Blackshot Ghosts [Closed]

[MysteriousStranger]

Maverick pulled his left hand, still littered with bruises over his inked knuckles, from his jacket to take the offered Life Saver. He lifted it up in the air, as to motion a thanks, before shoving it into his mouth, and afterward immediately placed his hand back into the warm safety of his pocket. There his fingers tapped against the cardboard carton that Ayden vehemently didn't want him to possess, and from a little ways down the street where he stood and occasionally paced back and forth, the marine gave Mav a stern look, as if he could read minds.

While it was curious why Ayden was giving them distance-perhaps he was too stubborn to walk back-Maverick didn't linger on the thought. Instead, he turned his gaze back to Kara with a grunt, holding her own with a strong refusal to back away from her challenge. "Yeah. I also make the bullets stop flyin'."

Staring so intently at her face, he was starting to realize he liked it more when she was grinning at him rather than glaring at him.

To be honest, he didn't want to believe her, but it was getting to the point were it was impossible to not do so. It was all surreal, and like the cliche, he expected to wake-up (probably in a ditch instead of his own bed) at some point. But he knew deep within his mind that it was as real as his scars. His conscious was just playing catch up.

He welcomed the distraction, as close to the core of his pain as it was.

A small grin tugged at the edge of his lips to meet her own. Almost sheepishly, his eyes dropped once more to her necklace, which she held as close to her being-if not more-than he did his own, though he suspected for very different reasons, then fell to his boots, before he forced them back up to her face. "Maybe. Yes."

He pushed off the wall to take a quick pace around in front of her, getting his blood pumping once more to help heat his body. And there, in that moment, a bit of his old self cracked through his armor, complete with the sarcasm he was know for, the kind Ayden was reluctantly familiar with: "I was going to ask if the bone was a trophy from an ex, but that seemed rude."

Bowing his head slightly to show it was out of his system, he took his post at her side once more, continuing, "You talk to one I don't see. We've established that we're both sane. So, Kara." He cleared his throat. "What's with the, uh,-" Tilting his head slightly, he squinted and leaned in to get a better look at the reliquary, withdrawing once he realized how uncomfortable that was. "Thumb?" He couldn't exactly tell. Bones weren't something he was well versed in.

 

[CastoffCaptain]

Maverick was throwing out fewer defenses here, relying less on a smart mouth than on actual communication. She doubted she'd been able to shout him into full submission, but it did seem being able to take a pace back from their grisly quest had helped to settle him. That, and realizing that she wasn't just tossing out a load of horseshit for him to faceplant into. It was... well. She wouldn't call it pleasant, given the circumstances, but at least she didn't want to kick his teeth in, bless him. When he met her gaze without wavering, she forced her breathing to slow.


"Maybe. Yes." That was what he'd said.


He moved then, and Kara took a step with him, preparing herself to continue down the street toward Ayden. B remained put, and it was only after a heartbeat or two that she halted again, swiveling to stand in front of Maverick, who hadn't planned on leaving just yet. Her eyes narrowed at his "joke", and a flicker of emotion swept across her face before she could reign it in completely. It was gone just as quickly, hidden beneath her pale facade. Although she didn't retreat when he closed the gap between them, she did tilt back a hair, head angled away from his sudden, if brief, nearness.


"It's a toe. Left foot. This one," she held up a hand and wriggled her ring finger. "And it's older than an ex-boyfriend's." Holding the little glass-and-metal container palm up, she extended it so that Mav wouldn't have to bend so close again. Should he, of course, choose to inspect it so intently. "He's... he's my friend." Although she said this quietly, B's attention flowed toward the living pair, sensing he was now the subject of their conversation.


It was Kara's turn to look sheepish. She looked at the pitted surface of the bone she knew so well, with its minute crack at the tip and the discoloration halfway down its center, and chewed her bottom lip. This wasn't uncharted territory for her, but it was a path that had, on the few occasions she'd tried to travel it with anyone else, ended badly. Maverick's belief was the only thing which convinced her to speak now.


"I was sixteen, in boarding school. Catholic. I was a bad place--mentally, y'know-- and he was stuck in an attic. We uh, we saved each other."


Her jaw worked hard. She swallowed, dropped the reliquary gently between her breasts once more, and suddenly her tenseness cleared. Her shoulders unbunched, her weight shifted to one foot, and she smirked up at him-- a sign that the hurdle had been cleared. "Really, dude? You think I'd keep an ex-boyfriend's toe bone around my neck? That's just--" she shook her head and started toward Ayden with a slow and easy gait, "--creepy."

 

[MysteriousStranger]

When Kara offered him a closer look at her reliquary that didn't require a thoughtless invasion of her personal space, Maverick accepted it, staring at the aged bone with a curious expression. After a few moments, his eyes lifted to hers as she spoke, and he listened intently. There was a softness that started to set in his gaze that didn't seem native to his person. It wasn't pity, but a sort of understanding. Though he would never compare their situations, to a degree he could relate; life hadn't been filled with sunshine when he was sixteen either, nor his reactions to it. And he hadn't seen dead people then.

Watching her shift in demeanor, he noticed that she was as comfortable with sharing as he was. He didn't want to make it more difficult, which was hard for him, because people weren't his thing. He proved that under the Ell.

Creepy.

He laughed softly at that, lifting a hand to tug at his chain. Meeting her smirk with one of his own, Maverick once again fell in step beside her. "Shit, sounds like something one of my exes would do."

That was only half a joke.

"And you'd probably deserve it." Ayden was wearing a smile, a sort of smug one, as the two approached, and after raising a brow at them both, he turned on his heel to continue leading them on their way.

Maverick narrowed his eyes at his brother, though it was directed at the marine's expression instead of his words. With a snort, he turned his attention to scouting out their surroundings once more. With each step that took them closer to the harbor, there was a tightening, deepening sense of dread that took root in his gut, and his boots seemed to fill with led. His mind told him to turn back, and he realized that he actually didn't want to do this.

But he had to.

For the briefest of moments, though it made his instincts scream at him for doing so, he closed his eyes and breathed. Getting shot had been easier than this. Afraid that he'd lose his will if he allowed his thoughts to linger there for too long, he snapped his eyes open, straightened his back, and tightened his shoulders.

One way or another, he was doing this. Because at this point, it wasn't about him.

Wanting another distraction, and finding Kara to be the best one around, he focused on her, shifting his gaze to her as he asked, "So....what's his name? Who is he, your friend?"

 

[CastoffCaptain]

Kara's snort punctuated Ayden's verbal jab. She didn't attempt to delve for any deeper meaning behind the brother's raised eyebrow. The two were sharing an inside joke, and if the look had anything to do with her, its significance flew right over her head. Over to the east, behind the building where the crow had perched, a patch of blue sky began to chew its way through the grey wall of clouds. Standing on this side of the city, even the sunlight took on a greasy hue.


Now that the four of them were moving again, Kara set her expression to neutral. It is what it is, she thought, and the reminder loosened the knot in her stomach a fraction. There was no point in agonizing about what they were about to do. She couldn't change their course, not now. This wasn't about her.


All the same, she pressed any sprouting questions about Maverick and his family back down to their roots. Very soon, this thing was going to get really ugly, and after the deed was done, she wanted no part of the fallout. She wasn't here to make friends. She was here to serve as psychopomp; the guide who'd lead Maverick into the Underworld in search of his brother, but beyond that, no more. Didn't matter that he seemed to shine up a little once she got to know him--there'd be enough shit to wade through after this for her to want to keep her nose clean of it all.


Selfish.


Kara sniffed, wrinkling her nose at both the cold and her conscience.


It is what it is.


Kara felt his gaze on her. Before she could draft a response, the diaphanous figure on her other side answered him in a thin and faraway voice.


"Mihi nomen est... Slim Shadius."


Kara halted with a grimace of disbelief. "Wh--?" Taking a breath, she resumed walking and hissed at the air beside her, "What the hell is wrong with you?"


A palm Kara thrust vertically at him was meant to stop any rejoinder B might have decided to offer, but he was content to ignore her and lengthen his stride until he'd pulled up shoulder to shoulder with Ayden. A self-satisfied smirk haunted his lips. Kara watched him go as though he'd grown a second head, then heaved a resigned sigh.


"Bernard," she answered, pronouncing it English-style. BURR-nard. She spoke just for Maverick, voice low in deference to B and what she was about to divulge. "His name's Bernard. He died trying to defend his friends against the Danes. He hadn't picked up a sword in about fifteen years, but that didn't stop him. None of the rest of his friends knew how to use one. The Danes hacked him to pieces. Literally." From all outward appearances, Kara's explanation was dispassionate, but she never broke her line of sight with the ghost. "Sometime between then and the Black Death, the bits of him that didn't get lost got mistaken for some dinky little saint's bones and preserved. He got passed along from church to church until they forgot who he was supposed to be. One thing led to another and somehow he ended up gathering dust over here, waiting for someone to see him."


One shoulder lifted in what started as a shrug but eased back into something less dismissive. "This is how I keep him near." She tapped the reliquary and then fell silent, a frown faint upon her brow. The harbor was close.

 

[MysteriousStranger]

At first, Maverick thought that Kara had been asking him what the hell was wrong with him, to which his mouth opened to retort his usual response to that question: ‘Would you like the list alphabetical or chronological?’. His jaw closed shut before anything came out, however, since by her attack on the air, which he raised a brow at, he could assume she had been addressing Bernard.

His eyes followed hers, stopping to focus on the spot beside his brother, even if he saw nothing but concrete, street lamps, pieces of litter, and the nearing harbor before him.

“Brave,” Maverick said quietly. That simple word was filled with respect just a hair short of reverence, from one warrior to another. “People these days? They wouldn’t fucking do that.” He paused, stealing a glance at Kara, before averting his gaze to its original spot. “I’m glad you could help each other out.”

Warriors were too often forgotten. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he couldn’t stand to let his brother go; he couldn’t handle the thought of leaving him behind.

Even though the sun broke through its prison of clouds, it was little more than a decoration in the sky; Maverick swore it was getting colder, and his face burrowed into the fur lining of his jacket. Ayden continued leading them down their path, occasionally throwing glances at his side, furrowing his brows. The marine’s direction changed once the docks were in full view, and he began down the side of the water, starting to follow a canal that stretched westward.

Even with the dread that was slowly seeping into him, Maverick’s composure was unbreakable. Though his eyes grew harder and muscles tenser, he didn’t falter. It felt like the feeling he would get before a firefight, the calm before the storm. He wondered what came after, and the fact that he had to unsettled something buried within his mind; he couldn’t afford to think but a few moments ahead, to take more than one step at a time.

Concrete soon turned into grass that was mostly dirt, and as Maverick’s boots squished into the wet, frozen mud while he crossed over the threshold, he jerked out a hand to grasp Kara’s shoulder to prevent her from following. With a disgusted, disgruntled grunt, his eyes drifted down to her shoes, and he rubbed his jaw furiously with his free hand.

Cold and wet didn’t mix well when it came to toes, and from his experience, a lot of people went with what was pretty instead of what was practical when choosing footwear, or anything for that matter. They also had a long walk back through the same terrain. He wore real, military grade combat boots made to survive the toughest, most brutal landscapes; he knew they could make the trek. He wasn’t so sure about hers.

“Let’s not risk any toes, all right? Bernard might get jealous if you start wearing another one ‘round your neck.” He joked to try to lessen the awkwardness of what he was about to propose. He doubted that it helped things much. Turning around, the giant presented Kara with his back, and bent his knees to lessen his height. “Hop on. And watch the jacket.”

 

[CastoffCaptain]

Kara nodded, accepting this as truth, even as she disagreed with his assessment of people these days. One didn't have to look far for heroes, dead or otherwise. She wasn't going to bring up the bravery seen on 9/11, the people around the world who'd pulled stricken strangers off subway tracks, or those who'd run into fires to rescue neighbors. She hadn't walked in Maverick's boots, and until she had, she couldn't begin to know what colored his perception.


Even if it made him wrong.


But it was oddly comforting to hear the sincerity in his voice when he praised her friend. To be able to share B's existence was monumental; to have him appreciated was a different world entirely. Kara mulled it over in a thin-thought sort of way while they walked, letting its newness flow over and around her without drowning in the notion.


Worming her way deeper into her coat, she wished she'd worn her knitted cap. Her ears were aching with the cold, and she'd folded one over to warm it against her skull and was reaching for the other when Maverick grabbed her shoulder. The move yanked a half-squeak, half-grunt from her lungs, and she snap-searched the landscape around her, expecting to find Ayden's decomposing body somewhere nearby. Instead, Mav had his eyes on--


Oh.


She, too, peered at her boots, tilting one to the side. Out of her many pairs, they were her most practical for body-searching, but Maverick was right. She'd never been one for mud.


Still... the alternative.



She hesitated and felt an all-too familiar rush of blood knock her breath from her teeth. Coherent thought stopped, and the world narrowed to the strip of flesh just below his hairline when he turned his back to her.


Get a hold of it, Kazinsky.


But that idea just inched her toward the fire. Inappropriate didn't begin to cover it. Muttering a curse under her breath, she maneuvered her body nearer, knowing that no matter what lay beneath her own surface, this was going to be awkward. Fingertips stretched, found his shoulder and then rested there, butterfly light. She could literally hop on, like she'd once done to Miguel on the steps of St. Patrick's, but that had nearly ended in a face full of sidewalk for both of them. She could try it slowly, mounting him from--


No. Nonono.


Kara settled for draping herself against Maverick's back, one arm curled under his neck, the other angled toward his chest. When he stood, she'd wrap her legs crab-like around him and hope like hell he didn't crack wise, or she'd have to damn well knock him on his ass, dead brother or no.


She exhaled. "Ready."

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Maverick didn’t flinch at the added weight, straightening his back without strain after Kara had settled as if though she were but a backpack. Her legs tightening around him did give him pause, though it was hardly a reaction to the extra pressure on his muscles. Clearing his throat, he moved his hands to grasp the back of her legs to help prevent her from taking a tumble into the swampy ground beneath his feet.

Admittedly, the added warmth was a nice change in pace.

“Yeah?” He turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder, chin bumping against the arm over his neck. “All right, then. If I start gagging, might want to loosen up a bit.”

Ayden had stopped in his tracks to wait on them once more, wearing that same smug, amused look on what was left of his face. Maverick glared at him, making a nonverbal threat that dared his brother to say one word, but Ayden didn’t have to. His expression spoke for him, and he wondered where Maverick got it from.

But the marine opened his mouth anyway: “Who said chivalry was dead?”

Maverick responded with something between a grunt and snort, and took the first step forward. His boot immediately sank up to his ankle in the mud, causing him to hiss out his favorite curse through gritted teeth. After planting his other a step ahead, he fought against suction to set his foot free. The rest of the journey moved at the agonizing pace of a snail because of this, and undoubtedly made a bumpy ride for Kara; Maverick was careful not to risk losing his footing, which meant that in this terrain, one step took the length of time that ten normally did.

Fatedly, the specter led them to the end. Maverick didn’t need it pointed out to him. He could sense it.

Far from the eye of civilization, nestled about knee-deep in freezing, mucky water, was the final resting place of Ayden Asher, caught upon a rotten-out piece of driftwood. The body itself shared the same condition. Frozen. Decaying. Missing bits and pieces, presumably made food for the fish.

Nothing Maverick hadn’t seen before, but it was his brother.

He took a reflexive, jerky step forward, but stopped when he realized he was carrying extra weight.

“Ayden?” His voice was shaky, quiet, and suddenly he felt like a tiny lil’ kid again, yet back then, he always had his big brother to grab onto.

Alone.

He couldn’t breathe. He felt a pain in his chest. Heard a ringing in his ears.

His knees buckled. He didn’t mean for them to, but he fell into the water, shaking, eyes locked on the corpse. His hands jerked up to cover his ears. His eyes closed shut. As if he blocked everything out, he would wake up, and everything would be okay again.

 

[CastoffCaptain]

Maverick was big. It was one thing to stand in his shadow while he loomed over her like a redwood. It was another to be able to so physically compare her body to his, pressed against his back, one hand splayed across his chest. In contrast to the thunder now beneath her palm, Miguel's heart had fluttered like a hummingbird's. She wondered if she'd feel its pace change when they drew nearer to their target. Kara closed her eyes and tried not to inhale the scent of soap and sweat and the metallic tang of the chain around his neck. He was disconcertingly...alive.

His first step into the sludge canted her just enough for her stomach to lurch and her mind to reset.

he was

(is)

going to be

hurting

There was no space between their skin for her ego, much less her id. There was no skin in this moment, no bones. Only emotion, and she had to keep hers in check to be able to help him navigate his. And that meant

no pain

(emptiness)

of her own.

maintaining compassion

while remaining

dispassionate.

With her eyes closed, the cold seemed more brittle. Mud mumbled sloppily beneath Maverick's feet in a language she didn't dare decipher, and her sense of smell, already keen enough to be uncanny, sharpened in her self-imposed darkness.

She smelled him a yard before they stopped. Weeks of below-freezing temperatures had kept his corpse from rotting like it would have in any other season. Still, the scent wafted to her on a short-lived breeze, reminding her of the morgue, minus the reek of disinfectant and other chemicals. Decomposition without putrefaction. A breaking down of tissues on a polar scale. Different.

And yet it was still death, a kick to the lower brain that warned: This is wrong. Danger. Run!

There were some things she'd never get used to.

Kara tried not to curse when Maverick stumbled and went down, leaping clumsily away from him with windmilling arms. Water topped her boots immediately, rushing in with an alacrity that made her gasp. A detached part of her brain noted that the muck here was a khaki shade, suggesting clay, and that it had fanned out over her coat in a particularly ugly pattern. The rest of her brain processed what was left of Ayden.

Jesus.

"J." Even as she spoke, B was kneeling beside the body. Conviction made the ghost's voice stronger than it had been before, and it penetrated the cold like a far-away radio set to an AM station. In sonorous, gentle Latin, he began giving the dead man his last rites.

"Jaxon. Jaxon, this is just his body. He's still here," Kara reminded him softly, easing into his line of sight so that she'd be there when he opened his eyes. She didn't dare touch him, no more than she'd dare nudge a landmine. "He's still right here with you."

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Too little, too late. Too much, too soon.

He was already gone.

Maverick wasn't here anymore; he was there. He couldn't hear anything over the sound of gunfire. At least anything except for the laughter, dark and violent, ringing with a satisfaction that only came from vengeance. When his eyes snapped open, revealing a wide-eyed look of unfiltered fear, he didn't see Kara, nor the ghost of his brother that crouched at her side.

"Jaxon?"

He couldn't breathe.

Adrenaline burned through his body like fuel added to a flame. His heart raced. His senses went into overdrive. There was only the primal, animalistic need to survive.

The others were already dead.

Clutching his left hand over his chest, he scrambled back, rising to his feet as his right fingers thrusted downward to grasp at the holstered pistol at his thigh.

But it wasn't there.

Panic set in. Desperation.

He tried to move back more, but his boot sunk into slick sludge, and jerked him down underneath the water.

He couldn't fucking breathe.

It was freezing, chilling to his very core, and the bitter cold seeped deep inside his bones. No, it wasn't right. This wasn't right.

His body lurched upward to pull his head above the surface, spitting and spurting once he broke through the mucky prison. He crawled forward on his knees, occasionally stumbling to cause another splash of the water, until his chest laid upon solid-ish ground and his arms sprawled out, fingers digging into the wet dirt.

"Jaxon, think about where you are."

Throwing himself onto his back, his eyes landed on the thing that was approaching him. Like a second tidal wave, he felt pressure on his chest, and his breathing accelerated, yet no matter how quickly he scuffed down air, it felt as if none was making it to his lungs.

He kicked out his leg to slam into the threat's knee, but it didn't connected, and his boot slipped to crash down into mud instead.

He once more tried to get away, but the swamp clung to his body like the earth was trying to reclaim him.

It was cold, not hot. There was hot, scorching.

Confusion.

Ayden didn't approach a second time, raising his hands as he took a few steps back slowly and carefully. "You're in the city, Jaxon. Home."

 

[CastoffCaptain]

_
under the water we can't breathe
we can't breathe.
under the water
we die
*​

The bomb had gone off. The explosion she'd been anticipating since the first few words they'd exchanged in the diner slammed through the man in front of her and sent shockwaves through her and beyond. Kara scrambled backwards, the mud almost stripping one foot of its boot, and she stood at a safe distance from Maverick. It had happened too quickly for either thought or action. She watched his frantic bid for solid ground with an open mouth and useless hands, a sliver of her brain registering the fact that something wasn't right.

This was more than the agony of loss. A fuse had blown, a light had switched to dark. Kara had never witnessed a break like this.

When he went under the water, she leapt forward, calling his name, but stopped a moment later--he was on the move again and he was so very big and panicked and desperate and she couldn't do a damned thing to help.

_
so many souls
that lost control
where did they fall?
into the deep
what do they seek?
*
​

"B!" The plea fell short, a whisper instead of a shout. Her companion spread his palms in a gesture that was lost on Kara, but Ayden, tethered to his brother by the bonds of blood and death, outflanked them both. He pursued Jaxon, calling for him to come back, to return from wherever it was he'd gone, and in that heartbeat, a tumbler clicked home. Maverick wasn't here at all, not mentally, but what that meant precisely would take longer for Kara to understand than the handful of seconds she'd been dealt.

For now, Maverick was a wounded animal blinded by pain and his brother the only one who could calm him.

"Ayden?" Kara ventured when a silence crouched beside them. "Tell me how to help. I don't know what to do--" the truth raked both her pride and conscience to admit, "--but... he can't stay out here long. He's too wet, it's too cold." Her own teeth had begun to chatter, and she'd been nowhere near soaked to the bone like Maverick.

Marnie. She'd call Marnie, tell him to bring his truck so they could get Jaxon back to-- to where?

Shit!

Why the hell had she agreed to this?

_
hearts will dream again
lungs will breathe in.
wash away these sins...
under the water we can't be together
under the water
we die
*​

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Cold.

Maverick was shaking and shivering. His palm was pressed hard against his chest, but the liquid that dripped from his fingers was clear and tainted by the wet earth that now wrapped around him. Freezing, not warm. Not red.

The ground was wet, not dry.

But the air-The air still reeked of death. Not a smell, not precisely, but a sensory input nonetheless, a feeling.

It was like having one foot there, the other partially here, and his mind assaulted by the burning images of both the past and present. He couldn't tell where he was anymore. He couldn't tell where the hell he honestly would rather be. Either way, everyone was dead.

Dead.

His eyes never left the thing, staring down at the Reaper-or whatever the fuck it was-with a violent defiance and a knowing without acceptance or denial.

He was going to die.

You'll have to fucking work for it.

You will bleed before I am done.

"I know. One thing at a time." Ayden's head turned toward Kara, and his voice was soft. The ghost's expression was complex: a mixture of guilt, worry, hesitation, irritation, and reluctance. Tugging at his jaw, the marine stepped back, again with care, the way one does when trying not to startle a wild, wounded animal, until he stood next to her.

"All right," he whispered, keeping his gaze on Jaxon. His next sentences were rushed; he was giving her as much guidance that he could in what little time they had, "You need to be careful and calm. Understand he's not fully here, yeah? Ground him in the moment, get him breathing, make him realize that whatever he's seeing-it's not real. It's not happening again."

He paused, mouth opening as if there were more he wanted to say. Another wave of guilt washed over his face, but the clock was all ready clicking. His lips reformed different words. "Don't touch him. Just help him see that he's safe." Then his jaw set firmly.

 

[CastoffCaptain]

The last tumbler slid into its housing. Kara's blood slowed. Her head felt light.

PTSD.

Shell-shock, as the WWII vets who got coffee at Marnie's every Sunday called it. Maverick was in the middle of a flashback, and Kara's depth of experience with it and the living extended to shit TV and her own imagination. She opened her mouth to protest to Ayden that she had no fucking clue what to do, that she'd be jumping down a rabbit hole blind, when her mind cranked to a stop in front of the truth.

Jaxon was no different than the dead.

He was lost, trapped between two worlds, a prisoner to his mind, his fears, his conscience. One foot in this world, the other in the past. Suddenly, he made sense.

"Right," Kara murmured.

The panic seeped from her skin and she walked toward him, squatting close enough that she could speak quietly to him, but far enough away to let him breathe-- and to lash out, should he do so.

"Maverick-- Jaxon. It's Kara. Kara Kazinsky. Listen..." she sought his gaze, angling one bright eye at him. "I need you to listen to me right now, Jaxon, to focus on what I'm saying. I know where you think you are right now; the blackest, lowest place you thought you'd ever be. The place where you thought it was a done deal, and you could never be so scared, so lost, so fucked up again. Where you were dying."

Kara rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, absently smearing mud from one knuckle to the next while she spoke her litany for the dead. "But you're not there, Jaxon. You're past that, long past. That was then, this is now. I see you. I hear you. That means you're not lost. Take a second and just feel. You're not hurt, you're not bleeding," Kara took a wild leap of faith and continued, "and you're not shot. You're on the other side of that now, and that physical pain? It's done, paid for."

And here was where the script changed.

"But I need your help." One knee dipped into the mud, followed by the other. "It's cold out here, Jaxon, really, really cold, and your clothes are soaked through. I'm wet, too, and if we stay out here much longer, we could get frostbite... or worse. Hypothermia. Now, you ought to know by our little spat in front of the diner that I won't back down from bullshit, and that means that if I have to drag your ass eight blocks back through shitsville to someplace safe and warm, I'll do it. But we both know how bad that'll end up, so I need your help now, okay?"

She swallowed, her brows drawing a furrow in her skin, and kept talking, not knowing if she'd yet gone too far. "I need you to help me get you out of your coat-- preferably without a smart-assed remark about how I'm trying to get you undressed-- because I'm going to lend you mine. It's dry. You're going to have to drape it sideways on your shoulders, though, since if you tried to wear it'd be like trying to wrap an elephant in a condom."

Kara began to slide out of it, heat wicking from her body almost visibly.

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Maverick's eyes shifted quickly from the thing to the woman approaching. His body tensed, muscles readying to fight or flight. But she spoke, and he knew her voice. She said her name was Kara, and that was familiar. She told him he wasn't there, and for a moment, he didn't understand. But she also said that it was cold, and it was fucking cold.

Slowly, the world began to filter in again in between his shallow breathes, but he still wasn't wholly there, like a piece was missing from the puzzle: one of the essential ones that made the picture blend together.

Shame and embarrassment flooded through him. Realizing what had just happened, what he had just done, his eyes dropped immediately downward, and he couldn't meet her gaze. One of his hands jerked up to tug at the hair on his scalp, and he huddled himself into a ball.

"I'm sorry," was all he could say. No laugh. No smirk. No smartass comment. Just guilt and indignity. "I'm fucking sorry."

It took a few moments for her request to register, but after a few more mumbled apologies, his eyes once more lifted to hesitantly look into her eyes. He swallowed and nodded, glancing behind her to stare at the other specter, the one he shared no blood with.

He swallowed again, this time harder.

Lifting his shaking hands, he fumbled with the zipper. As he shrugged off the soaking jacket, Ayden approached. The reason why was revealed as the piece of clothing hit the ground; underneath Jaxon's left arm, a handgun was holstered smugly within a harness.

"Jaxon?"

Maverick's gaze once again shifted, and for a moment, his heart skipped a beat, and his breath caught in his lungs.

Ayden slowly crouched, each of his movements clearly visible and deliberate. "I need you to do your big brother a favor, all right?" The marine was also noticeably avoiding looking at Kara.

After a stretch of silence during which Maverick only stared at Ayden, the older brother cleared his throat and continued, "I need you to hand over the sig to Kara, yeah? You're safe. You trust her."

With hesitation, Jaxon did as he was told, taking off the gun harness, and sliding it toward the clairvoyant woman.

Ayden exhaled, even if he didn't have to breathe anymore. "Take the magazine out first. Then make sure to empty the chamber. I can show you how if you need me to."

 

[CastoffCaptain]

Marsh grasses bent low as a breeze slipped by, bowing to the little party and their pain. Kara hardly noticed it, although a shiver raced through her body in response. Watching Maverick crumble into the dust of what he once was tore open a memory she thought she'd stitched closed years ago; the similarity to it was startling, and it took a pound of willpower to keep herself from peering over her shoulder at Bernard.


She'd answer the living man's apologies later, when her words wouldn't sound so automatic, so trite, so empty. For now, she'd simply ache for the man and his agony with a force that blocked her throat and kept her expression studiously blank.


The sight of the gun shattered that stocism. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted in a silent intake of breath that stopped just short of a gasp. Kara froze where she knelt, Ayden's statements falling like snowflakes beside her; cold heralds of what could have been.


He'd been reaching for his pistol.


He'd been reaching.



For his pistol.



And the very thing that had put her in danger had been the thing that'd kept her safe. In his time-slip, his flashback... Maverick's gun had been holstered at his thigh.


Jesus.



Kara swallowed, peeling her dry tongue away from the roof of her mouth. Slowly, carefully, she knelt back on one heel and pivoted to face Ayden-- Ayden, who'd been avoiding her gaze. Ayden, who had a fat, sticky layer of guilt coating his every move. Had that guilt been absent even with the knowledge of the gun, he would have been spared the force of her fury. But he knew right from wrong and had slammed forward anyway.


Kara stared at him, unmoving and pale. Rage flowed off her, a black, sickening, all-consuming rage. He'd known. He'd known about the gun and the PTSD and the potential for this outcome once his body was found and he still led both of them here.


She could have ground his bones into powder and pissed on the pile. The dead were nothing if not single-minded.


With a jerk of her chin, she masked her anger. The change was as complete and as dangerous as a coal fire set a mile beneath a mountain; her mien was blandly pleasant, hovering around ennui, so that when she turned and placed her coat on the ground near Maverick, there was nothing left for him but calm.


"Trade you," she said softly, hooking a finger into the harness.


Seconds later, she stood yards away from the mud-splattered man, the gun and holster held low. Those jet eyes slid over to Ayden and locked on him, unwavering.


"You show me," she said, and her whisper was implacable.

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Maverick flinched as Kara picked up the holster, though stilled once more as she paced away from him. His empty gaze dropped to the jacket she had left behind, and again, he simply did as he had been told. Picking up the dark coat, he did his best to drape it over his shoulders. It helped to fight against the burning blizzard that was storming inside his veins. Something in his id told him to keep shivering, because that would help.

Drained and freezing, all Maverick wanted to do at that moment was to curl into a black, enclosed, windowless room, and pretend like the world around him or within his mind didn't exist. The best he could do, and to help preserve heat, was to wrap his arms around his legs, and bury his head between his knees, jerking the coat up over his neck to shield him.

Lowering his head, Ayden neither meet Kara's gaze nor crumbled beneath it. Watching his brother, his jaw had once again set rigidly, and his lips were pressed into a stern, thin line. For a moment, his shoulders slumped, and then he rose to his feet carefully, as to not startle Maverick, and approached her.

He offered no apologies or excuses, but simply kept in the moment, and attended to the task at hand. He kept his voice low as he went through the steps: "Point it away from anything, and pay close attention to what you're doing. Hit this button right here to release the magazine." He pointed it out as easily as if it had been yesterday since he'd held one in his hands. "Now pull the slide back, and just let the cartridge pop out. There."

He reached down to pick up the expended bullet from the mud, shaking it off, before offering it for Kara to take. "I suggest you keep it hidden."

One of his hands moved to shove inside his pocket, and his eyes immediately dropped once more to his boots. Oddly human, the things that the dead man did, and the expressions he wore. "Now there's the matter of getting you two out of the cold. Do you know anyone with a vehicle? I don't want to risk dragging him back through the streets, and that's not considering how the clock is ticking. I can can give you the number of a close friend of mine-and Jaxon's-but he'll need time to get out here...and in the long run, it might complicate things."

With a sigh, he pressed a few fingers into his forehead, but drew them away once he realized that he practically had no forehead anymore. Finally, his eyes lifted to connect with hers. The guilt was still there, flooding over him, but he said the next thing anyways, "Thank you, Kara, for helping my brother."

 

[CastoffCaptain]

God, but the gun was cold. Something more frigid than winter had seeped into the metal, and Kara's nostrils flared in disgust. The tips of her teeth peeked out from behind her grimace, and she maintained a careful balance between hardly touching the thing and carefully dismantling it. Never once did she speak while she did so, nor did she glance up at Ayden for reassurance that she was doing it correctly. Her silence exacerbated the sounds the weapon made while it was taken apart, as if it was hissing protests at its fate.


Kara released the magazine and tucked it into her back pocket, covering it with her sweater. Her first instinct had been to fling it as far as she could into the marshy depths that had swallowed Ayden, but she dismissed the idea just as quickly as it had come; the cops would find it sooner or later, trace it back to Maverick, and a jury would throw him in the pen to rot out the rest of his miserable life. She jammed the cartridge into her front pocket, then squeezed the pistol into the space between her pants and the small of her back. That dragged one long, uncomfortable breath out of her and she stiffened, scowling.


Ayden rattled on, offering suggestions, assistance, phone numbers. Overhead, the clouds rescinded their promise of clearing out and doubled up on one another. Kara closed her eyes. It smelled like snow. With tingling fingers and a trembling frame, she let Ayden offer up his thanks, flicked a last look at the hole in his head, and walked away.


"Mav," she approached him slowly on his right, each footstep deliberate. "I'm comin' up on your uh, your three, I guess. I gotta make a phone call, so I hope you don't mind if I sit down next to you." In spite of her non-stop shivering, she crouched down at arm's length from him. Massive personal bubble or not, she'd have hunkered against him to battle the cold, but not now, not with him in this state. Anger coiled tight in her guts, threatening to flare up again at Ayden.


No.



Here. Now. Jaxon, me, and B.


Making certain she'd not spooked Maverick, she pulled her phone from her other back pocket and thumbed through her short list of contacts. Marnie answered after the fourth ring, and while his voice contained a mix of concern and uncertainty, he agreed to bring his truck to the edge of the harbor in four minutes, seven at the most-- blankets, hot coffee, and mezcal in tow.


"You seem like a mezcal kind of guy," she said to Jaxon through chattering teeth, casting a look around for B. As always, her companion hovered nearby without being obtrusive, the model of patience. "Are you? I've been wrong before."


Fuck Ayden.



Fuck their mutual friend.


"We're going to get you some place safe and quiet, all right?"


The dead man's secret had just cost him his invitation.

 

[MysteriousStranger]

It took a few moments for Maverick to register that his name had been spoken, and he responded by simply raising his head slightly, causing Kara’s jacket to slip down his neck. He watched as she took a seat a comfortable distance away; his eyes were free of all but a residue of fear, yet still as hollow as a grave.

When she reached for her back pocket, his body tensed, and he could feel his heart begin to race again. He relaxed as she drew forth her phone, and with an exhalation of air that formed a vapor before him like a breath of smoke, he realized that he hadn’t been breathing.

He lowered his chin onto his knee, gaze shifting first from his brother, who was watching him from a distance with an expression impossible to read, then to Kara’s guardian, who Maverick blinked slowly and curiously at, before lastly dropping to the shifting grass, which danced in the unforgivingly frozen breeze.

Without the adrenaline to guard him, the cold was allowed to ravage his skin, and he buried his face into the lining of the coat around his shoulders. At that moment, he felt something soft drift upon his scalp. His chin jerked up, and another flake of snow fell onto his already iced nose. The sky above him was grey, the clouds thick and dark. Had it not been for the current danger the temperature posed, he might have found it beautiful.

Instead, he frowned.

Stealing a look at Kara, he blinked once more. Hesitantly, he scooted closer, collecting more mud and grime on his pants legs as he did so. Once he was near enough, he pulled her jacket from around his shoulders, and carefully flung it over hers, wrapping it around her body. Another moment of hesitation passed, before he raised his arms to pull her body against his, sharing what little heat he had left in him.

“Whiskey,” he corrected in a whisper, having trouble finding his voice. “But mezcal’s okay…It does the job.”

 

[CastoffCaptain]

Kara didn't notice the new layer of Maverick's perception, but Bernard did. The monk's near-constant silence over the centuries had bred a physical language all its own, now expressed through a cascade of minute motions following one after another. His head canted to the left, eyes the blue of a forgotten English sky narrowing. One brow popped up, his lips parted and then closed on a comment never given, and with a roll of his shoulders, he accepted this newest revelation with an air of bemused interest.


Well. That's odd, said the smug half-smile he tossed at Ayden as he passed by him. Gliding to the end of his tether with Kara, he stood staring in the direction that Marnie would come, his gray robes untroubled by the snow drifting through them.


Kara spared a few seconds to watch her companion slide by, then jammed her hands between her knees. When he swiveled and stared at her with an uspoken question upon his features, she, too, surveyed the path they'd need to take for their return journey and winced a little. Marnie's truck could only come so far along the harbor before the road ended at the canal.


"Fuck," she mouthed, and the curse swirled sideways through the snow.


The squelch of mud in clothing distracted her. Maverick scuttled near, causing Kara to freeze, watchful of his intent, then started to protest when he wrapped her coat around her shoulders. "No, J. That's for y--" He moved nearer still, his body language shattered, exhausted, hollowed out. Although her hands spasmed into fists and her toes curled in her boots, she didn't push back at the sudden contact. For Kara, touch was parceled out in tiny increments, intimacy restricted to a close few, but warmth trumped walls and it was, at least, better than being shot.


More importantly, it meant progress.


I see you. I hear you. You're not lost.


Slowly, Kara inched her arm around Maverick's back and curled in against him. She was still unable to relax her hand, but she doubted he'd notice her hesitation.


"Yeah, well," she said, her other arm slinking across his front, "me neither. Can't trust a tequlia drinker. Marnie took his bottle off a ...an acquaintence... of mine. Might as well make some use of it."


In a voice only for him, Kara murmured, "And I said to my soul, be still. Be still, Jaxon," then spread her palms and gave him the heat trapped within.

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Perhaps if Maverick’s mind wasn’t overloaded, the organic circuit within his head having trouble properly filtering and decoding inputs received from his senses, he would’ve picked up on the implications behind the word ‘acquaintance’, and connected the dots with the information, based on Kara’s reactions and statements, he’d gathered over the hours before. Yet he couldn’t, because his higher cogitative functions were reserved for keeping him firmly grounded in the here and now.

Part of him was afraid of another break. Part of him was slowly piecing together what had almost happened. All of him was sick in a multitude of ways.

He didn’t quite understand her last, quiet words, and he couldn’t begin to decipher whatever meaning they might have held. They fell right through the processing portion of his mind, and involuntarily, he took them literally. Not that he was planning to move anytime soon, or was currently capable of planning anything period.

He did as he was told, and kept his body still, excluding the shivering that he couldn’t control. She provided heat to his core, however, contributing to his body’s fight against the dropping temperature.

He felt like he was supposed to say something, so he whispered, “Yeah.” Afterward, he clung to Kara in silence, having trouble finding any other words.

The snowfall became thicker, gathering in strength, and flakes began to stick on top of Maverick’s hair and cling to the fabric of his woolen long-sleeved shirt. Almost as if on cue, he heard the distant sound of an approaching car.

His head jerked over his shoulder to stare into the blinding lights. His mouth twitched, uncertainty shadowing his thoughts.

Danger.

“It’s Marnie, Jaxon. From the diner.”

Maverick quickly ripped his gaze toward Ayden, and then back to the dimming lights. The truck was waiting for them, sitting at the edge of the road, before concrete turned into swamp. Swallowing, he carefully disentangled himself from Kara, and with a reminder from his brother, retrieved his bomber coat from the ground.

He didn’t speak during the rough walk back; he barely had enough awareness to nod at the man he had only met the night before. He did accept the blanket Marnie offered, throwing it over his shoulders, after tossing his jacket in the back of the truck. After taking a swing from a cup he found in his hands-welcoming the warm flood down his throat that the mezcal that Kara had mentioned provided-he climbed into the passenger side, after being redirected there during his attempt to climb into the bed. Within the warmth of the cab, he slipped down in the seat, hunkering over to place his head against the dashboard, and stare at the floorboard beneath him.

Ayden stole one last look at his brother, before taking a place in the truck's bed next to his brother’s discarded piece of clothing. Eyes staring up at the sky, he muttered, “The only easy day was yesterday.”

 

[CastoffCaptain]

For his part, Marnie took as much of Kara's Cliff's Notes explanation both of what happened and what was needed in stride--relatively. That he was unhappy was evident. That he worried was more so, its effects etched deep into his features. A shake of his head was all the complaint he bothered with at the moment, however; he'd give voice to his concern later, a fact that shelved some of Kara's anxiety.


With grace that hinted at teenage years spent slinking through windows and over fences in nocturnal gambles for freedom, Kara climbed the truck's back wheel and lighted in the bed. She did so to avoid clambering over Ayden, and yet with a casual flick of her wrist, she dropped the gun harness straight through him. Sitting cross-legged with her back pressed against the rear window, she buried herself in the scratch-wool comfort of Marnie's second blanket and closed her eyes for the length of the ride. Bernard was conspicuously absent.


Marnie drove quickly. Kara counted four and a half minutes through thinning traffic, feeling every bump in the pavement, the old F-150 squeaking and chattering the entire way to the curve in the riverside. The vehicle rumbled to a halt in front of a three-story brick building in spitting distance from the water. White letters ghosted its side, their last coat of paint stenciled on at the end of the second World War: Darlington & Son Textiles. Time, deaths, and innovation had ground the company into the dust, and all that was left of an acre-wide complex was the former company offices. The first two floors now served as a storage facility for the current owner. Kara occupied the top.


If Ayden contested the stop, it seemed that Kara had suddenly grown deaf. Twenty years of practice had steeled her resolve to neither see nor hear the dead she didn't wish to acknowledge, and she utilized it now with aplomb. Marnie offered his assistance with Maverick, now and again crooning assurances in his caramel voice, letting the man know he was safe, that he'd be warm soon, and that he was in good hands.


He shot Kara another uncertain look behind Maverick's back; that, too, she ignored. Grabbing the harness and retrieving her coat, she dug in the latter's pockets for her keys and opened the front door to the building. Waiting in the shadowed side of the stairwell, hands hidden within the folds of his sleeves, was Bernard. Strange symbols lay scattered at his feet, sketched in varying shades of brown and red to camoflage them against the bricks. A sharp eye might have noticed the pencilwork traced out on the walls all the way up the first floor: scripture and talismans and a series of x's and Latin and arrows. They coated the inside of the ancient elevator, accompanied by a thin drizzling of dirt and brick dust smeared against its back wall.


This was the first line of defense, the strongest fortifications against the spirits who meant harm. The dark and terrifying ones attached not to a place, person, or object, but drawn to fear and pain and longing and determined to feast upon them.


"I got it from here, Marn'. Thanks. I owe you. You're a life saver, I mean it. I'll call you." Kara said, and allowed him a short embrace. Her nose crinkled and she turned her head away from the cup of liquor he'd picked up in the meantime. "You wanna pour that shit out? It stinks." And then to Maverick, "We've got better upstairs, anyway."


"Be careful, Kara," Marnie said in the next heartbeat, a hundred implications layered within his warning.


She crooked a smile. "Always am, Marnie. Promise. You ready, J?"

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Climbing out of Marnie's truck, Maverick was jarred by the sudden exit from a warm, enclosed space to the bitter, biting cold outside. He pulled the blanket draped across his shoulders up to cover his head like a hood, before wrapping it tighter around his body to guard against the snow that now fell from the sky steadily and densely. As he grabbed his jacket from the truck's bed (again, only after being reminded to do so by his brother), he felt a hard pelt of ice collide with the bruised knuckles on his left hand.

Sleet.

Blinking, the ex-soldier stole a look at the sky, judging that they had made it here-wherever here was-just in time, because by the look of things, the weather was only going to deteriorate.

Ayden was scowling. Perhaps he had the same thought, because ire rose from the dead man's body. It made Maverick flinch, even with Marnie's soothing tones, so the older brother hung back from the two, keeping his demandingly questioning eyes on Kara. She was dismissing his verbal ones that were varying versions of "Where are you taking him?". Eventually, he resigned to the silence, though his brow was furrowed in carefully controlled anger.

Stepping inside the aged building, Maverick hesitated. It was new, which meant it was unknown, and its layout provided perfectly dark nooks and crannies for nasty things to hide in, human or otherwise. The sight of the second specter waiting, cloaked in shadows that made his form hard to decipher momentarily, set off a halting alarm in Maverick's body that shook him to his core; he froze, boots glued to his current spot.

Marnie's and Kara's exchange drew his attention, and slowly, the feeling washed over him, leaving behind a wave of fatigue. He swallowed and lowered his gaze to his feet, concentrating on taking each step forward. Keeping his focus on how he stepped-his heel hit the ground first, followed by his sole rolling down to his toe-helped to keep his mind in the moment.

Ayden had his gaze set on the strange markings, which only caused his jaw to set further.

Once he was by Kara's side, Maverick lifted his head so he could peer at the inside of the elevator, a weary expression setting into his harden features. Clearing his throat to give him time to find his words, he nodded and replied, "Yeah...I'm, uh, yeah...I'm always ready for booze." The attempt at normality caused him to trip over himself a few times, but, at least, he was trying.

 

[CastoffCaptain]

Wheels spun inside her mind, turning over all the possible scenarios that her actions right here, right now might lead to. There were so many holes in the road. So many potential dead ends if she didn't steer the situation just right. The gun, warm now against her skin, prodded her spine and caused her to stiffen. As if she needed the reminder.


"Well," Kara grasped Maverick's elbow through the blanket, taking care to do so slowly to keep him from startling, "it's not exactly a cure-all." A tautness in her tone thinned the statement.


Just as the elevator doors closed, Bernard spoke two words in Old English, his small smile fading with him into the shadows. Their teasing syllables relinquished a fraction of Kara's unease. "Smart ass," she muttered, masking her gratefulness with a smirk.


The ride to the third floor was a short one. The doors took a painfully long time to creak open, however, and Kara stepped sideways through them, out into a cold, dim hallway. To the right stood the outer wall, rectangles of mortar marking four bricked-up windows. To the left, two similar bricked-up spaces had once been doors, leaving their third and middle companion alone. Here, where solitude afforded Kara a freedom the bottom stories didn't, was where the symbols seen downstairs lay thickest, some chalked out in white and red, some traced in paint, others smeared in the same strange dust that coated the elevator. Feathers, stones, and folded pieces of paper made for a bizarre collection over the doorframe, and perfumed ashes were piled high on an incense burner opposite the threshold.


Kara sniffed, still shivering, and fought to keep her hands steady enough to unlock the door. She stepped aside to allow him to enter first.


"It's a little messy."


It was anything but. White Christmas lights hung from exposed ductwork and pipes in a ten-foot-high ceiling. They cut through the apartment's dimness, cheery against the backdrop of the city's grey skyline. Before she'd left for the day, Kara had drawn back the folding screens which at night blocked the steel-and-asphalt view beyond the waterfront. Sleet chittered against the bubbled panes. Just inside the entrance, she plugged in the first of many space heaters and stood in front of its glow. Low rent and solitude came at a price: the giant, single room that had at one time held four of the factory's offices had a barely-functioning air conditioning unit and nothing else.


There were no signs of clutter. From the futon on the south wall to the dining room table, everything was in its place and neatly kept. Although books crammed the floor-to-ceiling shelves, they were ordered by author, subject, and size. Here and there nestled a knick-knack or memento ranging from the macabre (a cluster of bird skulls wired together in gold) to the mundane (a set of shot glasses from Cleveland). Rugs kept the hardwood floor from getting too chilly. A partial wall hid the kitchen, next to which was the bathroom.


Bernard had entered at some point, filtering into Kara's line of vision like afternoon shade. He sat beside a table near the entrance, a look of curiosity gleaming in his eyes. On the street, he'd been a breath on the wind, a wisp of what he once was. With his hand upon a large, oaken box encrusted with colored glass and jewels, his body glowed. Although still somewhat threadbare, for all intents and purposes he was--at least to those who were sensitive--here.


Kara followed his line of vision.


Ah.



B cocked a brow at the open door, then at her. She set her expression to blank, but a certain wickedness in her gaze undermined the attempt.



Right.



Ayden.

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Feeling pressure on his elbow, Maverick glanced down to discover the source, and his eyes followed Kara’s arm up to her face. The gesture seemed to settle him, if only a bit, and for the rest of the ride, he focused on his breathing, exhaling once the elevator doors slid open. He kept by her side as she traversed the hallway, and as she battled to open the door, curiously examined the strange, foreign marking that decorated the place.

At her beckoning, he stepped over the threshold. Almost immediately afterward, he went on his quest, stalling it only long enough to toss a glance over his shoulder at Kara. It began with him pacing around the room clockwise, throwing a look behind every corner, and giving B a once-over as he walked past the ghost. He poked his head past screens to get a layout of the makeshift bedroom, peaked over the half-wall to examine the kitchen, and went wholly inside the bathroom, ripping back the shower curtain to make sure it was clear.

During Maverick’s scouting, Ayden had attempted to follow the two inside, only to discover that he couldn’t. It was like he had run into a glass, clear door, and the very contact repulsed him back, making his brow furrow even deeper, and anger flash within his eyes. The marine jerked his glare to Kara, keeping his voice low, even if it held fire, as he spat, “He’s not some stray you can just pick up off the street and take home.” After a pause, he regained his composure to try another tactic, “Look, Kara, I truly appreciate what you’ve done, but he needs help, you understand? Do you really think you know how to handle this?”

Satisfied in his efforts, Maverick roamed back out into the main room, shoulders and stance relaxing. The area was safe, and with each passing second, becoming warmer. Slowly, he stepped toward a heater, turning on his heel to give it his back.

Stealing a glance at Kara, his lips parted in a small, tired smile. “Messy, hm? We must have different definitions.” By no means was he back to normal-he didn’t know if such a thing even existed for him now-but piece by piece, he was regaining the missing parts of himself.

His hand lifted his dirt-covered jacket, although the natural brown of the material did wonders to help conceal the mud and grime. “So, uh, what should I do with this?”

 

[CastoffCaptain]

Jaxon's inspection of her apartment shook her foundations of privacy, but could she say it was totally unexpected? Pinching her reliquary between thumb and forefinger, she watched him circle the perimeter for a few moments and came to a conclusion: the search had been expected through hindsight. His caution made sense, even if she hadn't seen it coming, and therefore when he threw the shower curtain back with a clatter of metal rings that set her teeth on edge, she said nothing about it. She had invited him in.


But she hadn't invited Ayden. His anger burned the air. Had she been standing outside the supernatural barrier that separated the two of them, it would have seared her skin like flames. Kara closed her eyes and took a breath, weighing the consequences of leaving him out there to broil and forcing her own fury to subside.


Good intentions didn't make the dead less dangerous.


It might take nothing more than a little nudge to tip him over into the dark; perhaps not the terrifying, irretrievable chasm of hatred that would reduce him to a wraith, but bad enough for him to cause her harm believing it done through good intentions. Therefore, when he slashed at her competence with his question, she bit back her rebuke. She, of course, wouldn't have taken a vet with PTSD and a gun to see a murdered loved one to begin with. Not outside of a closed casket.


Kara drew a breath and went to the door.


Don't poke the bear.


Her gaze traveled from the jamb to the hallway with the speed of treacle, then finally crawled its way over to meet Ayden's glare. She held it, unwavering, with a touch of both irritation and weariness. She let go a sigh.


Blinked.


And closed the door.


Bernard murmured a question just as Maverick made his way over to the space heater. Just as softly, she replied in Latin, "He put us in danger. His brother had a weapon. He knew he might..." Kara rolled a hand in the air, searching for the word in Latin. She gave up and whispered, "Break. Like he did."


Bernard stared at the closed door with a troubled frown. Maverick spoke, cutting off the monk's next query. A lump of half-dried mud tumbled from the jacket and landed beside a rug with a moist plop. Her own pants, boots, and coat were besmirched with grime, but nothing in comparison to the man who stood before her. For the first time since Jaxon's heart had been ripped away in the sodden wasteland near the harbor, she truly looked at him. Bedraggled, shattered, his pain palpable, he trusted her only because he had no other recourse.


Her shoulders slumped.


"Put it over there," she said, uncertain as to why her voice was so quiet. Then, a little louder, "By the guitar case. It won't hurt anything. Listen, without getting pervy, you need to get out of those clothes. I'll put them in the wash while you get clean-- just drop 'em on the floor," she pointed to the bathroom he'd just so recently inspected. "Towel's behind the door, make sure you use it when you come out. I'll toss some blankets on the futon for you and we'll see about getting you something to drink. Weather's turned to shit, so don't worry about hanging out here until it's okay to go out again."


And while ignoring the elephant in the room-- or rather, behind the front door-- for a little bit longer.

 

[MysteriousStranger]

Had it been earlier in the day, under different circumstances, a smart-ass reply would’ve been the first thing out of Maverick’s mouth to Kara’s directions. He was too tired, both physically and mentally, however, and he wouldn’t disrespect the woman in such a manner now that she had brought him into her home. Not after the events that had transpired.

After what he had almost done.

His jaw tightened, and his eyes dropped down to his crusted boots.

“Yeah, okay.” His shoes led him to the guitar case, which he curiously looked over as he tossed the bomber coat by its side, and bent down to unlace his boots. Water had soaked into the laces, making it difficult to pry them apart, but after a bit of a struggle, he finally pulled his feet free. Afterward, he tugged off his thick socks.

As he straightened his back, one hand raised to scratch the back of his head, fingers tangling with the grimy, drenched strands of his hair. His nose wrinkled, and though there was more he wanted to say, for the moment he settled for, “Thanks, Kara.” His voice was soft, and there was an implication that he was referring to more than just her offer of a hot shower.

Heading to the bathroom, he began the pile on floor as instructed with his socks, followed by his woolen shirt. Next, he pulled the last bit of clothing remaining on his torso free-a Rammstein t-shirt-before stepping behind the door to finish the job, mostly for Kara’s sake instead of his own. Besides his leather belt that was accompanied by a silver buckle of the Punisher’s skull, which was folded and placed within the sink to dry, everything bellow his waist was tugged free, and tossed outside a creak in the door to join the pile.

Within the shower, he could finally breathe. Underneath the cascading, scorching water that brought life to his frozen limbs, safely tucked into a small, enclosed niche, alone and unwatched, he allowed himself to process what had happened-minutes before? Hours? It was hard to tell, such a thing destroying his perception of time.

He could’ve shot her.

He would’ve shot her.

He leaned his head against the shower wall, and though his hand reached up to graze the scar tissue on his muscled chest, which was partially hidden by a tattoo of Thor’s hammer, his eyes were locked on the wolf inked into his ribs.

Though a sickening guilt coursed through his conscious like a hurricane, another thought drew his attention, and caused a spark of pure rage.

Ayden didn’t tell her about the gun.

But Ayden was undeniably dead, lost in the harbor, even if his spirit clung to Maverick’s back to play guardian.

It was never his job. Maverick never fucking asked for it.

The ex-soldier’s lips formed a snarl, and he pulled his left fist back. His hand started to fly, but he stopped himself before he could punch the wall. This wasn’t his apartment. And though he wanted to be angry, he was reaching so far for the fury so that he could bury everything else, he was just exhausted. For once in his life, he was tired of fighting.

So he simply finished cleaning-up, and while he was still within the shower, shook his hair free of excess water once he was done. Grabbing the towel, he dried off, before wrapping it around his waist and tying it off.

Back inside the central room, he made his way to the futon, brushing his wet hair back against his scalp. Once seated, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “So, this drink you were talking about?”