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author-of-oddities · 7 months ago

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No More Colombian Nights - XVIII

Ford shifted uncomfortably in the sticky vinyl seat of a booth in Greasy’s Diner, watching the door closely as his fingers thrummed the table. Anxiety clawed its way up his chest as he waited for Fiddleford to appear. He didn’t want to say anything to anyone, but he needed someone he could trust to talk through what was happening at home. Dipper was a great apprentice, but too young to understand the full scope of the issue. This woman had integrated into his home, had looked over his notes, and had wormed her way into his brother’s heart. And when he eventually proved she was up to no good, she would hurt him and maybe even the kids. Mable seemed already overly fond of her as well. Ford just couldn’t allow it. He vowed to make it up to his brother, and he would make sure to do what was for his own good, even if Stan couldn’t appreciate it in the moment.

The bell ringing at the door brought his attention up from his own coffee, his heart jumping when his old lab assistant walked in. He swore Fidds had really come leaps and bounds in his recovery. He had always had a bit of a feral edge about him, but his warmth and sanity seemed to be returning nonetheless, and these last months since they had been away had made it much more apparent. He wore more clothes again, nicer jeans and button downs, thanks to Tate’s intervention. He truly wanted his father to get better and had spent time getting him what he needed to do so.

“Howdy Ford, how are you doing on this fine morning?” His easy southern drawl always soothed Ford in some odd way, familiar and comfortable.

“Just fine, Fiddleford. How are you this morning?” He kept his tone as even as possible, even though his nerves could have vibrated him out of the chair. Ford felt this way every time he talked to Fidds since he came back, nervous and guilty, but he craved his company regardless. Lazy Susan came by, greeting Fiddleford before pouring him a cup of coffee as well. He said his thanks to her before responding to Ford.

“I recon I’m doin’ just swell. Good to be out of the house. Feels pretty big and empty sometimes.” Ford was a bit surprised. Fiddleford had moved into the Northwest mansion before the end of last summer, creating quite a stir. It seemed to do him well, considering he was living in the dump before. However, he could understand how being in that big house alone could feel quite isolating. It was a bit hard to imagine though, considering he had moved from one crowded living situation (Stan and himself on a boat together for nine months) into an even more crowded situation (a house built for one person now holding seven people, much to his chagrin).

“Not enough company, old friend? Tate seems to keep you quite busy. And business seems to be booming, literally sometimes. That has to wrap up a good amount of your time.” Ford sipped his coffee, watching as Fidd’s shifted, looking mildly discontent with the estimation Ford made of his current life.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true. Tate has me runnin’ around more than a midwife in November. Goin’ to all these doctors and therapy. Says it’s good for me. And raccoon wife is always a comfort.” That little fact made Ford crazy. How could a raccoon be an adequate partner in anything, let alone life? He sniffed, pushing his glasses back up onto his face, trying to hide the annoyance that probably read a little too easily on his face, especially by someone who knew him once so well.

“Right, well, you know I’m always open for a visit, and you’re welcome to come help in my lab anytime.” Ford poised his invitation again without Tate to intercept him this time. Fidd’s eyes lit up, excited but seeming a bit nervous at the offer.

“Well, Ford, you know I wouldn’t mind a short visit.” He could swear Fidd’s was blushing under his thick white beard, but he immediately covered his face while sipping his coffee, making it unclear. Ford put on his warmest smile, ready to butter him up if need be. It wasn’t hard to pay Fiddleford compliments; he was still one of the most brilliant minds Ford knew, but it took a little more effort on his part to achieve warmth, especially after Bill had frayed any trust Ford had ever had. Even in the last few months it had been a struggle; finding himself asking the most paranoid questions about Stanley and his intentions. It took a lot of talking down to remind himself his family loved him and had his best in mind.

Fiddleford was looking at him with curious and bright eyes, shining like they used to when they spent time together. It gave him a curious little shiver as playful smiles started to reach both of their faces. How had so many decades passed and here they were, smiling at each other? It didn’t seem logical or realistic, and he certainly didn’t feel as if he deserved the grace that Fidds was affording him. Yet here they both were, feeling ancient now but happy again, like before both their minds had been so corrupted. In their first few meetings, Ford had apologized profusely for everything that had happened between them previously, wanting sincerely to bury the hatchet. And although Fidd’s still hadn’t fully been in his right mind yet, it felt like a wonderful first step.

“I know you’ve been anomaly huntin’ in the sea for the last however many months. Is there data there that you’ve been needing a second opinion on?” Fidds tapped his fingers, making a small clink against the porcelain mug as he got the look on his face, as if he were already running invisible numbers in his head. Ford had always thought the look endearing.

“Yes, it was pointed out recently to me that some of my translations of the maps have left me with incorrect values in my math and navigation.” Fiddleford looked curiously at that.

“Oh, well if’n ya got someone to look over them already, why would ya want me to take a look?” His gaze flickered away from Ford's face, meeting the view outside as he asked. The question stung Ford, knowing exactly why that would cross his mind. Fidd’s had begun to remember why they fell apart those years ago. Things had gotten messy on both sides, and although neither of them acted perfect in the situation, Ford felt so deeply guilty about what had happened. If he hadn’t brought Fiddleford here. If he had just stayed in California... but the thought of losing the memories they shared in those late bunker nights... that was hard to want too.

“You’re one of the only people I think I could trust…” He could barely believe the words came from his own mouth, not one for admissions or sentimentality. He was getting soft in his old age. Fidd’s eyes had gotten wide, the wall dropping immediately.

"Well, Ford… if you’re sure. Then yes. I will help you.” Fidds smiled in a small secret way to himself before meeting Ford's eyes again. This time it was Ford's turn to blush, feeling the heat creep into his cheeks. Normally such displays of emotion would frustrate him immensely, having conquered his fear response long ago. Such lesser emotions should be easy for him to conquer, but somehow Fidds brought it out so naturally, it didn’t occur to him now.

“Fantastic!” Ford grinned widely at him. “I need someone, that isn’t my brother’s new fixation, to give me a more trusted view of my research.” It was said with a dismissive tone. It’s not that he didn’t believe what she was talking about; it was that she knew too well what she was talking about.

“Oh… ya’ mean Honey? She was actually extremely helpful on a couple of my projects recently.” Ford groaned loudly, putting his hands to his face in frustration.

“Even you Fidds? Does something not seem off about her to anyone else?” Fiddleford furrowed his brow at him. “Something just isn’t right. Has Tate mentioned anything to you? They are neighbors. Did he mention the agents?” Ford knew he sounded too intense; Fidd’s looking mildly discomforted at Ford's insistence on her ‘wrongness’.

“Only thing Tate has mentioned is that she’s pretty special. I just reconed that meant he fancied her though. He’s never been much of a social butterfly.” Fiddleford sipped his coffee, shrugging his slender shoulders as he watched Ford. Ford took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It would do no good to look unhinged now, especially while he was trying to convince Fidd’s to come back and help him.

“Sorry, I get a little worked up still when it comes to my research... I just need someone else's eyes. Please, Fidds. You’re the only one I want to do this for me.” He fidgeted under the table, his five fingers twiddling together as he waited for Fiddleford’s answer. Fiddleford smiled gently at his old friend, nodding slowly at first.

“I will help ya, Ford. Reminds me of the good ol’ days.” Ford would have shouted happily if it hadn't been so obvious.

“Thank you, Fidds. I truly can’t wait for you to tell me what you think.” Ford was giddy for the first time in a long time, ready to share his research with another worthy mind.

^^^^^^^^

Stan pulled up to the dock, seeing Soos and the kids as they moved around the small deck of the boat. The dark of night had settled across the lake, but they had gotten some strung twinkle lights somewhere in the shack and hung them above the deck so they sparkled across the water. He swallowed hard, peeking in his rearview mirror at his face. Nerves danced in his stomach. It was one thing to woo a woman behind closed doors, especially when she practically fell into his bed at every opportunity she had. It was another entirely to romance her with an audience.

It also didn’t help that he had no clue what to expect from a couple of thirteen-year-olds and a questionable adult in the ‘romantic evening’ department of things. What did kids think was romantic? Holding hands? Stan snorted softly, smoothing out his eyebrows in his reflection before taking a step out of his car, adjusting himself slightly. He had worn his blue button down with the wide lapel, a quarter unbuttoned to show off his chest hair and medallion, of course, and his brown chinos and well-worn in boat shoes. It was thankfully a comfortable night; the rest of the week was forecast to be muggy and rainy as late June began to wind to a close and July amped summer into full gear in the mountain town. Mable waved widely over the side of the boat, calling out to him as he approached.

“Grunkle Stan! Come look!” She shouted, her small, high-pitched voice nearly echoing over the empty lake. Thankfully it was quiet out that night; no one on the water and no one in the area he could see. Honey’s front porch light was on, drawing his eye nervously as he scanned her small cabin, noting a shadowy movement against the curtain of her bedroom window. He picked up his pace as he hit the creaking wood of the dock, making his way onto the Stan’O’War II, surprised at its nearly unrecognizable appearance. Small candles and lights flickered, keeping the light low and dreamy, quiet romantic sounding music wafting from a small radio inside the cabin.

Dipper and Soos stood at attention near a small table they had set up in the middle of a small open space on the deck of the boat. A white tablecloth draped to the floor over it, candles flickering in the middle and small candies smattering the surface to complete the ‘romantic’ aesthetic they were going for. Dipper was scowling, clearly not happy to have been involved in this evening's events, but seeing as Ford had nearly disappeared most of the day, he didn’t have much of a choice. That had struck Stan as odd, honestly, wondering what had captured his own twins attention the whole day. That was an uneasy thought, knowing what had been preoccupying both of their attention for the last couple weeks. Honey would be in front of him all night though. Ford couldn’t do anything when he had her in his sights…could he? Mable proudly presented the scene she had put together, a fistful of wildflowers she had clearly plucked from out near the woods in her little palm as she beamed at him.

“What do you think? Pretty romantic, huh?” She smiled, her own approval shining on her face. He chuckled softly, loving her confidence. He did have to admit, though, that she had made their quaint little research vessel a pretty cozy place.

“You did great, Pumpkin. Even got those two in monkey suits!” He laughed, clapping Soos on the back.

“We got you all set up for the perfect romantic evening, Mr. Pines. Special lighting, sultry jazz tunes, and shareable foods! All to delight and inspire.” Stan grimaced at Soos’ attempt at a more ‘formal’ tone as he tried to match the vibe for the evening.

“Yeesh, yeah. Thanks Soos. Try and put a smile on that mug, kid.” He tussled Dippers hair, smiling at the grumpy kid.

“Just don’t let her try anything funny, Grunkle Stan. I still think there’s something weird going on.” He sighed at his great nephew.

“You’ve been spending too much time in the lab.” Stan grumbled, knowing Ford had clearly been in his ear. Mable shoved the quickly wilting flowers into his hand, moving him to turn back around and off the boat.

“Grunkle Stan, you can’t be late! Go knock on her door and bring her back. Let us take care of the rest.” She crossed her arms confidently as he stumbled back down the dock after she had practically pushed him off the boat and in the direction of the small cabin. He shook his head, not being able to tell if this was a great idea or a truly terrible one. He took another deep breath, running his free hand through his hair as he walked up to her door.

“Here goes nothin’.” He mumbled to himself, stepping up onto the porch before knocking on the door. How could he be so nervous talking to someone he had literally been inside not even a full day before? A few seconds passed as he stood awkwardly, listening as small footsteps approached the door. Stan placed a hand on the frame, leaning in as she opened up, trying to look nonchalant.

“Oh, hello, sir. Can I help you?” Honey teased, taking a long up-and-down look at him, her eyes lingering low before meeting his gaze again. She was wearing another small red dress, one that accentuated her hourglass figure and ended just above her mid-thigh. Stan smiled weakly, still trying to present himself as cool, calm, and collected in her presence, feeling the three sets of eyes from just yards away watching closely from over the railing of the boat.

“Honey, do this old man the pleasure of taking a step out tonight?” He straightened out his posture, holding out the already withering and sparse wildflowers Mable had given him. They looked nowhere near as nice as the bouquet that had arrived on her doorstep the morning before. She smiled warmly nonetheless, taking them gratefully from his hand before giving them an appreciative sniff.

“Of course I will. Give me a sec.” Honey turned, leaving the door open as she moved to grab her pelt off of the love seat that occupied her living room, wrapping the shining, silver fur around her before stepping out onto the porch with him. He couldn’t help but stare at her hugged figure, wondering how this evening would wind to an end, already planning on sending the kids home early with Soos. Standing near, he offered the crook of his arm. Honey’s arm wrapped around his own as they started to make their way over to the boat, hearing her gasp softly in surprise as they walked up the dock.

“Wow, this is lovely.” She cooed, her eyes wide as the lights flickered and sparkled in them. Dipper greeted them through gritted teeth, sounding completely exasperated as he did.

"Welcome, madam and sir, can I take you to your seats?” Dipper didn’t actually move, just sweeping his arm to gesture to their seats mere steps away.

“Sure can, kid.” Stan chuckled, winking at her as he pulled out her seat, letting her settle in before making his way around to his own chair. It felt a little silly in the cramped space, but Honey was clearly enchanted by the scene, her face glowing in the low light as she watched him awkwardly settle into his own chair.

“So, doll, how’s your day been?” He asked, trying to keep the conversation casual.

“I was pretty tired after last night's sleepover. Mable throws one heck of a party.” She smirked to herself, her eye contact breaking to the table. He snorted softly at that, shifting as he thought over the double meaning of her words. Soos approached the table holding a bottle of champagne, presenting it to them with a sense of pomp.

“Sir, madam, can I interest you in some fine spirits?” Stan leaned back in his chair, thankful for some liquid encouragement to handle this spectacle.

“Yeah, right here, Soos. Hit me.” He pointed to a spot on the table right in front of him, Soos presenting a glass. Stan quickly drained it before handing his cup back for another glass immediately. Honey giggled as she watched him sneer at the burning of the bubbles in his nose, sipping her own champagne slowly. He felt the warmth spread immediately, his nerves tamped by the fuzzy creeping intoxication as he eyed her appreciatively. Honey smiled sweetly, picking up the conversation.

“So tell me more about these codes you and Ford have come up with. I’ve been so curious since I saw your notes.” He swirled his glass, watching the bubbles escape to the top.

“Well, me and Ford have a different code. That one is made of symbols only us two know.” He smiled to himself, hazy memories of their childhood floating on the edges of his mind. “But the one you saw is my own special version. Only I know that one. Maybe I’ll teach it to ya’ sometime. It can be our secret.”

Honey had tilted her head, listening intently to his explanation, a coy smile playing on the edge of her lips. This was easier than he expected. Dipper nudged him from behind, a fierce whisper following.

“Grunkle Stan, remember what Great Uncle Ford said.” Stan rolled his eyes, ignoring the paranoid kid behind him, shifting so he leaned forward conspiratorially.

“Maybe I’ll even teach you the bros code, just to mess with Ford.” He winked at her, making her giggle again. Dipper gasped behind him, not realizing Ford and him had rarely used that code since they were young. It wasn’t overly complicated, and any of their extremely covert notes had been encrypted differently long ago. Dipper also didn’t seem to realize she was probably well smart enough to figure it out on her own if she put her mind to it. Honey was an odd one, not egotistical enough to present her smarts like Ford did, almost always displaying it in odd spurts of observation offhandedly. It could be unnerving at times, displaying a depth of understanding only a century of living could offer.

“Don’t get me in more trouble with your brother.” She chided gently, taking another sip of her drink. “I don’t need another reason for him to dislike me.” Her voice was soft, spoken into the rim of her glass, but he could tell it was eating into her, a flit of sadness behind her steel eyes.

“I thought you liked trouble, doll. We always seem to be in it, somehow.” He teased, watching as the smirk returned to her lips. Mable appeared from the cabin of the boat, going to the table with a wide grin.

“Dinner will be served shortly; in the meantime, would you enjoy a serenade by our finest vocalist on board?” Honey’s smirk had turned to a warm smile as soon as she approached. Stan could tell she adored Mable, maybe almost as much as he did, easily playing along with her planned evening.

“We would love to hear a song.” Dipper came out from behind Stan, looking like he’d rather jump off the boat than sing whatever song they had arranged for him to recite.

“Dipper will now enthrall you with his rendition of Give Me A Chance by Babba!” Dipper took his place uncomfortably in the open space at the back of the boat and began to sing. Stan chuckled, having a hard time not poking fun at Dipper, who by all accounts looked as if he wanted to strangle his sister at this point for getting him involved as he sang mildly unenthusiastically. As he finished up, Honey clapped loudly, cheering for the young boy who blushed deeply at her approving noises.

“You have a lovely voice, Dipper, even when you’re being forced to use it. Thank you for singing for us.” He looked taken off guard by her praise, stammering a response.

“Oh, heh, yeah….it’s no problem.” He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. Mable interrupted, much to his clear relief as she brought out a very large, singular plate of spaghetti.

“Voila, enjoy!” She said as she sat down the noodles and red sauce in between the two. Mable nudged him in the ribs, whispering to him behind her small hand. “I saw this in a super romantic movie once. The trick is to share a noodle and meet in the middle.” Stan shook his head, vaguely recalling that movie also was about dogs.

“Uh, thanks, pumpkin.” He said, picking up a fork. Honey did the same, eating a couple of noodles while Soos did his own sampling of ‘romantic’ songs.

“I knew you were putting them up to something, but this is still unexpected. They did a nice job.” Honey said to him softly between bites. He chuckled softly, finishing off his third glass of champagne, filling his cup again while Soos belted near by.

“Hey, when I say I want to do something right... ehh, I usually half ass it.” He shrugged, taking another deep swig, the alcohol loosening his tongue. “You’re worth the trouble, doll.” He met her eyes as he said it, knowing few truer words had ever been spoken from himself. Even under the velvet night and the candle glow, he could see her cheeks turn rosy.

“Watch yourself, Mr. Pines. I may start to think you like me.” She winked at him this time, a smile playing across her lips that seemed more for herself than him. Mable reappeared, looking mildly disappointed that they weren’t sharing it the way she suggested.

“Well, dinner is over. It’s time to dance!” Honey laughed, rising from her seat and laying her pelt across it as Stan shook his head at Mable, staying firmly planted in his own.

"Sorry, pumpkin, but there is no way I’m dancing.” Mable threw on her huge puppy dog eyes, dragging a groan from him as he stood. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“It’s easy.” Honey said, moving to stand in front of him. He was nearly a head taller than her, the alcohol making his head swim a little as the boat rocked softly in the water. “Just put your hands here,” she guided his hands to her waist, her own arms resting on his shoulders as the soft music from the cabin of the boat grew in volume. “And sway with me. Easy.” She said it with soft certainty as his hands rested comfortably on the hips he was becoming so familiar with in their hours alone.

The old jazzy tune brought back some more fuzzy memories of his childhood, his mom dancing by herself or with them in the living room in the upper apartment. A fleeting moment passed through his mind as Honey closed the couple-inch gap between them, her body flush against his as they swayed to the slow melody. Mable had climbed up on the top of the cabin, eyes wide and shimmering with pride at her own set up as she watched the two ‘dance’ in the tiny space that was left for them to occupy on the deck. He chuckled at her enraptured attention, pulling away from Honey to lean back and whisper to Soos.

“It’s getting pretty late. I think it’s time you get the kids to bed at the shack, eh?” Stan gave him an expectant look. Soos took his meaning immediately.

“Oh, yeah, sure, dude. I mean, mister Pines.”

“Aw, what?! I don’t wanna go yet!” Mable cried

“Finally! Mable, I’m ready to go home and read.” Dipper groaned simultaneously, already making his way to exit the dock.

“Come on, kids.” Soos said, ushering them off the boat together before turning back. “See you in the morning, dudes?” Stan nodded to him, watching as they made their way back to Soos’ truck. Once they were about half way there, he turned to Honey, not giving it another thought before he gathered her face into his large hands, kissing her deeply, her warm plush lips a relief to the longing he had kept buried all evening. A muffled mmm bled into his own lips as the roar of the truck engine came to life behind him. He swore he could hear his young niece squealing in the truck as he broke away from the kiss. Mable would be mad at him tomorrow for kicking them out so suddenly, but he couldn’t imagine leaving the night where it was or breaking away from his want.

Honey leaned her head into his chest, comfortable in the slow embrace they stood in as the truck pulled away. Whatever CD or cassette Mable had been playing finished, the quiet of the night consuming them once again. Stan stroked her hair gently, the strands tangling around his fingers as her faint, warm breath breezed against his skin. He decided then to pick her up, throwing her over his shoulder with a humph. She giggled, wiggling around in his grip as he carried her off the boat and toward her cabin. His bunk was too small to want to utilize when a whole space was available so near by.

“Wait.” Honey whispered as they met the end of the dock, his feet meeting with the ground as a PEW sound flew feet by him, a dull thunk hitting the hull of the boat. She slid to her feet quickly, taking a defensive stance near the ground as Stan turned to see a small hole in the hull. Fury didn’t describe the boiling violence that wanted to escape him as he yelled.

“Who the fuck shot my boat?!” He looked around, not seeing anything as Honey yanked him to the ground, keeping low. She made an inhuman noise, like a hiss mixed with a guttural growl, as she made her way to all fours, stalking along the side of the dock. He shuddered at the clear threat, like an animal telling another to back off. He stayed low himself, cursing as he tried to plan his route to his car. “My gun is in the glovebox. I’m gonna go for it, toots. Stay there.” He whispered fiercely, readying himself to make the dash.

Honey growled again, this one a much more intense noise as she launched her own body forward, moving faster than he imagined humanly possible. In seconds she had made it to the edge of the house, the sound of a body making impact with another and grunting as she grappled with the attacker. Stan took the opportunity to run to his car, wrenching the door of the Stanley mobile open and finding his gun, readying it as he made his way back in the direction of the struggling noises. Honey had her teeth sunken into the arm of the man, thrashing with him as the original gun got kicked towards the house.

Just as he readied himself to pull the agent out for his own round of punishment, a slam hit him in the back, knocking him to the ground and knocking his breath out of him. Stan sucked in, gasping and groaning as he pushed back as hard as possible from the ground, slamming into the man above him. A rope wrapped around his throat, Honey’s voice reaching a ripping scream as the scratchy coil dug deeply into his neck.

“NO, STANLEY! GET OFF OF HIM!” His eyes began to blur as he clawed at his throat. What a sucker move, taking him off guard from behind. He groaned, air not making its way to his lungs as the world wanted to slip away. The agent loosened for a second when the gutted gurgle of the other agent took him off guard. Like some twisted horror movie, Honey had torn the flesh from his neck, blood pouring and pooling as she scrambled away from the dropping body. She launched herself from the quickly dying man, her strides too fast for the agent to finish the job as her gore-covered hands met him too, her full force knocking him away from Stan’s neck. Stan gasped, panting hard as he moved to try and help her.

Stumbling to get up, Honey and the agent kicked and tumbled like feral cats, her painted red claws indistinguishable from the blood that had caked over her fingers as she slashed at his face. She screamed again, pain filled as the agent’s fist cracked against her rips. She whimpered, crumpling to the ground and gasping herself. Not again, he thought, using his own shoulder as a battering ram into the agent. The guy flew, landing on his back where Honey was in an instant standing over him, wild-eyed and changed. Her eyes were black and animal, her breaths heavy and laden with violence. Her small body shuddered as she gripped the agent's neck, squeezing until her nails buried deep, the blood dripping through her fingers. The man’s scream was cut short, nothing but a horrid noise following. She looked beautiful and monstrous as she released and turned around to face him, her fingers dripping.

“Honey? Are you ok?” He asked shakily, her unblinking black eyes terrifying. Her body language became soft though, her breath settling as she took a step towards him. Something invisible hit her though, her hands flying up to her ears as she dropped to her knees. She shook violently, heaving as blood dripped from her ear.

“Stanley, get back from that creature before she kills you and eats you like she just did these other two.” Ford shouted, approaching from the brush holding an odd contraption he had aimed at her. Old man McGuckett stood behind him, looking deeply unsure of the surrounding events as he took in the gore that covered the ground and the dead and dying men that lay near.

“Sixer, what are you doing to her?! Stop, you’re hurting her.” He shouted, shoving Ford hard enough to knock the strange satellite gun off of her direction, allowing her a moment of reprieve. The quiet was pierced by her hitching whimpers, huddled to the ground in a small ball. Stan began to move to her before another door slammed, stopping him in his tracks.

“Stanley don’t. I told you something wasn’t right. I told you to stay away from the fae for this exact reason.” Ford called as he readjusted the setting on the gun and pointed it back at her.

“What are y’all doin out here?! Get away from her.” Tate had left his home, holding a shotgun in one hand while he approached the frightening scene. He quickly rushed to Honey’s side, moving to pick her up, his arms sliding easily under her waist and hips. She gasped in a way Stan couldn’t handle, finding himself grabbing Tate by the collar before he could even think a second thought, forcing him to leave her on the ground. Tate clearly didn’t have a second thought either, as the butt of his shotgun spun around and cracked the side of his head, ending the night for him.

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