The duality of Silva listening to basically everything Flare has told her...and her going :) I'm just gonna hear what I like and ignore everything I don't like, actually.

Punisher Fic: I Found Peace in Your Violence (Can’t Tell Me There’s No Point in Trying)

Post-1x10 & 1x11 Kastle feels. That night, Karen finds herself standing in her kitchen, staring at a terra cotta pot of white roses.

A/N: HI I’M NEW AND KASTLE IS KILLING ME. Anyway, full disclosure: I have only watched select scenes of Daredevil, and Punisher (aka the Kastle scenes, essentially), and mostly-watched Defenders S1. But I love these two and I needed them to kiss, so I wrote a thing. It’s not any deeper than that (even though it got very out of hand), so please forgive any massive errors or oversights.

Title from “Silence” by Marshmello feat. Khalid, because it really screams Kastle to me rn.

I Found Peace in Your Violence (Can’t Tell Me There’s No Point in Trying) (wc: 3644 - AO3)

That night, when she finally gets home after a few hours of questioning, she's almost robotic with exhaustion. She goes through the motions, changing out of one more set of clothes ruined by the smell of smoke and blood and panic, using scalding hot water to shower off yet another brush with death, taking her first real, deep breaths in what feels like days. An hour or so later, she finds herself standing in her kitchen in her pajamas, staring at a terra cotta pot of white roses.

They’re fake — she could tell the second he dug them sheepishly out of his bag — but still, Karen wonders if Frank meant for her to keep them. She wonders if he meant to give her something so permanent. “I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy,” he had said, with a look on his face that was nearly a smile, and her foolish heart had skipped a beat in the pause before he explained the true purpose of the plant.

When he turned to leave that night, she had practically lept into his arms -- she almost has to laugh at the absurdity of taking The Punisher by surprise -- grabbing a hold of him tight. With two hands, her mind echoes. She remembers how they had swayed in the quiet warmth of her kitchen, how his arms spanned her back when he tightened the embrace, how it had felt, for just a fleeting second, so much like a normal moment between two people with normal lives.

She's thought a lot about that hug in the weeks that followed, sometimes with the burning flush of embarrassment on her cheeks, sometimes with the hot sting of tears. She hadn’t been sure at the time, or for a long time after, exactly what -- or who -- it was all about. Was it because of how impulsive she was with him, or the way his guard dropped around her? Was it his death wish or her newly-heightened sense of mortality? His angels or her demons?

Maybe it wasn’t even about them at all, some part of her brain that sounded a lot like Foggy had offered one time. Maybe it, like so many other things, was really about Matt. Maybe it was about the way Frank had smirked at her over a cup of coffee once, and told her -- like he knew better than she did -- how in love she was. Maybe it was more about the devil who died a hero, than those left behind in hell.

But maybe not.

Tonight, she picks up the pot of roses, and only when she hears the ceramic base rattle against the countertop does she realize her hands are shaking. She blames the end waves of the shock that's been coursing through her system for hours, and tries telling herself it has nothing to do with Frank Castle, that she might as well just toss the flowers down the chute because it'll be months again before she has to worry about him.

But it’s exhausting lie, and one she finds herself too weary for on a night like this. So instead, she thinks about Frank's forehead pressed against hers -- one moment of peace in this vividly traumatic day -- and she walks the roses across the room. She remembers the look in his red-rimmed eyes and sets the pot on her windowsill. Her rational mind catches up eventually, but still she leaves them there, crossing back to the kitchen and saying a silent prayer that he’ll return to her as readily as he did the last time.

Everything’s still right at the surface -- the icy terror that had sunk in when she realized he wasn’t following her out of the kitchen and away from the bomb, the solid warmth of his hands cradling her head after the world exploded around them, the agonizing sight of him climbing that elevator shaft with barely one good arm between the two. Karen's convinced that she just needs to see him to settle this turbulent feeling in the pit of her stomach.

It takes him less than an hour to call. She tries not to let herself think too hard about everything else that means.

“You okay?” She should have known not to expect pleasantries. His voice is Punisher-low, and it throws her off long enough to make him worry. “Karen?”

“I'm fine, Frank. Sorry, I--” It’s the worst possible time to find herself tongue-tied, but she can’t help it. They didn’t say goodbye earlier, not really, and the sound of his voice, clear and strong and alive, whites out her brain for a few blissful seconds.

“The flowers.”

“Yeah.”

“A mistake?” Something of a loaded question.

“No.” She silently curses at herself when she realizes she's blinking away frustrated tears. “I just… Can I see you?”

“I, I don’t--” His voice sounds pained for a brief moment and then he goes quiet for what feels like a very long time. “It’s not safe.”

She lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Okay.” She can't see his face, but she's so sure he wants to say yes. It might be the only thing keeping her from falling to pieces. “Okay.”

“Karen.” He puts so much into those two syllables of her name. He tells her an entire story in five letters -- and one she’s heard before, no less -- about how this thing only ends in an inferno.

“It doesn’t have to be tonight.” She’s trying desperately not to sound desperate, but there’s no time to appreciate the irony. ���Just, when it’s safe. Whenever. Please.”

He doesn't answer, but she can hear him taking shallow breaths on the other end of the line. She wonders where he is, what blood-soaked new steps have been added to his list of plans. She wonders if he has the same look in his eyes that he did in the elevator. She wonders, if he was standing in front of her again, if he would lower his eyelids and tip his head to the side, just slightly.

“Frank?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Okay.” She sighs out a rush of relief, and hears something rustle on his end. “Please be careful.”

He hangs up after a gruff but similar sentiment, and Karen thinks that’s another one of the ways they say the things that can’t be spoken out loud.

Despite his agreement, she spends most of the next day going stir-crazy in her apartment -- on a temporary leave from work that Ellison had made clear was not up for discussion -- doing research and doubting she’ll ever see him again. It's become a bit of a habit for her, wondering with every half-goodbye if this time will be the one that makes them wish they had gone all in on whatever it is they're gambling.

She’s smart enough to know the danger didn’t die with Lewis, and now the whole city’s calling for Frank’s life too. The knot in her abdomen laces itself tighter with every article she reads.

Mercifully, he doesn't keep her waiting long. Just after one a.m. -- she’s sitting on her bed with her laptop, putting off the nightly struggle to close her eyes and keep them shut for any meaningful amount of time -- there’s a tap on the window by her fire escape. Karen barely even flinches, crossing to undo the latch and meeting his eyes through the thick glass.

“It’s still not safe,” Frank says before she has a chance to speak, sliding inside and looking her up and down. She’s suddenly very conscious of her sleepwear, even though it's a relatively modest zip-up and shorts. “Sure you're okay?”

She almost laughs in spite of herself at his concern, given the fact that he very nearly took another bullet to the brain less than 48 hours ago. “Yes, Frank, I swear. I -- are you okay?” He looks like hell, with an impressive collection of cuts and bruises, some of which appear to be worryingly fresh.

“I thought maybe it was--” He ignores her and then trails off, eyes darting around the room. She realizes he's sweeping the place. “Maybe it was something you couldn’t say over the phone.”

God, Karen thinks, what a pair they make. She looks at him and sees a dead man walking. He looks at her and sees a hundred ways to get her killed. Her hands itch with the need to touch him. “Thank you,” she practically whispers when his eyes finally make it back to hers, “for coming.”

Because all that tragedy doesn’t do anything to stop this pull between them. It didn’t stop his lips from finding her cheek that night by the river. It didn’t stop him from jumping in front of another bullet meant for her, and it didn’t stop her from rushing back towards a bomb he’ll be blamed for. It doesn’t stop them from reaching for each other when they should be running for their lives.

And it doesn’t stop him from showing up at her window just one night after he told her it was too dangerous. Even worse, once Frank’s certain she’s not in immediate physical danger, his eyes go sad and earnest. “I'm sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”

She can’t help it then, looping her arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him close. He responds in kind, banding his arms around her back like they have before in this same space, but he seems wholly unprepared for when she turns, almost unconsciously, to press a kiss just above his ear -- where the thin red beginnings of a scar remind her, in centimeters, exactly how close she came to losing him.

Frank freezes in her arms, pulling back enough to meet her eyes with a questioning look that breaks her heart in a familiar way.

“I’m sorry.” She’s not, but she says it anyway, shuffling her feet nervously. “I just needed to…”

To see you. To touch you. To make sure that what’s left of your soul didn’t spill from your temple in that elevator shaft.

She remembers, in the moment yesterday, wondering how he was possibly standing with a head wound like that. She remembers swallowing down bile later, when she heard Madani tell one of the agents at the scene how Billy Russo grazed him as he ran down the stairs -- towards her. It’s been cleaned and stitched up now, but there's still something to the primal impulse she’d had to press her lips to his cheek, to stain her mouth red and tacky, to taste his pulse on top of his skin.

Tonight though, her chaster instinct has stopped them in their tracks -- Frank’s hands are warm but completely still on her waist while his eyes flicker down to her mouth. He doesn’t move, and she doesn’t have an end to the sentence she started. “I just needed to.”

She watches his throat work, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows what might be answers to the questions she's too afraid to ask. His hands come up to trace her own battle wounds, far less severe than his, as evidenced by the effort it takes him to lift his right arm. But he’s overwhelmingly tender when he frames her face, brushing a calloused thumb over the cut on her forehead, and she takes in a shaky breath.

“Christ, Karen. I tried to tell you.” He's gruff but not angry. In fact, there's something in his voice that she's never heard before. “How many times I gotta say it? I can’t have you in this with me.”

She bristles and pulls away from his hands, enough that he drops them back to his sides, and his eyes to the floor. “I’m in it, Frank. Like it or not.” She understands it’s his protective instinct, but this is not a conversation worth entertaining, not when every second is so valuable to them right now. “I was in the woods with you. I was in that kitchen. I was in that elevator.”

He shudders, and she wonders if it’s the thought of pressing a gun to her chin. She remembers how his eyes had gone black when she suggested the move, how he had spent precious time insisting there was another way. Mostly, she remembers how he was shaking so violently behind her that she was worried he was going to blow their whole cover.

In the end, they had settled for removing the clip from the gun, but even over the heart-pounding tension of the standoff, she could feel him hating every moment.

“I just want you to be safe.” This is why she can't trust anyone who only sees Frank as a killing machine, Karen thinks, the terror that fuels him is so clearly etched across his face. Her heart cracks when his voice does. “I need you to be safe.”

“I’m safe right now, right this second,” she offers wryly. “Maybe that’s all we can ask for, anymore.” It’s mostly a joke, but he flinches again. She reaches out to gently pull his right arm to her, checking the spot where the shrapnel had been embedded. He’s all patched up, though, so she traces her way down and tangles their fingers together. It’s a loose hold, but he doesn’t let go or pull away.

“I wanted to stay with you in that elevator.” She looks up when he speaks, but his eyes are focused on their intertwined hands. “If you hadn't told me to go, I would have... I wanted to--”

“I know.” Her words come out heavy, bringing forth the tears in the back of her throat. He takes a few sharp breaths and continues.

“I can't afford to make those kinds of mistakes, Karen.” His hand squeezes hers and she wonders if he meant to do it. “Not with what’s coming.”

You let me know if you find a way to shut it off. That’s what she wants to say. Instead, she just repeats herself, somehow even heavier. “I know.”

He sighs and looks up at her for just a second, before averting his gaze. “I don't know how many more ways I can prove I've got nothing left to offer you.” One step forward, two steps back. Karen furrows her brow and tells him the truth he won’t let himself hear.

“I’m not asking you for anything, Frank.” She tries to keep her tone sharp, but ruins it with a sniffle, and he looks like the sound physically pains him. “I just wanted to see you. It's not wrong to want things.”

His nostrils flare at her final words, and she prepares herself for a gruff reprimand on why she’s got it backwards. But that’s not what he tells her at all. “I haven’t wanted anything in a long time,” he admits, with an emphasis on the word that sparks something low in her gut. “But I did yesterday.”

He doesn't tell her any more. He doesn’t have to, Karen’s breath catches at the sense memory. If she closes her eyes, she’s certain she'll still be able to feel the diamond-plated steel up against her back, the almost that he left on her lips.

But she can’t look away from his gaze, not any more than she can stop herself from asking, “And today?”

Frank nods, so softly and imperceptibly that she’s not even sure he knows he’s done it. It’s a nod like the one he gave her when she finally found the right wire on Lewis’ bomb. The metaphor practically writes itself.

He tugs on her hand and takes one step closer, putting them almost toe-to-toe. She stands her ground. She can feel the atmosphere get lighter once they’re sharing it, can feel every cell in her body magnetized in his direction -- but he has to be the one to pull the trigger. He’s in control, not because he's The Punisher, but because he's a man who's lost everything, more than once over. She won’t be another person who takes more than he's offering.

So she asks one more question. “What about tomorrow?”

“I’m going on the record for Madani first thing tomorrow,” he murmurs, tipping his forehead down to hers once again, so close she can feel the warmth of his words on her lips. “I don’t know what happens after that.”

It's intentionally vague, and she understands why. From Karen’s perspective, the Homeland agent seems trustworthy enough so far, but she knows as well as Frank does that there’s a chance he doesn’t even make it in the building for that testimony. Or out again afterwards.

“Frank--” She wants to lie and say it'll all be fine. She wants to tell him the truth about how proud she is. But her eyes have fluttered closed and his lips are on hers the second she says his name. One kiss, then two, until she’s losing count. True to his unspoken word, the flames between them roar to life as soon as the match is lit.

He smells like gunpowder and sweat, but he tastes like copper and cinnamon, and her eyes snap open and then closed again while one hand snakes around his waist and the other reaches up to stroke his stubbled cheek. He groans into her mouth, low and dark. It sounds like her name.

His lips are softer than they have any right to be. None of it's fair, really, not the way his calloused hands leave goosebumps when they skim down her sides, not the way her knees wobble when he pulls her flush against him, not the way he kisses her like it’s salvation. And especially not the way her heart thuds painfully when she realizes he's only doing it because he thinks he might not get another chance.

They stumble backwards towards her couch and, without breaking the kiss, he clumsily pulls her down to straddle his hips, anchoring her with warm hands on her waist, fingers curled around the waistband of her shorts. She grinds a little in his lap when he sweeps his tongue across hers, but the groan from deep in his throat calls to attention the rapidly approaching point of no return.

“If there’s anything left when I’m done with all of this…” Frank presses the words to her lips, deep and desperate, as his hands flex on her thighs, “if there is an after--”

Karen kisses him back just to keep him from making promises he’ll have to worry about keeping. Even still, his words deal the shattering blow to that piece of her heart that’s been breaking for him since they met. This is the moment, she knows it for certain. They can slow down and do things the right way, or carry on and let it all turn to ash.

Frank’s following her lead so closely that it's easy for her to drag their kisses to a lazy stop, once she’s able to talk herself into it. He doesn’t pull away completely, just keeps his forehead pressed to hers, palms smoothing softly up and down her legs. “Y’okay?”

“Yes.” She says it because it’s the truth, and when he answers her small grin with one of his own, she feels giddy and triumphant. “But I think, you know...” It’s hard to focus when his hands haven’t stopped moving. “I think we should--”

“Yeah.” he nods and stills, eyes going a little wider. He’s clearly, finally caught up, at least a little. “Okay.”

“Okay.” She gingerly climbs off his lap to a spot beside him on the couch and takes a beat to steel herself before she looks back up. His smile is gone, but in its place is something even more surprising -- something that looks almost like a confession. It lifts a burden off her chest and brings tears to her eyes, and she realizes it’s because she’s always expected that it would be an apology instead.

When she kneels up to steal one last kiss, Frank lets her take two. “Will you stay?” she asks as she pulls back, and the corners of his mouth turn up again. She wants to pinch herself. “Just for a little?”

He wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close, tucking her up against his side. “C’mere.” For just a second, she flashes back to the elevator again, to reaching out for him when he was just too far away. But tonight Frank’s t-shirt is soft against her cheek, his chest is warm where she rests her hand, and it keeps her here with him. Once he presses a kiss to the top of her head and heaves out a deep, shaky sigh, she starts to drift off to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Karen’s not surprised that he's gone before she wakes, but she is surprised to find herself tucked into bed, a note on her nightstand the only evidence he was ever here. She reads it again and again, pacing the kitchen and eyeing the roses that still sit in the window. It's the most he’s ever asked of her and the most he’s ever promised, all at the same time.

Stay safe, he's scrawled on what looks like a page torn from a paperback book. And then, lower: If there’s anything left, it’s yours.

Temporary

Concert AU

Dirthamen, Kel, Fear, Deceit, June, Falon’din, and Sylaise all belong to @feynites

TW for Drugs, Food, Fire, and Addiction

They are out for a walk with Kel in her stroller, when Des stops dead in his tracks.

Well. He's still alive, but his attention has been fully arrested by two figures in an alley, and a familiar glowing blue substance in a Ziploc bag.

Selene notices it too, eyes narrowing.

“Des.” she calls.

He inhales sharply through his nose.

“Yes. Right.” he clears his throat, his usual easy grin returning to his face as he falls back into step and flips one of Kels toys dangling over her head and she lets out a loud giggle.

Selene lets out a breath of her own, grip loosening as color bleeds back into her knuckles. 

“Your new job is in a great neighborhood.” Des teases.

“It's just temporary,” Selene insists. “I'm not technically an employee of theirs. I'm just doing some contract work for more money than I probably deserve.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Contract work means I have the right to say 'No' to anything they try to throw at me. And since they seem to want me there more than I want to be there, it gives me leverage as well.”

Des snickers.

“You really believe that?”

Selene lets out a sigh “No,” she admits “But if I phrase it the honest way of 'they blackmailed me into working for them,' Fear probably wouldn't even be comfortable letting me in the same zip code as June and Sylaise.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“...I like working, Des. I like having something in my life that's just mine. Something I can do outside of the house. The others have the band, and you have your job, and I've just been stuck taking care of the house and the chores.”

“And Kel.” Des points out.

“And Kel,” Selene agrees. “Who I love. But who is also only a few months old, and not a great source of conversation.”

Des still seems skeptical as they pass the still partially under construction skyscraper Selene has started working at.

“It's only temporary.” She reminds him.

“You use that word so much, sometimes I wonder if you remember what it means.”

–

The strangest part of the job for Selene, is the dress code. She had interviewed in torn up jeans and a t-shirt, to indicate that she didn't actually want the job June had offered her. Sylaise hadn't so much as batted an eye at it throughout the lunch, as she ensured Selenes wine glass stayed full and Selene resolutely tried to stick to her water instead. Somehow she had still managed to come out of it with a job, a signing bonus, and a list of official positions for her to choose from.

Technically, she works for June. She has no experience in legal, which makes her largely useless to Sylaise in any sort of professional capacity. But it doesn't seem to matter, as Sylaise always manages to be around somehow whenever Selene steps into the office in the morning in her boots and her jeans and her comfortable sweaters. And each morning, Sylaise links her arm with Selenes and makes surprisingly pleasant conversation all the way up the elevator and into her office where there is a closet full of name brand suits and clothes and shoes spanning across the length of one wall.

Each time, Selene argues that she really doesn't mind wearing her usual clothes, she likes them, really.

But each evening sees her heading home in heels and a blouse and, when she can't particularly find the strength to fight, a pencil skirt.

She is starting to accrue a collection of Armani because of it.

After the first week, her lovers have at least stopped pointing it out.

Mostly.

“Just to verify,” Fear drawls as they stir the pot of pasta, side-eyeing her as she enters “They are not changing your clothing, right?”

“There's a changing room.” Selene assures them as she slips out of the purple heels Sylaise had insisted she keep.

Fear gives a quiet grunt of acknowledgment and returns their attention to dinner. Selene slips past them and up the stairs to change, carefully hanging up todays outfit and changing into a soft pair of pajama pants and a large shirt. She goes back downstairs, joining Deceit and Dirthamen and Kel for tummy time on her favorite playmat. There are halla running across it, as the background of the circular mat shifts from night to day, a field and flowers in the center.

“You are enjoying working for my sister?” Dirthamen asks quietly, glancing away from Kel while she focuses on flipping herself onto her back to watch the overhead mobile more easily.

“Technically, I work for June,” Selene evades “But it's not nearly as bad as I expected it to be.”

Dirthamen gives a nod while Deceit pretends to not be listening in. “What precisely do you do for him?”

“Right now I'm just helping him get the skyscraper finished. He tends to get focused on details, and I try to keep him and his team focused on the bigger picture stuff. And I take a lot of notes on the process, so it can be replicated later without him having to stare over his construction teams shoulders.”

“Getting any good dirt on them?” Deceit finally asks.

Selene contemplates the various discussions she's heard between June and Sylaise. They've been inviting her to join them for lunch, so there's not really a lack of material to sift through, but they don't seem to argue about much.

“They were having a pretty heated discussion last week about something one of Junes parents said? I think they already moved past it though.”

Deceit lets out a disappointed huff at the lack of gossip, and goes back to playing with Kel.

Dinner is ready not long after that, and the next few days pass in a similar rhythm.

On Friday though, Selene spies something strange out of one of the windows; Des, walking alone down the street.

Towards the alley they had passed together.

“I'm taking my lunch,” Selene says, hurriedly dropping her notes onto the nearest solid surface and leaving a blinking June mid-sentence behind her. She races down the stairway and out the front doors, slowing as she approaches the alleyway.

Two voices are speaking.

One of them is nauseatingly familiar.

She turns the corner, blocking the exit onto the main street, and feels the flames licking beneath her skin again.

“What are you doing.” She accuses. Her voice is rough, and deep, and she is so angry as she sees Des with a wad of cash in his hand, only a step away from one of the men they had passed before.

He swallows, frozen as he spots her.

“I...” He starts, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

The other man takes a step away from Des, slowly putting his hands up beside his head.

Selenes eyes dart to him and narrow.

“Run.” she hisses.

He doesn't need to be told twice. The other man makes a speedy exit past her and back out to the main streets. Leaving her alone in the alley.

With Des.

Des, who she thought had been doing so well. Des, who shared their bed just last night. Des, who is helping to raise a child.

“What are you doing.” She repeats, voice low and dangerous.

“It's not-It's not what it looks like-”

“Really? Because it looks like you were trying to buy lyrium from a stranger we passed on the street. Or maybe he wasn't a stranger? How long have you been using again, Des?”

“Fuck, Selene, it's not-I wasn't going to use it!”

“No?”

“No!”

“Then what were you going to do?”

“I just-I just wanted to have it! Just-just to keep it around. For emergencies. There's no harm in that.”

“And what about the other mages we live with, Des? What if Kel grows up to be a mage, and you've got lyrium stashed in your room and she hears it calling and-and-and-”

“I wouldn't do that to her!” he roars.

Selene gestures at their environment, at the alley and the rolled up money sitting in his hand.

Des swallows at that, as guilt seems to rush over him. “I didn't...I wouldn't...”  he sighs “You don't understand.”

“Then explain it, and I'll try to.”

“I need it, Selene!” He finally yells, shaking with the admission of it. “I need the rush I need...I need the power! You've no idea what it's like!”

“You don't need it, Des.” She responds, quietly.

“How would you know! You're never even home anymore! Moving on without me again and ju-”

“No.” Selene interrupts. “No, Des no-”

“Playing games with Dirthamens asshole family while they play dress up-”

“How dare you-”

“-And you pretend like you're not just as broken and rejected as I am-!”

Selene explodes.

Literally.

The alley fills with fire and heat as Selene screams, walking towards Des. “You can't blame me for this! I didn't push you to lyrium! I gave up everything to keep you safe! Everything I loved, everything I had worked for, and you have the nerve to blame me for this?! You ungrateful-”

Selene pauses, as the words coming out of her mouth finally register. The flames dissipate, and her hands swiftly move to cover her mouth.

'Ungrateful.'

How many times had her father thrown that in her face? And now she's....Des...

She wraps her arms around him, pulls him close while he shakes. Scared of her. Scared that she might be leaving him, that she's finally done with him.

She had been only a breath away from saying exactly that.

“Des...” She whispers into his hair. “Des, I didn't mean...”

“You did.” He interrupts.

Selene swallows.

“You should go home,” She says instead. “Fear's home today, right? Talk to them about this. Deceit and Dirthamen too. We all love you, Des. We love you so much. I'm so sorry I reacted the way I did.”

“...you're going back to work.”

Selene lets out a breath. “...I think you and I need a little space. Just temporarily. Until we're both cooled off a bit.”

Des nods slowly into her shoulder before peeling away, wiping away his tears and smudging his eyeliner.

“...I'm sorry, too.”

Selene gives a soft smile, and gives him a brief kiss. “I forgive you. Make sure you call your sponsor about this though, ok? And go straight home? Promise me?”

“I promise.” Des agrees, hands cupping her jaw and pulling her close for a deeper kiss.

Selene walks him out of the alley, watching as he heads back to their home.

She sends a text to Fear, and asks them to send her one once Des is home.

Just in case.

--

Selene slogs her way into the elevator, feeling exhausted after having her magic loosed so unintentionally. She's already nodding off by the time the doors ding open, and she has to straighten herself up to go back to work.

“...Go for barbecue?” June quips.

Selene blinks.

“What?”

He indicates towards her clothes, which have become soiled with eyeliner and dirt and predominantly ash and the associated smell.

“Oh. Uh...Something like that.”

He tilts his head back towards the elevator. “Go see Sylaise. She'll get you changed and send those off for cleaning.”

“Right,” Selene nods, following his instructions, still more than a little dazed.

Sylaise tuts, and dismisses Tasallir when Selene steps out onto her floor. She hands over another change of clothes once Selene has sufficiently washed up. Selenes phone vibrates while she's changing; Fear letting her know Des made it home.

She lets out a breath of relief, and feels a bit more weight fall off of her shoulders as she lets out a long yawn.

“Are you alright in there dear?” Calls Sylaise through the door.

“Yes, sorry,” Selene calls back, fiddling with the zipper. She steps out again, and Sylaise has her spin before stepping forward.

“You should keep this dress,” Sylaise hums as she gently moves Selenes hair to the side and pulls the zipper up her back. “It suits you.”

Selene nods, and gives her thanks before letting out another long yawn and an apology.

“Would you like some coffee?” Sylaise offers.

“That would be great actually,” Selene says “Thank you.”

Sylaise directs Selene to sit on one of her couches and instructs someone to brew up a fresh pot in the hallway. The couch is surprisingly plush, and soft, and Selene is tired enough that she lets out yet another yawn as her body cries out for her to lay down on it.

“Is there something bothering you?” Sylaise asks as she comes back into the office. “You can always talk to me, you know.”

Selene nods, but doesn't say anything. She knows better. Sylaise seems sweet, and so far she's certainly better than Falon'din in Selenes eyes, but she's always got a motive. Selene's not sure what it is yet, and that makes her dangerous.

“Troubles at home?” Sylaise guesses. 

Selene shakes her head and then shrugs. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I always worry about you Selene,” She coos. “You're not like Dirthamens other...partners.”

Selene raises a skeptical eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Sylaise says “There's a rather recurring theme with them, isn't there? Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. And then there's you. With your legs and your sweaters and your soft quirks hiding under sharp features. You said you used to be a teacher. What on earth would convince you to take up with a group like that?”

“I love them.” Selene asserts.

“Well yes of course,” Sylaise agrees while making a dismissive gesture. “Of course you do, Dirthamen is very lovable with his sort of...baby bird who has fallen out of the nest and forgotten how to fly....personality, lets call it. He's the only member of the family besides myself that's any use at all, really. And I'm sure he's great fun and very reliable and stable, but surely you can't expect that to last.”

Someone comes in then, with two cups of coffee. They place them carefully on the table between the two women, who stay silent but maintain eye contact, and step back out of the room.

“Dirthamen loves me,” Selene assures her. “And I love him. And Deceit, and Fear, and Des. We all love each other.”

“And no one is disputing that,” Sylaise nods. “I only mean that...well, Dirthamen tends to get obsessed with things for a long while, and then once his curiosities are satisfied he just abandons them and moves on to the next thing. Like, Falon'din. They were inseparable when I was younger. Some people used to joke that Dirthamen was practically his shadow. But then one day, he just abandons him. He found Fear and Deceit and now...well, you saw how they get on now.”

Selene takes a long sip of her coffee, and tries to settle her nerves. She doesn't have the strength right now to erupt again, at least.

“Falon'din stranded Dirthamen in the woods,” Selene says slowly.  “Falon'din struck Dirthamen. Dirthamen didn't get bored, he found the strength to leave an abusive relationship.”

“And your little display in the alley, that wasn't a piece of an abusive relationship?”

Selene freezes.

Sylaise glances up at her, mouth turning into a grin around the lip of her mug.

“Oh don't worry, I won't tell anyone about the fireworks. I suppose that means you likely started the fire at fathers house too? That explains why he couldn't put it out then. It puts some questionable rumors in your background to rest, too.”

Selene stays silent.

“Seems you're still quite the little firebug. No judgment on my end, that just means father will like you all the more. And now you've got the baby. Seems like whoever has a hold of you, would have him wrapped around their finger for the next...oh, twelve years or so?”

Selene lets out a breath.

“She's not my baby.”

“But with my team, she could be. Easily.”

Selene shakes her head “What are you even trying to do here?”

“You're going to leave my brother,” Sylaise explains. “If he has an actual child and I don't, father won't care about my false promises to have one some day. But when you join June and I, that will give us a baby already. No more pressure, not for a while at least.”

Selene laughs. “I'm not leaving your brother to make you your fathers favorite again. What are you even on?”

Selene goes to stand, to tell June she quits because his wife is insane and to go back home to help Fear with Des, but finds her legs won't respond.

She blinks, and looks down at her legs. Her head swims at the motion, and she practically falls over onto the couch from the dizziness.

“I'm not on anything,” Sylaise assures her as she places her coffee mug down on the table. “You, however, are currently suffering from a mix of rohypnol and diazepam. The coffee was decaf too, so you never really had a chance there.”

Sylaise stands, and pulls a blanket out of the closet, draping it over Selene. “Don't worry dear. You'll be well cared for here. We'll make it worth your while. You’ll see, this will all work out for the best for everyone.”

Selene does her best to glare at Sylaise through drooping eyelids, tries to spit a curse at her, to pull on her magic, but her muscles are feeling so relaxed and she is so tired that it is hardly even noticeable.

Sylaise tuts, and brushes a strand of hair out of Selenes face.

“I know my dear; you loved them. But you were always replaceable in their eyes, anyways. It was just a temporary thing.”

The world turns black, and silent. 

Selene doesn't dream.

short story

All over again

“Ah, there you are, or there you were, I was wondering if you were ever going to manage it, but of course you did,” the man speaking was tall and slim and had an accent, “it is absolutely silly of me to get so impatient.”  He said that part mostly to himself but he was still looking at me.

The look on my face must’ve said it all.

“Oh, well, see,” he paused with a finger on his lips, pursed “you’ve made a torus, sort of, a kind of bubble in the universe, right?”  He dropped both hands behind his back and straightened up a little and looked at me with a little concerned amusement.

I wondered where he was going with all of this before he cleared his throat and continued.

“Well, there’s something you want to change, I haven’t any notion of what it is myself, not this time and not last time either,” he strode over to the open door at the end of the office, “But for the time being, and for the space involved there’s sort of two of you, but it won’t last long.  It never does.  It never could” he gestured for me to follow, “come have a look at yourself.”

I followed him out of the office into an old-fashioned cube farm.  The tops of heads were just barely visible over most cubes.  He had walked into a foyer next to an empty secretary station shrouded in artificial plants and was waving me over.  I remembered this place.

He gestured at the mirror.

I was so young.  Those clothes!  I can hardly believe anybody used to dress like that.  I felt like a fool, but I fit right in.  An elevator, one of four on this floor, pinged nearby and four people got out, and they all kind of looked like me.  And there was, oh damn, what was their name? Stacy? Tracy?  Three of the people walked to offices on the other side of the building but Stacy-Tracy walked past me, “See you tonight, right?”  

They seemed to have a knowing look on their face so I gave a noncommittal grunt of agreement and looked at myself in the mirror again briefly.  My hair!  Those glasses.  I suddenly recalled where my cube was.

I turned and followed my friend (office buddy? acquaintance?) along the cubes, they turned down a side aisle but I kept walking.  I could see the man waiting for me in his funny clothes, but not that funny, everybody would dress that way later.  He didn’t even stand out much.  Everybody probably thought he was in a temp, or maybe in advertising.  I went past the copy room and caught a bit of office gossip I’d forgotten, and was almost to my cube when he raised a hand to stop me.

“Now, you’ve done this before,” he looked into my eyes, “but you won’t remember.  There is usually no danger at all. Unless you try to run away.”

Suddenly he didn’t seem so friendly.  Suddenly his height and obvious physical fitness made it clear he was much more of a threat.  The man who had felt more like a confidant and counselor now seemed much more like a cop.

“The energies involved in changing the past aren’t trifling.  It helps to be close to a good source of gravity.  This can’t be done on the Moon and it is more successful here than on Mars,” he continued, “Running is the worst thing you can do.  It stretches out and magnifies the energies.  It demands more and more from you and the part of the universe you are currently in.  In both places and in both times.  You know what you came here for, so do it and don’t dilly dally.  When you see yourself in a moment there will be a sort of battle of wills, it will be brief.  You’ll be surprised - the younger you will be surprised - but you’ve got all the regret and anxiety and emotional baggage of what you believe - the older you believes - was a mistake, ebbing and flowing around you like a hurricane.  That is usually more than enough to make the change.  If necessary, just get physically violent.  You’ve done it before successfully.  You’re not old anymore.  You know how to struggle, how to take a little temporary pain, and to people nearby,” he indicated the cube farm “thank goodness there really won’t be any witnesses, not really, all anybody would see would be you shiver or maybe you wig out a little.”

I looked over at my cube.  “I’ve done this before?”

“Yes,” he turned and gestured to invite me to finish what I came back for.  He wasn’t being impatient or rude, but I sensed part of him didn’t really want to say what he said next but that another part of him desired to explain it all to me.

“A great many people have done this sort of thing a great many times, and nobody ever really remembers” he looked down at me “you may have dreams of a different you, with different people you know or knew or didn’t, doing things you did or didn’t do.  You may have dreams of odd arrangements of people and places and times you’ve known that don’t seem to go together and if the discontinuity is discomforting it wakes you up, but it all feels real enough.  You may imagine alternative pasts, with their ascendant futures, and while a lot of that is just ordinary wistfulness or wishy wash trash on a star, some of it is just a little space and time flotsam and jetsam and the overlap of memory, what was once real and what is really real because that was what you did and not what you didn’t.”

He had maneuvered beside me and put a friendly hand on my shoulder, giving me just a little nudge.  

“You’ve done this before and I’ve been here to keep you honest before.”

“I ran before, didn’t I?”

“You did.  What was an embarrassing momentary lapse for you was years of grueling overtime and paperwork for me,” the nudge was becoming a push, “so get on with it.”

I walked to the cubicle.  I might have walked a little apprehensively.  I knew why I was here and what I had to do.  I had done something like this before. I could hear myself typing in the cube.  Did I try to do something or not do something before?  Was I trapped in a loop?  I looked back. He was right behind me.

“No, you aren't in a loop.  This isn’t Groundhog Day” he whispered.  “You’ve never been back to this particular moment.  You’ve been back to high school and college and other times.  Of course after this all the other times I knew you after this will be different in some way.  You are changing the past to alter your future after all.  Maybe you’ll have to sneak backwards in time to events after now and keep making little changes, a twist there and a tweak there.  You’re never one for big changes.”

He smiled at me.  I realized it was the first time he smiled at me.

“But you’ve been through this with me before?  I’m putting you through the ringer?”

His smile got bigger and brighter.  “Your concern for me is your most endearing trait.  I do miss you.  Don’t worry about me.  All that overtime I put in got me a nice timeshare in Florida.  I even wrote a book; made good money too.  I can’t retire, not yet, but when I do me and the missus are set.  The kids have a great future.  Thank you.”

“Maybe I should be the one thanking you, for this chance to get a do-over.”

I turned the corner and stood in the cube.  The phone was tucked between my shoulder and cheek, my fingers were hovering over the numbers, but my attention was on the computer screen.  I mashed the hook switch down and yanked the phone out my other hand.  The momentary contact with my other self almost overwhelmed me while it damn near knocked other me out.  The energies involved are not trifling.  I could feel a dam breaking.  I spun the chair around to look at myself.  The look of shock and fear in a face from so long ago was pitiable.  I was so weak then.  Overcoming myself felt like crushing a tinkertoy under a HEMMT wheel.  I felt nothing but contempt and disgust as I crushed myself and suddenly felt myself falling.

I jerked upright in the chair and gasped.  Ben stood and looked over the cube wall at me.

“Dude, you okay? he asked.  That mullet has got to go.

“I’m okay I said,” I looked up at Ben, “just a little deja vu.”

Ben disappeared, sitting.  “I get that too sometimes; except mine doesn’t usually sound like a cab going into a manhole without the cover.”  He laughed at himself.

I looked at the phone in my hand and hung it up.  I looked at the computer screen, saved my work, closed the tab, and logged off.  I stood and picked up my Y2K mug, I was looking at Ben in his cube, his lips moved as he read what he just typed.

“Ben, that mullet has got to go,” I said.  Ben nodded, grunted, and typed.

I walked down the rows of cubes to the cube that did duty as a coffee station.  Shawn Tracy was standing by the windows talking with Stacy McAllister looking at the snow falling in Pittsburgh.  I could see Civic Arena in the distance.  They turned and looked at me.

“You’re coming to the game tonight, right?” he said.

“I already told you he said yes” she said.

“I’m sorry I gotta cancel on you two,” they put pretend expressions of hurt on their faces, “I’m driving to New York after work to see my folks, it’s a surprise”  I said that part on impulse.  I just had an urge to go see my folks.  “Pens are in New York tomorrow anyway.  I’ll wear my sweater and hassle my little brother.  Take Ben, he could use some hockey.  I’ll bet he’s missing Minnesota anyway.”  I gestured out the window with my mug before I filled it up.

I went back to my cube and almost spilled coffee crashing into my chair.  

From his cube next to mine Ben razzed me a little, “It’s like deja vu all over again.”

Title: Elise's Decision

Series: Cloakn’Steel (Sonic the Hedgehog AU)

Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi/Apocalypse/Retropunk

Rating: T (Language/Mental Illness)

Background: A Flow Write from Cloakn’Steel. This happens near the mid-to-end of the fourth ‘book/series’ so there is a lot of information previously explained. To point out some things briefly: The surface is an apocalyptic wasteland overrun by beings called Mutants. The incident was brought on by ‘The Vaccine’. Its side effects vary from person to person but Elise suffers from depression (which I have made to mimic my own episodes). She is actually from a much distant past, she and others preserved in a sleep of which only she survived. Sonic works as a secret agent for the government.

As this is a Flow Write, be warned that it is unedited and things may change before its official release. Enjoy~

A shock through her heart and she was fully awake. Just like every night. Why? Even after all she had been through they still wouldn’t let her be. She slowed her breathing as the burning in her chest gradually dissipated back into nothingness. Despite the downy comforter pulled up to her shoulder, the young woman still shivered and curled into herself. Something hot and velvety brushed against the small of her back and she realized, for the moment, she had forgotten where she was. Elise swallowed and forced herself to relax as his arm came up and draped her hip, paw searching for her much smaller counterpart against her stomach. Then, his moist breath brushed the fine hairs between her shoulder blades as the hedgehog nuzzled into the nape of her neck. Sonic hummed softly, the only sound puncturing the darkness. “Don’t worry. I’ll chase away your demons for you. I promise.” Though muffled and slurred with slumber, still those words boomed in her ear. So much so that she nearly cried, wanting nothing more than to shrivel out of existence. I’m not worth this. I’m not. She stirred again only once the ginger rise of his chest against her back became steady and rhythmical. He had fallen back to sleep. The window ahead shown a dusty blue sky pock-marked with stars. No moon tonight. Ever so cautiously Elise shifted around, his arm now nothing but a warm weight. As she bore into the crook of his chin there was this sense of perfection. And in that perfection a pang of sadness slithered its way into her mind. This wasn’t hers to take, to keep. This wasn’t meant to be. Briefly Elise nuzzled into his neck, savoring the comfort found there. Her lips brushed his silky fur as she mumbled a sullen thank you. There was no possible way for him to hear her mournful words, for which she was grateful. Because, if he had, she knew he would stop her. Elise forced herself up and away, replacing her weight with the blanket once wrapped snuggly around them both. Hastily, buy silently, the human woman dressed and vanished into the darkness of the hall and down into the living room. From there she crept through the kitchen illuminated in the soft florescence of a baby-blue night light plugged beside the sink. Watching its unnatural flicker for some reason brought a thought to compose a note for him. That, though, was soon cast aside. No, a note would make it worse. A note might make her stay. From the kitchen, there was his garage and where he had stored her bike. There it was, standing in the center of a cluster of model robots and dust rags. Elise apologized before picking the omniband from the seat and attaching it to her temple. Eventually, she would somehow have to locate a new helmet and suit. For now, at least Stormy’s aeroshield would keep her from sustaining any monumental injuries, should they occur. The artificial Lode Tails had created was still inserted into her steed’s torso, giving off a faint buttery glow to the otherwise onyx carapace. Placing her palm to the stone elicited a reaction. From the epicenter, a spiderweb of insignia lit and grew. From its breast the machine let out a soft hum of life. The tires held by their standing clasps were released and set into their graviton tracks. Elise had never given much though to the hue her bike had always exhibited. With the amethyst Lode from before the glow had been purple. Now, with this new one, its pores gave a shade representing its new power source. This fact now saddened her even more. She had lost one of the few things from her time that held any meaning. You are such a heartless monster. Monster. Beast. Mutant thing! The woman growled and shook the voices from her head as if that would help. It only swayed them for so long. She mounted the motorcycle, feeling it dip slightly from her weight. At least she had this piece of her soul back, all thanks to Sonic. Elise let the thought subside and guided the machine towards the garage door. The sensor on the floor triggered, raising the escape like the maw of some primordial beast. It clunked softly with a smooth groan that told her he kept it well maintained. It would be his fault then, if he didn’t hear her. Into the night she road, pass his neighborhood and into the lights of Seaborne City. Even at this hour, so early in the morning, everything shown bright with a kind of festivity akin to the joys of youth. He had been right. As she passed on her way most of the individuals she saw were nocturnals: coyotes, raccoons, owls, and cats. There were some humans, too. Even so far in the future they were adaptable like that. One thing she had never told him had been how the humans and anthropes of her time never coexisted so seamlessly. There had never been couplings, very few friendships. Humans mostly stayed within their grand cities, and the anthropes to their forests. To see those around her so content together was a small joy. It made it far too apparent that she did not belong here. From the highway she drifted off an exit that lead to Dawner Park. It was mostly vacant at this time, thankfully. It was still far too dark to watch the sunrise so any who were awake would have no real reason to be here. Even so, she still chose a spot long forgotten by passerbys. That way she could leave without anyone being the wiser. The edges of the Sky Isles were outlined in invisible fencing. They prevented anyone from falling off while still providing the breathtaking scenery of the starlit atmosphere beyond. Even so, there was a mechanism in place. If someone did scale the wall, or break through, an alarm would sound. Elise wondered off-handedly if any of her questions pertaining to the perimeter peeked Sonic’s concern. Probably. It wouldn’t take much for him to put two-and-two together. The barrier would go off. There was no way around that. She slowed to a gentle stop, admiring the seemingly infinite beyond. With little other than a thin sweater, a brief gust of night bit deeper than it should. Despite this, the stoic girl remained stiff as a statue, eyes tuned to the clouds that clustered about the island’s rim like an ocean of foam. She wondered if some ever thought of the world below, obscured from sight. Why would they when everything was so perfect above? A mortal-made heaven. Her thoughts were always muddled like this. That was just her existence. Even before she was institutionalized in White Garden, she would get lost in the realm of her own mind, a spiraling rabbit hole of loathing and doubt where reality mingled with fantasy. That was why she needed to go. Sonic and his friends couldn't be exposed to who she truly was. But, she would miss them, all of them. She would miss hanging out at Mama Moro’s Cafe with Maria. She would miss cooking with Sonia and shopping with Amy. Most of all, she would miss her nightly routines with Sonic. How had they become a thing? Why did she let it become a thing? Why did she have to fall in love with him? How did he even fall in love with her? He doesn’t love you. He pities you. How could he possibly love a freak like you? No one wants to love you. No one ever did. What about Willow? That meant nothing and you know it. She was scared. Your sick mind twisted her words. That’s why you have to leave. It’d be better for everyone. I don’t want to leave. It doesn’t matter what YOU want. What matters is what’s best for everyone. Elise gripped her ears and hissed, “shut up!” Hopefully, no one was close enough to hear. No, she was alone. Alone safe her thoughts, which had quieted for the time being. So she returned to stargazing, putting off the inevitable.  Her palms shot to Stormy’s reigns and she revved his motor. Just do it, you idiot. I don’t want to. I’m happy, sometimes… They make me happy. He makes me happy. So? That doesn’t fucking matter! There is no happiness. Not for you. It’s a damn temporary high and you know it. Sure, you’re happy for, maybe, a day. Then, what comes after? Back to your old self, being tormented by their forced smiles. How much can they possibly care for you? Do you really think any of their lives will change if you leave? No, they’d just go back to the way they were before you showed up. Yeah… Elise forced her eyes shut, hoping to prevent the inevitable. She had made sure to never let anyone see her cry. That was all she needed, to have someone openly pity her. That was what was so strange with her interactions with Sonic. He never… Somehow, he never seemed like he did. Out of all the stories he had somehow pried from her lips, he remained stoic and obliging rather than apologetic. “I hate you,” she whispered sullenly to the sky above. There was only one person that line had ever been spoken for.

Sonic groaned and rolled over, stretching out like a canine beneath the thin sheets sticking to his velvety fur. He paused, something wasn’t right. One paw began feeling around till it found the edge of the mattress. The hedgehog was still pretty groggy from last night so it took a moment before he realized something should be there but wasn’t. If it had been someone else he wouldn’t have paid much mind but not her. Suddenly shot awake with fear, Sonic lifted himself and grabbed a handful of sheets, revealing the entirety of his mattress in one swift motion. He wasn’t crazy. She was gone. He hopped out of bed and into a spare set of shorts on the floor. He began bounding down the stairs when a peculiar smell caught his nostrils. It was familiar but unfamiliar in this setting. He slowed his pace and in turn his frantic heart. As he drew closer and closer to the first floor the smell became more pungent. It wasn’t until he finally turned into the kitchen that he settled down. Elise shifted when she heard him clamoring to the main floor. “Morning,” she greeted with just the hit of a smile. “Morning.” He grinned wide enough for both of them. She was still here. She stayed. She hadn’t done anything he couldn’t have prevented. In that moment all his anxiety melted away. Maybe, in some ways, he had helped her. So enthralled by this musing, he had yet to comprehend exactly what she was doing. She stood over the sink with a frying pan, having just rinsed it and in the process of transferring it into the drying board. He followed his nose to the kitchen table. Upon it laid a pair of plates, one to each side. Upon them rose a tall stack of buttery-looking pancakes. Once his examination was done, heart fluttering, he took his seat while returning his eyes to the girl and intently taking in every move she made. With pan removed. She strolled over to his coffee maker set at the edge of the counter and retrieved a pair of mugs, filling them with the ebony liquid before walking back over to take her seat opposite him. She then presented one to him and kept the other for herself. Sonic couldn’t contain his heart from its uplifted rhythm. Nor could he divert his eyes from her even upon taking her offer. So intense was his gaze that Elise’s cheeks flushed furiously after a bit and turned away. “I… Molly used to make these for me in the morning when I stayed with her.” Only then did he realize what he was doing and finally readjusted his focus to the buttery decadence placed before him. “I’m surprised I had everything you needed. I’ve never been much of a cook, myself. Can’t even think of the last time I ate a homemade meal.” Her smile retained its usual shyness. “The recipe is pretty simple and it’s easy to readjust for what you have on-hand.” As Sonic began to shove spoonfuls of sugar into his brew, a soft binging caught his ears. Elise rose and he paused, unable to help keeping an eye on her. She wandered to his microwave and produced yet another mug, using a bundle of paper towels to ensure she wasn’t burned. As she grew close in returning the fragrant syrup she must have been heating assaulted his nose and made his mouth water. He was serious in saying he hadn’t had homemade anything in forever. Just the gesture in itself made his heart swell, regardless of what they would eventually taste like. Considering everything his sister had told him, he doubted they would be anything other than delicious. When she finally sat for, what would hopefully be, the last time she set the maple syrup between them. She then focused on her own coffee adding much less sugar and a bit of cream that she must have retrieved some time ago and place on the table beforehand. Sonic went for the maple syrup and drizzled a heavy stream over the stack. The amber liquid mixed with the creamy butter and cascaded down each tier like a miniature waterfall. Deciding that was enough, he held it for her to take. “Thanks, by-the-way. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.” “You don’t have to thank me.” Please don’t thank me. “It wasn’t troublesome, honest. Besides, I though it… I wanted to do something for you.” Sonic chuckled gently, a sound far sweater than the decadence before them. “For what?” As she began stirring her steaming drink her gaze fell down to the swirls of off-white, distant and almost forlorn. “Nothing. I don’t know.” Unfortunately, the hedgehog knew that look well and had also began to sense the drastic, sinking shift in her aura whenever she began spiraling back into herself. He couldn’t have that anymore, wouldn’t have that anymore. “So, how’d you make these anyway?” He retrieved the fork that had been intently placed atop a folded paper towel next to his plate. Her chin lifted and the darkness surrounding her gradually dissipated into the soft morning light. That was much better. And so, the pair chatted while they ate. The concoction was as perfect as he had suspected. The flapjacks were light and only vaguely sweet. Creamy inside with a caramel crust, they gathered most of their flavor from the syrup and butter. Too bad he hadn’t picked up any fruits or berries. The added tartness would have added a nice compliment to the dish. But, the coffee did the trick, sipping a little after a few mouthfuls to help everything down. As they neared the bottom Elise quieted. Before he could revert her back on track her gaze gave him an uncommon intensity. It generated not hate or sadness or joy but purpose. “I want to tell you something.” Sonic was taken aback by the bluntness of the statement. “Of course. What is it?” Those eye, icy at times, continued their evaluation of him. “I want to tell you how I ended up at White Garden.” An alertness to his spine replaced the once lax atmosphere. “You really don’t have to, honestly. If it’s going to-” “I want to.” That stare finally softened and curled into the more commonplace melancholy. “Maybe, if I tell you it’ll help me heal.” The girl turned away again, spindly fingers clawing at her empty mug as if digging for any remaining warmth. “You’ve been really good at that, you know.” In those words their was weight, though not of ill. There was purpose in them. It would seem most anything she said and did had purpose. Sonic realized early on, when they had begun hanging out, that she was not one for small talk, preferring to keep to herself and letting others be. She was one of those individuals who was more than content to sit on the sidelines and watch the world and those in it, rather than be a part of it. The amount of effort it had taken to get her to blossom for him he would never regret. This trust the otherwise lonely girl had afforded him over time was precious. For her to openly admit this was a testament to that. So, instead of protesting, he offered her a tentative smile. Each night they walked together gave him new insights into who she was as a person. As she became accustomed to his presence those stories had deepened in both length and personal significance. Slowly but surly, Sonic began to love her and loathe the beast she viewed herself as. Now, here she was, willing to share with him her darkest secret, one of which he was curious of but contented himself in not knowing should she never confide in him the tale. Elise remained transfixed on the dregs in her cup as she began. “Most of the people in the Facilities were willing participants, high risk individuals, or those whose blood proved beneficial. I didn’t go there as one of those. I was an exception.�� A pause. A breath. “I was fourteen. I had come home from school. I was happy because we were going to my aunt’s for the weekend for Gran’s birthday. Everything was fine till I got home. Mom and Dad were fighting, as usual, so I just made myself invisible and blocked them out. I…” her eyes darkened, falling deep into the memory, “didn’t know what triggered her at the time. When I got about halfway up the stairs everything got awfully quiet, like funerary quiet. It was like this weight was in the air or it was really humid without being hot. I only stopped and turned around when I heard my parents scream.” In her mind they were still screaming, though with time she had become accustomed to the sound. “My mom had Broken and she began to mutate. My father shattered a display case and got out one of his hunting rifles.” Elise briefly faded back into reality. “How did he kill her? They’re not supposed to die so easily.” Then she closed her eyes and it took her again. Behind those lids she still recalled the flashing of the barrel as each bullet bit deep into the flesh of their target. The dark blood splattered family photos as her mother’s monstrous form flailed in torment. “I was screaming too but I don’t think he heard me at first. He only noticed me once Mom stopped moving.” Those steely irises opened again and the way she bore into him actually sent a pickle down his spike like a sudden numbness. Actually, that was exactly what he saw. Comprehension finally dawned on him. That’s why her gaze sometimes scared him irrationally. Beyond there depths he could discern nothing other than numbness. “He turned on me with the same horror. He raised his gun and I closed me eyes and cried and waited for the inevitable. Instead I felt his cold grip on my arm as he dragged me upstairs and threw me into my room. I didn’t know what to do. All I wanted was to hide, become so small so no one would find me. So they wouldn’t find me.” For a moment the only sound came from her nails cautiously scraping against the well-worn ceramic. “Maybe I was in there for a couple of minutes or maybe hours. Who knows? For some reason the thought to run away never occurred. I just wanted to disappear. I wanted to forget. I wanted to die.” “Elise…” With that otherwise soft-spoken word, the woman’s spirit returned to her rigid body. Their eyes connected briefly and to her surprise she couldn’t discern any pity within his. Instead, there was such a fire burning in that it made her heart skip a beat. There was also something else, something hiding within that stare she couldn't yet identify. For some reason, it didn’t scare her. It’s intensity was reminiscent of everything that had transpired between them the night before. “Th-They came.” She stuttered in continuing. “The next thing I knew there were some people in suits who came into my room and tried to coax me out. I didn’t fight them. I came quietly. In White Garden I was placed into quarantine. Something happened to me, as I was left along in that room, in the quite and the dark.” Her voice began to hush. She couldn’t take that intensity anymore. “Again, I don’t know how long they kept me there. I suspect it may have been an abnormal amount of time. Percy was the main psychologist who evaluated me. I knew she was afraid of me just by the way she looked at me whenever I responded to her questions. Even she couldn’t understand why I was so… indifferent. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to forget, to be forgotten. I wanted everyone and everything to just go away. “When I was finally released into the common lobby I had gone so far into myself that I just felt like a zombie. There was nothing left inside. I had nothing left to give, no one to give it to and no one who would take it. There was nothing inside of me, nothing of any worth. Nothing.” With her voice trailing into silence Sonic found having to restrain himself far more difficult than he would have imagined. His nails bit into the wood of the table as he spectated her inner turmoil. He wanted to leap up and tackle her, kiss her eyelids and scream at her all at once. She was not nothing, damn it! But he knew doing so would only cause her to bolt away like a skittish hare. So, he forced down a dry swallow and remained where he sat. “Maybe days or weeks went by. Time became really fuzzy for me. No one talked to me and I never made an effort to talk with anyone else. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be left alone. Willow…” a grin, so small no one would have noticed unless enthralled as he was, “she was the one. She came up to me one day in the cafeteria and started talking to me. She wouldn’t leave me alone.” The tone to her voice was beginning to pick up. “Even though I was quiet and tried to slip away, she was persistent. Somehow, she was still so happy and carefree. Pushy, she never stopped grinning, or talking.” Elise choked out a brief chuckle. Then she finally met his eyes and in hers he saw light, like a pair of blazing stars. “She reopened my heart. It wasn’t all at once but she helped me start to gradually feel again. She had a nice little group of friends already and she made me feel welcome, like I belonged. And I… never…” Just as quickly she was slipping away again. “I never…” Elise shook her head, ember locks dancing against her moist eyes. She brought up the heel of her palm and massaged one absently. “I just wish I could have told her that.” Those words came out slightly muffled by the sleeve of her ivory sweater. “I think she knew.” She stopped her fussing and turned to him quizzically. His smile was far brighter than the morning sun shining through the window at his shoulder. “Yeah, trust me. She knew.” “Thank you.” And she presented him a meek one in return. He… In some ways he was just like Willow. They were even, amusingly, the same height. That had been one of the things she had already admitted to him so many nights ago. Maybe, that was why she had become so attached to him. No, that was exactly why. That must have been what made him so confident in that statement. He pulled out his chair and stretched his arms high above his quills, joints popping into place. “Well, I don’t know about you but I feel a nice morning run is in order.” Elise squinted at him cautiously. “You don’t have work today?” “Nope.” He began rolling his shoulders one at a time. “Actually took a couple weeks off after the reckon we did in sector CC-089, where we found your bike.” “Wait,” the pieces of time he had given her wasn’t adding up. “That… You said you found my bike a week ago and Tails just finished his testing yesterday.” “Yeah?” He leaned, cross-armed and unfazed, against the back of his chair upon realizing where this particular conversation was headed. “That would mean you weren’t working and you specifically went out to see me?” “Course, why wouldn’t I?” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Most nights they were out nearly till four in the morning. “Because I knew you’d get upset and you’d tell me to stop or you’d make an effort to try and hide from me. Elise, I really love those stupid walks, you know? It became sort of like our routine.” And he wanted to make sure he was near her those nights. “We could never hang out during the day so instead that was our time together.” “But, sometimes I actually did get sleep. Did you really go out looking for me?” Sonic shrugged, holding his chin in his palm as he studied her uncharacteristic bewilderment. “Yeah, well, you know. If I couldn’t find you at one of our usual spots I just headed back home, no biggie.” A sigh. “I’m sorry you felt you had to do that.” She was falling again. “Elise,” he spoke her name in a gentle yet upbeat tone. “I loved our walks. I love spending time with you. Trust me, It’s not something I feel like I have to do. I wanted to do it. I love you.” Her creamy cheeks suddenly flushed with heat. Sadly, she didn’t, as yet, believe him. But to her those words still gave her hope, albeit minuscule as it was. Again, happiness wasn’t something she was accustomed to. The majority of her still couldn’t accept his sincerity. She wasn’t worth his time or concern. But, what if this was real? What if he meant what he said and she wasn’t just a salvageable fling? Only time would tell. Was it worth the risk? “Come on. I’ll get dressed and we’ll take your bike out and have a race around the city. Whaddaya say?” If only he knew she had already been out and about with it. In the end she gave in to his charisma. So, while he ran back upstairs she set her self to cleaning up. He told her to wait a moment so he could help but she dissuaded him, stating that it would keep her busy while he freshened up.