esradurmaz

[esradurmaz]

Esra had been asking herself that same question since the moment he walked away on the yacht. Why did it matter? Why had she been so incensed? For someone who spent well over a year claiming to dislike Troy and all that he stood for, it didn’t paint the usual picture of cool indifference that she normally reserved for him. If apathy is the antithesis of care then what the hell did it mean when she couldn’t pull that off anymore?

"I don't know.” Another rare spark of honesty, tumbling out before she could swallow the words and polish them into something more refined. Oddly, the rawness of it only encourages more truth rather than her well-practiced procedure of reeling back and reforming before she continues. “Maybe believing isn't always the same thing as trusting." Esra doesn't offer the latter with ease. Not anymore. "Maybe I needed to see for myself."

Her fingertips brush the wall again. A welcome distraction from the magnetic scent of his cologne, once a faded hallmark while his jacket lay draped over her shoulders, now attached to the very real version of him as he entered her space. Esra didn't know how to parse the memory of it quietly comforting her throughout all the evening's agonies from the owner. Intrusive thoughts whisper about what might happen if she pulled him flush against herself and drowned in it. Suddenly the room feels impossibly warm.

I would never take part in something that could harm you.

Bullseye. A single declaration and whatever tepid grasp remains on this façade begins fracturing in the way Esra's brows lift and pull together slightly. He wouldn't be the first person to lie about such a thing and as an attorney it was practically in his job description, but all of the rationality in the world couldn't prevent her immediate impulse to believe him. "Troy, I—" Her lips part to finish the sentence, but it stalls in her throat. Instead she foolishly allows her gaze to drift lower, tracing the contours of his face before snapping back up and then looking away. This is dangerous territory; wanting. Like a child who clearly didn't learn when the stove burnt her the first time.

"I should go."

It does not escape him; that despite how often Esra has accused him of lying since that night, he has never thought of questioning her honesty. Finding a connection, in their line of work, that allows complete transparency is almost impossible. He has a job to do, she has a job to do, and often times they have different objectives and priorities. Her honesty, outside of what she thinks of him, wasn't why he hired her to begin with.

Even when he reads headlines about his office that he knows she came up with, Troy has not once wondered if she means harm to him.

Though the night of the party he had been offended by her accusations, his questions are different now. His curiosity now lies on why and that is the only word that pops in his head as he studies her face, almost distractedly. Taking notice of the color of her eyes, the way her hair frames her face, the defiant look on her face. Almost as if he is seeing her for the very first time. It takes everything in him not to smile when he remembers they are supposed to be arguing.

"Why?" he mumbles, and there is no accusatory tone or nothing that isn't pure curiosity laced in his words. Had he not proven himself enough the past few days? She hadn't been around to understand everything he'd done to help, but surely she had noticed. Troy figured if she still wondered about him, she would not be standing in front of him now, he lets her know exactly that. "Why does it matter, when you already believe me?"

Troy has barely realized that he is the one closing the distance between them, so focused on the why's, not noticing the natural pull she seems to have on him. Why is she still there? Why was she there in the first place? Why does it matter to him? Her arms dropping from around her middle as he walks further into her space is the first indicator. Her admission following right after? Almost an invitation. A slip up that let him know she wasn't as indifferent to his advances as she claimed to be. So Troy takes another step towards her, a small one, ensuring the wall behind her isn't what is keeping her in place.

"I guess you haven't been very honest either." He's fully aware of how close they are now, her head moving up to be able to lock her eyes on his. Troy, on the other hand, has to remind himself that he should not be wondering what it would be like to reach out and touch her, what her reaction would be. Instead, he speaks up, his voice quieter. "Honesty clearly isn't our forte. But I wasn't lying when I went looking for you that night. I would never take part in something that could harm you. I hope that is clearer now."

[esradurmaz]

True to his word, Aslan refrained from prying further or asking Esra to repeat herself. Instead she watched as he shifted backward in his seat with a quiet sort of rage that he so rarely allowed to surface. The pair sat in relative silence for a few moments after, punctuated only by the faint sound of cars and a few dwindling songbirds as the sun began to lower behind the canyon.

What did he say to you?

"He was angry and accused me of leaving him." Part of her thinks to mention the yelling, but why tattle at this point? He knew perfectly well how Serkan operated by now. Dark tendrils shook off the memory, clearly still unnerved by it. "Said he never stopped looking for me." Which she supposed fit their conversation on the yacht, how Aslan earnestly believed her former flame didn't know about what happened. It hardly absolved him in her mind, but at least he had neither planned nor taken solace in her absence.

As pathetic as it sounded to her own ears with Esra calling on her adoptive brother after the other person hadn't even made a direct threat, the confession raised her hackles anyway. "I don't know if he meant that or if it's even true, but either way it's not enough. The damage is done and I can't just forgive based on words." Even if his words were once the cornerstone of every belief she held, ten years of resentment left them utterly worthless. "Doesn't really matter now, does it?"

There was nothing more than a nod of his head to confirm this would happen occur once and never again. Never would it be repeated outside this room, or with anyone other than the two of them. He sat before her still as stone, hands laced in front of him, elbows resting on his knees, gaze locked on Esra in a way that felt immovable. And though no part of him moved physically, a tightness had begun to coil from low within his chest. All he could do was listen, as he always had, despite how difficult it was for him to hear her voice shift and crack into a tone Esra seldom used, one he hadn't heard in over a decade.

An act of mercy. The words echoed in his mind long after she stopped speaking. Hauntingly. As though he'd heard the statement (that was a blatant lie) previously or some memory floated within reach he couldn't quite grasp. Though he learned long ago the one thing Kurtlar seemed to lack was mercy of any kind. If it were from his own childhood, growing up within the bounds that shaped him forced him into becoming who he was today, that bent every last part of him outside of the confines of the gang to become imbedded and burnt within it.

The only break through the silence came once he'd leaned back slowly with a heavy exhale through his nose in an attempt to release the tension that built within, the rare bout of anger that simmered under the surface that directed at himself, at the organization, at Serkan—where the last bit of respect he'd ever held for the other had extinguished the moment he'd walked into this house and his eyes met Esra's. Truthfully, the only thing he could think of that steadied him was the entirety of the Balik family hanging. And yet, if it had been happening before him right then and there, it wouldn't be enough.

"What did he say to you?" There would be nothing offered in terms of the past, for Aslan truly had no idea what to say in that aspect. No anecdotes or cliches to make it better. He's sure Esra herself would be attempting to contact emergency services if he'd began to speak that way. Instead, he'd focus on the actions that came next. That came with never allowing her to relive a moment of what she'd endured again.

[esradurmaz]

Coming to The Arsenal was Aslan's idea in truth, because Esra had no concept of what she was looking at as her eyes traced along the merchandise. Minus the occasional difference in design or size, they all appeared very much the same from her point of view. Probably for the best that he hadn't accompanied her to balk at such a cursory assumption.

Thankfully, one of the employees approached and began assisting as she detailed out the information sitting in the notes app on her phone. One arm perched on the counter, her pointer finger lazily tracing nonsense along her jawline, she almost doesn't notice the second person who joins them. Only when she speaks and the vague familiarity of that voice draws Esra's gaze upward does she actually feel the weight of her sister's presence, the way air seems to deplete from the room until she nearly chokes on the emptiness.

Stunned doesn't even begin to describe her features. So accustomed to being void of any real reaction, poised and careful in every respect, any learned demeanor melts away almost instantly as she rights herself. Miray. Here. In Los Angeles. The words rattle across her brain without permeating as she fails to make sense of the possibility. A trillion to one chance and she's standing in the middle of a gun shop holding the most unlucky lottery ticket in existence. "What are you doing here?" It's easier to question before the ache of missing someone sets in.

@esradurmaz

Location: The Arsenal

Miray hardly remembered that night, or maybe she'd just chosen to bury it deep. For fifteen years, she’d built walls around that particular memory, shielding herself from the terror that haunted her. Yet, no matter how tightly she sealed it away, there was no forgetting the fear she felt. She remembered the feeling all too clearly. Being dragged from her bed in the middle of the night, wearing only a thin tshirt and pajama shorts. Her eyes covered by a blindfold and her wrist bound in front of her. Every sense heightened, and each moment stretching endlessly into panic. Forced to stumble through a foreign country, unable to understand the language, driven purely by the instinct to survive. As hard as she tried, Miray couldn't forget what that fear felt like, so instead it had become the driving force behind her all these years. Desperate to never feel that way again.

Her visit to The Arsenal was supposed to be short. A quick in and out to accept a weapons shipment for her buyers. A simple enough task that she'd done a thousand times before. As she walked out from the back room, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her browns eyes locked onto the familiar figure of the woman, leaving her in shock and speechless.

Los Angeles hadn't exactly been Miray's first choice at relocation. But it was the job, and she didn't fight it. So, leaving Miami had been done strategically. It was a trauma response that she'd developed over the years, one that ensured she was at least three steps ahead at all times. That had her planning for every possible scenario in her mind. She'd even rehearsed what she'd say when she finally found her sister again, but all of that went out the window the second she realized it was Esra she was staring at.

After a painfully long silence, Miray finally managed to find her voice, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Esra?"

[esradurmaz]

Esra's Bel Air Home

Courtesy of Ambrose and The Network.

Just off the Stone Canyon, tucked away like a hidden oasis. This is her protected sanctuary and only close friends (or select Network personnel) have secured themselves an invite inside.

From the listing: Encompassing 11,251 square feet, the private estate boasts 7 bedrooms and 9 bathrooms, a two-story entry, living room, dining room, an elevator, a formal library, dual powder rooms, a second-floor family area, and an expansive gourmet kitchen with a double island adorned with granite counters. The kitchen also features a breakfast room with French doors opening to the lush and private grassy lawn, as well as the inviting pool/spa and cabana. The lot includes a second lawn area with striking mountain views.

From reality: Esra has never lived quite so large as this, certainly not in her youth and definitely not in Europe over the last decade. Nice things and nice places aren't foreign these days, but the quality of the house was her ultimate bribe to come work for The Network and she doesn't take it for granted. Purchased with their money, signed in her name, this is easily her most prized possession and she treats the entire estate as such.

There's a coldness to the decor though, despite how colorful and well curated it might appear at first glance. No family photos, no sentimental knick knacks, not even a generational cookbook propped up on the counter. It's a gorgeous house, a shining trophy of achievement, but not a home.

[esradurmaz]

I didn't forget anything.

Neither had she and that was the worst part. A perpetual knife in the gut for years whenever Esra closed her eyes, endlessly carving out the memories and the what could have been's. None of which were relevant to the woman she'd chosen to become as a means of survival, rather it's the lingering grief for her past self. For the girl who smiled with ease, loved ferociously, and dreamt of a fantasy life that would never exist. She was still laying in a grave somewhere in Germany. Mere bones now.

His claims of looking for her only twist that same sensation, but the wound is numb. Hollow, scarred over. Esra doesn't know how to believe him yet the urge is there, impulse perhaps from being in his presence after so long apart. And then it dies with the emergence of his temper; accusations hurtling towards her like shards of ice. They melt and evaporate, but the damage remains as she gingerly takes a step back from him.

"I left you?" Incredulous really. She'd laugh if the entire night hadn't already drained her so completely. "Which part of that made sense when it was coming out of your mouth?" Her own voice doesn't raise to match him, instead she levels the man who once encapsulated her entire world with a fractured glare. "You're right, I wasn't there. I wasn't in my home, or with my friends, or Aslan. I was in another fucking country after your family terrorized mine and forced us to relocate in the middle of the night." Kidnapped still felt strange on her tongue all these years later. "Did you even ask your father what happened?"

To her, it's ten years of abandonment and looking over her shoulder. To him, he's been searching all the while, although Esra can't fathom where to put that information now. Too much time had passed, too much damage had been done. "Where the hell were you looking that it took ten years, Serkan?"

She wasn't wrong. They were adults then too and Serkan hadn't forgotten. Not the way that he'd grieved her for years, or the way that he'd still been expected to show up every day. "I didn't forget anything." he let his voice linger on that last word. Because he'd been haunted by the idea of her for so long, he wasn't sure he'd ever fully gotten over it. He almost felt like he was in a nightmare. That if he were to move just the right away and startle himself awake she'd be gone again, and while he wasn't sure that he believed this was reality, he let his eyes linger over her. She looked good, he'd almost say better than she had before; like wine she seemed to only look better with age and for a moment Serkan had to remind himself she wasn't still his. Despite the fact they'd never technically broken up, they'd both lived a thousand lives since then, he could nearly guess it. It was her statement that caused him to raise an eyebrow, his gaze focusing on hers as he did so. "I looked for you." he stated bluntly, eyes focusing on anything he could to keep from shouting. It wasn't her fault he'd never found her. Or maybe it was, he didn't know. He'd always been to busy blaming himself. "For years. That was all I did." He refrained from sharing the information that that was what landed him here in the first place. "So don't go giving me that bullshit because you weren't there. You fucking left me and I looked for you." Maybe getting angry wasn't his best move; so he exhaled, shaking his head. "I don't mean to yell I just-" he paused. "I honestly don't think I ever really stopped."

[esradurmaz]

Here's the thing: she doesn't like Jack. Something about the way she moves, embodying the equal predation of snake and panther, yet appearing disturbingly human all the same. It's unsettling and sets her nerves alight in ways Esra hasn't been accustomed to in quite a while. So she watches the other woman in silence, guarded like a prey animal who refuses to admit their lack of upper hand as dark locks shift into view. The path behind herself isn't blocked, she could leave, but instinct whispers rather fervently to never turn her back on this one. Instead she waits, absorbing the veiled taunts, before speaking. "Is there something I can help you with?" Curt and concise because she's not attempting to make friends. "Or do you plan on loitering here all day like a juvenile delinquent?"

@esradurmaz

There's a sickening twist in the pit of her stomach that might have sent a far saner person in the other direction but she's never been accused of something so mindlessly boring and upon setting onyx hues on Esra, her radar pings off like lightning. "You certainly have been busy," tongue clicks against the back of her teeth as she leans just far enough across the railing of the bannister to block the woman's path, the corner of her mouth twitching as she indulges a lingering once over, encapsulated in the smallest huff of a sound; as if she'd come to some long awaited conclusion. "So many rumors — so much to clean up..." The Nightshade alone were impervious to a great many secrets in the city; wraiths in the night very rarely seen in places that offer unspoken truths, but even Jack had her own eyes and ears and despite the quick efforts, something always slipped through the cracks. "It must be exhausting."

[esradurmaz]

"I knew you'd be understanding." Not particularly, although half the fun in living her own life outside of the Network came at the expense of riling up Ambrose. He'd survive without her, they all would, but Esra wouldn't lie and claim his immediate prickling didn't stoke her ego a bit. The mention of CNN and calling off the world on her behalf prompted a half-smirk as she glanced towards the window. "You know I don't like when you do me favors. Hate feeling like I owe you something." With a sigh, she turned back to him, "Try last few weeks. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not entirely a machine." Opinions varied, she was sure. Then her nose wrinkled slightly at the mere idea of another person invading her work space. "An assistant would only slow me down."

it took everything in the male not to outright snarl like an irritated dog, nose wrinkling up in momentary disgust at her announcement. he respected her for it, was the trouble. that audacity was what'd attracted him to esra in the first place, professionally speaking. plus, she was a woman, and though ambrose had his many, many shortcomings, there was little he valued more than a woman who said exactly what she meant. " oh ? " he couldn't help but scoff. " okay, i'll just let everyone know that they'll need to reschedule any upcoming scandals for when you come back. " he sunk deeper into his swivel chair, mirroring the way she sat across from him. " i'll call fucking cnn while i'm at it, and get them to take a brief hiatus. " a thwarted huff expelled from his lips, and he found himself wishing for a cigarette. " last few days really did a number on you, huh ? should i be thinking about getting you an assistant ? "

[esradurmaz]

[esradurmaz]

I didn't think it mattered, Esra. I didn’t think you cared.

Neither did she. Not until Troy slipped his jacket around her shoulders in the same breath that the unmistakable lie passed between them. Hypocrisy lives in the crux of that statement and she knows it. Dishonesty is half her job and most of her life, but there was always an unspoken status quo between them before the yacht incident. Presenting little more than white lies and minor omissions to irritate each other, just enough to toe the line. Nothing like that night. Nothing potentially catastrophic.

"It mattered that night." Despite how Esra shoves the lightbulb moment down, ignoring reality even as it stares her in the face, the mere possibility of his involvement had been enough to rattle that fragile balance. If he could lie about this, what else did he lie about? She'd never questioned his motives before or felt the need really. And it bothered her enough to haunt the unmistakable silence in her phone where he once resided. "And it matters now."

In truth, she's here because her mind no longer turns over with the same irritated speculation. Not after all he had done to ensure Cami's survival from this very office, putting his own career at risk if someone dared to peek far enough behind the curtain. Taking meetings with Aslan and actually being somewhat helpful, merely at her indirect request. She wants to ask him why he agreed in the first place. Aren't they meant to be at odds? Isn't he actively icing her out?

When he glances toward the doorway leading outside, her stomach tightens in the most peculiar way. Now she’s done it. Flown too close to the sun, propelled by ego or false indifference, and he's sick of her mouth. Memory flickers to their argument on the boat. Every micro-expression passing in rapid succession, his hand running through his hair, but she doesn't catch the same signs here. Which means very little, she'd only seen him angry once. Maybe he wears it differently depending on the level of offense and he's on the verge of simply asking her to leave.

He does nothing of the sort.

His next words combined with Troy leaving the anchor of his desk instinctively makes her shift away from the edge of the fireplace to face his approach. Had he always been so tall? Their distance narrows considerably and whatever upper hand she had been so accustomed to with him vanishes. Esra attempts to regain it by uncrossing her arms and appearing poised, confident, until her fingers drift backwards and she becomes hyper aware of the wall at her back. “I guess I didn’t block all of them.”

There is a vulnerability attached to Esra showing up to his house unannounced; there is normally a text, a warning of some sort. He is completely aware that she has been working harder than usual after the fiasco at the yacht party, so to say he's still stunned by her presence in front of him is putting it mildly. He doesn't act like it is a big deal, but Troy knows that she decided to see him for some reason he's yet to figure out. Maybe that is why Troy hasn't outright asked what she's doing there.

Or why it mattered if he lied to her or not that night.

It clearly does, he notices, as she brings it up once again. “I said you lied to me about why you left." Suddenly the words he'd used that night, the ones he'd thrown at her before he walked off came back to him. About how often they lied to each other. Honesty did not come easy to him and yet, he yearns to tell her why he lied. Because for whatever reason, it bothers him too.

"I didn't think it mattered, Esra." Though he's a vision of confidence as he leans against his desk, it's not often that Troy takes anything seriously. He can't be completely honest, but this isn't a lie. There's always a quip, a way to get out of really saying what he wants to say. He hasn't had enough time to notice the clear shift between them since they argued, and yet knowing that he has to lie again annoys him like nothing ever has before, so he avoids it. "I didn't think you cared."

His eyes have yet to leave her since the moment that she stepped into his office; he tells himself it's because he knows that room like the back of his own hand instead of coming to face with the fact that he has been going through it while keeping his distance from her for the past few days and it almost feels unreal that she is answering a question. A real answer, not a dismissal. All he can do is stare at her as she speaks about Aslan, while something tightens in his chest.

"But I also hope you know that I would never put you in a situation I didn’t think you could handle.”

There is a pause as Troy lets the weight of her words settle between them. For the first time that night, he looks away—out the glass door, searching for something that he can't even understand himself—and then meets her eyes again. She is right, he was upset. But honestly, at this point in time, he is more upset that she was able to get such a reaction out of him than her own words. He's upset that she managed to break into his armor with merely a few words. Troy doesn't say it though.

"Maybe you know me better than I've given you credit for." He admits, slowly raising from his spot against his desk to step closer to her. His eyes move from her eyes down to her arms crossed over her middle, then back up as if trying to read her. His tone is serious, but there is no fire behind it, not an ounce of anger or judgement as he approaches her. Not even shame that he had relied information so effortlessly just because her name had been used to get it out of him. She didn't need to know that. "How did you know I was upset? I thought you had blocked me."

[esradurmaz]

The push and pull of taking contract work outside of The Network meant that on occasion, Esra had to clean up her own well designed messes. Including, albeit not limited to, the smear campaign she’d run against the legal powers that be as a result of the LAPD’s colossal mistake. Which brought her to Troy’s doorstep yet again, entering his home office as if she’d been there a thousand times before. "You're not doing the LA Weekly interview," she began after pushing the door open. "I don't even want to hear th—" Only when the chair spins around does she halt mid-sentence. Not Troy. Both the man’s appearance and his request draw her up short and she buffers for a moment before finally replying. "And no one bought it for you in three years? You need better friends."

@esradurmaz

Location: Troy's Home Office

Charlie had no idea where Troy was. So, he settled himself into his office chair, and decided to wait it out. The chair faced away from the door as he scrolled through his brother's emails (He was nosy. Sue him) When he heard footsteps approaching, he assumed without much thought it was Troy finally showing up. Charlie didn't bother turning around straight away. It wasn't until a woman's voice broke the silence that he spun slowly around, stopping when he faced the brunette. "If you're here to murder me." He began lazily, rocking the chair side to side slightly with a gentle push of his foot. "You're gonna have to wait until after my birthday. Which is three months from now. No fuckin' chance i'm dying before I get my jetski." Charlie paused for a moment, before adding. "It's been on my wishlist for three years. Kind of a big deal."

[esradurmaz]

At the root of it all, they had to play their part as innocent hosts whose event was so viciously hijacked. The Network didn't deal in outright violence, at least from the reputation they portrayed, which was precisely why Esra chose to join them in the first place. What sense would it make for them to shed that cover now? None. So she would feed that narrative because often truth became the easiest story to spin. "Good." They could cut things off at the source. "I have TMZ in my back pocket, as a gentle reminder for anyone who wants to send us a motion."

His story checked out all things considered. Not that she had any reason to doubt him, but others might and it was beneficial to understand every facet before she went spouting off in his favor. "And then to steal your clothes," an exhale before she raised her glass and sipped. "Talk about adding insult to injury." It seemed almost calculated, perhaps something the police should've speculated harder on instead of narrowing their focus on Cami. "Well, I'm glad there was no permanent damage."

for a moment, as he listened to her words, dominic settled his hand against his mouth. he took in her words, turned them this way and that. as if he could find some kind of missing link, some part that they weren't focusing enough on. but the want for revenge seemed rather clear, of how the family would focus their attention. and their resources. on exonerating camilla of her crime. and ensuring that the cop was dealt with, in true the family fashion. which would mean their focus would not turn upon the network, that they would not suspect some hand or play in this entire mess. " done. i'll put someone on the task, and make sure they report it all to you as soon as they've collected them all. " he answered, after his hand had fallen back into his lap .

but his focus wouldn't remain off himself for long, given how one mishap led to another. her words brought a reassurance, if only for the sake of appearances. there would be more beneath it, hidden under the how and why. and so, dominic remained silent. until her question settled in the space between them. but it wasn't all that esra said, for a beat passed, and then another. then the question that had his gaze drawn to her. focused upon her, as he tried to rack his memories of what he had seen. " unfortunately, i hadn't anticipated the hit to the back of the head. i don't even know if they were already in the room, or somehow had snuck up on me. regardless, i hadn't had the chance to catch even the barest glimpse. " of course, he refrained from mentioning the message .

[esradurmaz]

Glancing up and immediately closing her laptop once she registered who waltzed so brazenly into her office, Esra shouldn't have felt surprised to see Cami, but it was startling to see her no longer in a hospital bed. Upright, un-cuffed, and smiling as if she'd just passed a winning lottery ticket across the desk."Cami..." Her voice was slow, measured. Gifts of appreciation weren't new by any means, but no one had ever thought to buy her a whole villa in another country. "I don't know what to say. Thank you." Her eyes raked over the picture, "Maybe we should go see it in person, just the three of us."

At the mention of a yacht, she finally allowed her own faint smile to break through for a moment. Levity was beyond needed at this point and she didn't possess enough energy by this point to feign otherwise. With some thought, Esra volleyed back her own joke in return. "Give it a year, we could self-induce some amnesia."

@esradurmaz Location: Esra's Office.

Finding Esra's office didn't take her long considering the countless times she'd been there. This time, though, Cami sat a folder onto Esra's desk before taking a seat across from the woman's desk. "It's an Italy." She said, nodding toward the folder she'd just sat down. Inside, it held the deed to the small villa she'd purchased in Esra's name "Country side. Somewhere between Umbria and Tuscany." She paused for a moment, if only to let Esra process what she was saying. "It's yours." She clarified, unable to help the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Considering Esra had been one of the tireless few who'd spent the last three weeks navigating the clusterfuck Cami had found herself in, she figured her gratitude demanded something more substantial than words, especially since Cami had never been good at expressing her own feelings. "Thought about a yacht." Cami said as she lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "But then i figured none of us ever want to look at one of those fucking things again."

[esradurmaz]

Ana/Melinda

[esradurmaz]

Who: @spliinters Where: The Golden Mirage

Post-Cami release from the hospital, and subsequently from police custody, saw the world coming to a sudden standstill. For all of the hours Esra poured into reframing the media narrative at Nico's behest, the toll finally came to collect in the form of sleeping twelve hours straight. A rarity on her part, but desperately needed to maintain some semblance of humanity after all was said and done. By the time she arrived to meet Ambrose, it was nearly noon. "I'm taking a vacation. Two weeks." Not a request, but a warning as she settled into the chair across from him. "If anybody calls me while I'm away, I'm sending them to you."

[esradurmaz]

When Serkan turns to face her completely, it accompanies the telltale sensation of her stomach dropping and she wishes more than anything for the ability to blink him away. Instead Esra lets out this involuntary, humorless laugh of bewilderment at his rebuttal. "No, we can't." Not with his parents still breathing. Not with her entire life hanging in the balance. "We were adults back then too, it didn't change anything." Nor did it save the family that his tore apart. "Or did you forget as soon as I was out of sight?"

It feels like a gotcha moment, as if responding to him in any capacity is a test where failing means being snatched up again right out in the open. A lingering threat in the back of her mind for too long, almost as heavy as the realization that he’d never thought she was worth finding. Until now, when it suited him apparently. Or perhaps the universe reveled in its own sick version of a coincidence— either way his appearance now causes Esra more grief than she knows what to do with.

What do you mean?

The most demure of questions and yet it immediately snaps her composure into pieces. All of them jagged at the edges and sharp enough to flay herself open if she isn't mindful about which words pour out. She won't yell because she's not her father, unfortunately that hard line doesn't prevent Esra from becoming the spitting image of her mother. "You've had ten years," her voice demands, even as it cracks on the final word, "why the hell are you here now?" Waltzing back in when she no longer needs him. How convenient.

The flashing lights were nearly distracting enough to give him a migraine; yet even in the midst of the chaos that had ensued around them, she was the only thing he wanted to focus on. The only thing he could focus on; he still didn't think this was real. No, he had to be passed out somewhere, knocked across the head. It was the only logical explanation that made any sense, anything else would simply not be reality. Yet Serkan had proof that this was reality. The smoke that had entered his lungs just moments prior, the smell of the water as the waves ebbed and flowed against the yacht he'd just been standing on. Not to mention the slight shake in his legs as he tried to stand still - another sign of his time spent on the boat, while simultaneously growing stronger now that she was in front of him. It was her words - however - that brought reality back to him. All of the above. Things were about to get interesting; as if they weren't already. He watched as her arms snaked around her, something that he would've done in a way to comfort her himself if this had been a decade ago. And regardless of how much his heart shifted around her, sent him back to ten years younger when they were still together, when his heart still beat only for her - his brain was the logical one. Instead of acting on instinct, he turned, facing her more head on. "We can do whatever we want, we're adults." The rebuttal came out faster then he'd meant, but he wasn't wrong. They could do whatever they wanted. He was about to open his mouth, do the unthinkable and ask how she was when she commented on this being the perfect night for him to show up. "What do you mean?" He had a feeling the answer was going to mean more than one thing.

[esradurmaz]

END.

Nico knew he could already rely on Esra before he put his ask - or want - out there, she wasn't ever somebody he doubted and the fact that she could pulled up the LAPD overnight, or even in the next few days, wasn't surprising. "Okay, so I need it to be made worse next week, then." it was a simple request, that would only seemingly make sense when the plan that was already setting motion inside of his mind, played out. Nico needed the negativity to be heightened towards the LAPD for a reason, one that would play into his favour as he, rightfully so (in his mind), destroyed the life of the man that thought it was okay to put a bullet through his sister - not once, but twice. It wasn't acceptable - it was literally that easy of a conclusion.

As he indulged in his own churro he debated on whether or not to break out his chocolate - a thought that had him soon after pull out his little pot of sauce, taking off the lid only to offer Esra the first dip. "Talking with Emil, went off that way.." he made a small motion to around a corner, in case Esra wanted to go off and find her. He didn't know. "Glad she did, mentioned Thai and she fucking side-eyed me." which was rightfully so, considering the amount he had already ordered in to eat and the fact they were in a literal hospital, waiting to see Cami post her surgery.

[esradurmaz]

From the very beginning.

Forehead cradled in one hand, elbow bent along the sofa cushions, Esra takes a slow breath of consideration. Does she want to revisit that place in depth? Could she? His ask doesn't feel performative, the familiarity of his presence settling into her spine and allowing it to relax for the first time in... how long since they'd last done this? A decade, nearly. Yet the feeling of being together is identical and if she looks at him hard enough, time hasn't really moved at all. In their past life she was less coiled, more sprawled out along the fabric with a lazy smile as she rattled off some arbitrary thoughts while Aslan listened. He was always listening.

An exterior timer suddenly illuminates the patio and that centers her back to reality. To the weight of how time has passed and all the ways she's clawed her way into this new existence by burying the old. "I'm only going to do this once and then I never want to talk about it again." Knowing him as she did, they wouldn't. He'd lock the knowledge away in a vault somewhere and the pair would never revisit her most harrowing moments.

Esra's fingers drop to run along the edge of a pillow. "We were planning to run off together. Get married in secret and live somewhere far away from all the shit back in Ankara." A humorless smirk tugs at the corners of her lips. "I realize how ridiculous that sounds in hindsight obviously." Desperation mixed with infatuation made for a deceptive blinder. "I don't know how he found out," or rather, who told him, "but Serkan's father heard and he sent people to our house. It was late when they came in."

From there she details how they held guns in the Durmaz family's faces and ripped each member out of bed, instructed them all not to make a sound so they wouldn't wake the neighbors. Him. How they were tied up, blindfolded, and stuffed into a truck. Or at least she thinks it was a truck. How she thought they were all going to be executed every time it stopped moving. Then the long plane ride, then more hours in a van. As if they were picking the farthest spot in the world to do it, where no one would ever find their bodies. How cold it was outside when they finally kneeled in the grass, their knees soaked with dew. "When the blindfolds came off, they said this was an act of mercy and if we ever tried to come back, they'd know. And they'd finish it."

Her voice lowers to just above a whisper, shielding against any emotion that cracks at its edges and threatens to unravel the poise Esra holds in a vice grip these days. "We had nothing." She takes a few seconds, attempting to steady herself to a more neutral state. "You hear people say that a lot, but it was true. No documents, no clothes, no money, no phones. We didn't even speak the language once we realized they dropped us outside some speck of a village."

Germany. The country had never left his mind. Echoing over and over. How many years had he spent believing she was dead? How many years had he carried the weight of silence, thinking the only thing he'd ever remembered felt comparable to family had vanished into thin air? And all of it—all of her pain—because of the organization his name was chained to.

The fact he had been right there, in close proximity for years whilst residing across Europe and in Germany itself, haunted him. Had he felt that the most important person to him had been there all along? Was he supposed to know she was somewhere still alive, still breathing, within reach? If he had just looked for her.

The moment they had come face to face again something inside him ruptured. A slow, low burn of guilt that amplified itself within his chest and hollowed out what was left of the better parts of him. for he had allowed her to become a ghost carried in a memory, instead of tearing the world apart to find her.

Now, as he sat across from her, Aslan's stillness wasn't his usual calm demeanor. It was pressure—controlled and tightly coiled—pushed down for years and only compounded following recent incidents. While anger had never been an emotion he carried (as it was one he believed caused blindness) what boiled within him now could only be described as such when he registered the pain flicker over her familiar features.

I need you to keep him away from me. His jaw tightened with the words, as his gaze sought out hers and actively maintained that calm he was accustomed to. "He won't come near you again, I’ll see to it–be the last thing he ever does. But right now, I need you to tell me everything." His voice was low, measured, but the restraint laced within it was almost surgical as he held back every part of him that wouldn't rest until he found him and ensured he never saw that look in Esra's eyes repeated. "From the very beginning."