It’s all so fucking complicated; Esme’s reasonings for both disappearing and keeping Millie a secret for four year years. He wants to believe her; that she left in order to protect him from a brutal and painful demise. But his brain has a hard time accepting that explanation; refusing to believe that she’d managed to get herself mixed up with something THAT dangerous. And in turn, it’s only created a new host of questions he desperately needs and wants answers for.

Addie refills his ice water and leans stomach first against the bar; forearms resting atop the gleaming wood, hands clasped together. “How’d a guy like you end up here, anyway?”

“Same way everyone else ends up here. I kill people. For money.”

“I meant in general. In this business. You just don’t seem the type; that would get their kicks out of brutalizing someone. You’re not like everyone else; walking around here with a huge chip on your shoulder. And you definitely don’t care about what people think about you. I can’t remember the last time someone walked in here in jeans and a t-shirt. If anyone ever has.”

“I’m not here to impress anyone. Or to make friends. I’m here to do a job. And if people don’t like what they see, they can just look away. No skin off my ass.”

She gives a sly smile. “Maybe THEY don’t like what they see, but I know I do.”

He longs to tell her that it’s a lost cause; he isn’t even remotely interested and she’s only wasting her time. It’s been a hell of a day and it isn’t even close to being over with; the impending conversation with Esme sitting heavily upon his shoulders. He’s dreading it; wanting to hear the truth and the apologies but not prepared for all of the emotion -on both sides- that will be involved. In a perfect world, they’d just go back to where they were. Able to simply enjoy the reunion and getting to know one another again; reconnecting AND then rebuilding upon that foundation Dhaka had laid beneath their feet.

Instead, he bites his tongue. “I’m flattered. And forgive me for sounding like a total prick, but you’re barking up the wrong tree here. I’m not interested. I’m not here to get my dick wet. I’m here to do a job. And besides, I learned a long time ago what a huge mistake it is; mixing business with pleasure.”

“For what it’s worth,” She trails a fingernail along the top of his hand; passing over each misshapen knuckle and scar. “I’ve never had a complaint.”

“Listen…” A slow, charming grin spreads across his face as he leans forward; giving the woman a glimmer of hope as his hand comes to rest atop hers. And then his eyes darken; fingers curling around her wrist and his voice becoming deeper and menacing. “...I’m going to have a complaint if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”

She blinks and recoils the vehemence in his tone; lips pursed tightly together as she yanks her hand out from under his. Not giving a brief glance over her shoulder as she retreats to the opposite end of the bar.

Smirking, he raises the ice water to his lips; pausing when a strong yet friendly hand squeezes his shoulder in greeting. And is quickly followed by a familiar voice.

******

“I see you’re still trying your best to charm the locals. It’s nice to see some things never really do change.”

He takes a swallow of his drink. “I’m just a regular ball of sunshine.”

“Tyler.”

“John.”

Wick gestures to the now empty barstool beside him. “You expecting someone or…?”

“Who wants to hang out with a miserable asshole?”

“Well you know what they say; misery loves company. May I?”

Nodding, Tyler pushes the half-eaten plate of food and the empty glass across the bar, signalling he’s done. Until the afternoon, he hadn’t seen or worked with Wick in years; a high profile -and even more high paying- job that had marked his first -and only- North American gig. From what he’s heard, the man’s been through hell; dragged back and forth into the life through no fault of his own. Dealing with the lingering grief and loneliness following the death of his wife while battling with The High Table; a war that had seen him emerge victorious but with a dozen more scars added to his collection. The stories of Baba Yaga aside, Tyler has always respected the man; a freakishly skilled and enormously successful hitman still grasping desperately to the last remaining shreds of humanity. He’d been relieved when he’d heard Wick had not only been involved in saving Esme and Millie from certain death, but that he’d agreed to stay on board until they were safely out of the country. And offering his further services if Tyler felt he needed them.

Wick offers an appreciative yet tired smile at the bartender that approaches; a glass of bourdon wordlessly placed in front of him. “And another for my friend here. Whatever he’s having. Scotch, right?”

“Ice water. But you’ve got a damn good memory.”

“I’m not usually one for drinking buddies, but I do remember that last job we worked together. When was that? Seven, eight years ago?”

“About that.”

“No one forgets when someone successfully drinks them under the table. Two nights in a row. Always heard the stories about Aussies loving their booze, but…” Taking a swig of bourbon, he winces and lets out a low growl as that first swallow burns going down. “When’d you quit?”

“Almost six years ago.”

“What made you decide to give it up? Liver finally pleading for mercy?”

“Being in a medically induced coma for a couple of months had its hand in things. But I probably would have gotten out of the hospital and gone right back to it though; drank myself to death sooner or later. But honestly, I quit for the same reason you left this life.”

“That’ll do it. You meet that one and…” His voice trails off. The memory of his wife is just as powerful and intense as the day she passed the mere mention of her still bringing about the heartache. It’s a tremendous loss that he’ll never be quite over; destined to live the rest of his life wracked with grief and emptiness.

“Guess we finally have a few more things in common,” Tyler muses. “Job’s not the only thing anymore. Whoever said ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all’ was a dirty ass fucking liar.”

“I don’t know about that. As much as it still hurts, I wouldn’t go back and change things. Even if I went into it knowing how quickly I’d lose her, I’d still give everything up for Helen. Even if I knew how short the time would be, I’d still try my hand at a normal life. I’d still pick her over everything…and everyone…else.”

“That’s all of a lot of a pain to go through.”

“It is. But the life I DID get with her? The good times? I wouldn’t trade those in for anything. And I think once you get a chance to really digest things and think them through, you’ll be saying the same thing about Esme.”

Tyler WANTS to believe that. It’s not as if the feelings no longer exist; he’s remained hopelessly and desperately in love with her throughout the years they’d been apart. Feeling just how strong it actually was when that separation had finally ended; face to face with one another in the midst of all the lingering sorrow and hurt and anger. It’s love and it’s adoration and immense relief; seeing her alive and well, albeit a little banged up. And while he still wants and needs an explanation for both her disappearance and keeping Millie a secret, the anger isn’t quite as potent now. Seeing her had taken a lot of the edge off; peeling away some of the worry and bitterness.

“You’re lucky though,” Wick says. “Esme’s here. Alive and well. Back in your life. And it’s happened for a reason. Me? I lost Helen permanently. There is no second chance for us.”

“What makes you think I’d even want one? After what went down? What…?”

“If you sit here and tell me you don’t still love her and want a life with her, then you’re the dirty fucking liar.”

“She left. It wasn’t the other way around. Just took off while I was doing shit at our new place. That we bought TOGETHER. I came home and she was gone. Never even bothered to tell me she was leaving. No face-to-face chat, no phone call, not even a goddamn text or an email. You know what I got? I got an ‘I’m sorry’ written on a piece of paper, left in the middle of the kitchen table.”

“And what you got NOW is an opportunity. To be with her again. I know it sucked; I know it probably hurt like hell. But she is right here…under the same roof as you…and you’ve got the chance to make things right. To get past all that shit and be with her. You really going to turn your back on that?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Am I supposed to pretend it never happened? That it never went down the way it did? I’m pissed. And it isn’t just bad enough that she left the way she did. I come here and find out I have a kid. That she kept from me. I’ve missed four years of her life. And I can’t get those years back.”

“And no one is saying you don’t have the right to be. Be pissed. Be hurt. But don’t be stupid. Don’t let all that negative shit get in the way of patching things up. And if you don’t do it for yourself or her, do it for your little girl. Because she deserves to know her dad. Have him in her life. Are you really going to walk away from that? A chance to know her and raise her? Yeah, you missed four years. And that fucking stinks. But Tyler, if you play your cards right, you’ve got four decades AT LEAST to fill.”

“Do you know why? Esme left? I know that you guys were…friendly…when she used to live here. That she’s the one who introduced you to your wife. Do you have any idea why she took off?”

Downing the last of the bourbon, he holds aloft the empty glass, signalling for another. “I do. But it’s not my place to tell you. If that were the case, I would have gotten in contact with you five years ago. But it’s not up to me to make things right. Sort shit out between the two of you. It’s her story to tell and it’s up to you to listen to her.”

“I just want to know what’s true and what isn’t. I’m not asking for details. I just need that answered. If what she told is true. The main reason why she left. I spent five years thinking the worst. That either she either left me for someone else…”

“That was NOT it. That’s not even close to what happened.”

“...or that someone came and grabbed her. Kept her for a bit and did all kinds of sick shit to her and THEN killed her. You know what that’s like? Wondering if that’s what happened? For FIVE YEARS What it’s like to think ‘I’d rather she be dead with someone else’. I actually thought that. And it’s fucked me up. For a long time.”

“What has she told you?”

“Something from her past caught up to her. People that she crossed. And that they didn’t give her much of a choice. She had to either do what they said, or they’d come back and fuck shit up. Said she left in order to protect me. That I would have survived.”

“You wouldn’t have. Not many people cross their paths and live to tell about it. I’m not going to sit here and tell you who they were or what they wanted or what Esme did. All of that is up to her. But I will tell you that she did the right thing. For both of you.”

“She couldn’t have at least told me? What was going on? Why she was leaving? Or let me know she was safe?”

“Would that have been enough? Or would you have tracked her down? Attempted to play white knight?”

Sighing, Tyler looks down at his glass; brow furrowed as he absentmindedly swirls the ice around.

“Exactly. You would have gone after her and everything she feared would have come true. She did the right thing, Tyler. As much as it hurts and as angry as you are, she really did have your best interests at heart.”

“And you’d just be able to get over it? If someone did that to you?”

“It would hurt like hell and I’d be pissed, but yeah, I’d be able to get over it. Once I calmed down to actually hear them out, I’d realize they did what they did because they loved me. And that’s exactly why she left. Because she DID love you. She still does.”

“Hard to believe that when she was just engaged to someone else a few days ago.” It had hurt like hell hearing THAT detail during the team meeting; a mixture of jealousy and bitterness and pure and utter rage that continued to gnaw at his stomach. He had the thought of it; another man being given the privilege of holding her and kissing her and making love to her.

“That was nothing but part of the job. She was never going to marry him. As soon as she got what was needed and Nik was ready to make your move, she was going to just grab and take off. Don’t think for one second she actually loved that guy. He was a ‘mark’. Nothing more, nothing less.”

They lapse into silence; nursing their drinks and waving off the bartender when he approaches to offer another round.

“Hell of a thing we got ourselves into,” Wick comments. “Trouble always seems to find us, huh?”

“You know what they say; about how you’re never really free of this life. It follows you. No matter how far you run or where you try to hide. Years could go by and you’re thinking you’re free and clear of it and something comes up. Someone calling in a favour, some asshole looking for revenge. The shit finds you. One way or another.”

“You know I’ve walked away three times now? “And each time I told myself it was the last. That I was retired. And nothing or no one could change that. But…”

“Here you are.”

“Yeah…” Wick scoffs. “...here I am. Heard you quit for a bit. Tried your hand at a regular life. Firefighting, was it?”

“Been doing that full-time for the last couple of years. And I run a little business of my own; home renovations, landscaping, masonry stuff. Got enough going on back home to keep me busy. But like I said, you never really leave the life behind. It’s always got a hold on you. No matter how hard you try to let it go.”

“I think it’s safe to say this is the one time you’re probably okay with trouble showing its face. Esme, the kid…”

“Not what I thought I was walking into, I’ll tell you that much. I went into this totally blind. Nik wasn’t too forthcoming with the info when she called me. Made up some bullshit excuse about not being on a secure line. Just told me a client was pretty insistent on hiring for a job.”

“And now here YOU are.”

Tyler nods. “It’s all been a little…surprising…to say the least.”

“Finding out the client was Esme or the fact you have a kid?”

“Both. Before all of this, her leaving seemed like the worst thing that could have ever happened. Then I found out she kept my daughter from me. I think a secret baby trumps everything else.”

“She had her reasons. Just remember that. Give her a chance. To explain things. Don’t let your pride fuck things up. I know that’s easier said than done sometimes, but…”

His phone vibrates against the top of the bar, signalling an incoming text message. And he’s relieved to find that instead of Delaney ranting and raving about him ‘dropping off the face of the earth’, it’s Esme asking if they can talk after Millie has fallen asleep. Able to leave her in the care and protection of Abeula and Nik and visit him in his room or wherever he feels comfortable meeting. It makes him feel like a teenager again; the excitement and nervousness that comes with knowing you’re going to be totally alone with the prettiest girl in school. And he sends back a quick confirmation and his room number, then once more sets the phone on top of the bar, screen down.

Wick smirks. “I recognize that look. Definitely good news.”

“Could be the START of something good. Guess it depends on how things go. When we talk about everything.”

“Just try and keep the pride and the temper in check. I know it’s a shitty situation; her taking off and flying under the radar for years and keeping your kid from you. But she’s got very legitimate reasons. Understandable ones. Just try to keep an open mind. And ear.”

“This isn’t the way I thought it would go. Honestly, I don’t think I was ever really optimistic. About one day seeing her again. So for it to go down like this? Because of a job? Definitely not what I would have imagined.”

“Isn’t that how you first met? Maybe it’s the pattern. What’s the saying? Things come in threes?”

“Don’t wish that on me. I don’t think I have another job like Dhaka in me. I’m just hoping this one doesn’t go down that same road. Organized crime? Mafia style? I’m a little too old for that shit.”

“Aren’t we both.” Standing, he pulls two gold coins from one of the pockets of his suit jacket and lays them on the bar. “My treat,” he says, and then claps Tyler on the shoulder. “Remember what I said; about going in there with an open mind. She DID have a good reason for doing what she did. And if you feel yourself losing control, think of that little girl. And how many years you’ve got left with her.”

“Open mind. Optimistic. Got ya.”

“It’ll all work out, Tyler. Don’t fuck this up. You’ve got a second chance. And believe me, I’d do anything for even one more day…one more second…with my wife.”

*******

“Momma?”

They sit in the middle of the queen-sized bed; Millie between Esme’s outstretched legs as she gets her hair detangled and then braided before bed. She has her father’s hair. Dirty blond and impossibly thick; wild and unruly with a mind all its own. She can easily recall many mornings when he’d stumble out of bed or wake from a nap; grumpy and in desperate need of coffee, those longer strands on the top of his head sticking up in several different directions. He’d feign annoyance when she’d lovingly tease him about how adorable he was; murmuring about how he was supposed to be ruthless and badass and if word ever got about how this supposed ‘cute side’, it would do serious damage to his reputation.

While she misses every aspect of that simple and quiet life with him in Australia, sometimes it’s the absence of those little moments that are the most heartbreaking. The companionship that accompanied the intense and nearly all-consuming want and need. Dinners prepared together and enjoyed out on the front porch, the affectionate teasing and light-hearted banter that was frequently exchanged, the long, deep conversations that took place in the dead of the night. And those moments of intimacy in its softest and purest form. The way he’d approach her in the kitchen while she made something to eat; a hand on her stomach as he nuzzled that sensitive spot just below her right ear. How -during the harder days when the trauma of Dhaka became too much for her to bear- he’d envelop her in strong powerful arms and hold as tight as her body would tolerate; one palm moving in slow, soothing circles in the middle of her back. She’d always find herself instantly comforted; her anxious and tortured mind put to ease by his familiar smell and the warmth radiating from his body and the way his voice rumbled deep within his chest.

“What’s up, sweet pea?”

“Why do we have to leave? Why can’t we just stay here? In New York.”

“Because it’s safer if we go somewhere else. Away from the bad guys. “

“But we’re safe HERE. With Charon and Grandpa Winston. The bad guys aren’t allowed to come here. So why can’t we just stay? Until the bad guys go away?”

“Because this place has rules. About who can stay here and for how long.”

“Whose rules?”

“The boss’.”

“Grandpa Winston IS the boss. He’s kicking us out?!”

“HIS boss. Who he has to listen to or he’ll get into big trouble and then not be allowed to run this place anymore. Everyone that is in charge of something or someone, has people that are in charge of THEM. That they have to answer to. Grandpa Winston may be the boss, but he also has his own boss.”

“Hmmm…” Millie tilts her head to the side; eyes narrowed as she chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “You know what, mom? I don’t think I EVER want to be an adult. It’s too stressful. I don’t want a boss. I don’t want someone telling me what to do. Especially some man.”

“I tell you what to do.”

“That’s different. I’m just a little kid still. And you’re my momma. Mommas are supposed to tell kids what they can and can’t do. And we’re supposed to listen. I know sometimes I don’t. But I try. I really do. I WANT to be good, just sometimes…”

“You are always good. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You can be a little difficult and challenging sometimes, but you’re never bad. You’re stubborn and high-spirited and…”

“Alessio thought I was bad. He said that I talk too much and make too much noise and that I’m mouthy. He even said I was naughty. Tons of times.”

“He had no idea what he was talking about. You’re four. Not eighty-four. You’re supposed to be loud and rambunctious. You’re learning about the world. How are you supposed to do that without bouncing all over the place and asking all kinds of questions?”

“I didn’t like him very much, you know.”

“Oh, I know. You never wasted a chance to tell me.”

“He wasn’t really going to be my dad, right? You weren��t REALLY going to marry, were you?”

“No. To both.”

“Because he is so not good enough for you.”

Grinning, Esme sprays the last section of hair with detangler and then works the comb through it. “Something tells me you’d say that anyone that got too close.”

“Only if they’re not the right guy for you. And mom, Alession was NOT it.”

“He wasn’t, was he? You sure seem to know a lot about guys and relationships and commitment for someone who won’t even use the same lunch box two years in a row.”

“I just know you deserve better. He wasn’t very nice to you. He bossed you around. Or at least he tried to. You deserve someone that’s going to treat you right. Like the queen you are!”

Esme laughs. “You’ve been watching Oprah with Abeula, haven’t you.”

“And I wouldn’t say that about EVERY guy; that he isn’t good enough for you. Just when he’s not. And he wasn't. He was mean sometimes. He would call you stupid and stuff and then buy you things to make it all better. And he threw out my sandals! My favourite ones!”

“And I was quick to put him in his place about that, wasn’t I? Don’t you EVER worry about that. If someone messes with you, they mess with me. And I WILL go momma bear on their ass.”

“You should have dumped him. There’s a lot of fish in the sea. Really good ones, too. You deserve someone good, mom. Someone that will take care of you. Who won’t look at other girls and call them pretty and stuff. And who won’t throw out of my shoes.”

“No one else will EVER do that again, I promise.”

“You know who seems really nice? Like he’d treat you right? Tyler.”

“You just met him. You talked to him for all of five minutes. And you could tell what kind of guy he is?”

“I mean, he’s here to help with the bad guys. How awful could he be?”

“He’s not awful. At all. Far from it, actually. But you hardly know him and…”

“I know enough. I know he’s big and strong and the bad guys don’t stand a chance against him. And I know his favourite ice cream is mint chocolate chip! Just like me! What more is there to know?”

“A lot of things.” Esme busies herself with the final braid. “But you’ll have a lot of time to get to know him better. While he’s keeping an eye on us.”

“I might annoy him. Alessio always complained I talked too much and asked way too many questions.”

“Something tells me that Tyler will enjoy it. That he won’t mind one bit. He might not say a lot in return, but…”

“How long have you known him?” Stretching her legs out in front of her, she wiggles her toes; giggling as the glow from the bedside lamp causes the glitter in her bright pink nail polish to sparkle. “How long has he been your friend?”

“I’ve known him for a while. Since before you were born.”

“How long before?”

“A year. And a bit.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“Through work. Auntie Nik introduced us. Paired us up on a job together.”

“Was he your boyfriend?”

Esme hesitates. Both a lie and the truth have consequences; a time down the road when Millie will have even more questions. And anger will follow the answers; either furious that her mother had told a fib or that she’d kept her existence a secret and made her lose four years with her father.

“No. He wasn’t.” She feels sick. At both the denial of Tyler’s importance in her life and how easily the words spilled out of her mouth. “Just a friend. And a colleague.”

“If he’s a friend, how come I’ve never met him? I’ve met all your other friends. Auntie Nik and Uncle Yaz and Uncle John. And there’s Grandpa Winston and Charon! But I never met Tyler. How come?”

“Tyler lives far away.”

“How far away?”

“Thousands of miles.”

“Like in California?! Where all the movie stars are?!”

“No,” Esme laughs. “More like Australia. Which is an entirely different country.”

“I know where Australia is! It’s across the ocean. Right in the middle of it. It’s a big island. It’s where the kangaroos and koalas live. Does he get to see them a lot?! I bet he gets to see tons of kangas and koalas. He’s so lucky! I wish I could see them. Maybe we can go and visit! Maybe he’ll invite us. Do you think he will? Now that we’re besties?”

“I think if you were to tell him you’d love to go to Australia, he’d be more than happy to take you there. But you might not have to say ANYTHING. Or even wait that long to go. It might be where we end up. While Tyler is taking care of us.”

Giving an excited shriek, Millie claps her hands together and bounces up and down on her bum, then swivels around to look at her mom. “We’re going to his house?! In Australia?!”

“I didn’t say we were going there for sure. But…”

“We get to fly on a big airplane?! We get to see kangaroos and koalas?! Where does he live? Does he have a house? With a backyard I can play in? Maybe he has a pool! That way I can get a new bathing suit and we can go swimming and…”

“Whoa…whoa….” Laughing, she gathers Millie in her arms and settles her in her lap; the four-year-old giggling when her mom showers her cheeks with noisy kisses. “...I never said we were going for sure. Just that we MIGHT be. It’s on the list. Of places that Tyler could take us to and keep us safe and sound.”

“I want to go there! To Australia! To Tyler’s house! Can you tell him that, momma? Can you tell him I want to go there? That it would make me really, really, REALLY happy?”

“I can put in a good word, but I can’t promise anything. There are a lot of things we need to think about. When it comes to where we end up. Everyone just wants us to be safe. Keep the bad guys away. So there’s a lot of stuff that needs to be considered.”

“We’d be safe there! In Australia. At Tyler’s place. The bad guys would NEVER come there. He’s too big and too strong and I bet they’re really scared of him. I bet he makes them poo their pants! He doesn’t scare me though. I’m not afraid of him. Even if he is a giant!”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not afraid of him. Because there’s no absolutely no reason. He would never…EVER…do anything to hurt you. To hurt EITHER of us.”

“He just hurts bad people? ‘Cause they deserve it?”

“He hurts bad people in order to protect good people. He doesn’t want to hurt them, but sometimes he doesn’t have much of a choice. Because if he doesn’t do something first, they’ll hurt him. Or worse.”

“They might kill him?”

“They might. But he’s tough and he’s resilient and believe me, IF he gets knocked down? He always gets back up. It makes me happy that you’re not scared of him. I know he’s really big and he can look really serious and mean, but he’s not. He’s a really good guy.”

“Momma…” She tilts her head backwards, eyes narrowed. “...are you SURE Tyler wasn’t your boyfriend?”

“That’s twice you’ve talked about that. What makes you think he was my boyfriend?”

“Just the way your voice sounds when you talk about him. Every time you say his name, you sound weird. Not in a bad way. Just a different way. And I saw the way you were looking at him earlier. When I came back from swimming. Your eyes were all sparkly and stuff. You know how in cartoons when a girl likes a boy, they get stars in their eyes? That’s what you looked like.”

“I think you’re imagining things.”

“You know what I think? I think you have a crush on Tyler. That maybe he wasn’t your boyfriend, but you wanted him to be. And you still do!”

“Amelia…”

“Mommy…”

“You are imagining things. Tyler was my friend. He still is. Nothing more, nothing less. And he’s here to help us, not form a love connection. He’s being paid. To take care of us. To make sure that the bad guys don’t try anything. There is definitely no romance on the horizon.”

“But there COULD be. If you let it happen. You just gotta tell him. That you have a crush on him. I bet if you tell him…”

“No one is telling anyone ANYTHING. Because it’s not true. There are no crushes.”

“I’m not buying it. I can tell. That you like him. And I think he likes you too. Someone has to make the first move, momma. Why can’t it be you?”

“There are no moves to be made, my sweet baby girl.”

“If you don’t tell him, I will! When we go on our ice cream date. I’ll tell him you have a big, fat crush on him! That you think he’s cute and that you like his big muscles and want to kiss him lots and lots and…” She shrieks when she feels her mother’s fingertips lightly dig into the sensitive area under her ribs; dissolving into laughter when she’s tickled mercilessly. Until she’s kicking and squirming and breathlessly pleading for Esme to stop.

“You… little miss…” The tip of her nose nuzzles each of her daughter’s cheeks. “...will do no such thing. Mind your own business, got it? Little girls do not need to meddle Come on….” She drops a kiss on the top of Millie’s head as she yawns. “...lights out time. It’s been a long, busy day for you. Four-year-old bodies can only take so much.”

“Can I stay in here tonight?” Millie hopefully inquires, remaining in the middle of the sea of blankets and sheets as her mother slides off the bed and begins tidying up. “Please? I promise I won’t hog the bed.”

“I still don’t understand how someone so small takes up so much room. What’s wrong with your bed? I thought you liked having all kinds of space to yourself?”

“I do. But sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I don’t remember ever being here and I get scared ‘cause I don’t see any of my stuff. And then I get even more scared because I worry I won’t be able to see YOU either. And that makes me really sad.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to see me?”

“What if you’re not here? What if you left? ‘Cause the bad guys came? What…?”

“Millie…” Approaching the bed, she takes the little one’s face in her hands and tilts her head up to look at her. “...I would never…EVER…leave you. There is not anyone in this world that’s bad enough to make me ever do something like that.”

“What if they took you? What if they took you away? I wouldn’t be able to find you. Not by myself.”

“Nothing like that is ever going to happen. Not a chance. I promise you that…”

“There’s always a chance. Always. What if it happens, momma? What if someone takes you away?”

“IF something like that happened, there’d be a lot of people looking for me. Auntie Nik, Uncle John, Uncle Yaz. So many people.”

“I’d get Tyler to help. Because he’s big and strong and the bad guys would be really scared of him. He’d be able to find you. And rescue you. I know he would.”

“I know he would too. If there’s anyone in this world that could do the impossible, it’s him. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.” (

She thinks of Dhaka. Those initial five days and the carnage on the bridge. Of the smell of spilled gasoline, gunpowder and blood and moans and shrieks and wails of dying men. Of the feel of Tyler’s pulse when she put two fingers inside the bullet hole in the side of his neck; tears streaming down dirty, bruised cheeks as she desperately fought to keep him alive. And that long battle afterwards; the months by his bedside and all of the horrible prognosis’ and the incessant arguing with doctors in order to secure him the care that he deserved. Somehow, he had pulled through all of that; one foot firmly planted firmly over the threshold of death the entire time.)

“Promise me you won’t leave?” Mille whimpers. “Even if the bad guys come? Promise you won’t leave without me?”

“I would never go ANYWHERE without you, Amelia.” She uses the pads of her thumbs to clear away her daughter’s wayward tears. “We’re a team. A package deal. Where I go, you go. And nothing or no one can change that.”

“Ever?”

“Ever. And I know it was scary. What happened the other night. You saw and heard things you never should have had to. And I’m sorry. That you had to go through that. And I’d go back and change so many things if I could.”

“It’s not your fault, momma. That the bad guys showed up.”

“It may have been. Just a little. And I am so sorry, Millie. That I may have done things that ended up hurting you. I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. And I would never…ever…hurt you.”

“I know you wouldn’t. ‘Cause I’m your baby.”

“You are. And you always will be.”

“Can I? Stay in here tonight? I just want to be close to you, that’s all. I feel better when I am.”

“I’d never say no to my favourite snuggle buddy. Do you want to cuddle for a bit? Until you’re almost asleep?”

With a nod and a sniffle, Millie slides over in order to give her mother access to the bed; Esme stretching out beside her and wrapping both arms around the four-year-old’s body. Her chin resting on her daughter’s head; eyes closed as the fingertips of one hand draw slow, methodical patterns on the little one’s back. Finding herself relaxed in the warmth of Millie’s body and the familiar scent that clings to her hair; the same milk, coconut, and honey shampoo that she herself has been using for years.

The one Tyler had claimed to love so much; that smell being one of the things that somehow managed to comfort him during those difficult and painful days in the hospital and then on the long road to healing. Her chest and throat both tighten as she thinks of him. Of those long and painful seconds on the bridge; the pure terror that filled every inch of her body as she watched him teeter so close to death. Those months at his bedside; stroking his hair and holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement and strength and hope in his ear. And all of the pleading she did during her lowest moments; urging him to keep fighting and to give her some kind of sign that he could hear her and knew that she was there.

Begging him to find a way…no matter what it took…to let her know that everything would be okay.

Despite both intense mental and physical fatigue, all attempts at sleep fail. After tossing and turning for nearly two hours, he’d contemplated contacting Delaney; knowing he had to ‘pull up his big boy pants’ and read and listen to the barrage of text messages and voicemails she’d left in just the last three hours alone. He’s the only one to blame for his current state of misery; solely responsible for Delaney’s unhinged -yet not unprovoked- behaviour. He hadn’t not even bothered to make physical contact before leaving Australia; instead stopping at her work and tucking a hastily written note under one of her car’s windshield wipers. It had been short and simple; he had to go out of town to tend to some personal business and should be back in a few days, and he’d contact her if it was going to be any longer than that.

He had hoped both the physical and emotional distance would be enough; either to keep her from incessantly trying to get ahold of him or piss her off to the point she cut ties with him completely. Yet neither has happened judging by the messages from worried to irate; beginning calmly and then escalating quickly with each missed call. A buffet of every emotion available to a human being; expressing her increasing worry for both his mental health and their obviously fragile relationship and begging and pleading for him to call her back. The latter soon transformed into pure despair; sobbing as she confessed her love for him and sorrowfully wondering why she wasn’t ‘enough’ and then cursing and swearing and calling him a coward for ‘running away’ instead of facing their issues.

It isn’t the first time he’s been guilty of the latter; his inability to support his wife through their only child’s illness and his fear of seeing his son suffer and pass away had destroyed both his marriage and his entire life. Infamous for his physical bravery but emotional cowardice, he’d put in the effort to change while with Esme; stepping completely out of his comfort zone and learning to not only be more open and honest about his feelings, but how to eradicate the disgust and shame that always accompanied showing even a flicker of emotion. He no longer wanted to be the guy that ran when the going got tough; instead trying to be the kind of partner that she needed, wanted, and deserved. And with her unwavering support and seemingly infinite patience, he’d begun to turn his life around; beginning with dealing with the mountains of baggage that had been weighing him down for years. Tearing through the layers of both physical and mental trauma and willingly checking into rehab and submitting to therapy; wading through a cesspool of toxic masculinity and anger issues and somehow managing to cut the once ironclad ties to the booze and the pain meds. For the first time since his son died, he’d found himself clean and sober. And genuinely happy. Content within that little bubble of domesticity that he and Esme had created. Both optimistic about their future together.

And then she’d left. Completing what all of the bullets and bloodshed never could. Destroying him completely.

He’s found something constantly tempted to challenge his sobriety; briefly considering ordering a bottle of the most expensive scotch on the menu and spending the rest of the evening and well into the night drinking himself into a stupor. Anything to numb the mental anguish; relieve the heaviness that sits on his chest and threatens to suffocate him. And while under normal circumstances he’d be obsessing over every little detail of a job and repeatedly running through every possible scenario, his brain has settled in a far different place. Not a single shred of the job and the circumstances surrounding it matter; the neatly typed and extremely well organized ‘mission notes’ Nik had slipped under his hotel room door simply tossed aside. Instead, he finds himself obsessed with the events of five years ago; replaying every second, every word, every movement he’d made on that very last day. Looking for any mistake that he could have made something; even something tiny and innocuous that could have sent her running.

And he dwells on the loneliness and the worry and the anger; the emotions that have plagued him and driven him since the day she left. And they accompany him to where he is today. At this very moment. Sitting in the dimly lit lounge at The Continental; ignoring the chattering of the patrons around him as he uses a fork to push the remains of a steak dinner around his plate . And while the establishment’s food is second to none and he has vivid recollections of the meals he’d been served during his handful of stays, he doesn’t recall tasting a single bite. His body and brain both running on auto-pilot; knowing that they needed to function together to silence the grumbling in his stomach and keep his strength.

While never a social butterfly and in no means in the mood for mindless chit-chat or the mere company of a stranger, he’d forced himself to leave his hotel room; the silence deafening and the loneliness almost physically painful. Anxiety had quickly settled in; tightening his shoulders and creating a pounding in his temples and at the base of his skull. Quickly finding it impossible to sit still; feeling as if the four walls were closing in around him and he was going to go crazy if he didn’t escape.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

The pretty little bartender breaks away from her other customers and steps in front of him. Abbie…Addie…something like that. She’s young and vibrant and extremely confident; not above being brazenly flirty and suggestive with her comments. And she’d be attractive enough IF he was even remotely interested. Tall and leggy, with near coal black hair that shimmers under the lights behind the bar; her willowy body on full display in a simple, figure-hugging black dress. Intricate and colourful tattoos cover both arms and piercings decorate her face; a silver hoop that travels through the middle of her bottom lip and a diamond stud that sparkles from its resting place on her left nostril. And she’s been making flirtatious small talk since he arrived; finding the place packed and having to settle for the last seat at the bar.

The corner of his mouth turns up; the beginnings of a smirk. “Believe me, even that’s overcharging for what’s going on in my head.”

“Rough day?”

“More like a rough five years.”

“Sounds ominous. If you’re looking for someone to unload on…”

“Actually, I prefer my bartender and my therapist to be two different people.”

Long past caring whose feathers he ruffles, he’s infamous for being brutal and unapologetically honest. He isn’t looking to impress; he has no interest in impressing women in hopes of filling his bed with a warm body. He’d indulged in too much of that in the past five years; avoiding the booze and the pain meds and instead returning to a less harmful vice. Never sure exactly what he was looking for; whether it be a temporary -and purely physical- cure for the loneliness or something more serious. His heart hadn’t really been invested in either; cold and callous with the women he bedded and never bothered to contact again. Until he’d taken the chance with Delaney; finding a brief glimmer of contentment until she started coming on way too strong. He doesn’t see himself ever settling down with her; taking it as a sign when her mere presence after her first night at his place had only bored and irritated him.

“Not much of a bartender if I’m not pouring drinks, am I? There must be something else I can get you. Ice water can only bring so much enjoyment.”

“I don’t drink. I told you that when I sat down.”

“Everyone needs to unwind. Especially you, by the sounds of it. Seems like you have a lot on your plate. And if a drink helps loosen the lips just a little…”

“I’m an alcoholic.” There’s no way to sugarcoat it. Not that he’s known for his subtlety. He’d learned in rehab that part of fixing your problem was admitting to yourself -and others- that you had one to start with. And if there is anything in his life that he’s proud of, it’s the fact he’s managed to stay sober; proof that the anger and the heartache and loneliness that had followed Esme’s departure hadn’t completely ruined him.

“Putting yourself through some kind of test?” Addie lightly teases. “Takes a strong man to be able to stare his demons in the face like this.”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I. There was no other place to sit.”

She leans back against shelves of booze behind her; arms crossed over her chest as she eyes him in bemusement. “Not much of a social butterfly, are you.”

“Maybe I’m just a certified asshole. Born and raised.”

“Something tells me that’s just a cover. For who you really are. Outside of this crazy fucking world we’re both tied up in. A lot of people are completely different in their personal lives than when they’re here. Maybe it’s a way of protecting themselves; a form of self-perseverance. This kind of life can really drag you down. Even break you. Only choice sometimes is to put up those walls to keep people out.”

“This kind of life doesn’t exactly let you get close to someone. Doesn’t let you have anything normal. Believe me, I tried. And it was an epic fucking disaster.”

“Someone broke your heart.”

“Yeah, just a little.”

“Well if I may be so bold…”

“I’d rather you weren’t.”

“…but it’s definitely her loss.”

He wants to tell her just how wrong she is. That he’d always been one with the most to lose. Esme had brought a much-needed brightness; easily breaking through his tough exterior and shining light on those dark and abandoned recesses deep inside of him. She had reminded him that he was still very much alive and that there was still a lot out there for him to experience; sunsets to marvel over and meals to cook and enjoy together, and the touch and love of someone that adored him. For years he’d been walking around in a state of numbness; caused by immense grief, guilt, and regret and further aided by the booze and the alcohol. And she’d wandered into his life and turned it completely upside down. Peeling away all those protective layers and exposing the long-buried humanity that still existed inside of him.

In the end, he’d lost a hell of a lot. His most loyal confidant and fervent supporter. His best friend and his lover. The sole reason that he’d kept going during those extremely difficult days following Dhaka; the months in the hospital, the long and extremely painful recovery once returning home, and the struggle to get clean and sober and STAY that way. With her, he’d found that he enjoyed being domestic; having someone to take care of and provide for and share his days with. And he thrived on the companionship; the cooking together and the meals shared and the intimacy they’d indulged in. And even the quiet times of just hanging out; at opposite ends of the couch with her feet in his lap as she read a book and busied himself on his laptop. It was comfortable. Normal. An existence he never thought he’d have the chance to lead.

And then just like that, it was all gone.

His head pounds. A mixture of jet lag, hunger, and the million and one thoughts running through it. It’s all so fucking complicated; Esme’s reasonings for both disappearing and keeping Millie a secret for four year years. He wants to believe her; that she left in order to protect him from a brutal and painful demise. But his brain has a hard time accepting that explanation; refusing to believe that she’d managed to get herself mixed up with something THAT dangerous. And in turn, it’s only created a new host of questions he desperately needs and wants answers for.

Addie refills his ice water and leans stomach first against the bar; forearms resting atop the gleaming wood, hands clasped together. “How’d a guy like you end up here, anyway?”

“Same way everyone else ends up here. I kill people. For money.”

“I meant in general. In this business. You just don’t seem the type; that would get their kicks out of brutalizing someone. You’re not like everyone else; walking around here with a huge chip on your shoulder. And you definitely don’t care about what people think about you. I can’t remember the last time someone walked in here in jeans and a t-shirt. If anyone ever has.”

“I’m not here to impress anyone. Or to make friends. I’m here to do a job. And if people don’t like what they see, they can just look away. No skin off my ass.”

She gives a sly smile. “Maybe THEY don’t like what they see, but I know I do.”

He longs to tell her that it’s a lost cause; he isn’t even remotely interested and she’s only wasting her time. It’s been a hell of a day and it isn’t even close to being over with; the impending conversation with Esme sitting heavily upon his shoulders. He’s dreading it; wanting to hear the truth and the apologies but not prepared for all of the emotion -on both sides- that will be involved. In a perfect world, they’d just go back to where they were. Able to simply enjoy the reunion and getting to know one another again; reconnecting AND then rebuilding upon that foundation Dhaka had laid beneath their feet.

Instead, he bites his tongue. “I’m flattered. And forgive me for sounding like a total prick, but you’re barking up the wrong tree here. I’m not interested. I’m not here to get my dick wet. I’m here to do a job. And besides, I learned a long time ago what a huge mistake it is; mixing business with pleasure.”

“For what it’s worth,” She trails a fingernail along the top of his hand; passing over each misshapen knuckle and scar. “I’ve never had a complaint.”

“Listen…” A slow, charming grin spreads across his face as he leans forward; giving the woman a glimmer of hope as his hand comes to rest atop hers. And then his eyes darken; fingers curling around her wrist and his voice becoming deeper and menacing. “...I’m going to have a complaint if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”

She blinks and recoils the vehemence in his tone; lips pursed tightly together as she yanks her hand out from under his. Not giving a brief glance over her shoulder as she retreats to the opposite end of the bar.

Smirking, he raises the ice water to his lips; pausing when a strong yet friendly hand squeezes his shoulder in greeting. And is quickly followed by a familiar voice.

“I see you’re still trying your best to charm the locals. It’s nice to see some things never really do change.”

He takes a swallow of his drink. “I’m just a regular ball of sunshine.”

“Tyler.”

“John.”

Wick gestures to the now empty barstool beside him. “You expecting someone or…?”

“Who wants to hang out with a miserable asshole?”

“Well you know what they say; misery loves company. May I?”

Nodding, Tyler pushes the half-eaten plate of food and the empty glass across the bar, signalling he’s done. Until the afternoon, he hadn’t seen or worked with Wick in years; a high profile -and even more high paying- job that had marked his first -and only- North American gig. From what he’s heard, the man’s been through hell; dragged back and forth into the life through no fault of his own. Dealing with the lingering grief and loneliness following the death of his wife while battling with The High Table; a war that had seen him emerge victorious but with a dozen more scars added to his collection. The stories of Baba Yaga aside, Tyler has always respected the man; a freakishly skilled and enormously successful hitman still grasping desperately to the last remaining shreds of humanity. He’d been relieved when he’d heard Wick had not only been involved in saving Esme and Millie from certain death, but that he’d agreed to stay on board until they were safely out of the country. And offering his further services if Tyler felt he needed them.

Wick offers an appreciative yet tired smile at the bartender that approaches; a glass of bourdon wordlessly placed in front of him. “And another for my friend here. Whatever he’s having. Scotch, right?”

“Ice water. But you’ve got a damn good memory.”

“I’m not usually one for drinking buddies, but I do remember that last job we worked together. When was that? Seven, eight years ago?”

“About that.”

“No one forgets when someone successfully drinks them under the table. Two nights in a row. Always heard the stories about Aussies loving their booze, but…” Taking a swig of bourbon, he winces and lets out a low growl as that first swallow burns going down. “When’d you quit?”

“Almost six years ago.”

“What made you decide to give it up? Liver finally pleading for mercy?”

“Being in a medically induced coma for a couple of months had its hand in things. But I probably would have gotten out of the hospital and gone right back to it though; drank myself to death sooner or later. But honestly, I quit for the same reason you left this life.”

“That’ll do it. You meet that one and…” His voice trails off. The memory of his wife is just as powerful and intense as the day she passed the mere mention of her still bringing about the heartache. It’s a tremendous loss that he’ll never be quite over; destined to live the rest of his life wracked with grief and emptiness.

“Guess we finally have a few more things in common,” Tyler muses. “Job’s not the only thing anymore. Whoever said ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all’ was a dirty ass fucking liar.”

“I don’t know about that. As much as it still hurts, I wouldn’t go back and change things. Even if I went into it knowing how quickly I’d lose her, I’d still give everything up for Helen. Even if I knew how short the time would be, I’d still try my hand at a normal life. I’d still pick her over everything…and everyone…else.”

“That’s all of a lot of a pain to go through.”

“It is. But the life I DID get with her? The good times? I wouldn’t trade those in for anything. And I think once you get a chance to really digest things and think them through, you’ll be saying the same thing about Esme.”

Tyler WANTS to believe that. It’s not as if the feelings no longer exist; he’s remained hopelessly and desperately in love with her throughout the years they’d been apart. Feeling just how strong it actually was when that separation had finally ended; face to face with one another in the midst of all the lingering sorrow and hurt and anger. It’s love and it’s adoration and immense relief; seeing her alive and well, albeit a little banged up. And while he still wants and needs an explanation for both her disappearance and keeping Millie a secret, the anger isn’t quite as potent now. Seeing her had taken a lot of the edge off; peeling away some of the worry and bitterness.

“You’re lucky though,” Wick says. “Esme’s here. Alive and well. Back in your life. And it’s happened for a reason. Me? I lost Helen permanently. There is no second chance for us.”

“What makes you think I’d even want one? After what went down? What…?”

“If you sit here and tell me you don’t still love her and want a life with her, then you’re the dirty fucking liar.”

“She left. It wasn’t the other way around. Just took off while I was doing shit at our new place. That we bought TOGETHER. I came home and she was gone. Never even bothered to tell me she was leaving. No face-to-face chat, no phone call, not even a goddamn text or an email. You know what I got? I got an ‘I’m sorry’ written on a piece of paper, left in the middle of the kitchen table.”

“And what you got NOW is an opportunity. To be with her again. I know it sucked; I know it probably hurt like hell. But she is right here…under the same roof as you…and you’ve got the chance to make things right. To get past all that shit and be with her. You really going to turn your back on that?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Am I supposed to pretend it never happened? That it never went down the way it did? I’m pissed. And it isn’t just bad enough that she left the way she did. I come here and find out I have a kid. That she kept from me. I’ve missed four years of her life. And I can’t get those years back.”

“And no one is saying you don’t have the right to be. Be pissed. Be hurt. But don’t be stupid. Don’t let all that negative shit get in the way of patching things up. And if you don’t do it for yourself or her, do it for your little girl. Because she deserves to know her dad. Have him in her life. Are you really going to walk away from that? A chance to know her and raise her? Yeah, you missed four years. And that fucking stinks. But Tyler, if you play your cards right, you’ve got four decades AT LEAST to fill.”

“Do you know why? Esme left? I know that you guys were…friendly…when she used to live here. That she’s the one who introduced you to your wife. Do you have any idea why she took off?”

Downing the last of the bourbon, he holds aloft the empty glass, signalling for another. “I do. But it’s not my place to tell you. If that were the case, I would have gotten in contact with you five years ago. But it’s not up to me to make things right. Sort shit out between the two of you. It’s her story to tell and it’s up to you to listen to her.”

“I just want to know what’s true and what isn’t. I’m not asking for details. I just need that answered. If what she told is true. The main reason why she left. I spent five years thinking the worst. That either she either left me for someone else…”

“That was NOT it. That’s not even close to what happened.”

“...or that someone came and grabbed her. Kept her for a bit and did all kinds of sick shit to her and THEN killed her. You know what that’s like? Wondering if that’s what happened? For FIVE YEARS What it’s like to think ‘I’d rather she be dead with someone else’. I actually thought that. And it’s fucked me up. For a long time.”

“What has she told you?”

“Something from her past caught up to her. People that she crossed. And that they didn’t give her much of a choice. She had to either do what they said, or they’d come back and fuck shit up. Said she left in order to protect me. That I would have survived.”

“You wouldn’t have. Not many people cross their paths and live to tell about it. I’m not going to sit here and tell you who they were or what they wanted or what Esme did. All of that is up to her. But I will tell you that she did the right thing. For both of you.”

“She couldn’t have at least told me? What was going on? Why she was leaving? Or let me know she was safe?”

“Would that have been enough? Or would you have tracked her down? Attempted to play white knight?”

Sighing, Tyler looks down at his glass; brow furrowed as he absentmindedly swirls the ice around.

“Exactly. You would have gone after her and everything she feared would have come true. She did the right thing, Tyler. As much as it hurts and as angry as you are, she really did have your best interests at heart.”

“And you’d just be able to get over it? If someone did that to you?”

“It would hurt like hell and I’d be pissed, but yeah, I’d be able to get over it. Once I calmed down to actually hear them out, I’d realize they did what they did because they loved me. And that’s exactly why she left. Because she DID love you. She still does.”

“Hard to believe that when she was just engaged to someone else a few days ago.” It had hurt like hell hearing THAT detail during the team meeting; a mixture of jealousy and bitterness and pure and utter rage that continued to gnaw at his stomach. He had the thought of it; another man being given the privilege of holding her and kissing her and making love to her.

“That was nothing but part of the job. She was never going to marry him. As soon as she got what was needed and Nik was ready to make your move, she was going to just grab and take off. Don’t think for one second she actually loved that guy. He was a ‘mark’. Nothing more, nothing less.”

They lapse into silence; nursing their drinks and waving off the bartender when he approaches to offer another round.

“Hell of a thing we got ourselves into,” Wick comments. “Trouble always seems to find us, huh?”

“You know what they say; about how you’re never really free of this life. It follows you. No matter how far you run or where you try to hide. Years could go by and you’re thinking you’re free and clear of it and something comes up. Someone calling in a favour, some asshole looking for revenge. The shit finds you. One way or another.”

“You know I’ve walked away three times now? “And each time I told myself it was the last. That I was retired. And nothing or no one could change that. But…”

“Here you are.”

“Yeah…” Wick scoffs. “...here I am. Heard you quit for a bit. Tried your hand at a regular life. Firefighting, was it?”

“Been doing that full-time for the last couple of years. And I run a little business of my own; home renovations, landscaping, masonry stuff. Got enough going on back home to keep me busy. But like I said, you never really leave the life behind. It’s always got a hold on you. No matter how hard you try to let it go.”

“I think it’s safe to say this is the one time you’re probably okay with trouble showing its face. Esme, the kid…”

“Not what I thought I was walking into, I’ll tell you that much. I went into this totally blind. Nik wasn’t too forthcoming with the info when she called me. Made up some bullshit excuse about not being on a secure line. Just told me a client was pretty insistent on hiring for a job.”

“And now here YOU are.”

Tyler nods. “It’s all been a little…surprising…to say the least.”

“Finding out the client was Esme or the fact you have a kid?”

“Both. Before all of this, her leaving seemed like the worst thing that could have ever happened. Then I found out she kept my daughter from me. I think a secret baby trumps everything else.”

“She had her reasons. Just remember that. Give her a chance. To explain things. Don’t let your pride fuck things up. I know that’s easier said than done sometimes, but…”

His phone vibrates against the top of the bar, signalling an incoming text message. And he’s relieved to find that instead of Delaney ranting and raving about him ‘dropping off the face of the earth’, it’s Esme asking if they can talk after Millie has fallen asleep. Able to leave her in the care and protection of Abeula and Nik and visit him in his room or wherever he feels comfortable meeting. It makes him feel like a teenager again; the excitement and nervousness that comes with knowing you’re going to be totally alone with the prettiest girl in school. And he sends back a quick confirmation and his room number, then once more sets the phone on top of the bar, screen down.

Wick smirks. “I recognize that look. Definitely good news.”

“Could be the START of something good. Guess it depends on how things go. When we talk about everything.”

“Just try and keep the pride and the temper in check. I know it’s a shitty situation; her taking off and flying under the radar for years and keeping your kid from you. But she’s got very legitimate reasons. Understandable ones. Just try to keep an open mind. And ear.”

“This isn’t the way I thought it would go. Honestly, I don’t think I was ever really optimistic. About one day seeing her again. So for it to go down like this? Because of a job? Definitely not what I would have imagined.”

“Isn’t that how you first met? Maybe it’s the pattern. What’s the saying? Things come in threes?”

“Don’t wish that on me. I don’t think I have another job like Dhaka in me. I’m just hoping this one doesn’t go down that same road. Organized crime? Mafia style? I’m a little too old for that shit.”

“Aren’t we both.” Standing, he pulls two gold coins from one of the pockets of his suit jacket and lays them on the bar. “My treat,” he says, and then claps Tyler on the shoulder. “Remember what I said; about going in there with an open mind. She DID have a good reason for doing what she did. And if you feel yourself losing control, think of that little girl. And how many years you’ve got left with her.”

“Open mind. Optimistic. Got ya.”

“It’ll all work out, Tyler. Don’t fuck this up. You’ve got a second chance. And believe me, I’d do anything for even one more day…one more second…with my wife.”

*******

“Momma?”

They sit in the middle of the queen-sized bed; Millie between Esme’s outstretched legs as she gets her hair detangled and then braided before bed. She has her father’s hair. Dirty blond and impossibly thick; wild and unruly with a mind all its own. She can easily recall many mornings when he’d stumble out of bed or wake from a nap; grumpy and in desperate need of coffee, those longer strands on the top of his head sticking up in several different directions. He’d feign annoyance when she’d lovingly tease him about how adorable he was; murmuring about how he was supposed to be ruthless and badass and if word ever got about how this supposed ‘cute side’, it would do serious damage to his reputation.

While she misses every aspect of that simple and quiet life with him in Australia, sometimes it’s the absence of those little moments that are the most heartbreaking. The companionship that accompanied the intense and nearly all-consuming want and need. Dinners prepared together and enjoyed out on the front porch, the affectionate teasing and light-hearted banter that was frequently exchanged, the long, deep conversations that took place in the dead of the night. And those moments of intimacy in its softest and purest form. The way he’d approach her in the kitchen while she made something to eat; a hand on her stomach as he nuzzled that sensitive spot just below her right ear. How -during the harder days when the trauma of Dhaka became too much for her to bear- he’d envelop her in strong powerful arms and hold as tight as her body would tolerate; one palm moving in slow, soothing circles in the middle of her back. She’d always find herself instantly comforted; her anxious and tortured mind put to ease by his familiar smell and the warmth radiating from his body and the way his voice rumbled deep within his chest.

“What’s up, sweet pea?”

“Why do we have to leave? Why can’t we just stay here? In New York.”

“Because it’s safer if we go somewhere else. Away from the bad guys. “

“But we’re safe HERE. With Charon and Grandpa Winston. The bad guys aren’t allowed to come here. So why can’t we just stay? Until the bad guys go away?”

“Because this place has rules. About who can stay here and for how long.”

“Whose rules?”

“The boss’.”

“Grandpa Winston IS the boss. He’s kicking us out?!”

“HIS boss. Who he has to listen to or he’ll get into big trouble and then not be allowed to run this place anymore. Everyone that is in charge of something or someone, has people that are in charge of THEM. That they have to answer to. Grandpa Winston may be the boss, but he also has his own boss.”

“Hmmm…” Millie tilts her head to the side; eyes narrowed as she chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “You know what, mom? I don’t think I EVER want to be an adult. It’s too stressful. I don’t want a boss. I don’t want someone telling me what to do. Especially some man.”

“I tell you what to do.”

“That’s different. I’m just a little kid still. And you’re my momma. Mommas are supposed to tell kids what they can and can’t do. And we’re supposed to listen. I know sometimes I don’t. But I try. I really do. I WANT to be good, just sometimes…”

“You are always good. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You can be a little difficult and challenging sometimes, but you’re never bad. You’re stubborn and high-spirited and…”

“Alessio thought I was bad. He said that I talk too much and make too much noise and that I’m mouthy. He even said I was naughty. Tons of times.”

“He had no idea what he was talking about. You’re four. Not eighty-four. You’re supposed to be loud and rambunctious. You’re learning about the world. How are you supposed to do that without bouncing all over the place and asking all kinds of questions?”

“I didn’t like him very much, you know.”

“Oh, I know. You never wasted a chance to tell me.”

“He wasn’t really going to be my dad, right? You weren’t REALLY going to marry, were you?”

“No. To both.”

“Because he is so not good enough for you.”

Grinning, Esme sprays the last section of hair with detangler and then works the comb through it. “Something tells me you’d say that anyone that got too close.”

“Only if they’re not the right guy for you. And mom, Alession was NOT it.”

“He wasn’t, was he? You sure seem to know a lot about guys and relationships and commitment for someone who won’t even use the same lunch box two years in a row.”

“I just know you deserve better. He wasn’t very nice to you. He bossed you around. Or at least he tried to. You deserve someone that’s going to treat you right. Like the queen you are!”

Esme laughs. “You’ve been watching Oprah with Abeula, haven’t you.”

“And I wouldn’t say that about EVERY guy; that he isn’t good enough for you. Just when he’s not. And he wasn't. He was mean sometimes. He would call you stupid and stuff and then buy you things to make it all better. And he threw out my sandals! My favourite ones!”

“And I was quick to put him in his place about that, wasn’t I? Don’t you EVER worry about that. If someone messes with you, they mess with me. And I WILL go momma bear on their ass.”

“You should have dumped him. There’s a lot of fish in the sea. Really good ones, too. You deserve someone good, mom. Someone that will take care of you. Who won’t look at other girls and call them pretty and stuff. And who won’t throw out of my shoes.”

“No one else will EVER do that again, I promise.”

“You know who seems really nice? Like he’d treat you right? Tyler.”

“You just met him. You talked to him for all of five minutes. And you could tell what kind of guy he is?”

“I mean, he’s here to help with the bad guys. How awful could he be?”

“He’s not awful. At all. Far from it, actually. But you hardly know him and…”

“I know enough. I know he’s big and strong and the bad guys don’t stand a chance against him. And I know his favourite ice cream is mint chocolate chip! Just like me! What more is there to know?”

“A lot of things.” Esme busies herself with the final braid. “But you’ll have a lot of time to get to know him better. While he’s keeping an eye on us.”

“I might annoy him. Alessio always complained I talked too much and asked way too many questions.”

“Something tells me that Tyler will enjoy it. That he won’t mind one bit. He might not say a lot in return, but…”

“How long have you known him?” Stretching her legs out in front of her, she wiggles her toes; giggling as the glow from the bedside lamp causes the glitter in her bright pink nail polish to sparkle. “How long has he been your friend?”

“I’ve known him for a while. Since before you were born.”

“How long before?”

“A year. And a bit.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“Through work. Auntie Nik introduced us. Paired us up on a job together.”

“Was he your boyfriend?”

Esme hesitates. Both a lie and the truth have consequences; a time down the road when Millie will have even more questions. And anger will follow the answers; either furious that her mother had told a fib or that she’d kept her existence a secret and made her lose four years with her father.

“No. He wasn’t.” She feels sick. At both the denial of Tyler’s importance in her life and how easily the words spilled out of her mouth. “Just a friend. And a colleague.”

“If he’s a friend, how come I’ve never met him? I’ve met all your other friends. Auntie Nik and Uncle Yaz and Uncle John. And there’s Grandpa Winston and Charon! But I never met Tyler. How come?”

“Tyler lives far away.”

“How far away?”

“Thousands of miles.”

“Like in California?! Where all the movie stars are?!”

“No,” Esme laughs. “More like Australia. Which is an entirely different country.”

“I know where Australia is! It’s across the ocean. Right in the middle of it. It’s a big island. It’s where the kangaroos and koalas live. Does he get to see them a lot?! I bet he gets to see tons of kangas and koalas. He’s so lucky! I wish I could see them. Maybe we can go and visit! Maybe he’ll invite us. Do you think he will? Now that we’re besties?”

“I think if you were to tell him you’d love to go to Australia, he’d be more than happy to take you there. But you might not have to say ANYTHING. Or even wait that long to go. It might be where we end up. While Tyler is taking care of us.”

Giving an excited shriek, Millie claps her hands together and bounces up and down on her bum, then swivels around to look at her mom. “We’re going to his house?! In Australia?!”

“I didn’t say we were going there for sure. But…”

“We get to fly on a big airplane?! We get to see kangaroos and koalas?! Where does he live? Does he have a house? With a backyard I can play in? Maybe he has a pool! That way I can get a new bathing suit and we can go swimming and…”

“Whoa…whoa….” Laughing, she gathers Millie in her arms and settles her in her lap; the four-year-old giggling when her mom showers her cheeks with noisy kisses. “...I never said we were going for sure. Just that we MIGHT be. It’s on the list. Of places that Tyler could take us to and keep us safe and sound.”

“I want to go there! To Australia! To Tyler’s house! Can you tell him that, momma? Can you tell him I want to go there? That it would make me really, really, REALLY happy?”

“I can put in a good word, but I can’t promise anything. There are a lot of things we need to think about. When it comes to where we end up. Everyone just wants us to be safe. Keep the bad guys away. So there’s a lot of stuff that needs to be considered.”

“We’d be safe there! In Australia. At Tyler’s place. The bad guys would NEVER come there. He’s too big and too strong and I bet they’re really scared of him. I bet he makes them poo their pants! He doesn’t scare me though. I’m not afraid of him. Even if he is a giant!”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not afraid of him. Because there’s no absolutely no reason. He would never…EVER…do anything to hurt you. To hurt EITHER of us.”

“He just hurts bad people? ‘Cause they deserve it?”

“He hurts bad people in order to protect good people. He doesn’t want to hurt them, but sometimes he doesn’t have much of a choice. Because if he doesn’t do something first, they’ll hurt him. Or worse.”

“They might kill him?”

“They might. But he’s tough and he’s resilient and believe me, IF he gets knocked down? He always gets back up. It makes me happy that you’re not scared of him. I know he’s really big and he can look really serious and mean, but he’s not. He’s a really good guy.”

“Momma…” She tilts her head backwards, eyes narrowed. “...are you SURE Tyler wasn’t your boyfriend?”

“That’s twice you’ve talked about that. What makes you think he was my boyfriend?”

“Just the way your voice sounds when you talk about him. Every time you say his name, you sound weird. Not in a bad way. Just a different way. And I saw the way you were looking at him earlier. When I came back from swimming. Your eyes were all sparkly and stuff. You know how in cartoons when a girl likes a boy, they get stars in their eyes? That’s what you looked like.”

“I think you’re imagining things.”

“You know what I think? I think you have a crush on Tyler. That maybe he wasn’t your boyfriend, but you wanted him to be. And you still do!”

“Amelia…”

“Mommy…”

“You are imagining things. Tyler was my friend. He still is. Nothing more, nothing less. And he’s here to help us, not form a love connection. He’s being paid. To take care of us. To make sure that the bad guys don’t try anything. There is definitely no romance on the horizon.”

“But there COULD be. If you let it happen. You just gotta tell him. That you have a crush on him. I bet if you tell him…”

“No one is telling anyone ANYTHING. Because it’s not true. There are no crushes.”

“I’m not buying it. I can tell. That you like him. And I think he likes you too. Someone has to make the first move, momma. Why can’t it be you?”

“There are no moves to be made, my sweet baby girl.”

“If you don’t tell him, I will! When we go on our ice cream date. I’ll tell him you have a big, fat crush on him! That you think he’s cute and that you like his big muscles and want to kiss him lots and lots and…” She shrieks when she feels her mother’s fingertips lightly dig into the sensitive area under her ribs; dissolving into laughter when she’s tickled mercilessly. Until she’s kicking and squirming and breathlessly pleading for Esme to stop.

“You… little miss…” The tip of her nose nuzzles each of her daughter’s cheeks. “...will do no such thing. Mind your own business, got it? Little girls do not need to meddle Come on….” She drops a kiss on the top of Millie’s head as she yawns. “...lights out time. It’s been a long, busy day for you. Four-year-old bodies can only take so much.”

“Can I stay in here tonight?” Millie hopefully inquires, remaining in the middle of the sea of blankets and sheets as her mother slides off the bed and begins tidying up. “Please? I promise I won’t hog the bed.”

“I still don’t understand how someone so small takes up so much room. What’s wrong with your bed? I thought you liked having all kinds of space to yourself?”

“I do. But sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I don’t remember ever being here and I get scared ‘cause I don’t see any of my stuff. And then I get even more scared because I worry I won’t be able to see YOU either. And that makes me really sad.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to see me?”

“What if you’re not here? What if you left? ‘Cause the bad guys came? What…?”

“Millie…” Approaching the bed, she takes the little one’s face in her hands and tilts her head up to look at her. “...I would never…EVER…leave you. There is not anyone in this world that’s bad enough to make me ever do something like that.”

“What if they took you? What if they took you away? I wouldn’t be able to find you. Not by myself.”

“Nothing like that is ever going to happen. Not a chance. I promise you that…”

“There’s always a chance. Always. What if it happens, momma? What if someone takes you away?”

“IF something like that happened, there’d be a lot of people looking for me. Auntie Nik, Uncle John, Uncle Yaz. So many people.”

“I’d get Tyler to help. Because he’s big and strong and the bad guys would be really scared of him. He’d be able to find you. And rescue you. I know he would.”

“I know he would too. If there’s anyone in this world that could do the impossible, it’s him. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.” (

She thinks of Dhaka. Those initial five days and the carnage on the bridge. Of the smell of spilled gasoline, gunpowder and blood and moans and shrieks and wails of dying men. Of the feel of Tyler’s pulse when she put two fingers inside the bullet hole in the side of his neck; tears streaming down dirty, bruised cheeks as she desperately fought to keep him alive. And that long battle afterwards; the months by his bedside and all of the horrible prognosis’ and the incessant arguing with doctors in order to secure him the care that he deserved. Somehow, he had pulled through all of that; one foot firmly planted firmly over the threshold of death the entire time.)

“Promise me you won’t leave?” Mille whimpers. “Even if the bad guys come? Promise you won’t leave without me?”

“I would never go ANYWHERE without you, Amelia.” She uses the pads of her thumbs to clear away her daughter’s wayward tears. “We’re a team. A package deal. Where I go, you go. And nothing or no one can change that.”

“Ever?”

“Ever. And I know it was scary. What happened the other night. You saw and heard things you never should have had to. And I’m sorry. That you had to go through that. And I’d go back and change so many things if I could.”

“It’s not your fault, momma. That the bad guys showed up.”

“It may have been. Just a little. And I am so sorry, Millie. That I may have done things that ended up hurting you. I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. And I would never…ever…hurt you.”

“I know you wouldn’t. ‘Cause I’m your baby.”

“You are. And you always will be.”

“Can I? Stay in here tonight? I just want to be close to you, that’s all. I feel better when I am.”

“I’d never say no to my favourite snuggle buddy. Do you want to cuddle for a bit? Until you’re almost asleep?”

With a nod and a sniffle, Millie slides over in order to give her mother access to the bed; Esme stretching out beside her and wrapping both arms around the four-year-old’s body. Her chin resting on her daughter’s head; eyes closed as the fingertips of one hand draw slow, methodical patterns on the little one’s back. Finding herself relaxed in the warmth of Millie’s body and the familiar scent that clings to her hair; the same milk, coconut, and honey shampoo that she herself has been using for years.

The one Tyler had claimed to love so much; that smell being one of the things that somehow managed to comfort him during those difficult and painful days in the hospital and then on the long road to healing. Her chest and throat both tighten as she thinks of him. Of those long and painful seconds on the bridge; the pure terror that filled every inch of her body as she watched him teeter so close to death. Those months at his bedside; stroking his hair and holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement and strength and hope in his ear. And all of the pleading she did during her lowest moments; urging him to keep fighting and to give her some kind of sign that he could hear her and knew that she was there.

Begging him to find a way…no matter what it took…to let her know that everything would be okay.

Despite both intense mental and physical fatigue, all attempts at sleep fail. After tossing and turning for nearly two hours, he’d contemplated contacting Delaney; knowing he had to ‘pull up his big boy pants’ and read and listen to the barrage of text messages and voicemails she’d left in just the last three hours alone. He’s the only one to blame for his current state of misery; solely responsible for Delaney’s unhinged -yet not unprovoked- behaviour. He hadn’t not even bothered to make physical contact before leaving Australia; instead stopping at her work and tucking a hastily written note under one of her car’s windshield wipers. It had been short and simple; he had to go out of town to tend to some personal business and should be back in a few days, and he’d contact her if it was going to be any longer than that.

He had hoped both the physical and emotional distance would be enough; either to keep her from incessantly trying to get ahold of him or piss her off to the point she cut ties with him completely. Yet neither has happened judging by the messages from worried to irate; beginning calmly and then escalating quickly with each missed call. A buffet of every emotion available to a human being; expressing her increasing worry for both his mental health and their obviously fragile relationship and begging and pleading for him to call her back. The latter soon transformed into pure despair; sobbing as she confessed her love for him and sorrowfully wondering why she wasn’t ‘enough’ and then cursing and swearing and calling him a coward for ‘running away’ instead of facing their issues.

It isn’t the first time he’s been guilty of the latter; his inability to support his wife through their only child’s illness and his fear of seeing his son suffer and pass away had destroyed both his marriage and his entire life. Infamous for his physical bravery but emotional cowardice, he’d put in the effort to change while with Esme; stepping completely out of his comfort zone and learning to not only be more open and honest about his feelings, but how to eradicate the disgust and shame that always accompanied showing even a flicker of emotion. He no longer wanted to be the guy that ran when the going got tough; instead trying to be the kind of partner that she needed, wanted, and deserved. And with her unwavering support and seemingly infinite patience, he’d begun to turn his life around; beginning with dealing with the mountains of baggage that had been weighing him down for years. Tearing through the layers of both physical and mental trauma and willingly checking into rehab and submitting to therapy; wading through a cesspool of toxic masculinity and anger issues and somehow managing to cut the once ironclad ties to the booze and the pain meds. For the first time since his son died, he’d found himself clean and sober. And genuinely happy. Content within that little bubble of domesticity that he and Esme had created. Both optimistic about their future together.

And then she’d left. Completing what all of the bullets and bloodshed never could. Destroying him completely.

He’s found something constantly tempted to challenge his sobriety; briefly considering ordering a bottle of the most expensive scotch on the menu and spending the rest of the evening and well into the night drinking himself into a stupor. Anything to numb the mental anguish; relieve the heaviness that sits on his chest and threatens to suffocate him. And while under normal circumstances he’d be obsessing over every little detail of a job and repeatedly running through every possible scenario, his brain has settled in a far different place. Not a single shred of the job and the circumstances surrounding it matter; the neatly typed and extremely well organized ‘mission notes’ Nik had slipped under his hotel room door simply tossed aside. Instead, he finds himself obsessed with the events of five years ago; replaying every second, every word, every movement he’d made on that very last day. Looking for any mistake that he could have made something; even something tiny and innocuous that could have sent her running.

And he dwells on the loneliness and the worry and the anger; the emotions that have plagued him and driven him since the day she left. And they accompany him to where he is today. At this very moment. Sitting in the dimly lit lounge at The Continental; ignoring the chattering of the patrons around him as he uses a fork to push the remains of a steak dinner around his plate . And while the establishment’s food is second to none and he has vivid recollections of the meals he’d been served during his handful of stays, he doesn’t recall tasting a single bite. His body and brain both running on auto-pilot; knowing that they needed to function together to silence the grumbling in his stomach and keep his strength.

While never a social butterfly and in no means in the mood for mindless chit-chat or the mere company of a stranger, he’d forced himself to leave his hotel room; the silence deafening and the loneliness almost physically painful. Anxiety had quickly settled in; tightening his shoulders and creating a pounding in his temples and at the base of his skull. Quickly finding it impossible to sit still; feeling as if the four walls were closing in around him and he was going to go crazy if he didn’t escape.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

The pretty little bartender breaks away from her other customers and steps in front of him. Abbie…Addie…something like that. She’s young and vibrant and extremely confident; not above being brazenly flirty and suggestive with her comments. And she’d be attractive enough IF he was even remotely interested. Tall and leggy, with near coal black hair that shimmers under the lights behind the bar; her willowy body on full display in a simple, figure-hugging black dress. Intricate and colourful tattoos cover both arms and piercings decorate her face; a silver hoop that travels through the middle of her bottom lip and a diamond stud that sparkles from its resting place on her left nostril. And she’s been making flirtatious small talk since he arrived; finding the place packed and having to settle for the last seat at the bar.

The corner of his mouth turns up; the beginnings of a smirk. “Believe me, even that’s overcharging for what’s going on in my head.”

“Rough day?”

“More like a rough five years.”

“Sounds ominous. If you’re looking for someone to unload on…”

“Actually, I prefer my bartender and my therapist to be two different people.”

Long past caring whose feathers he ruffles, he’s infamous for being brutal and unapologetically honest. He isn’t looking to impress; he has no interest in impressing women in hopes of filling his bed with a warm body. He’d indulged in too much of that in the past five years; avoiding the booze and the pain meds and instead returning to a less harmful vice. Never sure exactly what he was looking for; whether it be a temporary -and purely physical- cure for the loneliness or something more serious. His heart hadn’t really been invested in either; cold and callous with the women he bedded and never bothered to contact again. Until he’d taken the chance with Delaney; finding a brief glimmer of contentment until she started coming on way too strong. He doesn’t see himself ever settling down with her; taking it as a sign when her mere presence after her first night at his place had only bored and irritated him.

“Not much of a bartender if I’m not pouring drinks, am I? There must be something else I can get you. Ice water can only bring so much enjoyment.”

“I don’t drink. I told you that when I sat down.”

“Everyone needs to unwind. Especially you, by the sounds of it. Seems like you have a lot on your plate. And if a drink helps loosen the lips just a little…”

“I’m an alcoholic.” There’s no way to sugarcoat it. Not that he’s known for his subtlety. He’d learned in rehab that part of fixing your problem was admitting to yourself -and others- that you had one to start with. And if there is anything in his life that he’s proud of, it’s the fact he’s managed to stay sober; proof that the anger and the heartache and loneliness that had followed Esme’s departure hadn’t completely ruined him.

“Putting yourself through some kind of test?” Addie lightly teases. “Takes a strong man to be able to stare his demons in the face like this.”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I. There was no other place to sit.”

She leans back against shelves of booze behind her; arms crossed over her chest as she eyes him in bemusement. “Not much of a social butterfly, are you.”

“Maybe I’m just a certified asshole. Born and raised.”

“Something tells me that’s just a cover. For who you really are. Outside of this crazy fucking world we’re both tied up in. A lot of people are completely different in their personal lives than when they’re here. Maybe it’s a way of protecting themselves; a form of self-perseverance. This kind of life can really drag you down. Even break you. Only choice sometimes is to put up those walls to keep people out.”

“This kind of life doesn’t exactly let you get close to someone. Doesn’t let you have anything normal. Believe me, I tried. And it was an epic fucking disaster.”

“Someone broke your heart.”

“Yeah, just a little.”

“Well if I may be so bold…”

“I’d rather you weren’t.”

“…but it’s definitely her loss.”

He wants to tell her just how wrong she is. That he’d always been one with the most to lose. Esme had brought a much-needed brightness; easily breaking through his tough exterior and shining light on those dark and abandoned recesses deep inside of him. She had reminded him that he was still very much alive and that there was still a lot out there for him to experience; sunsets to marvel over and meals to cook and enjoy together, and the touch and love of someone that adored him. For years he’d been walking around in a state of numbness; caused by immense grief, guilt, and regret and further aided by the booze and the alcohol. And she’d wandered into his life and turned it completely upside down. Peeling away all those protective layers and exposing the long-buried humanity that still existed inside of him.

In the end, he’d lost a hell of a lot. His most loyal confidant and fervent supporter. His best friend and his lover. The sole reason that he’d kept going during those extremely difficult days following Dhaka; the months in the hospital, the long and extremely painful recovery once returning home, and the struggle to get clean and sober and STAY that way. With her, he’d found that he enjoyed being domestic; having someone to take care of and provide for and share his days with. And he thrived on the companionship; the cooking together and the meals shared and the intimacy they’d indulged in. And even the quiet times of just hanging out; at opposite ends of the couch with her feet in his lap as she read a book and busied himself on his laptop. It was comfortable. Normal. An existence he never thought he’d have the chance to lead.

And then just like that, it was all gone.

His head pounds. A mixture of jet lag, hunger, and the million and one thoughts running through it. It’s all so fucking complicated; Esme’s reasonings for both disappearing and keeping Millie a secret for four year years. He wants to believe her; that she left in order to protect him from a brutal and painful demise. But his brain has a hard time accepting that explanation; refusing to believe that she’d managed to get herself mixed up with something THAT dangerous. And in turn, it’s only created a new host of questions he desperately needs and wants answers for.

Addie refills his ice water and leans stomach first against the bar; forearms resting atop the gleaming wood, hands clasped together. “How’d a guy like you end up here, anyway?”

“Same way everyone else ends up here. I kill people. For money.”

“I meant in general. In this business. You just don’t seem the type; that would get their kicks out of brutalizing someone. You’re not like everyone else; walking around here with a huge chip on your shoulder. And you definitely don’t care about what people think about you. I can’t remember the last time someone walked in here in jeans and a t-shirt. If anyone ever has.”

“I’m not here to impress anyone. Or to make friends. I’m here to do a job. And if people don’t like what they see, they can just look away. No skin off my ass.”

She gives a sly smile. “Maybe THEY don’t like what they see, but I know I do.”

He longs to tell her that it’s a lost cause; he isn’t even remotely interested and she’s only wasting her time. It’s been a hell of a day and it isn’t even close to being over with; the impending conversation with Esme sitting heavily upon his shoulders. He’s dreading it; wanting to hear the truth and the apologies but not prepared for all of the emotion -on both sides- that will be involved. In a perfect world, they’d just go back to where they were. Able to simply enjoy the reunion and getting to know one another again; reconnecting AND then rebuilding upon that foundation Dhaka had laid beneath their feet.

Instead, he bites his tongue. “I’m flattered. And forgive me for sounding like a total prick, but you’re barking up the wrong tree here. I’m not interested. I’m not here to get my dick wet. I’m here to do a job. And besides, I learned a long time ago what a huge mistake it is; mixing business with pleasure.”

“For what it’s worth,” She trails a fingernail along the top of his hand; passing over each misshapen knuckle and scar. “I’ve never had a complaint.”

“Listen…” A slow, charming grin spreads across his face as he leans forward; giving the woman a glimmer of hope as his hand comes to rest atop hers. And then his eyes darken; fingers curling around her wrist and his voice becoming deeper and menacing. “...I’m going to have a complaint if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”

She blinks and recoils the vehemence in his tone; lips pursed tightly together as she yanks her hand out from under his. Not giving a brief glance over her shoulder as she retreats to the opposite end of the bar.

Smirking, he raises the ice water to his lips; pausing when a strong yet friendly hand squeezes his shoulder in greeting. And is quickly followed by a familiar voice.

“I see you’re still trying your best to charm the locals. It’s nice to see some things never really do change.”

He takes a swallow of his drink. “I’m just a regular ball of sunshine.”

“Tyler.”

“John.”

Wick gestures to the now empty barstool beside him. “You expecting someone or…?”

“Who wants to hang out with a miserable asshole?”

“Well you know what they say; misery loves company. May I?”

Nodding, Tyler pushes the half-eaten plate of food and the empty glass across the bar, signalling he’s done. Until the afternoon, he hadn’t seen or worked with Wick in years; a high profile -and even more high paying- job that had marked his first -and only- North American gig. From what he’s heard, the man’s been through hell; dragged back and forth into the life through no fault of his own. Dealing with the lingering grief and loneliness following the death of his wife while battling with The High Table; a war that had seen him emerge victorious but with a dozen more scars added to his collection. The stories of Baba Yaga aside, Tyler has always respected the man; a freakishly skilled and enormously successful hitman still grasping desperately to the last remaining shreds of humanity. He’d been relieved when he’d heard Wick had not only been involved in saving Esme and Millie from certain death, but that he’d agreed to stay on board until they were safely out of the country. And offering his further services if Tyler felt he needed them.

Wick offers an appreciative yet tired smile at the bartender that approaches; a glass of bourdon wordlessly placed in front of him. “And another for my friend here. Whatever he’s having. Scotch, right?”

“Ice water. But you’ve got a damn good memory.”

“I’m not usually one for drinking buddies, but I do remember that last job we worked together. When was that? Seven, eight years ago?”

“About that.”

“No one forgets when someone successfully drinks them under the table. Two nights in a row. Always heard the stories about Aussies loving their booze, but…” Taking a swig of bourbon, he winces and lets out a low growl as that first swallow burns going down. “When’d you quit?”

“Almost six years ago.”

“What made you decide to give it up? Liver finally pleading for mercy?”

“Being in a medically induced coma for a couple of months had its hand in things. But I probably would have gotten out of the hospital and gone right back to it though; drank myself to death sooner or later. But honestly, I quit for the same reason you left this life.”

“That’ll do it. You meet that one and…” His voice trails off. The memory of his wife is just as powerful and intense as the day she passed the mere mention of her still bringing about the heartache. It’s a tremendous loss that he’ll never be quite over; destined to live the rest of his life wracked with grief and emptiness.

“Guess we finally have a few more things in common,” Tyler muses. “Job’s not the only thing anymore. Whoever said ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all’ was a dirty ass fucking liar.”

“I don’t know about that. As much as it still hurts, I wouldn’t go back and change things. Even if I went into it knowing how quickly I’d lose her, I’d still give everything up for Helen. Even if I knew how short the time would be, I’d still try my hand at a normal life. I’d still pick her over everything…and everyone…else.”

“That’s all of a lot of a pain to go through.”

“It is. But the life I DID get with her? The good times? I wouldn’t trade those in for anything. And I think once you get a chance to really digest things and think them through, you’ll be saying the same thing about Esme.”

Tyler WANTS to believe that. It’s not as if the feelings no longer exist; he’s remained hopelessly and desperately in love with her throughout the years they’d been apart. Feeling just how strong it actually was when that separation had finally ended; face to face with one another in the midst of all the lingering sorrow and hurt and anger. It’s love and it’s adoration and immense relief; seeing her alive and well, albeit a little banged up. And while he still wants and needs an explanation for both her disappearance and keeping Millie a secret, the anger isn’t quite as potent now. Seeing her had taken a lot of the edge off; peeling away some of the worry and bitterness.

“You’re lucky though,” Wick says. “Esme’s here. Alive and well. Back in your life. And it’s happened for a reason. Me? I lost Helen permanently. There is no second chance for us.”

“What makes you think I’d even want one? After what went down? What…?”

“If you sit here and tell me you don’t still love her and want a life with her, then you’re the dirty fucking liar.”

“She left. It wasn’t the other way around. Just took off while I was doing shit at our new place. That we bought TOGETHER. I came home and she was gone. Never even bothered to tell me she was leaving. No face-to-face chat, no phone call, not even a goddamn text or an email. You know what I got? I got an ‘I’m sorry’ written on a piece of paper, left in the middle of the kitchen table.”

“And what you got NOW is an opportunity. To be with her again. I know it sucked; I know it probably hurt like hell. But she is right here…under the same roof as you…and you’ve got the chance to make things right. To get past all that shit and be with her. You really going to turn your back on that?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Am I supposed to pretend it never happened? That it never went down the way it did? I’m pissed. And it isn’t just bad enough that she left the way she did. I come here and find out I have a kid. That she kept from me. I’ve missed four years of her life. And I can’t get those years back.”

“And no one is saying you don’t have the right to be. Be pissed. Be hurt. But don’t be stupid. Don’t let all that negative shit get in the way of patching things up. And if you don’t do it for yourself or her, do it for your little girl. Because she deserves to know her dad. Have him in her life. Are you really going to walk away from that? A chance to know her and raise her? Yeah, you missed four years. And that fucking stinks. But Tyler, if you play your cards right, you’ve got four decades AT LEAST to fill.”

“Do you know why? Esme left? I know that you guys were…friendly…when she used to live here. That she’s the one who introduced you to your wife. Do you have any idea why she took off?”

Downing the last of the bourbon, he holds aloft the empty glass, signalling for another. “I do. But it’s not my place to tell you. If that were the case, I would have gotten in contact with you five years ago. But it’s not up to me to make things right. Sort shit out between the two of you. It’s her story to tell and it’s up to you to listen to her.”

“I just want to know what’s true and what isn’t. I’m not asking for details. I just need that answered. If what she told is true. The main reason why she left. I spent five years thinking the worst. That either she either left me for someone else…”

“That was NOT it. That’s not even close to what happened.”

“...or that someone came and grabbed her. Kept her for a bit and did all kinds of sick shit to her and THEN killed her. You know what that’s like? Wondering if that’s what happened? For FIVE YEARS What it’s like to think ‘I’d rather she be dead with someone else’. I actually thought that. And it’s fucked me up. For a long time.”

“What has she told you?”

“Something from her past caught up to her. People that she crossed. And that they didn’t give her much of a choice. She had to either do what they said, or they’d come back and fuck shit up. Said she left in order to protect me. That I would have survived.”

“You wouldn’t have. Not many people cross their paths and live to tell about it. I’m not going to sit here and tell you who they were or what they wanted or what Esme did. All of that is up to her. But I will tell you that she did the right thing. For both of you.”

“She couldn’t have at least told me? What was going on? Why she was leaving? Or let me know she was safe?”

“Would that have been enough? Or would you have tracked her down? Attempted to play white knight?”

Sighing, Tyler looks down at his glass; brow furrowed as he absentmindedly swirls the ice around.

“Exactly. You would have gone after her and everything she feared would have come true. She did the right thing, Tyler. As much as it hurts and as angry as you are, she really did have your best interests at heart.”

“And you’d just be able to get over it? If someone did that to you?”

“It would hurt like hell and I’d be pissed, but yeah, I’d be able to get over it. Once I calmed down to actually hear them out, I’d realize they did what they did because they loved me. And that’s exactly why she left. Because she DID love you. She still does.”

“Hard to believe that when she was just engaged to someone else a few days ago.” It had hurt like hell hearing THAT detail during the team meeting; a mixture of jealousy and bitterness and pure and utter rage that continued to gnaw at his stomach. He had the thought of it; another man being given the privilege of holding her and kissing her and making love to her.

“That was nothing but part of the job. She was never going to marry him. As soon as she got what was needed and Nik was ready to make your move, she was going to just grab and take off. Don’t think for one second she actually loved that guy. He was a ‘mark’. Nothing more, nothing less.”

They lapse into silence; nursing their drinks and waving off the bartender when he approaches to offer another round.

“Hell of a thing we got ourselves into,” Wick comments. “Trouble always seems to find us, huh?”

“You know what they say; about how you’re never really free of this life. It follows you. No matter how far you run or where you try to hide. Years could go by and you’re thinking you’re free and clear of it and something comes up. Someone calling in a favour, some asshole looking for revenge. The shit finds you. One way or another.”

“You know I’ve walked away three times now? “And each time I told myself it was the last. That I was retired. And nothing or no one could change that. But…”

“Here you are.”

“Yeah…” Wick scoffs. “...here I am. Heard you quit for a bit. Tried your hand at a regular life. Firefighting, was it?”

“Been doing that full-time for the last couple of years. And I run a little business of my own; home renovations, landscaping, masonry stuff. Got enough going on back home to keep me busy. But like I said, you never really leave the life behind. It’s always got a hold on you. No matter how hard you try to let it go.”

“I think it’s safe to say this is the one time you’re probably okay with trouble showing its face. Esme, the kid…”

“Not what I thought I was walking into, I’ll tell you that much. I went into this totally blind. Nik wasn’t too forthcoming with the info when she called me. Made up some bullshit excuse about not being on a secure line. Just told me a client was pretty insistent on hiring for a job.”

“And now here YOU are.”

Tyler nods. “It’s all been a little…surprising…to say the least.”

“Finding out the client was Esme or the fact you have a kid?”

“Both. Before all of this, her leaving seemed like the worst thing that could have ever happened. Then I found out she kept my daughter from me. I think a secret baby trumps everything else.”

“She had her reasons. Just remember that. Give her a chance. To explain things. Don’t let your pride fuck things up. I know that’s easier said than done sometimes, but…”

His phone vibrates against the top of the bar, signalling an incoming text message. And he’s relieved to find that instead of Delaney ranting and raving about him ‘dropping off the face of the earth’, it’s Esme asking if they can talk after Millie has fallen asleep. Able to leave her in the care and protection of Abeula and Nik and visit him in his room or wherever he feels comfortable meeting. It makes him feel like a teenager again; the excitement and nervousness that comes with knowing you’re going to be totally alone with the prettiest girl in school. And he sends back a quick confirmation and his room number, then once more sets the phone on top of the bar, screen down.

Wick smirks. “I recognize that look. Definitely good news.”

“Could be the START of something good. Guess it depends on how things go. When we talk about everything.”

“Just try and keep the pride and the temper in check. I know it’s a shitty situation; her taking off and flying under the radar for years and keeping your kid from you. But she’s got very legitimate reasons. Understandable ones. Just try to keep an open mind. And ear.”

“This isn’t the way I thought it would go. Honestly, I don’t think I was ever really optimistic. About one day seeing her again. So for it to go down like this? Because of a job? Definitely not what I would have imagined.”

“Isn’t that how you first met? Maybe it’s the pattern. What’s the saying? Things come in threes?”

“Don’t wish that on me. I don’t think I have another job like Dhaka in me. I’m just hoping this one doesn’t go down that same road. Organized crime? Mafia style? I’m a little too old for that shit.”

“Aren’t we both.” Standing, he pulls two gold coins from one of the pockets of his suit jacket and lays them on the bar. “My treat,” he says, and then claps Tyler on the shoulder. “Remember what I said; about going in there with an open mind. She DID have a good reason for doing what she did. And if you feel yourself losing control, think of that little girl. And how many years you’ve got left with her.”

“Open mind. Optimistic. Got ya.”

“It’ll all work out, Tyler. Don’t fuck this up. You’ve got a second chance. And believe me, I’d do anything for even one more day…one more second…with my wife.”

*******

“Momma?”

They sit in the middle of the queen-sized bed; Millie between Esme’s outstretched legs as she gets her hair detangled and then braided before bed. She has her father’s hair. Dirty blond and impossibly thick; wild and unruly with a mind all its own. She can easily recall many mornings when he’d stumble out of bed or wake from a nap; grumpy and in desperate need of coffee, those longer strands on the top of his head sticking up in several different directions. He’d feign annoyance when she’d lovingly tease him about how adorable he was; murmuring about how he was supposed to be ruthless and badass and if word ever got about how this supposed ‘cute side’, it would do serious damage to his reputation.

While she misses every aspect of that simple and quiet life with him in Australia, sometimes it’s the absence of those little moments that are the most heartbreaking. The companionship that accompanied the intense and nearly all-consuming want and need. Dinners prepared together and enjoyed out on the front porch, the affectionate teasing and light-hearted banter that was frequently exchanged, the long, deep conversations that took place in the dead of the night. And those moments of intimacy in its softest and purest form. The way he’d approach her in the kitchen while she made something to eat; a hand on her stomach as he nuzzled that sensitive spot just below her right ear. How -during the harder days when the trauma of Dhaka became too much for her to bear- he’d envelop her in strong powerful arms and hold as tight as her body would tolerate; one palm moving in slow, soothing circles in the middle of her back. She’d always find herself instantly comforted; her anxious and tortured mind put to ease by his familiar smell and the warmth radiating from his body and the way his voice rumbled deep within his chest.

“What’s up, sweet pea?”

“Why do we have to leave? Why can’t we just stay here? In New York.”

“Because it’s safer if we go somewhere else. Away from the bad guys. “

“But we’re safe HERE. With Charon and Grandpa Winston. The bad guys aren’t allowed to come here. So why can’t we just stay? Until the bad guys go away?”

“Because this place has rules. About who can stay here and for how long.”

“Whose rules?”

“The boss’.”

“Grandpa Winston IS the boss. He’s kicking us out?!”

“HIS boss. Who he has to listen to or he’ll get into big trouble and then not be allowed to run this place anymore. Everyone that is in charge of something or someone, has people that are in charge of THEM. That they have to answer to. Grandpa Winston may be the boss, but he also has his own boss.”

“Hmmm…” Millie tilts her head to the side; eyes narrowed as she chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “You know what, mom? I don’t think I EVER want to be an adult. It’s too stressful. I don’t want a boss. I don’t want someone telling me what to do. Especially some man.”

“I tell you what to do.”

“That’s different. I’m just a little kid still. And you’re my momma. Mommas are supposed to tell kids what they can and can’t do. And we’re supposed to listen. I know sometimes I don’t. But I try. I really do. I WANT to be good, just sometimes…”

“You are always good. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You can be a little difficult and challenging sometimes, but you’re never bad. You’re stubborn and high-spirited and…”

“Alessio thought I was bad. He said that I talk too much and make too much noise and that I’m mouthy. He even said I was naughty. Tons of times.”

“He had no idea what he was talking about. You’re four. Not eighty-four. You’re supposed to be loud and rambunctious. You’re learning about the world. How are you supposed to do that without bouncing all over the place and asking all kinds of questions?”

“I didn’t like him very much, you know.”

“Oh, I know. You never wasted a chance to tell me.”

“He wasn’t really going to be my dad, right? You weren’t REALLY going to marry, were you?”

“No. To both.”

“Because he is so not good enough for you.”

Grinning, Esme sprays the last section of hair with detangler and then works the comb through it. “Something tells me you’d say that anyone that got too close.”

“Only if they’re not the right guy for you. And mom, Alession was NOT it.”

“He wasn’t, was he? You sure seem to know a lot about guys and relationships and commitment for someone who won’t even use the same lunch box two years in a row.”

“I just know you deserve better. He wasn’t very nice to you. He bossed you around. Or at least he tried to. You deserve someone that’s going to treat you right. Like the queen you are!”

Esme laughs. “You’ve been watching Oprah with Abeula, haven’t you.”

“And I wouldn’t say that about EVERY guy; that he isn’t good enough for you. Just when he’s not. And he wasn't. He was mean sometimes. He would call you stupid and stuff and then buy you things to make it all better. And he threw out my sandals! My favourite ones!”

“And I was quick to put him in his place about that, wasn’t I? Don’t you EVER worry about that. If someone messes with you, they mess with me. And I WILL go momma bear on their ass.”

“You should have dumped him. There’s a lot of fish in the sea. Really good ones, too. You deserve someone good, mom. Someone that will take care of you. Who won’t look at other girls and call them pretty and stuff. And who won’t throw out of my shoes.”

“No one else will EVER do that again, I promise.”

“You know who seems really nice? Like he’d treat you right? Tyler.”

“You just met him. You talked to him for all of five minutes. And you could tell what kind of guy he is?”

“I mean, he’s here to help with the bad guys. How awful could he be?”

“He’s not awful. At all. Far from it, actually. But you hardly know him and…”

“I know enough. I know he’s big and strong and the bad guys don’t stand a chance against him. And I know his favourite ice cream is mint chocolate chip! Just like me! What more is there to know?”

“A lot of things.” Esme busies herself with the final braid. “But you’ll have a lot of time to get to know him better. While he’s keeping an eye on us.”

“I might annoy him. Alessio always complained I talked too much and asked way too many questions.”

“Something tells me that Tyler will enjoy it. That he won’t mind one bit. He might not say a lot in return, but…”

“How long have you known him?” Stretching her legs out in front of her, she wiggles her toes; giggling as the glow from the bedside lamp causes the glitter in her bright pink nail polish to sparkle. “How long has he been your friend?”

“I’ve known him for a while. Since before you were born.”

“How long before?”

“A year. And a bit.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“Through work. Auntie Nik introduced us. Paired us up on a job together.”

“Was he your boyfriend?”

Esme hesitates. Both a lie and the truth have consequences; a time down the road when Millie will have even more questions. And anger will follow the answers; either furious that her mother had told a fib or that she’d kept her existence a secret and made her lose four years with her father.

“No. He wasn’t.” She feels sick. At both the denial of Tyler’s importance in her life and how easily the words spilled out of her mouth. “Just a friend. And a colleague.”

“If he’s a friend, how come I’ve never met him? I’ve met all your other friends. Auntie Nik and Uncle Yaz and Uncle John. And there’s Grandpa Winston and Charon! But I never met Tyler. How come?”

“Tyler lives far away.”

“How far away?”

“Thousands of miles.”

“Like in California?! Where all the movie stars are?!”

“No,” Esme laughs. “More like Australia. Which is an entirely different country.”

“I know where Australia is! It’s across the ocean. Right in the middle of it. It’s a big island. It’s where the kangaroos and koalas live. Does he get to see them a lot?! I bet he gets to see tons of kangas and koalas. He’s so lucky! I wish I could see them. Maybe we can go and visit! Maybe he’ll invite us. Do you think he will? Now that we’re besties?”

“I think if you were to tell him you’d love to go to Australia, he’d be more than happy to take you there. But you might not have to say ANYTHING. Or even wait that long to go. It might be where we end up. While Tyler is taking care of us.”

Giving an excited shriek, Millie claps her hands together and bounces up and down on her bum, then swivels around to look at her mom. “We’re going to his house?! In Australia?!”

“I didn’t say we were going there for sure. But…”

“We get to fly on a big airplane?! We get to see kangaroos and koalas?! Where does he live? Does he have a house? With a backyard I can play in? Maybe he has a pool! That way I can get a new bathing suit and we can go swimming and…”

“Whoa…whoa….” Laughing, she gathers Millie in her arms and settles her in her lap; the four-year-old giggling when her mom showers her cheeks with noisy kisses. “...I never said we were going for sure. Just that we MIGHT be. It’s on the list. Of places that Tyler could take us to and keep us safe and sound.”

“I want to go there! To Australia! To Tyler’s house! Can you tell him that, momma? Can you tell him I want to go there? That it would make me really, really, REALLY happy?”

“I can put in a good word, but I can’t promise anything. There are a lot of things we need to think about. When it comes to where we end up. Everyone just wants us to be safe. Keep the bad guys away. So there’s a lot of stuff that needs to be considered.”

“We’d be safe there! In Australia. At Tyler’s place. The bad guys would NEVER come there. He’s too big and too strong and I bet they’re really scared of him. I bet he makes them poo their pants! He doesn’t scare me though. I’m not afraid of him. Even if he is a giant!”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not afraid of him. Because there’s no absolutely no reason. He would never…EVER…do anything to hurt you. To hurt EITHER of us.”

“He just hurts bad people? ‘Cause they deserve it?”

“He hurts bad people in order to protect good people. He doesn’t want to hurt them, but sometimes he doesn’t have much of a choice. Because if he doesn’t do something first, they’ll hurt him. Or worse.”

“They might kill him?”

“They might. But he’s tough and he’s resilient and believe me, IF he gets knocked down? He always gets back up. It makes me happy that you’re not scared of him. I know he’s really big and he can look really serious and mean, but he’s not. He’s a really good guy.”

“Momma…” She tilts her head backwards, eyes narrowed. “...are you SURE Tyler wasn’t your boyfriend?”

“That’s twice you’ve talked about that. What makes you think he was my boyfriend?”

“Just the way your voice sounds when you talk about him. Every time you say his name, you sound weird. Not in a bad way. Just a different way. And I saw the way you were looking at him earlier. When I came back from swimming. Your eyes were all sparkly and stuff. You know how in cartoons when a girl likes a boy, they get stars in their eyes? That’s what you looked like.”

“I think you’re imagining things.”

“You know what I think? I think you have a crush on Tyler. That maybe he wasn’t your boyfriend, but you wanted him to be. And you still do!”

“Amelia…”

“Mommy…”

“You are imagining things. Tyler was my friend. He still is. Nothing more, nothing less. And he’s here to help us, not form a love connection. He’s being paid. To take care of us. To make sure that the bad guys don’t try anything. There is definitely no romance on the horizon.”

“But there COULD be. If you let it happen. You just gotta tell him. That you have a crush on him. I bet if you tell him…”

“No one is telling anyone ANYTHING. Because it’s not true. There are no crushes.”

“I’m not buying it. I can tell. That you like him. And I think he likes you too. Someone has to make the first move, momma. Why can’t it be you?”

“There are no moves to be made, my sweet baby girl.”

“If you don’t tell him, I will! When we go on our ice cream date. I’ll tell him you have a big, fat crush on him! That you think he’s cute and that you like his big muscles and want to kiss him lots and lots and…” She shrieks when she feels her mother’s fingertips lightly dig into the sensitive area under her ribs; dissolving into laughter when she’s tickled mercilessly. Until she’s kicking and squirming and breathlessly pleading for Esme to stop.

“You… little miss…” The tip of her nose nuzzles each of her daughter’s cheeks. “...will do no such thing. Mind your own business, got it? Little girls do not need to meddle Come on….” She drops a kiss on the top of Millie’s head as she yawns. “...lights out time. It’s been a long, busy day for you. Four-year-old bodies can only take so much.”

“Can I stay in here tonight?” Millie hopefully inquires, remaining in the middle of the sea of blankets and sheets as her mother slides off the bed and begins tidying up. “Please? I promise I won’t hog the bed.”

“I still don’t understand how someone so small takes up so much room. What’s wrong with your bed? I thought you liked having all kinds of space to yourself?”

“I do. But sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I don’t remember ever being here and I get scared ‘cause I don’t see any of my stuff. And then I get even more scared because I worry I won’t be able to see YOU either. And that makes me really sad.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to see me?”

“What if you’re not here? What if you left? ‘Cause the bad guys came? What…?”

“Millie…” Approaching the bed, she takes the little one’s face in her hands and tilts her head up to look at her. “...I would never…EVER…leave you. There is not anyone in this world that’s bad enough to make me ever do something like that.”

“What if they took you? What if they took you away? I wouldn’t be able to find you. Not by myself.”

“Nothing like that is ever going to happen. Not a chance. I promise you that…”

“There’s always a chance. Always. What if it happens, momma? What if someone takes you away?”

“IF something like that happened, there’d be a lot of people looking for me. Auntie Nik, Uncle John, Uncle Yaz. So many people.”

“I’d get Tyler to help. Because he’s big and strong and the bad guys would be really scared of him. He’d be able to find you. And rescue you. I know he would.”

“I know he would too. If there’s anyone in this world that could do the impossible, it’s him. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.” (

She thinks of Dhaka. Those initial five days and the carnage on the bridge. Of the smell of spilled gasoline, gunpowder and blood and moans and shrieks and wails of dying men. Of the feel of Tyler’s pulse when she put two fingers inside the bullet hole in the side of his neck; tears streaming down dirty, bruised cheeks as she desperately fought to keep him alive. And that long battle afterwards; the months by his bedside and all of the horrible prognosis’ and the incessant arguing with doctors in order to secure him the care that he deserved. Somehow, he had pulled through all of that; one foot firmly planted firmly over the threshold of death the entire time.)

“Promise me you won’t leave?” Mille whimpers. “Even if the bad guys come? Promise you won’t leave without me?”

“I would never go ANYWHERE without you, Amelia.” She uses the pads of her thumbs to clear away her daughter’s wayward tears. “We’re a team. A package deal. Where I go, you go. And nothing or no one can change that.”

“Ever?”

“Ever. And I know it was scary. What happened the other night. You saw and heard things you never should have had to. And I’m sorry. That you had to go through that. And I’d go back and change so many things if I could.”

“It’s not your fault, momma. That the bad guys showed up.”

“It may have been. Just a little. And I am so sorry, Millie. That I may have done things that ended up hurting you. I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. And I would never…ever…hurt you.”

“I know you wouldn’t. ‘Cause I’m your baby.”

“You are. And you always will be.”

“Can I? Stay in here tonight? I just want to be close to you, that’s all. I feel better when I am.”

“I’d never say no to my favourite snuggle buddy. Do you want to cuddle for a bit? Until you’re almost asleep?”

With a nod and a sniffle, Millie slides over in order to give her mother access to the bed; Esme stretching out beside her and wrapping both arms around the four-year-old’s body. Her chin resting on her daughter’s head; eyes closed as the fingertips of one hand draw slow, methodical patterns on the little one’s back. Finding herself relaxed in the warmth of Millie’s body and the familiar scent that clings to her hair; the same milk, coconut, and honey shampoo that she herself has been using for years.

The one Tyler had claimed to love so much; that smell being one of the things that somehow managed to comfort him during those difficult and painful days in the hospital and then on the long road to healing. Her chest and throat both tighten as she thinks of him. Of those long and painful seconds on the bridge; the pure terror that filled every inch of her body as she watched him teeter so close to death. Those months at his bedside; stroking his hair and holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement and strength and hope in his ear. And all of the pleading she did during her lowest moments; urging him to keep fighting and to give her some kind of sign that he could hear her and knew that she was there.

Begging him to find a way…no matter what it took…to let her know that everything would be okay.

Despite both intense mental and physical fatigue, all attempts at sleep fail. After tossing and turning for nearly two hours, he’d contemplated contacting Delaney; knowing he had to ‘pull up his big boy pants’ and read and listen to the barrage of text messages and voicemails she’d left in just the last three hours alone. He’s the only one to blame for his current state of misery; solely responsible for Delaney’s unhinged -yet not unprovoked- behaviour. He hadn’t not even bothered to make physical contact before leaving Australia; instead stopping at her work and tucking a hastily written note under one of her car’s windshield wipers. It had been short and simple; he had to go out of town to tend to some personal business and should be back in a few days, and he’d contact her if it was going to be any longer than that.

He had hoped both the physical and emotional distance would be enough; either to keep her from incessantly trying to get ahold of him or piss her off to the point she cut ties with him completely. Yet neither has happened judging by the messages from worried to irate; beginning calmly and then escalating quickly with each missed call. A buffet of every emotion available to a human being; expressing her increasing worry for both his mental health and their obviously fragile relationship and begging and pleading for him to call her back. The latter soon transformed into pure despair; sobbing as she confessed her love for him and sorrowfully wondering why she wasn’t ‘enough’ and then cursing and swearing and calling him a coward for ‘running away’ instead of facing their issues.

It isn’t the first time he’s been guilty of the latter; his inability to support his wife through their only child’s illness and his fear of seeing his son suffer and pass away had destroyed both his marriage and his entire life. Infamous for his physical bravery but emotional cowardice, he’d put in the effort to change while with Esme; stepping completely out of his comfort zone and learning to not only be more open and honest about his feelings, but how to eradicate the disgust and shame that always accompanied showing even a flicker of emotion. He no longer wanted to be the guy that ran when the going got tough; instead trying to be the kind of partner that she needed, wanted, and deserved. And with her unwavering support and seemingly infinite patience, he’d begun to turn his life around; beginning with dealing with the mountains of baggage that had been weighing him down for years. Tearing through the layers of both physical and mental trauma and willingly checking into rehab and submitting to therapy; wading through a cesspool of toxic masculinity and anger issues and somehow managing to cut the once ironclad ties to the booze and the pain meds. For the first time since his son died, he’d found himself clean and sober. And genuinely happy. Content within that little bubble of domesticity that he and Esme had created. Both optimistic about their future together.

And then she’d left. Completing what all of the bullets and bloodshed never could. Destroying him completely.

He’s found something constantly tempted to challenge his sobriety; briefly considering ordering a bottle of the most expensive scotch on the menu and spending the rest of the evening and well into the night drinking himself into a stupor. Anything to numb the mental anguish; relieve the heaviness that sits on his chest and threatens to suffocate him. And while under normal circumstances he’d be obsessing over every little detail of a job and repeatedly running through every possible scenario, his brain has settled in a far different place. Not a single shred of the job and the circumstances surrounding it matter; the neatly typed and extremely well organized ‘mission notes’ Nik had slipped under his hotel room door simply tossed aside. Instead, he finds himself obsessed with the events of five years ago; replaying every second, every word, every movement he’d made on that very last day. Looking for any mistake that he could have made something; even something tiny and innocuous that could have sent her running.

And he dwells on the loneliness and the worry and the anger; the emotions that have plagued him and driven him since the day she left. And they accompany him to where he is today. At this very moment. Sitting in the dimly lit lounge at The Continental; ignoring the chattering of the patrons around him as he uses a fork to push the remains of a steak dinner around his plate . And while the establishment’s food is second to none and he has vivid recollections of the meals he’d been served during his handful of stays, he doesn’t recall tasting a single bite. His body and brain both running on auto-pilot; knowing that they needed to function together to silence the grumbling in his stomach and keep his strength.

While never a social butterfly and in no means in the mood for mindless chit-chat or the mere company of a stranger, he’d forced himself to leave his hotel room; the silence deafening and the loneliness almost physically painful. Anxiety had quickly settled in; tightening his shoulders and creating a pounding in his temples and at the base of his skull. Quickly finding it impossible to sit still; feeling as if the four walls were closing in around him and he was going to go crazy if he didn’t escape.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

The pretty little bartender breaks away from her other customers and steps in front of him. Abbie…Addie…something like that. She’s young and vibrant and extremely confident; not above being brazenly flirty and suggestive with her comments. And she’d be attractive enough IF he was even remotely interested. Tall and leggy, with near coal black hair that shimmers under the lights behind the bar; her willowy body on full display in a simple, figure-hugging black dress. Intricate and colourful tattoos cover both arms and piercings decorate her face; a silver hoop that travels through the middle of her bottom lip and a diamond stud that sparkles from its resting place on her left nostril. And she’s been making flirtatious small talk since he arrived; finding the place packed and having to settle for the last seat at the bar.

The corner of his mouth turns up; the beginnings of a smirk. “Believe me, even that’s overcharging for what’s going on in my head.”

“Rough day?”

“More like a rough five years.”

“Sounds ominous. If you’re looking for someone to unload on…”

“Actually, I prefer my bartender and my therapist to be two different people.”

Long past caring whose feathers he ruffles, he’s infamous for being brutal and unapologetically honest. He isn’t looking to impress; he has no interest in impressing women in hopes of filling his bed with a warm body. He’d indulged in too much of that in the past five years; avoiding the booze and the pain meds and instead returning to a less harmful vice. Never sure exactly what he was looking for; whether it be a temporary -and purely physical- cure for the loneliness or something more serious. His heart hadn’t really been invested in either; cold and callous with the women he bedded and never bothered to contact again. Until he’d taken the chance with Delaney; finding a brief glimmer of contentment until she started coming on way too strong. He doesn’t see himself ever settling down with her; taking it as a sign when her mere presence after her first night at his place had only bored and irritated him.

“Not much of a bartender if I’m not pouring drinks, am I? There must be something else I can get you. Ice water can only bring so much enjoyment.”

“I don’t drink. I told you that when I sat down.”

“Everyone needs to unwind. Especially you, by the sounds of it. Seems like you have a lot on your plate. And if a drink helps loosen the lips just a little…”

“I’m an alcoholic.” There’s no way to sugarcoat it. Not that he’s known for his subtlety. He’d learned in rehab that part of fixing your problem was admitting to yourself -and others- that you had one to start with. And if there is anything in his life that he’s proud of, it’s the fact he’s managed to stay sober; proof that the anger and the heartache and loneliness that had followed Esme’s departure hadn’t completely ruined him.

“Putting yourself through some kind of test?” Addie lightly teases. “Takes a strong man to be able to stare his demons in the face like this.”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I. There was no other place to sit.”

She leans back against shelves of booze behind her; arms crossed over her chest as she eyes him in bemusement. “Not much of a social butterfly, are you.”

“Maybe I’m just a certified asshole. Born and raised.”

“Something tells me that’s just a cover. For who you really are. Outside of this crazy fucking world we’re both tied up in. A lot of people are completely different in their personal lives than when they’re here. Maybe it’s a way of protecting themselves; a form of self-perseverance. This kind of life can really drag you down. Even break you. Only choice sometimes is to put up those walls to keep people out.”

“This kind of life doesn’t exactly let you get close to someone. Doesn’t let you have anything normal. Believe me, I tried. And it was an epic fucking disaster.”

“Someone broke your heart.”

“Yeah, just a little.”

“Well if I may be so bold…”

“I’d rather you weren’t.”

“…but it’s definitely her loss.”

He wants to tell her just how wrong she is. That he’d always been one with the most to lose. Esme had brought a much-needed brightness; easily breaking through his tough exterior and shining light on those dark and abandoned recesses deep inside of him. She had reminded him that he was still very much alive and that there was still a lot out there for him to experience; sunsets to marvel over and meals to cook and enjoy together, and the touch and love of someone that adored him. For years he’d been walking around in a state of numbness; caused by immense grief, guilt, and regret and further aided by the booze and the alcohol. And she’d wandered into his life and turned it completely upside down. Peeling away all those protective layers and exposing the long-buried humanity that still existed inside of him.

In the end, he’d lost a hell of a lot. His most loyal confidant and fervent supporter. His best friend and his lover. The sole reason that he’d kept going during those extremely difficult days following Dhaka; the months in the hospital, the long and extremely painful recovery once returning home, and the struggle to get clean and sober and STAY that way. With her, he’d found that he enjoyed being domestic; having someone to take care of and provide for and share his days with. And he thrived on the companionship; the cooking together and the meals shared and the intimacy they’d indulged in. And even the quiet times of just hanging out; at opposite ends of the couch with her feet in his lap as she read a book and busied himself on his laptop. It was comfortable. Normal. An existence he never thought he’d have the chance to lead.

And then just like that, it was all gone.

His head pounds. A mixture of jet lag, hunger, and the million and one thoughts running through it. It’s all so fucking complicated; Esme’s reasonings for both disappearing and keeping Millie a secret for four year years. He wants to believe her; that she left in order to protect him from a brutal and painful demise. But his brain has a hard time accepting that explanation; refusing to believe that she’d managed to get herself mixed up with something THAT dangerous. And in turn, it’s only created a new host of questions he desperately needs and wants answers for.

Addie refills his ice water and leans stomach first against the bar; forearms resting atop the gleaming wood, hands clasped together. “How’d a guy like you end up here, anyway?”

“Same way everyone else ends up here. I kill people. For money.”

“I meant in general. In this business. You just don’t seem the type; that would get their kicks out of brutalizing someone. You’re not like everyone else; walking around here with a huge chip on your shoulder. And you definitely don’t care about what people think about you. I can’t remember the last time someone walked in here in jeans and a t-shirt. If anyone ever has.”

“I’m not here to impress anyone. Or to make friends. I’m here to do a job. And if people don’t like what they see, they can just look away. No skin off my ass.”

She gives a sly smile. “Maybe THEY don’t like what they see, but I know I do.”

He longs to tell her that it’s a lost cause; he isn’t even remotely interested and she’s only wasting her time. It’s been a hell of a day and it isn’t even close to being over with; the impending conversation with Esme sitting heavily upon his shoulders. He’s dreading it; wanting to hear the truth and the apologies but not prepared for all of the emotion -on both sides- that will be involved. In a perfect world, they’d just go back to where they were. Able to simply enjoy the reunion and getting to know one another again; reconnecting AND then rebuilding upon that foundation Dhaka had laid beneath their feet.

Instead, he bites his tongue. “I’m flattered. And forgive me for sounding like a total prick, but you’re barking up the wrong tree here. I’m not interested. I’m not here to get my dick wet. I’m here to do a job. And besides, I learned a long time ago what a huge mistake it is; mixing business with pleasure.”

“For what it’s worth,” She trails a fingernail along the top of his hand; passing over each misshapen knuckle and scar. “I’ve never had a complaint.”

“Listen…” A slow, charming grin spreads across his face as he leans forward; giving the woman a glimmer of hope as his hand comes to rest atop hers. And then his eyes darken; fingers curling around her wrist and his voice becoming deeper and menacing. “...I’m going to have a complaint if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”

She blinks and recoils the vehemence in his tone; lips pursed tightly together as she yanks her hand out from under his. Not giving a brief glance over her shoulder as she retreats to the opposite end of the bar.

Smirking, he raises the ice water to his lips; pausing when a strong yet friendly hand squeezes his shoulder in greeting. And is quickly followed by a familiar voice.

“I see you’re still trying your best to charm the locals. It’s nice to see some things never really do change.”

He takes a swallow of his drink. “I’m just a regular ball of sunshine.”

“Tyler.”

“John.”

Wick gestures to the now empty barstool beside him. “You expecting someone or…?”

“Who wants to hang out with a miserable asshole?”

“Well you know what they say; misery loves company. May I?”

Nodding, Tyler pushes the half-eaten plate of food and the empty glass across the bar, signalling he’s done. Until the afternoon, he hadn’t seen or worked with Wick in years; a high profile -and even more high paying- job that had marked his first -and only- North American gig. From what he’s heard, the man’s been through hell; dragged back and forth into the life through no fault of his own. Dealing with the lingering grief and loneliness following the death of his wife while battling with The High Table; a war that had seen him emerge victorious but with a dozen more scars added to his collection. The stories of Baba Yaga aside, Tyler has always respected the man; a freakishly skilled and enormously successful hitman still grasping desperately to the last remaining shreds of humanity. He’d been relieved when he’d heard Wick had not only been involved in saving Esme and Millie from certain death, but that he’d agreed to stay on board until they were safely out of the country. And offering his further services if Tyler felt he needed them.

Wick offers an appreciative yet tired smile at the bartender that approaches; a glass of bourdon wordlessly placed in front of him. “And another for my friend here. Whatever he’s having. Scotch, right?”

“Ice water. But you’ve got a damn good memory.”

“I’m not usually one for drinking buddies, but I do remember that last job we worked together. When was that? Seven, eight years ago?”

“About that.”

“No one forgets when someone successfully drinks them under the table. Two nights in a row. Always heard the stories about Aussies loving their booze, but…” Taking a swig of bourbon, he winces and lets out a low growl as that first swallow burns going down. “When’d you quit?”

“Almost six years ago.”

“What made you decide to give it up? Liver finally pleading for mercy?”

“Being in a medically induced coma for a couple of months had its hand in things. But I probably would have gotten out of the hospital and gone right back to it though; drank myself to death sooner or later. But honestly, I quit for the same reason you left this life.”

“That’ll do it. You meet that one and…” His voice trails off. The memory of his wife is just as powerful and intense as the day she passed the mere mention of her still bringing about the heartache. It’s a tremendous loss that he’ll never be quite over; destined to live the rest of his life wracked with grief and emptiness.

“Guess we finally have a few more things in common,” Tyler muses. “Job’s not the only thing anymore. Whoever said ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all’ was a dirty ass fucking liar.”

“I don’t know about that. As much as it still hurts, I wouldn’t go back and change things. Even if I went into it knowing how quickly I’d lose her, I’d still give everything up for Helen. Even if I knew how short the time would be, I’d still try my hand at a normal life. I’d still pick her over everything…and everyone…else.”

“That’s all of a lot of a pain to go through.”

“It is. But the life I DID get with her? The good times? I wouldn’t trade those in for anything. And I think once you get a chance to really digest things and think them through, you’ll be saying the same thing about Esme.”

Tyler WANTS to believe that. It’s not as if the feelings no longer exist; he’s remained hopelessly and desperately in love with her throughout the years they’d been apart. Feeling just how strong it actually was when that separation had finally ended; face to face with one another in the midst of all the lingering sorrow and hurt and anger. It’s love and it’s adoration and immense relief; seeing her alive and well, albeit a little banged up. And while he still wants and needs an explanation for both her disappearance and keeping Millie a secret, the anger isn’t quite as potent now. Seeing her had taken a lot of the edge off; peeling away some of the worry and bitterness.

“You’re lucky though,” Wick says. “Esme’s here. Alive and well. Back in your life. And it’s happened for a reason. Me? I lost Helen permanently. There is no second chance for us.”

“What makes you think I’d even want one? After what went down? What…?”

“If you sit here and tell me you don’t still love her and want a life with her, then you’re the dirty fucking liar.”

“She left. It wasn’t the other way around. Just took off while I was doing shit at our new place. That we bought TOGETHER. I came home and she was gone. Never even bothered to tell me she was leaving. No face-to-face chat, no phone call, not even a goddamn text or an email. You know what I got? I got an ‘I’m sorry’ written on a piece of paper, left in the middle of the kitchen table.”

“And what you got NOW is an opportunity. To be with her again. I know it sucked; I know it probably hurt like hell. But she is right here…under the same roof as you…and you’ve got the chance to make things right. To get past all that shit and be with her. You really going to turn your back on that?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Am I supposed to pretend it never happened? That it never went down the way it did? I’m pissed. And it isn’t just bad enough that she left the way she did. I come here and find out I have a kid. That she kept from me. I’ve missed four years of her life. And I can’t get those years back.”

“And no one is saying you don’t have the right to be. Be pissed. Be hurt. But don’t be stupid. Don’t let all that negative shit get in the way of patching things up. And if you don’t do it for yourself or her, do it for your little girl. Because she deserves to know her dad. Have him in her life. Are you really going to walk away from that? A chance to know her and raise her? Yeah, you missed four years. And that fucking stinks. But Tyler, if you play your cards right, you’ve got four decades AT LEAST to fill.”

“Do you know why? Esme left? I know that you guys were…friendly…when she used to live here. That she’s the one who introduced you to your wife. Do you have any idea why she took off?”

Downing the last of the bourbon, he holds aloft the empty glass, signalling for another. “I do. But it’s not my place to tell you. If that were the case, I would have gotten in contact with you five years ago. But it’s not up to me to make things right. Sort shit out between the two of you. It’s her story to tell and it’s up to you to listen to her.”

“I just want to know what’s true and what isn’t. I’m not asking for details. I just need that answered. If what she told is true. The main reason why she left. I spent five years thinking the worst. That either she either left me for someone else…”

“That was NOT it. That’s not even close to what happened.”

“...or that someone came and grabbed her. Kept her for a bit and did all kinds of sick shit to her and THEN killed her. You know what that’s like? Wondering if that’s what happened? For FIVE YEARS What it’s like to think ‘I’d rather she be dead with someone else’. I actually thought that. And it’s fucked me up. For a long time.”

“What has she told you?”

“Something from her past caught up to her. People that she crossed. And that they didn’t give her much of a choice. She had to either do what they said, or they’d come back and fuck shit up. Said she left in order to protect me. That I would have survived.”

“You wouldn’t have. Not many people cross their paths and live to tell about it. I’m not going to sit here and tell you who they were or what they wanted or what Esme did. All of that is up to her. But I will tell you that she did the right thing. For both of you.”

“She couldn’t have at least told me? What was going on? Why she was leaving? Or let me know she was safe?”

“Would that have been enough? Or would you have tracked her down? Attempted to play white knight?”

Sighing, Tyler looks down at his glass; brow furrowed as he absentmindedly swirls the ice around.

“Exactly. You would have gone after her and everything she feared would have come true. She did the right thing, Tyler. As much as it hurts and as angry as you are, she really did have your best interests at heart.”

“And you’d just be able to get over it? If someone did that to you?”

“It would hurt like hell and I’d be pissed, but yeah, I’d be able to get over it. Once I calmed down to actually hear them out, I’d realize they did what they did because they loved me. And that’s exactly why she left. Because she DID love you. She still does.”

“Hard to believe that when she was just engaged to someone else a few days ago.” It had hurt like hell hearing THAT detail during the team meeting; a mixture of jealousy and bitterness and pure and utter rage that continued to gnaw at his stomach. He had the thought of it; another man being given the privilege of holding her and kissing her and making love to her.

“That was nothing but part of the job. She was never going to marry him. As soon as she got what was needed and Nik was ready to make your move, she was going to just grab and take off. Don’t think for one second she actually loved that guy. He was a ‘mark’. Nothing more, nothing less.”

They lapse into silence; nursing their drinks and waving off the bartender when he approaches to offer another round.

“Hell of a thing we got ourselves into,” Wick comments. “Trouble always seems to find us, huh?”

“You know what they say; about how you’re never really free of this life. It follows you. No matter how far you run or where you try to hide. Years could go by and you’re thinking you’re free and clear of it and something comes up. Someone calling in a favour, some asshole looking for revenge. The shit finds you. One way or another.”

“You know I’ve walked away three times now? “And each time I told myself it was the last. That I was retired. And nothing or no one could change that. But…”

“Here you are.”

“Yeah…” Wick scoffs. “...here I am. Heard you quit for a bit. Tried your hand at a regular life. Firefighting, was it?”

“Been doing that full-time for the last couple of years. And I run a little business of my own; home renovations, landscaping, masonry stuff. Got enough going on back home to keep me busy. But like I said, you never really leave the life behind. It’s always got a hold on you. No matter how hard you try to let it go.”

“I think it’s safe to say this is the one time you’re probably okay with trouble showing its face. Esme, the kid…”

“Not what I thought I was walking into, I’ll tell you that much. I went into this totally blind. Nik wasn’t too forthcoming with the info when she called me. Made up some bullshit excuse about not being on a secure line. Just told me a client was pretty insistent on hiring for a job.”

“And now here YOU are.”

Tyler nods. “It’s all been a little…surprising…to say the least.”

“Finding out the client was Esme or the fact you have a kid?”

“Both. Before all of this, her leaving seemed like the worst thing that could have ever happened. Then I found out she kept my daughter from me. I think a secret baby trumps everything else.”

“She had her reasons. Just remember that. Give her a chance. To explain things. Don’t let your pride fuck things up. I know that’s easier said than done sometimes, but…”

His phone vibrates against the top of the bar, signalling an incoming text message. And he’s relieved to find that instead of Delaney ranting and raving about him ‘dropping off the face of the earth’, it’s Esme asking if they can talk after Millie has fallen asleep. Able to leave her in the care and protection of Abeula and Nik and visit him in his room or wherever he feels comfortable meeting. It makes him feel like a teenager again; the excitement and nervousness that comes with knowing you’re going to be totally alone with the prettiest girl in school. And he sends back a quick confirmation and his room number, then once more sets the phone on top of the bar, screen down.

Wick smirks. “I recognize that look. Definitely good news.”

“Could be the START of something good. Guess it depends on how things go. When we talk about everything.”

“Just try and keep the pride and the temper in check. I know it’s a shitty situation; her taking off and flying under the radar for years and keeping your kid from you. But she’s got very legitimate reasons. Understandable ones. Just try to keep an open mind. And ear.”

“This isn’t the way I thought it would go. Honestly, I don’t think I was ever really optimistic. About one day seeing her again. So for it to go down like this? Because of a job? Definitely not what I would have imagined.”

“Isn’t that how you first met? Maybe it’s the pattern. What’s the saying? Things come in threes?”

“Don’t wish that on me. I don’t think I have another job like Dhaka in me. I’m just hoping this one doesn’t go down that same road. Organized crime? Mafia style? I’m a little too old for that shit.”

“Aren’t we both.” Standing, he pulls two gold coins from one of the pockets of his suit jacket and lays them on the bar. “My treat,” he says, and then claps Tyler on the shoulder. “Remember what I said; about going in there with an open mind. She DID have a good reason for doing what she did. And if you feel yourself losing control, think of that little girl. And how many years you’ve got left with her.”

“Open mind. Optimistic. Got ya.”

“It’ll all work out, Tyler. Don’t fuck this up. You’ve got a second chance. And believe me, I’d do anything for even one more day…one more second…with my wife.”

*******

“Momma?”

They sit in the middle of the queen-sized bed; Millie between Esme’s outstretched legs as she gets her hair detangled and then braided before bed. She has her father’s hair. Dirty blond and impossibly thick; wild and unruly with a mind all its own. She can easily recall many mornings when he’d stumble out of bed or wake from a nap; grumpy and in desperate need of coffee, those longer strands on the top of his head sticking up in several different directions. He’d feign annoyance when she’d lovingly tease him about how adorable he was; murmuring about how he was supposed to be ruthless and badass and if word ever got about how this supposed ‘cute side’, it would do serious damage to his reputation.

While she misses every aspect of that simple and quiet life with him in Australia, sometimes it’s the absence of those little moments that are the most heartbreaking. The companionship that accompanied the intense and nearly all-consuming want and need. Dinners prepared together and enjoyed out on the front porch, the affectionate teasing and light-hearted banter that was frequently exchanged, the long, deep conversations that took place in the dead of the night. And those moments of intimacy in its softest and purest form. The way he’d approach her in the kitchen while she made something to eat; a hand on her stomach as he nuzzled that sensitive spot just below her right ear. How -during the harder days when the trauma of Dhaka became too much for her to bear- he’d envelop her in strong powerful arms and hold as tight as her body would tolerate; one palm moving in slow, soothing circles in the middle of her back. She’d always find herself instantly comforted; her anxious and tortured mind put to ease by his familiar smell and the warmth radiating from his body and the way his voice rumbled deep within his chest.

“What’s up, sweet pea?”

“Why do we have to leave? Why can’t we just stay here? In New York.”

“Because it’s safer if we go somewhere else. Away from the bad guys. “

“But we’re safe HERE. With Charon and Grandpa Winston. The bad guys aren’t allowed to come here. So why can’t we just stay? Until the bad guys go away?”

“Because this place has rules. About who can stay here and for how long.”

“Whose rules?”

“The boss’.”

“Grandpa Winston IS the boss. He’s kicking us out?!”

“HIS boss. Who he has to listen to or he’ll get into big trouble and then not be allowed to run this place anymore. Everyone that is in charge of something or someone, has people that are in charge of THEM. That they have to answer to. Grandpa Winston may be the boss, but he also has his own boss.”

“Hmmm…” Millie tilts her head to the side; eyes narrowed as she chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “You know what, mom? I don’t think I EVER want to be an adult. It’s too stressful. I don’t want a boss. I don’t want someone telling me what to do. Especially some man.”

“I tell you what to do.”

“That’s different. I’m just a little kid still. And you’re my momma. Mommas are supposed to tell kids what they can and can’t do. And we’re supposed to listen. I know sometimes I don’t. But I try. I really do. I WANT to be good, just sometimes…”

“You are always good. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You can be a little difficult and challenging sometimes, but you’re never bad. You’re stubborn and high-spirited and…”

“Alessio thought I was bad. He said that I talk too much and make too much noise and that I’m mouthy. He even said I was naughty. Tons of times.”

“He had no idea what he was talking about. You’re four. Not eighty-four. You’re supposed to be loud and rambunctious. You’re learning about the world. How are you supposed to do that without bouncing all over the place and asking all kinds of questions?”

“I didn’t like him very much, you know.”

“Oh, I know. You never wasted a chance to tell me.”

“He wasn’t really going to be my dad, right? You weren’t REALLY going to marry, were you?”

“No. To both.”

“Because he is so not good enough for you.”

Grinning, Esme sprays the last section of hair with detangler and then works the comb through it. “Something tells me you’d say that anyone that got too close.”

“Only if they’re not the right guy for you. And mom, Alession was NOT it.”

“He wasn’t, was he? You sure seem to know a lot about guys and relationships and commitment for someone who won’t even use the same lunch box two years in a row.”

“I just know you deserve better. He wasn’t very nice to you. He bossed you around. Or at least he tried to. You deserve someone that’s going to treat you right. Like the queen you are!”

Esme laughs. “You’ve been watching Oprah with Abeula, haven’t you.”

“And I wouldn’t say that about EVERY guy; that he isn’t good enough for you. Just when he’s not. And he wasn't. He was mean sometimes. He would call you stupid and stuff and then buy you things to make it all better. And he threw out my sandals! My favourite ones!”

“And I was quick to put him in his place about that, wasn’t I? Don’t you EVER worry about that. If someone messes with you, they mess with me. And I WILL go momma bear on their ass.”

“You should have dumped him. There’s a lot of fish in the sea. Really good ones, too. You deserve someone good, mom. Someone that will take care of you. Who won’t look at other girls and call them pretty and stuff. And who won’t throw out of my shoes.”

“No one else will EVER do that again, I promise.”

“You know who seems really nice? Like he’d treat you right? Tyler.”

“You just met him. You talked to him for all of five minutes. And you could tell what kind of guy he is?”

“I mean, he’s here to help with the bad guys. How awful could he be?”

“He’s not awful. At all. Far from it, actually. But you hardly know him and…”

“I know enough. I know he’s big and strong and the bad guys don’t stand a chance against him. And I know his favourite ice cream is mint chocolate chip! Just like me! What more is there to know?”

“A lot of things.” Esme busies herself with the final braid. “But you’ll have a lot of time to get to know him better. While he’s keeping an eye on us.”

“I might annoy him. Alessio always complained I talked too much and asked way too many questions.”

“Something tells me that Tyler will enjoy it. That he won’t mind one bit. He might not say a lot in return, but…”

“How long have you known him?” Stretching her legs out in front of her, she wiggles her toes; giggling as the glow from the bedside lamp causes the glitter in her bright pink nail polish to sparkle. “How long has he been your friend?”

“I’ve known him for a while. Since before you were born.”

“How long before?”

“A year. And a bit.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“Through work. Auntie Nik introduced us. Paired us up on a job together.”

“Was he your boyfriend?”

Esme hesitates. Both a lie and the truth have consequences; a time down the road when Millie will have even more questions. And anger will follow the answers; either furious that her mother had told a fib or that she’d kept her existence a secret and made her lose four years with her father.

“No. He wasn’t.” She feels sick. At both the denial of Tyler’s importance in her life and how easily the words spilled out of her mouth. “Just a friend. And a colleague.”

“If he’s a friend, how come I’ve never met him? I’ve met all your other friends. Auntie Nik and Uncle Yaz and Uncle John. And there’s Grandpa Winston and Charon! But I never met Tyler. How come?”

“Tyler lives far away.”

“How far away?”

“Thousands of miles.”

“Like in California?! Where all the movie stars are?!”

“No,” Esme laughs. “More like Australia. Which is an entirely different country.”

“I know where Australia is! It’s across the ocean. Right in the middle of it. It’s a big island. It’s where the kangaroos and koalas live. Does he get to see them a lot?! I bet he gets to see tons of kangas and koalas. He’s so lucky! I wish I could see them. Maybe we can go and visit! Maybe he’ll invite us. Do you think he will? Now that we’re besties?”

“I think if you were to tell him you’d love to go to Australia, he’d be more than happy to take you there. But you might not have to say ANYTHING. Or even wait that long to go. It might be where we end up. While Tyler is taking care of us.”

Giving an excited shriek, Millie claps her hands together and bounces up and down on her bum, then swivels around to look at her mom. “We’re going to his house?! In Australia?!”

“I didn’t say we were going there for sure. But…”

“We get to fly on a big airplane?! We get to see kangaroos and koalas?! Where does he live? Does he have a house? With a backyard I can play in? Maybe he has a pool! That way I can get a new bathing suit and we can go swimming and…”

“Whoa…whoa….” Laughing, she gathers Millie in her arms and settles her in her lap; the four-year-old giggling when her mom showers her cheeks with noisy kisses. “...I never said we were going for sure. Just that we MIGHT be. It’s on the list. Of places that Tyler could take us to and keep us safe and sound.”

“I want to go there! To Australia! To Tyler’s house! Can you tell him that, momma? Can you tell him I want to go there? That it would make me really, really, REALLY happy?”

“I can put in a good word, but I can’t promise anything. There are a lot of things we need to think about. When it comes to where we end up. Everyone just wants us to be safe. Keep the bad guys away. So there’s a lot of stuff that needs to be considered.”

“We’d be safe there! In Australia. At Tyler’s place. The bad guys would NEVER come there. He’s too big and too strong and I bet they’re really scared of him. I bet he makes them poo their pants! He doesn’t scare me though. I’m not afraid of him. Even if he is a giant!”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not afraid of him. Because there’s no absolutely no reason. He would never…EVER…do anything to hurt you. To hurt EITHER of us.”

“He just hurts bad people? ‘Cause they deserve it?”

“He hurts bad people in order to protect good people. He doesn’t want to hurt them, but sometimes he doesn’t have much of a choice. Because if he doesn’t do something first, they’ll hurt him. Or worse.”

“They might kill him?”

“They might. But he’s tough and he’s resilient and believe me, IF he gets knocked down? He always gets back up. It makes me happy that you’re not scared of him. I know he’s really big and he can look really serious and mean, but he’s not. He’s a really good guy.”

“Momma…” She tilts her head backwards, eyes narrowed. “...are you SURE Tyler wasn’t your boyfriend?”

“That’s twice you’ve talked about that. What makes you think he was my boyfriend?”

“Just the way your voice sounds when you talk about him. Every time you say his name, you sound weird. Not in a bad way. Just a different way. And I saw the way you were looking at him earlier. When I came back from swimming. Your eyes were all sparkly and stuff. You know how in cartoons when a girl likes a boy, they get stars in their eyes? That’s what you looked like.”

“I think you’re imagining things.”

“You know what I think? I think you have a crush on Tyler. That maybe he wasn’t your boyfriend, but you wanted him to be. And you still do!”

“Amelia…”

“Mommy…”

“You are imagining things. Tyler was my friend. He still is. Nothing more, nothing less. And he’s here to help us, not form a love connection. He’s being paid. To take care of us. To make sure that the bad guys don’t try anything. There is definitely no romance on the horizon.”

“But there COULD be. If you let it happen. You just gotta tell him. That you have a crush on him. I bet if you tell him…”

“No one is telling anyone ANYTHING. Because it’s not true. There are no crushes.”

“I’m not buying it. I can tell. That you like him. And I think he likes you too. Someone has to make the first move, momma. Why can’t it be you?”

“There are no moves to be made, my sweet baby girl.”

“If you don’t tell him, I will! When we go on our ice cream date. I’ll tell him you have a big, fat crush on him! That you think he’s cute and that you like his big muscles and want to kiss him lots and lots and…” She shrieks when she feels her mother’s fingertips lightly dig into the sensitive area under her ribs; dissolving into laughter when she’s tickled mercilessly. Until she’s kicking and squirming and breathlessly pleading for Esme to stop.

“You… little miss…” The tip of her nose nuzzles each of her daughter’s cheeks. “...will do no such thing. Mind your own business, got it? Little girls do not need to meddle Come on….” She drops a kiss on the top of Millie’s head as she yawns. “...lights out time. It’s been a long, busy day for you. Four-year-old bodies can only take so much.”

“Can I stay in here tonight?” Millie hopefully inquires, remaining in the middle of the sea of blankets and sheets as her mother slides off the bed and begins tidying up. “Please? I promise I won’t hog the bed.”

“I still don’t understand how someone so small takes up so much room. What’s wrong with your bed? I thought you liked having all kinds of space to yourself?”

“I do. But sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I don’t remember ever being here and I get scared ‘cause I don’t see any of my stuff. And then I get even more scared because I worry I won’t be able to see YOU either. And that makes me really sad.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to see me?”

“What if you’re not here? What if you left? ‘Cause the bad guys came? What…?”

“Millie…” Approaching the bed, she takes the little one’s face in her hands and tilts her head up to look at her. “...I would never…EVER…leave you. There is not anyone in this world that’s bad enough to make me ever do something like that.”

“What if they took you? What if they took you away? I wouldn’t be able to find you. Not by myself.”

“Nothing like that is ever going to happen. Not a chance. I promise you that…”

“There’s always a chance. Always. What if it happens, momma? What if someone takes you away?”

“IF something like that happened, there’d be a lot of people looking for me. Auntie Nik, Uncle John, Uncle Yaz. So many people.”

“I’d get Tyler to help. Because he’s big and strong and the bad guys would be really scared of him. He’d be able to find you. And rescue you. I know he would.”

“I know he would too. If there’s anyone in this world that could do the impossible, it’s him. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.” (

She thinks of Dhaka. Those initial five days and the carnage on the bridge. Of the smell of spilled gasoline, gunpowder and blood and moans and shrieks and wails of dying men. Of the feel of Tyler’s pulse when she put two fingers inside the bullet hole in the side of his neck; tears streaming down dirty, bruised cheeks as she desperately fought to keep him alive. And that long battle afterwards; the months by his bedside and all of the horrible prognosis’ and the incessant arguing with doctors in order to secure him the care that he deserved. Somehow, he had pulled through all of that; one foot firmly planted firmly over the threshold of death the entire time.)

“Promise me you won’t leave?” Mille whimpers. “Even if the bad guys come? Promise you won’t leave without me?”

“I would never go ANYWHERE without you, Amelia.” She uses the pads of her thumbs to clear away her daughter’s wayward tears. “We’re a team. A package deal. Where I go, you go. And nothing or no one can change that.”

“Ever?”

“Ever. And I know it was scary. What happened the other night. You saw and heard things you never should have had to. And I’m sorry. That you had to go through that. And I’d go back and change so many things if I could.”

“It’s not your fault, momma. That the bad guys showed up.”

“It may have been. Just a little. And I am so sorry, Millie. That I may have done things that ended up hurting you. I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. And I would never…ever…hurt you.”

“I know you wouldn’t. ‘Cause I’m your baby.”

“You are. And you always will be.”

“Can I? Stay in here tonight? I just want to be close to you, that’s all. I feel better when I am.”

“I’d never say no to my favourite snuggle buddy. Do you want to cuddle for a bit? Until you’re almost asleep?”

With a nod and a sniffle, Millie slides over in order to give her mother access to the bed; Esme stretching out beside her and wrapping both arms around the four-year-old’s body. Her chin resting on her daughter’s head; eyes closed as the fingertips of one hand draw slow, methodical patterns on the little one’s back. Finding herself relaxed in the warmth of Millie’s body and the familiar scent that clings to her hair; the same milk, coconut, and honey shampoo that she herself has been using for years.

The one Tyler had claimed to love so much; that smell being one of the things that somehow managed to comfort him during those difficult and painful days in the hospital and then on the long road to healing. Her chest and throat both tighten as she thinks of him. Of those long and painful seconds on the bridge; the pure terror that filled every inch of her body as she watched him teeter so close to death. Those months at his bedside; stroking his hair and holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement and strength and hope in his ear. And all of the pleading she did during her lowest moments; urging him to keep fighting and to give her some kind of sign that he could hear her and knew that she was there.

Begging him to find a way…no matter what it took…to let her know that everything would be okay.

Despite both intense mental and physical fatigue, all attempts at sleep fail. After tossing and turning for nearly two hours, he’d contemplated contacting Delaney; knowing he had to ‘pull up his big boy pants’ and read and listen to the barrage of text messages and voicemails she’d left in just the last three hours alone. He’s the only one to blame for his current state of misery; solely responsible for Delaney’s unhinged -yet not unprovoked- behaviour. He hadn’t not even bothered to make physical contact before leaving Australia; instead stopping at her work and tucking a hastily written note under one of her car’s windshield wipers. It had been short and simple; he had to go out of town to tend to some personal business and should be back in a few days, and he’d contact her if it was going to be any longer than that.

He had hoped both the physical and emotional distance would be enough; either to keep her from incessantly trying to get ahold of him or piss her off to the point she cut ties with him completely. Yet neither has happened judging by the messages from worried to irate; beginning calmly and then escalating quickly with each missed call. A buffet of every emotion available to a human being; expressing her increasing worry for both his mental health and their obviously fragile relationship and begging and pleading for him to call her back. The latter soon transformed into pure despair; sobbing as she confessed her love for him and sorrowfully wondering why she wasn’t ‘enough’ and then cursing and swearing and calling him a coward for ‘running away’ instead of facing their issues.

It isn’t the first time he’s been guilty of the latter; his inability to support his wife through their only child’s illness and his fear of seeing his son suffer and pass away had destroyed both his marriage and his entire life. Infamous for his physical bravery but emotional cowardice, he’d put in the effort to change while with Esme; stepping completely out of his comfort zone and learning to not only be more open and honest about his feelings, but how to eradicate the disgust and shame that always accompanied showing even a flicker of emotion. He no longer wanted to be the guy that ran when the going got tough; instead trying to be the kind of partner that she needed, wanted, and deserved. And with her unwavering support and seemingly infinite patience, he’d begun to turn his life around; beginning with dealing with the mountains of baggage that had been weighing him down for years. Tearing through the layers of both physical and mental trauma and willingly checking into rehab and submitting to therapy; wading through a cesspool of toxic masculinity and anger issues and somehow managing to cut the once ironclad ties to the booze and the pain meds. For the first time since his son died, he’d found himself clean and sober. And genuinely happy. Content within that little bubble of domesticity that he and Esme had created. Both optimistic about their future together.

And then she’d left. Completing what all of the bullets and bloodshed never could. Destroying him completely.

He’s found something constantly tempted to challenge his sobriety; briefly considering ordering a bottle of the most expensive scotch on the menu and spending the rest of the evening and well into the night drinking himself into a stupor. Anything to numb the mental anguish; relieve the heaviness that sits on his chest and threatens to suffocate him. And while under normal circumstances he’d be obsessing over every little detail of a job and repeatedly running through every possible scenario, his brain has settled in a far different place. Not a single shred of the job and the circumstances surrounding it matter; the neatly typed and extremely well organized ‘mission notes’ Nik had slipped under his hotel room door simply tossed aside. Instead, he finds himself obsessed with the events of five years ago; replaying every second, every word, every movement he’d made on that very last day. Looking for any mistake that he could have made something; even something tiny and innocuous that could have sent her running.

And he dwells on the loneliness and the worry and the anger; the emotions that have plagued him and driven him since the day she left. And they accompany him to where he is today. At this very moment. Sitting in the dimly lit lounge at The Continental; ignoring the chattering of the patrons around him as he uses a fork to push the remains of a steak dinner around his plate . And while the establishment’s food is second to none and he has vivid recollections of the meals he’d been served during his handful of stays, he doesn’t recall tasting a single bite. His body and brain both running on auto-pilot; knowing that they needed to function together to silence the grumbling in his stomach and keep his strength.

While never a social butterfly and in no means in the mood for mindless chit-chat or the mere company of a stranger, he’d forced himself to leave his hotel room; the silence deafening and the loneliness almost physically painful. Anxiety had quickly settled in; tightening his shoulders and creating a pounding in his temples and at the base of his skull. Quickly finding it impossible to sit still; feeling as if the four walls were closing in around him and he was going to go crazy if he didn’t escape.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

The pretty little bartender breaks away from her other customers and steps in front of him. Abbie…Addie…something like that. She’s young and vibrant and extremely confident; not above being brazenly flirty and suggestive with her comments. And she’d be attractive enough IF he was even remotely interested. Tall and leggy, with near coal black hair that shimmers under the lights behind the bar; her willowy body on full display in a simple, figure-hugging black dress. Intricate and colourful tattoos cover both arms and piercings decorate her face; a silver hoop that travels through the middle of her bottom lip and a diamond stud that sparkles from its resting place on her left nostril. And she’s been making flirtatious small talk since he arrived; finding the place packed and having to settle for the last seat at the bar.

The corner of his mouth turns up; the beginnings of a smirk. “Believe me, even that’s overcharging for what’s going on in my head.”

“Rough day?”

“More like a rough five years.”

“Sounds ominous. If you’re looking for someone to unload on…”

“Actually, I prefer my bartender and my therapist to be two different people.”

Long past caring whose feathers he ruffles, he’s infamous for being brutal and unapologetically honest. He isn’t looking to impress; he has no interest in impressing women in hopes of filling his bed with a warm body. He’d indulged in too much of that in the past five years; avoiding the booze and the pain meds and instead returning to a less harmful vice. Never sure exactly what he was looking for; whether it be a temporary -and purely physical- cure for the loneliness or something more serious. His heart hadn’t really been invested in either; cold and callous with the women he bedded and never bothered to contact again. Until he’d taken the chance with Delaney; finding a brief glimmer of contentment until she started coming on way too strong. He doesn’t see himself ever settling down with her; taking it as a sign when her mere presence after her first night at his place had only bored and irritated him.

“Not much of a bartender if I’m not pouring drinks, am I? There must be something else I can get you. Ice water can only bring so much enjoyment.”

“I don’t drink. I told you that when I sat down.”

“Everyone needs to unwind. Especially you, by the sounds of it. Seems like you have a lot on your plate. And if a drink helps loosen the lips just a little…”

“I’m an alcoholic.” There’s no way to sugarcoat it. Not that he’s known for his subtlety. He’d learned in rehab that part of fixing your problem was admitting to yourself -and others- that you had one to start with. And if there is anything in his life that he’s proud of, it’s the fact he’s managed to stay sober; proof that the anger and the heartache and loneliness that had followed Esme’s departure hadn’t completely ruined him.

“Putting yourself through some kind of test?” Addie lightly teases. “Takes a strong man to be able to stare his demons in the face like this.”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I. There was no other place to sit.”

She leans back against shelves of booze behind her; arms crossed over her chest as she eyes him in bemusement. “Not much of a social butterfly, are you.”

“Maybe I’m just a certified asshole. Born and raised.”

“Something tells me that’s just a cover. For who you really are. Outside of this crazy fucking world we’re both tied up in. A lot of people are completely different in their personal lives than when they’re here. Maybe it’s a way of protecting themselves; a form of self-perseverance. This kind of life can really drag you down. Even break you. Only choice sometimes is to put up those walls to keep people out.”

“This kind of life doesn’t exactly let you get close to someone. Doesn’t let you have anything normal. Believe me, I tried. And it was an epic fucking disaster.”

“Someone broke your heart.”

“Yeah, just a little.”

“Well if I may be so bold…”

“I’d rather you weren’t.”

“…but it’s definitely her loss.”

He wants to tell her just how wrong she is. That he’d always been one with the most to lose. Esme had brought a much-needed brightness; easily breaking through his tough exterior and shining light on those dark and abandoned recesses deep inside of him. She had reminded him that he was still very much alive and that there was still a lot out there for him to experience; sunsets to marvel over and meals to cook and enjoy together, and the touch and love of someone that adored him. For years he’d been walking around in a state of numbness; caused by immense grief, guilt, and regret and further aided by the booze and the alcohol. And she’d wandered into his life and turned it completely upside down. Peeling away all those protective layers and exposing the long-buried humanity that still existed inside of him.

In the end, he’d lost a hell of a lot. His most loyal confidant and fervent supporter. His best friend and his lover. The sole reason that he’d kept going during those extremely difficult days following Dhaka; the months in the hospital, the long and extremely painful recovery once returning home, and the struggle to get clean and sober and STAY that way. With her, he’d found that he enjoyed being domestic; having someone to take care of and provide for and share his days with. And he thrived on the companionship; the cooking together and the meals shared and the intimacy they’d indulged in. And even the quiet times of just hanging out; at opposite ends of the couch with her feet in his lap as she read a book and busied himself on his laptop. It was comfortable. Normal. An existence he never thought he’d have the chance to lead.

And then just like that, it was all gone.

His head pounds. A mixture of jet lag, hunger, and the million and one thoughts running through it. It’s all so fucking complicated; Esme’s reasonings for both disappearing and keeping Millie a secret for four year years. He wants to believe her; that she left in order to protect him from a brutal and painful demise. But his brain has a hard time accepting that explanation; refusing to believe that she’d managed to get herself mixed up with something THAT dangerous. And in turn, it’s only created a new host of questions he desperately needs and wants answers for.

Addie refills his ice water and leans stomach first against the bar; forearms resting atop the gleaming wood, hands clasped together. “How’d a guy like you end up here, anyway?”

“Same way everyone else ends up here. I kill people. For money.”

“I meant in general. In this business. You just don’t seem the type; that would get their kicks out of brutalizing someone. You’re not like everyone else; walking around here with a huge chip on your shoulder. And you definitely don’t care about what people think about you. I can’t remember the last time someone walked in here in jeans and a t-shirt. If anyone ever has.”

“I’m not here to impress anyone. Or to make friends. I’m here to do a job. And if people don’t like what they see, they can just look away. No skin off my ass.”

She gives a sly smile. “Maybe THEY don’t like what they see, but I know I do.”

He longs to tell her that it’s a lost cause; he isn’t even remotely interested and she’s only wasting her time. It’s been a hell of a day and it isn’t even close to being over with; the impending conversation with Esme sitting heavily upon his shoulders. He’s dreading it; wanting to hear the truth and the apologies but not prepared for all of the emotion -on both sides- that will be involved. In a perfect world, they’d just go back to where they were. Able to simply enjoy the reunion and getting to know one another again; reconnecting AND then rebuilding upon that foundation Dhaka had laid beneath their feet.

Instead, he bites his tongue. “I’m flattered. And forgive me for sounding like a total prick, but you’re barking up the wrong tree here. I’m not interested. I’m not here to get my dick wet. I’m here to do a job. And besides, I learned a long time ago what a huge mistake it is; mixing business with pleasure.”

“For what it’s worth,” She trails a fingernail along the top of his hand; passing over each misshapen knuckle and scar. “I’ve never had a complaint.”

“Listen…” A slow, charming grin spreads across his face as he leans forward; giving the woman a glimmer of hope as his hand comes to rest atop hers. And then his eyes darken; fingers curling around her wrist and his voice becoming deeper and menacing. “...I’m going to have a complaint if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”

She blinks and recoils the vehemence in his tone; lips pursed tightly together as she yanks her hand out from under his. Not giving a brief glance over her shoulder as she retreats to the opposite end of the bar.

Smirking, he raises the ice water to his lips; pausing when a strong yet friendly hand squeezes his shoulder in greeting. And is quickly followed by a familiar voice.

“I see you’re still trying your best to charm the locals. It’s nice to see some things never really do change.”

He takes a swallow of his drink. “I’m just a regular ball of sunshine.”

“Tyler.”

“John.”

Wick gestures to the now empty barstool beside him. “You expecting someone or…?”

“Who wants to hang out with a miserable asshole?”

“Well you know what they say; misery loves company. May I?”

Nodding, Tyler pushes the half-eaten plate of food and the empty glass across the bar, signalling he’s done. Until the afternoon, he hadn’t seen or worked with Wick in years; a high profile -and even more high paying- job that had marked his first -and only- North American gig. From what he’s heard, the man’s been through hell; dragged back and forth into the life through no fault of his own. Dealing with the lingering grief and loneliness following the death of his wife while battling with The High Table; a war that had seen him emerge victorious but with a dozen more scars added to his collection. The stories of Baba Yaga aside, Tyler has always respected the man; a freakishly skilled and enormously successful hitman still grasping desperately to the last remaining shreds of humanity. He’d been relieved when he’d heard Wick had not only been involved in saving Esme and Millie from certain death, but that he’d agreed to stay on board until they were safely out of the country. And offering his further services if Tyler felt he needed them.

Wick offers an appreciative yet tired smile at the bartender that approaches; a glass of bourdon wordlessly placed in front of him. “And another for my friend here. Whatever he’s having. Scotch, right?”

“Ice water. But you’ve got a damn good memory.”

“I’m not usually one for drinking buddies, but I do remember that last job we worked together. When was that? Seven, eight years ago?”

“About that.”

“No one forgets when someone successfully drinks them under the table. Two nights in a row. Always heard the stories about Aussies loving their booze, but…” Taking a swig of bourbon, he winces and lets out a low growl as that first swallow burns going down. “When’d you quit?”

“Almost six years ago.”

“What made you decide to give it up? Liver finally pleading for mercy?”

“Being in a medically induced coma for a couple of months had its hand in things. But I probably would have gotten out of the hospital and gone right back to it though; drank myself to death sooner or later. But honestly, I quit for the same reason you left this life.”

“That’ll do it. You meet that one and…” His voice trails off. The memory of his wife is just as powerful and intense as the day she passed the mere mention of her still bringing about the heartache. It’s a tremendous loss that he’ll never be quite over; destined to live the rest of his life wracked with grief and emptiness.

“Guess we finally have a few more things in common,” Tyler muses. “Job’s not the only thing anymore. Whoever said ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all’ was a dirty ass fucking liar.”

“I don’t know about that. As much as it still hurts, I wouldn’t go back and change things. Even if I went into it knowing how quickly I’d lose her, I’d still give everything up for Helen. Even if I knew how short the time would be, I’d still try my hand at a normal life. I’d still pick her over everything…and everyone…else.”

“That’s all of a lot of a pain to go through.”

“It is. But the life I DID get with her? The good times? I wouldn’t trade those in for anything. And I think once you get a chance to really digest things and think them through, you’ll be saying the same thing about Esme.”

Tyler WANTS to believe that. It’s not as if the feelings no longer exist; he’s remained hopelessly and desperately in love with her throughout the years they’d been apart. Feeling just how strong it actually was when that separation had finally ended; face to face with one another in the midst of all the lingering sorrow and hurt and anger. It’s love and it’s adoration and immense relief; seeing her alive and well, albeit a little banged up. And while he still wants and needs an explanation for both her disappearance and keeping Millie a secret, the anger isn’t quite as potent now. Seeing her had taken a lot of the edge off; peeling away some of the worry and bitterness.

“You’re lucky though,” Wick says. “Esme’s here. Alive and well. Back in your life. And it’s happened for a reason. Me? I lost Helen permanently. There is no second chance for us.”

“What makes you think I’d even want one? After what went down? What…?”

“If you sit here and tell me you don’t still love her and want a life with her, then you’re the dirty fucking liar.”

“She left. It wasn’t the other way around. Just took off while I was doing shit at our new place. That we bought TOGETHER. I came home and she was gone. Never even bothered to tell me she was leaving. No face-to-face chat, no phone call, not even a goddamn text or an email. You know what I got? I got an ‘I’m sorry’ written on a piece of paper, left in the middle of the kitchen table.”

“And what you got NOW is an opportunity. To be with her again. I know it sucked; I know it probably hurt like hell. But she is right here…under the same roof as you…and you’ve got the chance to make things right. To get past all that shit and be with her. You really going to turn your back on that?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Am I supposed to pretend it never happened? That it never went down the way it did? I’m pissed. And it isn’t just bad enough that she left the way she did. I come here and find out I have a kid. That she kept from me. I’ve missed four years of her life. And I can’t get those years back.”

“And no one is saying you don’t have the right to be. Be pissed. Be hurt. But don’t be stupid. Don’t let all that negative shit get in the way of patching things up. And if you don’t do it for yourself or her, do it for your little girl. Because she deserves to know her dad. Have him in her life. Are you really going to walk away from that? A chance to know her and raise her? Yeah, you missed four years. And that fucking stinks. But Tyler, if you play your cards right, you’ve got four decades AT LEAST to fill.”

“Do you know why? Esme left? I know that you guys were…friendly…when she used to live here. That she’s the one who introduced you to your wife. Do you have any idea why she took off?”

Downing the last of the bourbon, he holds aloft the empty glass, signalling for another. “I do. But it’s not my place to tell you. If that were the case, I would have gotten in contact with you five years ago. But it’s not up to me to make things right. Sort shit out between the two of you. It’s her story to tell and it’s up to you to listen to her.”

“I just want to know what’s true and what isn’t. I’m not asking for details. I just need that answered. If what she told is true. The main reason why she left. I spent five years thinking the worst. That either she either left me for someone else…”

“That was NOT it. That’s not even close to what happened.”

“...or that someone came and grabbed her. Kept her for a bit and did all kinds of sick shit to her and THEN killed her. You know what that’s like? Wondering if that’s what happened? For FIVE YEARS What it’s like to think ‘I’d rather she be dead with someone else’. I actually thought that. And it’s fucked me up. For a long time.”

“What has she told you?”

“Something from her past caught up to her. People that she crossed. And that they didn’t give her much of a choice. She had to either do what they said, or they’d come back and fuck shit up. Said she left in order to protect me. That I would have survived.”

“You wouldn’t have. Not many people cross their paths and live to tell about it. I’m not going to sit here and tell you who they were or what they wanted or what Esme did. All of that is up to her. But I will tell you that she did the right thing. For both of you.”

“She couldn’t have at least told me? What was going on? Why she was leaving? Or let me know she was safe?”

“Would that have been enough? Or would you have tracked her down? Attempted to play white knight?”

Sighing, Tyler looks down at his glass; brow furrowed as he absentmindedly swirls the ice around.

“Exactly. You would have gone after her and everything she feared would have come true. She did the right thing, Tyler. As much as it hurts and as angry as you are, she really did have your best interests at heart.”

“And you’d just be able to get over it? If someone did that to you?”

“It would hurt like hell and I’d be pissed, but yeah, I’d be able to get over it. Once I calmed down to actually hear them out, I’d realize they did what they did because they loved me. And that’s exactly why she left. Because she DID love you. She still does.”

“Hard to believe that when she was just engaged to someone else a few days ago.” It had hurt like hell hearing THAT detail during the team meeting; a mixture of jealousy and bitterness and pure and utter rage that continued to gnaw at his stomach. He had the thought of it; another man being given the privilege of holding her and kissing her and making love to her.

“That was nothing but part of the job. She was never going to marry him. As soon as she got what was needed and Nik was ready to make your move, she was going to just grab and take off. Don’t think for one second she actually loved that guy. He was a ‘mark’. Nothing more, nothing less.”

They lapse into silence; nursing their drinks and waving off the bartender when he approaches to offer another round.

“Hell of a thing we got ourselves into,” Wick comments. “Trouble always seems to find us, huh?”

“You know what they say; about how you’re never really free of this life. It follows you. No matter how far you run or where you try to hide. Years could go by and you’re thinking you’re free and clear of it and something comes up. Someone calling in a favour, some asshole looking for revenge. The shit finds you. One way or another.”

“You know I’ve walked away three times now? “And each time I told myself it was the last. That I was retired. And nothing or no one could change that. But…”

“Here you are.”

“Yeah…” Wick scoffs. “...here I am. Heard you quit for a bit. Tried your hand at a regular life. Firefighting, was it?”

“Been doing that full-time for the last couple of years. And I run a little business of my own; home renovations, landscaping, masonry stuff. Got enough going on back home to keep me busy. But like I said, you never really leave the life behind. It’s always got a hold on you. No matter how hard you try to let it go.”

“I think it’s safe to say this is the one time you’re probably okay with trouble showing its face. Esme, the kid…”

“Not what I thought I was walking into, I’ll tell you that much. I went into this totally blind. Nik wasn’t too forthcoming with the info when she called me. Made up some bullshit excuse about not being on a secure line. Just told me a client was pretty insistent on hiring for a job.”

“And now here YOU are.”

Tyler nods. “It’s all been a little…surprising…to say the least.”

“Finding out the client was Esme or the fact you have a kid?”

“Both. Before all of this, her leaving seemed like the worst thing that could have ever happened. Then I found out she kept my daughter from me. I think a secret baby trumps everything else.”

“She had her reasons. Just remember that. Give her a chance. To explain things. Don’t let your pride fuck things up. I know that’s easier said than done sometimes, but…”

His phone vibrates against the top of the bar, signalling an incoming text message. And he’s relieved to find that instead of Delaney ranting and raving about him ‘dropping off the face of the earth’, it’s Esme asking if they can talk after Millie has fallen asleep. Able to leave her in the care and protection of Abeula and Nik and visit him in his room or wherever he feels comfortable meeting. It makes him feel like a teenager again; the excitement and nervousness that comes with knowing you’re going to be totally alone with the prettiest girl in school. And he sends back a quick confirmation and his room number, then once more sets the phone on top of the bar, screen down.

Wick smirks. “I recognize that look. Definitely good news.”

“Could be the START of something good. Guess it depends on how things go. When we talk about everything.”

“Just try and keep the pride and the temper in check. I know it’s a shitty situation; her taking off and flying under the radar for years and keeping your kid from you. But she’s got very legitimate reasons. Understandable ones. Just try to keep an open mind. And ear.”

“This isn’t the way I thought it would go. Honestly, I don’t think I was ever really optimistic. About one day seeing her again. So for it to go down like this? Because of a job? Definitely not what I would have imagined.”

“Isn’t that how you first met? Maybe it’s the pattern. What’s the saying? Things come in threes?”

“Don’t wish that on me. I don’t think I have another job like Dhaka in me. I’m just hoping this one doesn’t go down that same road. Organized crime? Mafia style? I’m a little too old for that shit.”

“Aren’t we both.” Standing, he pulls two gold coins from one of the pockets of his suit jacket and lays them on the bar. “My treat,” he says, and then claps Tyler on the shoulder. “Remember what I said; about going in there with an open mind. She DID have a good reason for doing what she did. And if you feel yourself losing control, think of that little girl. And how many years you’ve got left with her.”

“Open mind. Optimistic. Got ya.”

“It’ll all work out, Tyler. Don’t fuck this up. You’ve got a second chance. And believe me, I’d do anything for even one more day…one more second…with my wife.”

*******

“Momma?”

They sit in the middle of the queen-sized bed; Millie between Esme’s outstretched legs as she gets her hair detangled and then braided before bed. She has her father’s hair. Dirty blond and impossibly thick; wild and unruly with a mind all its own. She can easily recall many mornings when he’d stumble out of bed or wake from a nap; grumpy and in desperate need of coffee, those longer strands on the top of his head sticking up in several different directions. He’d feign annoyance when she’d lovingly tease him about how adorable he was; murmuring about how he was supposed to be ruthless and badass and if word ever got about how this supposed ‘cute side’, it would do serious damage to his reputation.

While she misses every aspect of that simple and quiet life with him in Australia, sometimes it’s the absence of those little moments that are the most heartbreaking. The companionship that accompanied the intense and nearly all-consuming want and need. Dinners prepared together and enjoyed out on the front porch, the affectionate teasing and light-hearted banter that was frequently exchanged, the long, deep conversations that took place in the dead of the night. And those moments of intimacy in its softest and purest form. The way he’d approach her in the kitchen while she made something to eat; a hand on her stomach as he nuzzled that sensitive spot just below her right ear. How -during the harder days when the trauma of Dhaka became too much for her to bear- he’d envelop her in strong powerful arms and hold as tight as her body would tolerate; one palm moving in slow, soothing circles in the middle of her back. She’d always find herself instantly comforted; her anxious and tortured mind put to ease by his familiar smell and the warmth radiating from his body and the way his voice rumbled deep within his chest.

“What’s up, sweet pea?”

“Why do we have to leave? Why can’t we just stay here? In New York.”

“Because it’s safer if we go somewhere else. Away from the bad guys. “

“But we’re safe HERE. With Charon and Grandpa Winston. The bad guys aren’t allowed to come here. So why can’t we just stay? Until the bad guys go away?”

“Because this place has rules. About who can stay here and for how long.”

“Whose rules?”

“The boss’.”

“Grandpa Winston IS the boss. He’s kicking us out?!”

“HIS boss. Who he has to listen to or he’ll get into big trouble and then not be allowed to run this place anymore. Everyone that is in charge of something or someone, has people that are in charge of THEM. That they have to answer to. Grandpa Winston may be the boss, but he also has his own boss.”

“Hmmm…” Millie tilts her head to the side; eyes narrowed as she chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “You know what, mom? I don’t think I EVER want to be an adult. It’s too stressful. I don’t want a boss. I don’t want someone telling me what to do. Especially some man.”

“I tell you what to do.”

“That’s different. I’m just a little kid still. And you’re my momma. Mommas are supposed to tell kids what they can and can’t do. And we’re supposed to listen. I know sometimes I don’t. But I try. I really do. I WANT to be good, just sometimes…”

“You are always good. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You can be a little difficult and challenging sometimes, but you’re never bad. You’re stubborn and high-spirited and…”

“Alessio thought I was bad. He said that I talk too much and make too much noise and that I’m mouthy. He even said I was naughty. Tons of times.”

“He had no idea what he was talking about. You’re four. Not eighty-four. You’re supposed to be loud and rambunctious. You’re learning about the world. How are you supposed to do that without bouncing all over the place and asking all kinds of questions?”

“I didn’t like him very much, you know.”

“Oh, I know. You never wasted a chance to tell me.”

“He wasn’t really going to be my dad, right? You weren’t REALLY going to marry, were you?”

“No. To both.”

“Because he is so not good enough for you.”

Grinning, Esme sprays the last section of hair with detangler and then works the comb through it. “Something tells me you’d say that anyone that got too close.”

“Only if they’re not the right guy for you. And mom, Alession was NOT it.”

“He wasn’t, was he? You sure seem to know a lot about guys and relationships and commitment for someone who won’t even use the same lunch box two years in a row.”

“I just know you deserve better. He wasn’t very nice to you. He bossed you around. Or at least he tried to. You deserve someone that’s going to treat you right. Like the queen you are!”

Esme laughs. “You’ve been watching Oprah with Abeula, haven’t you.”

“And I wouldn’t say that about EVERY guy; that he isn’t good enough for you. Just when he’s not. And he wasn't. He was mean sometimes. He would call you stupid and stuff and then buy you things to make it all better. And he threw out my sandals! My favourite ones!”

“And I was quick to put him in his place about that, wasn’t I? Don’t you EVER worry about that. If someone messes with you, they mess with me. And I WILL go momma bear on their ass.”

“You should have dumped him. There’s a lot of fish in the sea. Really good ones, too. You deserve someone good, mom. Someone that will take care of you. Who won’t look at other girls and call them pretty and stuff. And who won’t throw out of my shoes.”

“No one else will EVER do that again, I promise.”

“You know who seems really nice? Like he’d treat you right? Tyler.”

“You just met him. You talked to him for all of five minutes. And you could tell what kind of guy he is?”

“I mean, he’s here to help with the bad guys. How awful could he be?”

“He’s not awful. At all. Far from it, actually. But you hardly know him and…”

“I know enough. I know he’s big and strong and the bad guys don’t stand a chance against him. And I know his favourite ice cream is mint chocolate chip! Just like me! What more is there to know?”

“A lot of things.” Esme busies herself with the final braid. “But you’ll have a lot of time to get to know him better. While he’s keeping an eye on us.”

“I might annoy him. Alessio always complained I talked too much and asked way too many questions.”

“Something tells me that Tyler will enjoy it. That he won’t mind one bit. He might not say a lot in return, but…”

“How long have you known him?” Stretching her legs out in front of her, she wiggles her toes; giggling as the glow from the bedside lamp causes the glitter in her bright pink nail polish to sparkle. “How long has he been your friend?”

“I’ve known him for a while. Since before you were born.”

“How long before?”

“A year. And a bit.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“Through work. Auntie Nik introduced us. Paired us up on a job together.”

“Was he your boyfriend?”

Esme hesitates. Both a lie and the truth have consequences; a time down the road when Millie will have even more questions. And anger will follow the answers; either furious that her mother had told a fib or that she’d kept her existence a secret and made her lose four years with her father.

“No. He wasn’t.” She feels sick. At both the denial of Tyler’s importance in her life and how easily the words spilled out of her mouth. “Just a friend. And a colleague.”

“If he’s a friend, how come I’ve never met him? I’ve met all your other friends. Auntie Nik and Uncle Yaz and Uncle John. And there’s Grandpa Winston and Charon! But I never met Tyler. How come?”

“Tyler lives far away.”

“How far away?”

“Thousands of miles.”

“Like in California?! Where all the movie stars are?!”

“No,” Esme laughs. “More like Australia. Which is an entirely different country.”

“I know where Australia is! It’s across the ocean. Right in the middle of it. It’s a big island. It’s where the kangaroos and koalas live. Does he get to see them a lot?! I bet he gets to see tons of kangas and koalas. He’s so lucky! I wish I could see them. Maybe we can go and visit! Maybe he’ll invite us. Do you think he will? Now that we’re besties?”

“I think if you were to tell him you’d love to go to Australia, he’d be more than happy to take you there. But you might not have to say ANYTHING. Or even wait that long to go. It might be where we end up. While Tyler is taking care of us.”

Giving an excited shriek, Millie claps her hands together and bounces up and down on her bum, then swivels around to look at her mom. “We’re going to his house?! In Australia?!”

“I didn’t say we were going there for sure. But…”

“We get to fly on a big airplane?! We get to see kangaroos and koalas?! Where does he live? Does he have a house? With a backyard I can play in? Maybe he has a pool! That way I can get a new bathing suit and we can go swimming and…”

“Whoa…whoa….” Laughing, she gathers Millie in her arms and settles her in her lap; the four-year-old giggling when her mom showers her cheeks with noisy kisses. “...I never said we were going for sure. Just that we MIGHT be. It’s on the list. Of places that Tyler could take us to and keep us safe and sound.”

“I want to go there! To Australia! To Tyler’s house! Can you tell him that, momma? Can you tell him I want to go there? That it would make me really, really, REALLY happy?”

“I can put in a good word, but I can’t promise anything. There are a lot of things we need to think about. When it comes to where we end up. Everyone just wants us to be safe. Keep the bad guys away. So there’s a lot of stuff that needs to be considered.”

“We’d be safe there! In Australia. At Tyler’s place. The bad guys would NEVER come there. He’s too big and too strong and I bet they’re really scared of him. I bet he makes them poo their pants! He doesn’t scare me though. I’m not afraid of him. Even if he is a giant!”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not afraid of him. Because there’s no absolutely no reason. He would never…EVER…do anything to hurt you. To hurt EITHER of us.”

“He just hurts bad people? ‘Cause they deserve it?”

“He hurts bad people in order to protect good people. He doesn’t want to hurt them, but sometimes he doesn’t have much of a choice. Because if he doesn’t do something first, they’ll hurt him. Or worse.”

“They might kill him?”

“They might. But he’s tough and he’s resilient and believe me, IF he gets knocked down? He always gets back up. It makes me happy that you’re not scared of him. I know he’s really big and he can look really serious and mean, but he’s not. He’s a really good guy.”

“Momma…” She tilts her head backwards, eyes narrowed. “...are you SURE Tyler wasn’t your boyfriend?”

“That’s twice you’ve talked about that. What makes you think he was my boyfriend?”

“Just the way your voice sounds when you talk about him. Every time you say his name, you sound weird. Not in a bad way. Just a different way. And I saw the way you were looking at him earlier. When I came back from swimming. Your eyes were all sparkly and stuff. You know how in cartoons when a girl likes a boy, they get stars in their eyes? That’s what you looked like.”

“I think you’re imagining things.”

“You know what I think? I think you have a crush on Tyler. That maybe he wasn’t your boyfriend, but you wanted him to be. And you still do!”

“Amelia…”

“Mommy…”

“You are imagining things. Tyler was my friend. He still is. Nothing more, nothing less. And he’s here to help us, not form a love connection. He’s being paid. To take care of us. To make sure that the bad guys don’t try anything. There is definitely no romance on the horizon.”

“But there COULD be. If you let it happen. You just gotta tell him. That you have a crush on him. I bet if you tell him…”

“No one is telling anyone ANYTHING. Because it’s not true. There are no crushes.”

“I’m not buying it. I can tell. That you like him. And I think he likes you too. Someone has to make the first move, momma. Why can’t it be you?”

“There are no moves to be made, my sweet baby girl.”

“If you don’t tell him, I will! When we go on our ice cream date. I’ll tell him you have a big, fat crush on him! That you think he’s cute and that you like his big muscles and want to kiss him lots and lots and…” She shrieks when she feels her mother’s fingertips lightly dig into the sensitive area under her ribs; dissolving into laughter when she’s tickled mercilessly. Until she’s kicking and squirming and breathlessly pleading for Esme to stop.

“You… little miss…” The tip of her nose nuzzles each of her daughter’s cheeks. “...will do no such thing. Mind your own business, got it? Little girls do not need to meddle Come on….” She drops a kiss on the top of Millie’s head as she yawns. “...lights out time. It’s been a long, busy day for you. Four-year-old bodies can only take so much.”

“Can I stay in here tonight?” Millie hopefully inquires, remaining in the middle of the sea of blankets and sheets as her mother slides off the bed and begins tidying up. “Please? I promise I won’t hog the bed.”

“I still don’t understand how someone so small takes up so much room. What’s wrong with your bed? I thought you liked having all kinds of space to yourself?”

“I do. But sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I don’t remember ever being here and I get scared ‘cause I don’t see any of my stuff. And then I get even more scared because I worry I won’t be able to see YOU either. And that makes me really sad.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to see me?”

“What if you’re not here? What if you left? ‘Cause the bad guys came? What…?”

“Millie…” Approaching the bed, she takes the little one’s face in her hands and tilts her head up to look at her. “...I would never…EVER…leave you. There is not anyone in this world that’s bad enough to make me ever do something like that.”

“What if they took you? What if they took you away? I wouldn’t be able to find you. Not by myself.”

“Nothing like that is ever going to happen. Not a chance. I promise you that…”

“There’s always a chance. Always. What if it happens, momma? What if someone takes you away?”

“IF something like that happened, there’d be a lot of people looking for me. Auntie Nik, Uncle John, Uncle Yaz. So many people.”

“I’d get Tyler to help. Because he’s big and strong and the bad guys would be really scared of him. He’d be able to find you. And rescue you. I know he would.”

“I know he would too. If there’s anyone in this world that could do the impossible, it’s him. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.” (

She thinks of Dhaka. Those initial five days and the carnage on the bridge. Of the smell of spilled gasoline, gunpowder and blood and moans and shrieks and wails of dying men. Of the feel of Tyler’s pulse when she put two fingers inside the bullet hole in the side of his neck; tears streaming down dirty, bruised cheeks as she desperately fought to keep him alive. And that long battle afterwards; the months by his bedside and all of the horrible prognosis’ and the incessant arguing with doctors in order to secure him the care that he deserved. Somehow, he had pulled through all of that; one foot firmly planted firmly over the threshold of death the entire time.)

“Promise me you won’t leave?” Mille whimpers. “Even if the bad guys come? Promise you won’t leave without me?”

“I would never go ANYWHERE without you, Amelia.” She uses the pads of her thumbs to clear away her daughter’s wayward tears. “We’re a team. A package deal. Where I go, you go. And nothing or no one can change that.”

“Ever?”

“Ever. And I know it was scary. What happened the other night. You saw and heard things you never should have had to. And I’m sorry. That you had to go through that. And I’d go back and change so many things if I could.”

“It’s not your fault, momma. That the bad guys showed up.”

“It may have been. Just a little. And I am so sorry, Millie. That I may have done things that ended up hurting you. I love you so much. More than you’ll ever know. And I would never…ever…hurt you.”

“I know you wouldn’t. ‘Cause I’m your baby.”

“You are. And you always will be.”

“Can I? Stay in here tonight? I just want to be close to you, that’s all. I feel better when I am.”

“I’d never say no to my favourite snuggle buddy. Do you want to cuddle for a bit? Until you’re almost asleep?”

With a nod and a sniffle, Millie slides over in order to give her mother access to the bed; Esme stretching out beside her and wrapping both arms around the four-year-old’s body. Her chin resting on her daughter’s head; eyes closed as the fingertips of one hand draw slow, methodical patterns on the little one’s back. Finding herself relaxed in the warmth of Millie’s body and the familiar scent that clings to her hair; the same milk, coconut, and honey shampoo that she herself has been using for years.

The one Tyler had claimed to love so much; that smell being one of the things that somehow managed to comfort him during those difficult and painful days in the hospital and then on the long road to healing. Her chest and throat both tighten as she thinks of him. Of those long and painful seconds on the bridge; the pure terror that filled every inch of her body as she watched him teeter so close to death. Those months at his bedside; stroking his hair and holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement and strength and hope in his ear. And all of the pleading she did during her lowest moments; urging him to keep fighting and to give her some kind of sign that he could hear her and knew that she was there.

Begging him to find a way…no matter what it took…to let her know that everything would be okay.

[strcngergirls]

the way the duffel bags don’t expand on the grief of the characters is mind boggling to me & part of the reason i personally love delving into the way the characters change and evolve through trauma in threads

plus this is only the canon characters & the ones that we actually know flat out what happened to them, but i’ll make one for the more oc-canon girls i have eventually

Joyce

Joyce was told her son was dead. Her baby boy. She was gaslit into believing they’d found his body and that she was just crazy for not wanting to accept his death. Even when he came back, like that shit doesn’t just POOf disappear the second she finds out her son isn’t actually dead. ESPECIALLY when instead of dead he’s trapped in a different dimension with monsters trying to kill him??? And she can’t do shit?? AND people are calling her crazy? That kind of grief sticks with you even if you’re lucky enough to get them back. And Will isn’t the same after all he’s seen and experiences so in a way she did lose her son. 

And obviously seeing Jonathan upset affected her too. After everything happened with Will, Joyce finally realized how much pressure and responsibility she placed on her teenage son (which i could go into deeper another time lmao) and she became more protective over both boys once she realized how infinitesimally close she was to losing them. 

NOT TO MENTION SHE LOST BOB TOO. She was finally branching out to find love again after Lonnie and making sure the kids were taken care of and then he’s killed and she adds that to her list of losses. AND THEN when she thinks Hop dies, it’s just another additional blow. The only inkling we get to her struggle is in s4 when she says “I don’t want another funeral” to Hopper 

Nancy

In season one Nancy was fifteen/sixteen. Her brother’s best friend and her hometown was dealing with a tragic death to begin with. Then she lost her best friend and boyfriend in a short span of time. Yes she broke up with Steve, but it was only because she was a teenager who was being forced to deal with trauma that no adult could’ve handled. Her best friend died and she blamed it on herself, along with Steve’s attempt to guilt her into admitting she loved him that’s heavy shit for a teenage girl to go through. ESPECIALLY when there’s a lack of support from the family and/or the community. She felt like it was her against the world and it kinda was. The only person who believed her and took her seriously was Jonathan and that’s part of the reason she felt so drawn to him. A reoccurring theme with Nance is she just wants to be taken seriously and doesn’t want to be looked down upon for her age, sex, background, etc

Susan

Susan lost two husbands, a stepson, and almost lost her daughter too. Her first husband and father of her child just up and left, moved to San Diego and left a young Sue trying to figure out what she did wrong. And then after Billy dies in what she thinks to just be an accident, and Neil leaves her, she’d stuck in debt and alone. She primarily seeks out self-worth in other people which is why she’s rarely single and each time she’s abandoned she cracks more and more. She self medicates with alcohol and busies her mind with work so that she doesn’t have to face her reality of what she considers to be a failure of a life. After nearly losing Max, she’s forced to face that trauma head on or lose the last thing she cares for in the world. But she’s portrayed as a mindless and neglectful mother (which to an extent she def is) but there are layer and layers of trauma there, its not just black and white, good and bad 

Max

The only character they really touched on the trauma with was Max, but even then they barely grazed the surface. Not only did she watch Billy die in front of her in such a gruesome and traumatic way, but he died protecting her and her friends. The brother that she was pretty sure hated her guts died to save her and she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. She wasn’t allowed to properly grieve and mourn not only her brother but the versions of herself that she lost after each traumatic event. Yes, they kinda touched on it as a plot point for vecna to get a hold of her but that shits real heavy PTSD especially for a middle school girl and I don’t think they dove in as deeply as they could’ve.

Conclusion

That being said I knowwww it’s a show and there’s only so much they can show of certain characters while maintaining a cohesive plot line and not veering too off path but i think the way they ignored the trauma that all the characters went through is just… batshit to me. Will & Max are the only ones who really show the effects of their trauma in the show but even then it’s minimized for entertainment. END TWEET

[div1nity]

a smile graces her lips , soft around edges as a warm light seems to spark behind blue hues as they traced around the other's features ; the sharpness of his cheeks , the shadow of his stubble that peppered across his jaw , the rich brown that seemed to match the the booze that he drinks , bringing the same layer of comfort that came from a shot of his regular order - he's come a long , long way from when they first met - his growth , being around to witness him pull himself together , to have the strength to lift himself from the ground &. see that the world wasn't just bad , that light existed along the dark , has certainly been a privilege ; something she'll be thinking about for the rest of her life .

the more jarod &. her began to connect , in ways that were certainly unprofessional on her part , she knew he was one of the good ones , he had done horrible things ; who hasn't ? he was another example of trauma taking control ; of grief warping someone's sense of self , sending them into autopilot . it didn't make him bad , it made him human , so painfully , wonderfully human . it put on display how much he truly cared , how deeply he loved &. so fiercely loyal . humans were both the most strongest &. fragile things on earth , coraline thinks those two words describe him perfectly .

cause of you . oh. then, i met you .

❛ oh ❜

there's a slight widen in eyes , unable to stop herself from staring ; waiting for the punchline that must be on the tip of his tongue , yet … nothing , the sincerity of the confession that had her breath hitching , the conviction paired with the truth that lingered behind his eyes .

a pale dust of pink quickly forms , starting from the bridge of freckled nose all the way to her matching cheeks . she hates how she can feel the heat radiating from her , how the room seemed to grow hotter with the emotions that bubbled in chest ; she's embarrassed , bewildered , nervous - all while a burst of happiness seems to explode from inside out . she isn't sure why it sparks something to life that was buried deep inside her chest , but it did &. she'd be more than happy for it to go back to sleep .

she fails to see the hand that reaches for her , palm that was once on the floor was brought back towards herself , it wasn't intentional , a quick action born of emotions that seemed to overtake her . instead , opting to fiddle with the plastic dinosaur she had picked up in idle while they spoke ; an ankylosaurus , one of her favourites . she moves the tail side to side , pad of thump tracing the bolder at the end .

the notion of helping people … it was still somewhat new to her . she had grown up a lot , but there was still much self nurturing that was needed ; parts she wasn't at all ready for , pieces of herself to put out there that she didn't even want to acknowledge in herself yet . however she did her best to put good out in the world in what little ways she can ; mostly through her work , being there for others when they allow her ( when she could allow herself to push that little bit further ) , small day to day actions when the dark cloud was easier to navigate . doing the small things to stay in tuned with her humanity , with a soul she knows she has that was perhaps was a little darker than most ; with people , it was crucial that she did . but she never thought she was capable of doing what jarod was now claiming .

❛ i … hope you know , that … wasn't me ❜ heart beats wildly in chest , she feels it in her ears ; voice uncharacteristically low , the confidence melting away as she fought against speaking too loud , to avoid shouting over the ocean of blood that was making itself known between eyes ❛ it was you . if even the smallest piece of you didn't want to … open up , or - feel like that again - you wouldn't have ❜ she's finding it hard to keep her focus on jarod , he seems too bright - near blinding ❛ you might have needed me to kick you in the arse a little ... ❜ a small chuckle , an handful of curls falling in front of face as head dips down for a moment ❛ but … this ? it's all you , tiger ❜ and it's one of the reasons why she's developed some subconscious habits involving him ; how she looks at him the way she does , the way she lingers when they're around each other , how her mind drifts to him , searching for him even when she knows he's nowhere near ; somehow , coraline remains blissfully unaware of the things that make her feel so intertwined with him .

▸   @bornchaos​   ⟶   ❛  that doesn’t mean that everything that follows is going to break your heart. / SLITTING MY WRIST LONG WAYS  ❜   ╱   (  if daryl dies, we riot , accepting .  )

Jarod peers down at the stuffed dinosaur in his hands while Cora speaks.  Some days, its serene, smiling face feels like a sick joke, and other times, it comforts him with a reminder of simpler times, an eon ago.  He gives the toy’s belly a little squeeze as he contemplates telling Cora that he can’t afford to lose anything else, that she may have a point, but he still can’t risk it.  He has spent so long hanging by a thread, thin and frayed, and he doubts he can survive another tragedy.

But when he opens his mouth, what slips from him instead is, “I know.”  He doesn’t entirely know, and it still terrifies him to think that something may happen to Cora.  It is almost impossible to stave off that nagging voice that says shit will go sideways soon.  But he has something he has not had since he was watching rescue teams digging people out of the wreckage of the collapse—he has hope.

He looks up at her and smiles, then reaches for her hand.  “’Cause of you.  I mean—I didn’t really think anything was gonna break my heart.  I didn’t think I could feel any different…  Not any worse, definitely not any better.  Then, I met you.”

[imagining-in-the-margins]

The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 5)

Summary: Spencer wonders if her lips could really make him better somehow. A/N: YEE BUDDY, THINGS ARE HAPPENING. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Alcohol, scars, canon-consistent trauma, kissing, heavy petting   Word Count: 6.6k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

——————————————————

It was one of those days. The kind where the rain against the window was more anxiety-inducing than comforting. A day of wet socks in scuffed shoes and a heartbeat only kept alert by the sixth cup of coffee.

I was having a bad day, and I didn’t understand how. By all means, it should have been impossible to be this sullen when I wasn’t alone.

A small flower was perched in her usual spot in my office, reading and marking through rough drafts until they were covered in more red than black. She’d moved out of my immediate line of sight in favor of the harsh beating of soft droplets against the old, mossed-over windowpane.

It wasn’t until there was a particularly bright bolt, an equalizing charge tearing through the sky, that I realized she was watching me stare at her instead of the storm outside.

“Is everything okay?”

“Hm?” I asked, finally breaking myself from her spell and returning my attention to the papers in front of me, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You’re usually… More smiley.”

The question itself seemed to lift my spirits from their prone position.

“Am I?” I teased, trying to trick her by adding a tilt to my timbre, but it failed. Though it produced a smile, it remained a cautious one. 


“Around me, yeah, you are,” she said.

“You’re a cocky little thing. Have I ever told you that?”

“But I’m right,” she giggled, and I couldn’t even bother to correct her. I couldn’t fight it, even if it meant sacrificing a bit of my dignity. I would have given her so much more than that.

Still, she seemed let down by my lack of argument. She’d told me herself that she loved our spirited debates on things like the best flavor of frozen ice and whether Tuesdays or Thursdays were more frustrating. And just as she had failed to realize that those two days would never be anything but brilliant to me, knowing that I would see her, she failed to understand why I failed to fight. That I was trying to protect both her and me from the terrors peeking their heads out every time I closed my eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, and both of our smiles fell, hung down with feelings that we kept locked away behind tight lips.

“No. I’m alright,” I promised, knowing she wouldn’t believe me, “But thank you. You are, as always, very sweet.”

“Okay,” she sighed with resignation before she stood from the chair. I put my pen down, turning my attention to her once she assumed the power pose that she’d been working so hard on. She noticed my watching, the playfulness appearing in my eyes and my tongue caught between my teeth.

She didn’t let it intimidate or dissuade her from commanding, “Lose the jacket.”

“Excuse me?” I laughed, because there was really no other reasonable reply.

At least, I thought there wasn’t. (Y/n) clearly disagreed. With hurried hands, she waved them like a bird’s wings over my shoulders. She cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes with something that actually resembled confidence so closely, I felt compelled to follow.

I did continue laughing the whole time, though.

“I feel like I should be nervous you’re asking me to strip.”

“Nothing nefarious is going on, don’t worry,” she mumbled, albeit with puffed cheeks and eyes nervously trying not to focus on my movements as I shed one of my layers.  

When I was in a state of undress apparently conducive to her plans, she gave me a curt nod as if to instruct me to take my seat again. At the same time that I returned to my position, she stepped behind me.

My body tensed on instinct when her hands ghosted over my shoulders. They were waiting for the pain, for the hardness and the sharpness of nails and anger.

But none of the above were found. Her fingers worked slowly, gently finding the lines of tight muscles and smoothing the pads of her fingers along them like a musician might treat worn strings. It took them time, but they eventually realized that they were safe in her hands.

I realized that she wasn’t going to hurt me, and my shoulders collapsed with relief that also expelled from my lips with a deep rumbling moan.

“This is evil,” I cried, and I heard the nervousness in her giggle.

She didn’t stop, though, her ministrations becoming more spirited now that she knew I was enjoying myself. If she heard the guilt in my whining, she wrote it off as my typical self-hatred. My normal belief that I did not deserve anything she offered in honey covered hands.

But as I let my head fall back, I stared up at her and saw the way she smiled. A slight, focused look on her eyes that also happened to be far away. Far, but in a paradoxical sense.

The further away from me she went, the closer I felt her become.

“You’re going to make me reveal all my secrets if you do things like this,” I whispered, unsure if I was talking about the massage or the way she had somehow entered my thoughts.

“Duly noted,” she whispered, a distinct mirroring of one of my favorite phrases. It, like everything else, sounded sweeter on her lips.

I started to shift before I remembered that she couldn’t actually read my mind. Her hands popped up; palms spread in surrender. I couldn’t help but laugh as I reached up to them, placing them back on my shoulders as both a reassurance and a plea for her to continue, which she did.

However, her movements faltered again almost immediately when she realized what I was doing. I hadn’t moved much; just a few clumsy, rushed tugs until I finally loosened my tie to the point where I could slide it off.

But I knew it probably meant more to her, because it meant more to me, too. It was the first time I’d shed the austere costume of authority around her. The first time I made a point to level our playing fields even just a little bit. I couldn’t shake the fifteen years between us, and I couldn’t take back the parts of myself I’d given to others.

I could take off my tie, though.

I placed the fabric on the desk, noticing how much heavier it felt when I viewed it as one of the many barriers that I’d asserted to protect myself. I should have asked myself why I took it off, why it meant so much to me, but I didn’t.

Instead, I took a sledgehammer to those walls for a second time, chasing the adrenaline rush of exposing more of my more human side to her. I unbuttoned the cuffs of my shirt with shaking hands, pushing the sleeves up as far as I could.

I was so much braver when her hands were on me. It was like I could actually feel the way she felt for me, an unbelievable and undeserved level of respect, patience, and kindness that I would never feel I deserved.

But for the moment I would drink from her, soak in the ambrosia with greedy lips until I was drunk on her. I would consume that praise in excess until it made me sick. I would let her worship me like a God, not daring to correct her for just a few moments longer.

But I also knew that a few would never be enough. My poor, pitiful Hebe, too young to understand what power she held in her hands.

“I-Is this okay?” she stuttered, causing my heart to stop with the sound.

“You continue to be wonderful in every sense of the word,” I answered with a troubled sigh. Because it really was unfortunate how extraordinary she continued to be.  

“I’m scared I’m going to hurt you.”

The thought made me laugh.

“Trust me, Bunny,” I said through the sound, “I am not fragile.”

“I’m not so sure about that…”

She didn’t expound any further. But while her words became less spirited and timid, her hands became the opposite. They slid up my shoulders and around my neck.

I knew she could feel my pulse against her thumb, but she seemed too distracted to count just how quick it was beating. Her fingers had caught wind of something else, a thick abnormality that didn’t follow any veins.

“You can look,” I announced when I noticed how she lingered.

“What is it?”

“Just look.”

Thankfully, she kept her hands on me, falling back to my shoulders as she brought her face closer. I couldn’t look at her, though. No matter how badly I wanted to. I couldn’t let her see the apathy in my eyes as she inspected the trauma sewn into my skin.

“I was shot. This was the second, although more irritating of the two,” I tried to joke, but I heard the horror as her voice broke through the tense air.

“Oh, god,” she whispered, pulling her hand back like the hardened tissue had burned her, “I’m so sorry. That must have been scary.”

“I don’t really remember it. Besides, clearly, I was fine.”

“Still…”

Again, her voice disappeared. The sentence trailed away from her and carried with it the implication that I was wrong to think that I had walked away from the encounter with nothing but excess tissue to remind myself of it.

I wasn’t ready to follow nor accept that line of thinking.

“I have many more scars than that one,” I offered, instead.

With it, I held out my arm, exposing the more recent of my scars. A small, self-inflicted mark that reminded me of my ability to survive even the most suffocating of places. She looked away from that one quickly, searching for anything else to focus on rather than the jagged lines that indicated the stubborn prison-acquired infection that had followed the original wound.

My palm held her attention longer. So long, in fact, she stopped what she was doing to gain a better look. Dragging her fingers along my arm, she eventually ended at my hand, which she cautiously took in both of her own.

“And those are just the ones I can show you in my current state of undress,” I muttered. It was meant to be a joke, I’d thought, but it came out flat and broken.

I blamed her hands. There was no other explanation for why I couldn’t focus. She was inspecting the rough, puckered skin, and I wondered what she must have thought it was from. For a brief second, I didn’t see it as a reminder of the time I fought every ounce of self-preservation to protect someone else.

I’d fought so hard to take that part of my body back, but in that moment, when her thumb followed the line that cut my love line in half, I only felt broken. I felt like a failure.

How could I touch her, then? How could I let her touch me like this?

Before I could take back the evidence of my failure, my thoughts were disrupted with a quiet, timid little giggle from the girl still staring at my hand like there was anything good, anything worth seeing.

“Something funny?”

“It’s just… You told me that you weren’t fragile,” she explained, softly and filled with a surprising amount of admiration, “but now you’re showing me how many times something broke you.”

She laughed, but it was a horrible, heartbreaking sound. The strain was felt in my own throat, my eyes glassing over just as hers had.

When I moved, she jumped. She didn’t let go of my hand, though — she held it tighter. She pulled it closer, and I didn’t object, because it had always been in my plan to be closer to her. I slid the scar tissue over the unmarred skin of her neck, trying to lose myself in the warmth and fluttering feeling of her pulse, rather than the thoughts that threatened to ruin the moment.

I cradled her cheek in my hand, my lungs ceasing all function as I felt the slight, almost indiscernible weight of her head as she leaned into it. I stared into her eyes, always so full of compassion that they threatened to spill over at the slightest inconvenience to herself or anyone else.

“I’m still here,” I said, unsure of which one of us I was trying to reassure. But then her laughter chimed through the room, echoing with the rumbling of thunder in the distance, and it didn’t matter anymore.

“Yeah, you are,” she mumbled through a pout. Just as I thought to myself all of the things that I would sacrifice to feel those lips against me, she moved. Turning slowly, she brushed soft lips that were still laughing over rough skin. Carefully, she held my palm against her at the same time she moved forward, pressing a chaste kiss against the permanently broken love line.

She lingered, too, long enough for me to feel the next words spoken against the same, flushed and tingling skin.

“I’m really glad about that,” she said.  

“Me too,” I replied, failing to mention that it had been fully true for the first time.

In fact, I said nothing else. I didn’t trust myself to. I suppressed my thoughts with deep, uneven breaths that still didn’t feel like enough. I closed my eyes when she dropped our hands, choosing instead to remain in a world where I could intimately feel the steady flow of her breath.

“You should go home,” she giggled, happier now than before, “You look beat.”

With a feigned pain, I croaked, “You wound my pride, Bunny.”

“Yeah? You better get out of here, then. I can go all night.”

The both of us paused immediately after the words had been said. They hung between us, and I watched as the horror spread over each of her features. She tried to hide them behind her hands, but I could see straight through her.

“I bet you can.”

“Don’t tease me!” she squeaked, which only made me want to do it even more.

“I meant nothing nefarious, don’t worry,” I cooed before deciding she had done more than enough to deserve some mercy. But when the words came, I noticed yet another shift in her body language that drew me further into her web.

“I’m familiar with your type and intentions,” I’d said.

I never expected it to light a fire behind her eyes, and I couldn’t have predicted the way it was immediately snuffed out, either. Her shoulders rose just to fall, and the rest of the time she spent gathering her things was uncharacteristically downtrodden.

I didn’t want her to leave, either, but this seemed like a different emotion than a general disappointment.

“Do you need a ride?”

“No, I drove. Thanks, though,” she sighed.

It really felt like she was running away from me as quickly as she could. My eyes were following after her like a lost puppy who’d caught sight of something he wanted. I was desperately tracking each of her movements to understand what I’d said wrong.

But then she spun on her heels, somehow perking herself up like a morning glory at sunrise. Despite the storm raging outside, she pulled her hands tight to her chest and pointed at me with silly little finger guns.

“Hey! I’ll see you at the faculty party, right?”

“You’re actually going?” I chuckled, but her raised eyebrows and persistent pout answered me before she had the chance.

“Of course. I’ve never been able to go to one before,” she said as she continued to conduct a mysteriously absent symphony, “The first time is always exciting, right?”

I watched the second sexual innuendo in a matter of seconds dawn on her but said nothing. The smirk I wore and the petrified look in her eyes spoke enough for the both of us.

“That it is,” I agreed with a small nod of surrender, “I’ll see you there, Bunny.”

“Until then, Professor,” she casually called before she left the room and took half of my heart with her.

As soon as the door closed, the frigid darkness shrouded the room despite the switch remaining untouched. The incandescent bulbs worked as hard as they could, but the heaviness of the thoughts in my head were overwhelming. They had tried to make their way through my throat, but I hadn’t allowed them. Now they were seeping from every pore of my skin and dripping from eyes that were really too tired to be crying.

I didn’t even know why I was crying. I had an inkling of what I was feeling when she touched me, but she’d just left and taken the answer with her.

Maybe that was why I needed her so badly. Maybe it was the way she pulled the answers so effortlessly from my heart. Maybe she knew everything, and I was being stubborn. I was being selfish and stupid, fighting the way it felt when her lips pressed against my palm.

She hadn’t been nervous at all. She’d kissed the hardened tissue without an ounce of disgust or derision. She’d done it the same way I dreamed of my mother doing for me every time I sat at the edge of her bed with eyes practically taped open, praying that she would wake up and be someone I recognized. It wouldn’t have been the same for her to kiss my bruises, anyway, I had reminded myself every time. Healing kisses only work when the lips are not also a product of the person whose hands had hit you in the first place.

But (y/n) had never touched me with anything resembling badness. She only knew to grow, to heal, to inspire. I knew she felt things, too, for she was just a person at the end of the day.

But she was a good person.

The kind of person that really ought to stay the fuck away from someone like me.

——————————————————

Despite the chill in the air outside, the decorated conference area was plenty warm. Although it seemed impossible, the normally too-bright lights seemed duller. They set an ambiance to the lively room of my peers that also didn’t seem quite right. I wrote it off as a product of my mind, rather than an actual reflection of anyone’s spirits.

After all, they all looked like they were enjoying themselves. In a way, I supposed I was, too. It was just difficult, to stand beside these people I’d been trained to see purely as authority figures and believe that I was meant to be there.

I felt like a fraud.

“First time not quite living up to expectations?”

The sound and feel of Spencer’s question on my ear shook me from my trance. I sat straight up, only narrowly avoiding colliding into him. But he’d expected me to respond that way and was already in the process of taking the seat next to me before I answered.

“I guess you could say that,” I laughed to mask the nervousness.

His response, or lack thereof, indicated to me that he was either expecting something other than the honest truth, or he didn’t believe I was saying what I actually wanted to answer. Either way, I wasn’t ready to be profiled by someone as talented as him.

Especially not when I was already three glasses of wine deep and he seemed to be drinking some kind of soda. We sat together in the silence that was still preferable to dillydallying with my superiors.

Well, my other superiors, I reminded myself. Because that term also applied to him. Him, and the woman who I’d been unintentionally eyeing.

It was hard not to spot my other professor in a crowd. Even if it weren’t for her truly uncanny beauty, there was something about her presence that demanded the attention of everyone in the room.

Spencer was no exception. He’d followed my eyes the moment he noticed they weren’t turning to him like they usually did, and I watched from my peripherals at how they wandered over her the same way he often looked at me.

“How was your meeting with Professor Hawkin?” I asked, hating myself for how small and petty I sounded. The jealousy seeped through my words, but I wanted him to look at me so badly.

He did.

“Candy?” he asked with a wrinkled nose, chuckling at the notion of calling her anything else. But then he must’ve seen the frustrated pout that quickly formed over my features, because he quickly added on, in a low, slow drawl, “Why, are you jealous?”

“Tch,” I scoffed, or at least tried to. But the sound I made was more like a sigh, and I knew I had already been defeated before the battle had even begun.

“How could I not be?” I admitted so he wouldn’t call me out for it, “I mean... she’s pretty. Established. Smart.”

Spencer snapped his fingers together just outside of my ear, chuckling as my attention followed immediately. I wordlessly thanked whatever gods were responsible that he hadn’t actually touched me. I wasn’t sure I would have survived his hand cradling my face again.

“You are also all of those things,” he said like a chastisement.

What followed, however, was anything but— it was carefully affectionate and dangerously full of desire. His eyes dropped, tracing the lines of my body slowly before he meant my eyes again.

“The first now more than usual, although it is difficult to imagine you any other way.”

With a nervous laugh and cheeks that felt scalded by rushing blood, I quickly and sarcastically replied, “Thanks.”

I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t want to get into the depths of my insecurity nor the ever-running undercurrent of affection I felt for the man. I was already mortified that he knew as much as he undoubtedly did; he didn’t need any more ammunition to shatter my heart.

Shifting in my seat, I leaned forward to rest a hot cheek against the palm of my hand. The other brought my drink to my lips, only for me to take a sip so small it was equally embarrassing as having not drank anything at all.

“Is it just me, or do you ever feel super out of place at things like this?” I asked.

“It’s definitely not just you,” he answered with an astounding amount of honesty, “It might just be the two of us, though.”

It was genuine enough that I found the courage to down the rest of the contents of my glass. But no matter how much pretentious wine I’d drank in my life, I still couldn’t hide the visceral reaction to the dryness. A slight chill ran through me, and I watched the way Spencer tried not to laugh about it.

“I still feel weird drinking in front of other adults. Is that weird?” I whispered before he had a chance to mock me for it.

“A little bit. Why is it weird?”

It was a question I’d thought about, anticipated even, but never had the chance to figure out. If I’d looked at him, maybe the look in his eyes or the quirk of his lips might have given me a hint. But the barely empty glass seemed less intimidating than him, so I watched as the few droplets dragged slowly with each turn of my wrist.

“Hmmm. I guess it’s because… I don’t know. I grew up hearing all these stories about wild, raging parties and chaos. But I never really did any of that.”

“Yeah, you don’t really strike me as a bad girl.”

“Oh, trust me. I can be bad,” I defended, but this time it was his turn to avoid my eyes. He didn’t need to speak for me to read his mind. The highly arched brows and tight-lipped smile told me that he was not convinced.

“I can!” I shouted again, enjoying how it elicited a giggle from the both of us. “Just… not like that.”

“Hey, there is nothing wrong with being a good girl,” he said with a bit of a slur to his words. Once I was able to reroute my brain from the horribly distant line of fantasies that quickly erupted from his use of the phrase ‘good girl,’ I glanced down at his drink again to find that it still carried carbonation.

Spencer wasn’t drunk on alcohol in any way when he spoke again, quieter, closer, and his voice dropping a full register. Taking all possible precautions to ensure I was aware that the message was meant for my ears, and my knowing, only.

“Many men find innocence far more alluring.”

My heart was pounding so hard, I was certain he could hear it from where he was. He would undoubtedly see the way my pulse changed, the same way I felt his breath begin to shake as it hit my ear.

“Yeah?” I dumbly added, and he was quick to answer with a firm, “Yes.”

I forced myself to break eye contact with him, terrified that I would actually melt or be consumed by the way he was looking at me. I was forced to set my glass down so my trembling would be less obvious, but I knew he caught it all the same.

“There’s still something so… exciting about the thought of it, though. You know?” I mumbled, fiddling with the hem of my cocktail dress as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

But even then, I was still distracted by the way others perceived me. I wondered if Spencer saw me as I did, as nothing but a foolish little thing who’d been tricked into walking straight into the lion’s den.

“Maybe the others are on to something,” I thought aloud, “Maybe drunkenly making out with a random guy in a closet is exactly what I need to stop feeling like a little girl playing dress up and pretending to be a grown up.”

“Those things are always better in theory,” he answered a bit too quick for comfort.

“How would you know? Did the ever enigmatic Dr. Reid participate in his fair share of Seven Minutes in Heaven?”

Spencer had made the terrible decision to take a drink just before the question was asked, and I watched him barely escape choking on it. His laughter was different, boisterous and free as he shook his head.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

It was my turn to not be convinced.

“Did you want to?”

His eyes snapped back over to me, his jaw clenching shut so tightly it looked almost painful. Like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t.

“Not really, no,” he finally said, “Never had anyone I wanted badly enough to work up the confidence.”

Pleased by my amusement in his explanation, Spencer’s jaw managed to relax again. I couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t just saying what he thought I wanted to hear, but I wasn’t going to stop him even if he was.

I liked this side of him. The imperfect, casual side of him that choked on laughter and soda and freely admitted to his shortcomings. Especially when those things, those insecurities, were so similar to my own.

“Yeah. Same,” I sighed in agreement.

Spencer just gave a solemn nod, hiding that glint in his eyes once again.

I wasn’t ready to let it go.

“But what if I just… did it?” I giggled, shaking my shoulders and hoping the inertia would help my spine straighten. Hoping that I could actually trick myself into doing the things I was too scared to try.

“Is that really how you want to experience your first kiss?”

The world came to a record scratch stop, and for a moment I almost missed it. But then it hit me all at once, and my voice shot out of me much too loud and garbled from the shock.

“Wha— How did you know that?!”

“I didn’t,” he snickered, “but now I do.”

“Y-You— You son of a bitch!” I gasped, now fully lost in my astonished laughter he always seemed to enjoy. I got the feeling he liked the curse even more, though.

The two of us returned to the comfortable quiet, the calmness and contentedness that usually accompanied one another. Spencer wasn’t ready to let it go yet, either. He lifted his elbow just enough to bump into my arm, waiting until I responded to lean closer.

“Answer the question.”

“I don’t know. At least it’d be over, right?” I said with a shrug, “And it wouldn’t mean anything. It won’t hurt when it amounts to nothing, because I went into it with that expectation.”

It was hard to sound genuine when the words were a half-truth. Especially when they were spoken to a profiler.

Because the truth was, the ideas I was spouting only made sense when applied to anyone else. If I were to admit what I really wanted, it wouldn’t be a random hook up in a closet. It wouldn’t be meaningless, detached company.

It would be the two of us, entwined like climbing vines around a trellis. Driven not by a desire to be seen as older or younger or anything of the sort. Rather, having been compelled by the heavy feeling in the center of our chests. The unending yearning to be seen, to be felt and held and loved.

“Does that make sense?” I asked, like he would know the real question behind it.

It almost seemed like he did when he softly answered, “It does.”

His jaw twitched, the muscles in his face tensing as his eyes began to wander. At first, I thought it was his subtle way of telling me that he’d heard my thoughts and didn’t feel the same.

But that wasn’t it. It couldn’t have been. Not when his eyes settled on his hand that had fallen between us, just to immediately outline the path I assumed he wanted to take. He was fixated on the sliver of my thigh visible through the slit in the dress. I looked, too, noticing for the first time I had started to shift my legs open, slowly closing the gap between us.

His knuckle brushed over the heated skin, just to snap away. His hand retreated, but the rest of him stayed close by. We both leaned into one another, forgetting the rest of the world for those few seconds.

I drowned myself in sweet treacle eyes and heavy breathing. My lips parted, trying to speak but losing all of the words almost immediately.

Because I felt it. Spencer’s fingers sneaked between the fabric and his palm coming to rest against my thigh. All the while, his eyes challenged me to do something. To stop him or urge him forward, to make a move with a similar boldness.

“I think I’ve had too much wine,” I said with thready vocals. A voice box rioting against any sound that wasn’t shaped like his name.

The others would blame the glassiness and heaviness of my eyes on the wine, but his hand on my thigh was far more intoxicating. Even when it slid away, it dragged me with it. The pads of his fingers were smooth but still seemed sticky in the way they compelled me to follow.

Leaning forward, Spencer whispered directly in my ear, “Come with me.”

He stood so casually, as if he hadn’t just held my inner thigh in his hand. Those same fingers curled up into his palm, beckoning me to follow him as he fled the room. I probably should’ve been concerned at the sight, the connotations that would accompany us all but bolting out of the room together.

But I didn’t give a single fucking shit.

“Where are we going?” I asked as he guided me through the sparsely populated hallway.

As we took a sharp turn, he vaguely answered, “A closet.”

“Why?”

I had already forgotten the entire conversation we’d had not five minutes before. My entire body was moving purely on instinct, a desperate need to please him. He finally glanced back at me, flashing me the cutest, wickedest little smirk before he responded.

“You’re a smart girl,” he said, “You can figure it out.”

But I couldn’t. Not when the words were punctuated with his hand around my wrist, pulling me forward and against his chest. The world spun around me, or perhaps it was just the wine, but the next time I was able to feel my own feet, they were backed against a door.

Spencer flipped the lock, leaving the lights off and relying on the little bit of moonlight filtering through the windows to see the shocked expression on my face. His forearms caged me against the door, our chests pressed firmly against one another as our breath mixed in the cramped space.

I’d never felt freer.

“Tell me to stop,” he begged.

I’m sorry, Professor.

I can’t follow your instructions this time.

“Do it,” I said.  

“Stop?”

“No,” I whispered as confidently as I could before commanding, “Kiss me.”

And he did. With movements like molasses, Spencer closed the only space remaining between us.

He kissed me.

I was so shocked that I couldn’t move, too overwhelmed and entranced by how soft his lips were. At first, he was gentle, his hands barely ghosting over my cheeks. But I felt him change. I felt it in his movements the same way I felt it in my heart.

He pressed harder, his hands showing a thrilling, mutual desperation to take more.

As soon as my lips parted for him, he filled them with his tongue. It was soft in its movements, strongly contrasted by the rough drag of his fingertips against my jaw. While I tasted of wine, he tasted of sugar. So perfectly pure like his tongue had been pulled from the petals of a honeysuckle.

My body went half limp as my lungs ran out of air, but I couldn’t make myself stop. I wondered if he really were like the sweet nectar of the flower and not the poisonous berries of the bush. I sensed no difference in the effect kissing him had on me. My heart was racing, and my pupils dilated to soak in any light we could find in the shadows. Trying to see the way he looked when he finally broke free of me for the first time since we’d come together.

I expected him to stop there, but he didn’t. Spencer’s mouth merely shifted from my lips to my jaw, then down to my neck. Before I knew it, he had nipped at the sensitive skin over my pulse before laying sloppy kisses over the wound.

“Professor,” I cried, but he did not answer with words.

Instead, his hands and tongue became even more persistent in finding and marking as much of me as he could. His fingers dug into my hips so hard that I couldn’t stop the broken cry that it elicited. It only made him grab me harder, his teeth dragging over my shoulder before pressing a chaste kiss to my collarbone.

“Please,” I begged, my voice shaking precariously on the cliff’s edge of desire that I wanted to throw myself into, the rocky shore be damned.

Spencer pulled away, but his chest remained pressed against me with each heaving breath. His hand on my face felt cold compared to the heat that had formed in my cheeks, but I barely felt it. My mind was too fixated on short fingernails still dug into the supple skin of my thigh.

He slipped his hand under the hem of my dress, and I felt the same scar I’d kissed slide against my skin. He used his new grip to hike my leg farther up his hip, forcing a distance between my legs that he once again immediately filled with his body.

That’s when I felt it — A strange, unfamiliar hardness pressed firmly against my stomach. As soon as it occurred to me what it was, the desire that he was demonstrating, I couldn’t stop the pathetic, trembling whimper that followed.

It lit a fire in his eyes that I’d never seen before, and I knew it was reflected in my own.

I’d never felt like this before. I’d never wanted a man this way. Every fantasy I’d concocted of the perfect moment fractured and fell away. I would have given my everything to him right then, and the darkness brewing in our locked gaze told me that he would have taken it with greedy, insatiable hands.

I wished he would. I wanted to be consumed by his impatience. I wanted the darkness inside of him to poison my veins and lead me into the darkness with him.

Still, when he spoke again, the sound was riddled with restraint.

“Tell me, Bunny…” he whispered, sliding his lips across my jaw and slipping his hand on my face up to grip my hair. I hung on his every word, not moving but allowing him to manipulate my head with his new hold.

He forced my head back against the door, pressing his erection hard enough against me that I saw his eyes struggle to stay open. But they did, staring insistently as he finally managed to gather enough breath to ask the question that had finally clawed its way through his throat.

“Do you feel like a woman now?”

It took me a moment to answer, not because I needed the time to decide, but because none of the air I took in seemed to cure the emptiness inside of me that I desperately wanted him to remedy. Eventually, I managed to breathe out a soft, timid affirmative.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he muttered, not full of arrogance or pride but with a genuine relief.

I didn’t understand how it was possible, but Spencer pulled away from me with an eerie amount of ease. His hands didn’t ball in fists, remaining open wide enough that his palms were visible.

I saw how his hands shook, returning to me with a tenderness and affection that didn’t suit the mood he’d established minutes before. He led me away from my spot against the door, flipping the lock back to its previous position and fleeing the room without another word.

I stayed, silently recalling everything that had just happened. The party continuing down the hall felt like a lifetime away. A reminder that the world was still spinning at the same speed as it had before.

Despite Spencer’s absence, I didn’t feel alone. In fact, I’d never felt closer to him than I did in that moment, with my lips tingling in memory of his and my hands roaming skin that felt new.

I didn’t feel alone at all, I realized.

I felt my heart break into pieces that he carried away with him. They had always made heartbreak sound horrible, and in a way, it was terrifying. Because I felt the way he kept me close with memories he knew himself incapable of forgetting.

I didn’t feel alone.

I felt like I was his for the first time, and I never wanted it to end.

—————————————————— 

| Part Six |

[hella1975]

how do you think taob zuko/swt would react if ursa ever came back? I've only been briefed on the promise comics but they kind of... disgusted me???? Maybe the siblings and her do reconcile in a healthy way that I just missed but it felt like the story immediately forgave her just because zuko missed his mom... like don't get me wrong she had IMMENSE trauma but... I just don't think she should've come back into zuko and azula's life, ESPECIALLY with how shittily treated azula was and her little sister replacement "kiyi".....

(In my mind Ursa just doesn't come back, and I think it'd be a lot more healing for BOTH fire siblings to learn to move on, instead of being dragged right back to the woman who (not intentionally, which is....worse) caused them a lot of trauma. They deserve a fam like the SWT, and a knife wielding menace brother like Zi Se <3)

i completely totally agree with everything you said here. like i've talked briefly before about my stance on ursa and it ultimately comes to 'she is a very complicated woman who as a parent can't be simplified to just being 'good' or 'bad' as she did things that fall into both categories', but if we're talking about ursa as a figure in zuko and azula's lives as opposed to just ursa as a person? yeah i reallyyyyy think re-introducing her was yet another shortfall of the comics. like this woman was the only point of love zuko has from his childhood. she protected him when no one else did and she was a good parent to him while she was there and she did her best. of course there's fondness there, of course he wants to find her the first chance he gets if only to get some answers. but ursa's treatment of azula? ursa leaving zuko and azula behind with ozai knowing full well what that would mean for them? she saved herself, and since she was a woman in an abusive relationship, i can't begrudge her that, but she isn't getting any mothering awards for it. and if atla just left it at that, id honestly be happy with it. it's another layer of depth to that family's story and it makes ursa more of a tragic figure, but letting her back into the plot once ozai is out of the way? like she refused to suffer him herself and was happy to let her kids do it, returning to her life when the threat was out of the way? fucking off to start again somewhere else knowing full well her children were suffering directly because of her absence? actively choosing to FORGET THEM because she didn't want to suffer through that thought? like ursa didn't just abandon zuko and azula, she abandoned all possible pain and simply left them to fend for themselves. she didn't even have it in her to remember them. it's literally like she looked at that family and went 'well this didn't work out. im going to completely wash my hands of them and start again' and that's exactly what she did. re-introducing her to zuko and azula's lives does nothing for them. there's the closure of at least knowing what happened to ursa, but that's about it. i genuinely think knowing the extent of ursa's abandonment would make zuko and azula's trauma that much worse. without her return to the plot, ursa is this figure of brightness in zuko's life, a woman who used her final moments in the palace to save him and was forced to leave by a man zuko knows is The Bad Guy. it's simple. ursa is good, ozai is bad. it's so simple. ursa returning robs zuko of that simplicity, makes him realise that maybe NEITHER of his parents were good. and azula; ursa wasn't even good to her when she WAS home. azula already thinks her mother didn't love her, and to find out she didn't even love her enough to remember her? that she went off to have another daughter that she very obviously does love? it's salt in a wound and it's gratuitous and i just think at best it overcomplicates an already complicated situation, at worst it makes everything much more painful

[pale-silver-comb]

So I know absolutely nothing about Leverage except what I've been seeing you post lately and I have to admit you're making it look tempting to watch! Can I ask what are some of your favorite things about the show/reasons you would suggest people watch it? And is there really a poly relationship that is canon?

Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. I am going to do my best not to just “asdfghkjl” at you and answer coherently.

In a nutshell, Leverage is about 5 people. 4 are criminals (Parker, Hardison, Eliot and Sophie) with different and unique skill-sets and 1 is an ex-insurance investigator (Nate) who, at one point or another in his career, has tracked down (or at least attempted to) the other 4. The whole show is essentially: man reluctantly reforms 4 criminals to use their criminal powers for good and 4 criminals move into man’s life and stubbornly refuse to leave because, goddammit, now they have morals. 

I’ve got a lot of favourite things about the show but the main ones are as follows:

1. Found family. And I’m not talking about loners who come together to fight crime and happen to co-exist to the point where they realise they happen to have found themselves a family. I mean, Nate and Sophie are the Drunk Uncle and Wine Aunt who somehow become Mom and Dad to 3 beautiful criminal children. Mom and Dad love their criminal babies and the kids love them (as well as each other, but we’ll come to that in a moment). You get amazing family moments such as: Mom and Dad packing the kids lunch before sending them out to kick corporate greed’s ass; Mom and Dad giving the kids ridiculously expensive and personal Christmas presents causing their most Grumpy Kid to go very very quiet and soft as he runs off to gleefully play with his new murder toy; the kids interrupting Mom and Dad’s big Movie Style Kiss to ask if they can please keep their new underground layer and huffing and puffing when Dad tells them no.

2. Found family: the OT3 edition. To answer your question, the OT3 is indeed canon, confirmed by the creator. Now, usually, “confirmed by the creator” infuriates me because most of the time it’s a way for a creator to be seen as “progressive” without doing anything to actually be progressive. That isn’t the case here. The OT3 are built up carefully and while it is obvious the creators didn’t originally intend for all 3 of them to become a relationship in the romantic sense, by mid-season 5 we are given a very clear picture of where Parker, Hardison and Eliot are heading in their relationship. There aren’t any kisses at the end to signal this but there are solid marriage vows in not only one but two episodes. (And by marriage vows I mean literal equivalents of marriage vows: “for better or worse” and “’til death do us part”. I’m not even exaggerating). The OT3 also doesn’t need explicit romantic narratives to convey how much they love each other. Their love is laced through the whole show, from the way they teach each other things to the way they respond to each other and work as a unit. The way they fiercely protect and admire each other. Like someone once said, if you need characters to kiss or say I love you to let the audience know they love each other, you are writing them wrong. 

Aside from that, each of the parings in the OT3 are just. Gah. They are so well done, with friendship being the solid basis for them all. The creators never expect the audience to assume anything about them or fill in the gaps. They give us their relationships on screen and reference many things off-screen to show us how these relationships continue to build in between episodes.

Hardison and Parker are a canon couple and date in the show: it’s approached slowly and they are so goddamned sweet. They are basically every fluffy slow-burn trope with a healthy dash of mutual pining in the mix. They are basically that quote “love is patient, love is kind”. (I would like to add their romance never becomes the focus of the show or overrides the importance of any other relationship they have with the other characters, especially Eliot.)

Hardison and Eliot are the Old Married Couple and from day one are already bickering and looking at each other/making comments that are found in every UST fic ever (not to mention Hardison has a very good knack for making Eliot grin like a little kid, when usually he’s basically an Angry Little Chef Man). They argue, they play, and love each other plain as day. 

Parker and Eliot are more subtle but every bit as wonderful. They have an unspoken connection and understand each other on a level no-one else can. Parker and Eliot are not good with giving themselves over to affection for different reasons (and Hardison plays a central role in helping them realise it’s okay to want it and have it- that boy has endless patience) but there is something so beautiful in the way the two of them come together on their own and develop their own special bond that works for them. Parker and Eliot are that trope where the characters don’t need to speak to understand each other perfectly. They just do. Their love language is a lot of the time non-verbal but speaks volumes. (Parker also likes to annoy the hell out of Eliot and Eliot....just.....lets...her. Because he’s soft. The softest, grumpiest boy.) 

I could go into so much depth for each pairing and their dynamics as a 3 but that's for another post.

3. Subverting stereotypes. There is the occasional hiccup in the show regarding stereotypes but ultimately, Leverage gets an A+ when it comes to writing characters and making them 3 dimensional people who are not defined by certain characteristics or events. Nate could so easily fall into the White Man Pain trope where he uses the trauma of losing his kid as a reason as to why he is entitled to act like a dick. Nate is a dick but he doesn’t use his pain to excuse it and I appreciate that. Hardison is a black man who is soft and nurturing. Easily the most empathetic and patient of the group. He’s nerdy, an actual genius, and has the biggest heart of all the characters. Nate is maybe the glue but Hardison is definitely the heart. Media’s usual aggressive, amongst other, racist stereotypes can fuck right off. Parker is canonically autistic (I am sure this was confirmed by one of the creators) and she is not defined by it. It’s not written as some kind of singular personality trait. It’s part of what makes up Parker but it’s only one facet of who she is and not once is her actions, thoughts or feelings treated like a joke. Sometimes people don’t understand why she does and says the things she does but it’s met with patience and fondness over the course of the show. Equally, it’s not met with over-caution. Parker is just Parker. No-one tries to change her. The other nice thing is Hardison, who always makes sure Parker knows she’s amazing because of who she is and not in spite of it. Finally, Sophie is in her 40s. She’s not treated like she’s past her prime. Ever. She’s sexy, smart and never is she pitted against or compared to Parker (who is younger) for anything. Sophie is amazing and there’s never even a conversation of “I may be older but I am still *insert adjective typically associated with younger women here*”. Sophie is possibly the first female character I’ve ever seen who isn’t just unapologetic about her age but has never had to apologise for her age. It’s a non-issue and that’s that. The women on the show are written so well, right down to secondary characters and it’s beyond refreshing.  

4.) It’s just fun. The show has a “monster of the week” type format. Except instead of a ghoul or a ghost, the monster is some corrupt wealthy and powerful individual or organisation. The show draws on real-life individuals to do this and therefore closely parallels real-life people and events. It addresses important political, economical, social and environmental issues while at the same time remaining fun and light-hearted. The characters constantly get the chance to play dress up and by GOD do they have fun with it. You get to watch Eliot beat up bad guys in the most delightful of ways, usually after a witty non-sequitur and with a weapon you’d never think could be a weapon. The dialogue and back and forth between the characters is everything. And finally - my favourite thing- the team can never resist striking a dramatic pose after they’ve taken down the bad guy, making sure the bad guy sees them. I mean, they COULD just walk away, satisfied they’ve taken the person down, but nope. They gotta be dramatic bitches 24/7 and pose like they are models for every single month of this year’s Criminal Calendar.  

5.) Competence Porn. So. Much. Competence Porn.  

Honestly, I could list a thousand reasons for why Leverage is amazing but to list them would to be spoiling so many amazing moments you’d get to discover for the first time on your own if you do choose to watch it. It’s the kind of show you can watch with an eagle-eye and sink your teeth into. But it’s also the kind of show if, you would prefer, put on in the background for something entertaining while you do something else. Each episode is about the job at hand but it’s made up of so many moments between the characters that show how much the creators and writers care about them. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll do whatever it is you do when something Soft and Wonderful happens that makes your heart melt. I am so beyond grateful for Leverage. It’s everything I always wanted in a show. Nearly every show I’ve watched in the past 10 years has disappointed me in some way, usually either because the writers run out of steam or characters who I love are treated poorly or given some kind of unnecessary “shock value” arc. Leverage doesn’t do that. Leverage is what it says on the bottle. Fandom isn’t something I joined because I needed canon fix-its. Fandom only enhances and celebrates an already excellent canon. 

[diadxrling]

gehcnna​:

‘ No emotion is “pretty” if you ask me. One person’s happiness can cause another’s bitterness. One’s bitterness can cause another’s anger or grief. However, no child should be forced to repress ANY EMOTION, you were young. You should have been able to feel how you felt and work through it. ’

He said gently and sat with her, thinking about how to keep her talking, keep it related to her story while still sharing his own in hopes that would help.

‘ When I met Lucifer, I looked like a swamp creature. I thought, if I didn’t take care of myself physically then no one would bother me mentally. That affected my work terribly though. Little ones were often terrified of me, even in human disguise I was…disgusting. ’

He rubbed the back of his neck a little and tried to peel through the layers of trauma carefully.

‘ I wasn’t letting myself feel anything and work through it like I should have, because all I was taught and given was anger but I knew that wasn’t the answer. Problem was, I didn’t know how else to express what I was feeling, either. I buried it all, thinking that was the right thing to do but it wasn’t. Dia, I …I am not trying to tell you what to do or what not to do. You are a lovely young woman and it is inevitably your life to live as you wish. ’

He turned to her and smiled warmly.

‘ However, I know how much that anger hurts…not just the people around you but it hurts you too and that scares you. It scares you more to really let it go, because it’s all you know. Rest assured, though, I am here for whichever you want to express. You can punch me, kick me, anything you like to get it all out. You can cry and scream, fear and feel happiness and comfort too. Think of me, as a safe space of sorts. You may not be a child, like I usually work with, but there’s still a child in you that hurts and fears what the world is throwing at it… ’

Pulling her knees to her chest as she listened to him, it felt oddly comforting hearing his story. It made her feel less alone, sure he went through different things, but their struggles seemed similar. They showed it in different ways, of course, and Baphomet by now seemed to have healed from what had been done or at least had learned to cope in more healthy ways. 

Silence once again filling the room, Dia looking to the side as she let what the other said sink in. The succubus was normally more closed off never talking about her past or at least not about things like this. But right now things felt different, Baphomet had been nothing but kind to her even when she had lashed out. He also just seemed to get it, he saw through her rage and the walls she had build up over so many years and got a look at the hurt and scared being that she hid behind said walls. 

There was something else as well, he already knew about her past about her mother and he didn’t seem interested in prying information out of her. Instead, he only seemed to want her to let go of her bottled up emotions, let go off her mask and just be herself for a little. Yet still knowing all that Dia couldn’t bring herself to take that step at least not right now. 

“How much do you know?” breaking the silence but only barely her voice still low almost like she wanted to be not heard. “About my mother and what she did to me” 

[shurisneakers]

shut in [epilogue]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: anxiety, ptsd, swearing

Word count: 4k

A/N: annnnd we’re done :)) thank you to my resident bully @midnightsunfae for really getting this fic off the ground and helping with the planning. ily upo and thank you to everyone who’s read this series over the 5 months it’s been going on. it’s meant the absolute world to me :’)

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against the table, an indicator of the nervousness that was building to a crescendo in your chest.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” he asked, hand placed gently on your forearm.

You nodded, eyes downcast. If you looked at him, you wouldn’t be able to find it in yourself to follow through with it.

“I am,” you said quietly, swallowing to get rid of the lump in your throat.

“Okay,” he confirmed, letting his arm drop gently.

Ten minutes to go. You took a sip of water nervously. The glass had already found itself shifting back and forth on the table in search of the perfect place. It was a fruitless quest anyway.

The door was painted a dark green, steps leading up to it from the pavement.

“Are you sure he won’t mind?” you asked quietly, standing a stair below him in apprehension. Neither of you had contacted him or sent a message, just showed up at his place exhausted and covered in a thin layer of dirt.

“I know he won’t.” Sam raised his fist to knock thrice, a pause before knocking two more times.

A code.

He turned around slightly, checking to see if you were fine. The longer you stood out there, the more afraid you were of someone spotting the both of you, putting an end to your life before it even began. You had a feeling that paranoia would continue for a long time.

The door swung open, revealing a tall man with blonde hair leaning against the doorway with one arm. There was a nick above his eyebrow, an old scar that hadn’t faded over time. Even though his other hand was concealed behind the door, you could tell that he was holding something by the way his muscles were clenched. Years of training wouldn’t disappear overnight.

"Sam." Surprise overtook his face in a second. "You're alive."

"Don't sound so happy, I can't handle it." Sam rolled his eyes, an affectionate smile on his face. "This is Y/N, we need a place to stay."

“It’s just been a while since I heard from you, man. Coming from a hit?” Riley didn’t think twice about moving aside, scrutinising dried blood on your person as you walk past. “Nice to meet you, I’m Riley.”

It was a cane in his hand. Sam’s mention of his limp flashed in your mind.

You gave him a small wave and a quiet re-introduction of yourself, following Sam into the house.

“You could say that.” Sam paused, a hand on Riley’s shoulder as he says something out of your ear shot to him.

Riley’s face turned stoic immediately, a nod of his head and a deep exhale soon following. “Stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you.” You pressed your lips together in a straight line with a corner quirked upwards, a half smile of sorts.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, to the right.” He pointed out the direction. “I’m getting you some food. Gumbo still your thing, Wilson?”

“Anything other than peanut butter.”

Riley was a blessing you could have never prepared for; knowing exactly what you both would need and anticipating emotions you had no idea you’d be feeling. For someone who had guests show up completely uninvited to crash on his couch, he was ready as ever, given that he had been through the same thing a while ago.

It was difficult. Fuck that, it was one of the hardest things to go; not pretending like everything around you would fall into soon and that you would be fine because you had to. You had worked too damn hard for you not to be.

But you knew things weren’t going to be fine right off the bat and it would be foolish to think it was.

“Sam, look at me,” you commanded gently, but there was an edge of firmness to your tone. You were sitting on the bench near the entrance of the park.

“I’m sorry, things were going good and I thought-” He shook his face that was hiding in his palm, elbows resting on his knees.

His attacks didn’t come nearly as frequently as yours. It was easy to think that he had no trauma just because he learnt how to deal with it better.

“Look at me, Sammy.” It was just a walk in the park, a stroll that should have lasted twenty minutes tops. You had been on that trail before for the same purpose but something triggered him today, someone’s gaze who lingered too long on the both of you.

He clenched his fists, lifting his head to meet your gaze.

“Breathe with me.” You exaggerated the movements to have him follow, a system the both of you had come up with when anxiety attacks used to hit at random. A temporary solution to an aftermath that would go on for hours, days even.

It took him a few staggered breaths to get there, finally falling into routine with you. He could feel his heartbeat slow to what it was but the pit in his stomach wouldn’t subside for a while.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” you reassured, still making sure he was breathing with you. You were nervous too and your eyes were still darting about to survey your surroundings, but he needed you at that moment. “We’re safe. We’re okay.”

“No one’s here,” he mumbles, interlacing your fingers and bringing it to his forehead to lean against your hand.

“We’re okay,” you repeated, giving him the space he needed. “We’re okay.”

“Will someone be joining you?” The waiter prodded softly. If it wasn’t your incessant tapping at the table, the clammy palms and constant checking of your watch was a clear giveaway that you could use a bit of kindness that day.

“Yeah, any minute now.” You smiled at her. She simply nodded, refilling your glass of water before leaving you alone.

You looked at your watch and sighed.

Seven minutes.

Things were fine. Things were good.

Sam and you were… undefined. Labels almost seemed too constrictive for now and it wasn’t like the both of you didn’t know what the other felt. It was kind. It was soft. Sometimes you kissed his cheek when the sunlight bounced off his face while he watered the succulents and the smile he gave you was addictive. Other times he snaked an arm around your waist and leaned his head on your shoulder while you watched the street from the kitchen window.

It made you happy, and so you tried to force away the stem of doubt that creeped into your heart.

Riley had introduced the concept of movie nights and the occasional mob movie would make it in there just to poke fun at. He showed you around the city, inviting you to go grocery shopping with him at the farmers market, the best places to get a glimpse of the music scene or to subtly point out potential date night spots.

He was a genuinely nice guy, and if you thought Sam was fun to hang out with, you were not prepared for the both of them together. You could tell why Sam adored him.

“Y/N, I don’t know how you stayed with him for all that time and didn’t murder him in his sleep.” Riley glared at Sam who had once again left his collection of music CDs strewn around on a couch. It was all in jest; it was well known that Sam found an anchor in music that kept him up late at night for a sense of calm.

“It was a close call sometimes,” you added playfully, giving Sam a grin.

“You weren’t exactly easy to survive with either.” He scoffed. “How many times did we watch Megamind in a row? Eight?”

“You wouldn’t stop watching Die Hard,” you accused, arms crossed over your chest. “It was payback.”

“You made the rule saying we couldn’t watch things more than twice in a row and you broke it first.”

“I’m gonna go,” Riley interjected. “But y’all keep at this. I heard it’s good for your soul.”

“Stay there,” Sam demanded, pointing to where he was standing a second ago. “You’re gonna be play judge since you started this shit.”

“I really don’t want to.” He shook his head, staying put nonetheless, amusement clear as day on his face.

“The laundry.”

“The dishes.”

You both narrowed your eyes at each other. His argument didn’t hold a match to yours.

“You know what, I was wrong,” Riley announced to no one in particular. “I’m pretty sure you guys would kill each other under any other circumstance.”

The smile on your face faltered but you straightened it back out with a clearing of your throat before firing a comeback.

It was barely a second, almost unnoticeable. But Sam caught it.

Four minutes.

Almost time.

The tapping became more intense, and the rate at which you pulled out your phone to check the time increased.

Fuck, this was a bad idea. How were you supposed to behave with him after all this time?

Something was wrong. Something was off.

Sam wasn’t blind to it. He could see it under the smile you eased into at game night, the complaining when too much food was ordered for three people to eat, the good natured teasing when he rolled over to your side of the bed at night to steal your blanket.

Something was eating at you, gnawing at you from the inside.

His suspicion was confirmed when you whispered at 2am one night to what you thought was an asleep partner that you wanted to move out. Find a place of your own.

His stomach dropped instantly but he didn’t so much as move a muscle.

“I need to get out. I need to have a life,” you sniffed, doing your best not to wake him up as you traced circles into his skin lightly. “I don’t know what it’s like to be independent. I won’t know unless I figure it out myself.”

The air had a chill to it and it was one of the times you had asked him to sleep in the guest bedroom with you instead of on his own, knowing that it was one of those nights where you could use a little extra warmth.

“Even when we were in there I couldn’t stop thinking about whether this thing between us was just because we were forced to stay together. You said it wasn’t, and I know that but I can’t help but think-” Your voice cracked. “Would you come back to me if things were different?”

He didn’t answer, even though he knew what he wanted to say with all the certainty in the world. Your fingers continued to draw on his skin. He continued to let you.

Sam didn’t even bring up the conversation that morning, or that week. Instead, he held you a bit closer whenever he could and gave you the space to hopefully open up to him on your own time, letting you know that he’d be there to listen.

It took a while. You both were in the middle of watching a movie that wasn’t Die Hard when you told him that you needed to talk to him about something. The hesitancy in your voice and the fixation your fingers had with the hem of your sweater was painful to witness.

He understood, of course. He always did. That you needed to experience what it was like to live, not survive. That decades of living with other kids, living under an abuser, living in a safehouse for months, was restrictive and suffocating and you needed to find what made you happy.

And so did he. It was something both of you had to do eventually, exit the bubble you had been staying in under such ardent protection for those two months.

Riley was wonderfully supportive of it, vowing to find you the best apartment that New Orleans had to offer. You didn’t doubt it.

His place had been colourful and bright and everything you could have asked for after the monotone walls you were used to. But it wasn’t yours.

A few weeks later you had moved out. Sam left a lingering kiss on your forehead, a sign to say that he’d be here whenever, whatever.

You made a Shakira joke. He laughed.

A completely fresh new start. If you failed now, it was all on you.

And what a terrifying thought that was.

It had been four months since you had left Riley’s apartment behind.

Four months since you had seen either of them.

The cafe was starting to feel too small for this event. Too intimate, too-

When the bell above the cafe chimes, something at the back of your mind instantly wakes up, sending you on high alert.

“Y/N?” he called out from behind you.

You knew he’d be early.

“Sam.” You breathed out, standing up to face him.

Video calls didn’t do him any justice. He had a particular glow to him, an aura of confidence that wasn’t there the last time you saw him. His beard was neatly trimmed and the smile that tugged at his lips the minute you caught his eye was beautiful.

You didn’t realise how different he looked until the time apart. Months of makeshift workouts and peanut butter as your only source of protein had done a number on him. You remembered him being leaner, and what you now realised was the constant burden of fatigue on his face.

“You look good.” An understatement escaped you, but he did.

He had a deep blue shirt on that hugged him in all the right places. Months of seeing him only black and grey had you damn near drooling when he wore other colours after you got out.

Not that you were staring, but his biceps had definitely made a wonderful return.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Sam sent you a smile that instantly put you at ease. “Independence looks good on you, sweetheart.”

You gave a small laugh, gesturing for him to take a seat. Should you have hugged him? Shook his hand? Kissed hi-

“It’s been a while,” he politely interrupted your overthinking. “How are things going?”

You let out a small breath. It was a big question, one that you had answered over text and call a few times but it was different now. He was in front of you now and you couldn’t bullshit the way you used to on call occasionally.

“Weird,” you admitted. “I don’t know what to do with myself now that I have all this time.”

“It takes some gettin’ used to.” He nodded in agreement, leaning back in his chair.

A lot of your time went into trying new hobbies. Knitting, pottery, drawing- anything that you could get your hands on. Things didn’t always catch on, some discarded just after the first week. Others stuck, bringing you bits of triumph every time you moved forward with your newfound skill.

“You still seein’ your therapist?” He flashed a smile at the waitress who filled his glass of water.

Ah, yes. Dr. Bishop had been one of the first people you sought out.

“Yeah.” You took a sip of water. “See her weekly.”

You still had money left over from all the hit jobs that you had done. As much as you wanted to leave every inkling of that life behind, you needed the cash to live. You had enough for the time being, but you knew that eventually you had to start working; if not for the money then for the peace of mind.

“How’s that goin’?”

“She thinks I talk in elaborate metaphors. The gang’s what I call my toxic family, he was my abusive father, stuff like that.”

There were moments where you thought you saw someone you knew standing at a corner, vendors giving you icy looks from across the street, footsteps outside your door that seemed too damn loud. But nothing ever came of it.

“Thanks for the tip, by the way.” You extended a smile to him in appreciation for the idea.

“Worked with my therapist, figured it would be the same with yours.” He shrugged casually. It wasn’t like you wanted to lie to her, and you weren’t. But some things were better left in the dark.

“But I think it’s helping.” You exhaled deeply, eyes downcast. “The nightmares are reducing.”

“That’s a lot of progress.” The corner of his mouth quirked upward in pride.

Several feelings erupted from that look, some that you’d spend the whole day revelling in if you didn’t force yourself to move on.

“How about you?” you diverted the subject back to him. “How’s Riley?”

“He says he misses ya.” Sam laughed. “Says he can’t handle me alone, that he needs you back to save him.”

“What have you been doing to that poor man?” you teased, easing back into your seat. “He was fine when I left him.”

“He’s got a fancy new job now and it’s been going to his head. Needed a little humbling.”

“You’re not going too hard on him, are you?” Even though you knew he wasn’t, it was fun to make sure.

“Nah, I’d say it’s just about the right amount.” Sam grinned and you felt the familiar flutter return to your stomach. “I’ve been doing good. Working on getting my license.”

“Oh yeah, how’s that going?” You were thrilled when he said he was going to look into becoming a youth counselor, knowing that it was something he had been genuinely wanting to do for ages.

“With my background, or lack of it, it’s a little trickier than I thought it would be,” he divulges a bit more seriously. “Riley’s been pulling a few strings and I got a few contacts but it’s gonna take some more time.”

You bit your lip, worry rising for him. He deserved it, he earned it. It fucking sucked that it wasn’t going to be an easy, direct path.

“We’ll figure it out,” you said quietly, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his in reassurance.

The contact brings with it a small spark. You wondered if he still felt it.

“Yeah. We will.” He sent you a soft smile at your action, not making any effort to move it. “You been on any dates lately?”

You let out a snort at that. “Loads. Have fellas lining up at every corner for me.”

“I bet.” He’s more bold, a bit more open than he was in the first month when you both got out. “How many of them do I have to fight off?”

“I’d say six as a rough estimate.” Your expression mimicked one of consideration. “I hope you’ve been getting your hours in at the gym.”

“I’ll kick it up a notch,” he promised, hands raised in surrender.

“You better. We’re supposed to go for laser-tag.” A dumb callback to a joke he made on one of your last days there.

“Or paintball.” He remembered. It made you unnecessarily giddy. “I added an escape room to the list too.”

“Hilarious,” you fired at him, rolling your eyes slightly but the happiness on your face proved otherwise.

His laughter died down eventually, paving the way for the comfortable silence that lingered between you both. Your eyes fell down to where your hand still held his, biting your lip to conceal a smile.

“Y/N,” he called out, pulling your gaze back to his. “Jokes aside… how are you?”

You let out a breath at his question. You knew it was coming.

“Riley found me an apartment,” you murmured.

Sam looked up from his phone. “Yeah?”

“It’s a nice place. Lots of sunlight. Quiet too.” You toyed with your fingers. “But it’s about an hour away. More if you consider traffic.”

Sam set his phone down gently on the bedside table, indicating that you had his full attention.

“I don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you, because I’m not. I wouldn’t, I just-”

“Hey,” he interrupted calmly, twisting his body to face you. “I don’t think you’re abandoning me. If this is what you need, then you should do it.”

“I don’t know if this is what I need. I don’t know what I’m doing, I’ve never been-” the frustration in your voice only increased as you went on. “-I don’t even know if this is going to work. What if I hate it?”

“Finding out what you hate is just as important as what you like, I think.” He watched you toy with the fidget square he had gotten you. “And you know that if you don’t feel like it, then you can come back here at any moment.”

“I know.” It was a comforting thought. A safety net.

“But would this make you happy?” That caught you by surprise.

It wasn’t something you had thought of. You thought of the negative consequences, the devastating effects it could have on you, how it could be the worst possible decision you’d ever make.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, a new anxiety setting in. “I guess we’ll see.”

You liked the neighbours who played the piano way too loud at 2am, the really terrible coffee at the therapist’s office and the feeling the paper plane on your dresser gave you when you occasionally looked at it.

You didn’t like how hot the apartment could get, especially during the afternoon, or the guy who sold magazines down the street who cursed at everyone for no reason, or the gentrified Indian food they served at the mall.

But Sam was right. Figuring out what you didn’t like was just as beautiful a journey as figuring out what you did.

“I’m happy.” You breathed out. “Or I'm working towards being happy. But it’s there.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. Simply slipped his palm under yours to lift your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m proud of you.”

If anyone could feel the heat that rose to your face they would probably think you had a fever.

The fear that you had, the one of what things would be like if you weren’t forced to survive in a confined space together, had begun to fade the minute he called out your name that day.

It was Sam. Your Sam.

You shake yourself out of your train of thought with a small smile, making a move to gather up your belongings without letting go of his hand for a second.

“Well, c’mon then. Those paintballs aren’t going to shoot themselves.”

“Are you saying this is a date?” There was a smirk on his face that wasn’t there a minute ago.

“Would you still consider it one once I annihilate you?” You tilted your head in a challenge.

“That would never happen, first of all.” He scoffed. “Second… I was thinking that maybe we could do something normal for a change.”

That had you more interested than the prospect of adventure sports. You had enough of it for a lifetime, frankly speaking.

“Lead the way, Cinnamon.” He only rolled his eyes at the nickname, sending you a vaguely threatening look. You just laughed.

“This place got good coffee?” He looked around at the establishment and its patrons.

“One of the best.”

“Then I don’t see why we have to go anywhere else,” he offered and you nodded, relaxing back into your place with the same sense of warmth in your heart that only intensified with his proposal.

He raised his hand up to flag the server, the same girl who had been helping you out since you got there, asking for two menus.

The smile he sent her was infectious. It was good.

“Sam,” you began quietly. “I missed you.”

His eyes softened, the sunlight reflecting in it making it shine like dravite. “I missed you, too.”

“Ready to order?” The waitress stands beside you with a notepad.

He looked at you and you nodded with a smile.

Things were different. You were different.

And he still came back to you.

--fin--

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <3

thank you so much for reading!

[starshipsofstarlord]

Sheer | Kai Parker

Warnings; SMUT, ANGST, and FLUFF, mentions of death, mourning, loss, mentions of murder, trauma, swearing, unprotected sex,

A/N; sorta made up a whole storyline for this imagine, may be a teeny bit different and may have gotten a little carried away, please enjoy loves

It would not uphold, the weather held a grudge against you as you trudged through the pouring rain, cursing you for thinking that you would be safe on your lonesome.

Instead of a monster, the world wished for you to drown in its falling rivers, making you shiver down to the bone. It was too cold, but you had to go there, it was a ritual.

Since the death of your boyfriend, Aaron, who was killed by Damon, someone you thought to be a friend, you felt broken.

You had tried everything to bring him back, but without the power of a witch, it was deemed impossible, and Bonnie refused to help you, claiming that it was necromancy, and far from her beliefs.

It angered you, how everybody would dismiss the lost lives that Damon took. He got a free pass, he didn’t even regret his own invalid actions.

He was a monster, and you hated him. If you couldn’t bring Aaron back, then you would instead kill his murderer. That would not only give you a sense of revenge, but also make the world a safer place. There would be one less vampire making people’s lives a misery.

“Hi there.” You stopped in your tracks, the voice sending shivers down your spine. Whilst it sounded like a man, in reality it could be anything.

The skin of a human was a disguise the majority of the time, a bloodsucker or a wolf coping inside the exterior, thirsting to break free from the walls of bones and flesh.

“Kai.” He was not exactly human, he was a witch, the one thing that you needed. You had met him through Elena, who was luckily also angered by Damon’s actions, Aaron had been her friend.

And just like that, he had died. But she hid her feelings well, pretending all was fine because she was in love with the gruelling monster that you wished to execute.

However, even though you wanted to bring back your lost beloved, the time that had passed made your mind being up the idea of moving on.

The first person that sprung into your imagination was Kai Parker, the new sociopath in town. He was new, unaware of the traumatising past experience that lingered in your heart, and not to mention, his specimen was one of beauty.

Those grey eyes, ever so curious could bore straight into your soul, and you’d gladly let him mangle it, you no longer had a use for it anyway.

“Why are you out here y/n/n?” He asked with a tilt of his head that had your heart beating profusely.

Everyone knew of his effect on you, but they told you to dismiss it. It was cruel, that they’d rather have you mourning the loss of your partner than to move on with another.

To you, it didn’t matter if he were supposed to be the enemy, you no longer wanted to fight their battles. All you desired was to be in love, with somebody that felt the same.

And whilst you doubted that Kai knew how to feel such a strong emotion, some attention wasn’t the worst thing in the world. As a matter of fact, it worked well as a distraction, it made you almost forget the grudge that you held against the eldest Salvatore.

Almost.

“It’s nothing.” You whisked the direction of the conversation away from your deceased boyfriend, not wanting to talk about him to anyone, let alone Malachai Parker.

Even thinking of Aaron caused a void to open in the middle of your chest, it was unbelievably painful. You thought some people, such as Bonnie would understand, rather than think the loss as a regular occurrence.

To put it simply, the entire ordeal was completely fucked up, and you felt much more guilty for biting your lip at the expression that Kai pulled; his eyebrows raised, and his fingers carefully running down the side of his own jaw.

Oh god, his fingers. There were so many things that you could imagine him doing with those, and from the way he waved them on a greeting, he knew that he teased the thought too.

“Basically...” he began, rolling his grey eyes with what he liked to call modesty, and you classified as boredom, “you’re stuck out in the rain, and if I’m not mistaken, you live halfway across town.”

“Stalker much?” You sneered, crossing your arms across your chest, which only made his gaze wander down, and hold their movements for a dragged out moment. “What are you looking at?” You exasperatedly sighed, only understanding when you followed his peering.

He was focused on your chest, that through your white shirt, appeared almost bare. The lace of your bra was giving him a clear frontal, and so you adjusted your arms, so that they covered more and whatever they had pushed up to peak his intrigue.

“Why am I not surprised?” Shaking your wet hair, which was pointless considering that it was still raining, you realised that you felt the creeping of the cold.

You had been oblivious to it, thinking that it was a side guest to your tears, almost a consequence. But you were no longer tearful, mostly angry at the killer that ruined your future and acted as though it were no big deal.

“I thought you were supposed to be at college.” Kai quirked his brow, proud of the fact that he knew that. However you shook your head, and watched as he removed his jacket, clasping it around your shoulders, shielding you somewhat from the weather.

It appeared as no big deal to him, but it was to you, sociopaths weren’t famous for being kind and charitable. They always had agendas, their agendas, well they were obviously sociopathic.

But from the glazing of the witch’s eyes, you only saw a lost man. He was misinterpreted by all that he knew, they treated him like an outsider, alienated him as though he were a monster, and validly that was why he was seen as one.

“No.” You whispered, confused as to why you were so complied to correct the man. “My boyfriend was killed, I don’t want to go back there, it’s clear why.”

You attempted to give him a small smile, but it came out as a pained grimace. Just the thought had your mood drained, even more so since there was no route to resurrect him.

“Oh yeah, I heard about that.” He didn’t shiver in the rain, instead he seemed comfortable simply standing there, conversing with you in the rainfall. “Damon did it, right?”

Licking your lips, you hesitantly nodded, ashamed of the fact that you had once called the vampire a friend. From the start, you were always wary of him, but eventually you managed to become close to him. And then he ruined your chance of happiness, literally sucking the life out of it.

“What a dick.” Kai was blunt with his annotation, but you couldn’t deny that he was right about them. “Sorry for your loss and all that blah blah. We should get somewhere warm though, you can tell me more.”

It was a strange feeling, you felt pulled to the male, it was as though he was one side of a magnet, and you were another. And so you accepted his invitation, and followed him, breathing in the scent of his black coat. It was much sweeter than you had expected.

🏹

His so called home was an apartment, that you no doubt expected he had convinced someone with his magic to give him rent free. Or he killed them, either or you guessed.

But the thought of death itself was one that you weren’t too keen on thinking about, not now. Instead, you’d rather enjoy the company of someone that didn’t shame you for hating and desiring to kill the one and only Damon Salvatore.

Most of your friends didn’t take you seriously, they just barked laughter, not believing, nor willing to think that you could ever commit such a sentence. But they didn’t share your pain, if they did, you were sure that they’d understand.

Matt got it, he resented the vampire and a lot of the other blood suckers too. And your certainly couldn’t blame him, he had lost his sister, and there was no reason behind her change. It had all just been a game, a gruesome one at that.

Kai lightly removed his jacket from your shoulders, hanging it on a hook to dry. He almost appeared embarrassed, having you in such a private space.

But you didn’t want him to endure such a mindset as that. Instead you smiled, brushing your damp hair out of your face, grasping his hands. They were cold, and that made you frown. No one ever cared what he had gone through, instead they just wanted to rid the world of him.

Even his family had dismissed him, all because he had been different, and treating him as such had definitely had a mind mingling affect on him. It repented an unstoppable rage inside of him, one that ended in dead children and imprisonment.

“Thankyou.” The small example of affection had Kai tilt his head awkwardly and pull his hands away from your own. He wasn’t used to people even being polite towards him, let alone openly sharing contact with him.

You should have been scared of him. Or at least somewhat repulsed, but you weren’t, and it was a first for him. Most around him taunted him with blame, or pointed out his obvious flaws.

And so he ducked his chin downwards into his chest, taking a couple of steps back, mumbling something about retrieving you a dry shirt.

As you waited for him, you peeled off the sheer layer, dropping the ball of wet material upon the ground. Your bra had soaked into your skin, but you left that on out of modesty.

When Kai returned, his mouth gaped open, eyes widening at the half undressed sight of you. But he tried to avert your gaze, blushing at your lack of attire.

“It’s okay.” You jested to him , reaching out for the clean shirt that he had brought for you. “You can look, it’s not like I’m naked.”

“Yet.” He smirked as he allowed his stare to freely roam. His voice had been small, but you had heard it as clear as day. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be thinking like that, you’re in mourning and I get that you wouldn’t want to, yknow.”

His hand gestured between the pair of you , prompting what he was talking about. But maybe he was wrong, after all, it had been a while since you had any physical intimacy, and you’d be a fool to deny that there was chemistry between you and a particular witch.

“Don’t be sorry.” You put the dry shirt aside, walking closer to the brunette. “I am in mourning, but I’m going to get my revenge, and a distraction sure wouldn’t hurt.”

“And here I thought that you were just a pretty face.” Kai’s hand drifted to the side of your face, pulling you closer so that your lips were almost brushing. His breath ghosted over your own intermingling the fumes of lust and intrigue. “But it seems that there is a darkness in that mind of yours, I’m impressed with your plans to say the least.”

“I haven’t even told you any of them yet.” Your hand drifted under the band of his jeans, plucking teasingly at the denim, licking your teeth as you made strong eye contact with him.

“Tell me after.” He ordered, grasping your hips, and clashing your bodies together. Your lips worked hungrily against each other, both pairs of your hands grabbing all that they could, you and him both desperate to hold onto anything.

Kai shoved you backward into a table, trapping you against it as his lips fell downwards, and began to suck at your neck.

But at that contact, you pushed Kai away, freezing for a moment. Damon’s teeth had been on Aaron’s neck, sinking in and draining all that be worth.

“See Elena thinks I’m a monster, and she’s right.” You were unable to move as Aaron stood against the vampire, you had been compelled, and you wanted nothing more than to scream out for Damon to stop, but there was no audio in your throat.

There was no scream as Damon bared his fangs , nor when he sunk them into your boyfriend’s neck, instead you were holding back your tears, as you had been commanded to.

He held him to his mouth for a moment before dropping his body lifeless upon the ground. And you couldn’t help but stare at the sight.

Enzo wore a content smirk, and it sickened you to your stomach. Damon turned, his thirsty eyes boring into your form, that wanted nothing more than to crumble into a million people.

“You may now speak.” His pupils found yours, engaging with your soul, that felt broken and completely shattered.

“Are you going to kill me too?” A part of you was hopeful that he would, but as he came closer, you recognised the mischief in his stance.

He had plans for you, none of which you suspected to like. “Do it, show Elena how much of a monster you really are!”

If he killed you, you’d have liked to think that Elena would be furious , but it was expected that eventually she would forgive him when he put his humanity back on.

“Or instead...” you feared his humoured expression, eyes flickering between his feet that were walking closer to you and your dead partner that lay lifelessly a couple of meters away. “I could show her how much of a monster you are.”

He bit into his wrist, bringing it towards your mouth, and as much as you felt the urge to squirm, you could do nothing more but stand there and abide his compulsion.

“Are you okay?” Kai asked, brushing his nose against your own, wanting to know if you wanted to continue. He knew that you were a victim of trauma, and he understood it’s affects.

In regards to his past, his coping method had been inflicting it in return. But you had done no foul against him, and so he would not torture you or force you into something that you had no intention of continuing.

“Yeah.” You breathed, blinking to push the memory away, temporarily at least. “Bedroom.” You ushered, squealing distractedly as he hoisted you into his arms, wrapping your legs perfectly around his waist.

He dropped you upon the mattress, hovering over you, removing his shirt after you began to tug on the dark and rain pelted material.

Leaning your elbows, you unclipped the back of your bra, discarding it somewhere far from your memory, and Kai sunk down, his lips latching onto your nipple, playing with the other in his rough hands.

“Your fucking gorgeous.” He hummed around your breast, his fingers drifting down your stomach to the band of your leggings.

His compliment made you smile, and as he ripped off your pants, he slipped a hand inside of your panties, rubbing your sensitive flesh. But you groaned, frowning at his tantalising actions.

“Just need you inside of me.” You told him, and he was more than happy to comply, so he worked on his belt, as you slipped off your own underwear, and removed the torn fabric from around your legs.

When you looked up, you noticed that he was completely bare, and already had himself in hand. There was precum balancing on his tip and at the sight you licked your lips.

“You ready?” He asked bringing his head down to your chin, placing a delicate kiss upon the bump, and teasing his other tip against your opening, swiping through your wetness and using it to lube himself up.

“God yes.” You sighed, your hands finding refuge upon the back of his shoulders, your nails sinking into his firm skin.

And so, with consent, he pushed in, groaning at the initial tightness. “And I thought that it was wet outside.” He laughed, causing you to snort, he was funnier than you had expected him to be.

It almost made you swoon, but no, you couldn’t be interested in Kai, could you? Everyone thought you had been, even Bonnie had stated that you often undressed him with your eyes in the worst of situations, but it had never been a big deal to you.

And then it hit you like a ton of bricks, with a snap of Kai’s hips. All along you had denied any interest of another man, all because of the one that you had lost. And everyone already knew that there were sparks between you and the witch, before either of you had caught on.

“Shit.” He huffed, reaching down and biting your lips, causing your eyes to flutter sensuously, and dark veins to appear underneath.

At the feeling, you tried to bury your face sidewards into the pillow so that he couldn’t see, but he held you still as he gave shallow thrusts inside of you.

“Don’t look away, I think you’re beautiful.” Him saying that alone had you almost in tears. Despite trying to bring Aaron back you feared what he would think of you when he returned, or well, if he could.

Would he think you a monster, that stood idly by when he was killed? Because if so, you’re heart would literally break, and you wouldn’t be able to bare living any longer.

Living, funny. You hardly described what you were doing as such anyways. But currently, you did truly feel alive again, perhaps that was just the affect of having a dick inside of you.

But as Kai reached down and fiddled with your clit, you knew that you were done for. Your head fell back, eyes closed and mouth open, showcasing your fangs, your orgasm hitting you like a train.

He continued his movements until he felt he was nearing his point, and then he finished too, having no worry in impregnating you as you were well, to put it lightly , dead.

Both of you panted as he pulled out and fell beside you. Your eyes stared at the ceiling, your concentration eventually broken when Kai spoke.

“Damon did it, didn’t he? He turned you.” Your face had returned to its previous disguise, you looked human once more. But it was no secret that you were now a savage, a monster like Damon.

“Yeah.” You bit your lip, trying not to cry at the thought. It was the last thing in the world that you ever wanted, but Damon knew that too. And so he had cursed you, for all of eternity.

“Then he deserves to die.” Kai stated, he was already against the Salvatores, but his hatred for them had just increased.

[lifeofclonewars]

Fives and Echo in Clone Cadets

Okay, buckle in if you're gonna read this. I'm an English major and you can tell bc this started out as a quick rant with a few points in my head at midnight and turned into a full analytical essay on the Domino Twins throughout the entirety of Clone Cadets in one sitting plus some next-day editing. What can I say, I analyze everything I watch even when I'm not consciously doing so. Some pictures and links included.

----

I get the whole “Fives and Echo weren't close until after Rishi” thing because of the poetic-ness of the narrative of brothers who aren't close going through trauma and coming out of it stronger and as best friends all that but listen to what I have to say.

We’ll start chronologically: with their final run-through before the finals. As you may know, I made a list (here) of who argues with whom during Clone Cadets. The other three constantly nag Echo about his habit of repeating things. Hevy and Cutup both call Echo, well, Echo but before he accepts it as a name and more as an insult. Cutup’s the first one to do it, literally almost right off the bat. Hevy does it to purposefully pick a fight after the practice test. DB responds to Echo's “stop calling me that” with “stop repeating every order.” 

Fives argues a bit with the rest of Domino when they're all arguing, but he only says one negative thing toward Echo. But there are so many things that make it different from the things aimed at Echo from the rest of the squad.

He tells him “Will you shut up with instructions? You're not in charge.” Domino’s nagging Echo about the repeating, Fives... doesn't quite do that. The narrative makes it look like Fives is also mad about the repeating orders, given both DB and Cutup have at this point. However, what Fives says doesn't make a direct reference to Echo’s habit, at least. He's definitely frustrated here (they all are, they’re failing again), but, at least to me, he's frustrated because Echo's focused more on getting them to follow exact orders instead of moving forward or working together. And yeah, he snaps a bit while reminding Echo he's not squad leader and not focusing on the right thing. But he never mentions the echoing, and, after this one moment, he never makes a negative comment toward Echo again during Clone Cadets. Also, important to note, Echo wasn’t repeating orders or anything when Fives snapped at him, just saying they’re not following orders again (which is different).

So, basically: everyone’s arguing about everything. Everyone argues with Echo about various things. Fives is the only one that doesn’t go and make a comment about Echo’s repeating during it, though.

That signifies something. Fives has got a better understanding or acceptance or trust in Echo than the rest of Domino. He doesn't mock him for what makes him him. He gets why Echo does it, maybe. Even if he doesn't, he knows it helps Echo and that Echo repeating orders is his way of trying to help his brothers. And this comes into play at a point farther along in the episode that we’ll get to soon. 

Next comes the, like, one moment we see the clones have some downtime. It’s when, once again, they start arguing. Despite DB being the one to tell Echo “stop repeating every order” during the run-through, we see them getting along here. We see them chatting with each other and 99 very briefly when Fives' gives his “you never even met a girl” line and Hevy comes barging in. Hevy insults 99, Echo tells the squad to follow orders, an argument starts, yada yada.

Then, Hevy gives his “care to repeat that, Echo?” line, which I mentioned earlier as Hevy doing it to purposefully pick a fight. When they start to fight, we hear the other members of Domino start cheering Hevy on. One says “Come on. Get him, Hevy!” The other says, “Smack that know-it-all.”

Here’s the thing, though. They show a shot of DB, Cutup, and Fives. Cutup can be seen pumping his fist but his accent isn’t heard. There are two voices speaking, but they’re layered on top of each other so it’s hard to tell who’s speaking and how many people are speaking if you aren’t paying attention. Together, this comes out to look like Fives and DB could be the ones talking, and Cutup’s not actually speaking. 

However, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, Cutup’s accent drops in and out all throughout Clone Cadets. Especially during impromptu moments. With this, it is also possible to conclude that he is speaking during the fight, just without a different accent, especially since he’s pumping his fist. 

That leaves Fives or Droidbait as the other person speaking. As you can see, both of them seem to be watching. Now, you could argue that Fives is the one who said something. You can argue the DB is the one who said something. Since they’re showing the fight when the lines overlap (the “Get him” one starting about a second earlier), there’s no conclusive evidence for either. For the point of this argument, you can’t argue that it proves Fives and Echo were close, you can’t argue that it proves they weren’t.

Following that comes Colt’s speech before the final. As I’ve noted multiple times, nobody in Domino is happy with Echo the first time he makes a comment.

Going back and watching it happen in time reveals a bit more, though. They’ve all got facial expressions kinda similar to it when it cuts back to them after Colt speaks. Echo says “thinks he means us, boys?” Hevy seems to be the only one truly angry about the comment. The other three seem to be more of “what are you talking about, you know we’re not that great.” Plus, you know, they’re all nervous about their final. Even more so with how they didn’t make it through the day before. (Here’s a link if you wanna see it for yourself. 0:45; it’s all quick reactions, but you can see what I mean)

(Hmm so maybe I was wrong about that screenshot before. Go figure. There’s a reason screenshots aren’t always completely reliable sources for shows, since none of what I just talked about is visible in a standstill moment. This is why I’ve rewatched Clone Cadets 48209832 times. I’m still picking up new things about Domino while doing it.)

When Echo says, “well bravo for Bravo Squad,” some other things happen. Firstly, Echo’s rolling his eyes. He’s either being flippant about Bravo or he’s being self-aware enough to know it’s a bad pun and that his brothers don’t like his comments. But Fives actually looks over, concerned, when he makes the comment.

That definitely counts for something. Especially since the other three don’t look very concerned about how Echo’s feeling with the comments. (Hevy’s definitely not looking over here.) But Fives seems to be wondering how anxious Echo’s feeling or something along those lines and how Echo’s expressing it. Especially since Echo doesn’t purposely pick fights like Hevy. He’s just making comments that happen to aggravate the Squad more than he’s usually trying to use as his way of showing he cares about his brothers and how well they perform.

After that comes their first run of the final. And with it comes a moment I love so much. Echo’s standing at one of the cover blocks when Fives runs up to him. Not only does this happen, but Echo smiles so much at seeing his brother do so.

He’s just! So happy that Fives is there. I love that. Anyway, Fives tells him, “you flank right, I’ll flank left.” Then comes Echo’s lil pun moment. Fives rolls his eyes, but he looks more fond but exasperated than truly annoyed. 

Right after that, Fives runs off again. Which means he took Echo’s comment about staying on the same side and went with it, even though that wasn’t his initial plan. He’s trusting in Echo’s combat planning there. After DB gets shot down, we can actually see this happen as they meet Hevy at another one of the blocks. They come from the same side, Fives, then Echo. So, it worked out successfully.

When Colt tells them they failed not too long after that, another thing happens! Fives and Echo share a look. They didn’t have to — Hevy was behind Fives and Cutup was in front of Echo. They could’ve shared a look with them. But they didn’t. It’s definitely an “oh crap” kind of look they share with each other. Something that’s usually shared with those your closer to in situations like that, ya know?

“But wait!” you might say. “These are mostly examples of Fives being a good brother than of them being close.” Well, that’s where Echo and Fives talking to Shaak Ti about transferring squads comes into play! Of course, since I’m going chronologically, it’s not the immediate next point on this, but it happens during this conversation.

The two of them talking to her is a pretty big deal, especially since constantly up to that point we see Echo not getting along with the squad. He definitely wouldn't do it with Hevy, who he fights with most. Cutup and Echo don't fight as much as Echo and Hevy but we don't see them actually talk to each other besides whenever they do the sim, right before the second final, and Rishi. And Rishi is Hevy and Cutup making fun of Echo a bit. (Main difference then is that they do understand each other better to some degree and it doesn't escalate like it once might've.) DB, I touched on some points earlier. 

But there’s a reason it’s Echo and Fives here, and it’s more than just Fives fighting with him less.

When they talk to Shaak Ti Fives trusts Echo to do the talking for them (he only speaks up twice with small comments then). While it’s a short conversation, most of the talking is done by Echo. The duo most likely had a conversation beforehand about what they were asking and why. While we don’t know who asked the other if they wanted to do it, they’re both there, and Fives trusted Echo and his memory and ability to repeat the points they wanted to make. It's the exact opposite of what the squad has been doing. Instead of mocking the repetition, he gives Echo a chance to do it without judgment and as a positive thing.

Echo also goes on to do some things that show it’s not just Fives being a good brother, it goes both ways with them. 

There are only two instances where we see Echo touch someone. One is when he fights with Hevy (and Hevy starts it). The other instance is with Fives, during this talk. The two of them had been standing at parade rest and Echo — who's whole thing as a cadet is following orders — breaks it to set a comforting hand on Fives' shoulder! 

He's the one to do it! Echo’s the one that takes the opportunity to comfort Fives and Fives doesn’t shy away from it. And not only did he recognize what Fives was feeling, but he also acted on it. They know each other well enough at this point to understand each other’s emotions and how to react to them accordingly.

And it's not like the other clones don't nudge and pat each other on the back and whatnot. Hevy pats 99 on the head (condescendingly smh Hevy you know better but whatever that's not the point).Both Fives and DB nudge Cutup for a comment he makes.

Echo just... doesn't do it during Clone Cadets. (I will point out he gives 99 a light excited punch on the shoulder during Arc Troopers — but that's after he's been with Torrent and trusts 99 even more than he did on Kamino for helping Hevy out) But he does voluntarily set a hand on Fives' shoulder. He’s comfortable enough with Fives to do it when we don’t see him do it with the rest of Domino or even 99.

Also, we all know Fives smacks some of his brothers, we've all seen that post by now. But he never does it with Echo. Instead, he lets Echo do what he's comfortable with. I just think that's important to note.

There’re also multiple times in this scene where they share looks while they’re speaking or when Shaak Ti says something. If you watch Arc Troopers or the first half of the Citadel Arc, even some parts of Rookies, Fives and Echo have a lot of nonverbal communication. This is just planting the seeds for that.

This scene can also be used for some “Fives and Echo aren’t that close” arguments, especially if you go with the “they are literal twins” hc. The whole “they wanted to stick together because they were twins, not necessarily because they got along better” argument. There are some other points here, like the fact that Fives did say something rude to Echo, or that Fives was talking to Cutup in their downtime and Echo with DB.

The thing is, with these things I've talked about, it shows that they were close on Kamino, regardless of that hc. I highly doubt LF and Filoni actually write them as twins (they probably would've mentioned it by now if they were). So while I personally like to take some of these things as them being twins, mostly they just show that either way, they were close. And the points Echo makes while asking Shaak Ti come into play as well.

Echo states, “Which is why Fives and I are looking out for each other,” when told that the clones, like the Jedi, have individuals and the group be one and the same. He makes it a clear point that they’re looking out for each other, that they’re trying to make the decision they think is best for the other. That’s! A big deal and sign that they’re close, if you ask me. 

Right at the end of the scene, Fives once again shows his trust in Echo. After hearing that they’ve been given another shot at the final, he looks skeptical. What does he do right after? Look at Echo. He didn’t need to, he could’ve stared at the wall, ground, given Shaak’s back a funny look. But he looks to his brother for comfort again. And we see Echo look back at him, doing so, right as it transitions to Cutup’s scene.

(“Wow this is really long, you must be obsessed with Domino Squad,” you might also say. That would be correct lol. We’re almost done, though.)

The next time we see either of them is when they think Hevy hasn’t shown up but then does. This is a nice little moment. Domino must’ve had a conversation or something because Cutup, DB, Fives, and Echo seem to be more at ease beside the whole missing Hevy thing. I should write that conversation someday. Echo even repeats what Fives said and nobody makes a comment about it.

Hevy eventually surprises everyone with his dramatic entrance and marches through their bench area to head to the simulation room. After that, the three of them turn and look at Echo, who shrugs. Not really a moment between Echo and Fives and more about the whole squad, but it’s there. Domino’s getting along better as a whole, matching more of what the dynamic between those two has been the entire time. 

And finally, the second final. Like how the practice test is slightly focused on Echo’s comments and the reactions to it, this one’s focused on Hevy being the natural leader he is. Also, just, Domino Working Together.

When they take cover in the little slit thingies, Fives and Echo take cover in the same one. Part of it was probably which one was closest. Part of it definitely was production trying to make it easier to fit more of them in the same frame there. But also, it says something about how they trust and understand each other on the battlefield. Partially from growing up training together, partially they've got the trust and understanding the whole squad is just finally starting to get within the rest of their dynamics. 

The only scene in this whole episode I don’t know who’s who is during the medal scene. If we base it on where Hevy stands, Echo and Cutup are the ones to talk. However, the second clone doesn’t have Cutup’s accent and it’s not one of those situations that Cutup tends to drop his accent. So I’m not really sure, other than that Domino is very clearly all proud of each other. I’m not really sure why I wrote this paragraph then… aNyWaY, that’s the episode!

TL;DR Throughout the episode, the Domino Twins show multiple signs of them being close to each other. I really think that the episode is supposed to show us that they're close from the beginning and Rishi just made them form an even stronger bond. Paraphrasing Shaak Ti, their journey is about them connecting to the rest of their squad throughout the episode, not necessarily about them also learning to connect with each other. They’ve got that down, after all.

[stillebesat]

An Unconventional Defeat

Sanders Sides: Patton, Virgil Blurb: Patton knew that heroes started out young, far younger than villains ever did. But this young? Inspiration: From the Anon prompt: “I can take care of myself just fine.” with Virgil. Fic Type: Superhero!AU, Villain!Patton, Hero!Virgil Overall Fic Warnings: Near Death Experiences, Death Talk, Injuries, Hospitals Taglist in Reblogs:

He’s fourteen.

Patton stared down at the prone form of his nemesis, Onyx, in the darkened hospital room, mind racing.

He knew that heroes started out young, far younger than villains ever did. But this young?

Sure, that no good empathy that the heart twinged with seemed to chime all stronger for the children. For those naive fools who were still optimistic about life and wanted to believe that good would always win out in the end. That being good was the best way to live your life. That you could change the world for the better.

Patton had been a fool like that. Once.

He’d wanted to be a teacher. Once. Be an example to the rising generation. Once.

And then he’d had his eyes forcibly opened in college to just how cruel and heartless the world actually was. Goodness only got trampled. Squashed. Taken advantage of. Goodness only got used until it wasn’t useful anymore and then got dumped like so much trash. If one wanted to change the world permanently. One couldn’t do so by being good.

Kids though?

The poor fools didn’t realize that yet. That being good wasn’t well...good. For anyone. Hero work? Pointless. Especially with how active Patton was in the city.

Hero work didn’t put food on the table. Hero work didn’t pay the bills. It was a thankless never ending job.

A job that landed a fourteen year old in the hospital with head trauma, a broken leg, arm, fractured ribs, and multiple puncture wounds in the shoulders and abdomen that had only avoided killing the kid by sheer dumb luck.

A fourteen year old that Patton had been fighting for a good three years now, not that he’d known that until nine hours ago.

Onyx had always snarked at him in a deep distorted voice, had always been covered by an ever shifting melee of shadows that never showed just who was manipulating the darkness around him.

He growled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. Eleven. The kid had been freaking eleven when he’d first shown up to stop Patton from razing the police department to the ground.

No wonder Onyx had been so ferocious in defending the place. He’d still been of an age to see the cops as fellow heroes. The good guys. He hadn’t yet discovered their darker side. Just how much like school ground bullies most of them could be to the weak.

Patton clenched his hands, conscious of the frost coating his fingertips, of the room getting noticeably colder. “You’re an idiot.” He told the sleeping hero in a low voice, tensing as the shadows sluggishly stirred at the sound of his voice. “Ruining everything.”

He’d been trying to take down Onyx for ages. Perfecting the best way to use his ice bolts to freeze those shadows of his once and for all. It had been the best moment of his life seeing the hulking figure finally stagger when his ice had successfully pierced through the darkness and not fly out the other end. To know that they had stuck. To see those dark wisps vanish like so much smoke as the hero plummeted from the sky. To have a crater form from the impact that left a dust cloud floating in the air with no hint whatsoever of his shadows preparing to strike back.

It had been his greatest moment of triumph. The final defeat of his main nemesis.

An icy javelin had already formed in his hands, aimed for Onyx’s heart before Patton’s feet had even hit the ground.

But instead of the square jawed overly muscled hero he’d expected to finally see underneath that murky shadow disguise...he’d found a freaking child laying there, bleeding, broken, and unconscious.

One Virgil Hawkins. Fourteen years old. Orphan. Parents dead since he was nine. Grandmother dead since he was eleven though apparently no one else had realized that little tidbit yet besides Patton because he’d actually tried to find the woman last night after he’d rushed the boy to the hospital for emergency surgery only to discover the little urn with her name on it on the mantle of the fireplace in her home.

It was one thing to kill a Hero. And Patton...well he’d done in his fair share of heroes over the last decade. But killing a child? His heart might be cold. Frozen even. But as much as he itched to end Onyx the hero permanently...ending Virgil the child was an entirely different matter.

Not that anyone would know. Not that anyone would care if Virgil vanished the same evening Onyx died. He could freeze the kid’s heart here and now and not even the staff supposedly watching the boy would think much of it, injured as he was.

Patton frowned, breath misting in front of him as he held out an ice coated hand over the child, an icicle easily forming in his fist.

It would be so easy.

Who would care about the disappearance of a single boy? One who was practically a ghost in his civilian life. Certainly not the news. Certainly not the cops the kid had risked his life to defend. A kid only surviving as it were because he’d been clever enough to keep his grandma’s social security checks coming to the house as a source of income.

No one would notice if he just...vanished. Not even the school the kid attended would. Not when they couldn’t even tell him if he’d shown up yesterday for class.

No concerned teacher. No concerned counselor. No friends to worry about him suddenly vanishing. Not even the staff here in the hospital cared enough to keep more than a cursory eye on their John Doe as the police attempted to track down the boy’s nonexistent family.

Virgil had no one.

Patton let the icicle dissolve back into his skin, his hand lightly resting on the boy’s warm forehead, fingers lightly brushing the stitches there.

No one to pay the hospital bills. No one to look after him once he was released. No one to ensure that he had food, clothes and shelter. No one to stop him from being a fu-freaking idiot and going out to attack a villain old enough to be his Father.

Patton shuddered, pulling his hand back. Crofters forbid that. Teenagers were the worst. Onyx only proved that tenfold with how easily he’d wound up Patton in their fights. To have one living in his own home? With their constant mood swings, inability to do chores, and dependence on social media? Ha. No.

A groan from the bed drew him from his thoughts right as the shadows around the bed surged at him, latching onto his arm and jerking him forward with a startled yelp.

“Cold.” A hoarse voice whispered as pale fingers shakily rose from under the blanket, twisting to catch Patton’s wrist as the shadows pulled him within reach. Onyx’s eyelids fluttered as he placed Patton’s hand on his forehead. “Cold.”

Was he insane?! Patton growled, the temperature in the room dropping another ten degrees as he struggled against Onyx’s shadow grip. “Let. Go!”

The hero had the gall to smirk, dark eyes unfocused as he opened them fully, the shadows pulsing around them. “No way, Icy.” He whispered. “You cold. Feels good. You stay.”

WHAT?! He wasn’t an icepack! “I’ll freeze your burning head off! LET GO, you idiot!” He allowed a thin layer of ice to form under his hand to prove his point. It was bad enough that Onyx could match him throw for throw on a good day, it was worse knowing that a fu--freaking half-drugged teenager could still hold him with minimal effort.

Virgil closed his eyes, stupid smile growing wider. “Rubber. Glue. Back to you.”

Patton blinked. “Huh?” What was that supposed to mean?! This was why he hated teenagers. They didn’t make a lick of sense whenever they spoke.

“You’re the idiot here.” Virgil dropped his hand, the shadows releasing their grip. “Coming in uniform? To a hospital? To see me? For shame.”

Patton scoffed, taking a step back. He wasn’t some first year amateur to walk in the front door dressed like this. “Like I care if anyone sees me, kid.”

If it weren’t for the fact that he couldn’t afford to let anyone see him actually caring about anyone’s welfare, especially some ‘random’ kid found on the street after the big fight with Onyx, he would have blasted the front doors off their hinges and made a grand entrance instead of manipulating the ice of his clothes to resemble simple civilian attire before sauntering inside, no questions asked. After all, no one ever looked twice at some guy walking around in a black shirt and blue jeans, not even in a hospital.

Though. He flexed his fingers. It wasn’t like it was outside his wheelhouse to freeze people to death if they got in his way.

Onyx frowned, the shadows pulsing as he opened his eyes again, making eye contact. “No...you wouldn’t would you….why are you here--No.” The darkness gathered underneath him, carefully carefully pushing the kid upright in the hospital bed. He hissed, uninjured arm moving to wrap around his stomach. “Why am I here and not dead, Icy?”

Patton lifted his chin, glaring at the hero. “Did you want to be dead?” He asked, hefting a javelin of ice in his hand.

The teenager had the gall to roll his eyes, though Patton didn’t miss how the shadows surged around him in a protective shield. “Missed your chance, buddy. Don’t tell me your frozen heart actually thawed a little during our fight.”

“No.” Patton jabbed at the shadows, not at all surprised when they easily shattered his weapon with a quick twist.

So the kid wasn’t as out of it as his dilated eyes made it seem. Good to know.

“So I’m alive then….why?”

Why did it matter? “You’re fourteen.”

Virgil scoffed, slowly moving the arm that was in a cast so it too rested against his stomach. “So? You’ve killed kids before.”

Patton stiffened, ice flashing from his feet to cover the floor like a mini ice rink. Did the boy honestly not care about his own life?! “You shouldn’t have been fighting me in the first place, Onyx! You’re a kid. A Fu-FREAKING KID. Your biggest worry should be passing some stupid Math test! Making friends in school. Not squaring up against the worst villain the city has ever seen!” A villain that always, always killed his nemeses no matter what.

Virgil huffed, spreading his arms, the shadows twisting around them. “Last time I checked, this kid could wipe your ass into the dirt without breaking a sweat. I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much.”

“But you shouldn’t HAVE to.” This wasn’t some stupid dystopian novel. No normal eleven year old should have such a stupidly high Chosen One complex.

“And who’s fault is it that I have to, Icemas?” Virgil’s eyes practically glittered like obsidian shards as the shadows lifted him off the bed, turning him to face Patton properly, the machines squeaking in protest as the various tubes connecting them to the hero shifted out of alignment. “No one else was stepping up. No one else would face you.”

“That’s the point!” Patton hissed, shooting a ray of ice to the door, crystals covering the window there and locking it in place so no one else would be able to investigate the alarms going off, before stepping forward to jab a finger at the boy’s chest, though he was careful to not actually touch the wounds there or send any ice bolts at him. “I’m showing everyone that being a hero is a useless archaic practice! No one should have to risk their life day in and day out for complete strangers who will never appreciate your sacrifice! If you had died tonight, Virgil, who would have cared?! The media? Ha.” He shook his head, gesturing to the blank TV screen in the corner as the shadows pulled back to quiver behind the young hero. “They’d mourn you for maybe a week tops before moving onto the next sensational story, the next stupid hero trying to make a difference. Maybe, maybe they will name some shiny new building after you, to remember you by, but then what? NOTHING. You’d be DEAD before you could ever drive and it would have all been for naught!”

Virgil frowned, shadows lowering him so he was sitting on the bed. “...You know my name?”

Patton stiffened. That’s what the kid was worried about? Him figuring out his civilian identity instead of nearly dying?! That was so messed up. “Someone had to try and track down your family, kid. The idiots here weren’t gonna do it.”

The hero had the gall to grin, though Patton didn’t miss how his fingers clenched the sheets. “Aww, well isn’t that sweet of you, Popsicle. How did that go?” He tilted his head to the iced over door where distant voices could be heard as the handle rattled. “Good old mom and dad waiting outside to see me? To check in on how their ickle Virgikins is doing?”

Teenagers. He hated them. “You know they aren’t. You have no one.”

Something flickered in the boy’s eyes. “Oh! Then let me guess.” He rested his chin on his uninjured hand. “You let the staff know I’m on my own? Do I get the oh so fun opportunity to experience our stellar A+ foster care system now?”

Patton rolled his eyes, shooting another bolt of ice at the door for good measure. “Please. They still think you’re a John Doe.” The lazy bums were waiting for him to wake up first. Hoping that Virgil would tell them who he was before trying to track down his identity or family.

“Excellent.” Virgil gave the door an appraising look. “Think they’ll believe amnesia?”

Patton blinked. “....Do you not feel the stitches holding your head together?” Or the baseball sized lump on the back of his skull from hitting the pavement?

The hero shrugged. “Honestly?” The shadows pulsed around him. “It’s all kinda fuzzy agony currently. Can’t differentiate what parts of me hurt and what doesn’t.”

How was this kid even awake?! Patton stepped forward, pushing the boy back down flat on the bed. “Then REST before you hurt yourself further, idiot.”

“Aw, love you too, Popsicles.”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT.” He would never be a fu-freaking Father to anyone.

“Or what?” Virgil relaxed against the pillows, even as his hand twisted to catch Patton’s wrist again. “You’ll kill me?”

If he wanted to do that the kid would be dead already. Patton jerked free, another ice spear forming in his hand, pointed to the boy’s throat. “No.”

“Aw. You scared to?”

“NO. I’m not killing a KID. Our fights are done with, Virgil. No more Onyx. He’s DEAD.”

The boy scoffed, pushing the spear to the side. “Last I checked, Icy,” The shadows surged over him in a swirling mass until the familiar shadowy form of Onyx stared back from the bed. “We’re the same person.” His voice echoed. “And I’m still alive and kicking.”

Ooooohoooho. Patton could feel his eye twitching as ice crept up the walls and window. If it were just Onyx he’d take great pleasure in killing the hero here and now. He itched to do so. But he couldn’t. Not with knowing that Virgil the child hid underneath the darkness. “I won’t fight you, kid.”

The shadows pulled back, revealing Virgil looking far paler than before, his face glittering with sweat. “Coward.”

“Idiot.” The kid needed to see a shrink. No normal fourteen year old would be this stubborn about wanting to constantly go up against him and face death by his hand!

“I know you are but what am I?”

The window shattered, sending frost covered glass glittering to the floor. “Hopefully grounded by the fool that ends up taking you in.” He got out through gritted teeth, ice particles shimmering in the air, ready to defend as the shadows around Onyx sprung up like a series of blackened tentacles writhing behind him.

He pitied whoever ended up with this troubled teen in their home…though...maybe he could arrange for the kid to be shipped across the country to live far far away from here. Getting out of this place could set him straight. Snap him out of this stupid hero phase he was in.

Virgil threw his head back, laughter ringing throughout the room as banging sounded from the door, the ice blockade cracking under the strain.

Judging by the way the ice was shearing off, someone with heat abilities had finally shown up.

Virgil shook his head, still grinning, though his eyes held no laughter as the shadow tentacles sharpened into jagged points, all aimed at Patton’s chest. “Oh that’s rich. Me, grounded? Like a normy would be able to stop me from coming after you the next time you decide to wreck the city.” He pushed himself up onto one elbow, jabbing his cast at Patton, the shadows quivering behind him like a pack of hunting dogs waiting to be unleashed as the temperature in the room dropped even further. “Face it, Popsicle. If you’re not gonna kill me then you’re stuck with me being your nemesis. If you want me to stop being the hero and keep me alive, then you have to stop being the villain. And we both know you’re not gonna do that. Your precious plan is too important to just give it up for my sake.”

And that was the crux of the matter wasn’t it? Patton snarled, raising his hands, the ice particles in the air morphing into a slew of arrows all directed towards the boy. He didn’t want to kill Virgil. But he couldn’t give up his plan. Give up being the villain. Not after a decade of fighting to get all those idealistic fools to see what a farce being a hero was. He was so close to winning. So close. “Fine.” He surged forward, grabbing the boy by the throat, ice arrows darting about to block the shadow tentacles of the kid’s from interfering. “You value my plan more than your pathetic life? Then you should--”

BANG.

The door behind them shattered, sending a heat wave full of shrapnel blasting into the room.

IDIOTS.

Patton whirled, flinging a wall of ice towards the figures in the doorway in an attempt to block the worst of the heat from outright killing Virgil then and there. IDIOTS! Did they not care at all that an already injured kid was in the ro---

A half melted silver door knob burst through the resulting steam before Patton could react to it, clocking him between the eyes with enough force to knock him backwards, his world vanishing into cold, silent darkness as the hospital floor rushed up to meet him.

[neon-junkie]

It's OK to like villains, and liking them doesn't mean you support/'stan' them. Here's why:

I've seen the debate of 'liking a villain means you must support them,' and well, that's total nonsense. It's something that has appeared with newer, younger fandoms, usually circulating through minor fans and on social media such as TikTok. Liking a villain has never ever meant you support them, and I'm not sure where exactly this rubbish has come from, but I'm going to break it down and explain why enjoying a villain does not mean you support them.

Let's start off with the word 'stan', considering I see this word used the most. The original meaning of 'stan' was: 'a person who is an obsessive or stalker fan.'

The term comes from Eminem's song, Stan, where Stan is obsessed with Eminem, so much to the point that he kills himself and his pregnant girlfriend when Eminem doesn't reply to his letter fast enough.

The term stan soon changed to also mean: 'stanning someone can also mean supporting them, not just being an obsessive fan.' For example 'I stan X character' means ‘I support X character.’

Well, there are some characters you should definitely not stan/support, and villains are usually top of this list. Although, there are some villains out there with anti-hero and chaotic good intentions, Megamind for example, but the vast majority of villains should not be 'stanned.'

This is the thing - Very few people out there actually stan villains.

And here's another thing - You can like a villain without 'stanning' them

Like I mentioned before, stan culture is still relatively new, and it's impacted fandom culture both negatively and positively. Personally, I've only really seen the negative side of the impact, as I've always been a fan of villains. In the younger fandom days, people were free to enjoy characters they want, no matter who and what they are. You could say '

I like this villain,' and people would usually reply 'okay! I'm personally not a fan, but you're free to enjoy whatever fictional character you want.'

That was it, plain and simple. I guess everybody understood that the likelihood of you actually agreeing with that villains actions was little to none, but now that the phrase 'stan' is rising, it's replacing being a simple 'fan' of things, and is changing peoples viewpoints of what others enjoy in fiction.

Villain fans have always been around, and they always will, and like I said, little to none of them actually agree with what the villain is doing. Most of us enjoy the complexity, emotional depth, and layers to villains. A lot of us simply find these characters more attachable than the main ones, or we just find them hot... yeah, a lot of villains are hot - don't blame us for finding them attractive, blame the creator for making them attractive!

Some people also project their trauma and negative selves onto villains, and use their interest in these fictional characters as a method to cope. Most villains do have a tragic backstory, elements of which some of us can relate to, and it's okay to relate to a villain. We naturally show empathy, and it's hard to not latch onto a character who may have been through the same things we have, or been in similar situations that we've been in. They may have also reacted in ways that we wish we did, such as fighting back when in a harmful situation, or putting their foot down for once. So, it's hard not to project ourselves and our trauma onto them.

There's been many studies on why some people enjoy villains over the rest, here's a few perfect explanations behind the admiration:

"Aggressiveness, expressiveness, athleticism, excitability, and intelligence are another set of factors that seem to stand across romantic relationships as desirable or something we yearn for (Felmlee, 1995). These traits found in almost every villain. They have to be charismatic, aggressive, smart, and lively or else why would their followers choose to follow them? Loki from the Marvel universe reflects this as a humorous, upbeat, coy, charismatic villain which has lead to a massive social media following." - Socialcognition2019

"“When you are no longer uncomfortable with the comparison, there seems to be something alluring and enticing about having similarities with a villain,” explains Rucker. “For example, people who see themselves as tricky and chaotic may feel especially drawn to the character of The Joker in the Batman movies, while a person who shares Lord Voldemort’s intellect and ambition may feel more drawn to that character in the Harry Potter series,” said Krause." - zmescience

“A lot of us want to feel that freedom, feel that comfort being the bad guy. How many times at work have you had to be the bad guy, and absolutely hated doing it? Don’t you wish you could fire people or treat people horribly having to do your job without remorse? Don’t you wish that you could see, as much as others try to tell you, that what you’re doing is for the best? For me, that will be impossible because I’m too nice and too much of a pushover, but there’s a part of us that empathizes with the villain because in some sectors of life and of our relationships, we are the villain. Try being the tough parent when your spouse is too nice — your kid will see you as the bad guy. Try being the tough, no-nonsense boss when the other boss treats everyone like his or her friend and doesn’t hold people accountable. In one way or another, life will inevitably thrust us into those situations. We are both hero and villain, but we’re much more comfortable as the former than the latter. We’re much more praised for being kind than when we have to be tough, and that’s why, to me, villains are so compelling." - Medium

I wish I could copy and paste this entire article, but I'd recommend just reading it instead: Find yourself rooting for the bad guy? You're not alone - Digitalspy

Tumblr user Techousespeaks also did this fantastic explaintion: Is It Really Okay To Like Villains So Much?

Enjoying villains has always been a thing, and it always will be a thing.

There is NOTHING wrong with enjoying them, and in some cases, there is nothing wrong with 'stanning' them.

You are allowed to like fiction, especially dark fiction, or the darker sides of fiction.

And if anybody comes along and tells you that you're not allowed to like the bad guy then simply block them. Villain fans will always exist in every single fandom, and there's many of us per fandom. If the villain really wasn't meant to be liked, then the creators would announce that.

Enjoy whatever makes you happy.

An old fandom saying that still applies is 'come to the dark side, we have cookies!!‘ (and we really do) :)

[highfaelucien]

While on the topic of wishing sjm had done something different for her characters, I really wanted something more for cassian. For example, cassian’s wings going from being completely ruined in the end of acomaf to being 100% healed in acowar made no sense to me. I think it would’ve been an opportunity for the growth of cassian’s character to see him go through the loss of losing the ability to fly and instead retrain himself to be a warrior in other ways and find other things about himself that prove his own worth to himself. Given the fact that cassian’s confidence is aligned with his ability to protect and serve others, it just would have been sooo good to see him overcome his grief and become even stronger of a character. And how wings, in general, are a sense of male pride among illyrians. I think this would’ve been the perfect way to write cassian and have him break away from his own idea of masculinity. He could have redefined what it meant for him to be a Man ™. Ugh, it just could have been so GOOD, imagine the character we could have gotten from him.

Listen, after ACOMAF, when this happened, EVERYONE was buzzing about this. Most people thought he wouldn't outright lose his wings permanently, but there would be a LOT required.

And then ACOWAR came and approximately nothing happened whatsoever. Oh he had to be healed. the healer had to rebuild his wings. he had to do strength training every day. But fundamentally: not a sausage.

Personally? I think Maas chickend out. I think she was unable to commit to taking Cassian's wings, or figuring out how to write him as anything other than what she's established him as: fun jock man who likes to hit things real hard and make dick jokes sometimes.

Having to see Cassian vulnerable? Having to see him broken, and struggling, and having to reevaluate his entire life and self-esteem and sense of masculinity would have been an incredible option for a character arc.

Most of the theorising/Nessian fics involved Nesta helping him. The two of them being broken/fundamentally altered by their experiences in Hybern - she being killed and Made with a dark power, Cassian losing his wings.

There was expected bonding over that, peeling away the masks they both wear to discover the softness underneath. The two of them being able to reach one another, because of their bond, in a way the others could not. It produced some pretty epic stuff, honestly.

And how badly I wanted that I didn't FULLY realise until the disappointment of ACOSF, when it hit fully.

Because instead of stripping Cassian back and seeing the tactician, the strategist, forcing him to put his other skills to use, to develop those skills, rather than 'smash with sword and ask questions later'. This man is a General. All the combat training in the world doesn't let you be good at this job if you can't command, if you can't use tactics, if you can't strategise.

And THIS is where I wanted to see Nesta. Nesta, the woman who calculated how many ships would be needed to save the humans of Prythian. The woman who looked at Greysen's manor and assessed its capabilities and saw a prison. The woman who devours history novels, who has a tactical, cunning mind. Who has never been a warrior or a creature of brute strength or physical abilities.

THIS is how I wanted to see Nesta evolve. This was how I wanted to see her develop. I didn't want her taken out of lady's dresses. I didn't want her forced into fighting leathers, to basically become another copy of her sister, and follow down that path.

I wanted her to take her own. I wanted her to finally be in a place where she could learn, and strategise, and contribute. And I wanted her to work with Cassian on this - who was grounded because of his wings, who couldn't command on the frontlines anymore, or even fight. Who had to stay back, and see how he handled this. How he maintained his authority. How he maintained his sanity without his wings.

We could have had so fucking much. Such a powerful narrative about survival. I wanted her in the library, with the other survivors, (and with fucking MORRIGAN - not sidelined, not dismissed, not being bitchy and catty for the sake of it. But someone who visits the library frequently, who interacts with the women there, and sometimes just is a woman there herself, because there are still hard days.)

But no. No instead of something nuanced, and original, and actually tailored to Nesta's strengths as a character, we got Yet Another Weapon's Trainng Montage.

We got the narrative that the only way to heal from abuse is to be able to beat the shit out of your abusers. Because that's #GirlPower, right?

It makes me so furious I almost want to just. Just fucking rewrite the whole damn fucking thing myself the way it SHOULD have gone.

And I know you talked about Cassian and not Nesta, so I do apologise, but they were tied together. But I agree.

We all wanted Cassian to evolve from that 'Lord of Bloodshed' / "savage brute" because reading between the lines and forcing some nuance from these books, which is the only way to survive: Cassian has a lot of layers. There's a lot of trauma there. A lot of insecurity. A lot of angst. A lot of heart. A lot of fucking INTELLIGENCE. (I'll fight on that point, I really will. Cassian is not a dumb himbo who can barely add 1 and 1).

But sjm was too busy writing him having a hard on for Nesta to explore....anything about himself. Or his relationship with Azriel, and Rhys, and Mor, and everyone else.

The removal (even temporarily) of his wings would have allowed for a LOT of that exploration.

Firstly, the fact that he injured them by CHOICE, saving Azriel's life. That would have been such a deep connection and bond between them. The guilt that Az would feel - but the potential for Cassian to step in, even with his wings gone, and say that he'd do it again.

Because Azriel is his brother. He loves him. And it was worth it. It would be worth it a hundred times over to save him. Because he's worth saving. And he's worth sacrificing for. And what that would have done for Az as a character, too. Who always offers himself up first for dangerous missions, puts himself in peril to protect the others.

And having Cassian join Feyre and Az's flying lessons? Because Cass having to relearn how to fly once (if) his wings healed to that extent, means letting Azriel train him. Because those old instincts aren't enough. And he has to learn how to strengthen them, and train with them. And how this affects his perception of himself and his masculinity, as he said. But also deepening his understanding for Az, and the bond the two of them share, in having this experience together.

Bonding with Rhys, who FINALLY fucking opens up to someone and has some nuanced therapy-like conversations about what happened with Amarantha. The sacrifces they've made for their people. How they'd do it again but it still hurts, and changes them, and how they have to learn and grow and move on from that and heal together.

Rhys working with Cassian on his other talents, using him as the skilled strategist and tactician he MUST be. Helping him to develop that, keeping his brother from losing his mind while he can't fight or use his physicality to solve problems, as he usually does.

Mor personally healing and tending to Cassian. Mor being there at his bedside every day while he was bed bound. Mor becoming as possessive and overprotective of both him and Az as any mate ever has been.

Mor speaking to him about her own rehabilitation after what her family did to her, the physical toll that took on her. Mor's heart breaking because she nearly lost both him and Az and she couldn't handle that at all. Mor reiterating how much she fucking loves him, and how she needs him.

Mor helping him through the darker days of his depression because she's been there. And she knows what it is to put on a front. To always be laughing, and joking, without the seriousness of life -leave that to the others. But sometimes it's too much and he needs to break down. And be angry. And furious. And hopeless. And scared. And that's what she's there for. Because she understands.

Mor winnowing him to his favourite spots that he can't fly to anymore, just so he can be there. The two of them spending time, and bonding, and developing that relationship we got in ACOMAF beyond 'we bicker constantly and drink together and make sexual innuendos'.

Even Amren showing up and doing her part. Snapping at him to stop brooding so much. But also bringing him some of her puzzles. Some of her favourite military history books (which she has anotated and edited to highlight the bits that have been incorrectly reported). Spending time with him to stop him going mad. Exhausting herself those first few days personally attending to Cassian's wings, and snarling at anyone who tried to interfere.

IT COULD HAVE BEEN SO MUCH.

IT COULD HAVE DEVELOPED SO MUCH WITH THE INNER CIRCLE. AND CASSIAN. AND NESSIAN. AND JUST. EVERYTHING WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER BUT NAW. IT WAS BASIC ASS AND BORING AND I'M GONNA DIE MAD ABOUT IT.

[marshmallowprotection]

Gladiolus.

Description: Jihyun Kim knew what he had to do to protect both Saeran and Saeyoung, but what happens when he realizes that he needs to help himself and change the course of his life to accomplish it? Will he have the strength to be the Dad that he needs to be for them in the face of his mistakes and victories?

Photographer Saeran AU

Word Count: 10500

Based on this idea and thanks to @dailysaeran​ for drawing baby Saeran!

[Read on AO3]

Jihyun had heard that the winds of change could come into your life and dismantle everything that you thought would last forever. Life wasn’t always a constant stream where the water would twist and turn around the rocks the same way. The weather would change, the temperature would change, the currents would change, and even the animals that lived in the water would change as the seasons passed. 

It had been something that he had gone through twice before, but this change wasn’t one that he ever expected to come. It had been a realization that had been a long time coming, but he hadn’t allowed himself to see just how much he needed to stop and reflect on the man that he became as his life shifted to much more mature adulthood. 

The first time things changed, he lost his dear mother and it changed the way that he believed in love. Her adoration and commitment to him had made him believe that he needed to care for the people he loved no matter what, without fail, even if it meant that he would sacrifice himself. In hindsight, now he was able to see how this extreme wasn’t the right way to handle his feelings towards others. 

His mother had always loved him and wanted the best for him. But, at that time,  he had been a stubborn young man who had layered issues with his mother. It wasn’t her fault that his father had taught him to feel complicated about his mother, and it certainly wasn’t her fault that V had come to realize too late that his father had manipulated him to believe in his lies. He had been so afraid as a child of his father seeing his true passion. 

His fears and insecurities forced him into pushing his mother away over and over again, but she kept believing in him and pushing for him to find his dream. Her sacrifice for him during the fire that claimed her life had been what changed Jihyun forever. He thought that to love someone, he had to give everything for the rest of his life, even if that meant trying to help someone by being too pushy. 

His mistake here had nearly cost him everything. 

It had almost destroyed him, in the same way, that his mother had been destroyed by her love and compassion for her son whom she loved dearly. He had learned the wrong lesson and it was only recently that he was able to understand that. 

The second time things changed, he had met Rika, and by extension, he would eventually come into contact with Saeyoung. His love life with Rika had always been intense, blinding as the sun as the two of them tangled their broken hearts looking for a savior to believe in. But, their love wasn’t right for one another at the end of the day, and the more they argued the less idyllic their reality became. 

He wanted to help Rika escape from her nightmares and trauma, but he had no idea how to help her in the way that she needed him to. He thought that allowing her to fixate on her darkest and scariest thoughts by subjecting him to them instead of herself, would help her to break free of the chain. She was a star that was on the brink of exploding when he met her, and every single day, he idealized this and found a muse within it. 

It hadn’t been a healthy relationship once their feelings became tangled with the fruits of poison but as that realization grew to a fever pitch, V couldn’t ignore the cycle that had been created. Even if they ignored it and tried to make things work, it was never going to work and they were needless in the way that they continued to subject themselves to something that would never make them feel the love that they deserved. 

Everyone thought that their love was perfect, but it was far from the truth. This was realized just as they began to help the twins. Saeyoung and Saeran Choi were two young boys who had been living in hell their entire lives, and they were trapped in a cycle of abuse that they could not get out of on their own. Rika had been taking care of Saeyoung for a while, gaining his trust through the church and trying to help him bring more food and clothes home to his sickly twin. 

She’d known him for quite some time before Jihyun met him. But, Rika had been upfront with him about the life that this young boy lived, and it didn’t take much consideration for him to so badly want to help. Saeyoung was willing to do anything, try something, or beg if it meant that his brother could be safe and sound away from harm. Their mother was using them to blackmail their father into getting whatever she wanted, and without them, she wouldn’t be able to assert that control. 

Rika, at first, wanted to simply remove the boys in the dead of night and run. V thought that wasn’t a bad idea, but when Saeyoung admitted the identity of his father, they both knew in their hearts that running wasn’t going to be a viable option. 

It was in their hunt to find a way to get the older twin an escape that V met someone from the agency. A fan of his that loved to buy up so many of his photographs happened to be working for an underground facility that took any intelligent young people under their wings. The man spun it to him like being an escape from reality, an action movie suddenly came to life that would give the budding Choi a place to learn how to use his skills to protect himself. 

As Saeyoung had proven to be quite skillful with programming, the books that he had been studying that had been given to him by Rika had come in handy. He was able to prove that his skill was worth the trouble it would take to train him properly to the man, and Jihyun was able to make a deal through that, giving Saeyoung safety within the confines of secret protection where his hacking skills could eventually help him hide everything about himself and his brother. 

For the time being, Saeyoung would have to let go of his twin to go into the agency to study and become what they wanted him to be. There was no telling how long he would owe the agency his life and skill, it could’ve been years or it could’ve lasted his entire life. But, the deal would give him time to figure out how to become the strongest person that he could be. It would allow him to protect his brother, which is all he wanted.

In making this deal with the agency, he made a second deal with V for it. Saeyoung was a very firm negotiator when he wanted to be. The promise was that as long as Saeyoung was in the care of the agency, V and/or Rika would have to care for his brother and keep him hidden. It was this large promise to make that meant that everything in their lives would change, but V took this deal because he knew it was the right thing to do. He wanted nothing more than to protect those boys with his entire heart. 

He had never been this committed to the idea of protecting children before, but he supposed that he saw his pain in their eyes. He never wanted to see another child hurt from whatever they lived through, no matter how deep the pain buried itself into their bodies. This deal was made and the older twin had to leave without warning. His heart ached to know that he couldn’t tell his twin where he was going. 

People in the agency weren’t allowed to have connections with family or loved ones. If they did, people would use them as collateral and the agency couldn’t have their members breaking down every time someone wound up kidnapped or used a prop. Saeyoung couldn’t stomach the idea of knowing that his brother would get hurt when this was to protect him, so when the day came and he had to leave? 

He hugged his brother tightly as he was still resting and apologized, leaving during the time before the sun rose with just the clothes on his back. Saeran would be okay, but he had to break his heart into pieces to do it. His little brother was everything to him and just knowing that he could taste some kind of freedom was all he needed to choose to leave. Saeyoung had tears in his eyes that day, but he never stopped smiling. 

Those words that Saeyoung spoke still haunted him somewhat, as the undaunted expression in his eyes grew; “Saeran will have a good life. I know he will. He’ll be free to look at the grounds and get any kind of ice cream that he wants after dinner from now on. He’ll get to experience all kinds of firsts… he can read, draw, and try all kinds of things with you, V. He’ll make friends, he’ll fall in love, he’ll have everything that he could ever want. Thank you.” 

That hung heavy on V’s shoulders as it was a tall order to fulfill. But, he took that promise and he kept it deeply interwoven inside of his heart. Even as his and Rika’s relationship came to an end in a matter of seconds. Rika realized after just a short time being around Saeran that his pain was too great compared to her own, and it reminded her too much of her mother and the pain that she had suffered. 

She wanted to protect Saeran, but this realization had given her the ugly truth. She couldn’t give him the love that he needed alongside V… because her heart was still wounded, and she wanted to heal herself in the right way before she tried to help someone in need in the way that he truly needed. His pain was like her own, and in seeing that, she knew that she needed to end things with V to be able to help herself. 

As they had been growing apart over some time, V understood why she chose to do this and he knew that it was coming no matter what happened. They had never been perfect for each other and trying to force themselves to stay together to take care of Saeran simply wasn’t going to help that child in need. 

Rika dedicated herself back to going to therapy consistently and decided to put all her energy into creating the RFA so she could help Saeran and other children like him that way, removed from the situation but still close enough to provide help.

She loved V but their love couldn’t ever be more than what it had always been, mere infatuation and trying to cover their wounds with a meager bandaid that couldn’t heal the problem. He cared for her greatly but at the end of the day, love could not bloom and prosper in a garden without a drop of water in the intense heat of the sun. 

V understood his failing in their relationship as well, and through her insistence, as well as the urging of Jumin, he decided that he needed to get help for himself as well. Even if getting help was such a taboo in his culture, he knew that he needed it. He knew that his heart was wounded and to be a better man, he had to acknowledge what he had gone through. After all, if he was to be Saeran’s father, he wanted to be worthy of the title. 

He wanted to be able to prove to not only himself but everyone around him that he could do the right thing. It wasn’t easy for him to face his demons but it was a process that he wanted to start for his heath. While that started and he and Rika separated, he slowly took the time to lure Saeran away from his mother’s grasp day by day. It started with Rika convincing the woman to let him come to the cathedral every so often. 

But, in due time, the longer that Saeran was gone, the less time that his mother was aware of her surroundings and the people around herself. 

She had been drinking often since Saeyoung had left and it left her out of her mind for lengthy periods. When she was too dazed to even process what her name was, much less where her child was, that’s when V and Rika snuck in during the dead of night when she was passed out and there was no sign of any watchful eyes from Saejoong Choi. 

Saeran was removed from her household and brought to V’s house in the secluded mountains, far from the city but just close enough that they wouldn’t have a lengthy drive if push came to shove and they needed something. 

That woman was left in her despair but her fate hung in the balance the minute that she was left alone. They took extreme measures to make it look like the boys hadn’t even lived there in the first place, but whatever Saejoong Choi decided to do with that woman… it would be the price of her sins to face alone now that she no longer could use the boys as puppets. Neither V nor Rika would look back or try to discern her true fate. 

It would be up to fate in that case and they would shield Saeran from that reality as much as they could. He might have cared for the idea of his mother as he craved a family where he was wanted and loved, but she wasn’t someone who truly loved her sons. They couldn’t be properly called her sons because she never treated them the way a mother should treat their child. She simply did not deserve that title. 

Regardless, with Saeran under his care, he was finally able to wake up one morning and know that he had a bed that couldn’t be taken away from him. He’d been given his bedroom with anything that he could desire. Saeyoung had told them about some of the things that he liked and it helped them figure out what to gift him to make him feel more at home. 

It was a lot for Saeran all at once, though. 

His eyes flooded with tears that day as he realized that he had a bed for the first time in his life. He looked back at V and asked him, “Is that mine?” The twins had slept on a mat on the floor with only a single blanket to share between them. Saeran often wound up wearing the blanket after he fell asleep because Saeyoung would refuse to take it. So, a bed was like the biggest gift this child had ever seen. 

Saeran’s eyes flooded with tears as he hugged V without thinking, looking at him with the most joyful expression in his eyes. V felt his heart jump when he did, and a lump grew in his throat as he ruffled the boy’s hair and smiled in return. This was what Saeyoung wanted, his twin to be able to have the very thing that they had been denied from their birth, a home with a family that would protect him.

He had been barely fourteen years old, but the way his donated clothes clung to his body and how short he was, he could’ve passed easily as a ten-year-old, at best. He was small and barely able to hold himself up most days but that had been a happy moment for him. Saeran had only let go of V to race to the bed, flopping onto the soft mattress and rolling onto his back, laughing and giggling with glee. 

His room was a paradise of pinks and blues, very gentle pastels that would cloak him with the sunshine that he had been denied. His room had a large window that he could open if he wanted to see the sky or feel the fresh breeze on his face once again. 

There was a view of the garden in the back and the massive trees that lead into the forest further behind that. He could see all of the things that he never could have locked away in his mother’s house.

There were plushies and toys carefully tucked into the room as well since Saeyoung had been firmly adamant that his twin loved to color and all the picture books that he had received made him long for toys and soft things to hold onto. 

There was one gift in that room that hadn’t been chosen by V… and it was a ginger tabby cat plushie, something that Saeyoung picked out for him after he snuck out to go shopping with V one day. 

If Saeran were to flip the tag around its neck, he would see his brother’s handwriting on the back plain as day. It didn’t say his brother’s name on it but it did say, “For Saeran,” and that would be the only clue his twin needed to understand that it was a gift from Saeyoung. He would discover it when V left him to acclimate to his new room by himself, eyes laced with happy tears as he’d realize his twin had given him a gift. 

It meant that his brother was alive and this was where he wanted him to be.

Saeran was hopeful after that, his eyes sparkling with relief and joy. V couldn’t tell him where his twin was or anything about him, but the gift was enough. It was a gesture that would be able to tide him over and keep his heart happy, knowing that he hadn’t been abandoned and his twin hadn’t been killed by their father. 

It was a simple gesture but it was the only thing that he could think of to bypass the agency before they even knew it was a problem. 

Of course, this opened up another can of worms that V had to deal with. The fact of the matter was, Saeran couldn’t keep his red hair. Even if he was hidden away from the rest of the world and safe with him, they couldn’t trust that his father wasn’t still looking. He would be hunting around for boys with red hair and golden eyes. 

V had to explain this to Saeran, who felt a little dejected about not being able to keep his hair but after he learned why he had to change it, he was okay with it. After all, he knew that he could be able to dye it back someday if he wanted. But, for the time being, he had to dye his hair to look like V’s did. This was for a very good reason and it worked with the backstory that he was going to tell people if they asked about him having a child. 

Through the false documentation that he was able to create thanks to the channel he had created with his informants, he was able to create an entire fabricated life for Saeran. It took a lot of time to look into his mother’s side, but he was able to make it seem as though Saeran was just a very distant cousin of his from the states that had no other family to turn to. It meant he wouldn’t be in the family registry since it was distant. 

It was close enough that a doctored birth certificate and some basic paperwork could give him a new identity overall. It took a lot of money to make it as perfect and legal as possible, but it was well worth the price he paid. To the South Korean government as far as they were concerned in the matter, Saeran would simply be known as Ray Kim, the adopted child of Jihyun Kim. It was as simple as that. 

Saeran had been adamant about the name since he got to pick what people would call him. He thought about it for a while until he stumbled upon an interesting idiom. He noticed that nice people were called a Ray of Sunshine. Saeran felt connected with that idea, he wanted so badly to be happy enough that people would never think he was lonely and pathetic. 

He wanted to be that person that looked so happy they glowed. 

If Saeyoung was watching over him now, he wanted his brother to know that he was happy. So, his new name should’ve been happy. V agreed and let him pick that name since he was giving up a lot to be able to have this freedom in the first place. He was a child that had been saved but he still had limitations on what he could do. Being able to choose his name was one of the small luxuries. 

Of course, as soon as the paperwork was ready, V had to dye his hair himself. It took a while to lighten his red locks to a color that would accept the mint dye, but Saeran was a good sport for the entire time that he had to sit there at the table, letting V do his hair in layers as everything started to process. It took a few hours but by the end of it, Saeran’s red was washed away and replaced with a color that was no different than V’s. 

The child looked into the mirror once his hair had dried out, blinking a few times at his reflection since he didn’t recognize it at first. His golden eyes stared back at him so he knew that it was his face in the mirror but it felt weird not to see his twin’s face reflected with his own. It wasn’t the same as it used to be, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t okay. 

It was okay. 

He knew it would be okay. 

In a quiet voice, he asked, “Do you think Saeyoung would be upset because I don’t look like him anymore?” 

“Saeyoung would be happy that you’re safe here,” V said. He rested his hand against Saeran’s shoulder and they looked back at their reflections together this time. “You’ll always look like your brother, even if you don’t have the same hair color. Nobody can ever take that connection away from you, Saeran. Never forget that.” 

“Okay.” 

“Do you want to try on the contacts, too? You don’t have to use them when we’re at home, but if we leave the house for something together, I’ll need you to wear them, okay? So, it’d be nice to try to practice getting them off and on your eyes.” 

“Are they this color, too?”

“I picked a few different colors out, Saeran. What would you like to try?” 

“Um, what about green? It’s like the grass!” 

“We can try that.” 

  —

  Saeran adjusted as best he could.

Everything changed so much for him after he finally felt secure. He had room to sleep in, he had a house that could leave whenever he wanted, and he had a new member of his family who liked to listen to him talk for hours about all of the new things that he was doing. V even said that once he felt like he was ready, he could start going to school and hang out with kids his age. 

That was a little scary for Saeran to think about. He wasn’t sure about going out in the open with people… he was still scared of being caught by his father and getting his brother into trouble. It was a sad reality that he faced but the decision was ultimately left in his hands if he wanted to go to school with other kids or he simply wanted V to hire him a proper tutor to come and visit the house every week. 

Saeran was curious about school… about kids his age. Back at the cathedral, he didn’t talk much to the other kids because he had felt too shy to approach them. He had spoken to some of the kids a few times during the playtime that they had whilst the parents were in the middle of their mass, but he always got too anxious to talk to them beyond a few quiet “hello”s. 

It was hard to imagine making friends. 

It was hard to imagine going to school, too. 

But, everything he saw on the television made it seem like it might be fun. What if Saeyoung was going to a school? Would he want him to go, too? He wasn’t so sure about it, but he could think about it and try to guess what it would be like. After all, V went to a school when he’d been a kid, so that meant that it was safe, right? 

Saeran was a gentle soul that liked to learn how to do everything… every meal was spent trying to show him how to do something. Cleaning up meant that he wanted to help V every step of the way, and for the time that he wasn’t trying to learn skills, he could be found outside in the garden that was growing stronger outside. The flowers and vegetables had caught his eye, again. 

He spent a lot of time learning about them at the cathedral but he didn’t have long to study the picture book that V got him when he was stuck with his mother. He liked learning about how they drew and what they meant when you shared them with other people. Saeran thought it was interesting that people could share secrets between petals and stems. 

They were all so pretty and he liked talking to them whenever he could. They were like his friends even if they couldn’t talk back to him. He never had someone who listened so much before so he liked that about them. His flowers were everything to him, and he felt like they could be what he needed to get by instead of school! 

Even if he was curious about what it felt like to have friends that could talk back to him. His flowers were good enough, right? 

V told him that flowers grow better when you talk to them, and he took that belief inside of his heart without question. Even though there was so much that he wanted to share with the flowers, he always ran out of time when the sunset. If he could’ve spent all his time in that little garden, he would have. Though, he was always sad on rainy days when couldn’t go outside and see his friends. 

He would curl up on the couch with his plushie and stare up at the ceiling for a while, letting his mind wander with thoughts that seemed endless. He was lonely, now, even if he had a family of flowers and V with him. Maybe V was right, he wondered, maybe it would be nice to have some friends that he could talk to just as much as he loved talking to his flower friends. What if he was allowed to have both? 

After a particularly stormy day and night that hadn’t let him go outside, Saeran practically leaped at the chance to go outside again. He didn’t even think to ask if V was going to come with him, his little legs just carried him through the house and out the backdoor as fast as they could. He found his way around the puddles and beamed, leaning over with his hands on his knees to inspect his friends. 

They looked like they had gotten a lot of water overnight but after how dry it had been, he wasn’t too scared for them. He just wished that he had a chance to see them even when it was raining badly. His flower friends made his day feel a little bit brighter so seeing them made them was always a good feeling he had. He just didn’t know how to see them if it was raining so much all the time!

That’s when Jihyun appeared beside him, crouching down in the dirt next to Saeran with his camera in hand. Saeran cocked his head and looked at him, unsure why he had come to this part of their garden right away. He lifted the viewfinder to his face and pointed it at one of the flowers that he had been admiring, then he lowered the device and showed the image to Saeran. 

With curious and amazing eyes, Saeran found himself staring at a reflection of the flower. He’d known that V took photos of things that were kind of like what he saw on the walls of their little house but those were all of the sky and stars. There weren’t photos of flowers in the house, there were a few paintings, but no flower pictures. 

He didn’t realize that pictures could be taken of things that were on Earth. Technology was still kind of a fickle thing for Saeran. He had a hard time understanding how things worked, trying to figure out how televisions made their picture happen, how phones could call people if they didn’t have a connection with a string, how cameras worked, how lights functioned to off and on, how a sink made water, and more. 

The house that he lived in with his brother didn’t have a lot of things. The kitchen they had was small and he wasn’t allowed in it. His brother would have to get him food and water, and if he’d ever walked into the kitchen without his mother dragging him in there, he would get hurt in the process. He never looked around. He always looked at his feet. 

It felt like he didn’t know how anything worked. He always tried to guess how they worked, but the only answer that he could come up with was magic. It made sense in the storybook that he’d read once. Magic seemed like a really good answer, but he couldn’t ever find the fairy or witch that was making it work! 

What made V’s camera work? 

He was utterly mystified by what he was seeing on the device. He liked the photos that V took of the sky but… he never thought that this was something he could do. V always had a lot of big cameras that he would take outside during the day and night to take longer photos. He said something about exposure, but Ray didn’t know what he meant. 

He just knew that whatever magic he did made those really pretty photos of the fluffy clouds come into their living room. V had hung the photo that Saeran liked the most in his room after he asked if he could look at the photo for a while. He thought that asking meant that V would let him look at his screen for a while, but he printed the photo out and put it up when he was asleep. It was a nice surprise! 

He spoke up without knowing what he said aloud, “You… you can take pictures of flowers, too? I thought your camera only worked the sky.” 

A small smile appeared on V’s face. He paused as if an idea came to mind, and then he leaned over and pressed the camera into Saeran’s hands. Saeran was surprised and looked down at the device in his hands. He didn’t know what to do with it. He was nervous he might drop it if V let him hold it, so he tried to hand it back, but V insisted with another gentle nudge towards him to keep it. 

“Lift the camera and look at the screen,” V tapped his finger against the top of the camera where he was staring. “Notice how it shows you what you already see in the garden? 

Saeran did as he said, and he noticed the world moved much as it did on television on that small screen. Oh, so, did the cameras that took pictures to take the videos, too? That seemed to make sense to him. He could see the Gladiolus reflected on the monitor. There were a lot of buttons that did things but he didn’t know what they did. 

Saeran pursed his lips and looked back at V, “How do you make it work like that? I mean, how do you take the picture?” 

“I’d be happy to show you. Can I?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

So, V adjusted Saeran’s hold on the camera. He helped him place one firm hand on the lens and another on the side of the camera. Then, he showed him how to focus the lens and how to clear up the picture. Saeran felt a little weird about it since this was his first time holding a camera but V was patient as his uncertainty slowly washed away. 

He looked at the flower outside of the lens at first, then he looked at the screen again. Saeran thought about it. Would the picture look the same as the real thing? Would someone who saw the photo know exactly what Saeran felt when he was looking at the flower? Or, would they guess as to what he felt? Would they feel that fluttering feeling, too?

“When you want to take a photo, you hit the button. Go ahead, give it a try.” 

Saeran hit the switch on the side of the camera and waited a few seconds for the image to show itself on the screen. A wide smile appeared on his face as soon as it did. He couldn’t believe it! He’d taken a photo and it looked just like his flower! Lowering the camera soon, he looked at V who was smiling, too. 

He wished that he could show Saeyoung! He never took a photo before and this one reminded him of his brother so much! He was happy, so happy that he had been able to try something new, that he didn’t even realize that he had begun to giggle, “I did it! Dad, I did it! I took the photo!” 

“You did a good job, Saeran. Would you like to keep trying?” 

V ruffled his hair once again, the mint locks growing messy around his eyes as it would always do whenever the man did that. The breeze was no different, further messing up his hair but he’d decided he didn’t care about that. His hair could be as messy as he wanted and nobody would get onto him for it. 

Saeran’s smile didn’t fade away this time. The prospect that he was allowed to try something more than just once was still a foreign feeling, but it was one that he wasn’t afraid of. “Do you mean it? I can take more photos? I don’t have to just take one of them? I can take anything I want?” 

“Of course, Saeran. I’d be happy to show you how to take pictures of anything you want. There is no limit to what you can take. Those flowers, those trees, the lake just beyond them, the sky, the clouds, you, me, anything you want! I remember you said that you wanted to be able to see your flowers even when it was rainy… and this way you can. You can take pictures of as many flowers as you want.” 

Saeran’s eyes sparkled with excitement. He turned away from V and began to look around the garden for anything that might catch his eye. He didn’t know where to start. He never expected to be able to do something like this! What kind of pictures would he like to see? Oh, could he take photos like V and surprise him the way that he did? 

There were so many ideas running through him and he knew that he wanted to try all of them as soon as he could. 

He was renewed with the idea that maybe, just maybe he would be able to send these photos to his brother somehow. Wouldn’t Saeyoung love to see them? He gripped the device tightly in his hands and set off into the garden leaving V as he went to take photos of everything. His eyes looking at the earth and the sky, taking photos of everything without feeling like he was being held down. 

If he could have photos with him whenever he went off what he loved, he wouldn’t be afraid to try new things anymore. It wouldn’t be scary because he wouldn’t be alone. He could have the stars, the sun, the clouds, the sky, the flowers, his house, V, himself, and anything else that he could think of with him anywhere. 

If it was printed or on this camera, he could have it any time he wanted it without having to make a fuss. He wouldn’t have to ask V if he could go outside first, he could sit at the table and see his things while he tried to do other things inside! The idea made him happy and the camera that was in his hand made him feel liberated. 

Saeran wondered as if V would let him borrow his camera all the time!

   —

 Seasons passed and life changed just as quickly as the tides could crash against the shore of your favorite beach. It had been a few years since V had adopted Ray and ever since then, his life had been on a path that was leading him upward to the stars instead of down below to where waters lay underneath his feet. 

Ray had been able to go to school and attend the same one that his dad had attended without trouble, and nobody once ever questioned him or thought twice about who he was. They all thought him to be Ray Kim, and nobody had any reason to think that he wasn’t who he said he was. They all assumed that he was who he said he was from the start and that had cleared up a lot of Ray’s fears. 

It couldn’t have worked out any better. Ray had been scared to try new things for such a long time but the reality was when V gave him his first camera… It was like a whole new world of opportunity was handed to him. V spent hours showing Ray how to use his camera and he was a faster learner, constantly taking notes and tinkering with ideas that he had just as quickly as he read on what to do.

The camera meant so much to Ray that V decided to give it to him. He had the money to afford a new one, anyway, so he wasn’t too worried about that. It meant more to him that Ray had this thing that made him happy. He loved taking pictures a lot. It reminded V of when he used to use all of his time as a child drawing and painting, and when he saw that passion in Ray’s eyes that he had once seen in himself? 

He realized what his mother had meant all those years ago. 

She hadn’t been trying to pry into his life or make him do something she wanted. She wanted him to follow his heart. Through therapy, he was able to focus on learning that fact. 

He wanted to show his mother that he could do what she did, or at least, what she tried to do. He wanted to support Ray’s dream to be an artist, to be a photographer, too. 

Ray’s photos were… breathtaking and he only got better with time and practice. His skill was astounding, he was capable of tricks and feats that had taken V years to figure out on his own so it meant everything to know that giving Ray a camera had been the right thing to do. Even as he got older and studied hard, he never let go of his passion with his camera. 

When he wasn’t doing his homework, or spending time with his gardening club, he was taking photos. 

His skills were well-admired. 

V knew that Ray had potential and he wanted to help him chase that dream even further, but he also knew that Ray’s face couldn’t be shown as the artist for now. It didn’t mean that he wasn’t worthy of a gallery with his name on it but he deserved something to prove how much his hard work meant. 

He was stubborn, polite, hard-working, and determined to pay people back for kindness. He never asked V very much if he could help it. Even Jumin had commented that his son was rather selfless time and time again, jesting that he had been spending too much time with his father. 

All and all, Ray had grown into an upstanding young man who had a bright future ahead of him, even if he couldn’t have everything. He had a family and friends that cared about him, and he was so very far from the little frightened boy that he had once been. Nobody would have ever believed that the boy with mint curls was once a redhead who lived in fear, clutching to his twin like he was a lifeline.

The RFA had prospered as well, though Ray wasn’t a member of the group. 

He was anxious around big parties and crowds so it was better for him to avoid that. But, he still spoke to the members that were in the group that his Dad belonged to. He liked talking to Jumin, as it turned out, they had a lot in common. Ray was polite and formal when he spoke, and Jumin’d been like that all his life. So, they hit it off great. 

There had been some trips V and Jumin took, bringing Ray along with them to the countryside since he couldn’t leave Korea for his safety. Ray often spent those days staring at everything he could find and asking Jumin about the history or background of the places they traveled. He loved to learn and listen, and Jumin loved to share that with someone. It humbled V to see his friend and son get along. 

Jaehee was courteous to Ray as he often was with her, though, he was the first person to ask Jumin to make fewer cat projects to quote, “not stress Miss Jaehee out.” Ray liked to talk to her because she’d always listen to whatever he was invested in. He would, in turn, listen to her talk about Zen for a while. Their friendship was built on having someone close by who knew what it felt like to want to be heard. 

Speaking of Zen, the actor spent a lot of time looking out for Ray… somehow even more so than Yoosung. It might have been because Ray was awfully small for his height and if someone tried to fight him, he’d probably lose before they breathed on him. Zen was always trying to give him advice about the world and Ray took it, but everyone would correct the advice if it turned into his dating advice.

Yoosung was the closest in age to him but they didn’t have a lot in common. They would share notes and study guides often if they shared a subject in school, even though they were going to the same school, but they talked now and again about other things. They surprisingly shared a lot of recipes together and would work to make them if the RFA was in the same place for an extended period. 

Rika was around, of course, and Ray didn’t mind her too much. They didn’t talk often but she always checked in on him whenever she got the chance. Her dedication to herself had done a lot of wonders for her, but she still struggled with the fear that she might hurt Ray without meaning to so she kept to a polite distance from him apart from this or that. 

V himself was trying his best to be a good father. He made mistakes now and again, but he was doing his best to be there for Ray when he needed someone. Ray had even started calling Dad a long time ago without thinking twice. It was an honor to be given that name, and he would be a liar if he said he didn’t cry that night after Ray went to bed. They spent a long time trying to be sure that bond was tried and true.

Ray had the life that his brother always wanted for him… with one exception to the very rule, he wasn’t in it. Saeyoung wasn’t in his life. He was trapped within the agency and the promise that he had made, but he still thought to this day that his promise was worth it. V couldn’t ever tell him anything about Ray the few fleeting times they got to talk about things on the phone, but he did know that the “cat” was doing better than ever. 

Life was different. 

But, at the same time, life was better than it had ever been. 

However, as he thought about how sad it was that the boys couldn’t see each other, the gears in his brain began to churn. He wanted the boys to have a chance for something, but to give them a chance, he would have to be careful about what he did. As he looked out the window of his kitchen to the backyard, he saw Ray taking photos again, laying in the glass as he stared at the sky once again. 

Could he give Ray and Saeyoung a gift at the same time? 

V would have to think deeply about this. 

 —

 Seven had received a simple invitation in the mail that wasn’t labeled and wasn’t decorated. It was a mint-colored letter that told him who it was from but wouldn’t reveal to Vanderwood, his handler, that it was a message from someone that he cared about. He had to wait a few days to open it because he had just moved into his new house and Vanderwood had to help him set up a lot of things. 

When he opened the letter, he’d been surprised to see that it was a decorated invitation to visit V’s upcoming art exhibition. He was supposedly showing off new works that he had done as well as the works of his new assistant that had just joined him. That didn’t strike him as odd at first, but what did stand out was the message that V penned at the bottom of the letter.

There was just one sentence. 

The cat will be there on display. — V

Seven was able to put two and two together. He realized that V was implying that his twin was going to be showing off art for the first time, underneath a pseudonym, of course, but he didn’t once think that his brother would be able to do something like that. He had no idea of the life his twin was living, what he did, what he loved, who he was now, or what it meant to be a part of his life the way that V was. 

That was just it… he wasn’t apart of Saeran’s life. He was just his brother that had to leave him, and that was it. He hadn’t seen him in years and a part of him wanted badly to know how he was doing and what he was doing with his life, and this alone should’ve been enough to make him be sure that Saeran was safe and happy. 

But, his stomach twisted in knots as he realized that he wanted to go. He wanted to go there and see Saeran in person if he could. It wasn’t a good idea, it was a dangerous idea, but the more he thought about his brother, the more he felt like he needed to see him. He didn’t want to risk any part of Saeran’s new life. 

He didn’t want to be the wrench that destroyed everything that Saeran had, because if V was able to do these kinds of things for him, then that meant he was happy. It meant that he had nice ways of living now, and that he had anything he could ever want. It seemed good to know that much, at the very least. He stared at that invitation for the longest time. 

He didn’t know what to do with himself because he was between wanting to go to see what he looked like all grown up and happy, but the other part of him warned that if he went, he would risk Saeran’s life all over again. Even if he was careful and lied about everything, it might still put a target on Saeran’s back.

Seven spent a long time thinking about it. 

The choice was his to make and V didn’t say that he had to go. He just made it an option that he could choose to come if he wanted. If he could come, anyway. V didn’t know certain things for his own protection. He only knew Seven’s new address for emergency reasons in case something went wrong with Saeran and they had to run through proper protocol. 

Should he go and risk it all? 

Or, should he stay and keep this letter as a token that Saeran was safe? 

It was a big choice to make and he didn’t know the right answer, and there was nobody to ask or talk to about the answer that he wanted to make. Nobody could make it for him and he had to do it on his own. That’s what he always had to do. He always had to decide things that were above his pay grade… it was the price of being the big brother, he always told himself. 

In the end, Seven decided to risk it.

He made a plan for it and worked himself into the ground for days ahead of time so he would have a day off. Those didn’t come very often and Vanderwood wouldn’t bother him as long as the work got done. If he didn’t, they would drop by and remind him what was at risk if they’d shirked off when they didn’t need to. When they weren’t supposed to. Their lives were on the line and that was the truth. 

The agency had never been like the movies. 

It was much, much worse.

This wasn't the kind of life or you could just hack something and get paid for it. They did expect him to be able to do things without a single question. He was expected to absorb information like a sponge and that was all he had to do. If he couldn't keep up with everything that they planned out for him, then it would just end poorly. It would end the same way that Vanderwood had been telling him… in his death. 

He didn't plan on dying anytime soon if he had anything to say about it. He was going to keep living because he needed to. There was no other choice in his heart. His brother needed him to be alive and that was the only way it had to be. It was the only way he was going to let it be. He was doing this so he could have the last bit of motivation in his heart to know that he was doing the right thing. 

He kept telling himself that if he saw Saeran just one more time… 

Just one more time. 

It would never happen again and he would never let it be that way. It was a selfish desire because he had already wasted a lot of time by waiting until late that morning with his brother all those years ago. He couldn't leave his brother in the middle of the night. His brother was afraid of being alone in the dark and he waited for sunrise because if he could do anything that day, it would be to leave his brother feeling hopeful instead of the gotten. 

He knew that it was going to take some time for them to be able to remove his twin brother from that place. It wasn't going to be easy and it wasn't going to be simple. He knew that it could take weeks for them to be able to remove him. 

To leave Saeran was to break his heart. The only thing that he could offer him that last day was the sunrise. He wanted to be able to wash it with him but if his twin knew that he was leaving, he would have tried to come along. He couldn't let that happen. He could have never told him no and that's why he left the way he did.

Seven disguised himself the day of the event. If there was one thing he learned in the agency, it was how to dress himself up and look so unlike himself that he could wander around without fearing people recognizing him. He did have a few favorite disguises that he liked to wear. Even though the agency had forced him to do this because he was young and young people were easy to blend in with the crowd, he had been able to learn that he actually really liked dressing up. He never would have known that before this.

There was just something very validating about being able to dress up. It made him feel good about himself which didn't happen very often. The fact that he had this skill was definitely a comfort because if he was going to break all of the rules, he wanted to make sure that he was going to be safe. Anything that would stop him from putting his brother in danger was going to be for the best.

The gallery show was being held at the same place that he met V. He knew exactly where it was and he knew how to get there. For him to be able to confront it, he decided that the best way for him to handle it was to drive halfway there, and then walk the rest of the distance and get a taxi if he needed it. He was already covering his appearance but he wasn't going to take any chances with someone tracking him. He could never leave any loose ends for himself. 

It took a little bit longer to get there, but he was able to get there in just the nick of time.

Seven allowed himself to catch his breath as he stood in the doorway and looked around the room. There was definitely a crowd that'd come to see the show, so it was hard to tell as to where everyone would be. He drew in this short breath and looked around again, trying to spot his brother in the sea of people. He felt dejected when he didn't see him, but he saw V after some scanning and found himself pausing to see what he would do. 

"Thank you all for coming today, I hope that you are able to enjoy the collections of work that has been displayed today. What I have been working on myself pales in comparison to my assistant, they prefer to remain out of sight for their privacy, of course, but they want you to enjoy their collection with an open mind. Every artist puts their heart and soul into what they capture, and the reflection on the canvas is just the feeling that you can define for yourself. Whatever you see is what is in front of you. The same feeling that the artist feels when they decide to convey their emotions." 

The crowd gave their gentle affirmation in response and cheered for his words. Though, Seven met his eyes and the man smiled back at him. It took away some of the anxiety that he was feeling. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to take the risk? 

As the crowds dispersed and began to look around, Seven decided he would do the same thing. After all, nobody would know him underneath this long wig and costume, and since he hadn't seen Saeran, he wanted to see his photos. He managed to find where they were located in the gallery after passing what he knew to be V's unmistakable photos of the sky. He always felt really good whenever he saw those photos of the Galaxy, but he wasn't looking for that today.

The photos shifted from the stars to something else entirely, something he didn't expect to see. The first photo he saw was of the sky… unlike the stars in V's hands, this was the clouds. It was the bluest sky he had ever seen. The clouds were arranged in a pattern that looked like fruits to him, like a strawberry. Saeran had always loved the blue sky… this had to be one of his photos. 

If he stepped some more forward, he would find a photo of all kinds of scenery. There were sprawling fields of flowers, beaches filled with shells, lakes and the lily pads that bathed them, even expansive gardens that looked ripe with love and care. It was overwhelming to see all of these photos because they were places that his brother had always wanted to see. It overwhelmed him to see it. Each one of those photographs was labeled with Assistant. It was all by Saeran's hand. 

His twin had been able to capture everything that he saw. It was like standing next to his brother as he was able to experience these things for the first time. He missed out on seeing his brother's face for the first time when he got to witness all of this, but seeing all of these photos gave him a chance to have that experience firsthand. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes.

When he came to the end of the hall, he found the last photo.

It was a photo of a single red flower. He leaned over to look at the caption to see what it was called, this one was named Gladiolus. He didn't know that word. Was it the flower? Did it stand for something? It was such an intense looking flower. It made him question the feeling that he was experiencing. 

"Gladiolus, named for the Latin gladius, meaning sword. In Rome, they stood for the gladiators that fought valiantly with their brothers in arms. They symbolize strength and integrity. In some cases, they can also mean remembering a Fallen Friend, or thinking of someone who meant everything to you," a humble voice spoke from the side as Seven stood there in front of the photograph. 

"Interesting," Seven said, as he turned his head to meet V's gaze. Couldn't alright say what he was thinking. "Does that mean that this…" 

V smiled. "Gladiolus grows often in my growing garden these days. My assistant cherishes them dearly because they’re a reminder of someone who he hasn't forgotten since the day he had to move on without them. There are plenty of portraits of flowers here, some of their meanings are listed underneath the photographs. Feel free to look at them all. I'd say this one is the most striking, though." 

This flower was dedicated to his older brother… It was a photograph meant to truly symbolize Saeyoung. Saeran hadn't forgotten about him. It had been his biggest fear that his brother would move on and forget about him. Even though he tried to live without thinking about his brother in the life he was living now, he selfishly wished that his brother would still think of him fondly, if not kindly, but at most fondly. 

Despite everything, his brother still thought of him after all these years. 

V silently stepped to the side and Seven looked beyond him to see what he had been blocking. Across from him and on the other side of the room stood his twin brother, his hair now dyed a minty shade, and green contacts obscured his golden eyes, but there was no mistake. His brother was smiling and laughing alongside those closest to V, those that were in the RFA that V had told him all about. 

Jumin Han and Jaehee Kang were conversing with Saeran, while Zen and Yoosung Kim had their hands on his shoulders, being the ones in the room who made him laugh. That was the thing he could see from his vantage point as the crowds were moving in and out of the way. But, there was no doubt about what he saw. 

It looked like a family. 

Seven felt his eyes welling up with thick tears for the first time in a very long time. He knew he was crying but he couldn't stop it. Saeran looked happy and free and it was all thanks to his Dad, V. He was speechless at that moment and he didn't know what to say. He rubbed furiously at his eyes but it did nothing to quell the tears.

This was all he ever wanted for his twin brother. 

"I bought this painting for you," V broke his train of thought by saying something. "This is yours, after all. I know that you can't have any more than this, but that doesn't mean that you can't have a piece of him with you. It's very common for the people that you know to collect, isn't it? Who's to say that you weren't interested in collecting? Think of it as my gift."

Seven wanted nothing more than to hug V at that moment. He couldn't make a scene or be recognizable in any way, but he felt like the man understood what he was trying to say and convey. "Thank you, V… thank you. I don't know what to say." 

Their time had run out as an alarm began to react on Seven's phone. V pressed his hand to his shoulder and nodded at him,  "Even if the rest of the world tries hard to keep my sons separated, I'll do everything in my power to make sure that they can have a piece of each other to hold onto no matter where they are in the world."

"Your assistant has a very bright future, foster his skills," he smiled back at him despite the pain. He watched as V headed back to the little group with their family. Saeran hugged V and said something that Seven couldn't hear, but the happiness on his face was telling enough. Laughter and all sorts of things spread between them. The group began to talk amongst themselves and by the time that V turned around to see where Seven was, the lonely hacker was gone again. 

Just as quickly as he had appeared. 

As was the photo of Gladiolus.

[shoutoismybaby]

Omega Shame Part 1

Summary: After spending most of your life on suppressants and ignoring your second gender, you finally decide to embrace who you are with your alphas support. But what happens when your alpha Bakugou walks in on you nesting and sparks memories of your past trauma?

warnings: ABO, Nesting, ANGST ending with fluff,

***

Nesting. This was something you hadn't even attempted since you were but a small pup. Both suppressants and fear had kept any desire for this activity far away from you, until a couple months ago. That was when you got a courting proposal, your first ever.

It was a necklace, and not just your typical alphas 'just learned how to make jewelry with string'. No. This necklace required welding, a skill you had no idea about, but that just made sense for your alpha to poses. The chain was a simple silver, leading down to a locket with intricate holes on its top layer, creating an almost explosive like design. The cloth that sat inside was a ruby red color that matched the alphas eyes, and the scent it held was strong of caramel and ash.

Of course if Bakugou was to make a courting gift, his was going to be the best you had ever seen.

You had wasted no time in placing the necklace around your neck, relaxing as his scent filled your nose. It was from this point that you knew Bakugou would make an amazing alpha for you. After all, if he put so much effort into the courting gift, you could only imagine the effort he would put into courting you. Even then in typical Bakugou fashion, he passed all expectations.

It started with the way he would make you lunches, walk you to wherever you needed to go, and made sure to give you a thorough scenting only after he got permission. He always showed concern for your physical and mental wellbeing, stopping you from pushing yourself too hard in training and even scolding you for your self deprecating jokes.

“No one gets to talk down about my omega. Especially not my omega.” He had growled at you once. Again Bakugou did something unexpected, making your omega purr at a growl.

It felt so nice to have someone who cared about you. Someone who encouraged you to stop hiding your second gender from everyone but those in your own class. Not that you had even let your class discover on purpose, but the stressful situations class A had gotten in over the years did wonders for wearing off suppressants and scent blockers. 

He, along with your other classmates, had been building up your confidence in your secondary sex for years now. Bringing you to the realization that being an omega didn't mean that you were weak or any less than betas or alphas. Momo and Ochako were omegas after all, and they were some of the strongest people you knew. So once you had gotten an alpha your omega was basically begging to be set free, and you didn't feel like you had to deny it anymore.

So here you were, after 3 months of being off of the medications your hormones and instincts were finally leveling back to normal. It was something you had never experienced before, but you had Bakugou to help support you along the way. That's why you needed his scent in your nest. No matter how nauseous you felt walking into the young alphas room while you knew he was training, your omega refused to continue the day without at least one peice of his clothing. More than that and you were sure you would be sent into a panic attack. You had no idea how he would react to you doing this. Would he be disgusted? Angry?

Ironically the only thing calming your thoughts was to continue building the nest. Pillows upon pillows methodically shoved between various stuffed animals and blankets became nest shaped as the time passed. Soon enough you were left with just one item left, one of his favorite skull shirts. You had wanted to take something he would miss less, but they weren’t drowned in his scent like this one was. You sat back into the middle of your nest to take a thorough look around. You didn’t want to take too long to decide a place for it by now as you were getting tired. Not to mention you were going to go out on a movie date with Bakugou so you also needed to get ready for that. You would have checked the time if you weren’t so fixated on your task, and that would turn out to be a huge mistake.

You had finally found the perfect place for his shirt when you heard your door open from behind you. In the middle of slipping the clothing item over your pillow you froze as your heart began to race. Your omega knew it was an alpha before you knew who it was and she let out a chirp before you could stop it.

All you could remember was the first time this had happened, an Alpha walking in on your nest. You were seven, not old enough to even present as an omega but tendencies could show early in childhood. You were excited and happily humming as you arranged your blankets, stuffed animals, and your parents best smelling clothes into small yet sturdy walls in the shape of an oval on your bed. You couldn’t help but feel safe, like you would no longer fall off your bed in the middle of the night, or that monsters or other intruders would quickly avoid hurting you once they got just a single sniff of your parents alpha scents. You were proud when you were finished and immediately snuggled into it for a nap, only to wake up to the scent of rotting eggs. A clear indicator your father was both near and very angry. All the yelling and trashing of your hard work that happened next was just a blur. But you could remember how you felt the entire time so vividly. The way your lungs seemed incapable of taking in air, the trembling of your hands and especially the weakness in your knees. Most of all, you remembered the absolute terror as your safe space was invaded. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as fast as your heart would allow it, and you could only sit back and watch.

It was that day that you first became aware that there was something wrong with you. Something gross, weak, and worth hating.

That’s why even when the scent of Bakugou filled your nose, your heart still didn’t slow down. In fact, it only sped up when you finally turned around to look at him, all of the hope you had gotten by convincing yourself he would be happy you were embracing yourself quickly diminishing. His brows furrowed more than normal and his mouth was set in a deep scowl, slightly open just enough that his naturally large canines poked out.

He was angry.

“Do you not know how to answer your fucking phone?! You were so eager to force me to agree to this date and then you don't even respond when I-” Your thoughts were racing far too fast to actually hear what he was saying. Your omega could only think of one thing, your alpha was angry with you. You messed up and now he was angry with you. It was just like your parents, you should have listened to them when they told you it was stupid to nest.

But you had worked so hard on it, and it made you feel so good. You didn’t want your nest to be torn apart again. The smell of smoke wafted from the alphas' palms as you were too caught up in your memories to really hear him. Hear how he was angry with you for forgetting about your date, angry that you had stood him up and too busy being upset to even notice that you were sitting in a nest. The smell of smoke invoked just another event in your mind, one that happened when you had first presented as an omega at 13. Something that caused the damn behind your eyes to finally break.

“PLEASE DON’T DESTROY MY NEST” You Omega sobbed, distressed chips flooding from your chest like air. “Please, please!”

Your outburst startled the Alpha into silence. He could only stand there and watch as his omegas scent was filled with fear as she wiped at her eyes aggressively. A first he was confused, letting his body pump out comfort pheromones instinctually as he let himself observe the situation. You were dressed only in your school uniform, clearly having been building the nest that surrounded you from the time you entered the dorm room to when he had burst into your room, now far past dark. You were trembling too, body curled up in on itself as you hiccupped and begged.

“Please, I'm sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorryyy! Just please dont destroy my nest.” Your voice cracked and it resonated painfully in his ear and his heart dropped. Why did you think he would destroy your nest? Sure he wasn't the best alpha but he wasn’t a monster. Did you really think he would destroy the one place where you felt safest? A weight grew in his chest that left as a deep growl,

“Here.” He growled, “Probably best if we just end this bullshit.”

This was all your fault. If you hadnt built this stupid nest in the first place, or even started crying like a fucking baby then this wouldnt have happened. But you were a weak omega, and just like your parents said, no one can love someone so weak. Especially not someone as powerful as Katsuki. You shouldn’t have let yourself believe that they were wrong for even a second. You had thought that Bakugou would be the one who would love you for who you truly were. But that was naive. No one could love such a burden. No one could love you.

The drop of the crafted bracelet to the ground seconds before your door slammed, leaving you alone once more in your room, proof enough of that.

Your parents were right.

A flame of anger lit in your chest. Why were you so unloveable just the way you were? Why couldn’t you just be different? Why couldn’t you be an alpha like your parents had wanted?

You could feel your nails extend into claws as the hair on your body raised. You glared at the soft material weaved together around you as hot tears built up behind your eyes. This time instead of being fueled by fear they were fueled by rage and resentment.

You were so angry. So angry at youself, at your weak omega, and especially at your stupid nest. You couldn't help but let a couple tears fall as you let your anger get the best of you, and you didn't stop it until you were heaving in the middle of your disaster of a room. Surrounded by torn pieces of fabric and the other contents of your room scattered by your tantrum, you finally let yourself breath. 

You turned around to see the item you had been avoiding, your pillow with bakugou's shirt. With a deep breath you grabbed a hold of the object, digging your claws into its plush softness. The caramel ash smell that permeated the air only helped to break down the remaining bits of your anger. And you didn’t want to be left alone with your despair just yet.

With the release of your breath a ripping sound could be heard. The shirt split and cotton popped out from the opening like popcorn. Once you had successfully dissected what had been a comfort item you threw it somewhere away from you and took another deep breath.

Now you were finally alone. Just you and your reality. You could really feel how much pain your omega was in as your hair began to lower and your normal nails returned. You had heard about this pain before. A deep one in your chest, heartbreak. Your omega seemed to curl around that feeling. Of rejection. Self hatred. That no one would ever need you, let alone want you. You could feel yourself start to slip into the limbo of numbness and searing pain.

An Omega Depression.

You remembered learning about it back when you were in middle school, most people were beginning to present as their second sex. Your teachers had emphasized how important it was to get medical attention at the first signs, you knew how dangerous it was, but all you wanted to do was lay there on the floor. You were tired, and what was the point? No one cared about you, not your parents… not Bakugou. Your throat strained painfully at that thought. Bakugou didn’t want you, and it was your fault.